The star map showed pure dark void.
This was a blind spot at the tip of the galaxy’s spiral arm, a place so desolate that even the most bloodthirsty pirates considered it worthless space dust.
The Earth Union’s surveillance network was completely blind here.
“This is the place. Good feng shui.”
Yao Qian swept a glance across the dashboard.
Although the Red Giant engine was powerful, the shock absorption system on this antique ship was truly tragic.
If he flew any longer, he felt his skeleton would be shaken apart.
He tapped the void with his finger, dragged out the golden icon for the “Ember Space Station,” and slammed it down.
“Deploy!”
Without any flashy preamble.
Metal roared and expanded, resembling a mechanical carnival.
A sight like this was pure ecstasy for an industrial enthusiast.
A giant alloy framework grew like a steel tree wilding in the vacuum, hexagonal heavy armor plates snapping together seamlessly with deafening clicks as sparks burst silently in the void.
In just a few short minutes, a massive dodecahedron space station bestrode the planet’s orbit with absolute dominance.
Pitch-black all over, only its core area flashed with a cold, pale-blue light.
It looked invulnerable, bursting with the raw beauty of violence.
Now *this* was art!
Yao Qian let out a long breath, gazing at those sharp metal lines.
He felt as though his aesthetic sense, violated for years by those tentacled monstrosities, was finally healed.
“Now that’s what I call style! That twisted taste of grafting elephant trunks onto faces and growing eyes on thighs should have been swept into the trash heap of history long ago. The Earth Union leaders don’t have brains in their heads; they’ve got formaldehyde mixed with shit.”
[Ember Space Station deployment complete.] [Level 1 authorization transferred.] [Detected Host possesses the frigate Yabo. Guide into dock?]
“Dock her. Easy on the scraping—this is our only asset.”
The landing gear beneath the frigate’s belly extended slowly, locking precisely into the berth clamps.
With the hissing sound of air pressure equalizing, Yao Qian straightened his collar and stepped into this steel fortress of his.
First impression: massive.
Second impression: dead poor.
The main command hall, large enough to hold over a thousand people, was completely empty.
His footsteps clicked sharply against the metal floor, echoing with a hint of desolation.
“System, don’t play dead. Besides building ships, what else can you pull off? You can’t expect me to run around with a wrench fixing turrets by myself, can you?”
Streams of pale blue data gathered in front of him.
The system’s response remained concise and straight to the point.
[Core Function Unlocked: Cross-Planar Consciousness Projection Technology.] [Description: System has anchored Host’s native realm. Capable of capturing high-dimensional soul signals and injecting them into biochemical clones produced by this station.]
Yao Qian raised an eyebrow.
“In plain English.”
[You can pull people from your old home. They will believe they are playing a full-immersion VR game, but in reality, they will be working for you—without salary, insurance, or benefits.]
“The Fourth Cataclysm? That’s not labor, that’s a blessing!”
Yao Qian snapped his fingers, his grin almost reaching his ears.
“I get it, cyber slaves… no, heroes saving the world. What’s the price on these clones?”
[Basic Human Clone (Blank Slate): 1 Energy Point / unit.] [Current Energy Balance: 100 Points. Energy points can be converted by killing xenos, submitting minerals, or biomass.]
“A hundred slots?”
Yao Qian felt the sting of poverty.
These 100 points were his startup capital, his entire livelihood.
If he went all-in and these “fellow countrymen” came in only to find they couldn’t respawn or ended up dead on arrival, that would be a disaster.
Yet this was his only chance to turn the tables.
Relying on himself alone, he couldn’t beat those Earth Union monstrosities even if he drove this battered ship until it blew smoke.
“System, a few key settings must be added.” Yao Qian’s gaze sharpened.
As a veteran gamer, he knew far too well how to fool…
er, guide players.
“First, load a tactical UI overlay onto the retinas of all clones. Maps, quest logs, chat channels—give them the whole package. Make them firmly believe this is a game. If they realize it’s a real-life battlefield, they’ll easily piss their pants.”
[Instruction received: Visual Deception Protocol loaded.]
“Second, this is the most important part.” Yao Qian tapped the console, his expression solemn.
“Apply a tech lock. Any scientific principles, combat techniques, or star map coordinates learned in the ‘game’ must have a mental shield applied. Once their consciousness returns to Earth, this hard-core knowledge must be forcibly blurred.”
[Instruction confirmed: Memetic Isolation Lock activated. After player consciousness disconnects, relevant technologies and high-risk maneuvers cannot be reproduced in the real world.]
“Perfect. Now we can recruit people with complete peace of mind.”
Yao Qian summoned a virtual keyboard, his ten fingers flying like a master artist.
“Set up an official website. Don’t make it flashy or cheap; give it a style that looks expensive and hard-core. Use the deep cosmic sea and our space station as the background, paired with grand orchestral music that makes you want to charge to your death the moment you hear it!”
Since he was going to summon warriors, he had to dial the prestige up to eleven and think big.
A website rendered in a dark epic style appeared on the screen.
[Game Title: *Stars Online*] [Genre: Full-Immersion Virtual Reality MMORPG] [Realism: 100% (No anti-addiction limits)]
In the introduction column, Yao Qian thought for a moment before typing out a line filled with inflammatory rhetoric, every word laced with gunpowder:
[Face it, you can’t live with aliens. Different emotions, contradictory logic—coexistence is a weakling’s excuse! Those not of our kin must harbor different minds! The galaxy is vast, but it only has room for humanity!]
Finally, he added that timeless, classic piece of scarcity marketing:
[Alpha Test Slots: Limited to 50.] [Pre-registration: Open now.]
“System, blast this onto Earth’s largest gaming forum. While you’re at it, turn the data models of the *Yabo* and the space station into a CG trailer, highlighting that 380mm railgun.”
This was a man’s romance.
No military enthusiast could refuse a pipe that thick and black.
Having finished all this, Yao Qian was about to light a cigarette to celebrate the early stage of his venture when a piercing alarm completely blew his good mood away.
“Beep—! Beep—!”
Red lights flashed wildly across the entire command hall like a night club.
[Warning!
High-energy signature detected!] [Warning!
Unidentified flying object approaching this sector at extreme speed!]
The holographic screen zoomed in sharply.
On the radar interface, a crimson light point was dragging a long trail, hurtling madly toward this location.
[Based on trajectory calculations, high probability of non-natural man-made object.] [Estimated arrival time: 3 system days.]
An unknown star sector, an unidentified object, and an impending crash right at his doorstep?
This definitely wasn’t a good neighbor dropping by for a visit—it was very likely a giant heap of trouble.
Now that things had come to this, overthinking was useless.
Time to recruit some cannon fodder…
no, players.