Beside the famous "deck" desk, the diligent President of the United States bent over his work. Having just dismissed the Secretary of State and the others, he solemnly drew little stick figures beside the signatures on various government reports.
But the truth was known only to a very few. In the eyes of ordinary humans, the President of the United States's name was written there properly. They would only admire their own Black president, who wore a smile even while handling official business.
"Since you're here, come out and talk, Deathstroke—or should I say Su Ming? Which language would you prefer I use to address you? Don't worry, no one can hear our conversation. I've separated the space the two of us occupy."
The cheerful, lanky Black man set down his pen, rose to his feet, and opened his arms in a warm embrace. He turned to look out the window, baring a row of white teeth.
"Oh, I noticed your new weapon. I also know you intended to use me to test its edge. Nice weapon, very nice, but I can tell you the result directly: anything with the concept of a 'weapon' is completely ineffective against me."
Deathstroke appeared outside the office, staring at the Black man through the glass. "Then can you let me take one swing? Just one test."
Golden Light flared in his hand, and he pressed it against the weapon in his other hand.
The Golden Light merged with the Nightfall Greatsword. In an instant, heaven and earth changed color, and crackling sounds of shattering came from the surrounding space. The world began peeling away in patches like decayed ceiling paint. Everything in sight started to fade, leaving behind only lines.
Yet Deathstroke and the president still retained their colors. They still existed.
"How