Chapter 194: Where the Hell Did You Pull That Bicycle From

The next day, afternoon in the Upper West District.

"I heard your marksmanship is quite good," Slade said casually to Ma Ma Zhaodi beside him, crouching half-way on the rooftop while aiming his sniper rifle at the street and scanning the surroundings. "But you're even better at playing with toy cars?"

"It's a bicycle, not a toy car. And my marksmanship is just average, not as strong as yours." Ma Ma Zhaodi lay beside him, likewise using binoculars to inspect the surroundings, but in reality, he had already summoned the system panel in his mind; looking at the firearm skill assessment Deathstroke had displayed over the past half-month, it was clearly Master level, which was not surprising at all.

"However, I have two eyes."

Deathstroke's hand involuntarily moved toward the pistol at his waist.

Only his left eye could see; his right eye was blind, and what was even stranger was that he himself could not remember why he had gone blind.

It was as if from the moment the person called "Deathstroke" came into this world, he could never possess two eyes.

This matter did not particularly trouble him; rather, he vaguely felt that if his right eye were to return to normal, he might instead find it uncomfortable.

But regardless, being mocked by a nameless nobody still made him want to draw his gun.

Truly being looked down upon.

Hmm? No!

Through the high-magnification sniper scope, Deathstroke's gaze suddenly froze, instantly casting Ma Ma Zhaodi out of his mind—he saw a tiny black dot on a rooftop in the distance.

That was also a sniper rifle.

A black sniper gun, held in the hands of a figure wearing a white mask, with a bright red scope covering his right eye.

Deadshot, he thought, and the other party had already seen him through the scope.

On the other side, Deadshot made the same judgment as Deathstroke; he knew Deathstroke had also seen him.

Should I fire, or continue waiting for Batman's signal?

In that instant, both men made their decision simultaneously.

Bang!

Bang!

Two bullets were fired separately from the tops of two buildings, shooting toward each other through their respective scopes.

They ultimately collided in mid-air.

Ding!

In that instant, both men raised their evaluation of their opponent in their hearts.

"Hey, damn it, what's going on?!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi was so startled by Deathstroke's sudden firing that his whole body trembled; he turned his head to look at Deathstroke: "How did you—"

"Snip—"

Deathstroke rolled away in a leap, simultaneously trying to shout a warning, but both his and Ma Ma Zhaodi's words cut off abruptly, because he saw Ma Ma Zhaodi subconsciously perform a tactical roll alongside him.

Such fast reactions; this guy's survival instinct is first-rate.

Deadshot's scope wavered for an instant before losing track of Ma Ma Zhaodi as a target, so he simply ceased his second shot—if Ma Ma Zhaodi had dodged a moment slower, Deadshot's bullet would have already been fired.

"What a pity," Deathstroke sighed, unsure whether he was lamenting that his first bullet had missed the enemy or marveling at Ma Ma Zhaodi's reaction speed.

He turned back, fired another shot at the previous rooftop, then dove through the door leading from the rooftop into the building's interior; clearly, he did not intend to engage Deadshot in a long-range sniper duel.

The odds of winning that way were not high enough.

"Hey damn it, wait for me! I'm still here!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi decided immediately, swiftly darting through the rooftop door right behind him with equally agile movements; after Deadstock rolled to evade Deathstroke's bullet, he quickly raised his gun again, but could only see the slowly swaying iron door through his scope.

"Quite fast movements."

He immediately holstered his weapon and shifted positions, selecting a new sniper spot on the rooftop to prevent Deathstroke from popping out to counterattack, while searching the building's windows and doors for the two figures—if they dared to expose themselves or step out of the building, they would face Deadshot's follow-up shots.

Meanwhile, a black shadow spread its wings, flying between the buildings into the combat zone; hearing the gunshots, he folded his cape in mid-air, extended his hand to fire a grappling hook from his grapnel gun, and flew toward the battlefield where Deadshot and Deathstroke were engaged.

The Joker knew Batman had a Batmobile and a Batpod; to restrict the opponent's mobility, he had set up checkpoints and roadblocks at many intersections in the Upper West District, forcing Batman to enter this area on foot.

Of course, a Batwing was still on standby in the sky, but it was too conspicuous and did not fit Batman's fighting style of hiding, infiltrating, and striking by surprise, so it could only be used as an escape plan.

Moreover, the aircraft was not invincible; if hit, it would crash just the same.

"Two gunshots, and very distinctive ones; both are large-caliber sniper rifles, and custom-made," he rapidly assessed the situation at the center of the battlefield in his mind. "They sound familiar... The distance between the two parties was very great initially, yet the frequency of their counter-fire was high, with the first shots ringing out almost simultaneously."

"Two experts, absolute masters with superb marksmanship. Could it be Floyd Lawton and Slade Wilson?"

"Coincidentally at this time, coincidentally here?"

"No—they are here to snipe me."

By the time he flew to the top of the balcony, Batman had basically sorted out the general context of events in his mind.

"I must stop them; I must make them cease fire. Two top-tier mercenaries battling in downtown Gotham will inevitably endanger others."

He climbed onto the balcony, but it was already empty; the shooter had vanished without a trace.

Da-da-da, da-da-da—

Da, da, da—

Two more strings of gunshots rang out; this time, the locations of the two sounds had moved to the streets near Gotham Central Station, and the mode of engagement had changed to rifle bursts: Deathstroke used short controlled bursts to ensure lethality, while Deadshot did not need to do so, returning fire one shot at a time.

So he pursued them toward the station streets.

When Batman arrived, Ma Ma Zhaodi was right beside Deathstroke, watching him exchange fire with Deadshot, while he himself remained firmly hidden behind cover.

"Why didn't you bring your bicycle?" Deathstroke asked in a calm tone. "Its mobility and concealment should at least be somewhat commendable."

"That thing is carried on my person," Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged, pulling out a folded bicycle from beneath his black robe. "But once it appears in his line of sight, he will definitely hit it."

"Where did you pull that out from—never mind, from now on follow my tactical arrangements; you ride it along the route I designate, and I will use this opportunity to close in on Deadshot and engage in close-quarters combat."

"Then wouldn't I be in great danger?"

Deathstroke's hand moved toward his gun again.

"Alright, alright, let's talk nicely, don't start fighting."

In Deadshot's scope, a shadow suddenly flashed and vanished within the gap of an alley.

"Hmm?"

He immediately swung the gun around, but did not pull the trigger—in the instant that figure revealed itself, he had already completed the calculation in his mind.

The distance between the firing point and that gap was about seven hundred and forty meters; a bullet would take one second to travel there, while the person was exposed for only about half a second, making a shot impossible.

But then again, is that thing a bicycle? Why is the speed so absurd?

Is it that perverted bicycle hero from television?

(End of this chapter)