[Eternally Loyal to the Emperor]'s last mont of consciousness faded into a brief void after confirming his ID.
Then ca a hard, icy cold, and an indescribable feeling of being squeezed.
He snapped his eyes open.
What t his eyes wasn't the expected high-tech sci-fi cha cockpit, nor a grand login hall overlooking the sea of stars.
It was a... vat?
A transparent cylindrical container, its interior lined with rough biological textures, emitting a faint, fishy organic stench.
Murky, pale-green nutrient fluid was rapidly draining away through a hole at the bottom, making a loud gurgling sound.
He could feel the discomfort of the viscous liquid sliding over his skin, and the chill of being completely naked.
"What the fuck?!"
He instinctively tried to raise his hands to cover his vital parts, but his arm slamd against the inner wall of the pod, producing a dull thud.
The vat... or rather, the curved door of the bio-pod slid upward with a teeth-aching hiss of depressurization.
Zeke shivered, tumbling and crawling out of the pod onto a freezing, rough tal grate floor.
He steadied himself and imdiately looked down to check.
Fortunately, the ga had so bottom line. It had applied a "holy light" censor—a blurry but perfectly placed layer of light covering his crucial areas, like the lowest-budget family-friendly patch.
Imdiately after, a dusty, coarse, and durable one-piece jumpsuit materialized on his body, complete with dark patches on the elbows and knees.
On his feet appeared a pair of hard-soled boots that looked incredibly uncomfortable.
The tactile sensation was so realistic it made him curse.
"Fuck."
Looking around, he found himself in a dim, low-ceilinged space.
It was about half the size of a basketball court. The walls were exposed tal plates, covered in thick pipes and valves of unknown purpose.
Dim, occasionally flickering fluorescent tubes were the only light source.
The air was murky, reeking of machine oil, ozone, and... so kind of stale, ancient scent.
Most importantly, there were at least thousands of identical bio-pods densely packed into this area.
At this mont, most of the pod doors were opening, and players in jumpsuits, wearing identical expressions of utter bewildernt, were crawling out.
"What kind of garbage spawn point is this? Where's the cha hangar?!"
A player with the ID [Schrödinger's Loyalist] complained while rubbing his neck, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.
"Where's my UI? Stat panel? Skill tree? Map? Quest marker? Not even a damn fairy to guide noobs?"
[Fugitive Cogboy of the chanicus] was rapidly swiping his fingers across his eyes, trying to activate a tactical visor. Naturally, there was no response.
"Level... no level?"
"Inventory... oh, wait, there seems to be sothing called an item slot?"
[The Emperor's Sword But It's Very Blunt] narrowed his eyes, seemingly concentrating hard.
Zeke also tried to focus his mind.
Sure enough, an extrely crude interface floated into the corner of his vision.
No flashy borders, no avatar portrait, just a few lines of faintly glowing text:
[Individual Identification: Eternally Loyal to the Emperor]
[Physiological Status: Mild Hunger | Mild Thirst | Stamina: 87%]
[Psychic Aptitude: Unactivated | Psychic Level: 0]
[Imperial Coins Held: 0]
[Debt: 0]
[Today's Survival Tax: Unpaid (0/0.3)]
That was it.
That was all there was.
Where are the stats? Strength, Agility, Intelligence, Spirit? Attack, Defense, HP? Crit rate, Lifesteal, Armor Penetration?
Zeke cursed internally. And what the hell is this 'Psychic Aptitude Unactivated'?
Even more outrageous is this 'Today's Survival Tax'.
I have to pay money just to breathe?!
0.3 Imperial Coins?
I don't even know what this currency looks like yet!
"Trash devs! This starting point is worse than waking up in an Underhive garbage dump!" a player nad [Soul of Cadia] cursed, stretching his limbs. "At least back then I knew where to find a moldy piece of bread!"
"This is it?"
Beside Zeke, a lean woman with short hair had also finished checking her status and couldn't help but sound disappointed. "Hunger, Thirst, Stamina? Psychic power? Imperial Coins?"
"Which Chaos spawn designed this UI? Even laziness has its limits!"
"Imperial Coins..."
Another tall, skinny man chewed on the word, his expression turning sowhat strange. He lowered his voice. "Brothers, don't you guys feel like this setting is... a little familiar?"
"The Imperium, Prothium, Psykers, plus these outfits and this environnt..."
"Shut up!"
Zeke practically growled instinctively, using the Low Gothic he had just mastered, his voice still carrying a hint of 'Karl's' accent. "Watch your mouth! Until we confirm the situation, don't make reckless assumptions!"
His heart was pounding.
