章節 260: CHAPTER 255
[Meanwhile, in Morocco]
After checking into a run-down motel for the night, Jason and Slade reported their status back to Tom. Their arrival had gone smoothly, and they had made contact with a wingman of their Moroccan connection. The job was underway, but the tension between the two men was palpable.
Jason stood in front of the mirror, checking his reflection with a critical eye. He wore a black biker jacket over a simple white t-shirt, paired with faded blue jeans, and finished his look with a pair of heavy combat boots. His fingers ran through his hair absentmindedly as he adjusted his collar.
"Hurry up, old man. We're heading out," Jason called over his shoulder to Slade, who was seated at a small table, eyes glued to his laptop. Slade was engrossed in wrapping up some business before they headed out, his face illuminated by the dull glow of the screen.
Without looking up, Slade responded in his usual gruff tone, "You better watch your mouth, kid, or I'll watch it for you."
Jason rolled his eyes and turned around, leaning against the doorframe as he crossed his arms. "Just because we're on the same team doesn't mean I'll take your crap. Screw this up, and I'll put you down myself, then report to Ghost saying you died in combact."
Slade snapped the laptop shut, his movements slow and deliberate as he rose to his feet. Grabbing his leather jacket from the chair, he calmly walked toward the bed to pick up the car keys, but Jason wasn't done.
"I'm serious. I'm not some pushover," Jason growled, taking a few steps toward Slade. "I'll knock your old ass into next week if I have to."
Slade's one good eye narrowed dangerously as he faced Jason head-on. "The first Boy Wonder knew better than to run his mouth when we crossed paths. Maybe it's time I remind you why that is." Slade took a step closer, their faces now inches apart. The tension was thick, palpable, as both men squared off, fists clenched, eyes locked in a silent, seething contest of wills.
Just as the atmosphere between them reached its boiling point, a voice cut through the air, calm but commanding.
"Now, now, boys. Let's not go killing each other before you even begin the job."
Both Jason and Slade turned toward the source of the voice, their attention drawn to Jason's laptop on the bed. The screen displayed a single letter "G" on a dark background—Ghost's signal.
"Nothing to worry about, boss," Slade said, not breaking his gaze from Jason. "Just a little disagreement between a disrespectful brat and an experienced professional who's more than willing to knock some manners into him. By the time I'm done, this kid won't dare open his mouth without calling me 'sir.'"
"Yeah? We'll see about that," Jason shot back, his jaw tightening.
"Enough," Ghost interrupted, his tone sharp, cutting off the brewing confrontation. Both men glared at each other, but neither dared to argue further.
Ghost continued, his voice level and business-like. "Wrap up your work here and get back to the States as soon as possible. Something is about to go down, and I'll need all my chess pieces in place when it happens."
That caught their attention. Jason and Slade exchanged a glance before refocusing on the laptop screen.
"Something like what?" Jason asked, his curiosity piqued, while Slade's brows furrowed in suspicion.
"You haven't seen the news, have you?" Ghost replied. "There was an attack on the Justice League. Some kind of robot almost took them down."
Slade scoffed, folding his arms. "A robot? Gave the League a hard time? You've gotta be kidding me."
Ghost's voice remained steady, but there was an edge to it. "Not just any robot. This one seemed to copy their powers and use them against the League. It almost succeeded."
Jason's eyebrows shot up, his expression shifting from skepticism to intrigue. "You're saying a machine nearly took out the League? That's wild."
"Technology like that can't be ignored," Ghost said, his voice low and serious. "Imagine if someone like the military—or worse—figured out how to replicate it. An army of robots with metahuman abilities."
"Exactly, Slade. That would be bad for business, and of course. Oh, and also for humanity as a whole." Ghost replied, earning a raised brow from Jason.
Jason's comment lingered in the air, charged with skepticism. "Sounds to me like business is all you care about, and humanity? That's just an afterthought." His words dripped with bitterness, but Ghost's voice on the other end of the laptop remained unfazed, cold, and distant—more focused on the task at hand than philosophical musings.
