The doctor hurried over after reading the newspaper at home, but before he could examine the body, the police arrived.
Currently, the police do not have a good attitude towards heroes, especially if someone like him, a masked man, appears at a murder scene, he is sure to become a suspect.
So he planned to investigate using his real identity.
The deceased would be sent to the New York City Forensics Center for an autopsy, and by chance, he was a famous surgeon in New York.
He had a few friends in the health sector who could speak on his behalf, allowing him to enter the Forensics Center to investigate the body.
At least he needed to know the bullet's direction of fire, whether it was from the front... or from the back...
He slipped away from the rooftop, returned to an empty alley to change out of his uniform, and then drove his car back to the sanatorium. He needed to contact some people there, pretending to be willing to provide some help for the New York City's forensic work, such as giving lectures at the Forensics Center.
"Dr. Holloway, someone is here to see you."
When he walked into the sanatorium, the receptionist nurse informed him with a beaming smile.
Dr. Holloway was young, wealthy, strong, and handsome, sporting a dandy little mustache like the famous Howard. The nurses at the sanatorium had been eyeing him for a long time.
Every young girl wished to find an ideal boyfriend, as this era made people feel very insecure.
Unlike Howard, Holloway was courteous, never losing his composure, serious in his work, and kind to people.
However, he also never was close to women, living a monk-like life daily. To the nurses, it seemed the doctor had become even busier recently.
No one knew what he was busy with—perhaps making house calls? Or maybe reading in the library? Anyway, Dr. Holloway only did these things.
Holloway smiled at the nurse, his identity entirely covered by the sanatorium: "Oh, thank you, do you know the visitor?"
"No, he doesn't look like a guest planning to stay. He's very young and seems influential. I haven't even seen the kind of stretch limousine he arrived in."
The young nurse shook her head. Although her knowledge was limited, she understood that stretch limousines weren't for the average person. Even the cheapest ones cost tens of thousands of US Dollars.
Holloway slightly frowned, unable to think of who would be looking for him, and a stretch limousine was too ostentatious; none of his friends were like that.
"Alright, is he in the guest room? I'll go meet him."
Though eager to investigate the body, Holloway maintained his composure, thanked the nurse warmly, and quickly went upstairs.
The young nurse clutched her heart, her face aglow as she watched him leave, shyly lowering her head.
Upon reaching the upper floor, the smell in the sanatorium wasn't too pleasant. Even the guest room, specially cleaned, had a faint smell of urine outside its door.
And their sanatorium was one of the better ones in town, at least without rats and cockroaches running around. He had heard of a sanatorium where an old man was eaten by rats at night.
Pushing open the door with frosted glass, the guest room had a few sofas and pots of plants, yet brown walls bore water stains.
A figure stood by the window, hands behind his back, seemingly watching the traffic outside.
Even from the back, this person exuded a strong sense of oppression, like something dangerous resided within him.
"Dr. Holloway, you're quick. It took you only 19 seconds from entering, asking questions, analyzing the situation, to reaching the third floor."
The doctor's heart missed a beat. He did not know who this person was, but the other seemed to have noticed something.
"Hello, I am Holloway, currently the acting director of this sanatorium."
He decided to begin with a mundane introduction; the stranger in front was unfamiliar, so more probing was necessary.
The person at the window turned around, smiling as he looked at Holloway: "I know who you are, who you truly are, which is also why I'm here."
The air fell silent, so still that the sound of a spider skittering across the window might be heard, yet the doctor continued to ponder.
"I am a surgeon, relatively proficient, but I can't perform eye surgery. Is there anything else?"
Holloway believed the other party was trying to probe him. His identity as an Avenging Angel was well-concealed, no reason for it to be uncovered.
Su Ming moved to a sofa and sat down. The sofas were old, not only making creaky sounds but also covered in a fabric that smelled musty.
"You've already met Dual Gun Hero; he came back from the future. Didn't he tell you anything about me?"
Holloway became wary. The other party knew too much information. If he was an enemy of Dual Gun Hero or a foe from the future, that would complicate things.
"Who are you?"
Su Ming liked this first-generation Avenging Angel. He was very intelligent and measured.
Most importantly, he had his own values. He shot without hesitation, making full use of the two revolvers Dual Gun Hero had given him.
Growing up among criminals, his understanding of good and evil wasn't guided by others. In prison, there were those whom society abandoned, yet he realized there were still good people among them. Their crimes indeed matched moral and just standards, though the law condemned them as guilty.
Laws and rules weren't everything in the world, and Holloway's choice to become a masked man represented his weariness of such things long ago.
Su Ming could tell him some things since Dual Gun Hero had done so.
As a doctor and self-taught lawyer, Holloway was tight-lipped, and his mature mentality allowed him to weigh situations and make his judgments.
His actions were righteous yet not rigid.
"My name is Slade, a businessman... However, Dual Gun Hero must have also told you, my codename is Deathstroke."
Holloway felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him, or like running bare-chested through streets on a winter's night, the chill seeping through every pore.
The name Deathstroke he had heard of, not only from Dual Gun Hero but also since childhood through the Legends of the New York Demon.
Dual Gun Hero had told him that in the future, Deathstroke remained the most lethal assassin and mercenary, his martial arts abilities frighteningly high, and no one could defeat him in close combat.
However, there was a highly contradictory aspect: Dual Gun Hero described much of his bloodlust and cruelty, his various extraordinary means, but concluded with Hawke saying Deathstroke was a great anti-hero.
What does anti-hero mean? Holloway didn't understand. While coughing blood, Dual Gun Hero explained it as someone who does both good and bad deeds.
This left the doctor bewildered. Doing both good and bad, does that make someone a good or bad person?
Isn't donning a mask meant either to do good deeds or bad deeds? Doing both would make the character too ambiguous, how would journalists write about it?
Undeniably, this era had no appearance of figures both righteous and wicked as anti-heroes; they remained engrossed in dramatic lives without understanding the purpose of masked mercenaries emerging.
Dr. Holloway hesitated, then moved towards the sofa and sat beside Su Ming. He licked his lips, glanced at the door through his eyes, and lowered his voice.
"Alright, so what brings the legendary strongest mercenary to find me?"
"I'm investigating the cause of Phantom Bullet's death, and I thought you might be able to help," Su Ming said calmly; the smell here was truly unpleasant. Better to get down to business and leave promptly.
If his death were connected to a German spy, he might catch a lead; otherwise, a new strategy was needed.
Clarifying where Namor went, if nothing else, Su Ming could relax at home.
Dr. Holloway frowned: "I don't know yet, I only glanced at the corpse from a distance this morning."
"Do you want to find the killer? Or rather... are you planning to avenge him?"
Su Ming looked at the doctor with a half-smile, while the doctor's mustache twitched.
"Of course, I am an Avenging Angel, after all."