DC: The Gamer

[3rd POV]

Four hours later, the "Black Cross" bar's basement.

Slade Wilson winced from the pain in his chest.

Despite the genetic modifications to his body, the wound should have already healed.

The bleeding had stopped, but the pain still lingered, and he was skilled at enduring it.

He didn't complain, and the thought of the huge reward he would receive for such a trivial task kept him focused.

A week ago, the boss of the new gang in a city called "Black Cross" gave him a strange task to test the fighting skills of Gotham City police officer Isaac Dinklage without killing him.

The reward was ten million.

It was a huge sum for such a task, but he agreed. They even provided him with information on the target.

He just needs a few days to study the subject and a few more days to prepare.

The "test" took place today.

Isaac had made a good impression on Deathstroke.

He was just an ordinary cop for the most part, but it turned out he had a killer instinct in combat.

He even had some ability to learn fast. He was not a master because it would be too flattering to say that, but he was definitely up to Robin's level.

However, Deathstroke still couldn't figure out where the kid was hiding his weapon and entertained him.

He even felt the desire to fight Isaac again.

In the future, when he "grows up." In five years or so, maybe. He might piss off some of the local "big shots" and they'll send him after him.

Deathstroke wouldn't refuse such a contract.

"Good afternoon, Deathstroke."

The narrow-eyed man greeted him, standing slightly shorter than him.

"I assume you've completed the job?"

"Yes. Here are the video materials."

He handed him the flash drive, "Also, my reviews on his level and capabilities."

"Thank you. It's a pleasure doing business with you. Here's the payment, as agreed."

He placed the case on the table and then left.

As Deathstroke counted the money, he pondered.

Of course, he could have retreated from the fight later.

The wound didn't slow him, and the victory was his, but one unexpected and unaccounted factor made him retreat.

The League of Shadows.

Specifically, an old acquaintance who had briefly appeared on the horizon and smiled at him.

He first thought she might want to take advantage of the fight and attack himself.

After leaving, he felt no tail or surveillance. In the end, there was only one conclusion.

The League also wanted this Isaac Dinklage.

Why?

He smiled, but no one could see him. He was amused by the situation.

It was a shame he couldn't observe how things unfolded around the young man, who had caught the interest of serious individuals.

Because right now, he has a lot of other business to take care of.

"I hope you survive and entertain me again."

Deathstroke whispered.

...

[Isaac's POV]

I could see my wounds had already started to heal, and my health was slowly recovering.

Renee approached me.

"You really managed to get into trouble, Isaac."

She chuckled as she lit a cigarette.

"I'm still shocked that I caught Deathstroke's attention."

"You didn't need to worry about him, but someone else. He's just a mercenary."

She said, "Well, of worldwide renown. I don't even know what it was. It's either a special order from the client, or maybe your luck and Deathstroke had to rush home to turn off his gas."

"Hahaha... cough cough! I see, Renee, you've picked up my sarcasm,"

I laughed at the situation through my cough. I almost wanted to smoke myself, even though I don't smoke.

"You're really bad company."

She smiled, "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I'll spend the night here. It's just that my kitchen and patio got ruined. The patio, Pamela will 'magic' me a new one."

Renee immediately made a face. She doesn't like her, the whole "freak" reputation still sticks.

"And I've got the money. I don't think I mentioned it, but I won the lottery. I was thinking of buying a car, but it looks like I'll have to wait for now and repair the house instead. By the way, do you know any good renovation companies?"

"No, but when you're done fixing the house, don't throw away your address. I have a feeling you'll need to rebuild your place more than once."

"I see you're being kind today."

"I haven't slept. I was just about to lie down when I got a call that you were having a mini-war here with gunfire and destruction."

"Sorry about that. It's not my fault."

"Alright, get well. I think they'll give you a couple of days for recovery. It's like everything heals on you as quickly as it would for a dog."

She said before heading off to the forensic specialist.

Sigh... And why is all this happening to me? While I had the chance, I checked the System messages:

"Ding!"

[1+ Level Up]

[Hidden Quest Complete: "Deathstroke"

Description: Are you the prey or the predator who can defend yourself?

Objective: Survive

Rewards:

+3000 Experience

5 AP]

[+1 Regeneration]

[+1 Accuracy]

[+1 Hand-to-Hand Combat]

[+1 Dinklage Style]

[+1 Melee Weapon Mastery]

Well, the System sure "cheered" me up, but why do I have a feeling this is still not the end?

It was finally time to choose a class, and I needed it to become stronger, so Bard and Healer, Spy, and Politician were out.

The Assassin Class remained that would grant me combat privileges.

The System congratulated me on choosing a class and sent me notifications:

[+5 Agility]

[+5 Intelligence]

[+10 Intuition]

[+5 Stealth]

[+2 Problem Solving]

[You've received special Assassin Equipment and a set of poisons]

The equipment consisted of light clothing with minimal body protection, providing additional efficiency and freedom compared to regular clothing]

It looked similar to the clothing worn by the assassins in Skyrim, just without the mask and hood. Yet, there were still some other differences.

I looked at the kitchen wall, and I felt like crying. After all, Pamela is arriving tomorrow. I wanted to show her our new home.

Well, I guess I have to show her…

The worst part of this situation wasn't even Deathstroke's attack on me but the fact that my "Problem Solving" had increased by two levels at once.

It's scary to think about what I'll get myself into in the future.

After an hour, my colleagues and the ambulance left. Just in case, they left one surveillance car near my house.

I was about to go to bed when Bullock called me.

"What do you want, Harvey?"

"Don't be so grumpy just because you got beaten up. There's a case. A rather urgent one... sort of."

"Maybe you won't drag this out and just tell me? I'm tired, and everything hurts, and I'm not in the mood."

"I see. Then let's get to it. An hour ago, we received a call from Los Angeles. A couple of our guys were on a business trip there. You probably didn't know them because rarely show up at the precinct. They're always running around, or at least they were. There was a joint case for Gotham and the "City of Angels" related to smugglers operating here and there. Well, they killed our guys. You and Renee are being sent there to investigate their deaths and wrap up the cases of the killed detectives."

"Motherfucker…"

"I know you're tired and, to put it mildly, not in the best mood. However, we're short on staff and need to send responsible and capable people there. When Jim told me he wanted to send you and Renee, my first question was, what does "capable" have to do with this?

"Well, I agree with that."

I nodded, almost falling asleep.

"You can't exactly call us regular cops."

"Anyway, your flight is tomorrow evening. Accommodation, flight, arrival, and even transportation are all taken care of. You don't need to worry about that...'

"Motherfucker..."

"Don't talk about my mom like that. She's not involved in this."

"Sorry. Alright, if that's all, I'll stop by the precinct tomorrow and pick up the necessary documents.

"Okay. Good night, Isaac."

Tomorrow, Pamela will arrive at noon.

I haven't seen her in over a month.

To be continued...

...

A/N: PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO DROP SOME POWER STONES... THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT.

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