mtl008 Chapter 4595 The Day of Brightest Day (54)
Chapter 4595 The Day of Brightest Day (54)
Chapter 4595 The Day of Brightest Light (Fifty-Four)
In fact, what Deathstroke has always struggled with is not just the identity of "father" or "hitman," but the switching between these two identities.
Deathstroke started a family, not to use it as a disguise. Many stealth hitmen do this because they need to navigate within the bounds of social rules. It's like when you're disguised as a sheep and blend into the flock, having a family makes you seem more real. But Deathstroke didn't need to do that; he wasn't on that path.
He started a family simply because he wanted to. He might not have loved them that much, but he did love them nonetheless. He loved his wife and son and wanted to live with them. So he did it.
However, he has always tried to portray himself as a symbol of violence. This makes it difficult for him to adapt to a peaceful family life. Violence is ingrained in his genes. It is quite difficult for him to settle down and be a good husband and father.
Initially, it was a side effect of the human modification that made him frequently irritable, forcing him to escape his family and kill to vent his anger. Later, this became a habit. He couldn't stay at home for more than a few days; he had to leave quickly, otherwise he would feel restless and uncomfortable.
This leads to his inability to enjoy family life. He loves, but finds it difficult to maintain long-term contact. He wants control, yet he needs to distance himself from time to time. This is the most difficult problem to resolve regarding his own emotions.
But now, Deathstroke has another idea. It seems he could also go for a stealth approach.
First, the manic aftereffects of the human modification are long gone. To be precise, he's been fully recovered for decades. Now, he kills not out of instinct, but purely to earn money. Sometimes he doesn't like taking on cases with a lot of killings; it's too tiring and draining. Although his body isn't old, he's somewhat mentally exhausted.
Secondly, his original appearance as an elderly person should have lowered people's guard. After all, most people assume that elderly people are frail. But he possessed such a strong physique, which made everyone suspicious. Seeing an overly strong young person might make people think, "Youth is wonderful," or "He's a professional athlete." But seeing such a strong, white-haired old man, they'd only wonder, "Is he even human?" They'd inevitably want to look more closely. Those who were already wary would become suspicious. That would prevent a successful infiltration.
But now that he's regained his youthful appearance, unless he's wearing a muscular bodysuit, he just looks like a strong athlete. Plus, he actually played football and knows about quarterbacks, so you could easily pass for a football player. Nobody would find it strange. This provides the hardware support for the infiltration genre.
Finally, although there's a significant age gap between him and his wife, Mrs. Wilson takes good care of herself and looks like a middle-aged woman. Older wives and younger husbands do exist. What's wrong with his wife eating well?
The only problem is that he and Joseph are too close in age. If things really don't work out, they'll have to change from biological father and son to stepfather and stepson. Luckily, Joseph looks more like his mother, so most people won't be able to tell the difference.
That way, he wouldn't have to be the death knell one minute and Mr. Wilson the next. He could just find an area with a lot of cases, finish killing in the morning, and still be able to go home for lunch.
As for not becoming an assassin, Deathstroke hadn't considered it. Mainly because if he didn't become an assassin, he wouldn't know what else to do. He couldn't very well go play football, could he? With his cyborg physique, if he actually went onto the field, he'd be no different from an assassin.
As Deathstroke was strategizing, he saw Dr. Hall emerge. Immediately, a crowd gathered around him. Deathstroke, carrying a glass of wine, also approached. Because of his tall stature and striking appearance, he immediately caught Hall's attention.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I must first apologize for my uninvited arrival.” Thinking of the wonderful life ahead, Deathstroke stopped his passive despair and began to feign enthusiasm. “I’m Slade Wilson from New Orleans. My family owns a small textile mill, and I’ve always been interested in textile art. I’ve heard that your wife is very knowledgeable about ancient Egyptian weaving culture…”
Hall, of course, noticed that the young man wasn't on his invitation list. However, Deathstroke's initial honesty had won him over. Coupled with his youth and wealth, Hall smiled and said:
“Xia La is still getting her makeup done in the back. She'll be so happy that someone appreciates her knitting skills. You two can have a good chat…”
Seeing that his attempt to ingratiate himself was working, Deathstroke went even further, almost squeezing right next to Dr. Hall. This was actually a bit rude, but because he was young, those around him just laughed it off and no one held it against him. After all, everyone was a bit clumsy like that in high school and college, which was perfectly understandable.
Of course, Deathstroke didn't forget his job. He kept his eyes and ears open as he talked. However, he didn't see anything suspicious within his field of vision.
Although Deathstroke favored brute force, it didn't mean he lacked keen observation skills. In fact, his instantaneous observation ability was exceptional. Only by fully understanding the situation in a short time could he formulate appropriate tactical countermeasures. This was a key factor in his becoming a tactical mastermind. Yet, he hadn't detected any danger in this space.
Deathstroke realized almost immediately that this meant the assassin's thinking was different from theirs. He didn't seem to intend to infiltrate and blend into the crowd to deliver a fatal blow to Hall. Why didn't he do that?
