Barry scratched his head, feeling a bit hungry, unable to focus in the dimly lit space. The darkness made him sleepy.
But he still forced himself to wake up, rubbing his face with both hands as he asked Bryce:
"You're saying Deathstroke isn't Deathstroke. What does that an? Is it an impostor?"
"There isn't a man here who can use a gun with such skill that I'm aware of." Bryce zood in on the image, enlarging Deathstroke's entire body: "This person's skeletal structure is male."
After speaking, Bryce captured images of Deathstroke standing in front of the police station's pillar, the TV station's broadcasting van, and Deathstroke himself. She then asured the horizontal distance between them, creating a scale.
"The Gotham TV station's broadcasting van is a 1999 'Amazon' model made in tropolis. The van's height is 3.5 ters. The height of the Gotham Police Station's front door is officially recorded as 6.2 ters, and due to geological reasons, it sinks by 0.01 ters every year since 1996. And Cindy Wilson's height is 1.73 ters."
After inputting all these data, the mainfra beeped, almost as if showing a big red 'X.' Bryce shrugged.
"It doesn't match. This person is 1.84 ters tall, male. Now it's not just my impression; the system also confirms that there's no one like this in Gotham."
Barry had already noticed the leftover food on the table. He scooped out so soup from the large pot with a wooden ladle and tasted it. The awful flavor sent a shiver down his spine—it tasted like thick mucus.
But he encouraged himself. He was a superhero; he couldn't be defeated by sothing like this. He needed nutrition, and he needed it now.
"So that ans those footprints on the dinosaur's head were his, and he killed your dinosaur."
"Yeah, thanks for reminding ." Bryce's expression didn't change, but who knows what kind of grudge she was holding against Slade: "After recording the news, he and Cindy kidnapped Barbara and two TV reporters, bringing them here."
Barry swallowed the unappetizing sweet soup with difficulty. The now-cooled, congealed soup had no trace of sweetness, and the numbness on his tongue made him slur his words: "And then they all happily had dinner here at your place and left, without any sign of coercion on Barbara or the reporters."
"That's exactly what I can't figure out." Bryce picked a piece of lettuce from the pot, licked it, and spat it out imdiately. She looked at Barry with incredulous eyes and shook her head: "I can understand the reporters; after all, news has value. But Barbara..."
"...Have you tried contacting Commissioner Gordon?" Barry managed to swallow another mouthful, letting out a painful groan and gasping before suggesting it.
"This Deathstroke specifically called him out. I don't think I'll be able to reach him." Bryce began using the mainfra to make the call so there would be no record. At the sa ti, she told Alfred, "You'd better prepare so food quickly. Our guest is eating a dish made by Deathstroke. I just tasted a tiny bit, and I already feel like she's trying to kill ."
"Of course, Miss. The food is already on the stove."
Alfred headed back upstairs to prepare the al. Letting a guest go hungry was not sothing a butler should do.
"I can't reach Gordon. Interestingly, this system had previously tracked a license plate number, as well as my and Alfred's locations." Bryce sat down with interest, only to find a pile of ash near her hand. She paused and narrowed her eyes.
"That must have been Barbara's doing." Barry patted his stomach, feeling a bit queasy.
"Barbara's computer skills are strong?" Bryce asked again.
"Very. She's one of the best on Earth." Barry talked about the Oracle he knew. He hadn't interacted much with her, as his colleagues in Central City were science fanatics who provided him with full logistical support. The only contact he had with Barbara was occasional video calls through the Justice League: "Not only is she an exceptional hacker, but she also has the talent and leadership to command. Many female heroes on our side listen to her."
Bryce hugged her arms, wiping at the yellowish burn mark on the desk: "That's interesting because the Barbara in our world is just an ordinary high school student. She's never shown any talent. I don't know, and neither does Gordon."
Barry raised an eyebrow. It seed he understood sothing: "But Deathstroke knew. He brought Barbara here with a very clear goal, to use your 'Brother Eye' system to find soone."
"Uh, my system doesn't have a na. If I had to na it, it'd be 'Sister Eye'..." Bryce glanced at the screen, which showed the previous search location. A place called Indian Hill was flashing on the map: "Is this Deathstroke from your world?"
Barry shook his head. "No, our Slade is 1.94 ters tall. He's with Aquaman in Atlantis looking for sothing. They don't have the ability to cross dinsions. I'm the one responsible for finding multiversal reinforcents... though it didn't go as planned."
"I know, you've ntioned it many tis. Using the Speed Force to traverse worlds has unpredictability. You encountered the Ti Wraiths, barely escaped with your life, and ended up in our world." Bryce pulled up information on Indian Hill, studying it closely, but a junkyard didn't reveal anything useful.
"Yes, exactly. Then I realized ti had reversed a bit, but it didn't trigger the Flashpoint effect. The world is still the sa. Gotham is still a ss." Barry sat on a nearby table. He tried using his speed to wipe away the yellow stains on the desk, but the tobacco stains only grew larger.
"Our worlds were different from the beginning. Even if you triggered the so-called Flashpoint, you wouldn't be able to tell... Eventually, you discovered that a world supposedly dood still existed, and soone you thought was your enemy, like , hadn't gone insane." Bryce's calm explanation left Barry a bit embarrassed. Fortunately, Alfred's arrival a few minutes later broke the awkward atmosphere.
"Miss Bryce, and Mr. Allen, dinner is ready. Tonight's main course is red wine beef stew, accompanied by roasted oysters and chicken rolls with celery. There's also lobster sashimi, and the main dish is European noodles, though due to ti constraints, the beef might not be tender enough."
"That's already amazing. Please bring it here. I have so preparations to make, and I'm curious what this mysterious person is really after." Bryce smiled at Alfred, feeling a sense of pride. Only her butler could whip up a beef stew in such a short ti.
At the sa ti, she was forming a general theory in her mind.
"This Deathstroke has a clear goal. He knows a lot."
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