Howard watched wistfully as the check was tucked into Deathstroke's backpack, unsure why Deathstroke wanted his money and blood.
But whether it was his recently bled wrist or his bled wallet, both hurt.
However, he was very good at comforting himself, assuring himself that Deathstroke's service attitude seemed slightly better after receiving payment.
Previously, every word felt like a jab, opening old wounds as if he hadn't hired a mercenary but a stand-up comedian.
"We can't figure anything out from the body, just leave it here. I'll find someone to take care of it."
Deathstroke tossed the body to the roadside, casually wiping blood off the hood, and got into the passenger seat.
He'd call Gin from a payphone soon, asking her to send someone to drag the body back to the academy for Holloway to take a look; Su Ming was just waiting for the autopsy report.
Howard got into the driver's seat, muttering as he started the ignition: "Why is the employer driving? Aren't you supposed to be a bodyguard?"
The air on the street carried a metallic scent, and Su Ming turned his head to look out of the window: "Caspian Camp."
"Why are you ignoring me now? Is this your improved service attitude?" Howard inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
"Stop by a payphone," Su Ming added.
"Why aren't you answering my question?" Howard started the car resolutely, the black sports car slowly driving through the dark streets.
"...."
Deathstroke didn't respond, as if he'd fallen asleep beneath the black and yellow mask.
Howard pushed a cigar into his mouth, leisurely turning the steering wheel: "Next time, I'm going to lobby for legislative action to protect consumer rights; I did pay, after all."
"Do you think I care about laws?" A deep voice echoed inside the car.
"So you're not asleep. Why are we going to Caspian Camp? My issues have nothing to do with Dr. Xavier's, right?"
Howard trusted that a professional mercenary like Deathstroke must have investigated thoroughly before taking the job, which is why he hadn't detailed the events.
"Phew..." Once again, Deathstroke fell silent.
Howard shrugged helplessly; it was too late to ask for a refund, so he had to grit his teeth and continue.
Logically, he should have returned to Stark Industries, using himself as bait for Deathstroke to deal with any incoming threats.
But the earlier failure to capture the assailant had proven this plan unfeasible, making it more sensible to let Deathstroke check Caspian Camp himself.
After all, he couldn't stop him.
Howard couldn't quite recall what he might have done to offend someone; perhaps an outsider could see things more clearly.
The journey from New York to Caspian Camp wasn't short, even at high speed, they'd arrive only by morning.
Could it all have been calculated like this?
..............
Caspian Camp remained as it had been, with dilapidated wooden barracks and a solitary flagpole on the field, seeming abandoned from the surface.
Yet, at one end of the field, a bunker-like building had been newly erected, tracks left in the snow at the entrance.
"Still a groundhog."
Su Ming slung the Great Sword over his back, following Howard to the door.
A camera moved slightly, clearly observing the two, but the steel door remained motionless.
"Seems like they're not planning to open the door." Howard rotated his neck, feeling the strain after a night of driving without a drop to drink.
"It's fine; people often deny me at first, but eventually, they can't live without me."
Su Ming bent over, using the Great Sword to carve a small opening in the door and reached inside.
Then, with a slight exertion, he lifted the several-ton door over his head, flames sparking from the friction at the hinges.
"After you," he casually said to Howard.
"Uh, thanks..." Howard smiled awkwardly, as if seeing a ghost, despite knowing Deathstroke was a super soldier; he hadn't anticipated this level of strength surpassing even Captain America.
As they ventured through the door, the heavy steel gate was casually dropped back down, causing an earthquake-like rumble as alarms blared and interior lights turned red. Su Ming observed several soldiers staring blankly at them.
To others, they might be considered elite, but to Deathstroke, they were just ordinary folks, unworthy of killing.
He motioned Howard to lead the way, swaggering forward and breezing past the soldiers.
Howard's face bore an awkward expression; he was at a loss, unsure whether to claim he'd been abducted, yet he had also paid, and SSR's insides weren't necessarily safe either. However, Deathstroke's intrusion bordered on a direct assault.
With the Great Sword repeatedly breaking through doors, regardless of their metal composition, the black weapon swung effortlessly with each strike.
By now, Howard had become numb, and as the final door fell, they discovered a large office, where everyone inside had their guns trained on them.
The soldiers wielded assault rifles, even desk workers held pistols.
Everyone stood alert, though many of the older staff who had previously experienced Deathstroke's invasion were paper-white.
They couldn't stop him, not without Captain America; no weapon threatened Deathstroke.
"Drop your weapons, don't throw away your lives."
A raspy voice echoed through the room, as if a demon whispered directly into each ear, while tentacles extended behind Deathstroke, cradling several heavy machine guns, yellow ammo belts rustling against the ground with a metallic scrape.
The tentacles expertly loaded the heavy machine guns, a series of clacking sounds merging seamlessly.
Silence descended, an eerie calm so profound that a pin drop would echo, Howard's eyes darting around uncertainly, unsure of his course of action.
Should he feign victimhood?
Faced with SSR staff who were at an even greater loss, gun barrels trained not on them, but Deathstroke's overwhelming strength seemed insurmountable, yet surrendering en masse, where would SSR's reputation go?
"Colonel's orders, lower your weapons!"
At that moment, a dark figure emerged from the crowd, contrasted by his smiling expression on his black face.
It was Nick Fury.
Empty-handed, accompanied by the Roaring Assault Team, similarly weapon-free, Dugan in his round hat was inquiring about Deathstroke with those nearby.
The tentacles retracted the weapons into the backpack, merging back into the host as if they'd never existed.
"Long time no see, Deathstroke." Nick Fury approached to shake Su Ming's hand, his smile somewhat constrained yet devoid of hostility: "There's no need for such animosity towards us; SSR holds no malice against you."
"This time, Dr. Stark hired me to investigate his assassination and Dr. Xavier's death. A mercenary's gotta eat, so here I am."
Nick Fury's eyes briefly scanned Howard's face but revealed no emotion, merely nodded with apparent understanding.
"Dr. Stark was assassinated? When?"
"Once yesterday morning and again at night. I was present during the second attempt; the gunman committed suicide." Su Ming casually wrapped his arm around Fury's shoulder, giving it a pat.
Fury's trendy side part didn't quite suit his complexion honestly.
The Roaring Assault Team escorted the others out, Su Ming paid no attention to them; they were simply soldiers and desk workers, he had no need for hostages.
Nick Fury's pettiness showed through.
Unclear of Deathstroke's intentions, Fury touched his chin, signaling his subordinates, calmly saying: "Is there any evidence linking Dr. Xavier's death to all this?"
"Do you recall what I told you in Paris?" Su Ming quietly countered.
"I got it." The black man nodded, comprehension dawning.
"Take me to meet the new leadership, then into the deeper laboratory, only then will I give you my conclusion."
"The lab... might not be convenient, but if there's something you'd like to know, I could check it out myself. You still trust me, right?" Fury led Su Ming deeper with a grin.
Trust you? Trusting you takes one close to death.
The future S.H.I.E.L.D. head, darker in heart than skin, the motto—'S.H.I.E.L.D. never negotiates'—was clearly indicative of the wrong direction.
"Of course, I trust you, but nothing here is trustworthy. I have to see with my own eyes if the scene was staged, and Dr. Stark has paid for this service. Anyone blocking me will die."
Fury took a deep breath, subtly glancing at Howard while Howard displayed a smile even more dreadful than tears.