Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

"Okay! Okay! Come on!" McCallen took several deep breaths to calm herself down, then lifted her buttocks and moved to the passenger seat next to her.

Slightly lift your index finger and pry open the control lever located behind the steering wheel.

"Autonomous driving has been activated."

McCallen lifted the laptop from her feet and placed it above her lap, her hands moving so fast they were almost blurry, like a pianist engrossed in a performance.

The White Widow and Zola arrived at the rest compartment and strolled gracefully down the aisle, the mountain scenery flashing by outside the window.

The white widow paused in front of a private room, tossing her snow-white hair, which exuded a faint fragrance, and tilted her head to one side.

She gently opened one half of the door: "Don't bother me before you meet with the client."

"Thump." With the sound of the door closing, the White Widow disappeared from his sight after giving her brother Zola a sweet smile.

Zola nodded silently, stood outside the door with her hands clasped in front of her abdomen, and looked around warily to ensure her sister's safety.

In his view, his sister's life was more important than his own.

The white widow entered the room, looking around somewhat blankly. Then she met her gaze in the mirror and took deep breaths to calm herself.

This was the first time she had felt such a heavy psychological burden.

Anyone would be in the same boat, and in fact, they might even die suddenly, since their every move is related to the future of humanity.

Or rather, it concerns various different outcomes.

The white widow leaned against the door, her bright and lively eyes slowly closing.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling noise ahead. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a woman in a black trench coat who looked exactly like her standing in front of her.

For a fleeting moment, the White Widow even thought she was hallucinating.

After a few seconds of staring at each other in a stalemate, the white widow, dressed in black, pounced on the white widow like a cheetah while she was still deep in thought and confused.

He pulled a syringe filled with a sedative from his trench coat pocket, held it between two fingers, and then spread his left hand into a tiger claw shape.

He pressed down on the white widow's chest, roughly pushing her down onto the sofa.

Despite repeated rehearsals, a slight mistake was still exposed: as the White Widow fell, her toes struck the corner of the sofa violently.

However, the white widow, dressed in black, did not show any concern.

She had investigated the soundproofing of the door beforehand.

Only by singing high-pitched rock music inside can one make it heard outside. Unless there is a baptism of gunfire and artillery fire during a war, the outside world will not notice it at all.

Instead, the white widow in black raised her hand, transforming it into a sharp blade, and thrust it fiercely towards the white widow's neck. "Thud!"

With a crisp cracking sound, the white widow lost consciousness completely, collapsing to the side in the arms of the black-clad white widow.

"It's really dirty," came Vermouth's voice from inside the private room.

Vermouth looked at the white widow's face in the mirror, her expression gradually turning disgusted. "You're only barely passable."

“But… if I looked like this.” Vermouth gripped the cross key in her hand. Sometime during the night, the key that the White Widow had hidden on her person had been transferred to Vermouth’s hand.

“I went to the plastic surgery clinic a long time ago.” Vermouth slowly opened her arms, calmly gazing at the two keys that were capable of changing the world.

"Is this... something that can change the world?" Vermouth said calmly, her expression composed, unlike the White Widow's agitation.

Instead, it was unusually ordinary; the tools to control the world were laid out before her.

However, a hint of worry flickered in Vermouth's eyes.

Slowly closing his eyes: "Where are you now... Baijiu (a type of Chinese liquor)?"

"Alana." Zola's voice came from outside the door, followed by a gentle knock. His voice was very gentle. "Are you alright? Do you need me to buy you some porridge?"

"Knock knock knock! Knock knock knock!" Zola frowned, not out of suspicion, but rather out of concern, her voice becoming even gentler: "Are you alright?"

Vermouth gripped the two keys tightly in her hands and calmly walked out from the other side of the room.

His expression was indifferent as he met Zola's gaze, who was anxiously waiting outside the door for the White Widow's reply. After a few seconds of eye contact, they locked eyes.

Zola looked at the 'younger sister' in front of her and stammered, "You... why did you change your clothes?"

“I’m not like you.” Vermouth chuckled, passing Zola quite naturally. “Let’s go.”

"squeak!"

The two main doors of the business district opened simultaneously, and Vermouth passed by with Kava and Vodka, who looked embarrassed.

However, the other party did not seem to linger their gaze on the white-haired woman in front of them.

After all, who would have thought that the key that everyone was eagerly awaiting would fall into the hands of a woman they had never met before?

Vermouth lifted the deep red curtain in front of her.

Before even stepping into the room, I heard a familiar name.

"Mr. Gin".

“Gin…?” Vermouth looked at her familiar yet unfamiliar old friend and murmured softly, even though she knew beforehand that Gin would come.

But she couldn't help but sigh, because Gin's change was too drastic, if not for the hint of his name and that nauseating smell of smoke.

She would never believe that the short-haired, somewhat thin man in front of her was Gin.

Gin cut off his signature long hair, sporting a smart and eye-catching short haircut. He also dyed his silver hair black, though a few white spots still remained.

The once glorious man has become so thin and lifeless.

Rum's defection and the deaths of many key members forced him to take on the heavy responsibility of being the second-in-command, even though the organization was now in a precarious state.

But it's much better than when Rum first defected.

Vermouth had considered that Gin might change, but she never imagined the change would be so drastic. How long had it been since Gin last met him?

Turning white-haired or aging overnight is truly just a matter of a moment or a night.

“You…” Although Gin had become much more weathered, his abilities remained at the same level. With his keen senses, he immediately noticed the abnormality of the white widow in front of him.

Although Vermouth's expression of shock only lasted for a fleeting moment.

“You… are not Alannamit Sopris,” Gin said coldly.

“You are absolutely not,” Gin coldly repeated.