Chapter 595 - 591: He Crapped His Pants

Golden Blade snorted. "What a pain. When have we ever done something like this? We’ve always preferred the quick and dirty method. The only reason we’re using this disgusting plan is to avoid causing trouble for Ethan Sterling."

But Caelum was full of excitement. "Bro, some people forget a beating, but they’ll remember something like this for the rest of their lives. This is what you call a delicate operation. We spent a month on recon and planning—I think we’re fucking brilliant."

This made both Golden Blade and Monkey laugh.

What Caelum said was true. A man’s pride is what he cares about most. What guy hasn’t gotten into a fight growing up? For most men, taking a beating is something they easily brush off.

But shitting your pants, especially as an adult, is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life. And every time you do, the mortification will be off the charts.

Besides, not only was the method effective, but Owen Griffin couldn’t even report it to the police. There was no way to investigate it.

’How would he even investigate? Tell them he shit his pants and ask them to find out who drugged him?’

’Impossible.’

So while the plan seemed disgusting, it was actually meticulously crafted and flawless. They had considered every possible angle.

The more Golden Blade thought about it, the more brilliant he realized the plan was. "Fuck," he said excitedly. "The second we get this on film, I’m calling Ethan Sterling. I’m getting this revenge for him!"

Monkey’s eyes lit up. "Bro, does that mean Ethan Sterling will treat us to dinner again?"

"Eat my ass!" Golden Blade snapped. "All you ever think about is food!"

Monkey grinned. "Well, every time we meet up with Ethan Sterling, we get a feast. It’s like unlocking a hidden achievement."

Golden Blade said, "That’s not why we’re doing this. We’re doing this because Ethan Sterling is our friend."

"Exactly," Caelum agreed with a nod.

After about twenty minutes of tailing him, they saw that even though Owen Griffin was driving drunk, his car was surprisingly steady. He maintained a constant speed, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Why hasn’t anything happened yet?" Golden Blade couldn’t help but mutter.

Caelum whispered reassuringly, sounding like an expert, "Don’t worry, bro. The guy is wasted. The alcohol numbs his brain and dulls his senses. He’s definitely shat his pants by now, he just hasn’t realized it yet."

Golden Blade’s brow furrowed. "You barely graduated elementary school. Where the fuck did you learn all this weirdo crap?"

"The drug dealer told me. He said his last client who used it got drunk, fell asleep, and shit all over the bed without even realizing it. The guy only found out the next morning when he woke up to find shit all over his bed and blankets!"

"Alright, alright, that’s enough!" Golden Blade cut him off. "Stop explaining, you’re making me sick."

In the car ahead, Owen Griffin wasn’t just driving drunk; he wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt.

When you’re that drunk, you don’t think about much. But he was indeed driving smoothly, being an experienced drunk driver. As long as he wasn’t completely blacked out, he still valued his own life.

He didn’t give a damn about getting caught, and losing points on his license was even less of a concern. Someone would always be there to clean up his mess anyway.

Music played from the car’s speakers, and he hummed along as he drove. He kept at it until a foul stench began assaulting his nostrils, forcing him to twitch his nose a few times.

At first, he assumed the stench was wafting in from outside, so he immediately rolled up the window. To his surprise, closing the window only made the smell more aggressive, so overpowering it made his head spin.

The stench was so strong it started to sober him up. He glanced all around him—up, down, left, and right. As he moved, shifting his body, he suddenly felt a sticky wetness beneath his ass.

Almost subconsciously, Owen Griffin reached back to check his pants. Even through the fabric, he could feel the dampness.

He brought his hand back and, sniffing it, let out a retch. "BLEAAGHH—"

A closer look revealed his hand was covered in a glistening, yellowish smear. "FUCK!"

Owen Griffin’s face went pale with horror. The car was still moving, and he nearly launched himself out of his seat. But being so tall, his head slammed directly into the low roof of the car, and he let out a pained grunt.

The car swerved uncontrollably, jolting him. In a panic, he slammed on the brakes. The vehicle screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. Since he had braked so suddenly and wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, his body lurched violently forward.

With a THUD, his head cracked against the top of the steering wheel. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out cold.

"The fuck? Why’d he suddenly stop in the middle of the road?"

Golden Blade, who had been following at a safe distance, had no idea what had just happened inside Owen Griffin’s car. He was completely dumbfounded by the sight.

He pulled over about a dozen meters back and watched the car quietly for a moment, but Owen Griffin didn’t get out.

Even though it was already one or two in the morning with few cars on the road, stopping in the middle of a lane was still dangerous.

"Something bad didn’t happen, did it?" Golden Blade asked worriedly, unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to get out and check.

Monkey stopped him, holding up his phone. "Bro, I’ll go check it out."

Golden Blade nodded. He watched as Monkey got out of their car and jogged over to Owen Griffin’s vehicle. As it turned out, the windows were tinted; you could see out, but not in.

He jogged back. "No good, bro. Can’t see a thing inside."

Golden Blade made a snap decision. "Call the cops!"

"Huh?" Monkey’s eyes went wide. "We’re calling the cops on his behalf?"

"Hurry up, stop dawdling!" Golden Blade urged. He only wanted to pull a nasty prank on Owen Griffin, not get him killed.

’He had no idea what was going on in there, so of course he had to call the police. What if the guy was seriously hurt?’

Monkey didn’t dare argue and quickly made the call.

The moment the dispatch center heard it was a roadside incident, they immediately notified the nearest police station, the traffic police on patrol in the area, and an ambulance service.

Monkey tried to get back in the car, but Caelum pushed him away. "Don’t get back in. When they get here, you go up close and start recording. See what’s going on in there. Owen Griffin definitely shat his pants. Make sure you get a clear shot."

Caelum hadn’t forgotten their mission, he reminded Monkey.

Monkey nodded. He clutched his phone, which had a high-definition camera, and started walking. He already had a plan: when the police arrived, he’d approach them, say he was the one who made the call, and then get closer, pretending to be a gawker while secretly recording everything.

Sure enough, after just two or three minutes, the first to arrive were the traffic police on patrol. Seeing them, Monkey eagerly rushed forward. "Officers, I’m the one who reported it."

He pointed at Owen Griffin’s car. "It’s that car. It just stopped dead in the middle of the road. I thought it was weird, so I went to check on the situation..."

Monkey was about to explain further, but one of the traffic cops waved a hand, signaling that it wasn’t necessary. The officer then walked toward Owen Griffin’s car. Monkey hurried after him, his phone’s camera already recording.

The two officers stopped in front of the car. One of them rapped his knuckles hard against the window. "Is there anyone in there? Can you hear me? Open the door!"