Players Invade Cyberpunk

Chapter 1326: Chapter 430: Winds and Clouds Stirring (Part 3)

After all, the UK doesn’t have much international credibility.

This world is one where people don’t trust one another, and companies are the same.

Curtis kept making excuses, clearly not wanting to take on this job against Horizon Corporation.

Johnson couldn’t force him, so he had to hang up the call; network surveillance holds a transcendent position within the European Community, comparable to Orbital Aviation.

"Notify the European Community that I want to apply for a meeting, main agenda: [Horizon Corporation]."

Since I can’t deal with you online, I’ll eliminate you from the physical layer!

He never doubted Horizon Corporation’s network technology because when it comes to certain talents, there sometimes isn’t any logic to it.

A professor might spend a lifetime on a discovery, only for it to be the result of three hours of thought by a true genius.

Gauss, Newton, Maxwell, Einstein... It’s the same.

Johnson just assumes that another Bartmos has appeared in the world, but if Huang Ban could kill Bartmos back then, they can do it today!

Over on network surveillance, Curtis leaned back in his chair after disconnecting, lighting a cigar to smoke leisurely.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he looked at a photo frame on the desk; there were two people in the photo, one of them him, while the other’s head had been cut off, making it impossible to discern their identity.

Curtis sneered at the headless figure and said,

"So... this is what you want?"

————

This is a different world, one Lancaster has never formally set foot into.

The past 23 years of his life were spent growing up in a manor where flowers never wilted, with a warm climate and perpetual spring.

All living arrangements were handled by maids and butlers; clothes were handed to him, and meals served without effort, with professors from Oxford and the University of Cambridge personally coming to the manor to teach, as if the whole world revolved around him.

Lancaster never knew what failure was.

Until, driven by his military passion, he eagerly requested his father’s permission to go to Cuba after learning of its situation—a tiny country barely mentioned in textbooks.

But he returned in defeat.

He stepped out of the manor and life came to summer along with him.

The climate in Germany and France was similar, but their urban planning was worlds apart.

As the leading power of the European Community, German cities differed from those of England and France, which would hide the slums underground and leave all splendor on the surface, in that they consisted of vast black towers, covering more than ten square kilometers, standing tall like clouds.

The towering German towers.

A city that is also a tower.

The black surfaces of the building even absorbed the rays of direct sunlight, converting this light and heat into part of the city’s needed electricity.

Meanwhile, the interior of the city was extremely valuable, with real estate prices topping global charts; land above the 10th floor could make a Night City Corporation employee work a year.

Industrial facilities including waste incinerators, food factories, and metallurgy almost all accumulated on the lower five floors, and so did the common people, naturally concentrating all waste pollution there.

The territory is black-and-white, uncontrolled like a gang’s zone, fully under the grip of a Russian mob.

Upper-level people merely have to request something from the Russian mob and it gets done; a truly convenient arrangement.

To Lancaster, the first impression here was of confinement—oppressive hallways and alleyways made him feel suffocated, and industrial effects ensured the temperature remained at a constant 33°C, where wild-growing decay fungi emitted eerie red glows in the dim light.

The chemical agents in the air made his lungs burn like a fire without a filter.

This is hardly a place for human survival.

Lancaster saw that inhabitants here often had physical defects; missing hands or feet, the mildest cases missing fingers, with peeling, yellowed lips and reddened eyes, coughing every few steps as if ready to collapse any second.

Once, Lancaster heard servants describe the surface slums, but their words couldn’t capture even a tenth of what he was witnessing now.

But there weren’t any zombie-like addicts here.

Perhaps they’ve all died...

Such was Lancaster’s thought.

He took his keys, unlocked the door to the house just purchased from an estate agent; upon entry, a humid, stifling, rancid smell gushed out, and without a filter, Lancaster felt he might faint on the spot.

Lower-level housing wouldn’t have any decent conditions—the grey, depressing walls feature posters of women from some unknown era, the only furniture a rusty iron bed frame, with barely audibly scuttling noises coming from the overhead ventilation pipes.

However, Lancaster could tolerate all this because he was eager to reward himself.

His uprooted journey had been all for this moment.

Voice of the Horizon! Start!

Sitting on the iron bed, Lancaster finished watching the second episode and eagerly clicked on a reporter’s channel.

Damn!

Why is that moron Henry here!

When did he go to Cuba?

No matter.

Lancaster casually clicked on a video interviewing a frontline soldier.

"Corporal David, can you tell me how you manage to maintain such high morale? At Da Haguai, you launched ten offensives against enemy positions in one afternoon. It’s truly astonishing."

In the footage, Corporal David, who had retreated to the back for a rest, wore military attire, looking sharp and energetic, with bright eyes emitting a sense of righteousness.

"Why? ...Of course, it’s to liberate Cuba and eradicate drugs."

"Don’t you think for yourself? Merit, wealth, fame... as a soldier, wouldn’t you want to become a general?"

"Those aren’t what I seek. I trust the organization will reward everyone as deserved. I just need to do what I must."

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