While Deathstroke and his group were strolling through the city and observing, two shadowy figures appeared outside a warehouse in Brooklyn, New York, more than ten kilometers away. Both wore skintight suits—one tall, one short.
But the shorter one was clearly in charge, and judging by the voice, she was a very young girl.
Pressed against the corner of the wall, she peeked outside with a thermal imaging device, then drew back in satisfaction and began explaining her plan to her companion.
"Good. There are only three people and a pile of drugs in the warehouse. Here's the plan: I'll break in through the front entrance and gouge out the eyes of the guy nearest the door. He'll scream and draw his partners' attention. Then you rush in through the back door and kick the Gate Keeper's balls as hard as you can. Big Daddy once told me that villains' testicles are superheroes' best friends. Whenever you get the chance, you have to say hello to them. That'll scare the last guy out of his wits. Then I'll cut off his head. Are you ready?"
She described her plan eagerly, her tone full of anticipation, as if she could not wait to go out and kill someone.
Yet the girl's teammate had silently started walking away, fiddling with his phone as he retraced their path.
This infuriated the little dwarf. She pulled out a shuriken and threw it. With a thud, it buried itself in the ground in front of the boy's feet as she demanded angrily:
"Paul! Where the fuck are you going?"
"Home. I'm not doing this anymore. This is insane."
The boy in the blue skintight suit spoke with a trembling voice.
"Why? There are only three of them!"
The girl tilted her head, completely baffled. Was