Hurgada isn't exactly a city suited for car chases. Any veteran should think so. In fact, across the vast African continent, only a handful of major cities in South Africa can handle such grand spectacles, while others can't speed due to poor road management.
But the road conditions don't just affect one side. The chase is slow, so is the escape. This leads to a rather comical situation where the determinant of the car chase isn't driving skills, but who can withstand the bumps better.
The locals have a huge advantage. They usually call those from developed countries, who enjoy roads in excellent condition, "pretentious wimps." Even those from Siberia are no exception. After all, there are not many birds and rats on the roads there, but here they're everywhere. Hitting and running over them makes the journey doubly bumpy.
But they ran into their opponent, Deathstroke. This guy can face missiles without flinching, and even if the car got tripped up by the Himalayas, he'd quickly stabilize himself with a martial stance, unaffected by the bumps.
In this not-so-exciting, and rather comical, African-style car chase, there was only one victim, Shiller, whose inner ear balance system was damaged.
When Deathstroke lured the police and jumped into the car, Shiller had a rough idea of what he was up to. But the effects of his severely damaged balance system were greater than he expected. He never thought he'd suffer from motion sickness, let alone so severely.
With a "click," the car door was removed and thrown out, successfully causing two police cars behind to skid. The ventilation helped improve the situation, and Shiller felt less nauseous, but the dizziness persisted.
"Stop! Deathstroke!" Shiller shouted at him. What he hadn't said was that if he couldn't physically get closer to Cairo, he might choose to mentally bridge the gap with the behind-the-scenes manipulator. To be precise, let the damn culprit come and do this!
A sharp turn interrupted him and simultaneously banged his head against the front seat's backrest. When he came to, Shiller was in utter shock.
A second ago, he was in the office of the Grand Egyptian Museum, checking the temperature control of the closed-circuit system as a technician, while calculating how long before Deathstroke arrived in Cairo.
Then, something happened that could, academically, be called "self-struggle," but in practice, it was basically a kidnapping, and he ended up swapping places with the agent—hopefully, the agent could fix the museum's temperature control system.
It happened so suddenly, Shiller didn't have a chance to check his memory. So first, he needed to figure out the current situation. He was in a speeding car, driven by the world's strongest mercenary, but being chased by local police in a small Egyptian town, and the car had no door.
To be honest, the situation was a bit bizarre. More bizarre was the terrifying, uncontrollable dizziness. Shiller had never experienced this, and it might be what people commonly refer to as motion sickness.
This couldn't be simply described as painful; it was more like a hazy state of being semi-awake, as if his brain and body were disconnected. As he could obviously not hear any sound, Shiller was sure this imbalance was due to damage to the inner ear's balance system.
This feeling was novel. Shiller wanted to study it, but another sharp turn made his just-stabilized body sway again. Since the balance stabilization system wasn't working, he was completely thrown into that vortex of dizziness—the world started to clear up in a different way.
"What's the hell?" Shiller said, "If you find it hard to accept your current state, you should see a doctor, not kidnap an agent on a whim, then hope he can get you a psychiatrist—wait, he really might."
Deathstroke didn't quite understand. But as he turned back, something sharp, like a dagger, pierced his carotid artery from the other side. A fast and vicious strike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it was part of the seat's bottom panel. The force was so great it nearly stabbed through his entire neck.
Meanwhile, Shiller's voice came from behind: "I think you should... stop the car..."
The hand applied more pressure. After fully piercing, it was swiftly pulled out. Blood stained half of the windshield. When the thing was about to stab in again, Deathstroke grabbed the hand.
"What are you doing!" He covered the wound on his neck, "Are you trying to kill me?!"
Suddenly, the whole driver's seat jolted violently. Deathstroke almost had an illusion—200-pound him and the at least 200-pound driving system were being yanked out of the car like a thorn being pulled out.
He instinctively grabbed the steering wheel. Deathstroke's strength was not low, and the steering wheel shattered under his grip. He uncontrollably fell backward, but his body's extremely precise reflex and strength system allowed him to hook his foot onto the remaining steering wheel. Then he pulled out a great sword from his back and stabbed it through the roof, anchoring his position, though still unable to see what was happening behind.
A pair of hands like ghosts throttled his neck. To prevent himself from being choked, Deathstroke had to let go of his sword and turn to hide in the passenger seat. But the car wasn't spacious, and his body type was too large, making the struggle somewhat difficult.
Deathstroke was prepared to take a shot from the hand cannon, since Shiller had ample time to draw his gun. Even though he complained about the gun, his hand never hesitated when pulling the trigger.
