Dr. Holloway had been reading the newspaper at ho when he hurried to the cri scene, but by the ti he arrived, the police were already there. The current attitude of the police toward heroes wasn't particularly friendly. If soone like him, a masked vigilante, showed up at a murder scene, he would surely beco a suspect.
Thus, he decided to use his real identity to investigate.
The body would be sent to the New York Forensics Center for an autopsy, and coincidentally, Dr. Holloway was a well-known surgeon in New York.
He had a few friends in the dical community who could help him gain access to the forensics center to examine the body.
At the very least, he needed to know the direction from which the bullets had been fired—whether they hit the victim from the front or from behind.
Slipping off the roof, he headed to a deserted alley to change out of his vigilante suit, then drove back to the sanatorium. There, he would contact so people and offer to "help" the New York Forensics Departnt, perhaps by giving a lecture or sothing.
As he walked into the sanatorium, the receptionist nurse greeted him with a smile. "Dr. Holloway, soone is here to see you."
Dr. Holloway, young, wealthy, strong, and handso, with a stylish mustache reminiscent of the famous Howard Stark, had long caught the attention of the nurses at the sanatorium.
In a ti when the world felt increasingly insecure, every young woman dread of finding an ideal partner.
But unlike Howard, Holloway was polite, never losing his composure, serious about his work, and always kind to others.
Yet he never seed interested in won, living like a monk. Lately, the nurses had noticed that he seed even busier than usual.
No one knew what he was busy with. Was he out on house calls? Or maybe spending hours at the library? Either way, Dr. Holloway seed to only do those sorts of things.
Dr. Holloway smiled politely at the nurse. His entire identity was concealed under the cover of the sanatorium. "Oh, thank you. Do you know who this visitor is?"
"No, but he doesn't seem like soone looking to stay here. He's very young, and he looks powerful. He arrived in a limousine I've never seen before."
The young nurse shook her head, her knowledge limited. Still, she knew that limousines weren't sothing ordinary people could afford. Even the cheapest ones cost tens of thousands of dollars.
Dr. Holloway frowned slightly, unable to think of anyone who would co looking for him. The limousine seed too flashy; none of his friends drove sothing like that.
"Alright, is he in the lounge? I'll go see him."
Though Holloway was anxious to investigate the body, he maintained his calm deanor. After thanking the nurse, he quickly made his way upstairs.
The young nurse clutched her chest, a dreamy look on her face as she watched him leave, blushing shyly.
Arriving on the upper floor, Holloway was greeted by the less-than-pleasant sll of the sanatorium. Even the freshly cleaned lounge had a faint sll of urine.
And yet, this was one of the better sanatoriums in the city—at least it didn't have rats and cockroaches running around. Holloway had heard of other facilities where elderly patients were eaten by rats during the night.
He opened the door, its frosted glass panes letting in only dim light. The lounge had a few sofas and potted plants, but the brown walls showed water stains seeping through.
A figure stood with his back turned, hands behind his back, gazing out the window at the traffic below.
Even from behind, the man exuded a sense of danger, as if so deadly creature lurked within him.
"Dr. Holloway, impressive. From asking questions at the front desk, analyzing the situation, and getting to the third floor—it only took you 19 seconds."
Dr. Holloway's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know who this man was, but the stranger seed to have observed sothing about him.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Holloway, acting director of this sanatorium."
He decided to start with sothing simple. The man was a mystery, and Holloway needed to probe further.
The figure at the window turned, smiling as he looked at Holloway. "I know who you are. I know who you really are. That's why I'm here."
The air seed to freeze. Holloway could hear a spider scuttling across the window, but his mind was racing.
"I'm a surgeon, fairly decent at it, but I don't perform eye surgeries. Is there sothing else?"
Holloway suspected the man was trying to trick him. His identity as the Avenging Angel was well-concealed, and there was no reason anyone should have discovered it.
Su Ming sat down on the old sofa, which creaked under his weight. The fabric slled musty and decayed.
"You've already t Two-Gun Kid. He ca from the future, didn't he tell you anything about ?"
Holloway tensed. This man knew too much. If he was an enemy of Two-Gun Kid or soone from the future with a vendetta, things could get complicated.
"Who are you?"
Su Ming actually admired this first Avenging Angel. The man was intelligent and knew how to tread carefully.
Most importantly, he had his own values. He had no hesitation when it ca to pulling the trigger, fully utilizing the two revolvers passed down to him by Two-Gun Kid.
Growing up among criminals, Holloway had developed a nuanced understanding of good and evil. He knew that many of those society had abandoned were still good people at heart. Their cris often aligned with a sense of morality and justice, even if the law deed them guilty.
Rules and laws weren't everything, and Holloway's decision to beco a masked hero was a sign of his dissatisfaction with those constraints.
Su Ming could tell him a few things. After all, Two-Gun Kid had done the sa.
As both a doctor and a self-taught lawyer, Holloway was trustworthy, with the maturity to assess situations and make inford decisions.
He acted justly but wasn't rigid.
"My na is Slade. I'm a businessman. But as Two-Gun Kid may have told you, my codena is Deathstroke."
Holloway felt as if cold water had been dumped over his head, like he was running naked through the streets on a frigid winter night. A chill seeped into his bones.
The na Deathstroke wasn't new to him. It wasn't just Two-Gun Kid who had warned him; Holloway had grown up hearing legends about the "Devil of New York."
Two-Gun Kid had told him that, in the future, Deathstroke remained the most lethal assassin and rcenary, possessing unmatched combat skills. No one could defeat him in close combat.
However, Two-Gun Kid had also described Deathstroke as a great anti-hero, despite his brutality and bloodlust.
What did "anti-hero" an? Holloway wasn't sure. Two-Gun Kid, coughing up blood, had explained it as soone who did both good and bad things.
This left Holloway confused. Doing both good and bad—did that make soone a good person or a bad one?
Didn't everyone who wore a mask choose to either do good or evil? How could soone do both? Such a character seed too ambiguous for the newspapers to handle.
At this point in ti, the concept of an anti-hero didn't really exist. People were still caught up in a more theatrical, black-and-white view of life, unable to grasp the reasons for a masked rcenary's existence.
Dr. Holloway hesitated for a mont before finally walking toward the sofa and sitting beside Su Ming. He licked his lips and glanced at the door, lowering his voice.
"Alright, so the legendary rcenary cos to . What is it you need?"
"I'm investigating the murder of Phantom Bullet, and I think you can help," Su Ming said calmly. The air in the room wasn't great, so he wanted to get to the point and leave quickly.
If the murder was connected to German spies, Su Ming might find a lead. If not, he'd have to explore other avenues.
His goal was to figure out what had happened to Namor. If nothing was wrong, Su Ming could finally relax and take it easy.
Dr. Holloway frowned. "I don't know yet. I only got a glimpse of the body this morning."
"Do you want to find the killer? Or are you seeking revenge for him?"
Su Ming smiled faintly at the doctor, watching as Holloway's mustache twitched.
"Of course, I'm the Avenging Angel, aren't I?"
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