"Hmm. I gave it some thought. If My Lord is the name of a group, with each letter taken from a different member's name or codename, then so far we've only matched the D to Deathstroke."
Perched on the man's shoulder and smoking, Cloak cruised slowly through the city skies. The chilly drizzle made Bobo keep adjusting the brim of his deerstalker cap.
"But there are too many Deathstrokes now, Slade. Maybe we should settle on a password, so we don't get fooled by fakes during the Clone Wars."
"Normally, fakes can't imitate Strangle. A Symbiote's biological structure is like countless tiny building blocks, capable of becoming even smaller than Nanomachines."
As he ordered Cloak toward the western side of the city, Su Ming had Strangle poke out beside Bobo to show itself. The Black Bean Sprout with crescent-shaped eyes stretched out its long tongue and licked the gorilla's face before he continued, "Still, just in case, you have a point. Better safe than sorry. Caution has always been one of my trademarks."
With that, he had the Symbiote's tendrils connect to everyone's wrists and silently transmitted the password to his teammates through their nervous systems. For now, they settled on a tongue twister in the language spoken in China.
"Three goats went to pee. Their pee splashed onto a poplar tree. Goat stink rose to the poplar's tip, and the poplar smelled even worse than the goats."
For people from China, it was simple—kindergarten level, really. But for native English speakers, this level of the language was enough to drive them mad. English had an S sound, but many foreigners simply could not pronounce Sh properly.
Sure enough, after receiving the password, the teammates tried to silently repeat those syllables and promptly bit their tongues. Only Bobo completely grasped