First Closed Test

Bit conducted no form of selection.

In its logic, once the scale of observation was raised to the level of an entire species, the differences between individuals became negligible. Put the smartest and stupidest people on Earth side by side, and to Bit, their mental activity was nothing more than two clusters of chaotic electrochemical signals with barely any difference in complexity.

Just as humans would not carefully select which ant was better suited to carrying a grain of rice, Bit could not be bothered to distinguish which soul was more "suited" to its game.

So, amid hundreds of millions of streams of registration data, it merely extended an invisible tendril at random and lightly flicked it ten times.

Ten lucky people—or perhaps unlucky ones—were born just like that.

Game UP master Ruan Wenbo was one of those ten.

The sensation of his consciousness being pulled from reality lasted less than a second. Then, a tsunami of sensory information completely drowned Ruan Wenbo.

Cold, coarse fabric rubbed against his skin. The hard-soled combat boots beneath his feet gave him a solid sense of contact. The air was thick with an indescribably complex odor. The game ID he had hastily chosen for himself—[Dr. Ruan]—floated above his head in pale green letters.

The surroundings were dark and oppressive. The metal walls were covered in rust, and somewhere in the distance, he seemed to hear the low rumble of heavy machinery. The unparalleled realism made his heart race. Instinctively, he tried to take a deep breath to calm himself.

"Cough! Cough cough cough... Ugh..."

The instant he inhaled, it felt as though he had swallowed a whole red-hot lump of charcoal. The stench of industrial waste, acidic fumes, and rotting organic matter exploded through his airways. Ruan Wenbo coughed until tears and snot streamed down his face, bending over like a boiled Humie as he hacked violently.

He was not alone. Looking around, the other eight Players in uniforms identical to his wore equally horrified expressions. Their overlapping coughs played a symphony of suffering inside the bunker.

"Fuck," one Player said, bracing himself against the wall as he finally caught his breath. His face was bright red as he complained, "This shitty air is harsher than swallowing an entire cigar! Is something wrong with the dev team? They put this much effort into details like this?!"

"Real... it's too real..." Another wiped away tears, his voice trembling.

Just as everyone was gradually getting used to the deadly air, an exclamation shattered the awkward scene.

"Bro! How the hell are you an Ogryn?!"

At that shout, everyone's gaze instantly turned in that direction. In the farthest corner of the room stood a figure who nearly reached the ceiling. He was two heads taller than an ordinary person, with shoulders as broad as a door and arms thicker than a normal man's thighs. His somewhat simple-looking face was scrunched together, and he stared blankly at the crowd.

The Ogryn Player, who had given himself the classic ID [Imperium Big Eagle Cop Investigates Chaos Tax Evasion], scratched his bald scalp and said in a deep, muffled voice, "I dunno. The system didn't say I could pick a race."

His pure northeastern accent, with its unmistakable cornfield flavor, made one Player laugh. "Oh damn, you're from the northeast too, buddy."

The Ogryn Player looked even more confused. "How could you tell? I don't think I got an accent."

"Could races have been assigned at random?" Ruan Wenbo guessed. That seemed to be the only explanation.

"Damn, then I got lucky," said the Player who had complained about the air, patting his chest. "Good thing I didn't turn into a Beastman. Otherwise, the Ordo would've shot me the moment I spawned."

Just as the Players traded jokes and the atmosphere was growing livelier—

Bang!

With a deafening crash, the already rickety iron door was kicked clean off its hinges by a gleaming military boot. A stern-faced man wearing a long black coat and a peaked military cap stood in the doorway. His crimson epaulets and belt were especially striking in the dim light.

A Commissar!

His hawk-sharp gaze swept across every person present. The authority and pressure in his eyes made these Players, who feared neither heaven nor earth, collectively remember their high school homeroom teacher standing at the back door.

The information that appeared on their data panels displayed his name as well: [Walter Fuller].

