The night sky over the Red Sea was bright, faintly revealing distant low city structures hiding in the drifting pale blue fog. Moonlight fell on the sea surface, then reflected onto the fishing rods. Deathstroke's hand rested on the railing by the deck, swaying the few remaining beers in the can, while Shiller was sitting in the cabin, looking at the map.
They certainly didn't come here voluntarily; it's just that traveling by land was no longer feasible. All of Hurgada was tightly blocked, with troops searching house to house, and every outsider became a highly suspicious target. The Egyptian police were more like notorious Vultures, flocking upon the slightest scent, finding trouble when there was none just for extortion. Under such circumstances, driving north was exceedingly difficult.
Thus, they could only seek refuge in the ocean once more, returning to the Red Sea, not without some setbacks. Before the port in Hurgada was blocked, they managed to get a small yacht intended for tourists to fish at sea, allowing them to embark once again on the journey towards Cairo.
While night fishing, Deathstroke recalled what Shiller had said. He wasn't entirely willing to come, but Shiller seemed to infuse his words with some magic power; not only were the initial words deeply penetrating, but the echoes lingered, always resonating in his mind.
Deathstroke couldn't believe this was made up. Precisely because he's an over fifty-year-old man with extremely rich life experience having encountered various kinds of people, many matched Shiller's descriptions. Deathstroke could even accurately judge in which war they failed.
This set of theory excellently explained many people's behavioral patterns, exposing deeper logic behind seemingly inexplicable hysteria, hence particularly persuasive, really unlike a fake theory casually crafted just to mess with him.
Now, Deathstroke faced two scenarios. If it's real, then his issues might be precisely so. In the first half of his life, he lacked control, failing to successfully instruct his son even at the age of fatherhood, leading to an evident tragedy.
If this was fabricated by Shiller, Deathstroke was simply speechless. It's astonishing that Shiller could compile such substantial material in such a short time, logically self-consistent, and seemingly authentic, exerting significant effort, killing so many brain cells, as if just to mess with him, even willing to push for a Nobel Prize.
Encountering such a person, taking a step back is frustrating, yet slapping him gives a feeling of owed kindness. Because such hospitality clearly indicates his regard for you, though admittedly this regard is best avoided.
Deathstroke somewhat wanted to question Shiller, but felt no good would come from it. He wanted to forget the matter, to end the topic, but those words kept spinning in his mind.
He somewhat began to believe in Shiller's excuse about dissociative identity disorder. The Shiller before him seemed entirely different from the previous one. They've been on board for over an hour and a half, but aside from researching how to avoid trouble on the Red Sea and heading to Cairo, he's done nothing, no fishing, no beer drinking, no cigar smoking. Deathstroke thought he should go to church to sing hymns.
"Hey, kid." Deathstroke felt he could call him that, but not for the other one. Oddly enough, both of them were actually young men. If insisting they were one person with two personalities, there were many similarities in age and mindset.
Yet for some reason, that Shiller made him feel dangerous, as if he wasn't truly that young. He merely pretended to be young and vibrant, as it could be used to deceive many, enticing them to willingly take the bait.
Deathstroke had lived far too long; his completely liberated brain zone allowed him to vividly recall how he aged. This doesn't refer to his modified body, completely unchanged and even trained to be stronger. Contrastingly, the spirit aged first over the flesh. The Human race isn't one capable of immortality—mental aging is immensely terrifying.
When they vividly felt unable to contribute anymore, but rather having to relentlessly demand from society to maintain a somewhat decent life—this frustration easily defeated the elderly. Hence, they sought more emotional solace. Some turned themselves into an emotional Black Hole, eager to consume all the good moods around because only then could they feel their existence.
This phenomenon transcends social strata, occurring in everyone heading toward aging, constantly feeling crushing emptiness unless they adapted to the Immortal Species mindset, even Deathstroke once experienced such days. He was frequently in danger, nearly dying, related to this.
Back then, Deathstroke felt like a ravenous vampire, not ingesting Human blood but all joyful emotions. He wanted to be amid lively, robust, clever young individuals, pretending he was still their companion, pretending he never aged.
He met numerous birds in Gotham. Although rationally aware it wasn't so, Deathstroke occasionally maliciously thought perhaps Batman used them to resist aging. He'd say it was duty and love, yet indeed he rejuvenated because of it.