Slade didn't even bother to glance at him, merely folding his arms across his chest. His one eye remained fixed on the laptop screen, deep in thought. The silence stretched as if waiting for Ghost's response, which came with the calculated calmness of a man with no patience for distractions.
"With the way technology is advancing," Ghost began, his voice echoing from the laptop's speaker, "there's an epidemic waiting to happen, and it won't be some virus or disease. It'll be robots, or worse—technology that thinks for itself. You know it as well as I do, Slade—the fear that humanity's been ignoring will soon become reality. Once it does, well...let's just say that business might be the only thing that keeps some of us alive."
Slade's brow furrowed, his hand coming to rest thoughtfully against his chin. For a moment, it looked as though he was weighing something more significant than just Ghost's words, maybe something personal. "We get the gist of things," he finally muttered, his voice gruff, but resigned. The way he said it carried an air of finality, a silent acknowledgment of the growing threat Ghost hinted at.
On the other end of the call, Ghost's voice hardened, bringing them back to the task at hand. "Good. Now finish the job you're there for and clear the blockage for our suppliers. I expect no delays." His tone brooked no argument, and with a final click, the call ended. The screen went black, their reflections staring back at them from the void.
For a brief moment, neither Jason nor Slade moved. The tension between them hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. Slade glanced at the screen before turning his attention to Jason, who was still looking defiant despite Ghost's clear orders.
Jason finally broke the silence. "You heard him, didn't you? Let's move." His voice was laced with frustration, but there was something else beneath it—impatience. He was eager to get this over with, to dive into the action that awaited them.
Slade stood slowly, pulling on his jacket with deliberate movements. "You're too eager, kid. This isn't just some game where you shoot, punch, and call it a day. You'd better be ready to think before you act, or you'll be in deeper trouble than you can handle." His voice was gruff, but there was a subtle warning behind it.
Jason scoffed, grabbing his own jacket and heading for the door. "Don't worry about me. I've been through worse." His tone was dismissive, but the fire in his eyes betrayed his readiness for whatever lay ahead.
Slade stopped for a second, his eye narrowing. He knew the boy was reckless, headstrong even, but there was potential—if only he could temper that anger, that raw edge that made him dangerous, not just to his enemies, but to himself.
"Just remember, kid," Slade said, his tone growing darker as they stepped out of the motel room, "you might be tough, but no one's invincible. Don't let your ego get you killed."
Jason flashed a grin, but there was no warmth behind it, only a promise of chaos. "Wouldn't dream of it, old man."
As they stepped into the cold Moroccan night, a certain intensity hung in the air between them—one that neither would acknowledge, but both understood all too well. Their task was simple on paper, but nothing in this line of work was ever as easy as it seemed. Jason cracked his knuckles, itching for the action that awaited them, while Slade's cold gaze stayed sharp, ready for whatever obstacles stood in their path.
Tonight, business was business, but the looming shadow of Ghost's words still lingered in the back of their minds. Humanity's fear of what was coming, of what technology might unleash upon the world, was no longer some distant threat. It was real. And tonight, they would take one step closer to facing that reality.
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章節 261: CHAPTER 256
As the car coasted to a stop near the small, bustling side restaurant, Slade and Jason exchanged brief glances. The humid Moroccan air was filled with the mingling aromas of spices, grilled meat, and the faint tang of exhaust from passing cars. Slade cut the engine, casting his cold, calculating gaze across the street. There, sitting casually at a plastic table, was Miguel—halfway through a plate of what looked like kebabs, utterly unconcerned about their presence.
Without a word, Slade and Jason stepped out of the car. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they approached Miguel's table, their strides purposeful and unhurried. They didn't wait for an invitation, pulling out the plastic chairs and seating themselves across from him, creating an instant atmosphere of tension.
