Players Invade Cyberpunk

Chapter 1303: Chapter 423: Granular Targeting, Constructing a Capitalist Combination Punch, Achieving Platform Differentiation

The front line is chaotic, and Havana is even more chaotic now.

A group of armed men in black military uniforms are kicking down doors from house to house.

"What are you doing?"

A woman’s scream comes from inside the kicked-open door, as she looks in terror at the ’Gestapo’ who have stormed into her home.

The captain at the forefront takes out handcuffs from behind his waist, his sinister eyes make the family tremble in fear, and with the other hand he places a conscription order in front of the woman.

"Mr. Nightmare is drafting soldiers, why hasn’t the man of your house gone?"

The woman clings tightly to her just-turned-sixteen-year-old son, unwilling to let go, shielding him with her already thin back.

Her voice is tinged with sobs.

"My husband has already enlisted, why are you still taking my son?"

"A son is a son, a husband is a husband."

The conscription captain says coldly.

"Now that the Horizon Mercenaries are coming, everyone has the responsibility to defend Havana, whether it’s your son or your husband, they must go to the front lines."

When it’s time to distribute money, I am forgotten; when it’s time to go to the front line, I’m remembered.

In the woman’s eyes at this moment, the henchmen before her are far more hateful than the never-seen Horizon Corporation.

A conscription team member chimes in.

"Of course, if you can come up with a conscription exemption fee of three thousand euros, your son won’t have to go to the battlefield."

Three thousand euros.

Even if you work as a staff member for a small to medium-sized company in Night City, you might not be able to come up with that much money in a short time.

This is clearly a scheme to further oppress the already scarce middle class in Havana, and for those like the woman on the lower rungs, it’s their life that is demanded.

The woman’s face, streaked with tears, murmurs.

"I... I don’t have that much money."

How could she have money? Just surviving means she’s either starving or barely full day to day, stopping work means stopping food.

Her body ailments can only be numbed by drugs; three thousand euros, she can’t find a place to sell her organs even if she tried.

"Then stop wasting time."

The captain waves his hand, soldiers swarm forward, punching and kicking the woman, forcibly wrenching her son from her arms, pressing a gun to his back as they push him into a car.

Before they leave, they ransack the shanty again, leaving the battered woman on the ravaged ground.

Such scenes play out throughout Havana, husbands and wives separated, mothers and sons torn apart, leaving only desolation in the conscription team’s wake.

This is not only the price of government inaction, but the inevitable result of a lack of connection and mutual alienation between a country and its people.

Watching trucks laden with conscripted men pass by his door on their way to camps, West Fire Grass feels conflicted but can only pretend not to see.

He turns to the driver and says.

"Let’s go."

As his smuggling business grows, West Fire Grass has gradually entered the core circle in Havana, and now he has to lead the Cuban drug lords in expanding into Europe with the bond business, some things naturally must be understood.

Only by entering these places can one be considered ’one of us,’ so Ricardo is here today to specifically invite West Fire Grass.

Ricardo, in the front passenger seat, takes out a blindfold and tosses it to West Fire Grass.

"Mr. West Fire Grass, put this on first, the place we’re going to today is quite special."

"Making it all mysterious."

West Fire Grass mutters as he puts on the blindfold, the car’s signal already jammed.

But this is useless to West Fire Grass, the internal system among players, up to now no jammer can affect it, not even an EMP from a nuke.

Even without seeing a thing, he can track the route by maps and his positional changes.

So, it’s under the Royal Army Castle?

The vehicle drives for about an hour and a half, once inside the castle, West Fire Grass can clearly feel the descent into the underground, at least fifty meters below.

After a moment, the car door is opened by someone, and West Fire Grass feels himself being pulled out, hearing Ricardo’s voice beside him.

"We’re here, take off Mr. West Fire Grass’s blindfold."

He removes the blindfold, his vision regaining clarity.

West Fire Grass looks around, the lighting is dim, but he can clearly see an architectural style reminiscent of a European castle before him.

Building something like this underground must’ve cost more than just a little.

"What is... this place?"

West Fire Grass is puzzled, what are these drug lords doing building something like this underground?

Do they have money to burn?

"Heh, once you’re inside, you’ll know."

Ricardo leads West Fire Grass by the hand into the castle.

Marble corridors are adorned with crystal chandeliers, dazzling and bright, with imitation oil paintings hanging on the walls, a candle every ten meters, making one feel as if they’ve traveled to Renaissance Europe.

And the restoration is quite precise.

For example, the girls standing at the doors, around fourteen or fifteen years old, their expressions stiff, eyes hollow, holding brooms as they listlessly sweep the floor.

"I didn’t know Havana had such a place."

West Fire Grass recalls something; he saw a post about this on the forum, though compared to Night City’s, this one is more retro.

"Built forty years ago by Europeans."

Ricardo says.

"They love playing around with this kind of stuff, you wouldn’t believe how wild it gets, not convenient to do in Europe itself."

"Forty years?"

West Fire Grass is a bit shocked, but maintains a calm facade.

"What projects are here?"

"Plenty, communion, Christmas, baptism, hunts... but I know Mr. West Fire Grass, you definitely won’t be interested in such things."

Ricardo says with a sneaky laugh.

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