"So it really exists, huh?" Pyro couldn't help but complain. "Does this game even have a threshold? How are people with mental illnesses allowed in here…?"
Though he tried to keep the latter part of his voice low, it was still caught by Ghost Face in the quiet wilderness.
"Hey, I'm a law-abiding citizen!" Ghost Face immediately protested, his voice sounding deeply insulted. "I take my medication on time and in the right dosage every day, report to the relevant departments regularly, and I even help old ladies cross the road! Why can't I even play a game?!"
Ghost Face paused here, then smugly added, "Besides, I've read the user agreement for this game carefully. It only warns, 'Players who are afraid of blood or uncomfortable with gore should play with caution.' Neither of those applies to me!"
"I think not only do they not apply, but you're actually quite keen on them…" Pyro's tone was full of suspicion. "Have you really never stabbed anyone in real life?"
"You're being completely unreasonable!" Ghost Face said unhappily, as if Pyro's question was a challenge to his professional integrity. "It's 2076 now! Even the primeval forests of Shangri La are full of cameras. Where am I supposed to go kill people? I'm a crazy psycho, not an idiot!"
Pyro was momentarily speechless.
Just then, Ghost Face, who was walking at the very front, suddenly stopped. Everyone else followed suit. Pyro immediately became alert, grabbing the bolt pistol at his waist: "What's up?"
"We're here." Ghost Face pointed to a pile of rubble in the distance. "Can you see that? That's our destination this time."
Pyro strained to look in the direction Ghost Face was pointing. In the dim light, through the pervasive radioactive dust, he vaguely saw a… pink, rectangular object with a yellow doorknob standing amidst the rubble.
He incredulously raised his hand to wipe his helmet visor, then looked again intently.
"Is that… Doraemon's Anywhere Door?"
"Oh," Ghost Face realized, shrugging. "When we first found it, it was just a pile of broken rocks. I thought it looked too ugly, so I spent exp to buy a wooden door and a few buckets of paint from the system, and decorated it to look like the Anywhere Door. Actually, if you get close, you'll receive a system prompt; it's a Webway entrance."
Pyro was clearly speechless by this surreal sight and the other party's nonchalant attitude: "Then why didn't you notify the main force immediately? This is clearly an entrance and exit for the dark eldar! You don't seriously think the eight of us can defeat the dark eldar, do you?"
"Don't worry, my mind is very clear." Ghost Face turned to the silent player with the ID Michael and said, "Hey, Michael, it's time to take out the goods."
As soon as he spoke, Michael, who had been silent, took off his backpack, fumbled around inside, and finally, under Pyro's gaze, pulled out a human head.
"This…" Pyro looked at the human head, its mouth sealed with tape, but its eyes still blinking in terror, still alive. "You… you've been carrying a human head around…"
"Not just one, oh. These are trophies from our previous operation in the Lower Hive, a total of six heads of Slaanesh cultists." Ghost Face introduced enthusiastically, as if showing off his most prized collection.
"My plan is this: as soon as the Anywhere Door… I mean, the Webway gate opens, we jump in with these six heads, unseal their mouths, and have them shout something like 'For Slaanesh!' Then we just wait for the Slaanesh demons to take care of the dark eldar."
"I won't even comment on whether your plan is reliable," Pyro felt his brain was about to burn out. "In this entire plan, the number of people is the least important, right? Why did you specifically come for me before setting off?"
"To get a lucky number, of course." Ghost Face said as if it were the most natural thing. "Look, with you, we have exactly 8 people now. And 8 is my lucky number,"
"Just a friendly reminder," Pyro said, "the number 8 has another meaning in Warhammer…"
"I know." Ghost Face replied. "And the 'lucky' I mentioned is exactly the meaning you're referring to. Think about it, if this plan to summon Slaanesh fails, our number might catch the eye of the great Khorne, and he might bless us! Then we'd be able to defeat the dark eldar… Uh, buddy, why are you putting your hand on your bolt pistol again?"
"I'm contemplating whether to draw my gun and blast you heretics right now," Pyro said expressionlessly. He felt his loyalty was being tested like never before. "And why hasn't the Emperor sent a psychic slap down to flatten you heretics into meat patties."
"It would be convenient if the Emperor sent a psychic slap right now," Ghost Face said indifferently, even clapping his hands. "It would most likely smash this Anywhere Door too, and wouldn't our mission be completed then? Too bad he's already an old piece of jerky on the Golden Throne, unable to move."
He even spread his hands leisurely, as if it were just a harmless joke.
Ghost Face said in a persuasive tone: "It's the 40K era now. Humanity's situation is so difficult, so naturally, we use whatever we can. Exploiting the ancient conflict between Slaanesh and the dark eldar, letting them fight each other like dogs, isn't that a very good option for us?
"Otherwise, think about it, to deal with this teleportation gate that could open at any time, we'd need to deploy at least an artillery regiment to monitor it twenty-four hours a day. As soon as this door lights up, we'd immediately launch a saturation bombardment. What a waste of resources!"
Ghost Face turned around, his tone even carrying a hint of earnest instruction.
"We're not like those rigid NPCs who have to follow those inflexible dogmas and principles," he said. "We're players! Playing dirty, utilizing the faction characteristics and background settings in the game… isn't that perfectly natural?"
Pyro was stunned by this set of twisted logic: "What if your heretical actions are discovered and reported to the Inquisition?"
"Heh," Ghost Face let out a contemptuous sneer from his throat.
He held up one finger: "First, with the Imperial administration's efficiency, even if a report truly manages to pass through layers of bureaucracy and reach the Inquisition, it would most likely be a hundred years later."
He held up a second finger: "Secondly, even if, by bad luck, an Inquisitor happens to be bored out of his mind and arrives quickly, so what? I can just commit suicide, can't I? After resurrection, I'll be a completely new person. The Inquisitor can investigate my corpse all he wants; I'm a person who grew up under modern education, not feudal, and I don't mind donating my body."