Miguel looked up from his meal, chewing slowly before flashing them a greasy, nonchalant smile. "Oh, you're here," he said, gesturing to the food in front of him. "Want anything?" His tone was casual, too casual for Jason's liking.
Neither of them answered. Instead, Slade's single eye bored into him with an icy glare that made Miguel shift slightly in his seat. Jason, on the other hand, barely acknowledged the man, his eyes scanning their surroundings with a practiced sharpness, as if expecting trouble at any moment.
Miguel, unfazed by their silence, leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "They have the best food in the area," he said, before leaning back and popping another piece of meat into his mouth, completely ignoring the tension that simmered at the table.
Slade's gaze hardened, his patience already wearing thin. Miguel may have been relaxed, but he was pushing his luck. "We didn't come here for a fucking culinary review. We came to meet your boss," Slade said, his voice low, each word carrying a threat.
Miguel smiled again, completely unbothered by the venom in Slade's words. "Yes, yes, I did say that. But…" he began, his voice trailing off as he glanced between the two men. Jason's eyes narrowed as he sensed the delay—Miguel was playing games, and Jason wasn't in the mood for it.
"But what?" Jason asked, his tone calm but laced with a growing annoyance. The kid had been on edge since they landed, and Miguel's casual demeanor wasn't helping.
Miguel raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling lightly. "Relax, relax. I did say we'd meet him, but…" he paused again, clearly enjoying dragging this out.
Jason's temper flared, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Don't tell us to fucking relax. Do we look uneasy to you?" His eyes locked onto Miguel's, daring him to try and pull any more bullshit.
Slade remained silent, but his mere presence was enough to amplify the tension. He gestured with a slight nod, signaling Miguel to get to the point already.
Miguel sighed, leaning back in his chair and wiping his hands on a napkin. "Listen, the boss isn't someone you can just meet on a whim. He's busy, dealing with some... complications right now." His tone shifted slightly, growing more serious as he attempted to explain.
Jason was done playing along. He leaned forward, his intense stare boring into Miguel, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So you dragged us all the way out here just to waste our time?"
Miguel raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "No, no, not at all. It's just—this is bad timing. He's handling a situation that requires all his attention."
Slade leaned forward, his gaze unrelenting. "We didn't come here for small talk. We're here to fix that situation, not wait for your boss to decide he's ready. Our boss isn't the patient type, and frankly, neither are we."
Miguel hesitated, his usual smirk faltering slightly. He shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of Slade's cold, unblinking stare. "Look, you can't just show up and expect the boss to—"
Slade cut him off with a calm but menacing voice. "You think we're here as a favor? You think we flew halfway across the world because we felt like it? No. We're here because your boss has a problem, and it's now our problem to solve." He leaned in closer, his tone dropping even lower. "Do we look like jokers to you?"
Miguel felt a chill run down his spine, the humor drained from his face. His lips twitched nervously as he tried to maintain his composure. Slade's icy blue eye held him in place, not giving him the chance to slip out of this. "Am I laughing?" Slade's words were cold as steel.
After a tense pause, Miguel cleared his throat, his voice shaky. "You really want to meet the boss, huh? Fine. But you're not going to like how this goes." He nodded toward the street, and before Jason or Slade could react, two large men approached from behind, their footsteps barely audible against the noise of the busy street.
Jason's hand twitched toward the fork on the table, ready to spring into action, but Slade calmly grabbed his wrist, giving him a subtle shake of the head. Wait, his gesture said. Jason clenched his jaw, his muscles tense, but he trusted Slade's judgment. For now.
Without warning, the men threw black bags over their heads, pulling them from their seats. Jason instinctively resisted for a split second, but Slade remained calm, his body relaxed. He knew what was happening. This wasn't a fight—they were being taken to the boss.
Miguel's voice sounded distant through the fabric of the bag, his smirk practically audible. "Congrats, boys. The boss is ready to have a chat with you."
