Watching blood stain the mattress and spread across the black bed like an ink blot, Saint Killer felt none of the joy of finally avenging a great wrong. He merely put away his weapon calmly, took out a dagger, and prepared to scalp God.
Don't ask why. Occupational habit.
That was the deal between him and Deathstroke. That man had promised to help him find and kill God. Since he had done so, Saint Killer would take a token from the corpse, lest he forget someday.
He had little confidence in his own memory.
But times had changed. There were better ways to prove it now. Deathstroke stopped his savage, primitive act, took a Titanium Phone from his belt pouch, had Strangle turn Jesus's corpse over, and snapped a photo.
"Photography is more fun than scalping, unless you plan to retire and perform circumcisions in Africa." The Mercenary tossed the phone to Saint Killer along with its charger and other accessories, cracking a cold joke. "Whenever you're in a bad mood, you can pull out his posthumous photo and cheer yourself up."
Saint Killer caught the phone, rubbing its screen with fingers like dry branches. Jesus's agonized face immediately enlarged.
"Thank you, but I don't know how to use this, and I cannot accept a reward I did not earn."
He refused the gift because he was a bounty hunter, not a beggar.
When he worked for others, he only needed the agreed-upon payment. He did not need meals or horses provided. He brought his own weapons. That was how one maximized profits.
"You can use it to watch cartoons. Once we get back to the ship, I'll have the ape download some for you." Su Ming pushed the offered phone back toward him, then had Strangle start eating Jesus's