In the Lower Hive of the hive city, through a dim passage, the air was thick with dust, exhaust fumes, and an indescribable stench of decay.
Over a dozen players, clad in armor, loosely encircled a square formation of several hundred Lower Hive residents, slowly moving forward.
These Lower Hive residents had sallow complexions, gaunt figures, and eyes that held a long-standing repression and numbness. Their clothes were tattered, mostly made from patched rags and discarded plastic sheeting, stained with oil and unknown spots, barely covering their bodies.
"Speaking of which, can our escort team of just over ten people really protect so many people?" Caleb, the younger of the twins, wondered, looking around. "We're not astartes. If cultists or genestealers charge, even if we don't die, these civilians will suffer heavy casualties, right?"
"Ah, you don't understand," Andrew, the older brother, shook his index finger. "The moment I saw this quest, I knew our role wasn't to escort, but to deter."
"Deter?" Caleb repeated, his brow furrowed. "Deter who? Cultists or genestealers?"
"Half right," Andrew pointed to the square formation of Lower Hive residents surrounded by players, who huddled together uneasily, trying to avoid eye contact with the players. "We also deter them."
"Oh," Caleb suddenly understood, patting his forehead. "To prevent them from causing chaos on their way to the Mid-Hive, right?"
"Exactly," Andrew nodded. "The cultists and genestealers are too busy hiding from our purges; why would they actively expose themselves just to kill a bunch of civilians? So our main duty is just to maintain order."
One question answered, Caleb had a new one: "What do these Lower Hive residents think about the relocation? After all, historical events like these didn't seem to have very good processes or outcomes."
"Aren't they here?" Andrew tilted his head, gesturing to the Lower Hive residents beside him. "Why don't you just ask them?"
"Oh, right," Caleb suddenly realized. He casually pointed to a civilian, who was bowing his head, hunched over, his tattered jacket barely covering his bony shoulders. His emaciated face was covered in dust and fatigue, and his eyes were murky and lifeless, like two pools of stagnant water.
"You, yes, you, come here."
The civilian's originally numb expression instantly froze, then turned into extreme panic. He trembled all over like a sieve, his legs weak, almost unable to stand. Seeing this, the surrounding Lower Hive residents immediately distanced themselves by three meters as if avoiding a plague, creating a vacuum.
"Uh," Caleb was stunned for a moment, looking at the man's exaggerated reaction. "That dramatic?"
"Alright, didn't you hear my brother call you?" Andrew, while Caleb was in a daze, took a step forward, a look of impatience on his face, and barked, "Hurry up and come over!"
The civilian, startled by Andrew's shout, shivered. He tottered his steps, each one as if he was about to fall, his legs uncontrollably shaking. He came before Andrew and Caleb, and before either of them could speak, he hastily and rapidly said, "Sirs, I am known for my honesty in the factory. I have never been involved in any gang activities. I… I have elders above and children below, and we are all law-abiding citizens, sirs!"
"This system translation is really down-to-earth…" Caleb muttered.
"You, shut up first and stand properly," Andrew's cold words instantly silenced the man, who stood rigidly in place. Andrew turned to Caleb, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, ask your questions."
"Uh…" Caleb looked at the man's fearful eyes, feeling that this method of questioning might not be ideal, but then he thought, there's no need to criticize his brother for an NPC, so he asked first, "What do you think about this relocation that moves you from the Lower Hive to the Mid-Hive?"
The civilian's face instantly flushed with fervent excitement. Without hesitation, his voice trembled with gratitude: "Thank the Emperor! Thank the Imperium! Thank the leaders for their benevolence!"
His eyes glowed. If Andrew hadn't told him to stand properly earlier, he probably would have immediately knelt down with a thud: "I will remember the leaders' kindness for the rest of my life, and I will surely make my children remember this kindness for generations!"
