Deathstroke's Livestream

Vicki nodded. A male anchor being a little exaggerated when acting terrified was understandable. She hadn't expected Pete to have such talent. He usually looked like a big, burly man, but his scream was no different from any other little man's.

"Very good, though a bit overdone," Vicki commented, pointing out several flaws in the performance. "Your scream dragged on too long and came too suddenly. If viewers have their television volume turned up, you'll scare them. Your tone can be shrill when you scream, but keep the volume down a little. Try not to rely on editing afterward. It's too much trouble."

Pete was already completely frozen, holding that expression without moving.

Vicki walked over and gave him a push. "All right, get back in the van and edit the footage first. I'll teach you properly when I have time. That expression of yours looks like you've seen a ghost."

As she spoke, Vicki laughed herself. There were corpses everywhere, but ghosts? Those things simply didn't exist.

But then another voice suddenly appeared behind her, speaking as if it were right beside her ear.

"His expression isn't telling you he saw a ghost. It's because he saw me."

"!!!"

Vicki froze instantly. With her back turned toward the depths of the police station lobby, she had no idea someone had silently approached so close behind her.

At a time like this, in an environment like this, the only person who could still appear here was probably the murderer, right?

Why hadn't the gang left after killing people this time? This wasn't like before!

Vicki felt like crying inside. She guessed there were countless guns aimed at the two of them from behind, which was why Pete hadn't dared move at all.

"Vicki Vale, I've always liked your program."

The voice spoke leisurely, seeming to drift around behind her, shifting from side to side, yet she couldn't hear any footsteps at all.

"Heh-heh-heh, that just means everyone loves me. You do too, right? Don't hurt me."

Vicki gave a dry laugh, but her thoughts were far less cheerful. Did she have a gang boss or psychopathic killer as a fan? Was this lead a trap, meant to capture her and do this and that to her?

She didn't want a fan like that at all!

"Turn around slowly. I happen to be planning to appear on television."

Following the voice's instructions, Vicki slowly turned around, and immediately wore the same expression as Pete.

There weren't the armies of men and dense rows of gun barrels she had imagined behind her. There was only one person, standing there with his arms folded, quietly watching them.

But that one person was more terrifying than hundreds of gangsters, because he was Deathstroke!

The person before her was naturally Su Ming. Originally, they had planned to steal the reporters' van while the two went inside for an interview, but after hearing the female reporter introduce herself, he changed his mind.

He had Cindy take Barbara around the long way to wait in the van first. He didn't just want to borrow the television station's vehicle; he wanted to borrow its reporters as well.

Although this world's Vicki Vale resembled the New 52 version somewhat, having become a television anchor instead of a reporter for the Gotham Gazette, there was no denying that this woman was not only eloquent, but extraordinarily lucky.

Her first appearance in comics had been in DC Comics' early days, back in 1948. She was one of Batman's many girlfriends, and in the era before Catwoman and Talia, she was also the only one of Batman's many girlfriends to survive.

How lucky was she? She was practically treated like a child of fate.

Every supervillain treated her with courtesy, and the people who tried to harm her were always insignificant lackeys with no real threat. She casually found herself a boyfriend, and he turned out to be Gotham's Richest Man, Bruce. She wanted a major scoop, and she discovered Batman.

Su Ming remembered it was probably the 1989 Tim Burton Batman film. Joker had planned to blow up Gotham, making Batman feel his pain. While everyone else was busy fleeing the city, she went the other way and ran off to interview Joker.

Joker was intrigued by her madness and happily accepted the exclusive interview, sharing his beliefs and ideas with her. He even allowed her to follow him around and witness everything between himself and Batman.

Su Ming still remembered the line from that movie. When Joker showed her the super bomb, she clapped like a little girl.

"Mr. Joker, you've made such a wonderful thing. Oh, you're so powerful, purple. I love purple."

Who knew whether she meant the purple bomb or Joker in his purple suit?

If Batman hadn't defeated Joker in the end, Su Ming thought Vicki might very well have become someone like Harley.

