Players Invade Cyberpunk

Hu Lang said without expression, "Only someone as naïve as you who can't think of a solution would study medicine for seven years, then be a resident for three years. It's normal that you can't think of anything, meow."

The resident didn't blush at the mockery. In this line of work, that's just how it is. Everyone thinks being a doctor is a great job, but only those who are in the profession know it's a nightmare—no money, time-consuming, getting yelled at by patients, and morally bound.

He chuckled and said,

"Hey, what can you do? I've learned it already, can't just quit, right? Besides, it comes in handy, huh? When I become a cybernetic doctor, everyone will come and curry favor with me. A thousand bucks for a surgery! A thousand!"

He's already lost in the fantasy of lying on a sea of cash.

Hu Lang stabbed another remark into the resident's heart, "But we have modification pods, why would anyone need your surgery?"

"That's different." The resident retorted, "Before, there was no choice, had to use GP points for surgery in modification pods. Now GP points need to be saved for upgrading job level, binding high-end equipment. Why not use alternatives?"

While they talked, the car had already entered the bumpy junk mountain and stopped in a wide area.

As the driver, [NPC] had been listening to the guys in the back talking. He was shocked when he heard one of them say they wanted to blow up the floating vehicle, thinking that these madmen from Evil Land are indeed lawless. But then he heard the guy wanted to be a doctor and used to study in this field, which made him reflect—how does a good medical student end up becoming a bandit?

He dared not get out of the car, just sat in the driver's seat watching the players scavenging steel and plastic-like materials and loading them into the car as if picking up trash.

John couldn't fathom what these people intended—preparing to blast the garbage truck yet scavenging trash. If it weren't for the meager income, he wouldn't have come to such a dangerous place.

However, even as they nearly filled the car with materials, the resident still didn't see a single floating vehicle pass by nearby.

Even if occasionally seen, it was far away, out of his reach, and beyond the effective range of their makeshift rocket launcher.

"Wasted the whole morning, damn it!"

Expert: "That's beyond our control, buddy. Take it easy. At worst, come back next time or just wait here for us to come pick you up in the next round."

Resident: "Forget it, I've got an appointment with the dame and the others this afternoon, planning to crack open the Santo Domingo sewer dungeon. Going with the pro into a new dungeon beats wasting time here, doesn't it?"

Expert: "Makes sense."

Hu Lang pointed to the sky not far away, "You're disappointed too soon, meow."

Everyone followed her gesture and saw the floating vehicle, just four engines carrying a dumpster, looking absurdly comical.

"Damn, can't miss the chance!"

The resident shouted, scrambling to his backpack, pulled out the rocket launcher, and began loading it per the manual—his technique clumsy.

As a player who joined in version 0.4, he hadn't experienced the previous fierce battles, nor did he have rocket launcher experience, relying solely on practice from the manual.

Players' rockets are preventive RPGs; this rocket launcher is seasoned, a must-have for home travel.

And improved from several actual combats, the launcher construction gets more refined, but used by the wrong person.

The resident hoisted the launcher, aimed hurriedly at the moving target hundreds of meters away, then pulled the trigger.

The rocket ignited, spewing fire from behind; fortunately, no one stood there, or they'd be scorched.

Yet, despite the rocket accelerating with white smoke, it missed the slow-flying unmanned floating garbage vehicle completely, falling short by meters, let alone detonating on impact.

"Damn it!"

Tears welled as the resident realized 800 euros went down the drain—his last savings.

"Again!"

He gritted his teeth, preparing to fire another shot, with determination but helplessness.

His clumsy handling even a novice would see as futile.

"Let it go, pal." The expert couldn't bear it, approached and patted the resident's shoulder.

"That's not how you use a launcher; let me teach you."

"Huh!?"

Before he grasped it, he watched as the expert expertly reloaded, handing the launcher back to his shoulder.

"You're aiming at a moving target now; align with the scope, see the scale above?"

"Horizontally 1-5, each mark represents the target's speed and wind speed. Shift one notch every ten kilometers an hour..."

Then, the expert thumbed some spit and held it near the scope's side.

"Wind from right to left, roughly 12 km/h, target speed 65-70, move the scale over...steady your hand, don't let it veer off sight..."

"Fire away."

The rocket blasted again, but this time didn't miss—it hit the trash bin squarely, scattering debris around, among which broken human bodies were visible.

As the garbage vehicle plummeted into a junk pile, the resident stood dumbfounded.

"Bro...what did you do before? How come you're so seasoned with this launcher?"

The expert realized his show-off moment went too far; stunned, he replied,

"Ex-soldier, my squad leader used to teach us this."