Deathstroke began to think. But no matter how he considered it, this was the best course of action. Dr. Hall was just an ordinary person; one bullet would be fatal. They could simply rush in when there were many people around and fire a shot, and the assassination would be complete. Why not?
Unable to figure this out, Deathstroke began to consider another approach. This afternoon, someone broke into the house and triggered the alarm. What did they want?
If the intention was to scout the location beforehand, then he should have infiltrated the area. If he wasn't going to infiltrate, there was no need to enter the house to scout and alert the enemy. This is completely contradictory.
Unless, of course, the killer deliberately triggered the alarm system to make Dr. Hall cancel the party while he was already suspicious. After all, a house being broken into is no small matter. Although cancelling the party at this point might offend many guests, it's not as important as thoroughly investigating the intrusion.
Deathstroke, being an assassin himself, was exceptionally quick to analyze the other's logic. He had Hall cancel the banquet to leave him alone. This was likely because the assassin didn't want to cause too much trouble. Just like some clients who requested "quiet" jobs, the killer wanted the victim to die silently.
However, Hall did not cancel the banquet. This meant the killer might have to change his timing. But Schiller received news that there would be an assassination attempt that night. In other words, the killer hadn't changed the time.
Since they couldn't kill in public or change the time, only one possibility remained—long-range sniping.
Deathstroke's eyes flashed with the entire scene he had witnessed from that building. It was a perfect sniping spot, and if he were to snipe from there, his target would be... the window on the left!
Hall had already walked toward the window.
The tolling bell slammed down, knocking Hall to the ground. With a deafening crash, the entire French window shattered. Tiny shards of glass erupted like a white mist, or like a surging wave. Guests screamed and scattered in panic.
But simply tackling Hall wasn't enough. They were still within the sniper's range. Deathstroke, with professional instinct, rolled over at lightning speed, grabbed Hall's arm, and pulled him behind cover.
As soon as he pulled, he felt something was off. The other person was heavier and harder to pull than he had expected. But this feeling only lasted for a moment, and he quickly pulled Hall behind cover.
“Oh God, you saved me!” Hall said.
Before he could ask anything, Deathstroke confessed, "Mr. Rodriguez sent me to protect you. He said your old nemesis wasn't dead and might try to harm you. That's why I infiltrated to protect you. I didn't expect him to actually do it."
"Good heavens, thank goodness you were prepared," Hall said, looking shaken. "Otherwise, I really would have..."
Before he could finish speaking, a scream came from the back of the hall. Hall immediately cried out anxiously, "It's Chiara, my wife!"
Deathstroke quickly grabbed him and said, "You wait here, I'll go check!"
After saying that, he rolled over and landed at the back of the hall. He looked towards the passageway but didn't see anyone. He pulled out his pistol and crouched down as he walked towards the passageway.
Bang! A very soft gunshot rang out, but it didn't escape Deathstroke's ears. This meant Schiller had fired.
Deathstroke ran towards the direction of the gunshot. It was the doorway to the back hall. As Deathstroke ran, a figure ran out the back door. The person was incredibly fast, disappearing in a flash. There was another figure behind the bushes outside the back door. Deathstroke recognized it as Schiller, but he didn't show himself; he had fired from outside, and it was uncertain whether he had hit his target. Inside, a woman crouched in a corner, looking somewhat panicked.
There are two assassins? Deathstroke narrowed his eyes. No wonder Schiller wanted to drag him into this. This Dr. Hall certainly has a lot of enemies.
These two assassins are clearly not working together. Otherwise, their coordination wouldn't be so poor. If they were a team, the correct procedure would be: first, infiltrate the banquet, kill Mrs. Hall from a good position, lure Hall over, and then snipe him. This order is completely wrong. Therefore, they can only be two separate groups acting independently.
Deathstroke was about to say something when Schiller turned and chased after the killer. Hall rushed over and embraced his wife. Deathstroke heard the woman, called Chiara, whisper something in Hall's arms. It wasn't English, and it didn't sound like Arabic. Deathstroke wasn't sure what language it was.
If they were Egyptians, they should have been speaking Arabic. But Deathstroke also knew Arabic. Although Arabic accents varied from place to place, he could understand the gist of it, at least a few words. He couldn't understand a word of what these two were saying.
Then the two finally realized there were outsiders present. Hall quickly turned back and said, "Thank you so much! If it weren't for you, we might already be... Oh my god, forgive my rudeness, my wife was terrified. I might have to..."
Deathstroke waved them away. Hall quickly led his wife upstairs. However, Deathstroke didn't leave. He climbed over the exterior wall onto the rooftop and then jumped onto the adjacent balcony. From there, he could hear voices coming from the bedroom.
This time it was much clearer. They were definitely not speaking Arabic, nor any of the Deathstroke's languages. However, Deathstroke wrote down the pronunciation, intending to have it translated later.