I was acting crazy in North America, and all the crazy people there took it seriously.

Chapter 18 The Chaos in Chicago (4) Terrifying Legends

The first to be hit was a large man who was closest to "Han Solo".

He first yawned abruptly for no apparent reason, and then his hand holding the gun began to tremble slightly.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but his eyelids felt like they were filled with lead.

"Damn...something's...off..."

He mumbled something, his voice growing softer and softer, and then with a "thud," his head slammed directly onto the cold, muddy ground.

This seems to be a signal.

The effects of the medicine, like a hidden tide, quietly washed over everyone's nose and throat.

One after another, some people were aiming their guns when they found themselves becoming increasingly weak, and some even dropped their guns on the ground without having the strength to bend down and pick them up; others tried to get up to charge or dodge, but found their legs buckled and they collapsed to the ground.

The gunfire became sporadic and weak, and soon fell completely silent.

Han Solo then slowly emerged from the darkness.

The battlefield, which was just moments ago filled with the sounds of clashing and clanging, is now only filled with burly men lying sprawled out in disarray.

Some lay on their backs, mouths agape, snoring loudly; others curled up on the cold ground, like helpless infants.

Seeing these remarkable "curative effects," Han Solo's mind automatically conjured up advertising slogans—no, product descriptions—

"Our 'Bewitching Wine' is made by refining a variety of authentic poisonous herbs with alcohol of 99% purity for 49 hours. It is colorless, odorless, and evaporates naturally, rendering people unconscious without a trace."

"No refrigeration is needed, and there are no preservatives. Apart from its potent sedative effect, which leaves one weak for a few days after waking up, it is also beneficial for relieving mental stress..."

So, with his hands behind his back, Han Solo slowly walked among the group of weaklings who were sleeping like babies, collecting all the scattered guns and ammunition into his spatial backpack.

"Once you're alright after waking up, hurry up and disperse. It wouldn't be good if you damaged the flowers and plants."

After confiscating the weapons, "Han Solo" nimbly jumped into the cargo compartment of the smuggling convoy, where boxes of whiskey labeled with Canadian tags were neatly stacked.

"Han Solo" nodded in satisfaction, then looked at the brand-new modified truck, jumped out of the truck, went to the cab, and dragged the driver, who was fast asleep, out of the truck.

Then, with a wave of his hand, he put the wine and the car into his spatial backpack.

Following the same method, after seizing all the spoils of the smuggling convoy, "Han Solo" waved his sleeve and left quietly, just as he had come quietly, without taking away a single cloud.

……

This is not the only instance of Han Solo engaging in double-crossing.

On another night, on a remote shore of Lake Michigan near Chicago.

Han Solo watched as a suspicious-looking old barge with a deep draft slowly emerged from the thick night and mist, like a ghost, and approached the convoy waiting on the lake shore.

Then they watched helplessly as several faster speedboats, with an arrogant air, caught up with the barge; at the same time, a group of people suddenly appeared from the shore.

Han Solo had no idea how many factions were involved. In any case, after a brief "communication," the familiar, blood pressure-raising clattering began.

In an instant, chaos erupted on the lakeshore: people on the boats were exchanging fire with each other, and people on the shore were exchanging fire with each other.

Han Solo's face was full of agitation, as if he were wondering, "Who am I? Where am I? What sins have I committed?"

These days, no amount of morality matters, fine, he magnanimously accepted it.

This year's class is both bad and loves to play games, fine, he'll just pretend he's blind.

But you've made such a big fuss, aren't you afraid of attracting the marine police?

If the marine police are really called in, then nobody's going to have a chance. He's bad at the game, loves to play, and his IQ needs a recharge; "Han Solo" feels like he'll have a blood vessel burst if he has to endure it for even a minute longer.

The entire standard procedure of administering the drug, incapacitating the victim, putting away the gun, and collecting the alcohol was carried out so smoothly that even the night breeze seemed to rejoice.

After several attempts, this process almost became an instinct for "Han Solo"—regulating the market according to Raymond's "client list," with only one instance where no third party intervened.

In addition to the million-dollar bottle of whiskey, Han Solo's backpack also contained hundreds of guns, countless ammunition, a dozen or so cars in good condition, and a speedboat in excellent working order...

Most of these are gold coins dropped by third-party forces.

Well, Han Solo probably doesn't know how much of a shadow this move cast on the Chicago gangs.

Family members, do you know how terrifying this is?

A perfectly good double-cross suddenly turns into a massacre where everyone collapses under the covers. When they wake up, they find their weapons gone, and the alcohol and car vanished without a trace...

Whether they were the robbers or the robbed, after waking up, they looked at each other in disbelief, and then, terrified, fled from that "place of trouble."

An enraged mob boss wanted to investigate the mastermind behind the scenes, but to no avail.

The men were taken down without even seeing the "culprit," and couldn't explain why; they tried to trace the whereabouts of the alcohol, but there wasn't even a trace left at the scene.

It was inexplicably terrifying.

And so, after the first "double-cross" incident where everyone mysteriously fell into a coma, rumors began to circulate in Chicago's underworld—

Near Chicago, there seems to be an indescribable "alcoholic monster."

Some say this monster has countless tentacles that snatch away wine bottles; others say it has no physical form, like a ghost that sucks away both the wine and the soul wherever it goes.

Following the "silent end to the Lake Michigan brawl," the rumors became increasingly bizarre.

"Several groups of people, all lying down! Not a drop of alcohol left, they're sleeping so soundly you can't wake them up, like their souls have been drained..."

Some victims even swore that the "alcoholic monster" was a water monster, saying they "saw wet tentacles dragging a speedboat down to the bottom of the water, like it had found a fun toy..."

After the entire team smuggling alcohol from Canada was silently brought down and suffered heavy losses, the legend became chilling!

From the suburban wilderness to Lake Michigan, the "alcoholic monster" is everywhere.

Alcohol is its nourishment, the souls of the living are its food, and powerful modern weapons are its toys!

Panic is spreading quietly.

"Why didn't it appear before? I heard from the psychic wizard that the fire at the distillery awakened it..."

"No, no, no, I heard that it's not a monster, but the vengeful spirits of drunkards who died unjustly at the bottom of the lake over the years. That's why it wanders around Chicago, gathering wherever the smell of alcohol is strong..."

"Yes, yes, only by hiding in urban areas with lots of people can we avoid getting entangled..."

For a time, even if gang leaders didn't believe the terrifying legends, they couldn't find anyone to smuggle alcohol anymore.

Don't you see that those who faced the monsters directly all returned as the most devout believers in the church?

This must have been an act of extreme terror.

In desperation, many gang leaders secretly asked the church priests if there was any holy water that could exorcise the "drunken monster".

Priest:?
……

(End of this chapter)