Scalding flames grazed past the black and yellow armor, while bullets shredded the terrorists charging from behind. The enormous blasts made even the waves beneath the ship tremble. The tall figure turned back in stunned disbelief, looked at the corpse blasted into pieces, then glanced at the revolver. "Where the fuck did that tank barrel come from?!"
At this moment, the Weapon Master actually missed the requirements of the Humanitarian Convention—anti-aircraft guns weren't supposed to be fired horizontally!!!
The remaining terrorists who had charged in behind their shattered comrade slammed on the brakes at the sight. But professional mercenary instincts sent the already-drawn sword spinning at high speed like a meat grinder blade, chopping the others into pieces as well.
The deck ran red with blood. The remaining terrorists made a final desperate stand and tried to fire, but after realizing their bullets were completely blocked by the greatsword and armor, they babbled something incomprehensible and jumped straight into the sea.
The tall figure did not pursue them. He sheathed the greatsword behind his back, then turned to Schiller, who was leaning against the cabin wall. Straightening his slightly wrinkled Gauntlet, he crossed his arms and said, "Surely the Federal Bureau of Investigation can afford a pair of earplugs?"
Schiller ignored him and simply wiped the blood from his ear. Of course, he recognized this tall, muscular mercenary, but his appearance here was anything but good news.
Deathstroke. The world's strongest mercenary, a Weapon Master proficient in nearly every weapon. The highest mountain and longest river in the Teen Titans enemy pool. Whenever he went to Gotham, he only did three things: eat, sleep, and beat up Robin.
Of course, picking fights with the Bat-family's little birds was merely his side gig. He was a legitimate assassin mercenary. In that