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... elentless sheets, soaking the ruined streets of Gotham. Slade Wilson emerged from the basement, his keen eye scanning the lifeless forms of the men in black. Their weapons lay scattered, some still warm from recent use. He crouched, rifling through their ammunition, pocketing whatever was useful. A knife and a staff were reliable, but there were times when firepower was necessary.

He straightened, the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp catching the golden sheen of his mask. Without another ...

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