Reever materialized inside his lobby and dropped onto the makeshift bed without bothering to adjust his posture. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the system interface hovering in front of him. Notifications had been piling up the moment he returned, but he had ignored all of them on instinct. Right now, he just wanted a few seconds to breathe.
The silence did not last.
A familiar chime echoed through the lobby, followed by text appearing in midair.
[ System notification.
Winner: Bot 067
Number of survivors: 2 ]
Reever sat up.
"Two?" he muttered.
That number bothered him more than it should have. From everything he had seen on the battlefield, he was certain he was the only one left standing. Missiles had erased entire sections of the map. Players had torn each other apart near the end. There should not have been anyone else.
He stared at the message for a few seconds, then leaned back and sighed.
"No need to overthink it," he said quietly. "Probably some scared guy hiding in a hole somewhere."
It happened often enough. Players who avoided conflict, stayed buried during missile drops, and survived on luck alone. The system counted survival, not pride.
With that thought, he flicked the message aside and scrolled through the rest of the notifications.
Another message appeared.
[ Calculating the reward based on the player's results. ]
Reever crossed his arms and waited.
"Maybe I overdid it," he said to himself. "That last stretch was almost unfair."
He remembered the golden armored player, the way the fight had ended far quicker than expected. At the time, it felt satisfying. Now, in hindsight, it felt… odd. Like swatting something that looked dangerous but turned out hollow.
The system did not keep him waiting long.
[ Instant level up to Rookie I
50 percent of the loot collected will be transferred to the player's inventory. ]
Reever blinked, then let out a short laugh.
"That's it?" he said, then nodded. "Still decent."
An instant level up was no joke. His system interface shifted, numbers adjusting, stats recalculating. He felt it immediately. His durability climbed, his energy capacity stretched just a bit further. It was not a dramatic change, but it was real.
One step closer.
With this, he was only a single rank away from Veteran. That mattered more than the loot. Ranking up meant better survivability. Better survivability meant a higher chance of breaking free one day.
Another notification followed almost immediately.
[ Skill reward detected.
Skill: Bull's Eye.
Skill description: Bull's Eye ensures that any weapon used by the player would ignore distance and hit the targeted place.
Skill fusion possible.
Do you want to fuse your skills? ]
Reever's eyes lit up.
"Oh, now that's interesting," he said.
He skimmed through the description again, slower this time. Unlike Target, which relied on bullets and line of fire, Bull's Eye was broader. Any weapon. Any distance. Direct impact.
"That's way better," he muttered. "Target always felt a bit limited."
When the fusion prompt appeared again, he did not hesitate.
"Yes," he said.
The system responded instantly.
[ Target plus Bull's Eye fusion.
Fusion process running.
Fusion successful. ]
A new skill window unfolded.
[ Fused skill: Tag.
Skill description: Tag marks the enemy and teleports the attack to the target.
It ignores defenses on armor and gadgets below the rare rank.
Can be used with any weapon.
Usable seven times per game simulation.
Cooldown time: 180 seconds. ]
Reever leaned back and whistled softly.
"Yeah," he said with a grin. "That's dope."
Seven uses per match was generous. Ignoring defenses below rare rank made it downright brutal. Combined with his armor and passive abilities, this pushed him even further ahead of most rookies and veterans.
For a moment, he simply stared at the skill description, then shook his head.
"The system really wants me on its side," he said. "Nice rewards, shiny skills, all wrapped up like a bribe."
He closed the window and looked around his lobby.
"I'm not buying it," he added. "Not yet."
His interface showed the local time. Four hours remained before the day cycle ended.
"And I still owe you one more match," he said, glancing at the system icon. "You're not letting me off easy, are you."
Compulsory matches were never optional. Skipping one was dangerous, especially for him. Exemption tokens existed, but they were rare, expensive, and usually reserved for favored players. Bots did not get favors.
If there was one thing Reever understood clearly, it was this. The moment he missed a compulsory match, the system would not hesitate to punish him. A warning at best. A lost life at worst.
Until he bent the knee and accepted full assimilation, freedom was off the table.
A new chime interrupted his thoughts.
[ Compulsory match detected.
Match will begin in thirty minutes. ]
Reever exhaled.
"Of course," he said. "Right on schedule."
He used the time wisely. He reviewed his loadout, adjusted internal settings, and considered his weapon choices. For a brief moment, he hovered over the trident.
Then he shook his head.
"Overkill," he said. "Last match was already too easy."
If he brought that thing out again, it would just make things dull. No challenge, no data, no growth.
When the timer finally hit zero, the familiar system tone echoed through the room.
[ Game mode initializing.
Game mode: Training.
Theme: Survival.
Players present: 1 ]
Reever frowned.
"Training?" he repeated.
That was new.
He waited, scanning the message for clarification. It came quickly.
[ The system has recognized that you are a pro player.
Matches will now be placed based on battle prowess instead of rank. ]
His expression darkened.
"So that's how it is," he said.
He had suspected something like this might happen, but seeing it confirmed still left a bad taste. He had hoped to climb quietly, using rank gaps to his advantage. That path just closed.
Before he could process it fully, another message appeared.
[ Training mode details.
Due to the player's condition as a bot, the player is required to appear in training halls to assist other players in skill and weapon practice.
Objective: Survive sustained onslaughts from other players. ]
Reever stared at the text.
Then he cursed.
"Seriously. F**k."
He dragged a hand down his face and laughed humorlessly.
"So that's it," he said. "You're telling me to do my job."
Bots were training tools. Everyone knew that. Targets that fought back. Obstacles designed to sharpen players before real matches.
"And here I thought you were being generous earlier," he added.
The system, as always, did not respond.
This explained everything. The rewards. The fast rank up. The sudden recognition of his prowess. The system was tightening its grip, not loosening it.
"If I want better treatment, I have to submit," he said quietly. "And if I don't…"
He did not finish the thought.
Another block of text appeared.
[ Training mode conditions.
Occurs once every day.
Weapons and armor above rare rank are restricted.
Participating players range from Veteran I to Elite V.
Death does not end the game.
Player will revive until final life is lost.
Survive. ]
Reever clenched his fists.
Veteran and Elite players. No overpowered gear. Endless waves until the timer ended.
They were not testing him. They were using him.
Before he could say anything else, the lobby dissolved around him. Light swallowed the space, and the world shifted.
When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a massive training hall.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high. Platforms lined the walls. The gate shimmered as it prepared to release the man of the match. All around him stood other bots, identical in posture, silent, waiting.
Reever scanned the space slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered. "This is going to suck."
A countdown appeared above the hall.
Three.
Two.
One.
The timer hit zero.