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Deadpool swooshed in front of Spider Man, crossed his legs, flicked his head from side to side, as if trying to figure out where the shooter was. Eventually, he looked towards Deathstroke with horror.
Deathstroke himself was somewhat flummoxed; he hadn't fired the shot!
Besides, what reason did he have to fire a gun at a concert? He was a hired killer, not a terrorist. Without a target, why would he waste bullets? In the field, his single bullet could be worth millions of US Dollars.
Instinctively, he reached for the gun at his waist, but let's not forget that most Spider Men live in the Queens District with its dubious public safety. What could be their instinctive reaction upon seeing someone reach for a gun?
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! In an instant, numerous Spider Silks splattered Deathstroke's face, the sticky webs painting his armor a different color. Upon closer inspection, you could barely make out it was Deathstroke; from afar, he looked like a White Can.
"Spider Man!!!!!!"
As Deathstroke's enraged roar echoed, chaos erupted in the venue. More Spider Men, hearing the commotion, came rushing over but encountered many creatures having a stress response along the way.
The vehicles seen earlier by The Flash and Peter on the road were all from Black Island. Many mercenaries and hired killers also enjoyed rap, so naturally, they made up a portion of the crowd at the scene.
The killers who managed to make a stand on Black Island were all experienced and battle-hardened. The moment they heard the gunshots, they slipped into combat mode. Ordinary people hurriedly fled outside, while Spider Men instead joined the fray, becoming the mercenaries' target.
In no time, the spectator area became a scene of intense brawling. Meanwhile, Gwen Spiderman, who had carried the fallen 2Pac backstage, discovered he was standing up as if nothing had happened.
"I wasn't shot," he declared. "Bruce gave me 'the look', and I knew how I had to play along."
Gwen Spiderman breathed a sigh of relief, but soon her brow furrowed again. The gunshots had been real, and if it had been a professional shooter, it was unlikely that there were zero hits.
At that moment, a few kids had already rushed backstage, panting as they addressed 2Pac: "Are you okay? Did someone try to assassinate you?"
"They weren't just trying to assassinate; this is pretty much murder."
By then, Bruce had rapidly darted to the side door. Standing to the side, he pressed his Electric Shock gun against someone's waist. The person dropped instantly, and Bruce hoisted him up, dragging him all the way to the car he had driven there.
He transferred the man into the car and, picking up the phone, said to the person on the other end: "Selina, hold off on fighting and take the kids back in your car. I'll be back later."
After hanging up, Bruce drove onto the interstate. He dialed a number and spoke into the phone: "Hey, Amanda, I've got the shooter, alive, but he's not a significant figure. Where are you now? Alright, I'll head over immediately."
Bruce drove to the other side of the city, to an apartment in an outer community, where he met Amanda. She looked pretty much the same as when she was alive, if not even healthier.
Upon seeing the person Bruce dragged in, she wasted no words. She quickly closed the door behind them, skillfully drew the curtains, and disclosed, "My parents' death was fishy. I only found out after I saw them in Hell that my uncle was a Black Panther Party member. He was wanted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, always hiding at our house."
"After he left, my parents still financially supported him. Before they died, my father discovered three inexplicable inquiries on his bank transactions, and my mother noticed the garage door lock seemed tampered with."
"You left the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"
"Of course, I'm not stupid. Staying there now would be asking for death." Amanda's movements were swift as she quickly cleared out the bathtub, helping Bruce move the still unconscious man inside.
"You think your family was killed by..."
Amanda's actions abruptly ceased, her gaze fixed intently on Bruce as she asked, "What do you think?"
Bruce appeared very cautious, evidently having weighed various factors before he answered. "The likelihood is high. After all, the plight of Black people was worse in those days. The entire family could die without anyone really trying to investigate thoroughly. The perpetrators had no need to hold back."
Amanda said nothing more, bending down to continue her brisk work, seemingly unsurprised by the conclusions. As Bruce stripped the killer's clothes, he asked, "Have you heard the latest songs?"
"Haven't had the chance yet. Got any recommendations?"
"You might listen to the top two songs on the hot chart. I think they're pretty good. Of course, the album ranked 11th isn't bad either."
"You released new music?"
"No, not me. They are much better than I am."
The two quickly stripped the killer naked. Amanda found a familiar tattoo on the killer's back.
"He's from Mexico," Amanda stated. "It's clearly an Original Shamanism of the Americas belief tattoo."
"Penitent Cartel?"
"Afraid so," Amanda said as she tossed aside the clothes. "Now we can confirm that this organization has been doing the dirty work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It might also be why they've grown into the largest drug trafficking organization between the US and Mexico—It's all under the law enforcement's nose."
"Are you feeling disappointed?"
