Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 1029: A Fierce Rescue

The trailer didn't just showcase the luxurious lives of the rich and the violence of mercenaries.

It also showed the lowest levels of Night City—a group of people living in a daze, clustered around fires fueled by garbage just to feel a moment of warmth. They did this simply to survive another second in this brutal city.

The kidnapped rich man and his child were taken by the kidnappers into a rundown high-rise full of squatters.

Inside, the building resembled a small self-contained city, its layout a tangled maze.

But it only took five minutes for another group to locate the exact room where the hostages were being held.

They were Trauma Team—a private emergency medical force for VIPs who paid exorbitant insurance premiums.

"Now, let me introduce you to Trauma Team,"

"In the game, they're a private medical group with security responsibilities. Their mission is to do whatever it takes to protect any client who pays the massive insurance fees."

"Soon, you'll see just how high the cost can be to rescue this rich man and his child."

"Target recon complete. Seventeen hostiles inside. We'll neutralize them one by one. Squad A, lock and load. Squad B, prep for support. Squad C, reach the client ASAP for emergency treatment. The client has lost 18 hairs, 2 eyelashes, and the child has a scraped knee with high emotional distress. We need to resolve this fast."

In the trailer, armored soldiers clad in sleek combat suits positioned themselves outside the kidnappers' room and balcony, ready to breach.

But when players heard Trauma Team's medical status report, they were stunned.

Just a few hairs lost, a small scrape—and it triggered a full-scale assault? That was insane.

Yet somehow, in the context of Night City, it all made sense.

In a place that chaotic, what wouldn't be possible?

Then the breach began.

But the kidnappers were ready. They had mounted heavy anti-vehicle weapons—firepower fit for armored transports. The room erupted with thunderous blasts, seemingly ripping through not just eardrums but nerves, bones, and souls alike.

The first Trauma Team squad was annihilated instantly, with no time to react.

Civilians weren't spared either. On the same floor, a resident was quietly complaining about his burned-out takeout when, in the blink of an eye, his body merged with that charred meal.

The level of violence in this trailer was off the charts.

Gamestar Entertainment had to implement strict age restrictions for the live broadcast and in-person viewers—no one below a certain age was allowed.

But even with that, the visual impact was staggering—even for adults.

Even most violent action movies couldn't compare to this.

But Cyberpunk 2077 delivered it in full force.

And in doing so, it captured the raw brutality of the game's world like nothing else.

Players in the venue and watching online were now completely glued to the screen.

The violence wasn't just spectacle—it struck something primal.

This wasn't a game trailer.

This could've been a movie. A good movie.

Sure, maybe not as polished as top-tier Hollywood CGI, but emotionally and visually? Just as intense.

"We're under heavy fire! Squad One is down! Requesting immediate backup!"

"Squad Two, deploy!"

Two more Trauma Team aircraft streaked through the sky. Dozens of elite medics jumped out, weapons drawn.

Stealth was out the window now—it was all-out war.

A gunfight broke out. A real, satisfying, edge-of-your-seat shootout.

This wasn't your typical action movie scene.

What kind of twisted genius would imagine mounting anti-armor weapons in a residential building?

Who could dream up a scenario where losing a few hairs prompts the mobilization of a private army?

By now, more than 30 Trauma Team members had died in the operation. The financial cost was astronomical. And yet, the company kept pouring people in like a conveyor belt, desperate to complete the mission.

Even if the client had already died, the company would still fight to recover the body—no matter how many lives it cost.

"They're all insane..."

"Hard to believe this could be the future."

"Why not? Big corporations are already heading in this direction—they're just not as blatant yet."

No one could even begin to imagine how much that kind of emergency service would cost.

It had to be astronomical.

But it wasn't surprising.

The richer someone is, the more they value their life. Money is just numbers to them—numbers they'll gladly trade for survival.

Finally, after three minutes of brutal combat, a single Trauma Team member emerged victorious. Covered in blood, backed by his fallen comrades, he rescued the rich man and child.

But even then, they weren't fast enough. The company's customer service had already contacted the client to offer compensation and express hope they wouldn't cancel their subscription.

The surviving Trauma Team soldier stood silently nearby.

He had taken off his helmet—now covered in blood.

His enemy's blood. His allies' blood. His own blood.

He spat a mouthful of blood, then hastily wrapped a cloth around his bleeding arm.

In the distance, the rich man and his scraped-up child were receiving the finest care imaginable.

And him?

He had to patch himself up.

Even if his teammates were still alive, they wouldn't help.

That's the company's policy.

During missions, they're expendable.

Expendables don't get support.