The kind of persona Shiller displayed perfectly matched these vampires' expectations. He was straightforward and unabashedly exposed all captivating traits, as if hanging ten lures on a fishing hook: spinner, feather, imitation fish... as though employing an Exhaustion Method to attract people.
He surely succeeded countless times; Deathstroke needn't overthink to imagine how those people fell into deadly traps due to their stupidity and Greed. They weren't worthy of sympathy but certainly served as caution.
Whereas the one in the cabin looking at the map now was different. He truly was a young man. At an age most suited for career striving, he had no moments to wallow in sorrow, never believing in "the journey and experience matter," if he could directly Flash to the finish line in a race, he'd undoubtedly do so.
This is what real young people are like. The previous one wasn't. It's just because normal young people are like this, they are too busy, too focused on their own lives, and don't want to provide any emotional value to those who are about to be weeded out by society. So the trap Shiller set up looks particularly tempting. They both seem at odds, but actually cooperate seamlessly; one tells you that reality is just as harsh, while the other tells you you've been fortunately favored. On the left is the fist, on the right is the knife; the left hand deals high damage, the right hand delivers high damage. I truly wonder what part of the cosmos bred such two characters.
Shiller heard Deathstroke calling but didn't even lift his head as he said, "No thanks."
"Do you know what I'm up to?"
"Smoking, drinking, fishing, or just chatting. None of those, thanks." Shiller continued to diligently study the map of the Red Sea. It's just a blank map with only the terrain, but Shiller had already marked all the dangerous areas on it.
This is actually very difficult because the current situation is too complicated. Those two armed factions have still not ceased fire and are fighting even more fiercely, causing all cargo ships to start taking detours, yet no one knows where to go, Egypt has been dragged in and forced to blockade the ports, leading to more ships turning back for no reason. They've dispatched coast guards to search for killers, making everyone even more panic-stricken.
And this shabby little yacht of theirs has only one acceleration gear, used for taking leisure rides. The only thing that can be considered armed is the chair that can strap the anglers onto the boat, other than that, there's nothing else.
Using such a small boat to cross the perilous Red Sea is almost an impossible goal. Deathstroke never expected to rely on this alone. No matter which route they take, the danger is the same. So now Shiller seems to be trying to find something to do to relieve his boredom.
Who spends their boring time working? Deathstroke is truly puzzled. But Shiller indeed did this and plans to keep doing it.
Deathstroke walked over, swiftly took the map from him, looked down at him, and said, "No cigarettes, no alcohol, no fishing rods. But we've got to talk about you."
"Here we go again." Shiller's expression had changed from initial impatience to despair. He stood up, spread his hands as he walked towards the deck, and said, "I don't understand what's so noticeable about me. I'm just a regular agent, nothing special."
"It's not like I'm interrogating you!" Deathstroke shouted at him, "All our conflicts have derived from your refusal to communicate and arbitrary decisions. Isn't that so?"
Shiller rarely turned back to sneer at him: "No wonder your son doesn't want to acknowledge his old man. I can only believe you're willing to turn yourself into a pure violence machine because if you don't, you'd be even less likable."
That was quite sharp indeed. Deathstroke nearly crushed the railing into flakes. He has to retract his previous better judgment of Shiller and believe more firmly that they are indeed one person — both so good at stabbing someone right where it hurts.
Shiller sat on the chair at the front deck. The sea breeze tousled his hair, his gray eyes turned silver-white in the moonlight, making him look younger and more capable, fitting right into any spy movie.
Deathstroke felt discouraged because he had to admit, his failed parenting was manifesting in his relationship with Shiller. He seemed unable to communicate with genuinely young people. Even though his appearance now has become younger, he's still Deathstroke; nothing has changed.
"Then let's talk about Batman," Deathstroke said, "Where has he gone? Why is Wonder Woman assigning you tasks?"
"You've hit the nail on the head." Shiller said, "For some reason, Batman can't come back now, Justice League needs to handle all issues. They think I could be a great help."
"If you don't take this task, could Robin be the one to come?"
"If I don't take this task, the task wouldn't exist." Shiller seems to be talking nonsense again, but after so many times, Deathstroke has finally learned to take that nonsense seriously whenever possible.
"What is their ultimate goal?" Deathstroke asked.
"Great, you've finally retrieved your mind." Shiller seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, "When you are not trapped within the family, you're more like a father than usual, just like now. Your charm has always been your career."