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"When I swore on my badge," Amanda stepped out of the bathtub and glared at the tattoo on the killer's body, "I believed for a moment that this was a country governed by law. As long as I upheld the law, I thought I could uphold justice," she said.
"In the course of my work, I gradually realized that the law applies differently to different people. Some have the right to interpret the law, some do not. Some are able to manipulate the law, some cannot. Some have a way of making the law, while others do not. Not only is this unjust, but it's also far from fair."
"Later, I came to believe that at least the violent enforcement agencies upholding legal authority could greatly reduce the likelihood of serious crimes, instilling fear and caution in potential criminals. That was the meaning behind my continued work."
"But now, what have they done?" Amanda said, stepping out of the bathtub, staring at the tattoos on the killer's body. "They create crime, but don't fight it. They expend all their energy in fighting crime on killing ordinary people like my family, then they find ways to cover it all up, keeping the public in the dark, glossing over the truth."
Bruce remained silent. He knew Amanda did not need his reassurance or responses; she just wanted to express everything she felt.
"But right now, I don't feel anger or sadness. I'm just thinking about how to solve these problems, because it's all still happening."
"They've sent another assassin. Which family will suffer this time? And what about the next time, or the time after that? If we continue like this indefinitely, who can we rely on when the real crisis arrives?"
This caused Bruce to glance sideways. Amanda looked at him and said, "I had a long talk with a man named Nick Fury. He's made some very successful moves in his universe, but the methods..."
"Risky endeavors?"
"More like hacking people to death with scissors," Amanda sighed. "From what he hinted at, I could tell that his universe has developed a lot more than ours, and all this has happened in recent years. This suggests that such a strategy can be successful."
"You hope you can replicate it?"
"And for that, I need your help."
Bruce did not immediately answer her; instead, he looked at the person in the bathtub and said, "First, let's find out who he is and what he was trying to do at the concert."
They soon woke the killer. As expected, he was indeed from the Penitent Cartel but just a small fry. His task from the Federal Bureau of Investigation was simple: kill one of the two rappers from the West Coast.
The guy thought 2Pac would be off-guard performing on stage, and all he had to do was rush over and open fire with his gun, not expecting to be apprehended before he could even shoot.
Due to his low rank, merely a disposable pawn, he was unaware of the full scope of the plan. However, Batman, Bruce, after pondering, said.
"Killing just one of them would suffice. That means if one of them is killed, both are finished. It seems they plan to frame one party for the assassination of the other, effectively silencing an important voice for the black community and causing internal strife between groups."
Looking at Amanda again, he said, "To achieve your goal and establish an organization for superpower management just as in that universe, it's essential to weaken the FBI as much as possible, to make everyone believe that there are things the FBI cannot handle."
"How do you plan to do it?" Amanda narrowed her eyes and asked, though they both knew what she was really asking. If not for Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D. might not have attained such a high status and authority. Harboring the enemy within has always been a smart strategy since ancient times.
"My bottom line is not to sacrifice ordinary people," Bruce said. "So we can forget about terrorist attacks."
"The Owl?"
"That's not a superpower criminal organization."
"Wait, a superpower criminal organization might not be right for our universe. But if we're talking about a special kind of criminal organization..." Amanda said, rubbing her chin, "Do you remember Professor Shearer's Serial Killer Club?"
"You mean to suggest…"
The two exchanged glances, then simultaneously turned to look at the assassin, who was now crouching fearfully in the corner of the room.
As the clock struck nine in the evening, a weary Gordon stretched and called out to the room, "Barbara, Barbara, are you ready? We need to move fast or we won't make it to the beach by 9:30."
Barbara emerged from the room, but she was not Prime Universe Gordon's daughter Barbara; in this universe, she was his ex-girlfriend and mother to his child, also back in town for the music festival.
"I was just watching the news in the room." Barbara fiddled with her phone. "Someone opened fire on a famous rapper at the concert that just ended. He's in critical condition, fighting for his life."
Gordon quickly joined Barbara to watch the news. He was about to say something when his own phone rang.
"What? A body found? ...Okay, I understand, I'm on my way."
Gordon walked over to grab his coat, kissed Barbara on the forehead as he put it on, and said, "Sorry, a peculiar looking corpse has been found in the South District. I need to take a look. I apologize for not being able to join you for a drink at the beach."
Barbara waved it off, "I knew it would happen. This city never has a quiet day, same as always."
Gordon smiled, kissed Barbara on the cheek, grabbed his phone, walkie-talkie, and other equipment, and quickly left.
On his way, he picked up his phone and said, "Hello? Professor Shearer? ...Oh, it's the doctor. We've found a body, and you... What? Appearance fee?"
"Sorry, I just remembered that I also have a certain expertise in criminal investigation. For the time being, I don't need assistance, thank you."