Jason's mind raced as they were led away, his anger simmering beneath the surface. But for now, they'd play along. The game had only just begun.
…..
[The Hall of Justice, Washington, DC]
Batman stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his form outlined by the glow of a holographic monitor in front of him. His eyes, hidden beneath the white slits of his cowl, flicked across multiple screens filled with streams of data. It was a routine scan—cross-referencing recent activity logs, security checks, and League assignments. Everything appeared normal, until a silent alarm blipped in the corner of his HUD, alerting him to an anomaly at the Watchtower.
His eyes narrowed. The Watchtower's silent alarm was never triggered lightly, and for it to go off now, something unexpected was in motion. Calm and methodical, as always, he quickly accessed the security feed. A frown tugged at the edges of his lips beneath the mask. One item was noticeably absent from its storage: the Mother Box.
Without a word, he swiftly keyed into the storage facility's logs, hoping for an easy explanation, but none came. His mind worked like a supercomputer, processing the implications. The Mother Box, a piece of highly advanced alien technology, was among the most dangerous items in their possession. If it had been stolen or tampered with, the consequences could be catastrophic. But, as ever, Batman remained composed, his heartbeat steady despite the gravity of the situation.
Sitting back in his chair, he continued scanning through the footage, fast-forwarding and rewinding until the moments leading up to the alarm caught his attention. He paused and played the footage, watching intently. The camera showed no external breach or intruder. Instead, he saw a familiar figure: Cyborg.
Cyborg appeared to have taken the Mother Box. Batman's brow furrowed beneath his mask, but his calm never wavered. Why would Cyborg, of all people, remove the Mother Box without alerting anyone? The two of them had discussed the potential risks of the Mother Box before. Cyborg was well aware of its power and the potential danger it represented. There had to be a reason, and Batman intended to find out what it was.
Switching feeds, he accessed Cyborg's lab, pulling up surveillance from earlier that day. The lab was cluttered with the usual high-tech gadgets and half-finished projects. Cyborg was at the center, hunched over a table, with the Mother Box set on the workbench in front of him. His eyes glowed a faint blue as his cybernetic parts interfaced with the box, running what appeared to be tests.
Batman watched closely, replaying the footage in slow motion, looking for any subtle cues. Cyborg didn't seem panicked, nor did he show signs of being under duress. In fact, his body language suggested focus, even intent. But what was he doing with it? And why hadn't he logged his activity?
Batman's fingers hovered over the console as he prepared to send a direct comm link to Cyborg, but he paused. He needed more information before confronting him. Cyborg was a trusted member of the League, but this behavior was out of the ordinary, and Batman wasn't one to jump to conclusions without solid evidence.
Tapping into the Watchtower's diagnostic systems, Batman began running a full scan of the lab, seeking any irregularities—unauthorized access codes, fluctuations in energy output, or abnormal signals. As the scan initiated, Batman continued watching the footage, studying every movement Cyborg made, from the moment he touched the Mother Box to the adjustments on his interface.
Something wasn't adding up. Cyborg was meticulous in his work, but the lack of communication was concerning. Batman's eyes darkened as the possibilities ran through his mind. Could Cyborg be compromised? Or was there a larger plan at play, one that Cyborg hadn't yet disclosed?
His fingers tightened on the edge of the console. Whatever was happening, Batman would get to the bottom of it. The Mother Box was too powerful to be mishandled or experimented on without thorough oversight. For now, he would watch and wait—analyzing every piece of data until the full picture came into focus. Then, if needed, he would confront Cyborg, and the truth would come to light.
"Alfred," Batman said, his voice low and steady through his communicator.
"Yes, Master Wayne?" Alfred's familiar voice responded.
"Prepare the Batplane for a potential Watchtower visit. Something unusual is happening, and I need to handle it personally."
"Right away, sir," Alfred replied without missing a beat.
Batman closed the communication, his eyes locked on the monitor. Whatever Cyborg was up to, he needed answers. And soon.
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