Deathstroke was genuinely impressed. On the surface, saying things like "skipping the plot is skipping life" is one thing, but who doesn't secretly want to live with reckless abandon like Shiller?
Anyway, Deathstroke felt a bit envious. Shiller seemed like a person completely free from emotional shackles. Some people sharpen their emotions into spears to hurt others, while some build tall emotional walls to trap themselves. Most people's emotional lives are like shooting guns, always aiming to cause maximum damage with minimum bullets. Shiller was different; his emotional life was also like shooting a gun, but the purpose wasn't to hit anyone; it was merely to make the bullet roll as far away as possible.
You can't say it's ineffective; indeed, compared to using a gun to shoot people, the gun is better at driving the bullet away. Even if you don't hit, the bullet will always fly far, which is precisely the purpose for which guns were designed, showcasing a clever kind of absurdity.
"Let's check it out tonight," Shiller said. That didn't surprise Deathstroke. It's a classic "dark night, high winds, perfect for murder and arson." Can't act during the day; night doesn't follow such restrictions. As long as they find the underground storage, there's always a way to take that mural away.
So Deathstroke was inclined to let Shiller complete the task first, so later, when helping him restore familial bonds, he wouldn't have worries. As long as they got the mural and sent it back to America, his subsequent plans would certainly be smoother. Hence, he planned to help, and help with all his might.
"Ideally, we'd have an insider guide," Deathstroke said, "Modern buildings have a really annoying access card system. Without swiping, you can't even go to the restroom. If no one guides us, we at least need a pass, or else it's a wasted trip."
"You're not confident about breaking in?"
"Ha, do you know how much wear and tear there'd be?" Deathstroke retorted with annoyance, "I could indeed cut open the vault's door, but even if I moved everything inside, it might not cover the sword's repair costs."
"Fine." Shiller clearly didn't intend to push, he said, "But we don't need any passes. You'll see tonight."
They still didn't return to the hotel, but Shiller clearly had a destination in mind. Deathstroke had no particular thoughts, so he followed Shiller, and then discovered Shiller had arrived at a bustling commercial street.
Some people travel just to visit the same commercial streets in different places, eat at chain brands, and shop at global stores. That's perfectly fine; global brands are indeed more reliable.
Then Shiller entered a clothing store, which was also a global brand, a high-end one. He bought an outfit Deathstroke thought he'd never wear—a turtleneck cashmere sweater, Italian-style casual tailored blazer, loose wide-legged trousers, and brown loafers. It looked quite academic, making him appear much younger, even slightly naive.
This isn't a style agents would choose, since they always try to look mature and experienced, and need to appear tougher. Often, they choose dark British suits, straight pants, and stringent shoes, wanting everyone to know they're tough. This academic style, although reflecting old-money vibes, is a bit too gentle.
Once Shiller donned this outfit, he was like a different person. If he now said he was flying out to watch Wimbledon, Deathstroke wouldn't find it strange at all. Just like he discovered earlier, Shiller easily blends into high society.
Even if he still wasn't talkative and was overly stern, just changing his clothes made his unique aura make him look like a big shot—checking his watch while walking briskly forward, gaining access to any upscale venue.
Shiller paid, carried the shopping bag out of the mall, while Deathstroke teased, "Public funds are for this?"
"Of course," Shiller said, "Money should be spent wisely."
"I don't see what's wise about it," Deathstroke shook his head. He didn't know why Shiller got this outfit; Cairo doesn't seem to have a venue requiring such attire.
But he soon found out. As night fell, Shiller changed clothes, and they arrived near the museum. Before entering, Shiller turned to Deathstroke and said, "I'll try to go in first. Once successful, I'll find a way to distract the guards, then you come in."
"How do you plan to get in?" They were now on the rooftop, gazing at the Egyptian Museum not far away. It was brightly lit even at night, with complete security personnel and plenty of cameras. At first glance, there were no blind spots, making stealthy entry difficult.
Shiller shook his head, said nothing, just adjusted his collar and walked toward the front door. Deathstroke felt a bit anxious, afraid Shiller might suddenly pull out his revolver and start shooting by the door.
Deathstroke was a mercenary, not a terrorist. These two are starkly different. Assassinations require precision and efficiency. The employer tells you who to kill, and you can only kill them. Affecting others incurs deductions, and if too many die, it's considered a botched job. Many novice assassins fail this way.
Deathstroke wouldn't make such mistakes. So while he kills without hesitation, he aims to avoid massacres when fulfilling contracts. After all, you don't know if there are insiders or relatives among them. Killing them won't help with the final payment.
Thankfully, Shiller wasn't a fan of extreme violent actions either; he didn't pull out his revolver, nor any weapon. Just walked confidently to the entrance and spoke to the security there.
