Faustus finally couldn't run anymore. When he saw a bald clown holding balloons and skipping toward him, he could only press his back against a large tree and futilely empty his pistol.
But it was useless. He couldn't even pop the other man's balloons. Those huge red balloons were so vivid amid the winter forest.
He closed his eyes as if resigning himself to fate and gave up resisting. His various chemical and biological agents were completely ineffective against the monsters following behind him. Psychological tactics were even more useless. His few remaining subordinates had all died not long ago, leaving only him.
Now, he had reached the end of the road.
Seeing his condition, Su Ming, dressed as Pennywise from It, knew it was about time. Along the way, Faustus had encountered not only Predator, but also Hatchet, Slender Man, and Candyman.
After taking turns through all those American Horror Story horrors and reenacting every terrifying scene from future movies, how could someone from this era possibly endure it?
The movies of this time featured, at most, Vampires or murderers. They were still far from the future standard of "human demons." Faustus had suffered from a lack of imagination, or rather, a lack of intelligence. They did not know that Deathstroke could shapeshift.
Zemo might have known, but he had said nothing. After betraying his colleagues, he could no longer share intelligence with them. Hydra and Faustus believed his bargaining chip was the Super Axis team, but in truth, the intelligence in Zemo's head was far more valuable.
Faustus had not gone mad, but he was already on the verge of a mental breakdown, to the point where his limbs barely obeyed him. On one hand, he lacked physical strength. On the other, he had lost all hope of