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Mu Fan rubbed his head and, upon re-entering the light, found himself back at the entrance of the Metal Revolving Gate.
What kind of new recruit camp was this? Didn't the fat guy say that simulated combat didn't hold much significance? How could there be such a perverse new recruit training camp?
Looking around, Mu Fan confirmed he was no longer in that death-filled training base and breathed a sigh of relief.
He then looked at the electronic screen at the entrance, where a red "No Entry" sign was displayed, along with a countdown, which indicated approximately midnight the next day. By then, he would be able to enter again, just as the mysterious Fighter had mentioned.
How could it be so user-friendly, with technology this advanced? With deep awe for technology, Mu Fan walked out of the training camp.
Outside, the oppressive mechanical city obscured the sky. He glanced down at his wristband, "Lemon Balloon - Online - In Combat."
Mu Fan sent a message with a single finger, "It's Mu Fan, I'm out."
...
In a ten-kilometer city ruin scenario, an orange-painted Mecha was sneakily hiding in a gap formed by broken rubble pressed against a high-rise beside a broken wall.
At this moment, the fat guy was in the half-circle cockpit of the sixth and a half-generation Fantasy Mecha, Lemon Balloon, gnashing his teeth, "You bunch of bronze five-star scum, teaming up to screw me over just because my Mecha looks good, damn it."
Clearly, the few bronze five-stars opposite him were people using smurf accounts. The fat guy's assumption that entering bronze would be like a fish in water had completely shattered. This had happened not fifty, but a hundred times already. Every time the fat guy encountered this, he'd die quite neatly, but who would've thought this time he'd run into a bunch of obvious psychos? With six on each side, the opponents paired up, their aim was impeccable; they destroyed the legs of allies who couldn't dodge and then cut off the limbs with alloy blades, leaving only the cockpit intact. And then... these shameless fools started kicking it around like a ball.
Five had already blown up; no way was Fat Brother going out there—it was just too embarrassing.
Suddenly, two red dots appeared on the radar scanner to the left front—enemies! The fat guy gritted his teeth, prayed silently, and activated silent engine mode.
Luckily, Fat Brother's Mecha was good. The bronze shambles opposite were only using fifth-generation initial system Mechas.
Damn it, right, they were fifth-generation, so why should he be scared? The gap between Mechas was huge!
During a twelve-person medium-to-small team battle on the PO Battle Net, the default matchmaking allowed a maximum gap of only one generation. This meant that if you piloted a fourth-generation Mecha, you'd encounter fourth-generation initial Mechas at the lowest and fifth-generation initial Mechas at the highest level. The system wouldn't assign opponents or allies with too significant a discrepancy, as it would create blatant unfairness. The difference between Mecha generations was 5 to 8 years, sufficient for technological levels to create a noticeable gap. At higher levels like the seventh generation and beyond, each generational gap could even reach 10 years.
This was the Fantasy Fighter Zone. The fat guy sat in the quiet cockpit muttering, "So talented, why don't you go to the real Fighter Zone? Don't just mess around here, playing fantasy with the system's free Mechas, really sick."
The two red dots on the radar were closing in. Not good, they'd found him. The fat guy had an unexpectedly keen sense of danger, especially when it came to escaping. Fat Brother always managed to perform at his best.
Watching the two red dots enter the building behind him, they planned to sneak attack through the walls.
Suddenly, the wristband beeped: "It's Mu Fan, I'm out."
So fast! The fat guy was stunned. How long had it been? Not even one battle session had finished.
Then, he gritted his teeth and said fiercely, "You scum are forcing Young Master Harry to take action."
Detonate War Scorpion Mines!
Suddenly, four football-sized holes appeared in the ground of the building behind the fat guy's Mecha. Four mechanical scorpions, glowing with white metallic sheen, crawled out, then laser beams locked onto the two Mechas that had just deactivated their proactive scanning and entered the ground floor of the building.
Jump, impact! The four scorpions shot out at incredible speeds.
Boom! Boom! A series of violent explosive shockwaves erupted, blasting the orange Mecha where the fat guy was also out.
As for the two Mechas, they had long been blown to bits.
"Underestimate Fat Grandpa, huh? This is the highest configuration of fantasy active tracking mine I bought in the sixth-generation Mecha," Young Master Harry said viciously.
The two red dots disappeared instantly from the radar.
"Damn it! No. 3, No. 6, calling No. 3, No. 6." The enemy captain called out to his teammates in the squad communication channel, but no response came.
System notice: "Lemon Balloon" killed "Qiao Mosen"
System notice: "Lemon Balloon" killed "Zelda Card"
System notice: "Lemon Balloon" achieved a double kill
"Hahaha! You scum!" Fat Brother's arrogant voice echoed through the ruins via loudspeakers.
"Bang!"
The bright orange Mecha was like a beacon in the darkness. A single clear gunshot echoed, and the fat guy's Mecha's energy compartment was savagely torn apart by a high-velocity sniper rifle bullet, triggering a high-temperature energy combustion explosion.
"You ba..." Fat Brother couldn't finish the curse as he was engulfed in flames.
The fat guy's figure reappeared in the waiting area, which was now much more deserted. He leaned back into the sofa with a frustrated expression.
"Exhausting Fat Brother, these idiot teammates!" The fat guy was filled with resentment from the recent battle. The coordination was completely out of order; it was utter chaos. If it weren't for Brother's good equipment holding off two, it would've been a total loss.
Sigh, felt like he forgot something?
The fat guy slapped his forehead; that's right, Mu Fan said he came out. The battle was so tense he almost forgot to reply.
"Video request, accept?" Mu Fan had been staring blankly at his wristband for several minutes when it finally beeped, indicating a video connection request.
"Mu Fan? How did you get out so quickly? I told you the training was pretty pointless." The fat guy's frustrated expression hadn't fully faded.
"Yeah, the training's over. What now?" Mu Fan didn't feel like explaining much; it was just too embarrassing. He died twice in there, it felt so realistic, plus he wasn't the type to explain things, so he left it at that.
The fat guy said dejectedly, "I was just in a fight, didn't notice your message, those bastards screwed me over, lost, sigh."
Mu Fan still didn't have a full grasp of winning or losing yet and asked, "What do we do now?"
Seeing that Mu Fan didn't respond to his words, the fat guy looked crestfallen, "Wait a bit, let me send you the coordinates. Head to the teleportation point next to the training camp and come to me."
"Ding, received coordinates invitation from friend Lemon Balloon, synchronize to navigation?"
"Yes." Mu Fan confirmed, and soon a walking route was projected onto the screen. Mu Fan lifted his head to confirm the teleportation point's position just ahead, where many people were coming and going, with bursts of white light flashing.
Mu Fan walked to the egg-shaped building, where he found it wasn't crowded at all. Instead, he was the only one there; it seemed PO Battle Net automatically prepared a separate transport space for each individual.
Please specify the teleportation location, a floating strip of an automatic console inquired.
"Teleportation location at coordinates XXXX, XXXX."
"Confirmed, please Player "Egg Lord" step into the teleportation circle, teleportation commencing."
In a flash, the fresh recruit, who had skipped the Fighter training and forgotten about Mecha training, Mu Fan, was teleported out of the new recruit base.
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