Rampaging Through the Heavens: Starting by sending Chan Ho-nam to Stanley

Chapter 196 Performance Art

Jimmy was stunned.

He looked at the list in his hand, then at the microphone in front of him, then at the crowd below the stage, and then at the McDonald's next to him.

Open your mouth, then close it.

Open, close.

Like a fish that has come ashore.

McDonald, standing nearby, stared wide-eyed at the sight.

Damn it, why can't I speak again?

What exactly happened?

Is there some kind of evil spirit on this ship?!

The guests below the stage looked at each other, their doubts deepening.

What's going on?

Why is there still no sound even though I've changed the person?

What exactly are they doing?

What exactly do they want to do?

Were they kidnapped to practice mime?

Someone couldn't help but mutter to themselves.

"What kind of robbers are these? They're all so unreliable."

"Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"I thought I was going to die here, and all I got was to watch them put on a pantomime?"

Jimmy got anxious too.

He ran off the stage, snatched the paper and pen from McDonald's hand, and started writing furiously.

"I can't speak either."

McDonald looked at those words and felt terrible.

He took the pen and wrote below.

"What should we do?"

Jimmy thought for a moment and wrote it down.

"There might be something wrong with what you ate yesterday."

McDonald's lips twitched as he looked at the words.

Is there something wrong with the food?

Why are other people unaffected?

But now is not the time to dwell on this.

He wrote.

"Let number three go up and try."

Jimmy nodded and waved to the other side of the stage.

A young, bald man walked over.

He was the third-in-command among the gangsters and had always wanted to rise to the top, but he never had the chance.

Now the opportunity is coming!

He strode onto the stage with an excited expression.

Standing in front of the microphone.

Take a deep breath.

Open your mouth.

No sound.

He was stunned.

He couldn't even make a sound before he could introduce himself?

He opened his mouth again.

Still no sound.

Open your mouth again.

Still no sound.

The young bald man's face turned bright red, and his mouth opened and closed frantically, like a chicken being strangled.

The guests in the audience finally couldn't hold back any longer.

Someone burst out laughing.

Then quickly cover your mouth.

But laughter is contagious.

One person laughed, and the second person laughed too.

The third one, the fourth one.

Soon, suppressed laughter rose and fell from the squatting crowd, and everyone's shoulders trembled violently.

Some people had their heads bowed low, but their trembling shoulders betrayed them.

Some people bit their lips hard, but the corners of their mouths still couldn't help but turn up.

Some people simply gave up and burst out laughing while covering their faces.

The red-clad bandits stood there, looking at each other with incredibly interesting expressions.

They still had their guns raised, but their momentum had completely vanished.

I want to laugh, but I don't dare to.

I can only keep it to myself.

Her face turned red from holding it in.

McDonald's face was as black as the bottom of a pot.

Jimmy's expression wasn't much better.

The good news is that the two of them were somewhat respectable; at least they introduced themselves.

The bad news is that there seems to be something unclean on this ship.

They came to rob us.

How can you rob someone if you don't talk?!

The three people stood on the stage, looking at each other.

Six eyes met.

I was completely baffled.

It was all despair.

McDonald took a deep breath, picked up a pen and paper, quickly wrote a line of large characters, and held it up for all the bandits to see.

"Now, whoever can speak, whoever comes up on stage, will receive a $100,000 prize!"

All the red-clad bandits looked at each other.

Under the reward, there must be a brave man.

A daring bandit in red stepped forward.

He swallowed hard and carefully walked onto the stage.

Standing in front of the microphone.

Take a deep breath.

Open your mouth.

No sound.

He was stunned.

Open your mouth again.

still none.

His face turned pale instantly.

Someone in the audience burst out laughing again.

There was more than one person this time.

Several people were trying to suppress their laughter, their shoulders shaking as they did so.

The red-clad bandit panicked and tried several more times, but still no sound came out.

He ran off the stage as if fleeing and disappeared back into the crowd.

I never dared to look up again.

McDonald was somewhat devastated.

There's something wrong with this damn ship.

It may be a person, or it may not be a "person".

He even began to suspect that he had bumped into something unclean on the way here.

Or is the ship itself unlucky?

But now is not the time to think about these things.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

After all, he was the mastermind behind this hijacking. He'd been in the underworld for so many years; what storms hadn't he weathered?

So what if I can't speak? It's not like I can't move or give orders.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then another deep breath.

Inhale—exhale—inhale—exhale—

Three seconds later, he opened his eyes.

His eyes had regained their calm.

He waved to the bandits beside him, pointed to his mouth, and then made a writing motion.

The bandit paused for a moment, then suddenly realized what was happening, turned around and ran.

A short while later, he came running back carrying a large pile of cardboard and a ballpoint pen.

McDonald took the cardboard and then had someone bring over the list.

He returned to the stage.

This time, he didn't try to speak.

He first wrote a few words on the cardboard, then turned around, coldly raised his gun, and fired several shots at the top of his head.

The gunshots were deafening, and spent shell casings clattered and rolled all over the ground.

The crowd immediately fell silent.

Those who were whispering, those whose shoulders were shaking from trying to suppress their laughter, and those who were secretly moving away all stopped what they were doing.

No matter how ridiculous these robbers may seem, they are still bandits with real guns in their hands!

Guns are no joke.

Nobody wants to be the next Captain William.

Captain William's body was still lying on the stage, his blood drained, staining the floor a large dark red patch.

Seeing the crowd quiet down, McDonald breathed a sigh of relief.

He winked at the bandits beside him.

The thug immediately held up the cardboard sign.

The cardboard had a few lines of writing on it, the handwriting messy but clear:

I have a list.

McDonald then held up the list in his hand and waved it.

The list was folded neatly and densely covered with names.

They had all conducted prior research on Hong Kong's wealthy businessmen and celebrities.

The thief switches to the next cardboard sign.

I will call out their names one by one later.

The character "名" (name) was crossed out and replaced with the character "写" (write).

I will write down the names one by one later.

Move on to the next cardboard sheet.

[Whoever's name is written down, please come up.]

Next one.

Otherwise, kill without mercy!

The last one.

Did you understand everything?

The guests in the audience watched this unique "silent hijacking" with incredibly interesting expressions.

Some people opened their mouths wide, some stared with wide eyes, some had twitching lips, and some wanted to laugh but dared not.

What the hell is this?

The robbers couldn't speak, so they used a writing board to rob us?

If this gets out, won't people laugh their heads off?

Someone muttered to themselves.

"Are they doing some kind of performance art?"