mtl008 Chapter 4594 The Day of Brightest Day (53)
Chapter 4594 The Day of Brightest Day (53)
Chapter 4594 The Day of Brightest Light (53)
Choosing the right suit for Deathstroke wasn't easy. This guy was just too strong. His height was one thing, but his shoulder width, chest circumference, and arm circumference were practically at the human limit. Generally speaking, you wouldn't find clothes for someone with that build in a ready-to-wear store.
But as the saying goes, there's no such thing as a free lunch. If a piece of clothing has a 50% profit margin, a sales assistant might not bother to find a suitable one; but if a piece of clothing has a 500% profit margin, even a skinny guy could find a suitable one.
Clearly, this store's profit margin was likely well over 500%. The salespeople not only found suitable suits, but several. Deathstroke's aesthetic sense regarding suits was stuck in the last century, or perhaps even the period before that. The one he liked was perfect for the World's Fair. Schiller picked out a light-colored one for him, which he was quite unhappy about.
"Have you forgotten your age?" Schiller said in a low voice, holding the suit. "The red plaid suit you liked looks like something a slouchy high school student would wear to prom in his dad's old suit."
"Surely not?" Deathstroke looked skeptical. He went to the dressing room and changed into the light-colored suit. It was a light blue casual suit with a touch of American retro style. Wearing it, he looked a bit like an American high school student from the last century, very casual and retro.
Of course, while the clothes were retro, the prices weren't. Deathstroke grinned when he saw the string of zeros. As he left the clothing store, he muttered in a low voice, "Batman will kill me!"
“You underestimate him,” Schiller said, glancing at him. “Think about the luxurious security system in his office. This outfit could only buy two security cameras.”
Thinking about it that way, Deathstroke agreed. How could he not take advantage of Batman's absence to spend his money like crazy, after being so impressed by Batman's incredibly wealthy security system?
Besides, as the world's number one mercenary, he commands high prices for killings, so it's normal for his disguise and infiltration gear to be expensive. But no matter how I look at it, this tattered outfit isn't worth that much. I wish I could get cash for it.
"Alright, your next task is to find a way to sneak into the banquet and stay around Dr. Hall. Make sure he doesn't get killed."
"Then what are you doing?"
“I will also try to sneak into the banquet, but I can’t be discovered by him. I will provide cover for you from the shadows. Once the assassin makes his move, I will go after him.”
Deathstroke rubbed his forehead and said, "The problem is, how am I supposed to sneak into the banquet?"
"So how did you sneak in before?"
“I used to not have to sneak in,” Deathstroke said. “If the client didn’t ask me to, I would just start slashing.”
"The banquet is full of celebrities. Aren't you afraid of their retaliation? Besides, there might be some of your future clients there."
“They have legs and they’ll run away on their own,” Deathstroke said. “I just need to break the window and jump in when the party is at its peak, and everyone will scream and run away. I can then chase after my target.”
"What if the client doesn't want you to make a big fuss?"
“Then I won’t choose to do it at the banquet,” Deathstroke said. “He can’t be in a crowded place 24 hours a day. He can just strike when no one is around.”
Deathstroke, seemingly afraid Schiller wouldn't understand, said, "I've cultivated myself into a symbol of violence so that when people see me, they won't have the will to resist, but will only run away. This makes it easier for me to complete my missions using such violent methods. It's completely different from those stealthy assassins."
Schiller nodded; he understood, of course. A killer like Deathstroke didn't need to stealth. He had transformed himself into a violent totem feared by everyone. Even without seeing him make a move, the mere sight of his appearance would terrify ordinary people, causing them to flee without a thought of resistance.
Just like on the ship before. If it were just an ordinary, burly man trying to evade the fare, someone might speak up and criticize him, and even the driver might argue with him. But if it were someone like Deathstroke, almost everyone would only think about whether he was a mass murderer planning a massacre, and how to save their own lives.
Even professionally trained security personnel wouldn't have the will to resist after witnessing him take action. How much money would it cost to risk your life against someone like that?
This is the effect Deathstroke wants. Once everyone is terrified of him, he can charge into the crowd without restraint. Because a disunited crowd is no different from a flock of sheep; they scatter in all directions. And he only needs to seize his target sheep and hack it down.
This method has many advantages, such as no need for elaborate disguises, no need to plan infiltration routes, and even no need to choose the right time. They come, kill, and leave. Missions can be completed with maximum efficiency. Their unparalleled number of kills is also a key indicator in selecting the world's best mercenary.
However, there are roughly two types of jobs that Deathstroke would be afraid of, or wouldn't take. One is a well-trained army. Armies are true machines of violence. They might not be afraid if Deathstroke jumped in, and even if they were, their duty wouldn't allow them to run away. If they united to resist, they would inevitably create overwhelming firepower. In that case, Deathstroke would have no choice but to flee. The other type is a target that is too strong. Even if all the other targets were driven away, the target might still be knocked away. Like Batman. Deathstroke wouldn't be foolish enough to take a job killing Batman.
But other assassins also fear these two scenarios. Therefore, Deathstroke's method has become the benchmark for mercenaries. Because it's almost perfect, it doesn't need any changes, and he's never encountered a commission that required abandoning this process. Now, suddenly being asked to infiltrate in disguise, he's genuinely a bit stumped.
