Half an hour passed quickly, and his alarm rang.
Zeke snapped his eyes open. Holding his waist, which was aching intensely from the high-intensity labor, he slowly shuffled over to his computer. He clicked the black icon, and the login screen appeared once again:
[Welcome back to Epoch 40k: Mecha — The Sea of Stars, Yours to Explore]
"Explore my ass, I'm just here to be a miner," Zeke grumbled as he clicked confirm.
His consciousness instantly plummeted. When he opened his eyes again, the eternally dim lighting and pungent sulfur stench of the refinery hit him in the face. His body was still in the same posture—leaning against the corner of the wall—from before he logged out; his legs were a bit numb.
The other players around him were also waking up one after another, and the regional channel instantly flooded with messages:
[Soul of Cadia]: "Fuck, I'm back! This smell... it's stronger than the garbage dump downstairs from my apartment!"
[Did the White Scars Speed Today?]: "Just thinking about stealing ore again today actually makes me a little excited? Is there something wrong with me?"
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "After 18 hours of rest in real time, physiological fatigue has recovered by approximately 67%, and psychological adaptation has increased to... never mind. Anyway, get ready to continue being wage slaves."
Just as the players were stretching their limbs and preparing to welcome a new day of whip lashes, someone suddenly yelled in the channel:
[Don't Ask, I Finks It Works]: "Holy shit! Brothers, look what I found! There's a new option in the UI settings!"
[System Prompt: Pain Perception Adjustment. Current: 100% (Default). Adjustable Range: 30% - 100%.]
[Note: To enhance the gaming experience, the System has added this feature. However, please note that excessively low pain feedback may affect your judgment regarding the severity of injuries, leading to unnecessary loss of the vessel. The minimum adjustment limit is 30%.]
The channel went quiet for two seconds before absolutely exploding.
[Pay the Tithe Even if the World Ends]: "The trash dev is actually showing humanity? They actually know how to add a pain slider?"
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "Let me try... adjusting to 30%... done! Wait, why is the minimum only 30%? Can't we drop it to 1%?"
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "Just be content bro. Those two players who got shot yesterday went out with 100% pain. I can still remember their screams."
[Slaanesh Champion Candidate]: "30% is great! At least it'll hurt less when we get whipped! I still have yesterday's lash marks on my ass!"
[Papa Nurgle Loves Everyone]: "Pain is also a gift... but it's good to have a little less of it."
–
Zeke also adjusted his pain perception to 30% and instantly felt the world become a much more beautiful place. Even though the refinery was still a hellhole, at least he wouldn't want to die so painfully when he got hit.
He spoke up in the channel:
"Attention, everyone. Five minutes before the shift starts, listen to my plan. First, has everyone paid today's tax? If you haven't, hurry up so the System doesn't penalize you. Second, when we're sorting ore today, everyone try to stand closer together. Squeeze the NPC workers into the corners to create space for the players up front to steal ore, and block the overseers' line of sight while you're at it. Third, efficiency is key. When you see an opportunity, stuff it straight into your inventory without hesitation. Fourth... and most importantly," Zeke paused. "After logging out and taking a break, whatever anxiety we had about discovering this is the Warhammer world should be pretty much gone by now, right?"
A wave of messages scrolled through the channel: "Long gone," "It's just a game, what the hell is there to be afraid of," and "I just want to make money right now."
"Excellent! Remember, no matter how brutal this game's plot is, it's still just a game. We might be weak now, but that doesn't mean we'll be weak forever. Today's goal: fleece the Aru Group for all they're worth!"
"OK!" The channel responded in unison.
The players' moods were indeed much more relaxed at this moment. During their offline rest, the real world's sunlight, takeout food, and soft beds had helped them regain the grounding that this was just a game. Even if this game was absurdly realistic, and even if dying hurt a lot... they could respawn! What was there to be afraid of?
Besides, so what if it was the Warhammer world? They were the Fourth Scourge! Give them a miner's pickaxe, and they could dig out a future!
The piercing whistle blew right on time. The one-eyed overseer swaggered into the rest area gripping his power-whip. The hideous scar on his face looked even more vicious under the dim lighting:
"Get up, you scum! A new day, new suffering! Move your asses to your stations!"
The players were herded toward the sorting area. As they passed the food distribution window, everyone froze—the window was shut.
[I Want the Halo of Tranquility But I'm Broke]: "Wait, where's the nutrient paste? Where's the water?"
An overseer cracked a whip near his feet, sending sparks flying: "Distributed at noon! You don't eat until the morning's work is done! What, got a problem with that?"
Watching their status bars gradually transition from [Mild Hunger] to [Moderate Hunger], and their stamina values slowly beginning to drop, the players started cursing the Aru Group.
"Son of a bitch capitalism... wait, no, son of a bitch Hive City slavery!" Tax Bro cursed under his breath.
"More ruthless than 996 culture. At least 996 covers your lunch," Schrödinger Bro sighed.
