“All these eight years…”
Ariel looked up at Wilson.
“Every time someone got close to Smal—”
“Kansas, kid.
If they’d discovered Smallville early on, the whole place would have been razed to the ground long ago.”
“How many in total?”
Slade walked over to the edge of the pond and squatted down, practiced at washing the blood from his gloves in the water.
“Ninety-seven,” he said.
The old soldier’s single eye reflected the moonlight in the water’s ripples.
Spread out over eight years…
Faking deaths, swapping samples, fabricating false sightings…
Some were scouts sent by Vought International; some were meteorite hunters drawn by Kryptonite radiation; some were spies from underground organizations who smelled superhuman activity; and others…
They simply had the misfortune of running into the King of Assassins at the wrong time.
“My agreement with your uncle was only for nine years—to protect you until you reach adulthood.”
“Though as I only realized today, it doesn’t look like you need my protection at all,” Slade said, standing back up.
Ariel didn’t reply; his focus remained fixed on Slade’s words.
All these years, he had assumed Smallville was safe simply because the town was unremarkable enough.
“What would they do to this town?” the youth’s voice deepened.
“Don’t worry—at least not for now, kid.
They’re testing blonde girls of the corresponding age across various towns,” Slade grunted, twisting his neck left and right until it popped.
“I wasn’t just acting as a security guard in Smallville all these years.
I’d head outside Smallville to hunt down any agents Vought reached out.
Sometimes in Missouri, sometimes in Oklahoma, occasionally as far as Virginia.”
“Haven’t you been working as a school guard the whole time?” Ariel asked in surprise.
“That’s the downside of being a security guard,” Slade sighed.
“No pay during summer and winter breaks.
I had to go take on private contracts on the side to supplement my income.
Don’t ever follow in your uncle’s footsteps into this line of work.”
“Anyway, they won’t act out in the open for now,” Slade brought the conversation back on track.
“There are two factions inside the Department of Defense locked in an internal power struggle, and Vought is currently overwhelmed.”
“Two factions?”
As if waiting for Ariel to ask that exact question, the corners of Slade’s mouth curled up.
“You’ll find out later.”
Ariel’s lip twitched.
He really did hate riddle-mongers after all…
“What about Soldier Boy?” the youth asked the question he truly cared about.
“Where has he been all these years?”
“Maybe he’s dead, maybe he’s frozen again.
Who knows,” Slade shook his head.
“That doesn’t sound like something you’d say.
You’re the best tracker in the world, and even you can’t find him?”
“When some people don’t want to be found, they just can’t be found.” Slade gazed toward the distant lights of Smallville.
“Benjamin’s talent in that regard is far higher than you think.”
Translated into plain English: He was extremely good at running away.
“What on earth did he give you to make you guard this place for eight whole years?” Ariel asked, curious.
“You’ll find out later, too.”
HUM—!
Sparks in the youth’s pupils turned the surface of the pond into a sheet of reddish-gold.
“I owed him a favor,” Deathstroke said gruffly.
“He just happened to collect on it here…
satisfied?”
The golden light faded, leaving wisps of white steam curling off the pond.
“You’re not quite what I imagined, Mr.
Deathstroke,” Ariel’s mouth curled into a triumphant smile.
“Deathstroke is just a alias.
It was never my essence—it’s just my job, and I happen to love my job.
A true scoundrel.
Maybe even a psychopathic killer who slaughters the innocent.” Slade shrugged, snapping his mask back onto his head.
He held his broken sword up into the moonlight, inspecting his reflection on the blade.
“But that depends on who’s describing me.” The man sheathed the broken blade at his waist.
“Dead men don’t talk.
And they certainly don’t spread gossip.”
“Personally, I think I’m a thoroughly good person.
My name is Slade Wilson.”
“Isn’t that right?”
The air turned heavy.
“You clearly have a much clearer sense of self-awareness than Batman,” Ariel let out a laugh.
“Who?”
“Nothing.”
“Weird kid.”
“Don’t be late tomorrow morning.
I won’t open the gate for you,” Slade waved a hand without turning around.
“Oh, by the way.
If I were you, I’d flip through my history textbook when I get home tonight.”
“History book?” Ariel froze.
The orange-and-black figure had already vanished behind the shadows of the trees.
History book…
There isn’t even a history exam tomorrow, is there?
Could the old man be using some subtle, middle-aged way of telling him that something big is going to happen tomorrow?
Metropolis.
Vought International.
Madelyn Stillwell’s face had barely changed from eight years ago.
Father Time seemed exceptionally fond of this woman, adding to her without taking anything away—case in point, at her chest, where the fabric bore a far harsher test than it had eight years prior.
