The streets felt utterly lifeless. It was not that there was no commerce or leisure entertainment, but the people gave Deathstroke the impression of puppets on strings, while this place felt like an Underworld with the temperature turned up slightly.
Most of the people living here were ordinary humans. Smiles hung on their faces as they walked happily through the streets, yet those smiles were exceptionally stiff, as though their flesh had been glued into place. Among hundreds or thousands of people, even the upward tilt of their mouths was identical.
The currency used here was a system of gold and silver coins, each engraved with Solus's portrait. People used them for trade.
Su Ming led the group into hiding and observed the lives of the people on the street. He watched them use gold coins to shop in stores, then spend the silver change on lodging and meals.
Sailing ships came and went through the sky, docking where New York Harbor should have been. They brought all kinds of goods into the city, but the expressions of these outsiders were wrong as well.
"Phew, Slade, this place gives me a bad feeling." Wrapped in two pieces of cloth like a rolled-up carpet, Deadpool lightly hopped to Deathstroke's side. "I can't explain why. Everything looks normal, but my butthole is clenching. Don't believe me? Feel it."
Splat!
Deathstroke's hand slipped again, and the Owl Dagger arrived right on time.
"Of course I know there's something wrong with these people. Something wrong with their mental state. Maybe they were brainwashed or domesticated long ago. Them living here may simply be the Inheritors' idea of having them 'perform how commoners live in a fantasy world.'"
Deadpool looked down at his belly, wriggled out of the cloth roll, pulled the dagger from his