This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 389 "Orbital Drift Bottle

Chapter 389: Chapter 389 "Orbital Drift Bottle

"The path to eternity inevitably involves sacrifice; you are not the only one who has given their life for this."

"You are a clever girl, but unfortunately, curiosity has harmed you. Faced with survival and the truth, you chose the least important one."

"Goodbye, don’t blame me."

"Everything is natural selection."

"Sleep peacefully before the New World arrives..."

It would be a good dream.

Although the process is a bit painful...

Crows flocked to the cracked remains of broken walls, as the sunset stretched their rough, harsh squawks and the shadows of their claws.

It stood in the middle of the street, gazing at the dimming yellow in the distance, muttering words that seemed to comfort someone.

Its amber pupils slightly shifted, focusing as if they penetrated through the burning clouds to a place beyond its field of vision.

After a long while, it withdrew its gaze from the distance, satisfied.

However, just as it turned to leave, it locked eyes with a group of people at the end of the street.

They were a group of ragged beggars, wearing tattered clothes, pulling iron chains in their hands, and carrying rifles with bayonets on their backs.

Its amber pupils stared at them, its nostril-like snout exhaling a hiss, a disdainful expression on the face of the Claw of Death.

These ignorant ants...

Meanwhile, the Battlefield Atmosphere Group standing opposite was filled with excitement, whispering commands to their subordinates.

"Follow my orders, throw the iron chain on it, regardless of whether you hit or miss, immediately run to the building next door..."

"Don’t hesitate, hesitating means giving in for free."

Watching the massive body charging like a tank, the Battlefield Atmosphere Group tightened their grip on the iron chains, roaring with a high will to fight.

"Let’s go, brothers—"

"Just do it!"

Although he didn’t know what "Let’s go" meant, Li Ba shouted to vent his fear, cheering up every trembling cell in his body.

"Ao ao ao!"

...

While Old Soldier, who had just become a Centurion, was courageously matching wits and strength against the Claw of Death with his men, the official forum of another world was bustling with activity.

"Decrypting Shelter No.79 Information, Manager is the Ultimate Villain?! (I traded my life for this, leave a like please QAQ)"

After logging off, Si Si compiled all the clues he had gathered from the "Experiment Log" into this post.

"December 30, 2169, the 40th year of the Wasteland Era is about to end. Although many things have happened this year, fortunately, our experiment is still ongoing."

"But on this special day, I don’t want to write too much about the experiments. Instead, I plan to write a story about ’us,’ lest one day I develop Alzheimer’s and forget all about our past."

"Shelter No.79 was established in 2120, five years before the Doomsday War broke out. This shelter, marked as ’T’ in the United Human Perpetual Construction Sequence, was designated as a research-type shelter. Its function was not to shelter residents but to preserve a special research facility for extreme post-war scenarios."

"Based on unreliable assumptions about human nature, the Post-War Reconstruction Committee’s vision might fail, and our legacy might not transform into a new Heaven but instead become a tool for the exploitation of the many by the few, or even a barrier to the revival of civilization."

"If our civilization regressed back to the feudal era or even earlier tribal times, what we would need is not steam engines or heavy machine guns, but a king who could lead us through the darkness and into a new world."

"He had to be powerful enough to embody all great strength in himself, ideally possessing an almost endless lifespan to accompany his people through the years, ensuring ideals never fade. He would sacrifice himself after rebuilding Utopia, returning everything to the people who trusted him."

"Although this was merely a hypothetical proposition, even if there was only a one in ten thousand chance, we should attempt it if conditions allowed."

"The 79th plan thus came into being."

"As one of tens of thousands of contingency plans, the goal here was to create a ’Manager’ with perfect capabilities and morality after 120 years of isolation, who would lead his people in rebuilding our civilization on the surface."

"A total of one hundred thousand researchers participated in this plan. We entered the shelter in the first year of the war and awoke from it on the tenth winter after the war ended, working methodically under the guidance of the Manager."

"The plan initially progressed smoothly without the scrutiny and obstruction of the ’Science and Technology Ethics Committee,’ and we quickly achieved phased progress. Sadly, in the fortieth year of the Wasteland Era, our plan ultimately encountered an unexpected event."

