Players Invade Cyberpunk

Dare to lay a hand on me?

Are you insane?

Sanders himself has served as Germany’s Minister of Finance and Vice Chairman of the Bank, backed by another powerful capital group.

Who dares kill me!

Who dares kill me!

Who dares kill me!

That night, Sanders’ hovercar crashed and he perished.

MAN! what can I say?

After the accident investigation, the cause of the crash was determined to be insufficient engine maintenance of the hovercar, combined with driver error leading to engine overload and brake failure, ultimately causing the crash.

It was an accident.

Oh, and that driver was an outsourced employee.

This news caused a public uproar.

Everyone couldn’t help but sigh.

Just a few days ago, Huang Ban Sanlang died, and now Sanders is dead too—the world seems to be changing!

As for those capital consortiums behind the scenes, they are privately celebrating with Silver parties.

In their view, Sanders was just a worrywart-like antique, how could mortgages go unpaid?

Especially since this is a European gentleman’s house, hard to find and the dream place of so many middle-class people worldwide—once this door opens, funds from all over the world will flow to me.

You don’t want us to get rich.

Cutting off someone’s source of money is like killing their parents, so don’t blame me for being ruthless.

While they are enjoying themselves, people over in Cuba are going mad.

A young man hurriedly burst into the banquet hall and found Ricardo among the lavish men and women, whispering a few words in his ear.

His originally arrogant smile gradually receded, becoming tense, even breaking out in a few drops of cold sweat.

The cadre beside Ricardo saw his expression and quickly waved the singing birds away.

Ricardo stood up, tidied his clothes and hair.

"No more playing, let’s go."

The cadres stared at each other.

"Where to?"

"To see Mr. West Fire Grass."

He even used a respectful term.

"Oh, and bring all the fine wine from my villa collection and send it along."

West Fire Grass is now a highly popular figure in Havana, thriving in his business.

The business started from fake drugs, later expanded to organic food imports, and now it’s expanding into the arms market.

Not only Cubans, even European officers are seeking West Fire Grass to sell off European military aid—everyone is making a fortune together.

That money flows from West Fire Grass’ hands like opening a floodgate, though he personally keeps little of it, using most to smooth relationships up and down the chain.

A vast network of interests centered on him radiates to most of Cuba, even expanding to Europe, Africa, North America, South America, all managed impeccably with clear accounts, clearly marked prices, never engaging in double-dealing.

Those European food companies initially planned to extort Cuba, but unexpectedly they found a third party offering ultra-low price organic food.

As a result, their European buyers came sniffing immediately.

Feed the livestock on the frontline?

Dream on!

Of course, it’s taken back to Europe, rebranded, and sold as genuine at high prices, so they came knocking too.

Thus, now in the eyes of all parties, West Fire Grass is practically a god of wealth, honored and revered, even Nightmare and several European naval captains have met him a few times, the prestige is undeniable.

When Ricardo went to find West Fire Grass, he was floating in the pool, drifting like a corpse through Cyberspace.

Comfortable.

Really too comfortable.

In reality, how could he live such a life?

While other players are still fighting, he has already stepped into early prosperity.

Ricardo saw West Fire Grass and plunged directly into the water in his suit without even undressing, disregarding his own dignity, swam all the way to West Fire Grass.

"Sir! Sir! You truly have skills! Sanders is actually dead!"

Sanders was the Silver Alliance Chairman, compared to him, not to mention Ricardo, even Nightmare himself is just a small fry.

It turns out West Fire Grass really got someone killed, what he said wasn’t bragging, it was true!

West Fire Grass groggily removed his sunglasses, appearing dazed as if not fully awake.

"Huh? Who died?"

"Sanders, Sanders McVal, the Silver Alliance Chairman! News says his hovercar crashed last night and he’s dead!"

Ricardo’s gaze toward West Fire Grass had turned to awe.

"What?! Dead! It wasn’t me!"

West Fire Grass was even more baffled.

They just had the intention, hadn’t prepared to make a move yet.

Who’s so amazing?

But in Ricardo’s eyes it was just feigning ignorance.

"Understood, understood, it has nothing to do with West Fire Grass, I’ll never speak of this outside."

Come on, this person had recently said they were planning to kill the Silver Alliance Chairman, and one month hasn’t even passed, the man is really dead.

Dare to say it has nothing to do with you?

You say it is then it is, Ricardo does not want to offend the other party.

"Just wondering what Mr. West Fire Grass plans next, the next step, where do we go."

Now Ricardo has decided firmly, unwavering on the path along with West Fire Grass.

"Next step...."

West Fire Grass blinked, a bit dazed.

"Ah.....right, next step...."

Of course there is a next step, but this is not his plan, it is their plan.

When a large number of military supplies are smuggled and sold, then a large amount of cash will gather within Cuba, but due to the ongoing war and economic downturn, the money can only flee abroad.

Currently for funds fleeing Cuba, there’s almost only one place to go.

That is Europe.

And smugglers themselves know nothing about economics, can only entrust to some local fund company for management or directly speculate on real estate.