Hong Fei's HUD mapped Arthur's planned route in crisp detail—speed projections, current velocity, all of it. The landscape blurred past him as he accelerated, the prison swelling on the horizon. Two kilometers out.
Searchlights carved through the darkness, their blinding beams sweeping methodically. Hong Fei matched his pace to the rhythm of their rotation. Even at full sprint, he dodged every direct pass of light without hesitation. One kilometer. Arthur's voice crackled in his ear, "Infrared zone ahead. This vector's compromised."
At the hundred-meter mark, Hong Fei slid into a thicket. He pressed flat against the earth, chest heaving. The HUD reconstructed the prison in wireframe—green paths for infiltration, red dots for hostiles.
"Sir, intel gaps exist in this facility. If they catch wind of you too soon, they'll relocate the target beyond our tracking. Recommend stealth insertion: locate, then extract."
"Understood."
The second the searchlight pivoted away, Hong Fei exploded from cover. His Cross-blade left his hand in the same motion, arcing upward. A muted ding as it lodged into a fissure just below the wall's crest.
He took three running steps up the sheer surface, weightless as wind, and snatched the hilt mid-air.
"Five seconds to next sweep," Arthur warned.
Hong Fei hooked the parapet with his left arm, muscles coiling as he hauled himself up. His right hand plucked the blade free in one smooth motion, sheathing it as he cleared the edge. The searchlight's glow already lanced toward him. He scrambled along the ledge, rolling over the far side an instant before the beam would have exposed him.
Barbed wire coiled along the ramparts, sparking with current. His vibranium armor ignored both barbs and voltage as he crouched, scanning the compound. Below stretched a derelict yard, its lone basketball hoop rusted into the dirt. Whatever recreation this place once offered, current occupants weren't granted the privilege.
"Infrared grid below. And mines."
The HUD painted the wasteland in a lattice of crimson, dotted with pulsing hazards.
"Cheery. So if the lights don't spot me, the explosives will?"
"I've spoofed the sensors. Mind the physical traps. Guard shack at ten o'clock—two personnel. One's asleep, the other's... on a call with his wife."
"Midnight chat?"
"Late-night connection."
"Your doing?"
"Negative. His wife's lover orchestrated the timing."
"Hiss."
Hong Fei dropped, hit the ground in a roll, and wove through the invisible grid. He passed the guard post's grimy window. Two uniforms inside—one facedown on the desk, the other grinning into a phone, oblivious to his partner's coma-like sleep.
A flicker of pity—then Hong Fei was gone, sliding down the corridor. The green path led him to a sector drenched in artificial light. Enemy positions glowed like waypoints in some lethal game.
He had to infiltrate from the left—avoiding the sentry's sightline above and three patrolling guards—while silently eliminating two back-to-back armed sentries below. All without tipping off the watchman that his comrades were already dead. Hong Fei studied the 3D model, then unsheathed his blade.
"Ready," he murmured to Arthur.
The wait stretched. The moment the patrol disappeared behind the wall's blind spot, the sentry's overhead light flickered. As the man turned, rifle raised in alarm, Hong Fei burst from cover. The guard facing him barely had time to gasp before—
Whoosh!
The Cross-blade tore through the air like lightning. Its tip punched through the first man's mouth, drilled out the back of his skull, and buried itself in the guard behind him. Hong Fei was already moving.
He wrenched a dagger from the first guard's belt, yanked his blade free in a spray of blood, and drove the stolen knife into the same wound. His other hand snapped the second guard's neck before the man could choke out a scream. Two wet gurgles cut short.
Propping the corpses upright back-to-back, Hong Fei darted to the main building and pressed flat against the wall. Above, the flickering light steadied. The sentry turned away just as the patrol emerged from cover. Then—static crackled from the dead men's radios.
"Position 7, status?"
Arthur's disguised voice answered half a beat later, "No issues. Just resting here a minute."
"Don't let command catch you slacking."
"Copy that."
The line died. Hong Fei smirked.
"That was almost fun."