Strangely, Shiller didn't use the gun. He simply pushed the passenger seat forward again, almost breaking Deathstroke's ribs. He had to abandon this car, Deathstroke thought; fighting an orca in a Jaguar was not wise.
Deathstroke slashed open the passenger door with his sword and jumped out, rolling on the ground a few times before stabilizing himself. He felt an uncomfortable dampness soaking into the lining of his armor; it was his own blood. He had just been punctured through an artery. If the weapon hadn't been pulled out allowing the wound to heal, and if his blood production capacity wasn't dozens of times that of a normal person, he might not have been able to stand up now.
"Are you fucking crazy?!" Deathstroke couldn't help but curse, not out of concern for the blood, but because he sharply sensed something was off with Shiller.
Previously, Shiller seemed somewhat out of control, but it felt like he was trying to restrain himself. Even if he couldn't hear, he hadn't completely given up on communication. But now it was different, Shiller seemed immersed in his own world, and Deathstroke had no idea what he was doing there.
Shiller, of course, jumped out of the car too, but once he stood up, he froze on the spot as if he was assessing something. Deathstroke wanted to get closer, but his neck ached faintly. Once again, his years of fighting instinct saved him, as Shiller suddenly ran off in a direction.
The ominous premonition in Deathstroke's mind grew stronger, he quickly followed, and using his mental map judged that Shiller was heading towards a seaside resort hotel. It was an entirely closed-off upscale resort.
Not good. Deathstroke's nearly fully developed brain recalled what Shiller had said before. He muttered to himself, "He will… see? See what? What did he see???"
Deathstroke didn't have much time to think, he chased after Shiller, considering intercepting him halfway, but it was practically difficult due to the terrifying traffic congestion caused by chasing the car earlier. Now four-wheelers couldn't beat two-wheelers, and two-wheelers couldn't beat two-legged runners. Deathstroke wasn't slow, but Shiller was evidently faster.
Deathstroke took shortcuts through the chaotic traffic and crowds. He was already very close to Shiller, but he had to get ahead of him to stop him. Unfortunately, the city was too small, and just as Deathstroke was about to catch up, the resort hotel appeared before him.
Such hotels have security. But the problem arose when Shiller appeared very normal. He wore a shirt, a tie, and didn't exhibit any violent traits, effortlessly handling the security with a few words. Walking into the hotel, his firm steps let Deathstroke know his objective was very clear.
This made Deathstroke feel a little odd. Was he sober or not? Based on previous behavior, if he wasn't sober, he couldn't have conversed with the security so normally. But if he was sober, shouldn't his primary task be heading to Cairo now?
Moreover, how did he handle the security questioning when he couldn't hear? Deathstroke wondered if these two security guards were abnormal, but when he appeared, their speed in calling for support surpassed most security personnel, proving their high professional quality.
Deathstroke engaged them briefly and realized that one should be a CIA spy, while the other might be from the countries across the Red Sea. This made Deathstroke aware that this hotel was not simple. Since Hurgada wasn't a very famous resort area, few big figures came here; if such personnel were employed, it should have been in the Mediterranean Sea instead.
Big figures inside the hotel? Deathstroke immediately realized this. But if this was the case, why would security allow Shiller, an unidentified person, inside?
Deathstroke didn't waste much time with them, he escaped the assault and disappeared into the crowd, but circled around and returned to the hotel. He stood at a distance and looked up: on the east side balcony one, front courtyard two, beside the parking sign one, roof terrace two…
This was a very typical external looseness and internal tightness defense strategy. It looked as if everyone in the hotel was conducting normal activities, no different from usual days, but actually, all key positions with good visibility had been replaced by professionals, watching every move here.
Deathstroke circled another direction and found several more surveillance personnel. The person arranging all this was highly professional, with security forces evenly distributed, thus it couldn't be discerned which side the protected person's room might be on. But they were not professional enough; after Deathstroke caused some commotion at the entrance, someone immediately ran inside to report, and then others rushed out from the building. They said something into their walkie-talkies.
The sentry quickly sprung into action. They began frequently checking the surroundings, but couldn't overcome human weakness and occasionally glanced subconsciously in one direction. Judging by the actions of sentries on different floors, Deathstroke could roughly infer that the target was on the east side of the tenth floor.
He avoided the sentries' eyes, crawling into the second story from one side. He didn't plan to take the staircase but directly went up via the elevator, and sure enough, without a pass, the elevator couldn't be used. But someone upstairs called the elevator, so he could go up, and as soon as the door opened, he seized the person who had called it.
The person didn't appear to be security staff, just hotel employees. Deathstroke was too lazy to waste words with him, snatched his pass, and took the elevator to the tenth floor. And chaos had already erupted there.