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Michael picked up Barbara's laptop and quickly typed in some names for a search. No results. He tried a facial recognition search on the Batcomputer's system, but still nothing. As he expected, the Bat's surveillance system intentionally left her out of its scope.
He had half-heartedly attempted to use Batgirl's system to unearth her real identity. Not that he expected much, but trying never hurt.
Now that this option was ruled out, he sat back and signaled for Barbara to join him, gesturing that it was time to wait for Cindy to bring the food. Taking out a cigar, he lit it and watched Barbara as she slowly rolled her wheelchair back to the table. She studied his expression, but didn't ask about the search results. Instead, she smoothly changed the topic.
"You said Indian Hill is that dangerous… is it really that bad?" she asked.
"If my memory serves me right, yes. You open the doors to that underground lab and it's like walking into a nightmare full of twisted monsters," Michael answered, recalling the scenes from Gotham, the TV series that depicted the horrors of that place. "But I should correct one thing. Deathstroke doesn't get scared. Nor does he back down from a mission."
Barbara frowned, her mind running through what he'd said. "Then what's your mission? I doubt anyone's paying you to save me or my father. We don't have that kind of money," she added, with a pragmatic understanding of her family's financial state. As someone who had managed the household before her injury, she knew exactly how much they earned and spent.
Michael had mentioned on TV that his base rate for a kill was $2 million, and she knew that rescuing someone would likely cost more. That kind of money was far beyond her or her father's reach.
He glanced at her, impressed by how quickly she was adapting. Just a short time ago, she had been overwhelmed by everything, but now she was thinking clearly, engaging him with a calm demeanor. She was no longer the naive small-town girl—she was maturing right before his eyes.
"You'll have to ask your father about that when this is over," Michael said, tapping the ash from his cigar onto the shiny metal table, leaving a small burn mark on the previously spotless surface.
He grinned inwardly. Poor Alfred would have to clean that up later. Out of respect for the old butler, Michael decided not to ash on the table anymore and instead flicked the ash onto the floor.
He wasn't about to tell Barbara the truth about his mission just yet. It was something she wouldn't understand—not yet, at least. If it were Oracle from the main universe, someone who had been through hell and come out stronger, maybe he'd share. But now, they had to focus on finding Gordon. The time for truth would come later.
Barbara nodded thoughtfully, picking at the sleeves of her sweater, a habit of hers when she was deep in thought. Her fingers worried the fabric until it began to pill from the friction.
Before she could press him further, Vicki Vale appeared, dragging along her cameraman, Peter. The two of them looked utterly exhausted. Vicki dramatically collapsed onto the table, breathing heavily as though she'd just run a marathon.
Michael pushed a half-empty bottle of whiskey toward her. Without a word, Vicki grabbed it and took a long swig.
"I've got something to tell you," she gasped between gulps. "We found where the enemy is holed up. The next step is to go and rescue Commissioner Gordon."
Peter, who looked like he might pass out from stress at any moment, perked up at the mention of a rescue mission. His face had gone pale, and he was shaking visibly.
"Isn't that good news?" Vicki asked, pulling the bottle away from her lips and raising an eyebrow, clearly not understanding why Michael was so serious about the situation. She was half-expecting them to refuse her a front-row seat to the action.
"The problem is that it's a trap, without a doubt. And if you come along, your lives will be in serious danger. I'm talking life-and-death danger," Michael explained, keeping his eyes on Peter, who was visibly on the verge of losing it.
Vicki's eyes darted toward Barbara, then back to Michael. "And what about her?" she asked, pointing at Barbara.
"She has to come. Without her, Gordon won't believe us. We need her to gain his trust, and we'll protect her. But you two... we can't spare anyone to watch your backs," Michael said bluntly.
Without hesitation, Vicki nodded enthusiastically, her red hair bobbing as she moved. She didn't care about the danger—she was after the story, the big scoop.
