After his outburst, the cultists commander began to console himself: "It's fine... it's fine... let them come. Even if these muscle-brained Imperial dogs break through all defenses and take this elevator, they won't be able to do anything!"
What he was thinking was not without reason.
This was not some simple device that could be operated by pressing an up or down button. This was the heart of the hive city, an industrial marvel that pierced through kilometers of thick crust and plasteel, an extremely complex human industrial crystallization from the dark Millennium era.
Its startup sequence was as intricate as a religious ritual, and its internal mechanical structure and energy logic were enough to make any untrained person's brain crash.
Generally speaking, no one knew how to operate this behemoth except for the Tech-Priests who had integrated their bodies with machinery.
Although the players, having lived on 21st-century Earth, generally received higher education, Earth's compulsory education clearly didn't teach them how to operate a Gothic-style hive city mega-elevator.
Without an accident, they would only be trapped inside, then overwhelmed by the cultists who would arrive later, drowning them in this inescapable death trap.
However, players always had their ways. They had already created enough impossible miracles, and this one was no different.
"Boom—!"
The heavy alloy door of the control room caved inward with a loud bang, then was violently kicked off, spinning and smashing against the opposite wall.
The cultists commander, his face contorted in a sneer, grabbed an old bolt pistol from under the table, thinking that even if he died, he could at least take down one enemy.
But when he looked up and saw the gigantic figure blocking the entire doorway, the sneer on his face instantly froze, then was replaced by a look of resignation as he was smacked into a paste on the wall by a club.
Cain shook off the Terrabytes of flesh from his club, his massive body squeezing into the control room. After scanning the area and confirming there were no more enemies, he strode with heavy steps to the elevator control panel, which was covered in flickering runes and complex instruments.
In his player view, a clear START prompt floated on a large button at the core of the control panel. Without hesitation, he extended his large, fan-like hand and decisively pressed it.
Then, from the perspective of the other players, an extremely bizarre scene unfolded.
The ogryn named Cain stood before the incredibly sophisticated-looking control panel, his large, thick fingers rapidly adjusting the glowing panel with movements that were completely inconsistent with his size—extremely agile and precise.
At times, he would flick a delicate knob; at others, he would press several flickering runes. The entire process flowed smoothly, full of technical beauty.
It was just the fact that he was an ogryn that made the scene incredibly bizarre... "An ogryn who can operate a control panel? Is that even allowed?" one player couldn't help but blurt out.
"I suggest Tzeentch come over quickly and promote him to a Chosen, replacing Carlos overnight," Joker said seriously from the side.
Just then, with a soft "buzz—," the control panel in front of Cain suddenly flashed red. The rune sequence that had just lit up instantly extinguished, and the entire startup process came to an abrupt halt.
Cain frustratingly slapped his massive head with his palm, emitting a dull "thud."
"What the heck! Why is there a mini-game for just pressing a button!"
At his words, the entire room fell silent for a second, then sparked intense interest among the other players.
"Mini-game?"
"What mini-game? Let us try it too!"
Cain immediately moved aside. A quick-witted player immediately pushed forward, took over the control panel, and eagerly prepared to play.
As he placed his hand on the control panel, a holographic projection immediately unfolded before him.
At the center of the projection was a circle emitting a soft white light, and within the circle, a bright blue sphere floated, constantly emitting subtle tremors as if it had a life of its own. A progress bar appeared at the bottom of the panel, displaying "Elevator Energy Calibration."
The game rules instantly became clear: control this sphere, keeping it within the white circle until the progress bar was full.
The player took a deep breath, gripping the virtual joystick that popped up on the panel with both hands. He felt confident.
However, as soon as the game started, he realized something was wrong. The blue sphere's tremors were completely erratic; sometimes it pulsed steadily like a heart, and other times it would twitch violently in one direction like a startled rabbit.
He had to concentrate fully, using extremely precise force to correct the sphere's position.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his fingers made millimeter-level adjustments on the joystick. Several times, the sphere almost touched the edge of the white circle, only to be pulled back by him just in the nick of time.
The progress bar advanced slowly but steadily... 70%... 80%... 90%... Victory was in sight!
Just as the progress bar was about to reach 100%, the blue sphere suddenly went into an unprecedented violent spasm, slamming into the inner wall of the white circle.
"Zzzzt—!"
A piercing electrical sound rang out, the holographic projection instantly vanished, and the control panel once again fell silent.
The player froze for two seconds, then leaned back abruptly, taking his hands off the joystick, and complained in frustration: "Holy crap, what kind of anti-human design is this?!"
Needless to say, this mini-game was naturally Terrabyte's doing. He mercifully helped the players by removing the impossible task of starting the control panel through real-world operation, and then, with a mischievous twist, added a mini-game.
"Move aside, move aside, let me try!" another player eagerly pushed away the one who had just failed, confidently taking a seat. "It's just a balance ball, isn't it? Back in the day, I used to be..."
Before he could finish, his confidence vanished with a bizarre sideways drift of the blue sphere. A few seconds later, accompanied by the same piercing electrical sound, he too failed.
"Holy crap, what is this thing?" This player was also bewildered; he hadn't even made it halfway through the progress bar.
Next, a relay race filled with frustration and unwillingness unfolded in front of the control panel. The dozens of players from Seventh Squad took turns, each sitting down with a mysterious confidence of "I can do this" and walking away with a puzzled look of "This is unscientific."
The news spread quickly, even attracting players from other squads to watch. The small control room was packed with people, surrounding the control panel, turning it into an offline arcade.
"Left, left! It's going to hit!"
"Don't shake! Steady your hand!"
"It's over, it's over, another one..."
Amidst the rising and falling shouts of command and sighs, one player after another was "first-killed" by this disobedient blue sphere.
Some tried to find a pattern, only to discover that the sphere's tremors were completely random; others tried to control it with brute force, only making the sphere's resistance more violent.
Finally, Joker calmly sat down at the console under everyone's gaze. His hands were as steady as a rock; no matter how wildly the blue sphere pulsed, it was restrained by a gentle yet firm force at the center of the white circle. As the progress bar was about to fill, he neutralized the sphere's final violent impact with an extremely quick micro-adjustment.
Energy calibration complete, elevator system activated
A low, prolonged hum sounded, and all the runes and lights on the control panel instantly illuminated, emitting a soft white glow. Immediately afterward, the ground of the entire underground facility began to vibrate faintly but clearly.
"Rumble, rumble, rumble..."
Heavy metal grinding sounds emanated from deep within the elevator shaft, as if an iron beast that had slept for centuries was awakening. Emergency light strips along both sides of the passage lit up one by one, outlining the massive elevator platform. Gears meshed, hydraulic pumps pressurized, energy cores hummed...
A symphony of countless industrial sounds converged, and finally, the huge gate, large enough for a leman russ tank to pass through, slowly rose upwards with a grating metallic groan.
A relatively "fresh" air from the Mid-Hive rushed in, scattering the foul and acrid stench of the Lower Hive.
The elevator had started.
And this mini-game created by Terrabyte, designed to simulate interaction with precision machinery and test players' concentration and micro-management, after countless failures, was given a resentful nickname by the players—
"Finding the Omnissiah's G-Spot."