After Luthor left, the warden arrived.
"Well… sir," Miranda hesitated, clearly struggling to form a complete sentence.
Lucas was a little puzzled. She was already in her mid-forties, nearly fifty—why was she acting as shy as a teenage girl?
So he took the initiative and said, "Warden, I know what you're about to ask. That device has its own independent power system. It won't draw a single watt from the prison's electrical supply."
"Of course, if it somehow does consume any electricity, you can contact my lawyer. He'll handle the reimbursement."
Miranda hurriedly waved her hands. "N-no, that's not what I meant. I just… wanted to ask a question."
"Go ahead," Lucas replied, even more bewildered.
"If you were to leave—uh, if you stopped inspecting the facility—would those inmates still behave?" Miranda finally asked.
Since Lucas arrived, her workload had been cut by more than half.
The inmates were now as obedient as rabbits in front of a tiger—keeping their heads down and not daring to cause any trouble.
Before this, a "normal" workday meant handling five or six assault cases, dozens of fights, and over a hundred contraband incidents.
But this gentleman clearly wouldn't stay in the prison forever.
So what would happen once he left? Would everything return to chaos?
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "May I ask—am I the warden?"
Miranda shook her head quickly, though inwardly she thought:
'But right now, you're more of a warden than I am.'
"Then why are you asking me?" Lucas said, shaking his head as he reclined back on the bench.
"I never recruited them as my underlings."
Nearby, a group of technicians in blue lab coats were thoroughly inspecting the gravity chamber inside and out.
After all, it had just been transported here. A full inspection before long-term operation was only prudent.
"I see…" Miranda replied helplessly.
"Oh, right," she added as she turned to leave. "There's a newly arrived inmate who wants to see you. His name is Floyd Lawton."
Lucas blinked. "Bring him over. What you're hoping for might not be difficult after all."
Miranda's face lit up instantly. "I'll arrange it right away, sir!"
Soon, a man wearing heavy shackles on both hands and feet was escorted over by four guards.
The two guards who had been tense and highly alert—hands hovering over their holsters—relaxed the moment they reached Lucas.
They unlocked the shackles, bowed respectfully to Lucas, and then turned and left.
"So," Lucas said lazily, "even a veteran like you managed to get caught?"
"You're here too," Deadshot shot back defiantly.
"Oh? Are we really the same?" Lucas laughed.
"If I want, I can have the President sign a pardon at any time. What about you?"
Deadshot shut up immediately. Any further comparison would only hurt.
"By the way, how did you end up here?" Lucas asked, genuinely curious.
"That little girlfriend of yours caught me," Deadshot said irritably.
"You went to Central City to provoke her?" Lucas asked in surprise.
Normally, criminals avoided cities protected by superheroes unless they were suicidal or absurdly confident.
"You think I'm stupid?" Deadshot snapped.
"I knew perfectly well it was her territory."
"I was handling a job in Philadelphia. She just happened to pass by and casually arrested me."
Lucas sucked in a sharp breath, then burst out laughing.
Bad luck really could reach legendary levels.
Especially for someone like Deadshot—a peak human—when facing a non-human powerhouse like Supergirl.
"All right, that's enough," Deadshot growled. His face was nearly pitch black with humiliation.
"Okay, okay," Lucas said, holding back his laughter. "So why did you come looking for me?"
"Get me out," Deadshot said bluntly. "I know you can."
"I can," Lucas replied calmly. "One sentence would do it. But why should I?"
"If I don't finish that job, I won't be able to pay Zoe's tuition this month," Deadshot sighed helplessly.
Lucas studied him for a moment. "Don't tell me a professional assassin like you doesn't have overseas accounts."
Deadshot's cheek twitched. "Before that mission, I hired a financial advisor to sort out my accounts."
"After I got arrested, the IRS followed the trail through the Philadelphia police and the FBI—and grabbed him."
Lucas knew the IRS well.
They were famous for one thing: even if your money came from robbing a bank, you still had to pay taxes on it.
After a pause, Lucas asked, "So your money was confiscated?"
Deadshot sniffed. "After the IRS collected back taxes, penalties, and fines, the FBI seized everything else."
Lucas stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and said solemnly, "My condolences."
Spending a lifetime risking death to accumulate wealth—only to lose every cent just as debts came due—was enough to crush anyone.
"So," Deadshot said quietly, "say a word and get me out."
At that moment, his face had completely collapsed—like a middle-aged man crushed by life, lost and desperate.
Lucas looked at him for a moment, realizing that a certain plan could be implemented earlier than expected.
He asked, "Ever thought about going legitimate, Lawton?"
"Heh," Deadshot scoffed. "And then what? Starve on that pathetic salary?"
It was easy to go from poverty to luxury—but nearly impossible to go back.
Lucas sighed inwardly, then said, "What about a hundred thousand dollars a month?"
"After tax?" Deadshot asked immediately.
Lucas nodded. "Of course. And after each mission, there'll be performance bonuses based on difficulty."
"You're sure this is clean?" Deadshot asked skeptically.
"I'm sure," Lucas replied.
Deadshot nodded at once. "Then tell me the details and the job scope first."
"I've founded a special organization," Lucas explained. "It's called The Guardians."
"As for the work—details are still being finalized, but it will be fully legal and compliant."
"Members?" Deadshot asked.
"Me. Kara. For now, just the two of us," Lucas said.
At the mention of Kara's name, Deadshot's eyelid twitched instinctively.
"…Fine. I'm in," he said.
"But you know—I only know how to kill people. I've basically never done anything heroic."
Lucas patted him on the shoulder.
"Relax. Welcome to the Guardians."
_____
T/N:
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