Players Invade Cyberpunk

"Open fire freely, take them all out, leave no one alive!"

"Attack! Attack! Attack!"

"You call yourself the Night Wanderer? You dare engage in human trafficking?"

"Die like the human trafficker you are!"

"Where's the BOSS? Where's the BOSS?"

Rocket-propelled grenades were launched recklessly, as if they cost nothing, bombarding the surroundings wildly. In a matter of minutes, the players depleted their remaining inventory of over twenty rounds.

Explosions roared, flames burned, and steel warriors charged into the inferno, but they weren't there to put out the fire.

The heavily armored troopers had discarded their shields, grabbed machine guns, and stormed in, firing at anything in sight, not even bothering to aim.

Wildman frantically pulled the trigger of his weapon until the ammo box on his back was emptied, the machine gun clicking empty.

The Night Wanderer, suppressed behind cover, thought it was finally time for his counterattack. He emerged with a hysterical grin.

But then he saw Wildman place a hand on a nearby steel railing and, with a slight exertion, the metal groaned under the power of his exoskeleton.

A segment of rebar was wrenched off just like that.

Wildman had upgraded, but not in level—his physical strength had increased.

Seeing the Night Wanderer firing wildly and retreating with fear on his face as Wildman approached with the rebar in hand.

"Madman! Madman! Die, die already!"

Against the rifle's firepower, Wildman simply shielded his head with his arm, advancing step by step. Bullets clinked against his steel plates but couldn't halt his approach.

Until the Night Wanderer was backed against a shipping container, nowhere to retreat, with an empty magazine in hand. In front of him, a man took several bullets, bleeding profusely yet unfazed.

Enduring the barrage, Wildman reached him, stabbing the rebar into the Night Wanderer's stomach, even piercing through the container behind and pinning him to it.

Racked with severe pain and inescapable despair, he tried smashing Wildman with the gun, but Wildman easily grabbed and flung it aside, rendering his prosthetic's attempts to bludgeon the iron man's head fruitless.

Wildman allowed the attacks, raising a fist and clenching his fingers, forming a massive steel fist with four armored plates.

"A bunch of scum, you deserve to die."

With that, he slammed the fist into the opponent's head. The Night Wanderer's face caved in, synthetic eyes shattered into glass shards, teeth splintered, and multicolored fluids erupted from bone cracks, splattering all over Wildman, as the body slumped down.

The Night Wanderers' resistance was even feebler than before, with their greatest threat being a single rocket launcher that blasted Brother Dao, armor and all, sky high.

But it did nothing to prevent the disintegration of the defensive line; the demoralized Night Wanderers crumbled entirely under the players' assault.

Without a commander, they were either fleeing or dying, the central warehouse lost, the only thought now was to escape by any vehicle, anywhere would do.

But where could they possibly run to?

Lin Miao knew that a surrounding net had already formed around the tunnel, there was nowhere for them to go, and no one would take captives or leave anyone alive.

"First and second teams, pursue. Third team, stay behind to clear the battlefield."

Lin Miao was now quite relieved with his earlier decision; had he not sent away Mann and the others, seeing this scene might have strained even the best of relationships.

But it was different with the players.

Lin Miao was kind-hearted, unable to bear seeing bodies left to rot in the wilderness.

"Pile up the bodies, douse them in gasoline and burn them, make sure to use plenty of fire and oil, turn and stir them thoroughly, leave no traces."

The burning temperature of Chun Er was very high, over twelve hundred degrees, enough to reduce the bodies to ashes.

"Including those fallen over there, drag them back to be burned too, then bury the remaining ashes and prosthetics in a pit, so they are at least put to rest."

Only he would do this; those big corporations wouldn't be so kind as to prepare graves but would dispose of them on a garbage heap instead.

As for the prosthetics on these bodies, most of them were probably unusable.

The players didn't see anything wrong with it, only feeling it was a pity that so many prosthetics and heads were blown to pieces by a single big move from the BOSS.

Big-eared Tutu: "Alright