Night City’s population is comprised of ten percent corporate lackeys, thirty percent gang members, and sixty percent ordinary people.
The underlings popped open the trunk of the vehicle, dragged a couple tied up like dumplings out of the car, threw them to the ground, and tore off the tape sealing their mouths.
The kidnapped couple was covered in scars, clearly not having been spared from torture. One person’s hand was completely severed at the root. The man begged, sobbing, while the woman had already fainted from excessive blood loss.
"You’ve already taken the goods and money, please let us go. We have a child at home, if we die, he’s done for."
Terry didn’t care to listen to their pleas, even found their noise irritating.
Once his underlings shot the hostages, Terry still felt it wasn’t enough. He snatched the submachine gun from one of them and unleashed a volley on the bodies on the ground.
He only stopped when the magazine was empty and the firing pin clicked in vain, cursing under his breath.
"Damn annoying chatter. Worthless trash couldn’t deliver goods. Who undid their bandages? Chuck these heaps of rotting flesh aside, let’s get out of here."
Just as he finished cursing and turned to get into the car, he heard several gunshots.
Clearly, it wasn’t his underlings, as the direction of the gunfire was off, plus a few bullets pinged on the car’s metal plating, sparking fire.
Terry quickly hid behind the car using its engine block as cover, cursing out loud.
"Damn it, who’s there?"
Then he heard strange yells from two separate directions.
"Fight the monsters and loot the gear!"
"Though I can’t understand, it seems these bastards ain’t good folk!"
Despite the fierce shouting, their aim was clearly awful; they only managed to injure one of Terry’s underlings despite the ambush with three pistols, leaving him writhing on the ground, while the other two found cover behind the car.
Bighead blindly shot, realizing someone was down once the magazine was emptied, and shouted jubilantly.
"I hit him, one shot, major injury!"
Potato retorted, "That was clearly my doing! You hit the guy’s thigh."
Bighead’s face flushed, stubbornly asserting, "No way, I’m sure it was me who hit him! You damn dog just want to steal the credit!"
Potato, knowing Bighead’s nature, didn’t bother arguing. There were still two wild creatures below, killing didn’t reward points anyway.
These players clearly weren’t trained in shooting in alternation or suppressive cover fire, as firing all at once left them empty, giving the two Night Wanderers a chance to retaliate. Terry reloaded the submachine gun’s magazine and immediately fired at Bighead, who was closest, bullets piercing through the garbage pile into Bighead.
Bighead watched as two fingers of his left hand were shot off, blood flowing from his hand, and fled down the hill screeching.
"Damn! I’m critically injured and down! Just a sliver of health left, retreat now! You guys, hurry up and take them out!"
The pain was absent, but the sensation of losing finger was quite remarkable.
The entire channel erupted in chaos.
"Almost done, hang tight!"
The two Night Wanderers noticed these three were utter newbies, likely vagrants trying to ambush and take advantage.
Terry initially planned to flee while suppressing the enemy, but now felt like playing with them. On second thought, he decided against it, telling his underlings to drag the wounded into the car.
But in that brief hesitation, two steel plates suddenly emerged from both rear sides, blocking their path.
The underling quickly turned and fired, the rifle’s burst punching through the steel plates Brother Dao and company were using as shields.
The silver-haired Natural Curl saw right before his eyes his left arm being pierced, blood pouring out.
"Shit! Turns out TV shows’ bulletproof metal shields are a lie! Damn reckless screenwriters!"
Generally, whether hit in the arm or otherwise, the recipient would lose most of their mobility, rendering an effective counterattack difficult.
But alas, players aren’t normal.
With the steel plates toppled, all five players were injured, but the good news was none suffered a headshot, and while the plates were thin, they slightly reduced bullet impact, combined with chest armor plates, none were fatally injured.
Not fatal, so they could still move.
In the noontime sunlight, five bleeding men wielding long blades blocked the only retreat for the two Night Wanderers; their injuries seemingly irrelevant, as they flashed bloodthirsty grins.
"Had fun shooting just now?"
The underling was dumbstruck by this sight, repeatedly pulling the trigger, forgetting his magazine was empty.
Terry, hurrying to reload, noticed Potato and Wildman had already reloaded too.
The silver-haired Natural Curl charged ahead with astonishing speed, despite having six points in physique like Wildman, his explosiveness surpassed, performing agile and decisive moves. In a flash, he reached Terry, using his only right hand to slash at Terry’s reloading hand. Terry’s right hand was severed at the joint, even his prosthetic couldn’t withstand it, then a kick sent him flying into the garbage heap.
Having achieved his revenge, silver-haired Natural Curl reversed his grip, throwing the knife straight into Terry’s chest with precision and speed. He finished his move while the other four were still attacking the underling.