Mine Rat's Day of Action (Seeking Follow-ups)

Half an hour passed quickly, and the alarm clock rang.

Wang Zhong's squinting eyes snapped open. He braced his aching lower back and slowly shuffled over to the computer.

He clicked on the black icon, and the login page reappeared.

[Welcome back to Era 40k: Mecha, the Starry Sea is yours to pioneer.]

"Pioneer my ass, I'm just here to be a miner," Wang Zhong muttered as he clicked confirm.

His consciousness plummeted.

When he opened his eyes again, the eternal, dim light of the Refinery and the pungent smell of sulfur rushed to meet him.

His body remained in the same position he had left it in, huddled in the corner, and his legs felt a bit numb.

The other players around him began to wake up one after another, and the regional channel instantly flooded with messages:

[Soul of Cadia]: "Damn, I'm back! This smell... it's even more pungent than the dumpster downstairs!"

[Did White Scars speed today]: "The thought of having to steal ore again today actually makes me a little excited? Am I sick?"

[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run]: "After 18 hours of rest in reality, physiological fatigue has recovered by about 67%, and psychological adaptation has increased to... whatever, just get ready to be a beast of burden again."

Just as the players were stretching their limbs to prepare for another day of lashes, someone suddenly shouted in the channel:

[Don't ask, I think it will work]: "Holy crap! Brothers, look what I found! There's a new option in the UI settings!"

[Pain Perception Adjustment: Currently 100% (Default). Adjustable range: 30%-100%]

[Note: To improve the gaming experience, the system has added this feature. However, please note that excessively low pain feedback may affect your judgment of injury severity, leading to unnecessary carrier loss. The minimum adjustment is 30%.]

The channel went silent for two seconds.

Then it exploded.

[The Emperor's tax must be paid even if the world ends]: "Did the dog developers finally grow a conscience? They actually know how to adjust pain levels?"

[Tau-kun, you are right, but Bolter is righter]: "Let me try... setting it to 30%... done!"

"Wait, why is the minimum only 30%? Can't it be one percent?"

[Schrodinger's Loyalist]: "Brother, be content with what you have."

"Those two brothers who were executed yesterday left with 100% pain perception; I still remember their screams."

[Slaanesh Chosen Reserve]: "30% is fine too! At least it will hurt less when getting whipped! I still have the lash marks from yesterday on my butt!"

[Nurgle Loving Father Loves All]: "Pain is also a gift... but less of it is fine too."

Wang Zhong also adjusted his pain perception to 30%. The world immediately felt much better; although the Refinery was still a hellhole, at least he wouldn't want to die quite as much when he got beaten.

[Loyal to the Emperor Forever]: "Brothers, listen up. Five minutes before we start, listen to my arrangements."

"First, has everyone paid their taxes? If not, hurry up; don't get punished by the system."

"Second, when picking up ore today, try to stand close together. Squeeze those NPC workers into the corners to create space for the brothers in front to steal ore, and it will also block the overseer's view."

"Third, efficiency is key. If you see an opportunity, put it directly into your storage grid; don't hesitate."

"Fourth... and most importantly," Wang Zhong paused, "After we logged off, that bit of anxiety we felt upon discovering this is the Warhammer world should be mostly gone, right?"

A wave of "Long gone," "It's just a game, what's there to fear," and "I just want to make money" flooded the channel.

[Loyal to the Emperor Forever]: "Good! Remember, no matter how cruel the plot of this game is, it's still just a game."

"We are weak now, but that doesn't mean we will be weak forever. Today's goal: fleece the Alru Group for all they're worth!"

"OK!" the channel responded in unison.

The players were indeed feeling much more relaxed now.

During their time offline, the sunlight, takeout, and soft beds of the real world helped them regain the realization that this was just a game.

Although this game was absurdly realistic and death was painful, they could respawn! What was there to fear?

Besides, so what if it was the Warhammer world?

They were the Fourth Calamity! Give them a miner's pickaxe, and they could dig out a future!

A shrill whistle blew right on time.

The One-Eyed Overseer walked into the rest area, swinging his power whip. The hideous scar on his face looked even more vicious in the dim light.

"Get up, you scum! A new day, new suffering! Get to your workstations, now!"

The players were herded toward the sorting area.

As they passed the food distribution window, everyone froze—the window was closed.

[Want Silent King's Crown but cannot afford]: "Wait, where's the nutrient paste? Where's the water?"

An overseer cracked his whip near his feet, sparks flying: "It's issued at noon! You only get food after you finish your morning work! What, do you have a problem?"

The players looked at the status bar, watching the prompt change from [Mild Hunger] to [Moderate Hunger], and felt their stamina slowly dropping. They cursed the Alru Group's ancestors to the eighteenth generation in their hearts.

"Damn capitalism... no, damn hive city slavery!" the Tax Brother cursed under his breath.

"It's even more brutal than 996; at least 996 includes lunch."