"We're going with you. Someone has to document your heroic deeds, after all. By the way, Deathstroke, as a man working in a traditionally male-dominated field, what are your thoughts on the recent rise of the men's rights movement?" she asked, out of nowhere.
If his right eye weren't a hollow socket, Michael would've considered plucking it out just to throw it at her. What did the men's rights movement have to do with anything right now?
"You might want to ask your partner there, since he looks like he's about to piss himself. The answer to your question will be all over your shoes soon enough," he retorted, nodding toward Peter, who was close to breaking down entirely. "And if you're coming with us, you'd better get suited up in hazmat suits and gas masks. This is going to be a biohazard zone."
"Cool!" Vicki exclaimed, jumping to her feet and kicking Peter into gear. "I've been waiting for a bio-apocalypse for ages. This is going to be amazing! Praise Hera!"
Michael sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. If you find suits, get one for Barbara too. Help her into it."
"Don't you need one?" Vicki asked, surprisingly thoughtful.
"Our helmets have built-in filtration systems, and our bodies are a lot tougher than yours. We'll know when things get bad and can pull out if we need to," he explained.
Vicki scribbled something down in her notebook. Deathstroke might be a cyborg? She noted. She flashed an 'OK' sign and sprinted off to find the suits, leaving Peter trailing after her.
Out of nowhere, Barbara spoke up. "Do you like redheads?" Her voice was soft, almost shy.
Michael almost choked on his cigar. "No. Why?"
"You seem pretty... lenient with Ms. Vale," Barbara said, her tone laced with curiosity and maybe a bit of something else.
Michael gave her a look. "I'm lenient with you too, and you're a redhead. That doesn't mean anything. I could have left you behind to provide us with intel remotely, but I thought you'd want to be there when we find your father."
"But you said bringing me along was to gain my father's trust," Barbara countered, frowning. She had assumed that she was valuable because she could help—not just as a bargaining chip.
"I lied to Vicki. Whether you're there or not, we've got enough leverage to get your dad to listen. I could hold a knife to his throat, and he'd have no choice but to cooperate. He'd thank us later, regardless," Michael said, taking a long drag from his cigar. Smoke curled around him, forming shapes that vaguely resembled skulls or bats in the dim light of the cave.
In truth, he needed Barbara because the lab they were heading into was full of security systems, and only Oracle could crack them. Without her, both he and Cindy would be left fumbling in the dark.
Barbara blushed, feeling embarrassed and a little guilty for jumping to conclusions. Her imagination had run wild, and she had misunderstood his intentions entirely. Her mind wandered, her thoughts turning toward the idea that Michael, in his way, might actually care about her. She started thinking about her own feelings—feelings she hadn't expected to have for someone like him.
Could it be...? He had been there for her when she felt most helpless. At first, she'd been terrified of him, but now... was it something more?
Her heart raced in her chest, her mind jumping to all sorts of conclusions that had no basis in reality. The phenomenon is known in psychology as the "suspension bridge effect." People in heightened emotional states often mistake fear or adrenaline for romantic attraction.
This effect explained why she might be drawn to someone who had initially frightened her. Her brain was rewiring those fear responses into something... different. And now, without realizing it, she found herself drawn to him.
Little did she know, Michael wasn't thinking about romance at all. His thoughts were entirely focused on how to survive the upcoming mission.
As Barbara spiraled into her own thoughts, Cindy returned from her scavenger hunt upstairs, holding a massive roasted turkey in one hand and a pot filled with boiled potatoes and onions in the other.
"Found this upstairs. Not sure what holiday it was meant for, but it'll do. There were some vegetables, so I tossed them into a pot and boiled them up. Let's eat," Cindy announced, setting the food down on the metal table.
The three of them gathered around for an impromptu feast, while Cindy curiously eyed Vicki and Peter rummaging through the Batcave for hazmat gear. She figured Michael would handle it if they caused trouble.
As they ate, Cindy was already thinking ahead—about how to convince Michael to team up with her long-term.