"Faint gunfire. He's no more than half a mile from us, roughly southeast, at three o'clock."
Floyd took a Mosin-Nagant out of his camouflage backpack. All his weapons had been destroyed, and he had borrowed this one from the old mercenary, bringing it onto the battlefield without sighting it in.
He loaded a round, silently counted to three, then Deadshot peeked through the ventilation window and quickly pulled back.
He had observed for less than a second before a bullet from the shadows shattered the ventilation window. A second bullet followed, punching a hole through the sheet-metal wall that let the light through.
Had Floyd not been experienced enough to drop to the floor first, that pre-aimed shot would have gone straight through his heart.
"He's moved. Due east, twelve o'clock. He's closing in on us!"
Lying on the third-floor platform, Floyd gave a hand signal to prepare for combat. Everyone got busy, pulling the pins from the tripwire mines, arming the Bounding Anti-Personnel Mines, and flicking off their weapons' safeties.
The opening line of this melee was a piercing, ear-grating scrape of metal.
Deathstroke thrust his Wakizashi into the sheet-metal wall, and the blade slowly sliced through it in time with his heavy footsteps.
Slade was a one-man army, yet he seemed to have surrounded everyone in the warehouse.
They were so tense they forgot to breathe. Had Floyd not warned them beforehand not to fire until he gave the order, they would probably have emptied an entire magazine each by now.
"You really can keep your cool."
A soft chuckle sounded outside, then the noise and footsteps vanished together, as though Deathstroke had not left, but evaporated on the spot like a ghost.
An intense unease spread through Qin Wei's heart. He had imagined how Deathstroke might make