The hotel check-in was surprisingly smooth, and as always, Shiller was really adept at this kind of thing. Initially, the hotel front desk seemed a bit nervous when they walked in—after all, Deathstroke's appearance wasn't exactly that of a good guy, and Shiller's demeanor was even more suspicious.
But Shiller's gaze fixed right on their hands reaching for the alarm button. Realizing they'd been spotted, and fearing they might get shot, the staff didn't dare make a move and could only put on smiles. When Shiller slapped his credentials on the front desk, they had no choice.
"Aren't you afraid someone will come after you?" Deathstroke asked in the elevator.
"They're already after me." As soon as Shiller finished speaking, the elevator jolted violently. Then, the hotel staff's voice sounded over the intercom:
"Sorry, sir, the elevator has a slight malfunction. Please stay inside for a moment; a technician will be here soon."
Deathstroke had already sensed something was wrong. It sounded like a hotel employee, but the voice trembled slightly, suggesting they might be coerced. Shiller took a step forward, standing at the elevator entrance.
The elevator jolted again. Shiller seemed to be calculating something, then stepped back a few paces and stood at the elevator's back, slowly raising his gun with both hands, aiming at the upper part of the elevator door.
After a while, the elevator doors slowly opened, barely wide enough for a fist to pass through. Shiller fired a shot. A scream came from outside, and a shadow slowly fell.
At this point, the elevator didn't stop precisely at the floor level but lower, with only the upper half of the car connected to the hallway, the rest blocked by solid walls.
The person Shiller shot was standing on that floor. But now he was down, and it was unclear what the situation was, though blood was dripping down from there.
Shiller turned to Deathstroke and said, "What are you standing there for? Put your sword there."
Shiller pointed to the opening leading to the floor. Deathstroke grimaced in distress but still leaned his great sword against the floor, the hilt propping up the car's ceiling.
Shiller crawled out through the narrow exit. Just as he was about to make it out, the car jolted again. Deathstroke looked up, realizing someone cut the cable. Had he not propped the sword there to support the car, it would have sliced Shiller in half as it fell.
Deathstroke also climbed out and retrieved his sword. The great sword wasn't damaged, being made of special metal, but the hilt had some wear. Deathstroke mentally noted the loss and sighed.
He turned to the man on the ground; as expected, he wasn't a technician. An Arab man in a suit, holding an old M9 pistol. This place had all sorts of equipment, a true worldwide weapon furnace.
The positioning of his fall and gun indicated he had pre-aimed once the elevator stopped, knowing it would halt below and suggesting it was intentional.
The human eye structure leaves a larger blind spot above than below. To see what's below, humans don't need to look down, but to see above, they must look up, a process that takes time. With prior intent, one could get shot during that time.
"Childish trick." Shiller commented, "Even the KGB of the last century stopped doing elevator assassinations."
Bringing up the KGB piqued Deathstroke's interest. He scrutinized Shiller, "You don't seem like someone who's tangled with them."
The agent appeared young, too young to have encountered the KGB era. Yet he spoke as if familiar, intriguing Deathstroke.
Deathstroke had indeed lived through the KGB's golden era, when they dominated global intelligence and special operations, being unparalleled. Even for someone modified like him, dealing with them was daunting. Back then, Deathstroke avoided confronting agents as much as possible.
For those who haven't experienced it, it's hard to imagine their strength. But Shiller offered no further explanation, moved forward to inspect the old handgun, and sighed lightly, walking down the corridor.
"Are we still staying here?" Deathstroke asked, a bit surprised. Though he knew these people might not be with the hotel crew, the fact they've been targeted already meant staying might bring endless trouble, possibly disrupting their museum investigation plans.
"Wherever we go, they'll follow." Shiller responded without looking back. His hearing had slightly recovered, grasping basic words. Human self-healing power was just too strong.
"You have such confidence in them?"
"I just have confidence in myself."
They finally arrived at the room indicated by the keycard. It was a two-bedroom family suite. Shiller walked inside, looked around, and started systematically inspecting everything: the door lock, floor mat, hooks, shoe cabinet…
His movements can't even be described as professional; they're more like instinct. Every step is meticulous, without any omission, as if he's done it a million times before.
Deathstroke never thought there was anything good about being an agent. To him, those guys are like sharks smelling blood, or vultures chasing corpses, completely losing their self in the endless pursuit of tasks, waiting for the day when their parts wear out and they're discarded.
