Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

Chapter 817 This is a suicide mission

McCarron stared at the screen, watching the two dots of light rapidly closing in distance. His voice was almost breaking with excitement: "He's caught up! He's ahead of you! Catch him! Catch him! Catch him!"

Mojito turned sharply in the maze-like passage and slipped into an extremely hidden room.

A heavy iron door that almost blends into the rough wall. Ordinary people cannot detect it unless they look for it deliberately.

Baijiu was running at full speed in the chaotic crowd, and out of the corner of his eye he just caught a glimpse of Mojito's back as he disappeared behind the door.

It was dark inside the door, with only a few old oil lamps on the wall emitting a faint, flickering light, as if stepping into a medieval cellar.

In the center of the room, a cubic cage made of thick black steel bars is clearly visible, with a simple up/down button next to it.

Mojito closed the outer iron gate with a clang and pressed the up button without hesitation.

The simple lift made a harsh friction sound and began to slowly rise with him.

Just when the cage had just left the ground for less than half a second—"Bang!"

Baijiu smashed open the iron door and rushed in! He didn't even have time to search for his target. He kicked the ground with his feet and jumped up, his arms stretched out, his ten fingers tightly gripping the two cold thin pillars of the cage!

The ground beneath your feet is rapidly moving away!

Suddenly, two drops of cold water hit his tense fingers.

Baijiu suddenly looked up - above him, Mojito was standing with his hands on his hips, looking down at him, his eyes like a tiger locking onto its prey.

The cup of iced American coffee that he never let go of was now casually placed aside.

The prey is in the bag.

Mojito leisurely admired the hanging liquor for a few seconds, as if considering what to do with it.

Then, he comfortably pulled out a pistol from his waist and aimed steadily at Baijiu's eyebrows. The corners of his mouth were tense, and a cruel smile almost overflowed.

Baijiu looked around - except for the cold steel bars and the hard concrete ground nearly five stories below, there was nothing there.

He instantly extinguished all thoughts of breaking free. He was not Superman.

Baijiu was forced to raise his head and face the black muzzle of the gun, but his eyes were fixed on Mojito's eyes.

Mojito's index finger was on the trigger, and at the moment he was about to push down hard, the movement stopped abruptly.

He suddenly loosened his fingers, and the muzzle of the gun tilted to one side helplessly. He even closed his eyes in annoyance, as if he couldn't look directly into Baijiu's icy gaze that seemed to be able to penetrate the soul.

The bet was right! Baijiu's heart trembled, and he immediately took advantage of the victory and attacked Mojito again: "You can't do it, right? You haven't got the plutonium core yet."

Mojito was silent for a moment, then slowly squeezed out a few words from between his teeth: "...Yes, he has other plans for you."

He opened his eyes again and looked at Baijiu, but this time, there was only naked contempt and provocation in his eyes, like a taunt before a fight.

"You must surrender yourself and admit that you are John Lark," he deliberately drawled out his tone, as if delivering a verdict. "Then, in your dark little cell, watch in despair as the old world... crumbles bit by bit."

Baijiu was not intimidated by this threat and asked coldly, "What if I don't go?"

"Tsk," Mojito seemed to have anticipated that he would ask this question. Before he finished speaking, he had already pulled out a photo from his waist and slapped it on the iron railing in front of Baijiu!

Baijiu's pupils suddenly contracted. In the photo—it was Vermouth!

And the photos were taken when they were in the UK.

This photo only exists in their private photo album.

How on earth did he get the mojito? A huge shock and confusion instantly seized him, but he had no time to think about it.

Mojito showed this card, and his purpose was obvious——

"I'm her guardian angel, Baijiu." Mojito put on that frightening, ambiguous smile again. "If I see you near her again... she will die."

As soon as he finished speaking, his smile froze, replaced by a bone-chilling mask. "If you dare remind her... she will die too. When it's time to admit defeat, then admit defeat."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice with a venomous coldness: "Don't bother guessing...how I will kill her." Just at this moment, the lift reached the highest point and stopped steadily with a "clang".

Mojit unbolted the door and walked out.

Before the footsteps disappeared, he reached out and pressed the button that made Baijiu's heart sink - descend.

Mojito got into the waiting helicopter cabin in the open air, and Ryan's familiar face was sitting opposite him.

When Baijiu struggled to break free from the cage that was lowered back to the ground and rushed to the rooftop, he could only watch the helicopter turn into a rapidly shrinking black dot in the gray haze sky of London.

The cold wind whistled and ripped at Baijiu's hair and clothes. He stood quietly on the empty rooftop, with a moment of confusion and deeper determination in his eyes.

London, temporary base.

The three of them squeezed into a slightly cramped apartment.

A complex holographic design spun faintly on the screen.

"These blueprints," Lao Hei explained solemnly, pointing at the screen, "were dug out from the hard drive in Dr. Debruck's Berlin laboratory."

"Five million tons of equivalent," McAllen continued. His usual relaxed demeanor was replaced by an unprecedented heaviness, and his arms unconsciously crossed over his chest. "That's more terrifying than all the explosions in World War II combined!"

Vermouth stood aside in silence.

Without saying too much, she could already see the seriousness of the situation from McAllen's unprecedented serious expression - the scale of the disaster could have made this always cheerful guy so serious.

"The conventional demolition method is to cut off the fuse here." Lao Hei circled a node in the diagram with his cursor.

Vermouth keenly grasped the key word: "'Regular'?"

"Mojito and Ryan have two plutonium cores," Old Black's voice deepened, "which means... there are two bombs."

"That's right!" McAllen lowered his arm, his fingers gesturing eagerly on the screen. "They're connected in series by a microwave fail-safe..."

Lao Hei took over tacitly and clicked the mouse lightly. Two bomb models on the screen lit up, and a red light flashed between them, indicating a connection. "Activation accuracy is within 0.1 seconds. Try to dismantle one of them."

Lao Hei spread out his calloused palm and made an explosion gesture. "It will instantly detonate the other one. This means... once the bomb is activated, dismantling it is a dead end."

Vermouth quickly digested this information, every word struck her heartstrings, indicating the difficulty of the mission - this was no longer just a crisis for an organization, but a decision concerning the fate of the world.

"Yes," McAllen confirmed, his hand still gesturing the shape of a detonator in the air. "The countdown is initiated by a remote detonator."

Lao Hei bent down and picked up another laptop from his feet. The screen lit up, showing a three-dimensional image of a device that looked like a walkie-talkie.

"It's also a failsafe," McCarron said, gesturing at the screen, his voice dry. "It means... once the countdown starts... it can't be stopped."

The room fell into a brief silence.

Vermouth's gaze lingered on her two companions' faces for a moment before she finally asked the core question, the only solution: "So... what's the solution?"

She is the elite of the action team, the sharpest knife in the team. Technology is not her battlefield. Her battlefield is after the order is issued.

McCarron took a deep breath, as if to absorb all the uncertainty. He placed one hand on his waist and tried to put on a confident expression. "We're still researching! But there's definitely... there's definitely a way!"

The tone was decisive, perfectly inheriting the liquor's style of "no matter what, momentum cannot be lost" - as if announcing the existence of a solution would make the solution appear on its own.

This unfounded yet incredibly confident statement startled Vermouth. She was silent for a moment, then came to a cold conclusion:

"So... technically, this is a suicide mission?"