"So Deathstroke concluded that this was over three hundred million years ago?"
Batwoman looked at the charred trees in front of Deadpool and expressionlessly asked about the contents of his earlier call.
"More precisely, around three hundred and fifty million years ago. It's better to be exact with numbers. Say you asked me how much I made the week before last. I'd bashfully tell you, less than a hundred million US Dollars. But if you asked exactly how much, I'd tell you: one hundred thousand five hundred and fifty. One hundred thousand five hundred was the commission Cousin gave me, and the other fifty was cab fare from an eighty-something Black beauty after I spent the night with her. She was very satisfied the next morning. Hehehe!"
Deadpool kept spouting nonsense while holding the piece of wood core, intending to hand it to Batman.
But the latter had suddenly become like Tony Stark, refusing to take anything handed to him. Or perhaps it was because the wood was tangled with some of Deadpool's rotten, shed skin, as well as the bloody snot that had dripped onto it earlier?
"Ew! You wouldn't even spare an old lady in her eighties?"
Barry repeatedly shook his head, his face scrunched into a ball. Since his mind worked fairly quickly, he had already imagined a white-haired, dark-skinned, enormously fat Black grandmother.
He only hoped she was not from Sister Act. If Deadpool said that grandmother was also a nun, it would exceed Barry's psychological limit. He would definitely throw up.
"Tsk, tsk. Dark. Too dark!"
Seeing that someone had taken the bait, Deadpool showed a wicked grin. His face snapped toward The Flash as he rapidly said in a sleazy tone:
"You've been infected by Batwoman's dark virus. How could you think in that