"How are we supposed to trade this severed leg for a hovercar?"
Gamora leaned closer to the Mercenary, blinking her large eyes as she asked.
After hearing Deathstroke's bold declaration, the Guardians of the Galaxy all looked interested, though there was still a hint of doubt in their eyes.
Star-Lord was the exception. He knew Deathstroke never fought a battle he wasn't sure of. If he said so, he must have had a plan.
Su Ming removed his hand from the back of Carol's neck and held up the severed leg with both hands for them to see, as solemnly as though he were presenting some priceless treasure.
Under the sewer black market's psychedelic, multicolored lights, both he and the leg took on dreamlike hues.
"First, you need to understand the methods of rule used by different rulers in dystopian worlds like Cyberpunk, where resources and wealth are highly concentrated." Deathstroke led them into a relatively secluded gap between shops, kicked aside a drunk lying on the ground whose state of life or death was unclear, and began explaining.
"Fine, I knew from that first sentence alone this wasn't something I could understand. Everyone, disperse."
Illiterate Peter waved a hand in front of himself, his eyes going dull and fishlike. Dropping out in fourth grade had always been his eternal pain.
Yet his crewmates did not react like bad students who couldn't understand the lesson, as he had hoped. On the contrary, it seemed that everyone except him understood.
"I see." Gamora pinched her chin, shifted her weight to one side, and struck a seductive pose. "This place is ruled dictatorially by someone called Doctor Zola, so the vast majority of resources and wealth flow to him. Everyone in the city caters to his preferences. His hobbies determine what is