Deathstroke had wanted to crack a joke, saying that Kennedy had gotten his head blown off in a convertible again. It would definitely have made Detective Chimp, who could not see what was happening inside the police station and was peering over the edge of the rooftop, pull an amusing face.
But he was playing Batwoman right now, and telling a bad joke would have been rather inappropriate.
After hanging upside down outside the window and taking a look at the scene, he floated back and told Bobo, whose face was covered in rainwater and curiosity, "Clayface is dead. He was probably killed by a gunshot to the head."
The chimp's mouth fell open as well. He hurriedly caught his falling pipe, his eyes widening round. "Are you serious? Or did coming back to Gotham make your sense of humor explode? Slade, I don't know Clayface particularly well, but I know he's practically immune to physical damage. Unless they used Metal of the Gods or Nth Metal bullets, how could anyone possibly shoot a lump of mud in the head and kill it with a gun?"
Wiping the rainwater from his pipe on himself, Bobo stared at Deathstroke's face, trying to find the mischievous smile that would reveal he was joking.
Those precious metals were controlled by only a limited number of people. At the very least, they were not something some Gotham street punk could get his hands on, much less have the ability to melt and forge into bullets.
Even Batwoman and Alfred had spent an entire night making four Nth Metal bat symbols.
Under normal circumstances, that single night would have been enough time for Batwoman to catch who knew how many collectibles and send them to the display case.
That was why Bobo thought Deathstroke was