The truck was packed to the brim; you could tell just how much weight it was bearing from the way its tires were flattened. The covering tarp wasn’t very secure, and under the mountain wind, a corner would occasionally be lifted, revealing rows of pitch-black missiles.

Hundreds of meters away, on a sheer mountain road, several horse-drawn carts were carefully transporting short-range missiles into a deeply hidden cave. The entire process was shrouded in silence; no one even dared to breathe too loudly, terrified that a single jolt might set off an explosion.

These were all tactical nuclear missiles—any one of them exploding would unleash the force of at least ten thousand tons of TNT. A mushroom cloud would rise here, fundamentally altering the landscape.

But Edward Baldwin acted as if nothing was amiss, lying atop the truck, his head resting on a tactical nuclear missile, nonchalantly puffing on a thick cigar while dialing Angela’s encrypted number on a satellite phone.

At the multinational intelligence sharing office, Angela was lashing out at everyone in sight, as if going through menopause. Her request to join the pursuit of Edward Baldwin had been flatly rejected by the seven major nations, and all intelligence operations had been suspended.

This was an internal incident of immeasurable consequence, and as the head of the intelligence office, Angela had to bear the responsibility. Until a definitive outcome was reached, she was required to remain at her post.

“Riiing, riiing…” The encrypted phone, signifying a red-level emergency, rang.

Angela picked up the phone and shouted, “Whoever you are, you’d better say everything you have to say in thirty seconds and then hang up and get lost!”

The intelligence staff fell silent, wondering which poor soul was on the other end of the line.

“Boss, it’s me, Edward Baldwin.” Edward Baldwin’s voice came through the phone.

Hearing that voice, Angela immediately pressed the receiver to her body, her expression grave as she made a hand gesture.

At her signal, all monitoring, tracking, and positioning systems kicked into high gear.

“Boss, no need to be so tense. If you want to know my location, you can just ask me, haha.” Edward Baldwin’s tone was utterly relaxed.

He didn’t care at all if Angela knew where he was, and he was well aware that this call would be tracked.

“This is Angela,” Angela took a deep breath and tried to communicate with Edward Baldwin in her usual tone. “Red Butcher, I don’t care where you are. I just want to know if the 1,200 tactical nuclear weapons are still safe. If they are, I will do everything in my power to find the best solution; if this can’t be resolved properly, you will die! Do you understand?”

Angela was skillful in her communication with Edward Baldwin; she didn’t care about his well-being, only about the status of the 1,200 tactical nuclear weapons.

“Heh, there are 327 large-scale terrorist organizations in the world; 540 organized armed groups, including anti-government forces. I have 1,200 tactical nuclear weapons—I could give one to each organization and still have 373 left. I plan to gift these 373 nukes to countries like North Korea, Afghanistan, Libya, Iraq, Palestine. I’m sure they’ll be very happy.” Edward Baldwin paused slightly before continuing, “Remember, you only have one chance. If you don’t see Miss Cat within twelve hours… I guarantee they’ll all get their nukes. You know me—I never make threats. So you have only two choices: compromise, or refuse to compromise.”

Angela’s face turned ashen. She knew all too well that if over a thousand organizations got their hands on tactical nuclear weapons, the world would plunge into a cataclysmic nuclear crisis!

Chapter 0002: Legend

One hour later, Florence ADX Supermax Prison, Colorado, USA.

This prison is the most secure in the world, housing America’s most brutal and dangerous criminals. Every inmate has a 7x8-foot cell, spending twenty-two out of twenty-four hours a day in solitary confinement, pondering what to eat for their next meal.

The result of being locked up here is that many prisoners go insane; hardly anyone leaves in one piece. The unlucky die inside, the lucky ones leave deranged.

In short, once you’re locked up here, abandon all hope.

Miss Cat sat quietly in the visiting room chair. Though her hands and feet were tightly shackled, stripped of freedom, the pride on her face swept away any trace of a prisoner’s demeanor. That pride refracted in many layers: aloofness, arrogance, haughtiness, cold pride…

Every manifestation of pride was embodied in Miss Cat in her prison uniform—this was a woman who survived on pride.

“Ms. Miss Cat, if you can persuade the Red Butcher to return what he’s holding, we’ll consider reducing your sentence.” Sitting across from her was a well-dressed middle-aged American man, who was now gazing into Miss Cat’s eyes as he spoke.

“Oh? Is that so?” Miss Cat smiled—a smile brimming with pride.