After that, she also displayed a mad interest in darkness in the comics. She interviewed countless Gotham villains, including irrational lunatics like Two-Face, yet she always emerged unscathed, and everyone enjoyed talking with her.

Joker had kidnapped everyone close to Batman, yet never kidnapped her. That too was one of DC Comics' mysteries.

Su Ming had unexpectedly run into Earth -11's Vicki, so he might as well make use of her fame.

"Is this live?" he asked Vicki.

"No, we recorded it. We haven't had time to edit it yet."

Vicki didn't understand why the world's number-one assassin was asking. Did he not want his whereabouts exposed? So she immediately explained that it wasn't live, only recorded footage.

No one could tell what expression Su Ming wore beneath his mask. He merely said, "I want it live."

He drew his gun and pointed it at Pete, but the question was directed at Vicki, as if he would kill her partner if she didn't answer.

"That's not up to us. The station has to agree."

Vicki hurriedly waved her hands, as though afraid he might fire. In her eyes, an assassin like Deathstroke had a reason for every move. Since he hadn't killed her immediately and instead wanted to go live, she seemed safe for the time being.

"Fine. Let's get back to the van. People are waiting."

Thus, Barbara and Cindy watched from inside the van as Su Ming emerged with two reporters at gunpoint, completely baffled and unable to figure out what he was trying to do.

Even Cindy hadn't expected this. This version of herself from Another World seemed to have many ideas that differed from her own.

Back inside the van, Vicki was shocked by the fact that there were two Deathstrokes, but she had no doubt they were genuine. The corpses outside were still lying all over the ground!

They had even kidnapped Barbara, the Police Chief's daughter. Who knew what they were planning? But under the guns, she and Pete obediently finished editing the footage they had recorded earlier and sent it back to the station.

At Gotham Television Station, there were already very few people left. Most midnight programs were automated broadcasts of old movies or dull television shopping channels.

The news channel was different. Anchors still needed to report the news around the clock, but what was there to say in weather like this? They could only repeat the meteorologists' spiel once every half hour.

Inside the control room

The director on duty received Vicki's footage. She curled her lip. She hadn't even wanted to look at it, but this still wasn't a place where she could have the final say alone. With everyone watching, she couldn't get away with throwing her weight around.

She and several editors and staff members could only hit the play button. The scene in the footage made their hearts jump. It seemed Vicki had found another major story.

The director gritted her teeth. She had planned to report Vicki and Pete to the station manager tomorrow for stealing the station's broadcast van.

Now, however, if the station manager learned they had found such a major story, forget punishing them—he would probably give them awards.

Damn it. Lucky you.

The director thought bitterly, but under everyone's watchful eyes, she still resentfully handed the footage to the editors and had them begin writing a script for the Livestream anchors.

It was time for another news cycle at 12:30. The night anchor in the Livestream drank some water and prepared himself. Like workers on an assembly line or oxen turning a millstone, several Livestreams and several anchors took turns.

Livestream One broadcast from 12:00 to 12:27, then took a half-hour break. His Livestream Two would continue until 12:57, then they would switch again.

Honestly, almost no one watched midnight news programs, but for the paycheck, he still had to wear his most professional smile.

But as he studied the script, his eyes suddenly lit up. He had found a new story, and he would be the first to deliver it. That was something good.

Well, it was like receiving a little reward in the middle of a dull, numbing job, roughly equivalent to winning ten dollars in the lottery.

As the red light in the studio came on, he displayed his most perfect smile.

"Welcome back to Gotham Television Station's News Channel. Breaking news: in the early hours of tonight, a group of thugs attacked the Gotham Police Department. Both sides suffered heavy casualties, and the details are still under investigation. Now, please watch the report sent from the scene by our station's reporter."

The producer gave an OK gesture, indicating that the footage had already been switched on, but the anchor didn't relax. He watched the footage as well.

The video showed signs of battle everywhere. The police station had completely become a battlefield. Such scenes were not uncommon in Gotham, but this was the first time it had happened inside the police station.

