Peter was clearly overthinking it. Deathstroke actually liked the Galaxy Dance Troupe. Sometimes the world needed a little music, and as long as they behaved themselves, there was naturally no reason to kill them.
Although Gamora had always found Deathstroke strangely familiar, she had never been able to figure out why.
So after everyone exchanged polite greetings, Groot turned one of his wooden arms into a dustpan and gathered up the mahjong tiles on the table. Drax brought over more alcohol, and everyone began a brief meeting.
Compared to a conference room, this place was dimly lit, poorly maintained, and filled with the stink of alcohol and filth. It was as chaotic as a dance hall in the middle of the night, but that did not matter.
Peter first explained how his injuries had healed, then said that Deathstroke was willing to hire them with this miracle medicine. Everyone except Groot was immediately interested.
Groot was a plant. If he got hurt, he did not need medicine; he only needed watering.
But everyone else was made of flesh and blood. If there was a medicine that could speed up healing after an injury, spare them prolonged pain, and immediately restore their combat ability, then of course that would be ideal.
Treat illness when there was illness; guard against disaster when there was not. Who would complain about having too many trump cards to save their life?
Even Rocket put on the look of a well-behaved little child, sitting on the tabletop as a mascot. His black-bean eyes stared eagerly at Deathstroke.
"I'm offering ten bottles, one hundred milliliters in total. Restoration Potion isn't a cure-all; it's only particularly useful for external injuries. Deal?" Su Ming took out a contract and slapped it onto the table, drinking as he looked over