In an instant, everyone jolted. Almost instinctively, they all snapped to attention, and their joking smiles froze on their faces.

Commissar Walter seemed quite satisfied with their reaction. The corner of his mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible curve as he muttered, "Not bad." Then he roared loudly enough to shake the entire bunker. "Follow me!"

His gaze finally settled on the towering Ogryn. He walked over, deliberately slowed his speech, and used the simplest, most direct words possible. "Big guy. Me, boss. You, follow me."

The Ogryn Player paused, then nodded heavily on instinct.

A flicker of surprise passed through Walter's eyes. This Ogryn... was this smart? But he had no time to think about it. The fighting on the front lines was urgent. Having a batch of expendable replacements who did not appear visibly malnourished and understood basic obedience was already a gift from the Emperor.

The Players all knew this was triggering the main quest, so they obediently followed behind the Commissar and boarded a Chimera troop carrier whose cramped interior reeked of engine oil.

The vehicle lurched into motion. Gripping a handrail, Ruan Wenbo could not help asking, "Commissar Walter, where are our flashlights?"

Walter glanced at him, his tone as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. "What's the rush? Once you get there, there'll be plenty of guns for you to pick up. If you're lucky, you might even find a finely crafted Bolter."

Ruan Wenbo's heart skipped a beat as a deeply ominous feeling rose within him. Did that mean... they were going to have to strip them off corpses at the front lines?

Seeing that the NPC could trigger dialogue so smoothly, the other Players immediately became interested as well. They began firing off questions in their "newbie village interrogation session."

"Commissar! Logically speaking, shouldn't there be a sergeant from our unit leading us? Why did you come pick us up in person?"

"The unit roster has long since gone to shit," Walter answered without looking back. "You should be grateful there's still a living Sir to lead you."

"Commissar, are we fighting Orks or Genestealers this time?"

"Young man, you sure have dreams. First pray that you can beat a giant scavenger worm in an Underhive sewage pit one-on-one."

"Commissar, did you graduate from the Storm Trooper Schola? You can tell from your bearing that you're no ordinary man!"

"If I had graduated from the Schola, would I have been sent to this hellhole to command expendable material like you?"

"Commissar, how old are you? Are you married? Would you consider men?"

Walter suddenly turned around. His icy gaze made the Player swallow the rest of his sentence. "My life belongs to the Emperor, soldier. I suggest you develop the same awareness as soon as possible. Otherwise, I would not mind using my Bolt Pistol to make sure you remember it."

"Commissar..."

Finally, as the questions grew increasingly absurd and even began heading in the direction of a Turing test, Walter's patience reached its limit.

"Where the hell did you get so much nonsense?!" He slammed a hand against the inner wall of the compartment, producing a thunderous clang. "Shut up, all of you! Say one more word, and I'll throw you out to experience the hive city's air purification system!"

The compartment instantly fell silent.

After a few seconds, the Players lowered their voices and began communicating in whispers.

"Uh... the Commissar seems kind of angry. What do we do?"

"Then let's stop asking. We don't even know this game's death penalty yet. What if the Commissar really shoots us? Who's responsible for that?"

After hearing this, Big Eagle Cop in the corner nodded heavily and voiced his agreement in a muffled tone. "Makes sense!"

Walter, who was driving, nearly lost it when he heard that. Did you even understand what they were saying, you Ogryn? What exactly makes sense here?

He suddenly regretted coming to receive this batch of new recruits who had appeared out of nowhere. Who could have expected them to be this energetic? They did not look like they were heading to a battlefield. They looked like they were going sightseeing.

But there was no choice. If their defensive line did not receive more manpower soon, it would not even be able to withstand the charge of Underhive rioters.

And within the Warp, beyond everyone's ability to detect, was where Bit resided.

The God of Information watched the results of its experiment with satisfaction. It seemed its sensory filter had been deployed successfully; no one had noticed anything unusual. Now, all it needed to do was wait and see what surprises these active-minded Players would bring it.