"God, how did you know I was here?"
Constantine was dragged along by Su Ming like one of The Walking Dead. He was not afraid of running into the Justice League at all; what worried him was encountering someone like Deathstroke—someone whose actions were wildly unpredictable, yet whose goals were crystal clear.
To gain an advantage, Mercenary had no one he would not kill. Otherworld Deathstroke, however, would not kill casually. He would only make people wish they were dead.
Su Ming gave him a perfect answer. "First, you do not believe in God. Second, I have a brain."
Zha Kang rubbed his filthy hands against his trench coat, covered his face, and let out a long sigh.
"You're here to cause me trouble."
"Look at that, look at that. My filthy friend, a truly smart man."
Su Ming took his arm off Zha Kang's neck and draped it over his shoulder instead. But this guy smelled so awful, as though rotten Thai food were seeping out from beneath his skin.
Not only was he incredibly greasy, he also carried the smell of someone close to death, like the stench of urine mixed with death.
In response to Deathstroke's words, Constantine could only give a fake "hahaha" laugh while constantly wriggling his shoulders, as if trying to use the grease on his trench coat to make Su Ming let go.
"Back from Hell, huh? How did it go?" Su Ming really did act like a friend as he dragged Zha Kang into the reception room and sat around that ridiculous tablecloth-covered table. "Where's your butler? He doesn't open the door or serve tea?"
There was a brown water stain on the tablecloth. It looked as though someone had once placed a baby on the little table, and that baby had