It was the museum's closing time; most tourists had left. Shiller stood there chatting briefly with the security and somehow got inside. Deathstroke was perplexed. Can you really stroll into any company building with a coffee cup?
But Shiller soon fulfilled his promise: chaos erupted inside the museum, for unknown reasons, drawing almost all security away. Deathstroke casually walked in too.
He paused at the corner on the first floor, unsure whether to go upstairs or head elsewhere. Shiller quickly called out to him from the other side of the corridor. Deathstroke walked over and found it was an empty corridor.
"How did you manage to sneak in?" Deathstroke couldn't help but ask.
"I used to work here," Shiller said, "It took quite an effort to mess up the temperature controls."
Deathstroke was full of questions again. It's not that he isn't thinking carefully about what Shiller says, but it's really hard to tell which of his words are true and which are nonsense. Amidst a mountain of garbage information, there might be one or two useful sentences, and even those could just be an index. The real answers are buried at the bottom of a pile of crap, and no one has the patience to dig through it.
But Deathstroke had to start searching, as Shiller confidently led him up to the second floor—this museum is unlike those office buildings, the architecture is uniquely designed with no patterns to follow. Finding the right stairs up isn't easy, but Shiller acted like he'd been here many times before, leading Deathstroke directly upstairs.
Then they effortlessly reached the entrance to the internal elevator, which, as expected, required a card swipe. Deathstroke folded his arms, leisurely watching Shiller, ready to see where he'd get the card. Then Shiller simply turned over a pot plant beside him and pulled out a pass.
"What, how can there be wild cards?" Deathstroke was speechless. Every time he infiltrates a building like this, it's a wild goose chase. Otherwise, he wouldn't be reminding Shiller about the importance of the keycards.
Keycards are the greatest invention in the history of human security, without exception. Don't think that professional infiltrators aren't pained by this. In reality, high-tech motion capture cameras, laser detection, and defense mechanisms are not as effective as keycards. Because they're so effective, they've been promoted worldwide.
Normally, outsiders wanting to break in need to attack someone carrying a keycard. But they usually don't have time to destroy the body, which makes it easy for the corpse to be discovered, almost like a big, living alarm.
Furthermore, if a keycard is lost and discovered, it can be immediately reported as lost and all information on it becomes invalid in an instant. So, assassins risk exposure only to end up with a useless card. After a few tries, they lose patience.
"Where did you get this from?" Deathstroke asked.
"I prepared it the last time I came," Shiller replied, "During lunch break, I knocked out a colleague who often got drunk and convinced him to give it to me."
"When exactly have you been here?" Deathstroke couldn't hold back, he said, "You wouldn't say during the Iraq War, right?"
"Why do you never listen to me seriously?" Shiller was also helpless, he said, "Keep this up, and I'll have to retract my assessment of you being a good father. Didn't I say before? I swapped bodies with another me..."
"So that was real, not some philosophical metaphor???" Deathstroke was greatly shocked, he said, "So previously he worked in the museum, while you and I stayed in the safe house. After you two swapped, you came to the museum while he stayed with me."
"Not too stupid." Shiller commented, "I came here not just to mess up the temperature system and make him lose his job, but also prepared quite a bit more. This keycard is part of it."
They both got into the elevator, but it stopped again. Apparently, someone in the museum discovered the intruders and urgently stopped the elevator. Deathstroke smirked and said, "Reacted fast enough."
"Hayven is not a simple character." Shiller said, "Although I stayed here for a relatively short time and haven't heard of him. But to be concurrently both the museum director and the number one artifact smuggler, he must have some unique traits."
"Guarding and stealing counts as unique traits too?"
"Who to guard and steal for, what can be stolen, what cannot be—all are matters of learning."
Deathstroke raised his eyes and then said, "I'll slash open the top of the elevator, let's go straight up."
"No," Shiller shook his head and said, "Slash open beneath our feet, we'll just jump down."
Deathstroke raised his eyebrows, but on further thought, that's also a possibility. They took the elevator on the second floor, even if there are four or five floors underground, it adds up to what's probably not a deadly fall anyway.
So Deathstroke drew out a great sword. Rather than cutting open, it was like slicing tofu, directly cutting a hole at the bottom of the elevator car. The hard metal was just like butter in front of that great sword, absolutely no resistance.
Deathstroke jumped down first, then a voice came from below: "No problem, only two floors, jump down confidently."
But Shiller still didn't jump immediately; instead, he first sat at the edge of the cut, turned around and grabbed the edge with both hands, then hung his whole body down, looked down once to confirm it wasn't high, then let go. He landed completely unharmed.