Cyberpunk: I didn't cheat.

The cold sound of the voice changer shattered the night breeze. The leader of the Sixth Street gang, who was lying on the ground, trembled like a leaf. Warm urine soaked through his trousers, leaving a wet stain on the cold asphalt.

Ten seconds of countdown, each second a death sentence.

"Nine...eight..."

Vito slowly raised the Punisher, the muzzle locked onto the thug's forehead. The neon night scene flowing on the square mask looked eerie and mocking in the dark night, like the Grim Reaper looking down at an ant with disdain.

"I'll talk! I'll talk! Don't kill me!"

The thug completely broke down, his hoarse scream shattering the deathly silence of the street.

"The armored vehicle couldn't win the boxing match, so he's holding a grudge and took a bunch of brothers back to our underground hideout to drink and gamble! It's in that abandoned auto repair shop in the East District! I'm calling him right now! May I die a horrible death if I'm lying!"

Vito nodded slightly, showing no extra emotional fluctuation.

"Go ahead and fight."

The thug frantically used the brain-computer interface. He was so tense that he could barely select the screen. He shakily dialed the armored vehicle's communication. The moment the call connected, the armored vehicle's angry curses came from the other end of the line, mixed with the noise of clinking bottles and swearing.

"Are you fucking calling to get yourself killed in the middle of the night?"

Amidst the cacophony of background noise, the laughter and boasting of the Sixth Street gang thugs were still replaying the boxing match in their minds, cursing Vito for his treachery and cunning, completely unaware that death was already looming at their doorstep.

The thug secretly glanced at the expressionless cube-shaped man, his heart almost stopping. He hurriedly replied timidly, "Brother, it's me, Tommy. It's nothing, just asking if your hideout is safe. I'll bring the money back to meet up with the brothers right away."

"Safety my ass! Who in Santo Domingo would dare touch our Sixth Street gang? Get back here and get your cards back! Stop dawdling, and I'll teach you a lesson!"

beep--

The call was abruptly ended.

The location and status were fully ascertained.

Vito raised his hand and silently disarmed the thug, his voice changer emitting a cold, mechanical tone: "Thank you for showing me the way."

Before he could finish speaking, a large-caliber bullet from the punishment machine blew the thug's head off.

There was no time for screams; the last remaining thug collapsed instantly, bringing an end to the crime on this street. The night wind swept across the mess, carrying the familiar smells of blood mixed with the lingering fumes of the night market.

Vito holstered his gun with clean, swift movements, and leaped back into the old Nissan Tiggo sports car.

With a roar of the engine, the dilapidated car cut through the night and headed straight for the abandoned auto repair shop in the eastern district.

The auto repair shop was brightly lit at the moment. The dilapidated workshop was filled with empty wine bottles and cheap stimulant syringes. More than a dozen thugs from the Sixth Street Gang sat around a group, gambling, shouting, drinking and cursing.

The armored vehicle sat in the very center of the crowd, fiddling with the combat cybernetic body concealing steel spikes in its hand, spitting as it complained to its underlings about Vito.

"That kid only knows how to dodge! If he dared to fight me head-on, my steel spikes could slice his throat open! Just wait, sooner or later I'll kill him myself and get back all the money I lost!"

Laughter rose and fell, and no one noticed that death had quietly enveloped the entire factory.

The next second, the factory's metal gate exploded!

The roar of the Nine-Tailed Rifle shattered all the noise, its ferocious flames spitting out wildly. The modified high-capacity drum magazine provided a guarantee for continuous firepower, and the dense bullets poured down like a torrential rain.

Metal sheets, cement, human bodies, and prosthetics were all shattered under the firepower. The arrogant Sixth Street gang thugs, who had just been so domineering, were devoured before they even had a chance to draw their guns.

Screams, wails, and pleas for mercy were instantly drowned out by the gunfire.

Vito slowly walked into the factory, which was littered with limbs, stepping over pools of blood and debris, and headed toward the armored vehicle that had been damaged by stray bullets and lay paralyzed on the ground.

The armored vehicle was covered in blood, its mechanical prosthetics were completely destroyed, and all that remained in its eyes was extreme fear; the ferocity it once displayed in the boxing ring was gone.

"Holy crap, it's a blocky guy, I, I..."

Vito looked down at him, his square mask gleaming with an eerie light, showing no pity whatsoever.

Without further ado, he raised his hand and fired a shot, completely ending the armored vehicle's last gasp.

After cleaning up the scene, hacking all the factory's surveillance cameras, and erasing all traces of his actions, Vito turned and disappeared into the deep, dark alley.

Tonight in the East District, another batch of scoundrels have vanished completely, unknown and unnoticed.

……

Meanwhile, on the other side of the street in Santo Domingo, a completely different and peaceful scene unfolded.

After tonight's boxing match, Dorio won the game with his superb fighting skills. The Mann team was in high spirits and walked home together.

A gentle evening breeze and twinkling neon lights dispelled the tension of the competition, allowing everyone to relax and chat and laugh along the way.

David followed at the back of the group, occasionally stealing glances at Lucy beside him, his eyes revealing the innocent, youthful excitement of a boy.

Rebecca, carrying her weapons case, chattered on about the outrageous referees at the arena and the despicable Sixth Street gang, while Qiwei walked silently to the side, smoking, looking languid and relaxed.

Pila walked at the front of the group with a bright smile on his face. He had just watched an exciting boxing match and witnessed his teammate's victory, so he was in a particularly good mood.

The streets were sparsely populated, with only a few Night City passersby hurrying along. Everything was unusually calm, and no one expected that disaster would strike in the blink of an eye.

In the dimly lit alleyway at the street corner, a hunched-over man covered in prosthetics slowly emerged.

He was standing on a shipping container and urinating down on it. He urinated for a long time and made a lot of noise.

His body was haphazardly modified, with exposed mechanical wires hissing and sparking, and his eyes were red-glowing military prosthetics. He exuded an aura of madness, chaos, and bloodlust, a typical late-stage cyberpsychosis.

His steps were unsteady, his eyes were unfocused, and he swayed as he urinated, muttering incomprehensible nonsense.

He is clearly a pitiful person whose mind has been completely corrupted by excessive implantation of prosthetics and abuse of banned drugs, and a ticking time bomb in Night City that could go berserk at any moment.

"Hey! That's a really loud peeing noise!"

Pila has always been interested in all kinds of combat cybernetic bodies and modified cybernetic bodies. When he saw the other party's rare violent modified cybernetic body, he was not wary at all. Instead, he took the initiative to stop and jumped onto the container with a smile to greet him, his tone full of admiration.

"Dude! Your cybernetic body modification is so cool! The wiring layout and external power components are top-notch! Amazing!"

His tone was sincere, purely out of appreciation for the cybernetic modifications, without any malice.

The man continued to mutter things that no one could understand.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Pila leaned closer to the man's mouth, trying to hear what he was saying.

The man's prosthetic eye flickered, and he mumbled faster and faster.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Suddenly, a bomb ejector device popped out of the man's hand, and the muzzle of the gun was pressed against Pila's chin.

boom!