"The ice age was coming to an end, expected to completely conclude in ten years, which was fifty years sooner than the computer’s calculations had anticipated. Coinciding with the death of the First Generation Manager and the transition between the old and the new, not only did the newer generation of residents begin to doubt the ’plan,’ but even we, the earliest researchers to enter the shelter, debated whether to continue this plan."

"As planned, we selected the second Manager from the new generation of residents, entrusting the future power to him. However, unexpectedly, this charismatic young leader, an opposer of the 79th plan, completely changed his stance and became a firm supporter of the 79th plan within a few months of obtaining authority in the shelter."

"Not only that, but he adopted a more radical experimental strategy, demanding that we not be limited by the forms of life and means of experimentation. Numerous clones were used in experiments, and for efficiency, we even modified the genes of the clones, creating distinctly different sub-species."

"I have an uneasy feeling about this, but it seems too late to say this now..."

"June 11, 2178, it seems to have cleared up outside, the damn snow has finally stopped!"

"June 29, 2178, he must have gone mad..."

"July 8, 2178, many people have died for that crazy plan. I will probably die soon too, but I feel no sorrow in my heart. Even if none of this had happened, my life was already nearing its end. And before the final moment arrives, we had done all we could, even if not every action was foolproof."

"Perhaps as he said, all was the natural selection."

"I hope that when I wake up next time, our world will have transformed anew, and I will have the fortune to gaze upon the new Heaven..."

"The above is merely the perspective of an ordinary researcher."

"The log shown in the VM is machine-translated; I’ve roughly organized it, and the key information should be in those logs between June and July 2178. I will gradually move the original texts to the forum, and if there are any missed clues, please help me find them."

The post was released less than three minutes ago.

The comment section instantly piled up with a hundred replies with players and backseat drivers furiously discussing.

However, the substantive replies were only a few.

Meat mountain big steamed bun: "We thought you had gotten lost, been walking around that building for ages."

Sesame Paste moan: "... That’s terrifying."

Tail: "Wuuu, my Si Si died so tragically! Damn it... I’m going to set fire to his shelter! (;｀O´)o"

Escaping Mole from the canyon: "It’s futile, though. The Manager’s authority in the shelter is absolute. Even if you manage to bring tools for arson... I don’t believe they don’t have fire extinguishers there. (sideways glance)"

Tail: "!!!"

Si Si: "Hmm, I thought so too, no point in exposing ourselves now. Better act like nothing’s happening and surprise it in the end."

The most unrealistic aspect of this Game is probably the ability to step "outside."

Even though NPCs are putting a lot of effort into playing their roles, unfortunately, they have no idea that there’s something called "Forum" in another world.

Yong would never imagine that the secret he tried so desperately to keep has already been completely leaked...

Edge Shoveling: "From what we know so far, was Shelter No.79’s ultimate goal to nurture a morally flawless and immortal monarch? But in the end, did all sorts of issues cause the experiment to deviate?"

Crow: "Immortality is one thing... but how do you measure moral perfection? _(:з」∠)"

Elena: "Like Plato’s ’Philosopher-King’? (jokingly)"

Edge Shoveling: "So the experiment failed, huh."

Fang Chang: "It might not necessarily be a failure; just think back to what year it is now. (side-eye)"

Edge Shoveling: "The year 2341."

Edge Shoveling: "Wait, wait! If Yong is the second generation Manager mentioned in the experiment logs, does that mean the experiment was successful?!"

Fang Chang: "That’s very likely, and rather than focusing on that unknown serum, I suggest you find the manager of Shelter No.79."

Sesame Paste: "But, a manager has absolute authority in a shelter, even if we find him... that wouldn’t make a difference, right?"

Fang Chang: "That ’Yong’ might not even be in the shelter. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he get the serum himself instead of relying on a group of unpredictable outsiders?"

Sesame Paste: "Right... The manager’s control over the shelter is absolute; he must have a reason he can’t return, thus needing strangers to help."

Li Ba: "Wow, that makes sense! !!!∑(ﾟДﾟノ)ノ"

Si Si: "Emmm... although that’s what I think too, I still suggest we stick to the plan and get ahold of the serum first."

Fang Chang: "Yes, that’s also an option but be careful not to let someone steal the serum... That’s the only bargaining chip you guys hold."

