My Cyber Psychosis is Task Prompt

Real-time voting data shows:

A large number of citizens support Edward's retaliatory actions, seeing him as a cyber psychosis victim, akin to the shadow of countless urban individuals.

Public outrage, confrontation, reckoning!

The heat of Cyber Night Language is explosively unprecedented tonight.

Kafei Crow was forced into discomfort, adjusting his suit and waving off the live broadcast, but no one paid attention, his elite facade cracking, his smile becoming increasingly strained...

The TV broadcast reached a peak of intensity.

The story of Edward and Scissors was finally clarified, with truth and details slightly modified, enough to drive citizens insane as the screen began to showcase one piece of clothing design after another.

The design department assistant occasionally interjected.

Kafei Crow suddenly fell silent.

He sat there with a gloomy face, enduring the insults, unable to leave regardless of the severity, as if someone had a gun pressed to his back, forcing him to remain in the studio.

Evidence started playing.

For the first time, Scissors publicly revealed new drafts, even those unversed in fashion could tell these were from the same designer.

The broadcast was cut off after just two images.

Plato's higher-ups parachuted onto the scene, stating that they would verify the drafts and assess Scissors' creative ability.

If the situation is true...

Plato will pay a huge compensation, establish a scholarship foundation in Edward's name, and invite Scissors to join the Scipio brand.

Cyber Night Language reaches its conclusion.

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Protect Scissors. (Not accomplished)]

John assembled the gun, loaded the magazine, picked up the tactical workwear, and left the room.

Big Nan Street surged under the night sky.

Scissors was riding in a taxi heading to a low-rent apartment.

The exquisite filter outside the window was shattered by neon lights, and the soul decayed amidst the roar of motorcycles and sensual indulgence.

The taxi plunged into an industrial area.

Massive buildings roared in the wind, shadows deeper than the darkness covering the dim yellow street lamps, the billboards still present, though the holograms of handsome men and women had vanished.

Three cars emerged from the intersection trailing behind Scissors.

A black Plato sports car.

Two six-wheel extended business cars.

They trailed from afar, closing the distance entirely after leaving the bustling area.

The taxi sped off in a desperate escape.

"Chase him, the passenger must be caught alive!"

Kafei Crow ordered the assistant.

He held a whiskey glass, his face full of resentment.

He once stole ideas to win the internal company competition, with colleagues waiting eagerly for his downfall.

The drafts ran out.

His own continuation samples were rejected.

The company shelved the Kafei series, putting his status in the design department at dire risk.

The deed was done.

Plato is now steering public opinion, capturing attention, ready at any moment to relaunch the series.

It didn't matter whose name the designer signed.

Scissors and Kafei.

Whomever provides drafts and survives until the end will have manipulated public opinion turn in their favor, leading to wealth and status.

The board believes in profit above all.

The methods and processes don't matter.

Kafei's grip on the glass grew tighter, suddenly hearing the roar of motorcycles coming from the industrial area.

Bright light swept across his car window.

John burst from a junction ahead, drifting to block the convoy.

His pupils shimmered under the dazzling high beams.

Messiah's Eye switched to combat mode.

He raised the rifle and fired from the side.

The bullet hit the driver's seat precisely, didn't penetrate the armor, but the second and third shots controlled to a palm-sized area, directly cracking the bulletproof glass into a web.

The driver's view was limited, forcing a slowdown.

Bang, biu~

Both side mirrors exploded in turn, sparks flew far, pieces falling to the ground crushed by the following car.

Rat-ta-tat-tat——

John pulled the trigger, speedily emptying the magazine, aiming directly at the same tire, the incendiary magazine compressed to explode, disturbing the calibration of the run-flat tire.

The front car driver felt immense pressure, having to slow down to let the other two vehicles overtake John.

The sound of brakes and footsteps rang out simultaneously.

Six people emerged from the forced-stopped van.

"Sangma Rebi Pool!"

The driver gritted his teeth, seizing a gun, kicking open the driver's door to settle with John, only to find that the road bore only one motorcycle, the shooter from earlier vanished.

Boom——

A loud sound erupted beside the car.

The driver turned to see the co-pilot's head blown apart, while teammates in the rear seat fired at thin air.

Screams intertwined with gunfire.

He couldn't see the target clearly, watched as bodyguards of the same car fell one after another, but when he ran over, there was nothing to see.

The street was eerie and terrifying.

The high beams cast a rectangular light screen.

The gunfire grew increasingly faint.

"F*ck, where is he?"

"I can't see him."

"Sianweistan..."

"Damn!"

"Ah——"

"He's at——"

The driver circled the vehicle with the rifle, always a step too slow, witnessing comrades' deaths every turn.

"Huff, huff~"

His rising anger drowned in terror.

Click.

The driver heard a slight metallic click, immediately turning with the gun, finding the attacker standing behind him.

John was replacing the rifle magazine.

The click was inspecting the gun's condition.

He coldly glanced at the driver, considering his luck, running out of bullets as he approached the last one.

John stored the gun and turned to leave.

He walked along the road, almost soundless, the gray-black coat in the backlit environment like a receding shadow, as the bloody scent from the scattered bodies just began to permeate...