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The off-road vehicle screeched to a halt on the gravel-covered ground, its tires kicking up a cloud of choking yellow dust.
The car door opened, and Cyborg Victor Stone stepped out. His red electronic eye scanned the surrounding ruins, finally settling on Bruce's weary face.
"Don't waste your energy, Bruce."
Cyborg was blunt, skipping any pleasantries and getting straight to the point.
"I intercepted the Superman Regime's encrypted communications. All those so-called black market leads were traps. All the Kryptonite merchants were purged three days ago, and their heads are currently displayed in Metropolis Square."
Hearing this, Bruce's grip on his rifle tightened slightly.
"So the signal we received was bait..."
"Exactly. It's a trap designed to lure the hidden Resistance out so they can be wiped out in one fell swoop," Cyborg continued. "I deciphered the signal and tracked it here. Looks like I arrived just in time."
At this moment, the man who stepped out of the passenger seat removed his tactical helmet, revealing white hair and a single eye.
Slade Wilson, Deathstroke.
The World's deadliest mercenary was slowly slinging his assault rifle behind him, watching the somewhat disheveled Batman with interest.
"It seems our Dark Knight has finally run out of luck." Slade surveyed the surroundings, looking at the Parademon corpses and scorched marks littering the ground, his tone mocking.
"What? Now you even have to personally look after that crazy old hag?"
Bruce gave him a cold glance, threw the empty magazine in his hand onto the ground, and reloaded.
"If you're here to collect a debt, Slade, you'll have to wait in line," Bruce said gravely. "I'm bankrupt now. Wayne Enterprises' assets turned into worthless paper long ago. I can't pay your fee."
"Money?"
Slade sneered. He pulled a cigar out of his tactical vest, not lighting it, but merely chewing on it, savoring the spicy taste of the tobacco.
"Look at this World, Bat. Dollars are too stiff even for toilet paper now. Those alien bastards ruined my business and turned my Swiss Bank account into a meaningless string of numbers."
He spat out the tobacco fragments in his mouth, his single eye glinting with cold light.
"I'm only here to avenge my money! Killing those aliens is my only pleasure now."
After speaking, Slade's gaze passed over Bruce and landed on Homelander, who was currently being "harassed" by Harley nearby.
"What is this? Your new Robin?"
Slade turned to ask Bruce, pointing at Homelander's conspicuous attire.
"Also, Bat, I have to say your taste is getting stranger. Do you have some special fetish for that alien savior?
"You actually customized a uniform for your new sidekick that pays tribute to that alien dictator?"
"What is this supposed to be? Some kind of twisted psychological compensation? Although it does have some added patriotic elements..."
Hearing this, Homelander, who had been maintaining a standard smile nearby, raised an eyebrow slightly.
He released the arm Harley was hugging, and slowly floated up, positioning himself three feet above Deathstroke's head.
"Watch your tone, Cyclops."
Homelander looked down at Slade.
"Your sense of humor is like your eye—missing half of it."
"In this World, people who dare to criticize me like that usually don't live past the next second."
Two dangerous red lights flickered in Homelander's eyes.
Slade's hand instantly slapped onto his sword hilt, his muscles tensing. As the World's top mercenary, his sense of danger was sharper than a Beast's.
"Enough! Stop it, both of you!"
Bruce Wayne stepped between the two, pushing his hands out slightly.
"We have enough enemies already; we don't need infighting."
He turned to look at Homelander, his expression complex.
"Since you are wearing those clothes and possess that kind of power... are you truly unrelated to 'him'?"
"Him?"
Homelander landed back on the ground, his brow slightly furrowed, showing annoyance at the topic.
"It sounds like this guy you keep talking about, the one who looks like me... has given you quite the psychological trauma?"
"Now I'm very interested in this imposter. So... could you introduce me?"
"Yes! Yes!!"
Harley Quinn jumped out from the side, waving her curved baseball Bat.
"My Candy Man is going to beat up that Big Blue Guy!!"
She circled Homelander like a cheerleader, performing a supportive dance.
"I want to watch! I want to watch you rip his underwear off and stuff it in his mouth! That scene would be awesome!"
"Harley, quiet."
Bruce watched the scene, shaking his head helplessly.
"No matter who you are, Homelander."
"I don't know where you came from, but I can confirm you are not from this World. Or rather... you haven't returned to Earth in a long time."
"You simply don't understand what we are facing."
"In our World, Superman is invincible, he is a god. But after his fall, he became a god of destruction without any moral restraint."
"Without Kryptonite, we can't even scratch his skin."
Having said this, Bruce suddenly paused.
His keen detective intuition caught a logical contradiction.
The man in front of him claimed to be an Earthling, and was wearing stars and stripes elements clearly characteristic of the U.S.
Yet he knew nothing about Superman? And even called Superman an "Imposter"?
In this World, it's impossible for anyone not to know Superman, unless... Parallel Universe.
Or perhaps... a Timeline Branch.
The Flash once warned him that time could be altered. Could this man be from another timeline where Superman doesn't exist, or where Superman is different?
Bruce's mind raced, analyzing all possibilities. But the current situation did not allow for excessive academic discussion.
On the distant horizon, the dark silhouettes of Parademon reinforcements were faintly appearing.
He collected his thoughts and looked at Homelander, his expression turning extremely serious.
"Listen, this place isn't safe. If we waste any more time talking, he will descend from the sky and burn us all to ashes."
"Since you claim to be an Earthling, this Earth is bleeding, and humanity is on the brink of extinction."
"We need help. We need you."
"Are you in?"
This was an invitation, and also a test.
Everyone's gaze was fixed on Homelander.
Homelander didn't rush to answer. He looked at Bruce's face, covered in the marks of hardship and stubble—older and more tired than Homelander remembered, but also more ruthless.
Although this World seemed rotten, with a sharply reduced population, it was precisely because of this despair that people needed faith, and needed a savior, even more.
If he could save this World, the resulting popularity value would definitely be massive.
"Of course."
Homelander flashed an impeccable smile.
"It is my duty to help my compatriots. After all, I am a Professional Hero; this is written in my job description manual."
"Even if it's just for..."
As he spoke, his gaze lowered, falling upon the expectant face of Harley Quinn.
"Harley!" Harley Quinn immediately understood, shouting happily, "My name is Harley Quinn! Candy Man!"
"Oh, yes..." Homelander smiled slightly. "Even if it's for this charming Miss Harley Quinn."