Deathstroke was genuinely a little impressed. It was one thing to say things on the surface like "skipping the plot is skipping life," but privately, who didn't want to live once like Schiller, without giving a damn about anything?
Deathstroke was a little envious, anyway. Schiller seemed like someone completely untroubled by emotions. Some people honed their feelings into sharp spears to hurt others; some built their feelings into towering walls to trap themselves. Most people's emotional lives in this world were like firing a gun, always striving to cause the greatest damage with the fewest bullets. Schiller was different. His emotional life was also like firing a gun, but his purpose in shooting was not to kill anyone, only to make the bullet roll as far away as possible.
You couldn't call that ineffective. In fact, compared with using a gun to shoot people, a gun was even better at driving bullets away. After all, whether you hit your target or not, the bullet definitely flew very far. And that happened to be exactly what firearms had been designed for, revealing a kind of ingenious absurdity.
"We'll go take a look tonight," Schiller said. That was not beyond Deathstroke's expectations. As the saying went, on a dark and windy night, it was the time to kill and set fires. They couldn't act during the day, but nighttime was another story. As long as they could find the underground storeroom, there would always be a way to get that mural out.
In truth, Deathstroke leaned toward letting Schiller complete his mission first. That way, when he later helped him repair his parent-child relationship, there would be no lingering concerns. As long as they could get the mural first and send it back to the United States, his later plans would