"What the heck?! What happened to my hand??"
Hearing that cry of shock, Deathstroke confirmed that the good agent was back. He was truly speechless. It had clearly been a one-man show, yet somehow he had managed to turn it into the setup for a murder case. Anyone who didn't know better would think someone really had shot him.
Even so, Deathstroke took out the medicine, handed it to Schiller, and said, "Looks like your plan failed completely. He said he was going to find someone, but he didn't help you find them. He shot himself and then..."
"He found her," Schiller said, gently drawing in a breath as he bandaged the wound on his hand. "I just think it was far too not worth it. If I'd known, I wouldn't have let him come."
"Trading health for intel doesn't work," Deathstroke said. "I knew that on my first day in this business."
"Hah, that's where you're wrong." Schiller gave a cold laugh. "He wasn't trading health for intel. Damaging his health is his hobby."
"You said he found her. Did he tell you?"
Schiller nodded and said, "I have a general direction. Let's go."
Very unsurprisingly, in Cairo's largest Red Light District, a brothel hidden behind a hotel and an illegal drug shop had special rooms. They were specifically for important figures to amuse themselves in. They kept their "lovers" here. Khaywen had three rooms here, but only one was their target.
When the car reached the area, they could already hear the commotion. Deathstroke frowned and said, "Don't tell me those terrorists still had time to come here for a whore."
They also smelled the scorched stench in the air, and this place was actually very far from the airport. No matter what, the fire at the airport