Chapter 97: Chapter 77: Even Henchmen Are Actors
John put away his gun and returned to the corridor.
Angelica helped him swipe the elevator.
The numbers on the LCD control panel kept decreasing.
"Nicely done, John."
"Really? You treat me like a high-end mercenary, praise me to the skies, but it’s still just grunt work, killing a few people, standing guard watching equipment... No difference, I thought you were an old client, turns out face recognition isn’t that useful."
John worked the bolt of the gun and gave a bitter laugh.
"It’s only natural the farm owner wants to test your skills. He’s an impressive old man; if he weren’t so shrewd, corporate mercs would’ve taken him out a thousand times already."
"I understand."
John wasn’t that pretentious. "Just business."
The elevator carriage stopped steadily.
They returned to the overhead layer filled with cameras and patrol guards. During the conversation with the farm owner, a massive brawl had already broken out outside the urban farm.
John silently admired the old man’s nerve.
This level of street battle was definitely going to dominate the headlines; even the apathetic cops couldn’t ignore it.
Yet the farm owner sat calmly in his office, bragging away.
The Street Racing Gang’s motorcycles roared through the alleys.
The screeches and strange roars echoed in the industrial zone.
Tatatata~
The madmen bared their teeth, wearing leather jackets, exposing the incision lines of their prosthetic bodies to the air.
Whirr~
The motorcycle gang lifted their front wheels.
They pushed forward against the automated turrets, compressed flamethrowers spewing fire dragons, igniting surrounding debris, and started launching bombs with handheld cannons.
"Damn it! Get back!"
John pressed Angelica’s head, guiding her to hide in the building’s first floor along the cover.
An explosion occurred around the overhead layer.
Some mercenaries originally defending the area cursed through gritted teeth and began looking for cover.
The automated turrets operated normally, barrels swaying, spewing bullets among the flying debris.
The surface of the concrete walls was blasted away.
Exposing the internal reinforcement layer.
The farm owner had invested heavily in his "fortress"—the old factory was just a facade, internally it was as solid as a rock; without professional demolition techniques and heavy firepower, it was difficult to shake the foundation of this building.
John was still pondering: How would the Eden City news report this conflict tomorrow?
Suddenly, he heard a bang nearby.
A cheap street Molotov cocktail shattered against a pillar, perforating the steel plate, crawling fiery serpents unleashing heat waves, sweeping over every mercenary behind the cover.
John took advantage of the gap in gunfire to peek and shoot.
He noticed several muzzles around him firing at the same time—these stationed downstairs defense forces were more professional, apparently composed of streetwise veterans or already famous cyber mercenary squads.
The Street Racing Gang’s offensive was fierce, but in essence, it was nothing.
They were like robbers looting stores amid chaos, relying on momentum to bolster their courage.
[Communication signal detected.]
John received an alert.
While sniping on the rooftop, the farm owner’s soldiers had already noticed him.
Several people were hiding behind the cover.
A fully equipped soldier waved at him.
This wasn’t a greeting, but a gesture-based interaction to throw the communication channel signal to him.
After John confirmed the connection, his ears were bombarded.
The barrage of cursing and yelling made his head ache.
John enabled filtering and noise reduction, and ultimately muted the entire team for some relief.
He was used to being a Lone Wolf.
Team battles just got in the way.
Receiving team signals was only for one reason, and that was to share hacker info.
As crucial combat members in the Cyber Era, these people could jack into the enemy’s systems through network access, obtain enemy coordinates via scatter markers, and send them to comrades’ prosthetic eyes.
The night wind howled, gunfire erupted.
The industrial zone seemed engulfed in artillery fire, chaotic as it was, yet the opponent’s information was entirely transparent.
A bunch of Street Racing Gang members were just good at setting the scene.
They didn’t realize they had become targets with data streams in their irises, thinking they blended into the night, when really they were as exposed as streakers on the street.
John dodged Molotovs and missiles, finding a spot difficult for rifles to aim at and set up his sniper.
Bang—
He shot calmly, doing his best to aim, leaving the rest to luck and top-notch Chips.
A driver on an off-road motorcycle got hit in the ribs.
The man and the vehicle rolled over on the road surface.
The passenger was hit several times by the vehicles behind, eventually the body rolled into a fenced-off area, bio-data showing there was no saving him.
This was also the allure of hackers joining battles.
No need to confirm kills up close on the battlefield—if life signs were detected to vanish at the data level, there was no need to consider follow-up shots.
The downfall of the lead vehicle caused a chain reaction.
Sparks flew between bodies and vehicles.
Several vehicles following behind experienced various levels of death wobbles; riders had to control the handlebars and also dodge within the hail of bullets.
John kept seeking targets, firing continuously.
This battle held no pressure.
Although it seemed massive, breaking it down, it was just defensive retaliation; the fortress strength was impressive!
John suddenly recalled his first visit to Harbor Company.
Eden’s team battling Madox Gang members was also step by step, without suspense, not much communication in the team channel.
John sniped one by one.
He seemed to understand why the farm owner referred to the assailants as wild birds and field mice.
It was no different than target practice.
John’s performance was standard, mainly a high kill rate, each shot yielding returns, so it was easy to stand out on the battlefield.
But the sharpshooter reputation was an illusion.