By now, the city lights had just come on. New York City was brilliantly illuminated, and every distant skyscraper was packed with miserable people unable to go home because they were working overtime.
But this was also one of the best hours for fast-food business. Customers and delivery drivers streamed in and out of the shop, making the poor glass door squeak constantly as grease-laden aromas spread freely through the place.
Natasha wore a mask, leaving only her large eyes exposed to watch the road.
Ever since hearing Deathstroke say, "Wearing sunglasses at night makes you look obviously suspicious," she had started wearing a mask whenever she needed to conceal her identity. Combined with the hood inside her leather jacket, all she had to do was keep her head slightly lowered while walking, and she did not have to worry about being recognized.
The two left the fast-food restaurant. Deathstroke looked at the glowing Black Lantern Ring on his hand and followed its guidance toward a nearby alley.
Wilson's Chain Fast Food was always particular about its locations. Its restaurants were neither in overly crowded places nor in areas with too few people. The public safety in the surrounding blocks would not be particularly good, and facilities like streetlights were unreliable at best. Their bulbs were frequently smashed on a regular basis, leaving room for darkness to exist.
In Western literature and film, something always happened in back alleys at night. Something bad.
Some people died there. Some were left worse off than dead. Some conducted evil transactions there. In short, if ordinary people lived in a city like New York, they were better off not wandering into alleys after dark.
Deathstroke was an ordinary person too, though he was the sort who liked using darkness as camouflage. Seeing a