The crushed gravel dug painfully into his cheek.
But right now, he completely ignored the discomfort.
He had seen it with his own eyes. It wasn't a game special effect, it wasn't rendered lighting—it was real blood.
The real sound of bullets tearing through flesh, and the final, agonizing screams of those two players in the regional chat channel.
Emperor Above… Zeke's lips trembled, his mind in total chaos. Heresy... Heresy! This isn't some fucking 40k mecha game!
Which treacherous Greater Daemon of Tzeentch tricked us into the Warhammer 40k universe disguised as a game?!
He was roaring internally, but his body didn't dare move an inch. He lay dead flat on the ground, hands clasped behind his head in a textbook surrender posture.
It wasn't just him.
At this moment, nearly five thousand players were lying face-down in the pit, creating a bizarre and spectacular scene.
As the harsh searchlights swept over them, individual faces flickered in and out of the light.
Their expressions transitioned from initial bewilderment and curiosity, to terror and shock, before finally freezing into a look of desperate realization.
The regional chat channel was scrolling at a frantic pace, hundreds of messages per second:
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! That gunfire was real! I could fucking smell the gunpowder!"
[Pay the Tithe Even if the World Ends]: "Those two... died so miserably. I doubt they'll have the guts to respawn and log in for a while."
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Firearm models suspected to be modified lasgun variants. Armor style appears to be a local flak armor variant. Soldier augmentation level approx. 30%-45%."
"Standard Hive City security/private military loadout... Fuck it, why am I even analyzing this?! This is the fucking Warhammer universe!"
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "So... the mechas in the CG were a lie? The sea of stars was a lie? We've actually been dropped into the Warhammer 40k world?!"
"Son of a bitch! The dev of this game is absolutely a Greater Daemon! They knew 40k's reputation was terrible, so they dressed it up to trick us into coming in!"
[Soul of Cadia]: "What do we do now? Hold our heads and wait to die? For Cadia! Wait, no, for survival!"
[I Want the Halo of Tranquility But I'm Broke]: "I knew it! That Survival Tax! The gene enhancements! The Psychic Aptitude! And the Imperial Coins! The flavor was too strong! So strong I couldn't even open my eyes!"
[Did the White Scars Speed Today?]: "So what is our status right now? Illegal immigrants? Heretics? Mutants? Or just toys dragged in on a whim by some Chaos God?"
[I'm Not the Lord Regent, I'm Just a Passing Guilliman]: "I suggest surrendering first and observing the situation."
"According to the Imperial Guard Uplifting Primer, Chapter 3, Section 7: In situations where you are outnumbered and outgunned, temporary surrender to preserve your life is a logical choice—provided the enemy accepts the surrender."
[A Damned Loyalist]: "Trash devs! Trash System! I was wondering why there wasn't a microtransaction store yet!"
"So this is what they were waiting for! We were just cursing each other in the group chat, joking 'I hope you transmigrate into Warhammer 40k!'"
"Did they really have to put us in a game this realistic?!"
[Don't Ask, I Finks It Works]: "+1 to the guy above! I was just talking shit! I didn't actually want to come here! I want to go back to my 996 job! I want to pay my mortgage! I want to watch e-girls stream! Let me go back!"
[Slaanesh Champion Candidate]: "Wait, since this is really Warhammer... can I join Chaos?"
"I want to be a Champion of Slaanesh! I want to pursue ultimate pleasure! That's gotta be better than being a miner, right?"
The chat channel fell silent for two seconds after that message.
Then, a massive wave of replies flooded in:
"???"
"Brother, calm down!"
"Slaanesh? Did you see the look in those soldiers' eyes? They're looking at us like lab rats! You want to join Chaos? You'll be turned into a specimen by them first!"
"Exactly! If you're going to fall, fall to Khorne! Chop, chop, chop! Chop a bloody path out of here!"
"Isn't Tzeentch nice? Knowledge! Conspiracies! Though it's easy to turn into a Chaos Spawn..."
"Enough already! What time is it, and you're discussing which God to join?! We don't even have guns right now! Just pickaxes!"
[Papa Nurgle Loves Everyone]: "Actually, I think Nurgle is pretty good. Accept everything, embrace decay, at least you wouldn't have to mine every day... and I hear Nurgle's followers are very united, like a big family..."
"Shut up! Do not mention that name! Bad luck!"
Zeke watched the rapidly scrolling messages with mixed feelings.
These guys... they already realize this is the Warhammer universe, and they were scared out of their wits just a moment ago. Yet now they're already discussing which Chaos God to join?
Is this the true nature of the Fourth Scourge? As long as they aren't permanently dead, they'll never stop trolling?
But he had to admit, this kind of dark humor discussion did help alleviate the overall fear among the players.
"Everyone! Hold your positions!" The cold command echoed from the megaphone again. "Now, in order, stand up one by one!"
"Move slowly! Keep your hands where we can see them!"
"Any sudden movements will be considered an act of aggression!"
The soldiers moved out.
They split into several squads, starting from the perimeter. Pointing their rifles at the prone players, they shouted at them to stand up and began conducting pat-downs.
The players were roughly shoved and herded into a tighter cluster.
Someone tried to explain, "Wait, we're law-abiding citizens! We were just mining!"
The response was a rifle butt to the face, sending blood pouring from his nose.
"Shut up! Heretic!" The soldier's voice was devoid of emotion. "You have no identification tags. No residency permits. Gathering illegally in a Consortium-restricted zone. That alone is enough to have all of you thrown into a plasma reactor and burned to ash!"
Zeke was yanked off the ground by two soldiers. His arms were wrenched behind his back, and his wrists were bound with coarse plastic zip-ties.
He gritted his teeth and didn't resist.
He had already seen the result of resisting. The bodies of those two brothers were still lying not too far away, their blood pooling on the ground, looking black under the searchlights.
"Command Center, this is Vanguard One." The squad leader pressed his earpiece. "All targets secured. Total count: approximately 4,998 individuals. Repeat: 4,998 individuals."
"Confirmed no heavy weapons. Only crude tools and a small number of improvised weapons found."
"Requesting next step."
A reply came through the channel: "Excellent."
"Proceed as planned. Transport them in batches to Aru City's Containment Zone 3."
"Transports are in position."
"Move quickly. The transfer must be completed before dawn."
"Understood."
The squad leader lowered his hand and signaled the surrounding soldiers. "Begin loading!"
Eight Raven transports slowly descended, their belly doors opening fully and extending loading ramps.
The players were divided into eight groups and, under the threat of gunpoints, stumbled toward the transports.
Zeke's group consisted of about six hundred people. He was shoved up the ramp and into the cabin.
The interior was larger than he had imagined, but with six hundred people packed inside, it felt incredibly cramped.
The air reeked of machine oil, body odor, and metal.
There were no seats; everyone had to stand or squat on the floor.
Zeke struggled through the crowd, eventually finding Tax Bro, Schrödinger Bro, and a few other familiar faces from the Terra Underground Cyber Tavern.
They squeezed together, everyone looking grim.
"Schrödinger, give it a try," Zeke whispered. "Click 'Log Out' and see if you can safely disconnect."
Schrödinger's Loyalist closed his eyes, seemingly focusing his mind.
A few seconds later, he opened them, his face even paler.
"I can't... The System says: [Currently in Captivity Status. Safe Log Out Unavailable.]"
"Fuck!" Tax Bro cursed. "They're forcing us to tough this out!"