Just as Bobo had said, no one had even seen Deathstroke make a move. They only saw Parallax disperse like starlight.
But that was not the end of it. Deathstroke kept dancing until the music ended, striking a final pose before returning to normal.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Lobo especially looked as though his worldview had been shattered. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he looked at the approaching Deathstroke and said:
"Fuck, you really are something else. You can dance too? And how the hell did you control him through dancing?"
Back in his black-and-yellow armor, Su Ming watched everyone step off the flying carpet. Calmly lighting a cigarette, he smiled faintly. "Isn't that normal? As a Mercenary, you get all kinds of jobs. Isn't it normal that I can dance? Don't tell me you can't?"
"Who, who said I can't?! Damn it, as the one and only true macho man, a little dancing—"
Lobo immediately became flustered, rambling about how a Mercenary's dancing could not be called dancing, how the universe's greatest Mercenary had four different dance styles, and so on. His face turned bright red, making everyone snicker as the air filled with merriment.
Su Ming waved a hand and looked toward Hal and the others, who were flying over battered and bruised. He explained:
"Parallax has an intense curiosity, and he also wanted to pretend that he still had emotions. Harley should be very familiar with this sort of thing."
The little lunatic ran over, gave his butt a squeeze, and smiled in satisfaction. "I know. It's emotional cognitive impairment. Patients like this are actually pretty common. They can think normally, but they're terrified of others discovering that they're sick. If you cry in front of them, they'll cry along with you to keep up the