Knock, knock, knock!
Someone tapped on the window of Nathan Blake's van.
Nathan rolled it down and saw the same thug from earlier, but this time, he had brought backup—a group of people wielding machetes and crowbars.
"You really think dressing like Batman makes you Batman? You really had me fooled for a moment, but—"
Nathan didn't bother listening to the rest. With a quick motion, his hand morphed into a spinning off-road tire. Taking advantage of the thug's shock, he slammed the tire into the man's forehead with a heavy thud.
"Get lost."
Seriously, trying to rob someone in Gotham with a machete and a crowbar? Pathetic. Especially in a city where even teenage sidekicks carry swords and staffs imbued with high-tech gadgets.
As he watched the group flee in panic, Nathan switched his focus. He picked up the microphone, ready to communicate with his mercenaries again.
"Testing, testing, can you hear me? Great."
Mimicking **Cheshire's** cold and smooth voice, he spoke into the microphone.
"Good day, my dear mercenaries."
Then, quickly changing to **Deadshot's** voice, Nathan continued:
"I'm glad there's been no unnecessary conflict among you. Believe me, that's exactly what I wanted. Now, untie **Killer Croc**."
Deadshot didn't ask the obvious question—"Who are you, really?"—because he wasn't stupid.
He was quietly weighing whether or not to stay involved in this shady operation. He could smell the faint whiff of conspiracy in the air, and this story was starting just like so many he'd heard before: a mysterious, shadowy figure manipulating a bunch of unsuspecting mercenaries.
Mercenaries like Deadshot didn't just take any job from anyone—except for maybe someone like **Deathstroke**, who was strong enough to take down any employer who tried to double-cross him. But for most mercenaries, getting betrayed by a client was a one-way ticket to the grave. That's why most, like Deadshot, preferred to work through trusted middlemen to ensure their jobs were legit.
In this case, Deadshot had only taken the gig because **Ventriloquist** had proven himself to be a somewhat honorable crime lord, someone who at least followed certain rules.
But this unknown mastermind? That was a whole different story.
Meanwhile, Ventriloquist untied Killer Croc's bindings.
The beast sprang to his feet, snarling and showing his teeth. Deadshot lowered his gun cautiously, keeping an eye on the towering brute.
But instead of attacking, Killer Croc rushed to the pile of cash, lovingly gathering every bill from the dusty ground and stuffing them back into the van.
"Heh-heh-heh! Two hundred million dollars! Heh-heh-heh!"
**Captain Boomerang**, standing nearby, muttered enviously: "Damn it, why's my paycheck so small?"
Nathan, still monitoring through his microphone, quickly switched to Captain Boomerang's voice:
"Don't envy Croc—he's just taking an advance on his salary for the next four years."
Nathan paused before adding, "And I'm a generous employer. Complete the mission I give you, and I guarantee every one of you will walk away with hundreds of millions. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. The only question is, do you have the guts to take it?"
Deadshot made up his mind right there. He wasn't in this for the money; he was in it for the thrill. This was the kind of adventure he couldn't pass up.
Nathan rambled on for a while longer, but the gist of his speech was clear:
"I'm rich!"
"You've got a wealthy backer!"
"I'm throwing money around!"
"Here's how to use money to win!"
"This opportunity is huge!"
Nathan wasn't particularly skilled at giving speeches, but when his audience was surrounded by mountains of cold, hard cash, his words seemed a lot more convincing.
On one side were visible stacks of dollars and the prime example of Killer Croc, who had been lured by wealth. On the other side were three mercenaries, all too aware of the implicit threat in banding together against the mysterious employer. **Slipknot** forced a stiff smile, **Tattooed Man** patted his stomach cheerfully, and soon the atmosphere became much more enthusiastic.
Captain Boomerang, ever the showman, chimed in dramatically: "Oh, Great Employer! You are truly generous!"
His over-the-top praise was so cringe-worthy that even Deadshot found himself at a loss for words.
"Weren't you planning to quit after this mission?" Deadshot asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I've changed my mind."
Figures. Deadshot looked at him in disdain—Captain Boomerang was as predictable as ever when money was involved.
Nathan continued:
"Well then, I've decided to name your new team—the **Suicide Squad**."
"That's a terrible name," Deadshot remarked dryly.
"I'll give you ten thousand dollars extra."
"Wow, what an excellent name!"
Who cared, anyway? Complimenting the boss didn't cost a thing.
At least for now, Deadshot could breathe a sigh of relief. The current mission was complete, and as long as he played his cards right, he was confident he could survive the upcoming ones.
And with two hundred million dollars, he might just be able to retire for good, live a quiet life with his daughter…
Back in the van, Nathan also relaxed a bit. If everything went according to plan, once Bane was dealt with, he could retire too, maybe disappear into obscurity...
"When I've earned my two hundred million, I'll buy a big house back home and live peacefully with my wife—"
Splat!
Like a melon being crushed, **Captain Boomerang's** head exploded in a spray of blood and bone, crushed by a massive hand. The spear he had been holding clattered uselessly to the ground.
Splat!
Several miles away, Nathan spit out his coffee, staring at the live feed on his monitor. He shot to his feet, smacking his head against the van's ceiling.
Time seemed to slow.
Deadshot's eyes widened in shock. He heard Cheshire's distorted, high-pitched shriek: "Enemy attack!"
Standing before them was a colossal figure, muscles rippling beneath a half-naked torso, veins bulging like snakes writhing under his skin.
But the most striking features were the green tubes connecting his arms and head, and that unmistakable mask…
"**Bane**!"
...
...
...
Bane often felt like he was falling into a vast void, a boundless sea of darkness.
It was both his cradle and his tombstone.
But that never limited his mind.
His soul burst from the coffin, roaming through the white night where death and life coexisted.
He was determined to find that bat creature. To stand in its shadow. To defy it. And ultimately, to kill it. His fear would die with it.
And when that moment came, Gotham would sing in his honor:
"Glory to the great hero Bane, who vanquished the evil demon—Batman!"
"Glory to Bane, ruler of Gotham, standing above all!"
But a hero's path is never easy… the demon had sent his minions to block the way.
A monstrous, fanged creature—one of the demon's pawns. It groveled before its master, lured by money.
It bared its teeth, trying to intimidate the mighty Bane.
But the hero would not be intimidated.
He swung his massive arm in a pendulum-like uppercut, sending Killer Croc sprawling to the ground.
"I thought I'd broken you before, beast… now I'll have to kill you."
The monster leaped from the ground, snarling with venomous breath. Its claws tore at Bane's flesh as its heavy fists pounded on the hero's skull.
"You think you can rule Gotham? Without your juice, you wouldn't even be competition!"
Bane's fist slammed into its face, knocking the beast down once more.
Another punch sent fragments of concrete flying as its head slammed into the ground.
Another punch crushed half its skull into the pavement.
Bane grabbed the wreck of a nearby car, lifting it high above his head.
"I don't need Venom to crush vermin like you…"
**Crash!**
"Because I'm Bane!"
**Crash!**
"I'm the nightmare of all obstacles!"
**Crash!**
"I'm the calamity of all living things!"
**CRASH!!!**
Killer Croc howled in agony as the car's remains twisted and shattered into pieces.
A gunshot rang out. Bane dodged the bullet, then turned around.
His body moved with the grace of a dolphin leaping from the water. In the blending of illusion and reality, his eyes gleamed with intensity.
Ah… of course, the demon had more minions.
....
T/L Note:
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