Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

"By the way," McAllen said, as if he suddenly remembered some key details. He changed the subject and his expression suddenly became serious. "Does she know your true identity? Or... does she still think you are that..."

He paused, then spoke clearly, "...the infamous serial killer named 'John Lark'?"

"Who said I'm not?" Baijiu answered neatly and concisely, with a tone as calm as if he was talking about the weather.

Hearing this, McAllen gasped, his expression instantly twisted to the point of a mental breakdown. At this moment, the previously silent Old Black raised a question.

"If I remember correctly," Old Black stated in his usual calm tone, "didn't she put a public reward on your head in Paris before?"

“Indeed.” Vermouth nodded calmly in confirmation, a meaningful smile curling up the corners of her mouth. “However, it is said that the two of them later… ‘privately settled’ their feud.”

As she spoke, she turned her inquiring gaze towards the liquor beside her and said playfully, "Speaking of which, why have you never mentioned this before?"

Baijiu coughed twice tactically, swaying slightly, and tried to change the subject: "Let's get back to business. There's no need to delve into such insignificant personal matters."

McAllen immediately understood, quickly restrained his expression, nodded vigorously in tacit understanding, and put on his serious face again.

"That's right! Baijiu is right!" He crossed his arms, forced the topic back on track, and began to analyze the current situation in detail. "So, even if we successfully obtain the complete key tonight, we still don't know its true purpose."

"We're even less clear on Rum's ultimate purpose and the deeper meaning behind his seizure of this key." Macallan clasped his hands together, making a soft clapping sound. "We urgently need to find someone who knows the truth."

"We've already considered everything you can think of," Old Black stated the cold reality expressionlessly. "The question is, where do we go to find this 'insider' now?"

"I knew you would say that." McAllen looked at Blackie with an expression that said, "I expected that." "Just listen to what I have to say."

"At least there's some good news now, isn't it?" McAllen tried to lighten the mood, forcing a stiff smile onto his serious face. "That bomb won't grow legs on its own..."

He even comically imitated the penguin's gait, "It just plopped into the airport by itself, right? Someone must have brought it in."

"What we can confirm at this point is that Rum is working for the 'Intelligence'." Macallan bit his lip subconsciously and finally spoke out his most brutal speculation. "Even though they've always said we don't know his purpose, we're all from the same organization after all."

"We can probably guess pretty close to what Rum wants to do, right?" His voice deepened. "It's nothing more than... destroying the world?"

"By then, perhaps even Rum himself will be completely controlled by the 'intelligence'. They are merely using him as a springboard and a vehicle; their true goal is to control all of humanity."

"Hey... stop looking at me like that..." McAllen curled his lips, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "I've watched a lot of science fiction movies, and the probability of this happening is very high!"

Blackie didn't respond to McCarron's topic about the end of the world. Instead, he turned the laptop on the table towards everyone and said, "This is all the relevant video footage I recovered from the airport surveillance system."

The screen began to play footage of the bustling airport. Old Black spread out his rough, dark hands. "Everything is here, recording every moment until the situation completely spiraled out of control."

"I say," Vermouth put her hands in her pockets and took two steps forward. Her long hair swayed slightly, bringing with it a light fragrance. Her tone was tinged with sarcasm. "Is your eyesight better than mine now?"

Everyone then realized that the screen was indeed too small, and everyone was standing a bit far away. Even more ridiculous, Blackie was the furthest away. But out of some strange male pride, neither Baijiu nor Macallan took the initiative to move closer.

"My legs are just a little numb, not because I can't see clearly due to old age." McAllen argued stubbornly.

"Me too." Baijiu shrugged and agreed casually.

"If only your eyes were as sharp as your tongues," Vermouth added coldly, "especially you, Baijiu."

The atmosphere became lively for a short while, but Lao Hei quickly brought everyone's attention back to the harsh reality.

He looked directly into Baijiu's eyes and said, "Do these images look familiar to you? Yes, these video streams were captured by the built-in camera of the sunglasses you were wearing at the time."

"I was performing real-time facial recognition comparisons on all the people in the picture, trying to find any abnormalities," Lao Hei explained.

Everyone's attention was focused on the computer screen again. On the screen, a translucent, blurry figure of a middle-aged man appeared out of thin air in the center of the crowd like a ghost!

Then, the computer screen suddenly flickered and was instantly covered with chaotic garbled characters, as if the entire system had encountered some irresistible interference.

It's so weird that it's chilling.

Lao Hei's voice rang out in the silence: "See...it really exists like a ghost."

"But... ghosts don't have reflections."

Lao Hei's voice was low and firm, instantly pulling everyone back to rationality from their brief shock.

Before he finished speaking, the screen suddenly switched - Rum's blurry but highly recognizable face suddenly appeared in front of everyone.

At that moment, Baijiu's mind was rewinding rapidly like a movie film, and the scene of his brief eye contact with Rum at the airport was replayed clearly at sixteen times the speed.

Every detail, every sense of oppression, comes rushing back to me.

"This is the only 'person' in the entire airport surveillance system who has no identifying information." Lao Hei took a deep breath, his tone solemn, "He's also the only individual who left no biometric features or movement traces at the airport."

His eyes were fixed on Rum's face on the screen, whose details were hard to discern but still chilling. "Except for this... unexpected reflection."

“All traces of rum were systematically removed,” Macallan added, dragging a finger across the touchpad, causing the image to jump. “And it was done in near-real time, with a clean, precise technique.”

There was a brief, heavy silence.

Vermouth remained silent, with her coat draped over her arm. She turned quietly and walked lightly to a corner of the room.

She gracefully supported her well-defined chin with one hand, stood by the window, silently gazing at the watery moonlight in Venice outside the window, letting the moist sea breeze gently brush through the ends of her hair.