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Whatever chaos Gotham would descend into after the live broadcast, it wasn't really Michael's concern. If this madness somehow lured the Bat out, it would only work to his advantage.
He gently placed Barbara Gordon back into her wheelchair, adjusting her to sit more comfortably inside the van.
"You've got some real talent for acting, kid. You ever think about becoming a news anchor?" Michael quipped, his tone casual but laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Vicki Vale, the well-known reporter sitting opposite, couldn't help but roll her eyes discreetly. Sure, acting skills might help on TV, but being a successful anchor required much more than that. There were countless hours of preparation, research, and technical skill involved. She'd worked her way up through Gotham's chaotic media world, and this—whatever the hell this was—wasn't exactly her idea of a professional setting.
Barbara shivered, drenched from head to toe in the cold Gotham rain. Her pale lips trembled as she spoke, struggling against the chill seeping into her bones. "Do you think... do you think my father's safe? Will this help save him?"
Michael glanced at Vicki and her cameraman, signaling for them to get back into the news van. They'd been hijacked, sure, but at this point, both seemed more curious than scared.
"I can't guarantee it," Michael replied evenly. "But using my name will at least make whoever's holding your dad think twice. People tend to weigh their options carefully when they realize Deathstroke's after them."
As Michael's words hung in the air, Cindy—his partner—floored the gas pedal. The van tore through the rain-soaked streets of Gotham, her hands gripping the wheel with ease, as though they were simply out for a midnight drive. Her reflexes were sharp, honed by years of combat, allowing her to push the vehicle to its limits while still keeping an ear on their conversation.
Barbara nodded, clutching the towel Michael had handed her. "Thank you. You're... you're not like I thought you'd be."
"Don't thank me yet, kid," Michael said with a sigh, leaning back. "When this is over, I'm still handing your dad a bill."
Barbara chuckled despite herself, unsure if he was serious or not. "You've got a sense of humor too. Didn't expect that."
From her place in the van, Vicki couldn't help but comment. "Killing people to save others... that's got to be the weirdest logic I've ever heard."
Michael raised an eyebrow, detecting a hint of admiration in her voice. "You don't sound too shocked. Something tells me you've seen worse."
Vale shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly. "Well, when you've been covering Gotham's darkest corners for as long as I have, you learn to take things in stride. But this... this is definitely a first."
"Oh?" Michael responded, intrigued by her persistence. He recalled Vicki Vale from his old life, back when this was all just comic books. A relentless journalist who once dated Bruce Wayne and survived more than a few run-ins with Gotham's worst villains. She was either incredibly lucky, incredibly skilled, or a bit of both.
"You seem disappointed. You like watching people get killed?" Michael asked, shooting her a sideways glance.
"No, not at all," Vicki answered quickly, shaking her head. "But I do like capturing a story that's bigger than life. The audience loves action. It's what keeps them glued to the screen."
Michael's lips curled into a smirk under his mask. "Well, if you're looking for action, stick around. If we find out who's holding Gordon and have to storm their hideout, you'll get your footage. Just make sure your cameraman doesn't puke."
Vicki's eyes gleamed at the thought of another exclusive. "You serious? We can film that?"
"Sure, why not? Free publicity," Michael shrugged. "Mercenaries like me could always use some PR."
Cindy chuckled from the driver's seat. "Mercenary marketing. There's something I never thought I'd hear."
Meanwhile, Vicki's cameraman, Pete, looked horrified. The idea of being thrust into a Deathstroke raid was enough to turn his stomach. He wasn't built for this kind of action—he signed up to film car chases and puff pieces, not dodging bullets.
But one sharp look from Vicki shut down any protest he might've been considering. Reluctantly, Pete nodded. "I'm good... I'm fine," he mumbled.
"See? He's fine," Vicki said with a satisfied grin, leaning back comfortably between Michael and Barbara. "Thanks for the opportunity, Michael. You have no idea what this means for me."
"Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea," Michael replied, crossing his arms. He knew enough about Gotham's media hounds to understand how far they were willing to go for a story. Vicki Vale was no exception.
But Vale wasn't done. She pulled out a small notepad and pen, ready to take notes. It didn't matter that she had a high-tech camera crew at her disposal; some habits just stuck.
"So," she began, flipping open the pad. "You and the woman driving—what's the deal? Are you both Deathstroke? Or is she the real one?"
Cindy let out a low chuckle from the front. "See? Told you I'm the one with all the style. People can just feel it."
Michael groaned. He hated this debate. "I am Deathstroke," he clarified, unsheathing the blade strapped to his back. "And you're getting close to finding out firsthand if I need to kill you just to shut you up."
"No! Please, no!" Vicki cried out dramatically.
Michael rolled his eyes. "Relax. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't even know it. Besides, the Bat seems to like you. Hell, half of Gotham's lunatics probably tune in to watch your news reports. Wouldn't be surprised if Harley Quinn's in Arkham right now, watching your latest segment."
Hearing Harley's name made Barbara stiffen. She hadn't forgotten the Joker's twisted partner. The mere mention of her brought a fresh wave of pain to her lower back, a haunting reminder of what the Joker had done to her.
"Oh?" Vicki's interest piqued at the mention of Batman. "Do you think she'd give me an interview? I've always wanted to do a one-on-one with her. Or Harley. Or even with the Joker. Can you imagine the ratings?"
"You really are insane," Michael said, half in awe, half in disbelief. "Are there any sane people left in this city?"
Vicki's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I'm just a journalist doing what I do best—telling the stories no one else dares to."
Barbara remained quiet, her hands trembling slightly as she thought about the madness surrounding her. Talking about these villains—Harley, the Joker, Michael—as though they were celebrities or characters in a story... it felt surreal. Too close to home.
Michael sighed. "This city really is full of crazy people."
The van drove on through Gotham's stormy streets, rain hammering down in sheets. Occasionally, they passed by random thugs and lowlifes hoping to take advantage of the chaos, but all it took was one glimpse of Cindy's glare from the window for them to scatter like rats.
Despite the banter in the van, Barbara's mind stayed on her father. The clock was ticking. Every second felt like an eternity as the weight of what might be happening to him pressed down on her.
But for now, she was stuck with two of Gotham's deadliest mercenaries—and the city's most insane reporter.