No one had any objections to how Deathstroke handled Golden Eagle. Even Diana thought this was probably the best possible outcome after madness.
Dying in a beautiful dream without knowing anything was probably happiness, in a way.
And Deathstroke really had paid out a Synthezoid. It was a cheap model, but even Luthor and Batwoman had never gotten the better of Deathstroke. Golden Eagle, meanwhile, had gained a spiritual companion. That was something he could boast about for ages, even in death.
"Whew, whew!" Harley, who had been egging everyone on, sidled up to Deathstroke and cackled. "My Little Bee is such a good person. From now on, you should be called the Gotham Dream Master, huh? You actually helped that lunatic. I thought you'd torture him, like skinning him, inflating the hide, and taking it diving?"
After saying that, she raised her eyebrows to signal that it was a joke. After all, "dive" could also refer in American slang to a sleazy little bar, meaning Bobo's establishment.
Golden Eagle's skin would probably look pretty cool hanging in Oblivion Bar.
"Heh, not bad. But the Gotham Dream Master is actually this city itself. Everyone who dies here is a dreamer." Su Ming smiled and patted Harley's waist, then waved for everyone to come closer. "Next, we're going to find Hawk—or rather, Mocun."
At the mention of Mocun's codename, everyone looked confused. They did not remember knowing anyone by that name, yet Deathstroke's attitude clearly suggested that he thought they should.
"Did you forget some prerequisite?" Bobo spoke first, rubbing his black-furred paws. "I can tell from the way you're looking at us. Even through that mask, I can feel your gaze. It's the instinct of a black beast like me. Do you really think we'd know this 'Mocun' person?"
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