"Are you kidding me? Can't you people let me eat my instant noodles in peace?"
Watching Deathstroke stride through the door without a scratch on him, Zuo Ci sighed helplessly. He was starting to wonder whether someone had installed a switch on him. Why did someone show up every single time he made instant noodles?
First it had been one of the Falcone family's officers, and now it was Deathstroke. What was going on? Surely Darkseid wasn't going to show up next.
Can't you just let me enjoy some nice, peaceful noodle time?
"You still have the leisure to eat noodles when you see me? Aren't you afraid I'm here for revenge?"
At Zuo Ci's indifferent attitude, Deathstroke narrowed his eyes and raised his gun, aiming straight at his head as though he intended to finish the job once and for all.
"Oh, give it a rest. Everyone in the business knows you don't lift a finger without something to gain. Falcone's withdrawn the bounty, so killing me won't earn you a cent. You're not going to take a job that leaves you in the red.
"Besides, if you really wanted to kill me, you'd have fired a shell at me from miles away already. Why bother coming here in person to scare me? Seriously."
Zuo Ci scoffed and waved his chopsticks, signaling for Deathstroke to stop playing childish games.
Though he was unhappy with Zuo Ci's attitude, Deathstroke really hadn't come to kill him, so he simply put his gun away.
"All right, let's hear it. Mr. Strongest Mercenary, what exactly brings you to my little shop?
"Don't tell me you're here to buy some everyday household goods."
As he spoke, Zuo Ci casually tossed him a can of cola. Deathstroke accepted it without objection and pulled the tab right in front of him.
Then it sprayed him in the face.
"Ta-da! Got you! That's what you get for interrupting my noodles."
As it turned out, a vigorously shaken can of cola made an excellent prank prop anywhere.
"What are you, a child...?"
Utterly speechless, Deathstroke wiped the cola off his mask. He had killed plenty of people in his life, including no shortage of mentally disturbed freaks.
But he genuinely didn't know what to make of the man before him. He felt like one of those mischievous goblins from a story.
"All jokes aside, tell me what you're actually here for. If you don't need anything, hurry up and leave. Don't get in the way of my business."
"I'm here to do business. You're a merchant, aren't you?"
To keep Zuo Ci from pulling any more nonsense, Deathstroke got straight to the point.
"Business? Let me make this clear first: I'm a respectable, law-abiding merchant. I don't murder people and steal their goods, so I have no need to hire a big shot like you."
Law-abiding? How does he have the nerve to say that? Has he seen what he did to Falcone's senior men?
Despite those thoughts, Deathstroke didn't voice them.
"Relax. I'm not here for that, and I don't need you to hire me to kill anyone. I'm just here to buy something. You have a lot of amazing little items here, don't you?"
At that, Deathstroke immediately recalled what had happened to him the night before.
During his fight with Zuo Ci, the projections and explosions at the beginning had looked intimidating, but Deathstroke could more or less understand them.
The bullets that could turn corners and the freezing ability that instantly encased a large area in ice, however, had been far beyond his expectations.
Especially that final bullet, which could alter his personality. Just thinking about it sent a chill through Deathstroke. How could he, the greatest mercenary, have turned into that?
So the previous night, once the bullet's effect wore off, Deathstroke had easily broken out of the prison Batman had delivered him to.
After spending some time retrieving his equipment and gathering a little information, he had made a special trip here.
In truth, this was a gamble. His instincts told him coming here would bring him something good, but he had made an enemy of Zuo Ci, after all. From the moment he entered, Deathstroke had been ready to spring into action and escape at any second.
So far, though, things seemed fine.
"Buy something? What do you want?"
Hearing that Deathstroke wanted to buy something surprised Zuo Ci, but not much.
His merchandise was highly appealing, after all. It wasn't strange for anyone to be tempted. He just didn't know what this guy wanted.
"What do you have?"
Rather than answer directly, Deathstroke responded with a question. He hadn't actually decided what to buy himself, and he was rather interested in seeing what good stuff Zuo Ci had.
"I have plenty. As long as you can pay the price, I have anything you could want. Even a miracle is no problem."
Peeling back the lid, Zuo Ci spoke while slurping his noodles. He didn't sound convincing in the slightest.
Anything I could want? Quite a big claim.
Deathstroke didn't really believe him, but he said nothing more, nor did he consider testing that claim.
After all, who knew what the man might pull out?
So, after a little thought, he chose a relatively safe option.
"Do you have guns? I want something with plenty of firepower that's also easy to carry."
"Powerful and easy to carry... I actually do have something. Hold on."
Hurriedly swallowing his noodles, Zuo Ci bent down and pulled two ordinary-looking pistols from beneath the counter.
[Product name: Zombieman's personal pistol Price: US$10,000 each (includes 200 standard rounds and 2 special rounds) Effect: An extremely powerful pistol capable of inflicting considerable damage even on monsters. Note: Greater firepower means greater recoil. Be careful not to get yourself killed.]
These two guns came from Zombieman, an S-Class hero in One-Punch Man. Because of his immortality, Zombieman's pistols were custom-made and extraordinarily powerful.
Ordinary monsters could be dispatched easily. Even Demon-level monsters would take damage from the special rounds, provided defense wasn't their specialty.
The only problem was that their recoil was equally tremendous. Even with Zombieman's physical abilities far surpassing those of ordinary people, firing the special rounds would severely fracture his arms.
Zuo Ci had previously redeemed these two guns specifically for self-defense, only to discover, rather awkwardly, that he still couldn't handle them even after being enhanced. So he had put them away.
Now he could sell the pair to Deathstroke and make a tidy profit.
"Here. These two guns are custom-made. They'll definitely meet your needs."
Taking the pistols, Deathstroke, an expert in firearms, found nothing particularly special about them beyond their slightly greater weight.
For a moment, he couldn't help wondering whether Zuo Ci was messing with him.
"Hey, don't look at me like that. I never rip people off. If you don't believe me, try one yourself."
Hearing that, Deathstroke didn't hesitate. He flicked off the safety and fired a shot into the deserted street.
BOOM!
The instant the bullet left the barrel, a terrifying recoil slammed into Deathstroke's wrist like an iron hammer.
Had he not steadied himself with his wealth of experience, he might have staggered back several steps.
"This power..."
Shaking out his slightly aching wrist, Deathstroke was genuinely a little stunned.
Ever since undergoing the super-soldier enhancement in the military, he had used countless firearms. He could outright ignore the recoil of most of them, and even anti-materiel weapons barely affected him.
But this pistol...
"You felt that, right? I told you you'd be satisfied.
"Here, these rounds are included. There are only two hundred in total, so use them sparingly."
After pushing over several neatly arranged boxes of ammunition, Zuo Ci took out two more bullets that had been specially painted red.
"These two are special rounds. They're at least ten times more powerful than the standard ones. Even you need to be extremely careful using them. Don't cripple yourself with a single shot.
"Also, find a shooting range next time you want to test a gun. What if you hurt someone? Firing straight into the street is really inconsiderate, you know."
Deathstroke put away the guns and ammunition with satisfaction. Trusting his instincts had been the right call. He really had found something good this time.
As for Zuo Ci's remarks about being inconsiderate, he couldn't care less. Besides, there wasn't a soul on the street. How could he possibly hurt anyone?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, a screech rang out, and a small truck painted entirely black came skidding toward them, spinning as it went.
"Who?! Who the fuck shot my tire?!"
Before you continue