Reever sat on the makeshift bed the system had assigned to him. The thing barely qualified as furniture. It was stiff, narrow, and clearly designed with function in mind rather than comfort. He stared at the plain walls for a moment before clicking his tongue in annoyance.
"Even though I do not need rest, the system really needs to upgrade the quality of this room," he muttered. "It has no taste at all." He glanced around again, unimpressed. "What if I bring a girl over here one day and she sees this place. She would leave me on the spot."
The thought irritated him more than it should have. He dropped back onto the bed and rested his head on the thin pillow, which barely sank under his weight.
"But who cares," he said after a moment. "This will not be my home for long. I will get back to Earth sooner or later."
Saying it out loud made it feel more real. More reachable.
He stared at the ceiling, his mind already shifting gears. From the moment he arrived, the system had made one thing clear. Comfort was temporary. Rest was a luxury. Progress was mandatory.
From what he had learned at the library, every player was required to play at least two matches a day. The system alone decided the game mode, the difficulty, and the timing. No one was given space to slack off. Reever had only been here for less than a day, yet the countdown had already started for him.
Luckily, compulsory matches were limited to one hour each. Two hours in total. A player could choose to play them back to back or split them between morning and evening. It was the only bit of freedom the system allowed.
Only Master ranked players and above were exempt from this rule. They were considered to have transcended the system's supervision. Until someone reached that level, two matches were unavoidable.
There were no exceptions.
If a player failed to log in for a compulsory match, the system issued penalties. At best, one would lose a weapon or an item. At worst, they would lose their rank.
Rank down.
Reever grimaced at the thought. Imagine being one match away from reaching Master rank, only to miss a session. The next time you logged in, you would find yourself demoted to Elite Pro. Months or even years of effort erased instantly.
No one could afford that.
The developers, cruel as they were, still offered a loophole. Exemption tokens.
These tokens allowed players to skip compulsory matches. At the lowest level, they granted a single exemption. At higher levels, their effects became absurd. Some could exempt a player from compulsory matches for years. There were even rumors of ten year exemptions.
But rumors were all they were to most people.
Exemption tokens were incredibly rare. Finding one relied purely on luck. They sometimes appeared in auctions within massive world communities, not the small chaotic ones Reever had passed through earlier. Even then, the prices were horrifying. Only the richest of the rich could afford such comfort.
Anyone sane who found one would never sell it.
Reever was bound by the same rules. Bot or not, the system did not care. Unless he fully committed to its structure, he would never access certain privileges.
As the minutes ticked down, he opened his inventory and double checked his equipment. Armor status. Ammunition count. Emergency items. Everything was in order.
He hesitated briefly before leaving Tehom behind in the lobby.
This was a rookie level match. Bringing a mystique weapon would only draw unnecessary attention.
The timer hit zero.
The room around him dissolved instantly.
[Game mode initializing.
Mode: Loot and destroy.
Theme: Survival.
Players present: One hundred.
Player ranks present: Rookie V to Rookie I.
Time limit: One hour.]
Reever frowned slightly.
[Loot and destroy.
Players must loot designated areas while surviving attacks from other players.
The player with the highest loot total wins.]
His expression darkened.
[Loot cannot be stored in inventory.
A piggy bag will be provided by the system.]
That was bad.
[Partying is forbidden.
Every player fights alone.]
Worse.
[Missiles will drop randomly every ten minutes.
Players may hide inside anti missile containers.
Each container holds one person.]
Reever exhaled slowly.
[Total containers: Seventy.
Containers reduced by thirty percent every ten minutes.]
"Yeah, that sounds fair," he muttered.
[Designated respawn zones available.
Player can only die once.
Death results in game over.]
That sealed it.
[Match penalty: None.
System wishes survival for all players.
May the best thief win.]
The message faded, leaving Reever standing in sileince.
He had heard that compulsory matches were difficult, but this bordered on insane. One hundred players. Limited cover. Forced conflict. Random missile strikes. And only one life. With his measly thirty lives, he could not afford any rookie mistakes.
Then he reminded himself of something important.
These were rookies.
He had rare armor. He had superior combat experience. He had fought battles that had entire world communities erecting statues in his name. Back when he was alive, his reputation alone had been enough to stop major decisions in the gaming industries.
Backing out now would stain the Reever legacy.
He straightened his posture and steadied his thoughts.
The battlefield materialized around him.
A massive open area stretched in every direction. Ruined structures. Broken terrain. Supply points scattered across the land. Ninety nine other players appeared alongside him, most of them frozen in place, faces filled with confusion and fear.
A massive timer floated in the sky.
Ten seconds.
Reever calmly cocked his weapon.
Five seconds.
Some players started panicking. Others looked around wildly, already searching for cover.
Three.
Two.
One.
The moment the timer hit zero, the battlefield exploded into chaos.
Gunfire erupted from all directions. Screams pierced the air. Players scattered like ants as the first wave of violence tore through the field.
Reever stepped forward into the storm.
The match had begun.