When they found Jessica, they discovered that the female detective seemed to have fallen into depression. She was squatting beneath a bridge pier, staring at the surging river flowing into the distance.
Vehicles passed across the bridge overhead from time to time—four-wheeled wagons loaded with coal, or steam-powered vehicles carrying wealthy people. Their tires rolled over the not-so-sturdy wooden bridge, making it creak as its structure twisted.
Not far from her, separated by several bridge piers, a group of scrawny beggars seemed not to notice a beautiful girl like Jessica. They were gathered around a large pot, eating.
"Jewel, you can hear me now, right? This distance should be about right."
Deathstroke's voice came through her earpiece. This was clearly within the female detective's expectations. She had known Deathstroke would be the first to find her, but now she had no idea what kind of hellhole she was in.
So she sighed, nodded, then shook her head and tried looking up at the sky.
But other than the pitch-black underside of the bridge, she could see nothing.
So she pointed toward the homeless youths beneath another bridge pier not far away, signaling Deathstroke to look for himself.
"I've already looked. They're eating a deformed freak with two heads and four legs." Deathstroke's voice remained steady, as though witnessing this dark scene meant nothing to him. "The food's mother is among those diners too. She's the one with the pale complexion and symptoms of blood loss. You may be able to notice that the placenta is still hanging beneath her."
She was a filthy girl. Her eyeballs and optic nerve bundles dangled outside her sockets like a snail's eyestalks. Her teeth were sharp, and the corners of her mouth drooped downward. Even eating meat did not seem to make her any