You think I'm your best buddy Ned? Actually, I'm Deathstroke!
That was what someone was thinking.
That was right. Ned had long since been swapped out. The one who had greeted Peter that morning, talked games with him, and played dumb was Deathstroke, transformed through Strangle.
His Tenth Metal skeleton could change its size and shape at will, except for the skull. Fortunately, Ned already had the broad-necked, big-headed build of a cook, giving Deathstroke the chance to impersonate a teenager.
As for the real Little Fatty?
Last night, his father had suddenly won Wilson's Lucky Consumer Grand Prize: "A Seven-Day Madagascar Family Tour." Supposedly, he had bought a bottle of Da Li Beverage the day before yesterday and become the one hundred billionth consumer of Wilson products on Earth.
Was it real? No one knew. Anyway, that was what Wilson Enterprises said, and they even presented a mountain of incomprehensible statistics.
Free food and lodging at a six-star hotel, free tours of every African historic site, and fifty thousand US Dollars in shopping money for each person once they got there. Spend to their hearts' content; the money was handed out per head.
Little Fatty's education was important, but if he did not go, the family would lose fifty thousand dollars. It was that simple.
Ned's father had taken his son along without a second thought.
Why keep going to school? Even with a college degree, could he save fifty thousand dollars in a year working in New York? They could go on vacation now and get paid for it. Only an idiot would send his son on some school field trip instead.
Then the staff came to their door and took them away overnight.
There had been too much information to process, and Wilson's employees had moved too