“Alright, listen up.” The two of them stopped at the intersection. Schiller pointed to the private art gallery and said, “First, hide the gun and weapons. Then go over there and say you’ve come because you’ve heard so much about it and want to experience the artistic atmosphere of Midway City. When you let them in, don’t smile too smugly, that’s all.”
"What?" Deathstroke, nudged by Schiller, didn't understand at all. Schiller pursed his lips and said, "Just do as I say. Go now!"
Deathstroke had no choice but to bite the bullet and go. He arrived at the entrance of the private art gallery, where a young girl was standing, seemingly there to greet guests. Deathstroke smiled at her and said, "Hello."
The other person seemed to be taken aback for a moment, his gaze lingering on Deathstroke's face for a few seconds before scrutinizing his clothes. Then, he returned his gaze to Deathstroke's face, and their eyes met.
Deathstroke felt a little awkward, but he still said, "Um... this is my first time in Midway City. They said there's a great art gallery here, so I thought I'd check it out. Do you sell tickets here?"
The girl smiled and said, "This is a private art gallery and is not open to the public. Besides, we have a banquet today, so we are not accepting guests at the moment."
“Oh… alright then. It’s just a shame I’m flying away tomorrow… I heard the museums in this city are amazing, but I only visited one…”
The girl was amused by Deathstroke's stammering. She chuckled, covered her mouth with her hand, and said, "Well, boy. You're from the South, aren't you? Let me guess, New Orleans?"
"Uh, how did you know?"
"Your accent is so cute, sweetheart. Letting you in isn't out of the question. I'm going to study abroad there this fall; would you mind giving me your contact information?"
"Uh, no. I mean, should I write to you?"
The girl handed him a slip of paper, staring unabashedly at Deathstroke's face, which gave him a chill. He casually wrote down an address and phone number and handed it over. The girl also took a blank invitation card, writing as she asked, "Name?"
“Slade Wilson. His family is in the textile business.”
“Craftspeople who make things from nature. Alright, take your invitation and go in.”
Deathstroke took the invitation and went inside. It wasn't until he sat down on the sofa in the reception area that he realized what was going on—what else could it be? Wasn't this pure seduction?
Deathstroke rolled his eyes inwardly. But he had to admit, the tactic was undeniably effective. His infiltration had been far too smooth. Of course, his attire also played a significant role; it was a designer suit, and apparently a new spring design—the kind of thing only a wealthy young master would wear. Combined with his handsome face, who wouldn't be drawn to a rich, naive guy?
Deathstroke walked to the coffee machine, just about to grab a cup to get some coffee, when he saw Schiller also coming to get coffee. His eyes widened, and he lowered his voice, saying, "How did you get in?!"
“From the other door.” Schiller pressed the switch on the coffee machine. “I’m much more skilled at this than you are.”
Deathstroke glanced at him, and thought, "Well, he's probably just a rich kid with a lot of money, while Schiller looks like a real artist." His light yellow-green suit was a two-tone design, diagonally divided from the right shoulder to the left waist; the upper part was solid color, while the lower part had a very fine, barely noticeable check pattern. The left pocket also had a patterned design. The cashmere sweater underneath was also light-colored, with only subtle stripes at the collar. Deathstroke wasn't exactly a fashion expert, but this outfit looked fresh and bright, simple yet elegant, like he'd just stepped off a runway.
Although he hadn't known Schiller for very long, he felt this wasn't typical of a secret agent's style. Agent Schiller was the kind of person who would wear a uniform year-round if he could. Choosing such flashy clothes was clearly for disguise.
“You’re really bold,” Deathstroke said. “You went to see Hall in this outfit, didn’t you? Aren’t you afraid he’d see you?”
"I'll leave once he arrives," Schiller said, taking the coffee. "I just came to remind you to try and get closer to him, so he doesn't take advantage of you."
"Don't worry." After saying that, Deathstroke looked into the hall and said, "I have a feeling he's coming soon, you'd better leave quickly."
Before he could finish speaking, Schiller had vanished. Deathstroke picked up his coffee cup, took a deep breath, and walked into the hall. By then, a few people had already gathered in the art gallery's lobby, chatting in small groups.
As soon as Deathstroke walked in, people noticed him. They looked at his face first, and then noticed his clothes. Soon, someone came over and started talking to him.
Deathstroke still uses the same character: the only son of a Southern textile tycoon, interested in fabric printing and textile art, and having heard of Dr. Hall's reputation, he travels a long way to attend the banquet.
Deathstroke isn't really good at conversation, but now that he looks young, if he encounters a topic he doesn't know how to respond to, he'll just pretend to be clueless and give a shy smile from time to time. People will just tease him a bit and won't hold it against him.
So it seems there are advantages to being younger. People will always forgive wealthy and good-looking young people. Perhaps he could try a different path besides brute force, becoming a stealthy assassin.
Thinking about it this way, the anxiety brought on by suddenly becoming younger vanished. Perhaps, he no longer needed to struggle with the transformation between his identities as an assassin and a father, and could use his new appearance to start anew with his wife and children in another place.