"Talking about labor rights in the Warhammer world?" Zeke sneered. "You're lucky just to be alive. Hurry up and work. The sooner we finish, the sooner we eat, even if the food is garbage."
–
The players stood before the ore piles once again. But today, the look in their eyes was different. If yesterday they carried the bewilderment and fear of new arrivals, today they were brimming with planning and purpose.
Following Zeke's instructions, the players spontaneously formed a loose formation. The relatively taller players stood on the outside, acting as a human wall to separate the genuine NPC workers on the perimeter. The inner layer consisted of nimble-fingered "mine rats" strictly responsible for stealing ore.
When the one-eyed overseer went on patrol, the outer players would pass signals in advance by coughing or shifting their feet. The instant the overseer turned his back, the inner players would quickly bend down and shove the high-purity Promethium scrap they had sorted out directly into their inventories.
The entire process flowed as smoothly as water. Their coordination was so tacit it looked like they had rehearsed it countless times.
[Regional Channel]
[Soul of Cadia]: "Three o'clock, overseer turned his back! Good for ten seconds!"
[Did the White Scars Speed Today?]: "Received! Stole three pieces! Purity is solid!"
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "West side is clear, I've... secured five pieces of crushed ore."
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Log: Current average per capita ore theft efficiency per round has increased by 37.2% compared to yesterday. Overseer detection probability has dropped below 12%."
[Don't Ask, I Finks It Works]: "I didn't shove ore in my mouth this time! I'm improving!"
Of course, things weren't completely flawless. A player with the ID [Clumsy Hands Spare Me] got too nervous. His hand slipped while stealing ore, and a fist-sized rock hit the ground with a loud clatter, rolling right to the overseer's feet.
Time seemed to freeze. The one-eyed overseer looked down at the rock, then looked up at the pale-faced player. A savage smile slowly crept onto his face.
"Oh? Hand slipped?"
Gripping his power-whip, he walked over slowly, the tip of the whip dragging across the ground and spitting crackling electric sparks.
"I-I-I didn't mean to..." [Clumsy Hands Spare Me] was trembling at the knees.
"Didn't mean to?" The overseer scoffed.
The whip was raised. Just as all the players thought blood was about to be drawn, an old NPC worker nearby suddenly coughed. He spoke in a hoarse voice, "My Lord, that pile of ore was unstable to begin with. I nearly knocked a piece off myself just a moment ago."
The one-eyed overseer's movements paused. He turned and stared at the old worker for a few seconds, then looked back down at the rock on the ground. Finally, he let out a cold snort and lashed his whip against the adjacent pile of ore.
"Watch yourselves! Drop one more piece, and the whole squad gets no food today!"
He cursed and grumbled as he walked away. The players were dumbfounded.
[Clumsy Hands Spare Me] was practically crying in the channel: "Thank you! Thank you, old man!"
Zeke reminded them in the channel: "Remember this favor. It seems there are good people among the NPCs too... or at least, people who can't stand the overseers."
–
This minor incident made the players more vigilant, but the ore-stealing operation did not halt.
At noon, when the shift-end whistle blew, the players dragged their exhausted but excited bodies toward the food distribution window. Lunch was still a drab tube of nutrient paste and a small pouch of recycled water. After starving all morning, the players devoured it ravenously.
"Damn it, in the real world, not even a dog would eat this," Tax Bro cursed between chews.
"In the Warhammer world, a dog eating this might mutate into a Chaos Spawn," Schrödinger Bro added.
Just as the players were squatting in the corners eating, the sound of an argument suddenly drifted over from a distance.
Several people wearing different colored uniforms marched out from the refinery's core area. The leader was a bald, middle-aged man with a nasty scowl. He walked straight up to the one-eyed overseer and slapped a data slate against his chest.
"The batch of scrap ore you submitted this morning yielded 15% less Promethium content after smelting than usual! What the hell is going on?"
The one-eyed overseer was taken aback. He grabbed the data slate, his face darkening as he read it. "15% less? Impossible! Our sorting process is exactly the same as before!"
"The same?" The bald man sneered. "Then why is the yield lower? Did you let the scum working under you pocket some of it?"
"Bullshit!" The one-eyed overseer bristled. "My people get the whip every day. Where would they find the guts to pocket anything?"
He spun around abruptly, his bloodshot lone eye sweeping over the players eating their lunch.
The players' hearts skipped a beat, but they all feigned looks of innocent bewilderment. All their ore was stored safely inside their System inventories. Their bodies were completely clean; they weren't afraid of being searched at all.
The one-eyed overseer marched over and hoisted up the player closest to him, [Clumsy Hands Spare Me]. He roughly patted down his jumpsuit. Though he found nothing, his anger clearly hadn't subsided. He raised his hand and lashed out with a whip!
Crack!
--
Goal = 250 Powerstones (Only 50 remaining)
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