The basement of Smith Manor was shrouded in a calculated quiet, broken only by the constant hum of servers and the occasional click of a fan adjusting the temperature. The central command station, with its wall of curved monitors, projected a bluish glow that illuminated the holographic map of Gotham floating in the air, like a living chessboard. Erick and Artemis were there, side by side, reviewing the data from the previous night—a hunt that had left a trail of mutilated bodies and messages of terror scattered throughout the city's underworld.
Erick, his eyes fixed on the screen, traced red lines on the hologram, connecting points that represented the eliminated targets. "Eight groups neutralized tonight," he said, his voice firm and analytical. "Approximately 100 mercenaries and assassins in total. We caught them at key points: two in the East End, three in the Docks, one in the Bowery, and the last two trying to regroup in an abandoned warehouse near the bridge. No one is left to tell the tale. Those who survived are mutilated enough to rethink their lives."
Artemis, leaning against the counter beside him, arms crossed and gaze fixed, nodded. "It was a good night. You handled Deadlock well—the guy was a sharpshooter, but in close combat, he fell apart quickly. And I took care of those groups in the East End... the freezing gel and explosive arrows worked perfectly. But 100 in one night? That's going to have repercussions. Black Mask must be furious in the hospital, knowing his bounty is becoming a joke."
Natasha's holographic silhouette materialized beside the map, a red shape pulsing with lines of data. "Further analysis," she said, her voice soft and precise. "The eliminated groups represent 22% of confirmed contractors. Communication patterns indicate increasing disorganization in the underworld—intercepted messages show hesitation in accepting the contract. Desertion rate: 15% in the last 24 hours. The $10 million bounty per head is losing its appeal."
Erick leaned forward, zooming in on a section of the map where the red dots seemed to converge. "I'm sure now that Deathstroke has accepted the job."
Artemis blinked, turning slightly toward him, still leaning against the table with her arms crossed, glancing sideways at him with an expression that mixed skepticism and curiosity. "Sure? How can you be so sure? We don't have concrete proof. Natasha searched the encrypted channels, but found nothing definitive about Slade Wilson."
Erick kept his eyes on the map, but a subtle smile curved his lips. "Intuition. Years analyzing patterns, simulating scenarios with the AIs... I'm 99.9% sure. Look here: these groups we eliminated? They weren't random. They were moving in patterns that suggest high-level coordination—optimized routes for ambushes, communications with military-grade encryption. This isn't amateur work. It's Deathstroke's style: he doesn't hunt alone; he orchestrates. And look at these solitary points here on the map—independent assassins who stopped moving hours ago. They're waiting for orders. From him."
Artemis remained silent for a long moment, digesting the words. She turned her back to the monitor, leaning against the table with her arms crossed, glancing sideways at Erick, as if assessing not only the plan but the man behind it. The basement seemed even more vast in that silence, the hum of the servers filling the void like a mechanical whisper. Her sharp, penetrating green eyes fixed on his profile—the disheveled black hair, the broad, defined shoulders beneath the simple t-shirt, the relaxed yet alert posture. He had changed in recent months: more confident, more calculating, as if each patrol and each invention were forging him into something unbreakable. But that "intuition" of his... it was almost supernatural. As if he knew things that no one else knew.
"So, what's the plan?" she finally asked, breaking the silence with a firm voice, but with a challenging tone that concealed growing concern.
Erick straightened up, opening the Gotham map again on the main monitor. The screen lit up with a 3D holographic projection, floating in the air between them like a living map. Red dots flashed, representing the groups of mercenaries and assassins they had located over the past few weeks—some already crossed out with black lines, indicating those eliminated that night. "We need to lure him in."
Artemis gave a short, incredulous laugh, tilting her head to the side, her blond hair swaying slightly. "Lure? Deathstroke is one of the world's best assassins. He's an ex-military man, enhanced with a serum that makes him practically superhuman. Speed, strength, regeneration... even Batman struggles to face him in direct combat on equal terms. And you want to lure him? What exactly is the plan? Because that sounds like glorious suicide."
Erick nodded, his fingers tracing red lines on the hologram, connecting the dots of the eliminated groups. "Look here," he said, tracing red lines with his finger in the air, the hologram responding to the touch as if it were a touchscreen. "These lines show the flow of movement of the assassins we're eliminating. It's not random—we're following a sequence that seems logical, as if we're being guided to clear the weak points first. But in reality, we're setting a trap. We're going to lure Deathstroke by pretending we're following this predictable pattern. He'll think he's ambushing us, but in reality, he'll be the one being ambushed."
Artemis approached, uncrossing her arms to examine the map closely, her expression shifting from skepticism to genuine interest. "Risky. Very risky. He could attack in any of these scenarios here," she pointed to the interconnected points on the map, "before we even reach the end of the sequence. How do you plan to deal with that? He's a master tactician—he can predict patterns better than most."
Erick nodded, his fingers tracing more lines on the hologram, highlighting specific buildings and warehouses along the projected path. "Indeed, we need to be cautious. What we're going to do is prepare the ground before confronting these groups. We'll focus on these points here—abandoned buildings, industrial warehouses, isolated locations that we can turn into custom traps. Each of his ambushes will be a reverse trap. If he tries to catch us in one of these locations, we activate the plan. And the counter will be merciless."
Artemis uncrossed her arms, leaning against the table beside him, looking at the map, now switched off but still visible in her memory. "Why focus on these specific buildings? What's so special about them?"
Erick gave a small, almost mischievous smile, interlacing his fingers in front of his face as if delivering checkmate in an invisible game. His blue eyes gleamed with a confidence bordering on arrogance, but one she already knew—it was the look of someone who saw the world as a solvable puzzle. "Am I not fireproof?"
Read the chapters in advance: patreon.com/cw/pararaio