Chapter 46: Hell

Unit 003 never imagined that a red world could be so ugly.

Blood, blood everywhere.

Half a torso leaned against the wall, while three hands flew onto the roof of a roadside car.

A head rolled into the foul sewer, and five legs landed right in a pile of garbage.

Guts splattered onto the glass of a street-side shop, leaving several dirty streaks.

A unlucky soul's heart fell to the ground, crushed into mince by the panicked fleeing crowd.

Fresh blood dripped from the air, flowed across the ground without gaps between them, all mixed together, flowing beneath his feet.

He stood silently, witnessing hell brutally tear open a corner of the human world, its face grotesque, roaring in fury.

Unlike the cold efficiency of Unit 001 and Unit 002, he felt somewhat weary.

He wished to see a blue sky, black earth, green leaves, and transparent water.

And not just monotonous red, red, red.

His eyes were filled with scarlet.

It was a good thing that Unit 001 and Unit 002 had no sense of smell.

The overwhelming stench made his whole body feel uncomfortable.

The scent of blood, rot, and various excrement mixed together; taking one whiff would make him unable to eat for the rest of his life.

If he had a stomach, right now it would surely be like that female reporter across the street, leaning against the wall vomiting, as if trying to turn his entire stomach inside out.

Truly pitiful.

The dying wails of drug dealers, the screams of passersby, and the booming of guns and cannons made his ears ring.

It was as if a thousand little demons were tugging at his ears, all screaming shrilly into the fragile openings.

Unit 001 and Unit 002 did not feel this; their outdated auditory systems could only receive orders and signals from their ears.

Useless.

Unit 003 whispered, hugged his trench coat and hood tighter, stepped quickly over the gurgling pools of blood on the ground, and rushed to the next mission target ahead of Unit 001 and Unit 002.

He wanted to call a girl he had never met and say some thoughts he had been holding in for a long time.

He always had a strong, ominous premonition.

In the end, he gave up.

This mission was extraordinary; he could not drag her into it.

Kang Tao Corporation and the Zhang Group of Korea had cooperated, sending the three of them to execute the mission together.

Shooting drug dealers in the street was merely the beginning of a sinister conspiracy.

First, create a commotion without crossing the line; begin by targeting universally despised drug dealers to cultivate a public image of "vigilantes," lull the Company's mortal enemies into complacency, and prompt major news outlets to compete in broadcasting the event live.

Then, unexpectedly take hostages, wipe out NCPD reinforcements, and finally draw out MaxTac, crushing these bloodthirsty hunters head-on during a city-wide live broadcast.

One could imagine what enormous profits killing soldiers capable of defeating MaxTac would bring the Company.

The entire plan was interlocked, like a venomous snake hidden in the shadows, hissing and flicking its tongue, cold and vicious.

They were merely display items pushed out, bloody tools for capital to make money.

Unit 003 sighed; he had already complained enough.

Next, he just needed to follow the plan, raise his gun, and pull the trigger at the right moment.

Scarlet lights searched everywhere.

He was following instructions, searching for the target.

To attract wider attention, he needed a hostage of sufficient weight.

For instance, Bonnie Betancourt, the sole heir of the Betancourt Family in Europe.

A true heiress, whose family was one of the largest shareholders of Biotechnica.

Biotechnica was the Zhang Group's greatest mortal enemy, engaged in open and covert struggles for countless years.

Now, the Zhang Group had entered Night City, while Biotechnica was gradually showing signs of decline; the principle of beating a drowning dog was known to all.

Blame this Miss Bonnie for her fixed whereabouts; attending Arasaka Academy, she pulled friends to eat in Downtown every noon, making her far too easy to strike.

After casually solving the little girl's hidden bodyguards with a knife, Unit 003 picked up a telescope and went through the motions of confirming the mission target.

Unit 001 and Unit 002 were cleaning up the corpses behind him; these two crude fools always made blood go everywhere.

Unit 003 stamped his foot, splashing up tiny drops of blood.

The time was about right; it was time to act.

He transmitted action orders to Unit 001 and Unit 002 and charged forward at the head of the group.

He wanted to finish this broken business early so he could call the little girl sooner and pour out his grievances.

Unit 001 and Unit 002 followed behind him, splitting left and right, running at the same speed; the hems of their black trench coats flew, like crows flapping their dark wings, bringing ominous death.

Before alerting the patrolling NCPD, they used light grenades to blast open the restaurant's main door.

Amidst the scattering wood chips and glass shards, Unit 003 saw the mission target—Bonnie Betancourt.

Her friend was pulling her to hide under a table.

"Do not be nervous, ladies and gentlemen," Unit 003 said as he slowly walked into the restaurant.

Unlike the mature voice he used when calling the girl with a voice changer, this was his original voice, hoarse and unpleasant, a cold mechanical noise.

"Now, you are our hostages; do not do anything foolish."

In fact, there was only one hostage truly needed.

He was just weary of killing, so he simply told some lies to avoid creating more slaughter.

Unit 001 and Unit 002 silently held their large-caliber firearms.

They did not have voice functions.

003 looked around, feeling as if he were being watched.

He shook his head, grabbed the two little girls lying on the floor, and walked toward the door.

"Let me go, you monster!"

The blonde girl, like her appearance, was wild and shouted at him loudly.

003 wondered if his auditory system had malfunctioned.

He found the stranger's voice oddly familiar.

He shook his head, left the stranger and the terrified Bonnie aside, pointed his gun at the remaining customers, and signaled them to raise their hands and squat together in the designated spot.

These so-called hostages were merely props to attract media attention; he had no interest in dealing with unarmed men, women, and children.

001 and 002 had been sent to the wall, silently waiting for the NCPD and various media outlets to arrive.

"Don't cry, Bonnie, I'm here… we'll survive this…"

"Sophia…"

003 pulled up a wooden chair and sat down, fiddling with a massive grenade in his hand.

Behind him, the two fragile little girls wept, clinging tightly to each other.

003 felt somewhat tired, though he had no capacity for such a sensation.

He looked up, his face toward the window, but his attention was entirely fixed on the single number in his communication list.

"Hello? Uncle! I'm about to have class, talk later!"

"Hello? Uncle! I'm about to have class, talk later!"

…

He replayed the girl's voice message over and over; an unprecedented feeling gripped him, pulling him into an endless abyss.

Sunlight fell on 003's face, yet his body was icy cold.

In a daze, he thought he heard someone laughing softly in the wind.