As they advanced, wave after wave of Men in Black fell before them. Vicki was very satisfied with this. If possible, she wanted to expand the news story into a documentary.
She had even thought of a name for it: Deathstroke on the Blade's Edge.
With these dazzling visuals and her professional narration, she was sure she would become famous. She had even prepared the lines, such as:
"When the first moonlight of early spring spilled over Gotham, the figure in black-and-yellow armor set out from home with sharpened blades in hand. She crossed streets strewn with corpses and came to another world drenched in blood to play. This was an ancient custom of assassins, and also Deathstroke's usual form of entertainment."
"Corpses are undoubtedly the shared product of biology and great assassins. The perfect coordination between flesh and blade made those warm, passionate organs burst forth in an instant before shattering away, leaving behind only a simple fragrance and empty shells."
"Spring has arrived. In Gotham, Deathstroke has once again hacked several hundred people to death. In the south, Black Arrow prefers a bow; nearby, Deadshot favors a sniper rifle; while in the east, Lady Shiva chooses to use her own hands. Assassins from different regions all have their preferences."
Watching Su Ming and Cindy slaughter their way through the crowd with such fluid skill, she gained a profound understanding of the aesthetics of blood and violence. The bloodstains on the walls gradually came to resemble paintings with wills of their own in her eyes.
Every streak of blood, every patch of wet red, every fragment of viscera seemed to be expressing something—something from a higher plane of spirit and will.
If Su Ming had known she was thinking that, he would definitely have given her a Dove and