Pete's camera work was excellent, making the scene extraordinarily horrifying. Countless bored viewers in front of their televisions screamed when they saw such bloody images late at night. In a stormy night like this, even ordinary criminals couldn't go out, so they too were looking for something thrilling to watch.

"Director, Vicki has sent a request to go live," said an editor wearing headphones.

The female director gritted her teeth. Looking at the ratings on the monitor beside her, which had shot straight upward like the electrocardiogram of a resurrected corpse, she squeezed out two bitter words.

"Give it."

The anchor received the signal and nodded slightly to show he understood. After the footage finished, the camera switched back to the studio.

"We now have new information from the scene. The studio will now connect with our reporter at the scene, Vicki Vale."

The signal connected, but the person appearing before the camera was not the familiar smiling face. Instead, it was a black-and-yellow mask.

"Hello, Vicki—wait, oh! My God! It's Deathstroke!"

The anchor, who had been smiling warmly as he waited to connect with Vicki, shrieked as though he had been scalded with boiling water. He leaped out of his chair and staggered backward repeatedly until his back hit the wall, leaving him nowhere to run, like a terrified child.

Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. The yellow-and-black armor seemed to possess some kind of magic, drawing all of his attention.

"Hello, anchor." Deathstroke tilted his head slightly in greeting from within the frame. Then his tone became impassioned. "Good evening, Gotham!"

Perhaps somewhere in Gotham, there really was a lunatic saying to the television, "Good evening, Deathstroke."

But the people in the studio clearly were not among them. It was as though their throats had been seized; none of them could say a word.

Su Ming didn't care whether they had the courage to speak with him. He waved the gun in his hand, signaling Pete to give him a wide shot. "As you can see, Gotham Police Department is finished. Unfortunately, the box didn't contain the chocolate I was looking for. Heh-heh."

The joke was not funny at all. Everyone watching television felt a chill of fear.

As the camera pulled back, it showed Deathstroke pressing a pistol to a girl's head. The girl was in a Wheelchair, curled into a ball in the pouring rain, her eyes tightly shut as she trembled.

"This is Barbara Gordon, the Police Chief's daughter. Some of you may know her."

Su Ming tapped his helmet with the body of his pistol, acting like a madman to better match Gotham's terrifying image of Deathstroke and deepen their fear.

"I'm looking for Commissioner Gordon, but another group kidnapped him first. I have something to say to them here."

He stepped forward and moved closer to the camera, intensifying the pressure. "You'd better hand Gordon over to me. He is my target, and I want him alive. Otherwise, no matter where you run, I will find you and slowly kill you, one by one. I guarantee the process will be equally agonizing for every one of you!"

As he spoke, he fired at Barbara. Barbara fell from her Wheelchair, her condition unknown.

Many lonely viewers in front of their televisions covered their mouths in horror. Fear flooded their hearts once more after Jester's capture.

This nakedly bloody slaughter was a different kind of terror from Jester's crazed madness.

The camera turned back toward Deathstroke. Smoke still drifted from his gun barrel. No one believed he could have missed from such close range. Poor Barbara was dead.

"Anyone with clues about these Men in Black, or anyone who knows Commissioner Gordon's whereabouts, please contact the television station. They will relay the message to me. I will grant one wish to whoever provides useful information. Tell me who you want dead, and that person won't live to see the next day. By my usual rates, that's a reward worth two million dollars."

"Oh, and one more thing. Everyone at the television station, broadcast my footage on a twenty-four-hour loop in the news. If you can't do that, the police station behind me will be the fate of your television station."

Pete gave the police station another close-up. At Su Ming's request, every miserable scene was displayed in full detail. The people in the studio instinctively replaced the corpses on the screen with themselves and swallowed in unison.

The signal cut off.

The studio anchor screamed and ran about like a headless fly.

"It's over! It's over! Deathstroke is coming to kill us! I want to go home! Home!"

His performance was broadcast into every household, but no one watching the news channel mocked him. Instead, they all felt as though someone was breathing behind them, and shuddered with terror.