Edge Shoveling: "Ha-ha, no worries there! We’ve got over a hundred Awakeners stationed right here; it couldn’t possibly be stolen! (grinning)"

Si Si: "You just jinxed us with that flag you set. (side-eye)"

Debt Giant Eye: "But, who exactly is this Yong?"

Makabazi: "From what you’re discussing, I feel like everyone in Xiangling Town is a suspect...I mean, the radio was found in the library, right?"

While players were discussing all at once, Trashlord suddenly appeared in the comment section.

"Actually, I was just wondering..."

"What if that guy is not even human?"

...

The night was deep.

kilometers from Qingquan City, in the wilderness, 25 fully armed soldiers were advancing along a deserted highway.

This location was once a small town, but now it lay in ruin, with segments of concrete roads flanked by heaps of collapsed houses and construction debris.

The nearest survivor settlement is Garbage City, with a population running into the hundreds of thousands—though that had nothing to do with their mission today.

Their target for today was the hidden, abandoned research facility in the town.

They stopped walking.

Old White gazed into the distance at the research facility, comparing it to the photos on the VM screen and joked.

"It looks nothing like it did two centuries ago."

Blood-streaked and flesh-speckled wooden fences surrounded the facility’s enclosing wall. Fist-sized mutated flies buzzed around sharp wooden stakes, and corner-hiding rats gnawed on leftovers, occasionally looking up at the wall.

Even the Looters wouldn’t keep their lairs so filthy, allowing themselves to be smothered by pestilence and rot.

Clearly, the creatures living here were not human but something else...

"Mutants."

Wild Wind, eyes closed, suddenly blurted out three words.

He controlled his quad-rotor drone through a neural interface device, which was now flying above the research facility, streaming the footage live to every squad member’s VM nearby.

On the roof of the facility, two burly mutants with dark green skin stood by the railing.

Beside them sat a burning metal barrel, their hands gripping unknown animal limbs, chomping in large bites, and conversing in deep, booming voices.

They resembled the orcs from medieval Warhammer, bloodthirsty and hairy.

Everything here was identical to what players had encountered in the early versions of the mutant tribes.

The difference was, whilst the mutants were the same, the players standing here were no longer the newbies they once were.

"Mutants, well, there’s no need for niceties then," Night Ten, loading a sniper with an anti-material armor-piercing incendiary bullet, chuckled and said, "Let’s get straight to the action."

In survivor settlements, they would need to confirm identities, deciding whether diplomacy or eviction was the appropriate approach.

But with mutants, there were no such considerations.

Sending these beasts to hell, that was their rightful job.

Old White looked solemnly at Wild Wind.

"Numbers, positions."

"Two on the roof, one in the west side corner, two in the north side garage, one by the oil barrel, three by the window on the second floor... these are all I can see." Wild Wind, merging his consciousness with the drone, calmly called out the positions and marked each target with red dots on the VM map.

After confirming the enemy’s details, Old White crisply motioned a hand signal.

Upon receiving the command, the players following him immediately split into three squads.

One squad, led by Night Ten, moved to a hill west of the facility. Another moved to the left of the main entrance of the research institute. The rest, led personally by Old White, charged toward the main entrance.

The mutants had sharp eyesight, and their animal instincts quickly alerted them to abnormalities in the dark.

But by the time they sensed the imminent danger, it was already too late.

"Fire!"

At Old White’s command, a series of explosions erupted from the west side of the research facility.

Six "Heavy Cavalry Guns" simultaneously spewed flames, six thick tracer rounds streaking toward the top floor of the facility like lightning, completely tearing through the silence of the night.

In front of the 37mm armor-piercing incendiary bullets, the robust bodies of the mutants were like paper; some were pierced straight through immediately, while others had bullets lodge inside their flesh.

The scorching magnesium aluminum spewed sparks, turning flesh into char, and the mutants writhed on the ground screaming, their dark green faces twisted in agony.

Without the slightest pity or hesitation, Old White led his squad swiftly into the facility, their assault rifles relentlessly spitting fire, turning any mutant trying to rush them into sieves.

After breaking through the first line of defense, the players waiting by the doorway followed closely, entering the facility and maneuvering to its rear, clearing every inch of space between the enclosing wall and the main building.