Shiller used to be like that too. When Deathstroke first saw him, he knew he was an agent because, like all agents, he had clear goals, was always in a rush, and exuded an air of indifference that said, "Don't bother me unless it's about the mission."
This is especially obvious in field agents. And if putting it that way seems too detached from life, then you can liken it to a surgeon. Surgeons have a different demeanor than every other doctor in the hospital; they are always hurried yet indifferent to many things. This is determined by their uniqueness.
As the "scalpel" within the special agent organization, field agents take on the most crucial execution responsibilities, driving forward like an arrow and piercing the enemy's heart. All sharp things in this world have similarities.
Joining the ranks of free mercenaries means Deathstroke indeed has a side of him that pursues freedom, that is unrestrained. After all, everyone knows it's good to have the shade of a big tree. Even if not working for a national government, joining mercenaries or assassin organizations are good choices. Deathstroke works solo because he doesn't want to be directed by others, thus he doesn't think highly of agents who are born to be directed.
But now he also has to admit that the top person in each field can turn their work into an art. Even in a profession like an agent, which is almost the complete opposite of art, reaching the pinnacle can exude its unique aesthetic.
Deathstroke can't be bothered to search for cameras; he's not afraid of being watched. In fact, he often uses some surveillance equipment to intimidate others. After all, even if most people see someone hacked into dozens of pieces through the camera, they won't dare to cause trouble anymore.
Shiller checked around and identified about five or six cameras. He didn't directly throw them away; instead, he sat on the sofa and studied the camera models, seemingly trying to determine who was surveilling the place.
He quickly had an answer. Because the electronics here vary greatly in quality, imported from various places, and using different signal frequencies, it's easy to find some clues.
"I understand." Shiller said looking at the electronic component in his hand, "This must have been instigated by another me. Before he created that mural and intended to implement the transportation plan, he had already ignited things in the Middle East. As soon as we arrive, he'll set off the bomb and blockade the entire Red Sea."
"What's the benefit of that?" Deathstroke asked.
"It can lock both the goods and us here." Shiller glanced outside the window and said, "With the Red Sea blocked, leaving by land would be very difficult, and further reaching America would be impossible."
"Why not take a plane?"
"That mural likely can't go on a plane." Shiller said, "Either it's too large, or extremely fragile. Airlines won't allow it on board, and fighter jets can't take it up. Air transport is certainly not feasible. Besides..."
"Besides?"
"That bomb is detonated by that air crash, and the reason it's an air crash is to warn us that he has the ability to tamper with planes. The plane crashes, perhaps we would survive, but the mural is very likely to be damaged. It's not a viable option."
Deathstroke realized, as he previously speculated, the whole incident wasn't a collision of multiple coincidences but was guided by someone, eventually causing both his commission and Shiller's mission to nearly fail.
Things might be like this: before the layout started, those two armed factions were relatively at peace, but some undercurrents had already begun brewing. And the crash of that Boeing 787 must become the fuse.
It was a wide-body airliner from America. The people onboard, while not necessarily powerful and influential, definitely weren't from the lower rung; they were at least elite people, many were executives from large companies, traveling to Egypt for business. They couldn't be silent sacrifices, and international opinion certainly wouldn't let this matter slip.
Nations around the Red Sea already have incredibly delicate relationships. They crave international attention the most and need international support the most. No one wants such a disaster to occur on their territory, as it might severely hit their reputation, possibly sparking condemnation from around the world.
In such circumstances, whether shirking responsibility or creating other events to shift attention, whatever methods they have would be employed. This leads to the once-small-scale military faction conflict spiraling uncontrollably.
Previously, during the initial conflict outbreak, Deathstroke received a commission. However, that was merely a trap to lure him here, and the role he's supposed to play is that of the hangman terminating negotiations.
Having been fighting this long, it's high time to have some serious talks. But unfortunately, the plane crash was encountered first, making the surrounding situation increasingly tense, leading negotiations doomed to fail. And Deathstroke, who was lured in, killed one of the faction leaders, ultimately breaking the negotiations.
As the aftermath of continuous fighting would lead to the blockade of the entire Red Sea. The artifact Shiller is searching for and Shiller himself would be trapped here, unable to leave at least for a short period.
"It seems they're mainly targeting you." Deathstroke said while organizing his weapons and equipment, "And I was just unlucky to be caught up in it."
"You are not innocent." Shiller said, "If it weren't for your curiosity during the mission hindering my progress, the leader might not have died. For the situation to end up like this, your inappropriate curiosity holds half the blame."