Chapter 196 Athletes
Elbert chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up another burger from the table and took a large bite.
"Carbohydrate, protein, and vitamin intake detected. Physical strength increased by 0.032%," Robert reported.
Elbert continued eating. Physical strength was the foundation of his abilities, and there was no upper limit to how strong he could become.
"Mr. Elbert, your delivery is here," a cheerful voice called from the doorway.
Elbert slowly got up and opened the door. A young man in a delivery uniform beamed at him.
"Enjoy your meal, Sir!" the delivery man chirped, eagerly offering a bag of takeout. "We've included a complimentary drink."
"Hey, you don't look like a local," Elbert commented, smiling knowingly.
"What?" The delivery man blinked, confused.
Elbert's knee shot up instantly, connecting with the man's chest with bone-jarring force. The delivery man crumpled, heaving a strangled gasp as his spine buckled.
Elbert snatched the complimentary drink and shoved it into the man's gaping mouth.
The delivery man's eyes widened in terror as he clutched at his throat, stumbling backward.
Elbert watched him go, casually flipping a playing card between his fingers – the four of clubs – that he'd palmed from the "delivery man."
'Poison?' he mused. 'Have cyborg assassins stooped to such pedestrian tactics?'
The delivery man collapsed, his face turning purple as the poison coursed through his veins.
Elbert sighed. The heightened awareness granted by his combat consciousness was both a blessing and a curse. Even without Robert's analysis, he'd sensed the imminent threat from the drink. Anything that could potentially harm him, even without malicious intent, triggered an instinctive alarm.
He glanced at his watch. It was past eight, and it was already dark outside. But even in the darkness, he could sense three distinct heat signatures – three more assassins waiting.
A figure emerged from the shadows of a distant tree line. He appeared to be in his late 20s, clad in a black tracksuit zipped up to his chin with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. A metal dog tag, glinting under the streetlights, hung from a chain around his neck. He carried himself with a swagger, grinning smugly.
Elbert squinted, taking in the man's features. He didn't look Veridianian. The dog tag, he noticed, was a playing card – the two of diamonds.
'A Card Club member? And he wasn't even bothering to hide his affiliation?' he felt confused.
Then, Elbert noticed the faint but unmistakable heat emanating from the man's chest. He was a cyborg, no doubt. But strangely, the sense of danger wasn't directed at him. This man had a different target.
"Don't worry, mate," the man said, his voice a strange blend of accents. "I'm not here for you."
"I know," Elbert replied calmly.
Robert had already run a facial recognition scan. The man was from Tathen, a former professional athlete. His records for the past eight years were suspiciously clean – a sure sign of someone with something to hide. Most likely, his records had been scrubbed after he'd undergone cybernetic augmentation. Classic Card Club MO.
"I'm just curious," the man continued, sauntering closer. "Wanted to see what kind of bloke could warrant a kCard Club kill order, and whether he's as handsome as me." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You're alright, I suppose. But still a few points behind yours truly."
Elbert suppressed a sigh; this guy was ridiculously narcissistic. He gestured toward the dog tag dangling from the man's neck.
"Ah, right." The man chuckled, fingering the metal card. "The two of diamonds. But I'm not an assassin, mate. I'm an assassin killer."
Elbert raised an eyebrow. "An assassin killer?"
"Bloke who kills assassins," the man clarified, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He took out a stainless steel flask adorned with a woman's photograph, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swig. Even from several feet away, Elbert could smell the strong liquor.
"Why kill assassins?" Elbert asked, genuinely curious.
The man sighed dramatically. "Joined the Card Club looking for a challenge, you see. Best in the world, I was. Needed someone to test me." He shrugged. "Turns out, no one could hold a candle. So I started hunting Card Club members instead. Three down so far." He ambled over to the poisoned delivery man, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a bare wrist. "Four, counting this bloke."
"Next, I'm looking for someone with a clown tattoo on their wrist," he added, his voice hardening. "The one who offed my girl."
Elbert nodded slowly. The man's grief felt genuine. He'd joined the Card Club seeking a challenge, only to become a rogue assassin hunter avenging his murdered lover.
"Then we're not enemies," Elbert said. "You've seen me. You can leave."
"Hold your horses, mate." The man grinned, striding to the ground. He shifted the baseball bat in his hand, gripping it firmly.
A flare of heat erupted from the bushes several hundred yards away. A rocket-propelled grenade, trailing a fiery tail, flew toward them.
Elbert didn't flinch. He'd been expecting the heavy weapons specialist hiding in the treeline.
The man's eyes glinted. "First base!" he roared.
He pivoted, swinging the metal bat with the precision of a seasoned athlete. The bat connected with the RPG with a resounding clang, sending it hurtling back toward its source.
The grenade detonated in a blinding flash, incinerating the assassin hiding in the bushes.
The man lowered the bat, casually slinging it over his shoulder. "Four down," he said with a satisfied smirk.
Elbert stared, his expression unreadable. His enhanced vision replayed the man's movements in slow motion. The man's physical enhancements were significant – at least a 1000 percent increase. Moreover, that swing's precision... He'd not only deflected the grenade but had done so without triggering the fuse.
"This guy's definitely above B+," Robert reported. "And he's got some kind of enhanced spatial awareness, letting him make those impossible shots."
"Retired baseball player, you see," the man said, mistaking Elbert's silence for awe. "Couldn't part with my old friend. So I had her shined up special after the modifications." He patted the gleaming metal bat.
Elbert rubbed his temples, trying to process this bizarre encounter. This guy was a walking contradiction. He flaunted his Card Club affiliation, openly admitted to being a cyborg, and had no qualms about casually discussing his murderous vendetta.
"Name's Quentin Sanders," the man said, tipping his cap. "Baseball player Quentin, at your service."
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