Perhaps influenced by the players, Lin Miao kills without any sense of guilt, using exceptionally brutal methods, almost like Adam Smasher.
This is the beauty of numbers.
Blood and cybernetic limbs fly everywhere, Trauma Team operatives suffer heavy casualties, and the television station hastily shuts down the broadcast of the horrific scene.
No point in airing this, better to edit it slowly afterward.
The team’s casualty numbers rise sharply, with two power armor soldiers trailing behind, unable to intercept Lin Miao as he wreaks havoc among the crowd.
"Chase him, what are you guys in team three doing? Hurry up and pursue! Surround him and don’t let him escape!"
"Sniper, where’s your gun? Why aren’t you shooting?"
"Team two, head north! Can’t you see he’s trying to flee north?"
Caster watches in disbelief, unable to understand how the Trauma Team, which usually runs rampant on the streets of Night City, is now being slaughtered like pigs.
And why is there such a big difference between his men and those mercenaries?
Why wouldn’t they dare to hold grenades and explosives and go down with the opponent?
Why couldn’t they sacrifice for the company without regard for their lives?
He completely ignores that it’s the result of his own incompetent command, raging impotently.
"A bunch of waste! A bunch of waste!"
Yet his fury doesn’t last long.
The car’s AI reads out a brief message from the Trauma Team in a mechanical voice, striking him like a bolt of lightning.
"Caster Johnson, your negligence has caused significant loss to the company’s interests and damaged its public image."
"Therefore, you are fired effective immediately, all company cybernetic implants will be shut down, and as everything stems from your actions, you must compensate for the company’s losses."
"Your bank accounts don’t have sufficient balance to cover the damages, the remainder will be calculated against personal assets under your name."
Next, a series of messages bombard his phone.
"Your property on Charter Mountain, Night City, has been seized."
"Your property on Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles, has been seized."
"Your account at Huang Shan Bank has been frozen."
"Your account at New United States Bank has been frozen."
"Your Phantom 2074 limited edition private car has been seized..."
"Asset liquidation complete, totalling 17,429,654 euro dollars, you still owe 4,436,300 euro dollars in compensation, please remit payment promptly."
Good news, the Trauma Team doesn’t seem intent on killing him.
Bad news, death might be preferable.
Seeing these messages, Caster’s face turns ashen, even though he was mentally prepared, he can’t accept the reality when faced with it.
"You... you can’t do this to me..."
His voice is trembling.
"It was... it was you who told me to do this..."
The attacks on ERO, killing mercenaries, all were orders from the Night City Trauma Team headquarters’ director and manager; he was merely executing them.
Now the company wants him to take the blame?
Implants disabled, job gone, saddled with such a massive black spot, should he repay with his life?
Take his wife and son and escape, maybe there’s still a chance...
He’s accumulated quite some connections and gray resources over the years, if he can hide in Dogtown, there’s always a chance to rise again...
He feels as though all the bones in his body have been extracted, slumping in his seat, after slightly catching his breath, he tells the AI panel ahead of him,
"Pull the car over... I... I need to get out."
The airborne car, which has always obeyed him, does not respond.
Caster assumes the program might be stuck or he didn’t make himself clear, angrily shouting,
"I told you to pull the car over, didn’t you hear me?"
The mechanical electronic voice responds again, monotonous,
"Sorry, you are not a Trauma Team employee, no authorization for airborne vehicle commands, I’ve notified the nearest Trauma Team employee...."
Caster widens his eyes in disbelief at the emotionless machine, even a once obedient mechanism has now betrayed him.
In just this half hour, it seems like he’s lost everything, the world is so unfamiliar at this moment.
Until a children’s song he’s heard hundreds of times rings in his hand, dragging him back to reality.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh..."
It’s the song Caster’s son sang on his birthday; he recorded it and has kept it as his ringtone ever since.
The caller ID shows it’s from home; he tries to compose his expression, pretending as if nothing happened, and answers the call.
The video shows his beautiful wife Megan and their just six-year-old son.
Megan holding the child, nervously asks,
"Caster, I saw on TV that something went wrong with the Trauma Team in Santo Domingo, a lot of people died, they even cut off the signal, are you okay over there?"
The child in her arms also asks with concern, "Daddy, did you meet bad people?"
Caster takes a deep breath and calmly says,
"Yes... I encountered a bit of trouble here, but it will be resolved soon, large-scale street fights, you know, those people never like our company, it happens a few times every year..."
Megan looks at her husband’s seemingly relaxed expression, knowing things aren’t as simple.
"No matter what, you must protect yourself, okay? I’ll make dinner at home waiting for you..."