Players Invade Cyberpunk-Chapter 763 - 248: Soviet Superman (2)

"Charge!"

Seven or eight Masked Riders, fit for a theatrical assembly movie, launched an assault on the Cleaner positions.

With the super high-speed boost from Sianweistan, their already colorful armor left trailing light streaks in the air. With a six-fold speed increase, they weaved through the hail of bullets, carefully dodging every passing shot, rushing straight at the enemy's fortified positions.

The armor provided no function except for bulletproofing; all power came from their own prosthetic enhancements.

Masked Rider led the charge at the forefront, sliding to dodge the incoming bullets, seizing an opening to activate the leg prosthesis and leaping high.

"Rider Kick!"

High-pressure gas jetted from multiple points on his back, waist, and legs, blasting his entire body into the machine gun bunker fortified by bulletproof steel plates like a cannonball.

In the smoky ruins, the roaring machine guns finally fell silent, along with several Cleaners around them.

He redeemed a special black prosthesis for this move and forcibly modified a pressure propulsion device from the elbow to his leg.

Never mind if it fits or works well, as long as it restores the scene, that's all that matters.

The other Masked Riders weren't as bold as Masked Rider; they dealt with the gunners and surrounding Cleaners using melee weapons.

In the sudden raid, even if someone tried to engage with Sianweistan, their physical quality and prosthetic installation were inferior to even the Netherworld Dogs, let alone the players in Seibertron.

Never mind if it works well, just install it first!

With the Riders joining, a crack opened in the Cleaners' fortified line. Arnold's heavy troops quickly rushed in and engaged in brutal combat with a larger number of Cleaners inside.

The use of forbidden prosthetics always comes with severe costs, and Masked Rider was no exception.

He lay in the ruins, his right leg completely deformed, now just scrap metal, yelling while pushing aside the steel plate on him.

"Quick! Find a leg for me!"

Once the high-pressure blast device is activated, it can't stop and can only be used once in a short period. Originally intended for armored arms, Masked Rider forcefully installed it on himself.

If misused, he could smash himself into a pulp.

"You really treated your thigh as a disposable launcher,"

Masked Rider, with a dirty face, gave Sword Saint a thumbs-up.

"Hey, as long as it looks cool!"

If you kicked a goalie in national football with this, you'd probably shoot him into the goal frame.

Sword Saint saw his sorry state, couldn't say much, and waved his hand for the medical team to bring a white prosthetic leg from the vehicle, swiftly attaching it to Masked Rider.

After testing his new leg, Masked Rider immediately returned to the battlefield to fight alongside the other Masked Riders.

From a distance, the Cleaners felt a chill—did these maniacs not calibrate their prosthetic parameters before using them?

Even identical prostheses need time to adapt and fit!

"..."

High up on the battlefield, Boris saw this scene too, but now wasn't the time to marvel at their unique physiques.

They may just be modified warriors, but their level was still far beneath his.

He took his sniper rifle from his back, boldly set it up on the railing, yet despite his audacity, no player noticed him.

The invisibility system implanted in his skin by Soviet Petrochemical formed a precise electromagnetic sphere around him, controlling light refraction to return light to its original path for stealth, more advanced than Huang Ban's optical skin the players had seen before.

Aim, then shoot.

The moment the head of a player in MT-1 appeared in his scope,

Bang!

His shot was swift and forceful, the inch-thick armor helmet offered no resistance, as the electromagnetic bullet pierced the player's skull.

The defeated player awoke from the game, bewildered as he removed his helmet and sat up from bed, taking a while to understand what happened.

"Crap! There's a sniper!"

A frontline tank was instantly killed, prompting players to react.

"Find cover quickly!"

"A sniper?"

Hearing other players shout, Arnold didn't react immediately. His first thought wasn't to hide or shield his vitals, but instead,

"Let me see what's happening?"

He poked his head out of cover.

Bang!

Another bullet precisely entered his brow, brains splattering a meter away through his helmet's bullet hole.

Now, not only were the regular players cautious, but even the Masked Riders dared not risk exposure.

Players weren't afraid to die, but it was only the first day in Dog Town, not even 24 hours; dying now would be too frustrating.

As Boris entered the battlefield, he immediately demonstrated a sniper's dominance over the field, single-handedly suppressing all players from the Hall of Heroes.

The crucial part was that two players had already died, yet they didn't know where the bullets came from.

"Where's the sniper?"

Wildman, spectating from the rear, scanned the battlefield with binoculars, inspecting all the surrounding tall buildings yet finding no trace of the enemy.