Xue Brother sighed.

"Talking about labor rights in the Warhammer world?"

Wang Zhong sneered, "You're lucky just to be alive."

"Get to work. The sooner we finish, the sooner we eat, even if the food isn't much to write home about."

The players stood before the ore piles once again.

But today, their eyes held a different look.

If yesterday they were filled with the bewilderment and fear of newcomers, today they were brimming with planning and purpose.

Following Wang Zhong's arrangements, the players spontaneously formed a loose formation.

The outer layer consisted of players with larger builds, acting as a human wall to shield the actual NPC workers, while the inner layer was composed of nimble Mine Rats, specifically tasked with stealing ore.

When the One-Eyed Overseer patrolled, the outer players would signal in advance by coughing or shifting their feet.

The moment the overseer turned away, the inner players would quickly bend down, stuffing high-purity Promethium waste ore into their storage slots.

The entire process flowed like water, their coordination so seamless it was as if they had rehearsed it countless times.

[Area Channel]

[Soul of Cadia]: "Overseer turning at three o'clock! Ten-second window!"

[Did White Scars speed today]: "Received! Stole three pieces! Purity is decent!"

[Tau-kun, you are right, but Bolter is righter]: "West side is clear, I... have collected five ore fragments."

[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run]: "Log: Current average ore-stealing efficiency per person per round has increased by 37.2% compared to yesterday; overseer detection probability has dropped below 12%."

[Don't ask, I think it will work]: "I didn't stuff the ore in my mouth this time! Progress!"

Of course, it wasn't entirely smooth sailing.

A player with the ID [Handicapped Party Please Spare Me], too nervous, let his hand slip while stealing. A fist-sized piece of ore clattered to the ground and rolled right to the overseer's feet.

Time seemed to freeze.

The One-Eyed Overseer looked down at the ore, then looked up at the pale-faced player, a sinister grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Oh? Hand slipped?"

He walked over slowly, dragging his Power Whip, the tip sparking against the ground.

"I-I-I didn't mean to..."

[Handicapped Party Please Spare Me]'s legs were shaking.

"Didn't mean to?"

The overseer scoffed, "So you did it on purpose, then?"

The whip rose.

Just as all the players braced themselves to see blood, an old NPC worker nearby suddenly coughed and said in a raspy voice:

"My lord, that pile of ore was unstable to begin with. I nearly knocked one over myself just a moment ago."

The One-Eyed Overseer paused, turned his head to stare at the old worker for a few seconds, then looked back at the ore on the ground. Finally, he let out a cold snort and lashed his whip against the nearby ore pile.

"Watch yourselves! If another piece drops, the whole team goes without food today!"

He walked away, grumbling curses.

The players were dumbfounded.

[Handicapped Party Please Spare Me] was nearly crying in the channel:

"Thanks! Thanks to that old man!"

[Loyal to the Emperor Forever]: "Remember this favor."

"Looks like there are good people among the NPCs... or at least, people who can't stand the overseer."

This small interlude made the players even more vigilant, but the ore-stealing operation continued.

At noon, when the shrill whistle for the break sounded, the players dragged their exhausted but excited bodies toward the food distribution window.

Today's lunch was still a gray tube of nutrient paste and a small bag of recycled water, but the players, having starved all morning, wolfed it down, even though the taste remained soul-crushingly bad.

"Damn it, in the real world, even a dog wouldn't eat this."

Tax Brother cursed while chewing.

"In the Warhammer world, if a dog ate this, it might mutate into a Chaos Spawn."

Xue Brother added.

Just as the players were squatting in a corner eating, a quarrel broke out in the distance.

Several people wearing uniforms of different colors emerged from the core area of the Refinery. The leader was a middle-aged man with a bald head and a foul expression.

He walked straight up to the One-Eyed Overseer and slammed a data pad against the man's chest.

"Old One-Eye! The batch of waste ore you submitted this morning yielded 15% less Promethium than usual! What is the meaning of this?"

The One-Eyed Overseer froze for a moment, took the data pad to look it over, and his expression darkened.

"15% less? Impossible! Our sorting process is exactly the same as before!"

"The same?"

The Bald Man sneered, "Then why is the output down? Did you let the scum under your command hide some for themselves?"

"Bullshit!" the One-Eyed Overseer roared, "My men take lashes every single day; where would they find the guts to hoard anything?"

He spun around abruptly, his scarlet single eye sweeping over the players who were eating.

The players felt a jolt in their hearts, but they all feigned confusion and innocence on their faces. Their ores were all stored in their inventory slots, leaving them clean and unafraid of a search.

The One-Eyed Overseer strode over and grabbed the player nearest to him, Handicapped Party Please Spare Me, by the collar.

The one-eyed man's hand patted down his rough work clothes, finding nothing, but his anger clearly hadn't dissipated; he raised his hand and lashed out with a whip!

"Crack!"