Arthur's voice tightened in his ear.
"And almost fatal."
The fingerprint lock beeped. A click, then the door yielded. Hong Fei slipped inside, eased it shut, and followed the memorized route. The prison interior surprised him—no sleek futurism, just peeling yellow walls, cracked concrete, and the sickly glow of dying bulbs.
"Three-man squad. Eight meters front-right. Contact in six. Five… four…"
Hong Fei reached the corner as the count hit one. He pivoted—the Cross-blade flashed.
Thunk.
The lead guard crumpled, steel jutting from his throat. His companions barely registered the attack before their guns came up. Hong Fei twisted free of the blade, sidestepped the first man, and closed the gap between the other two. His left fist snapped upward, driving between helmet and vest to crush the left guard's windpipe.
Without glancing back, he thrust the Cross-blade right. The angled tip popped the last guard's eyeball before spearing into his brain. A wrist-twist turned gray matter to slurry. Silence.
The first victim knelt gagging, hands clawing at his ruined throat. A backhand strike severed the opponent's spine, helping him end the pain completely. On the ceiling, a surveillance camera stared blankly at the scene. Hong Fei glanced up and flicked a peace sign. In the monitoring room, the technician watching the wall of screens saw nothing but empty corridors.
Hong Fei moved deeper inside.
A moment later, Hong Fei had eliminated four squads and eight independent sentries—twenty bodies in total. This was the assassin's creed perfected: kill every witness, and it becomes a flawless stealth operation. An assault rifle stolen from a guard and several spare magazines already weighed heavy on his back. First target acquired.
Floyd Lawton. Deadshot. The face of Will Smith. His cell sat deep in isolation, a solitary confinement box. Hong Fei heard the soft click of the lock disengaging as he approached. The door swung open—and footsteps pounded toward him from inside.
Hong Fei didn't hesitate. His leg snapped up, bypassing the door's arc entirely. The kick landed square on Deadshot's chest with a bone-deep thud. The man flew backward and slammed into the ground. Hong Fei stepped inside, sealing the door behind him. Overhead lights flared to life.
Deadshot groaned, clutching his ribs, squinting against the sudden glare. A black boot materialized in his blurred vision. He rolled onto his side, one arm still pressed to his aching chest, the other shielding his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found himself staring up at a face of black metal and glowing white eyes. His gaze dropped to the angular iron armor.
The matte exterior absorbed light, but the dark gold dragon patterns woven into the plates seemed to writhe in the shifting illumination—alive, predatory.
"Floyd Lawton?"
Deadshot frowned, dropped his arm, and exhaled through the pain before pushing himself upright.
"The hell are you?"
"Your new boss."
Deadshot barked a laugh, shaking his head at the armored figure. "I don't take orders. And if you know my name, you know I work alone."
"You did. That changes tonight."
"Confident. I'll give you that—breaking in here's impressive."
Deadshot wiped his mouth.
"But the answer's no."
"Because of your ex-wife and kid?"
Deadshot jerked upright, face tightening—then forced himself to relax.
"You know. So you understand why I'm not walking out with you."
Hong Fei tilted his head.
"You think Amanda Waller's surveillance can stop me from reaching them?"
"No."
Deadshot limped toward his cot, still cradling his ribs.
"You got in here quiet. That means you could've gone after them first. But you came for me instead. Bosses don't hurt their own assets."
"You refused me."
Deadshot smiled up at him. "You'll get caught. They'll hunt you. And my family stays safe."
"You overestimate them."
"You're underestimating Waller."
Deadshot leaned back against the wall.
"She's just a woman, but she plays chess with monsters. You're good—but can you take Batman? Superman? I've never even heard of you. That makes you either fresh meat or a Justice League dropout. Recruiting me means you're building something new. Starting small."
He tapped his temple.
"And startups don't pick fights with the house."
Hong Fei nodded slowly.
"Quick thinking. Impressive, under the circumstances."
"I am the most sought-after assassin in the world."
"Do you know Deathstroke?"
Deadshot's smile vanished.