[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus] sent a message in the regional chat: "I just tried it. It's the same for everyone. We can't log out normally while in Captivity Status. Unless we commit suicide... or let them kill us."
Another wave of wailing filled the channel.
[I Want the Halo of Tranquility But I'm Broke]: "Suicide?! Resurrection costs 5 coins! I only have 11.2 coins total right now! One suicide and I'm instantly bankrupt!"
[Soul of Cadia]: "And suicide... can you really bring yourself to do it? You heard the screams of those two brothers just now... It actually hurts!"
[Did the White Scars Speed Today?]: "Then what do we do? Wait for these son-of-a-bitch NPCs to turn us into corpse-starch?"
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "I have a half-baked idea... Since this is the Warhammer universe, could we try... having faith in the Emperor? What if we move one of the Primarchs or the Emperor Himself?"
[I'm Not the Lord Regent, I'm Just a Passing Guilliman]: "Theoretically viable, but we don't even have a holy icon of the Emperor right now, and our prayers are incomplete. Plus, according to the lore, the Emperor generally doesn't directly respond to this kind of last-minute cram-session praying unless you're a Primarch or a particularly important pawn."
[Slaanesh Champion Candidate]: "So we should just join Chaos! Chaos responds fast! The barrier to entry is low! As long as you're crazy and extreme enough, you're good!"
"Shut up!" This time, several messages popped up simultaneously.
–
The roar of the transport's engines grew louder, and the fuselage began to vibrate as it slowly lifted off. Through the narrow observation window on the bulkhead, Zeke watched the pit below grow smaller and smaller. Workshop 7 looked like a tiny matchbox, and the soldiers and gunships were conducting their final sweep. Then, his line of sight was obscured by the clouds.
The cabin was dead silent. The only sounds were the roar of the engines and the heavy breathing of the players. Zeke leaned against the freezing bulkhead and closed his eyes. His mind was an absolute mess. He could no longer distinguish whether this was a game or the real Warhammer universe... He had actually come to this universe.
The darkest, most brutal, and most hopeless era for humanity. The Emperor sat on the Golden Throne in a state worse than death. The Primarchs were either dead, traitorous, or missing. Chaos glared covetously from the Warp, while the Greenskins, Tyranids, Necrons, and T'au... were all sharpening their knives. And they, five thousand unarmed players, had been tossed onto this frontier world. Their starting gear was a single miner's pick, their equipment relied entirely on scavenging, they currently owed the System a breathing tax, and they had just been captured by the locals to be used as lab rats.
What kind of hellish spawn point is this?
"Brothers," Zeke spoke up in the regional channel. "Everyone calm down and listen to me."
The channel's scrolling speed slowed down.
"Our situation is terrible right now, but at least we're still alive. Do you guys know what it means in the Warhammer 40k universe when a group of people with no identity and no background suddenly appears and gets captured by a local faction like the Aru Group?"
Silence. A few seconds later, someone replied.
[Pay the Tithe Even if the World Ends]: "It means... we've become expendable resources."
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Correct. Based on my understanding of the Warhammer lore, local factions—especially consortiums controlling the pharmaceutical industry—love unidentified personnel like us the most. Human experiments, organ harvesting, genetic sample collection, new drug testing... We might even be sold to the Mechanicus as raw materials for Servo-skulls, or given to some Chaos worshipper as sacrifices."
[Soul of Cadia]: "Fuck! Stop talking! You're giving me goosebumps!"
[I Want the Halo of Tranquility But I'm Broke]: "So... we're dead meat?"
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "Not necessarily. Don't forget, we have the game System... even though I strongly suspect this is Tzeentch's doing. But it at least gave us the ability to resurrect, even if it costs money."
[Did the White Scars Speed Today?]: "So you're saying... we just lie flat and take it, die, resurrect, and then use the random respawn point mechanic to break out of prison?"
[I'm Not the Lord Regent, I'm Just a Passing Guilliman]: "Theoretically viable. But resurrection costs 5 coins, and right now most of us only have a dozen or so. We'd go bankrupt after dying twice at most. And after bankruptcy? The System says we can take out a loan, but the interest is predatory... at that point, we might as well just delete our accounts."
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "Delete our accounts? Can we even go back if we delete them?"
The channel fell silent once again.
–
The transport began its descent. Through the observation window, the city lights below were visible. It wasn't the warm, welcoming glow of a myriad homes, but a rigid lighting grid exuding industrial order. They had arrived at Aru City (Main Hive: Bedas City).
Twenty minutes later, the transport landed on a landing pad atop a certain building. The hatch opened, and the blinding searchlights pierced inside once more.
"Everyone! Get out! Form two lines! Follow the person in front of you! No whispering! No looking around!"
The players were herded off the transport and into a dim hallway lined with pipes. The corridor sloped downward, plunging deeper and deeper. The air grew damp and freezing, carrying the stench of some chemical agent. Along the way, they passed through several heavy blast doors, each guarded by fully armed soldiers.
Finally, they were brought to a massive underground space. It looked like an abandoned warehouse converted into a temporary containment facility. A few dim yellow lights hung from the towering dome, their faint rays barely illuminating the individual cages separated by thick iron bars below.
