"Boss, be careful when you get there. I have a feeling something's off about this place!" Azalina's voice came through Jiang Hai's earpiece, tinged with caution.
"Don't worry, I'll run if I sense any danger—you know how scared I am! How's everything coming along?" Jiang Hai asked with a chuckle, listening closely.
"Almost done. One more anti-tank weapon should arrive tomorrow. After you get back today, go watch the Clippers game, and then we'll head into the mountains the following day," Azalina replied.
"Okay… then hurry up," Jiang Hai said, relief softening his voice, knowing preparations were nearly complete.
"Clang, clang… okay… hehe…" Suddenly, the earpiece crackled. Jiang Hai glanced at his phone—signal down to a single bar. Frowning, he slammed the brakes and stared at the device. What the hell was going on?
A pickup truck drove past at moderate speed, and Jiang Hai waved.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" Considering the large Chinese population in California, locals were generally polite to Asians. The driver, a Black man, pulled over.
"Excuse me, sir, is there any signal interference around here?" Jiang Hai asked, smiling.
"No interference here, but you'd better say what you need before entering town. Two days ago, strong winds knocked down the cell towers in town and on the mountain. Repairs just started today, and we don't know when they'll reach the mountain zone. There's no signal up there," the man explained with a chuckle.
Jiang Hai smiled awkwardly. Cell towers down? Tornadoes were mostly a Midwest problem—why here on the coast? He thanked the man and drove a kilometer back until the signal returned, then called Azalina again.
She was speechless, unable to advise him to wait, since even the locals didn't know when the signal would be restored. All she could do was warn him to be careful. Jiang Hai wasn't worried; his skills spoke for themselves.
Besides, he was armed. Unless the opposition sent dozens of people, anyone trying to cause him trouble would end up in more trouble themselves. Jiang Hai was no pushover.
"Alright, I'll be careful. You guys be careful too," he said, ending the call. He stepped on the gas, heading into the mountains.
Jiang Hai hadn't wasted his time in Los Angeles. The car he drove now was a top-tier off-road SUV, a Mercedes-Benz G65 AMG. Who knew what might happen in the mountains? A reliable vehicle, like a good horse in ancient times, was essential.
He'd bought two, both bulletproof—not Battle Shield level, but sufficient against pistols and rifles. Large-caliber machine guns could still be a problem, but that wasn't a concern for now.
He had also bought firearms locally. With his high-level gun license from the Winthrop Police Department, he was free to own top-tier weapons. Two gun cases sat under the back seat: two .50-caliber Desert Eagles and a SCAR assault rifle with a 30-round magazine. Semi-automatic, precise, and deadly—enough to handle anyone who might try to cause trouble.
Confidence often comes from preparation. Today, he was headed to a place called Mount Megatron Hospital. Located on the California-Nevada border, it sat within the Colorado Mountains—remote, desolate, and off the beaten path.
The hospital had been around for fifty years. Initially profit-driven, it admitted patients from all over California. But after twenty years and the NASDAQ crash, the director went bankrupt and committed suicide. The facility fell into disrepair until a multinational corporation, Mukoff, took over three years ago. Now, it operated as a public hospital, specifically for mentally ill individuals who had committed crimes.
Here, dangerous patients—psychopathic killers, in essence—were treated while imprisoned. Bruce David, the man Jiang Hai sought, was among them.
Following road signs, Jiang Hai found the mountain path. The road was dilapidated—mostly dirt, with only a short paved section. His SUV handled it well, sparing the undercarriage from scraping.
After a bumpy ride, he reached the end of the road, where a massive building came into view. The main structure of the Giant Mountain Mental Hospital resembled an old castle, surrounded by a two-meter-high barbed-wire wall. The iron gate looked more like a prison entrance than a hospital.
A large white man with a baton approached.
"What's the matter?" he asked in a deep voice. Few visitors came here.
"I need to see someone. Here's my note," Jiang Hai said, handing over a paper. It contained two parts: a Los Angeles police authorization allowing Jiang Hai entry, and a hidden photo of Franklin underneath.
"Do you have a weapon?" the guard asked, eyes narrowing at Jiang Hai's car.
"I have one in the car, but not on me," Jiang Hai replied.
"Then your car stays outside. You can go in," the guard said, gesturing. Jiang Hai parked and approached the gate. A small door beside it opened, allowing him inside.
Immediately, a sense of oppressive despair hung in the air.
"Who goes there?" a guard asked, stepping toward him.
Jiang Hai glanced at the man. Ugly, with messy hair, sunken eyes, a pointed face, pale skin, and yellow teeth, he looked more frightening than the patients. Jiang Hai shivered involuntarily.