From the west side, gunshots resembling cannon-fire could be heard as they shredded mutants trying to return fire from near the windows with large-caliber incendiary bullets.

The battle was a massacre, devoid of any suspense.

Despite their strong bodies and decent iron pipe rifles and axes, these mutants were clearly no match for these battle-hardened "Old Soldiers."

In less than 20 minutes, the elite of the Burning Corps had cleared all the mutants from the building and rescued over ten prisoners in the basement who had not yet been "eaten."

Among the rescued were men and women, the oldest in their thirties and the youngest perhaps only about ten.

From their clothes, some looked like traders, others like villagers from nearby settlements.

When first rescued, they curled up in the corners of the rooms, their lifeless eyes devoid of any sparkle; though alive, they seemed no different from the dead.

It was only after their shackles were unlocked that a flicker of vitality returned to their lifeless eyes.

"...It’s over; we’ve cleared the mutants here. You’re safe now."

"Thank you... thank you!"

A survivor was just rising from the ground, trembling as he tried to kneel, but Old White quickly steadied him with a hand.

"No need to thank us; we are soldiers of the Alliance. If you have nowhere to go, head east to the North Suburb of Qingquan City. The people there will take you in."

His United Human language wasn’t great.

But he’d memorized that line long ago.

"Alliance..." The survivor’s face wore a bewildered expression, but he kept muttering the word as if to etch it into his memory.

"Yes," Old White said with an encouraging smile, "we are trying to establish a society different from others there. If you are tired of life in the Wasteland, you could try your luck there."

After escorting the group of survivors outside, he returned to the facility.

Tomato Scrambled Eggs gave him a teasing smile.

"Not bad, Alliance’s first image ambassador," he said.

Old White smiled.

"You wouldn’t understand; this is called accumulating good karma."

The Manager always watched over his residents, and loyal acts could increase the likelihood of better equipment drops and triggering hidden quests.

Although there was no concrete evidence to support this rumor, believing it a bit couldn’t hurt.

Many residents of the Alliance had benefited from their deeds and regarded them as heroes.

The NPCs in this game were quite different from those in other open-world games; even if it wasn’t saving the world, just performing a small good deed, NPCs would remember it for a long time.

Those people were genuinely thankful.

Curious, Quit Smoking asked, "So, how far are you from reaching 100,000 contribution points?"

Old White replied, "After this task, it should be just about there."

"Awesome!" Night Ten gave a thumbs up, looking impressed, "We’re all doing the same tasks, so how come your contribution points shoot up so fast?"

Old White gave an embarrassed smile.

"Maybe it’s just accumulation."

Tomato Scrambled Eggs joked, "Bro, when you get your power armor, let me touch it, hehe."

"Sure," Old White said, "Do you want me to take it off for you to touch, or do you want to touch it while I’m wearing it?"

Quit Smoking stared at Old White in astonishment, his expression as if he had discovered a new continent.

"Fuck, when did you become as flirtatious as Night Eleven!"

"I’m always the target," Night Ten rolled his eyes and urged, "Stop wasting time and get on with the mission."

They had parachuted in from far away, not to sightsee.

The group split up.

One party went to the laser emission unit at the research facility to physically open the rusted launch bay doors.

Another group headed to the control room on the third floor of the facility.

Fortunately, the backup generator still had some power left, so they didn’t need to prepare a generator to charge the capacitors of the laser emission unit.

Standing before the console, Old White opened the VM screen and verified the current task.

[Task: Orbital Message in a Bottle]

[Description: Our war with the army is at a stalemate. Although we’ve successfully made them think they’re fighting a corporation, it’s hard to say how long this bluff will hold. We need support from the East Coast, and first, they need to know that an old friend is in trouble. We must dismantle a satellite, out of necessity.]

[Requirement: Activate the research facility’s laser emission unit, establish communication with the research satellite in geostationary orbit above, and complete data transfer.]

The method to activate the laser emission unit was listed under the task panel.

They just needed to plug the data interface into the console and then release a communications balloon.

The rest would be handled by the remote operation of the NPCs at the shelter.

Watching Old White plug the data interface into the console, Night Ten, curious, asked.

"Are we using the satellite as a message in a bottle now?"

This is too extravagant.