“We can’t keep sending people outside.
That method is far too outdated.
The tracking operation for Alpha was launched in September 1999, and up to now, we’ve poured in a budget of seven million dollars.
What has it brought us in return?” a grey-haired man said in a low voice.
“Though I must remind everyone present, Alpha-1 is state property,” another person added.
“Even if we find her, under the current political climate, how do you plan to bring in a sixteen-year-old girl?
Issue an arrest warrant?
Or send a battalion of armed personnel to raid some farm?” The grey-haired man sneered.
“The new Secretary of Defense, Swanwick, took office just three months ago,”
“He holds a mild stance toward supes.
He explicitly stated at last week’s Cabinet meeting that he opposes any detention of supes conducted without due process.”
“So what?
Swanwick’s term lasts four years at most.
Once the next President takes office…”
“Four years is more than enough time for Alpha to disappear from our sight entirely.”
“Don’t forget Sam Lane’s Steel Soldier Project.
Word is Lionel has already made tremendous progress on that front, while Homelander remains the only trump card in Ms.
Amanda’s hands…”
Arguments broke out once again across the conference room.
Clearly, division wasn’t exclusive to the Department of Defense.
“Gentlemen.”
“Since we are divided on Alpha, why don’t we hear Ms.
Madelyn’s proposal first?
She’s the one in charge, after all.” Stillwell, sitting at the end of the long table, let out a soft laugh.
As his words fell, the screen behind Madelyn lit up.
A blonde youth draped in an American flag cape rose into the air from the ground, swooped down from high altitude, and abruptly came to a hovering stop.
SZZZT! You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Two pillars of fire burst from his eyes, as molten metal poured down like a waterfall.
CLANG—!
Immediately following was the sound of metal clashing against metal.
The feed switched to a dark-armored figure unpretentiously tearing open a steel coil with his bare hands.
Tearing open what?!
A steel coil?!
This guy tore open a twenty-ton steel coil as if he were ripping open a sheet of aluminum foil?!
“Flight, heat vision, super strength…
look at this, gentlemen.
This is our achievement.”
“We have already replicated a portion of the old heroes’ abilities in this pair of test subjects.”
“Oh, right.
What none of you know is that Alpha-1 was injected with the first-generation Compound V from a young age—starting from the embryonic stage, with doses increasing incrementally.”
“How is that possible?!
Injecting the original Compound V at the embryonic stage?!
That’s V1!
Its effects are tens, if not hundreds of times stronger than current Compound V!
Even if she is Soldier Boy’s genetic offspring, she shouldn’t…”
“Wait, set that aside for a moment.” The grey-haired man cut off the middle-aged man’s questioning beside him, his eyes narrowing.
“The V1 formula is beyond precious and exceedingly dangerous.
Even we cannot replicate it a second time.
Who on earth authorized you to use V1 back then?!”
“First, it was specially approved by Ms.
Amanda.”
“Second, because the cell sample used when Alpha-1 was created was not just Soldier Boy’s—it also included her cells.”
“Her…?”
Everyone froze.
A figure that existed only in the storybooks of their childhood flashed through everyone’s minds.
“You…
you used her cells?!” someone gasped.
“This is sacrilege!” another trembled.
“Utter madness…
how dare you?!”
“All in all, Alpha-1’s potential ceiling is at least ten to a hundred times that of the current Gemini test subjects.” Madelyn turned around to face the crowd.
“Do you understand now, everyone?”
“If we write off Alpha right now…”
“Then within eighteen months, the Lionel Corporation will become the sole supplier of superhuman assets to the Department of Defense, and Vought International’s half-century of accumulation in the superhuman field will turn into a stack of worthless paper.”
Silence fell over the room.
If it truly contained a mix of her cells, the sheer value of Alpha-1 was indeed on a completely different level.
The conference room fell entirely quiet.
“Let’s vote.” Stillwell raised his hand first.
“All those in favor of Ms.
Madelyn’s proposal…”
A moment later…
Passed unanimously.
The meeting was adjourned.
Filled with unease, everyone departed one after another, leaving only two behind.
“Madelyn, thank you for your hard work,” Stillwell smiled.
“At your service.” Madelyn let out a sigh of relief, forcing a slight smile.
She had quietly rehearsed this scene in the conference room for days, and judging by the outcome, Stillwell was thoroughly satisfied.
“I’ll take my leave now.
Good night, Mr.
Stillwell.”
The woman departed in a hurry.
Leaving Stillwell standing alone by the window, quietly overlooking the sprawling lights of Metropolis, his eyes flickering like an owl’s in the dark.