Three and a half people sat in a circle. Batman and Deathstroke, who had just been fighting to the death and utterly at odds with each other, had both quieted down.
Only Miao Mu sat there with his arms folded, his face as dark as water and looking deeply uncomfortable, as if his appendix had burst.
Wade, whose mouth had been stapled shut and who was piecing his body back together, kept glancing at the right hand Miao Mu had nailed to the ground with a knife and then stomped on hard.
"Everyone who saw it gets a share, but I want fifty percent!"
Suppressing the feeling of his heart bleeding, Miao Mu raised a hand and pointed at the pile of things he had just picked out of the sand.
They were spread across the ground like a roadside junk stall, covered with all sorts of bizarre little trinkets.
But nobody present was blind. They could all tell that these things were anything but ordinary.
Miao Mu had originally planned to keep everything for himself. After all, Deathstroke had been busy chopping up Batman—one fled, one pursued, and there was no escape.
Then the severed head in his hand had started howling, and Miao Mu froze like a vegetable thief caught red-handed.
"You're dreaming!"
Deathstroke rejected him without hesitation. He could have taken everything for himself, so why should he share?
"Then don't even think about going back! Do you know where we are?" Miao Mu shot back at once.
Still, in this weather, none of them had the strength to keep fighting. The sun was brutal.
The sun overhead baked the coarse sand beneath their feet. Thankfully, there was no sandstorm, or they would all be eating dirt.
"I want this." Batman reached down and picked up a