Wild Wind stared at the console screen for a while before suddenly speaking, "What I’m more curious about is how it manages to establish contact through the laser and synchronous orbit satellites."

This technology is ridiculously advanced.

But compared to controlled nuclear fusion, maybe it’s not so incomprehensible?

Old White didn’t think so deeply and laughed, "Who cares, who knows what will happen in over 100 years, you can’t expect Brother Guang to conjure one up in reality, can you?"

Wild Wind’s expression became subtly nuanced.

A 99.99...% realistic Virtual Reality Game and a laser communication technology spanning 36,000 kilometers—it’s hard to say which is more challenging to achieve.

The progress bar on the console screen completed.

Suddenly, a beam as thick as an arm shot out from the central emitter in the research institute.

It was hard to define the color of the light; its color was as fleeting as its existence, intermittently showing faint red and purple outlines.

The beam of light pierced through the clouds and entered the boundless depths of space.

Stepping onto the roof of the research institute,

Wild Wind looked up at the sky where the light flickered on and off and muttered,

"If I were part of the army, I’d definitely fire a shot here."

Old White chuckled, "What are you thinking? We’re over 200 kilometers away from that airship, what kind of artillery could reach that far?"

kilometers.

That would require a tactical missile.

I heard Goblin Technology is researching short-range missiles, no idea how that’s going though.

Mosquito never spouts anything reliable from his mouth, no matter how many times you ask, it’s always ’soon, soon.’

Though there’s a forced aspect, one has to admit, the New Alliance’s technology tree is incredibly skewed.

"...You do have a point."

Wild Wind tapped his chin thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the beam of light, yet his mind pondered on other matters.

Under the Tyndall effect, the beam was visible even from a great distance.

Was it the same 200 years ago?

Or is it because the equipment is old and deteriorated, with unstable output power, that such pronounced scattering and clutter are observed?

However, only the people from 200 years ago would know about that...

"Signal transmission completed... confirmation that the satellite is leaving its orbit," Old White confirmed the mission progress through VM, pressed something on his headset, and repeated the command to his squad members.

Night Ten asked curiously,

"Will we see a shooting star soon?"

"Maybe on the East Coast, but probably not here..." Old White smiled, picked up the rifle leaning next to him, and patted his teammate’s shoulder, "Mission complete, it’s time to withdraw."

I heard the scientific expedition found quite a few interesting things from the data they recovered.

Might as well ask about it when we get back.

...

Meanwhile, on board the Iron Heart,

General McCullen stood on the bridge listening to his subordinate’s report.

The prey he obsessed over was still dodging around in the urban areas of Rui Valley City.

But to his relief, his dim-witted subordinates had finally made some progress.

With the help of an experienced local hunter, they had successfully hung two iron chains on the body of the Claw of Death.

Of course, that wouldn’t hurt the beast, but it would certainly trouble it significantly.

According to the hunter, these chains would function like harpoons on a whale; the creature’s claws were too long to remove them.

As long as enough debris was tangled on its body to limit its movements and prevent it from hunting, forcing it to flee tirelessly, it would eventually collapse from exhaustion, ready for them to butcher.

This strategy of continuous assault to weaken a far stronger opponent and then concentrate power for a fatal blow seemed not only applicable to hunting but to the battlefield as well.

General McCullen suddenly grew curious about that native hunter.

Just then, through the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him, a faint red light barely managed to seep through.

Catching that anomaly out of the corner of his eye, General McCullen squinted.

Yet when he looked closely, the outside was pitch black, nothing to be seen.

"Did you see that light?"

Hearing General McCullen’s voice, his adjutant was slightly startled, his face a picture of confusion.

"Light...?"

Glancing at his adjutant’s perplexed expression, General McCullen withdrew his gaze,

"...Never mind."

Perhaps it was an illusion.

For some reason, he had a bad feeling,

as if something sinister was brewing just beyond his line of sight...

-

(Thanks to "Only Wish for a Thousand Cities Painted White,", "Stars Aplenty and Ever-Changing,", [Unnamed], "KAWABUNGA," and "Joy Meets Heaven" for their contributions! I’m astounded by the surge of over twenty contributors yesterday. I’ll keep typing to express my gratitude in the Chapters of tomorrow or the next day! Big shots are awesome!)