Players Invade Cyberpunk-Chapter 670 216: The Unspeakable Collective

In a year of 365 days, it's raining in Night City for three hundred of them.
Thanks to the worsening climate environment caused by the corporations.
The pounding rainwater splashes onto the streets, stirring up blooms of water. The ever-burning red and green neons between the buildings turn blurred in the water curtain, and the city reflected in the water pools shatters and reforms under the wheels over and over, as if they'll exist in this world forever.
The street scene of Santo Domingo is still the same as always; the exposed pipelines around are like the city's blood vessels, continuously transporting chemical materials and power. The air carries a plastic smell even the rain can't wash away, or you could say, the rain itself isn't clean.
And now, it's drizzling, yet the streets of Santo Domingo are still bustling. Drunkards are gulping down cheap alcoholic drinks at the street-side stalls, while pedestrians wrapped in raincoats and holding umbrellas traverse the cold rain.
None of them speak a word to each other, all keeping their heads down, walking their own paths, disgustedly avoiding the homeless huddled in corners.
In this city, the distance between people has always been vast. Maybe some things have caused a slight impact, but it's far from enough.
The man tightly wraps his raincoat around him, his footsteps hurried, as if afraid a gust of wind would blow into his coat and snatch away whatever he holds close.
This job wasn't supposed to be for a rookie like him, but a bunch of lunatics came to Night City, watching these things closely and appearing out of nowhere. They're everywhere, and no one, high or low, dares to deliver to the buyers because getting caught probably means death.
Throughout his journey, he's been cautiously scanning every corner and every person around him, terrified that a cyberpsychopath would suddenly leap out and take his life.
The voices of everyone around are constantly triggering his nerves, keeping him on edge.
"Boss, what's that on the shelf? New drink?"
"No... it's a beverage."
"A 1.5 Orokin beverage? You're not implying you pissed in it, are you? Hahaha."
"Look at the markings on it, think carefully before you speak, kid."
The mercenary shivered upon seeing the label on the bottle.
"Holy crap, the stuff from those plague bearers? They wouldn't poison it, would they?"
The companion beside was also quite surprised.
"I remember they used to deal in robots, right? The NCPD, banks, they bought loads of them. Why are they suddenly selling water?"
"How should I know?"
The shop owner shrugged.
"Anyway, it's 1.5 Orokin, who cares?"
Usually, such unknown beverages would require payment to get into a store, and their placement depends on whoever pays more. But considering Horizon Corporation gave those gangs a lesson, making life safer for shop owners like him, it's a small favor to place these things on the shelf.
"Haha, grab a bottle. Let's see what tricks these plague bearers are up to now."
Mercenaries have a complex view of Horizon Corporation. On one hand, they admire them for daring to clash with Huang Ban in the Watson District, even blowing up the Chaotic Blade Association outside the city. On the other hand, this group has crazily beaten down the underground gray markets, causing prices for black-market doctors, meds, and arms to soar, making life difficult for them.
So, in the eyes of the mercenaries, these guys are like a plague; trouble goes where they go, and those who cross them won't end well.
He twisted open the cap, sipping it lightly like it's a drink.
"Um..."
"How is it?"
"This beverage... why doesn't it have any taste?"
The mercenary looked oddly at the liquid in the transparent plastic bottle, even putting it to his nose, detecting no odor.
This is unusual, but nobody expects to get something good for 1.5 Orokin.
"No taste? Maybe your tongue is broken?"
The companion, skeptical, took the bottle and gulped down a mouthful. The cool, tasteless pure water slipped down his throat, a pureness different from high-sugar drinks, widening his eyes.
"This is water!"
The mercenary sneered and said,
"No kidding, what else could it be, gasoline?"
"What I mean is, it's clean water, clean! You get it? That real water costing 99 Orokin per gallon!"
"What?"
The mercenary's voice raised significantly, even the shopkeeper was a bit surprised. He hadn't tasted it when it arrived. After all, transparent beverages or alcohol aren't unheard of, and he didn't want to make his body an experiment.
As everyone in the restaurant was shocked by the appearance of this cheap pure water, the high-hung TV also played Horizon Corporation's ad.
"Super Earth, our home~~"
An abstract commercial, catchy phrase, silly outlook, and their familiar logo—all told the customers in the shop that a company entered Night City with nearly the cheapest pure water on the market.
A beverage business competition more brutal than a gun war is quietly unfolding beyond their visible sight.
That transparent liquid would unknowingly enter intestines, invade the bloodstream, and even... the brain.
Yet, all the lively shop noises had nothing to do with the man. The most important thing for him now was to deliver the white powder from the Tiger Claw Gang he held, to a bar in southern Santo Domingo.
He left the northern industrial zone, heading to Coronado Farm, entering an area of low two-story houses where things started to become increasingly strange.
The plastic bags that usually piled up on the streets disappeared; only a group of already dried, disgusting black sticky residue remained, surrounded by a foul-smelling yellow fluid.