As an old Warhamr fan, he was way too familiar with those elents.
But he forced himself to stay calm.
The na was Epoch 40k: cha, the CG was sci-fi, and what was in front of him were worker jumpsuits and a construction site.
Don't panic. Maybe it's just a coincidence, or maybe it's just a sick joke by the dev team…
–
At the sa ti, deep within the Warp.
Lucian's constantly shifting mass of energy was stretching out in pure delight.
Wisps of pure emotional energy were flowing from the real universe into his body through countless invisible threads.
Although the amount generated by each individual player was minuscule, the combined output of five thousand people had already ford a substantial, steady stream.
Confusion, curiosity, mild annoyance, the genuine discomfort of hunger, and just a tiny bit of that 'this ga actually seems kind of interesting' desire to explore...
"Yes, exactly like that."
Lucian felt the fulfilling sensation of energy circulating through him. It was a fundantal pleasure that surpassed any physiological satisfaction.
"Be more confused, be more curious, you can even curse out the System a few tis... Either way, you're cursing the System, not ."
He observed the situation inside the outpost through the System interface.
The players were gradually walking out of the habitation block and gathering in front of the outpost's small airlock.
"Lil' Scourge," Lucian had given the System a nickna. (TL/N: Lil' Paint?)
"Stock the shop with the most basic items first."
Lucian pondered for a mont. "Synthetic bread, filtered water, basic tools, makeshift weapons... Set the prices a bit high. After all, we are a frontier outpost. Resources are scarce, so exorbitant prices are perfectly reasonable. Once the language pack is unlocked, they'll be able to have complex conversations with the locals. However, we need to censor any vocabulary that might directly reference the true nas of the Four Gods... Hmm, use obfuscation. For example, if they try to say 'Tzeentch', automatically replace it with 'Deep Void Anomaly' or sothing similar. As for them chatting privately in their language... let them. Under the System's shielding, no one in the Warp can understand their language anyway."
Lucian was very satisfied with this design.
The players could vent, plot, and hurl insults in their mother tongue to their hearts' content without worrying about Warp entities catching any keywords.
"But the most important thing is to get them moving."
Lucian watched the surveillance feed. "Mining, scavenging for trash, getting into street fights, exploring the unknown... anything is fine. As long as they generate emotional fluctuations, as long as they collect physical matter, they are working for . The daily breathing tax and the resurrection loan settings are absolute genius."
Lucian praised himself without hesitation. "No pressure, no motivation. Only with crushing debt will they work their lives away. Isn't this exactly how the lower-class citizens of the Warhamr universe live? We call this 'imrsive roleplay'."
–
Back in the base, that cold voice rang directly into everyone's consciousness once again:
[Welco to Aurelian IV, outskirts of Aru City, Abandoned Pre-Processing Workshop No. 7.]
[Beginner Guide Quest Issued.]
[Quest Na: A Laborer's First Step]
[Quest Objective: Familiarize yourselves with your new identities and basic tools. Focus your minds to retrieve your issued tools from your personal storage space. Then, leave this facility and conduct basic resource collection operations in the surrounding safe zones.]
[Resources & Exchange: For every 1 unit of standard energy matter (e.g., ore, scrap tal, organic fuel) submitted to the System, you will receive a personal compensation of 0.1 Imperial Coins. The System will provide basic material identification guidelines.]
[Quest Goal: Accumulate 1 Imperial Coin individually.]
[Quest Rewards: 10 Imperial Coins; Unlock "Aurelian Language (Advanced)"; Unlock Store Material Exchange List Preview.]
[TIP: This ga encourages exploration, creation, and survival. You may do anything you deem necessary and are capable of completing, but please evaluate the risks carefully.]
[Core Rule Supplentary Notice (All units please keep in mind):]
[1. Life is precious. Death is not the end, but it cos with a cost. Upon individual termination, Imperial Coins can be used to reconstruct a vessel at designated facilities. Those with insufficient Imperial Coins may apply to the System for an Ergency Reconstruction Loan. Interest Rate: Predatory (Borrow 10, receive 9, repay 19).]
[2. Survival has a cost. A daily fixed Environnt Maintenance and Life Support Tax (abbr. Survival Tax) will be levied. Initial Tax Rate: 0.3 Imperial Coins/Day. The tax rate will adjust based on the individual's comprehensive evaluation index. Those who fail to pay the tax will suffer progressive physiological decay penalties until vessel failure.]
[Wishing all Pilots a successful frontier exploration.]
--
TL/Note: Before this week ends I am thinking of doin a small mass release, no promises tho!
Reviews
All reviews (0)