Each cage was about twenty square meters. They contained absolutely nothing, just a bare concrete floor.
"Get in!" The soldiers shoved them with rifle butts, locking the players into the cages in groups.
Zeke, Tax Bro, Schrödinger Bro, and a dozen or so members of the Terra Underground Cyber Tavern group were locked in the same cage. The iron door slammed shut with a heavy clang and locked tight. The soldiers turned and left, their footsteps echoing and gradually fading in the cavernous underground space.
Dead silence filled the cage. Zeke walked over to the iron bars and looked out. The entire underground containment center had about a hundred of these cages, and most were already packed with people. The players were either sitting or standing; some were whispering, some were staring blankly, and some were attempting to bend the iron bars, which was obviously a futile effort.
The regional channel became active again.
[Don't Ask, I Finks It Works]: "Brothers, I'm getting a little panicked. This place doesn't look like a temporary holding, it looks specifically designed to lock people up... Do you think they're going to keep us here like livestock and drag a few people out periodically for experiments?"
[Slaanesh Champion Candidate]: "Experiments? What kind of experiments? If it's a Slaanesh-style experiment... I feel like I'm up for it again!"
"Up for it my ass!"
[Papa Nurgle Loves Everyone]: "If it's a Nurgle-style experiment... will they inject us with all sorts of viruses and bacteria to see if we can pull through? If we pull through we mutate, and if we don't we just rot away?"
"Can you not say such horrifying things in such a calm tone?!"
[Soul of Cadia]: "Right now I just want to ask one thing: Trash devs! Where are the mechas you promised?! I came here to pilot a mech! Not to be a lab rat!"
[I Want the Halo of Tranquility But I'm Broke]: "Mecha? What use is a mech right now? You gonna break out of prison in a mech? And then get blasted to ash by an orbital cannon?"
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Deducing from the fragmented information we have so far, the Aru Group is a pharmaceutical enterprise under the Ximans Trade Consortium. What do pharmaceutical enterprises love doing most in the Warhammer 40k universe? Illegal genetic experiments, contraband drug testing, human augmentation... Therefore, it is highly probable that we will become 'volunteers' for the aforementioned projects."
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "'Volunteers'... sounds so nice. I bet they won't even let us sign an informed consent form."
[Pay the Tithe Even if the World Ends]: "Sign my ass! The fact that they didn't throw us straight into the reactor is already considered merciful!"
–
Zeke leaned against the cold iron bars and sighed.
"There's nothing we can do," he said softly. "We can't log out right now, unless we commit suicide and then resurrect. But suicide costs money, and it hurts. Let's just observe the situation for now. Let's see what this Aru Group is really trying to do."
The moment he finished speaking, heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance of the underground space. A squad of soldiers marched over, escorting a person.
That player's ID was [Another Day Grinding for the Emperor]. He was a young man who looked to be in his early twenties. His face was deathly pale, and his legs were shaking. He was brought to the open area in the center of the cage blocks, where a makeshift interrogation table had been set up. Behind the table sat three people wearing white lab coats and respirator masks.
"Brothers," [Another Day Grinding for the Emperor] messaged in the regional channel, his tone tragic. "I can never win the lottery, but of course I get picked for this terrible luck. I'll take this bullet for you guys."
Zeke's group had a clear view of the scene. The channel instantly flooded with messages:
"Have a safe journey, bro!"
"If you can't take it, bite your tongue and commit suicide! We'll crowdfund your resurrection fee!"
"Crowdfund my ass! We can't even protect ourselves right now!"
[Another Day Grinding for the Emperor] was forced down into a chair. One of the white coats picked up a tablet-like data slate and asked in a cold, synthesized electronic voice:
"Name."
"Huh? Will my game ID work?"
"Real name."
"...John Doe."
"Age."
"22."
"Origin."
"Uh... Earth?"
The white coat looked up, the eyes behind the mask flashing with a cold glint: "Specific coordinates."
Although he had just shown a lot of backbone in the chat channel, right now he caved and answered the questions out of pure cowardice.
"I don't know! I'm just a normal player! You guys are the ones who dragged me in here!"
"Player?" The white coat seemed to be recording something. "An interesting term. So, where is your login point? How many people are there? What is the status of your weapons and equipment? Who is the organizer?"
[Another Day Grinding for the Emperor] looked completely bewildered: "The login point is Workshop 7! You've already seen the people, there's five thousand! Weapons? We just have miner's pickaxes! Organizer? Does the trash game developer count?"
The white coat remained silent for a few seconds. Then, he nodded to the soldier beside him.
The soldier stepped forward, pulled out a syringe, and without a second word, jammed it into John Doe's neck.
"Holy shit! What are you doing— AAAAAAAAAGH!"
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the entire underground space. John Doe's body began to convulse violently. Bizarre, livid blue-black veins surfaced on his skin; his eyes bulged, and white foam frothed at his mouth.
Seeing this scene, even though Zeke and the others had somewhat expected it, they couldn't help but shudder. The regional channel exploded.
"Fuck fuck fuck! They're for real!"
"What the hell was that?! Poison?! A virus?!"
"Hang in there, brother!"
"Hang in my ass! He's stopped moving!"