Caleb scratched his head and tentatively asked, "But when you enter the Mid-Hive, your working hours will be the same. Don't you want some substantial changes? Like reducing working hours by one or two hours or something…"
Caleb just asked casually, not expecting the other party to be scared out of his wits. His face, which had been flushed with excitement, instantly turned pale. Andrew's earlier command to "stand properly" no longer worked.
His knees buckled, and he immediately knelt down, his forehead almost touching the ground, his voice choked with tears: "Sir, I absolutely do not mean to be greedy! Absolutely not! I… I am just a humble worker. To be able to reach the Mid-Hive is already a great blessing. How dare I have any other extravagant wishes! Sir, you must see clearly, sir…"
"Holy cow, why did he suddenly kneel?" Caleb was bewildered by the man's sudden kneeling and his rapid-fire declarations of loyalty. He subconsciously reached out to pull him up. "Uh, what, you, get up first."
He pulled a few times but found that the man's resolve to kneel was incredibly firm. The civilian's knees seemed to have taken root, sticking firmly to the ground, impossible to pull up.
Andrew, on the other hand, simply drew the pistol from his waist, the cold muzzle aimed at the kneeling civilian: "If you don't stand up and shut up, you won't have to stand up or shut up ever again."
The civilian, seeing the dark muzzle, trembled violently and immediately stood up as if electrocuted, shutting his mouth tightly. However, his body trembled even more than when he first arrived, like a leaf in the wind.
"Alright, go back to your team," Andrew waved the pistol in his hand, signaling that he could leave. The civilian, as if granted a great pardon, scrambled back into the formation, burying himself in the crowd, as if he had never appeared.
Andrew put away his pistol, looked at Caleb, a knowing smile on his face: "How was it? Do you understand what they're thinking now?"
By this time, Caleb had recovered from his bewilderment. He thoughtfully stroked his chin: "I think I understand…"
"For us, 'class' is an abstract word, and crossing 'class' is manifested as a better life. For example, higher wages, shorter working hours, better living conditions…"
Andrew said indifferently, his gaze sweeping over the numb Lower Hive residents. "But for people in the Warhammer universe, 'class' is not like that."
"For them, 'class' is concrete," Caleb interjected, a flash of realization in his eyes. "Spire, Upper Hive, Mid-Hive, Lower Hive, and even Underhive… these are concrete 'classes' that cannot be crossed for dozens of generations. Being able to move from one hive level to another is the limit of their imagination."
"So, our bringing them from the Lower Hive to the Mid-Hive is, in their eyes, an immense kindness, a supreme honor bestowed by us." Andrew's tone carried a hint of sarcasm and helplessness. "Even if we tell them that they will have longer working hours, harsher working conditions, and higher labor intensity, they will have no complaints and will instead feel more at ease."
"But if we were to say that we not only bring them to the Mid-Hive but also reduce their working hours and labor intensity, then they would start to feel suspicious… If we do this and gain nothing, then do we have another motive? Out of fear of the unknown, they would actually resist the relocation." Andrew spread his hands.
"In other words," Caleb's expression was somewhat complex, "even if we wanted to improve their treatment now, we couldn't?"
"Yes," Andrew replied, his tone firm. "However, the essence of human nature is greed. In ten to thirty years, someone should raise this demand, and then we can naturally reduce their labor intensity."
"Ten years…" Caleb muttered, scratching his head. "It's not even certain if I'll still be playing this game then…"
As they spoke, they had already arrived at the Mid-Hive via the huge frosted metal elevator. The environment of the Mid-Hive was significantly better than the Lower Hive; at least the air was no longer deadly, and the light became brighter.
This batch of escort missions was completed, and other players would take over. Just as the two guys were about to accept another escort mission, a familiar figure ran from a distance—it was Mua'dib.
"Hey, Caleb, Andrew!" Mua'dib shouted, his voice clearly excited. "You two have been chosen!"
The two exchanged glances, both seeing surprise in each other's eyes—what Mua'dib meant by "chosen" certainly wouldn't be anything else; it could only mean one thing: becoming an astartes.