Under the mask, Su Ming's expression was unreadable, he simply said, "I want to do a live broadcast."
He took out a gun, pointing it at Pete, but the question was directed at Vico, as though he would kill her partner if she didn't answer.
"It's not up to us, the station has to agree."
Vico hurriedly gestured with her hands, as if afraid he would shoot. In her eyes, an assassin like Deathstroke had a purpose for every action. Since he hadn't killed them outright and wanted a live broadcast, it seemed they were safe for the moment.
"Alright, let's head back to the car, there are still people waiting."
With that, Barbara and Cindy watched from the van as Su Ming escorted the two reporters out at gunpoint, completely bewildered, unsure of his intentions.
Even Cindy couldn't understand, feeling that her Otherworld self seemed quite different.
Back in the van, though Vico was surprised by the two Deathstrokes, she didn't doubt their authenticity; the ground outside was littered with bodies.
They had even kidnapped the police director's daughter, Barbara. Who knew what they had planned? But under the gun's muzzle, she and Pete honestly completed the video edits and sent them to the station.
........
At this moment, there weren't many people left at Gotham TV Station. Midnight programming mostly consisted of computers auto-playing old movies or dull shopping shows.
But the news channel still required hosts to broadcast news 24/7. Yet what was there to report in this ghostly weather? They just repeated what the meteorologists said every half hour.
In the control room....
During the director's shift, she received Vico's footage. She sneered, not intending to even take a look, but it wasn't entirely her call. In the presence of everyone, it was impossible to cover things up.
She and some editors and staff could only press play, and the scenes in the footage startled them, indicating Vico had uncovered yet another big story.
The director gritted her teeth, initially planning to report them to the station manager tomorrow because Vico and her partner had stolen a broadcast van.
Now it seemed, if the manager learned they'd found a big story, rather than punishment, they would likely be rewarded.
"Damn it, lucky you!"
The director thought to herself but nevertheless handed the footage over to the editors to prepare scripts for the broadcast room.
At 12:30, another round of news began. The late-night host in the studio drank water in preparation. They were like workers on an assembly line or horses grinding stone, rotating between studios and hosts.
Studio 1 aired from 12 to 12:27, then rested for half an hour, while Studio 2 aired until 12:57 before swapping again.
Honestly, not many watched the midnight news, but for the sake of pay, he had to maintain the most professional smile.
While rehearsing his script, his eyes lit up upon discovering new information, and he was the first to report it, which was good news.
It was like a small reward in a mundane, numb job, akin to winning ten US Dollars in the lottery.
As the red light in the studio illuminated, he displayed his most perfect smile:
"Welcome to Gotham City TV Station's news channel. Breaking news: early this morning, a gang attacked Gotham City Police Station, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides. The incident is under investigation. Now let's watch the report sent by our correspondent."
The editor signaled with an OK, indicating it was time to switch to the footage, yet the host didn't relax, instead watching closely.
The footage contained evidence of fierce fighting, the police station had become a battlefield—such a scene wasn't uncommon in Gotham, but happening within the station was a first.
Pete's camera work was impeccable, capturing nerve-wracking scenes, leaving countless bored viewers shocked in the middle of the night. On a stormy night, even typical criminals couldn't go out, and they sought thrilling scenes to watch.
"Director, Vico has sent a live broadcast request," an editor wearing headphones reported.
The female director gritted her teeth, looking at the rating monitor that shot up like a resurrected corpse's ECG, bitterly uttering two words:
"Give it!"
The host received the signal and slightly nodded in understanding. After the footage played, the camera cut back to the studio.
"We now have new information from the front. Let's connect with our front-line correspondent, Vico Vali."
The signal connected, yet the familiar smile didn't appear. Replacing it was a black and yellow mask.
"Hello, Vico... wait, oh! My god! It's Deathstroke!"
Originally smiling and waiting to connect with Vico, the host screamed as if scalded by boiling water, leaping up from his chair, backing away until his back hit the wall, unable to escape, like a frightened child.
Yet his eyes couldn't leave the screen, the yellow and black armor having an almost magical allure.
"Hello, host." Deathstroke in the footage tilted his head slightly as if greeting. He then said with rising intensity, "Good evening, Gotham!"
Perhaps somewhere in Gotham, there were maniacs who responded to the TV, "Good evening, Deathstroke."
But clearly, the people in the studio weren't among them, they seemed choked with fear, unable to say a word.
Su Ming didn't care about their courage to speak with him, he waved his gun, signaling Pete for a wide shot: "As you can see, the Gotham Police Station is done. Regrettably, the box doesn't contain the chocolate I wanted, haha."
This joke wasn't funny; everyone watching felt a chill of terror.
As the camera panned out, Deathstroke could be seen holding a gun to a girl's head, who sat in a wheelchair, curling up in the pouring rain, tightly shutting her eyes and shivering.
"This is Director Gordon's daughter, Barbara Gordon. Some of you might know her."
Su Ming tapped his helmet with the gun, acting deranged, aligning more with the terrifying image of Deathstroke ingrained in the perception of Gothamites, fueling their fear.
"I'm looking for Director Gordon, but another group kidnapped him first. Here, I have some things to tell this group."
He walked closer to the camera, increasing the pressure: "You better hand Gordon over to me, he's my target, and I want him alive. Otherwise, no matter to the ends of the earth, I'll find each of you and kill you slowly, ensuring the process is... excruciatingly painful!"
He fired, shooting Barbara, who fell from her wheelchair, her life or death unknown.
Many empty-hearted viewers covered their mouths, unable to bear the sight, terror washing over them again since Jester's arrest.
This blatant bloody massacre and Jester's chaotic madness were two different kinds of fear.
The camera once again turned to Deathstroke, smoke still wafting from his gun. No one would believe he missed from that distance; poor Barbara was dead.
"Anyone with clues on those Men in Black, or who knows Director Gordon's whereabouts, contact the TV station and they will relay to me. I'll grant you a wish, just tell me who you want dead, and that person won't see the next day. Based on my service rates, this is a 2 million US Dollar reward."
"Oh, one more thing, to everyone at the station, play my footage on the news 24/7, and if you can't... your station's fate will be like the police station behind me."
Pete gave a close-up of the police station, gruesome scenes displayed vividly as per Su Ming's demands. In the studio, everyone involuntarily imagined their faces among the corpses, swallowing hard.
Signal lost.
The host in the studio screamed, running around like a headless chicken.
"It's over! It's over! Deathstroke's here to kill us, I want to go home! Go home!"
His behavior broadcasted to every household, yet no one watching the news channel ridiculed him, each feeling the eerie breath on their necks, hairs rising in fright.