[End of simulation, duration: thirty days.]
[This simulation yielded options for preservation.]
[1. Veder's explosive pistol (ordinary)]
Label: "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."
[2. Bedtime story: The Legend of the Fart Spirit's Skillful Path (complete set)]
Label: "This should just be a legend, right?"
[3. Zoya's Hoverbike (relic)]
Label: "Big old guy… live well."
[The simulation time exceeded twenty-four hours, simulator wear remains.]
[Cooldown time: thirty hours.]
[Available cooldown time: 449 hours.]
[Would you like to use cooldown time?]
[Cooldown time not consumed; the simulator enters natural cooldown (can be bypassed anytime).]
The simulation has ended.
Zaire, eyes wide open, stared at the simulator's text in shock for quite some time.
He stayed silent for a while, then slowly muttered:
"This damned simulator…"
Zaire couldn't imagine what emotions the simulation version of him had experienced.
He was detached from it all, unable to truly feel a connection.
However, Zaire understood.
In that moment, the version of himself in the simulation likely felt a despair beyond anything imaginable…
Zaire's gaze passed over Veder's explosive pistol, settling on Zoya's hoverbike.
He raised his chin slightly, taking a deep breath.
Then, without hesitation, he chose the last reward.
Thud!
Accompanied by the metallic clang on the ground, a light blue hoverbike, weighing half a ton, appeared before Zaire.
He slowly stood and approached it, warm hands gently stroking the cold metal surface.
At that moment, deep within Zaire's heart, complex emotions surged and swayed like tides.
In a hazy awareness, the simulator's text no longer felt like mere simulation.
Instead, it became a tangible manifestation of a real world.
Within the Warhammer universe, a human girl named Zoya once rode this very hoverbike, racing across green fields.
The cool breeze tousled her short hair.
Yellow flowers at her temples, and her laughter echoed across the land…
"Hmm?"
Zaire, momentarily entranced, noticed something hanging on the hoverbike's handlebars.
It was a pair of goggles Zoya had liked to wear over her short hair.
Expression solemn, Zaire picked it up, hesitating for a moment as he held it up to his face.
He was about to try them on, but then he glimpsed something etched inside the goggles.
A unique sequence of Imperial text caught his eye.
Although Zaire didn't understand the language, a flash of insight revealed the meaning.
"May the Emperor bless me. I seem to have found someone I like… big old guy."
"…"
At that moment, Zaire's face tightened.
An unfamiliar emotion surged from his throat.
He took several deep breaths, forcing it down.
Then, face blank, Zaire placed the goggles back hastily, like a stealthy predator.
He bolted out of the resting area.
"Ah… my lord?"
In the brightly lit base hall, David, who had been polishing construction materials, looked up, its blue eyes blinking in confusion as Zaire stormed out.
David was about to greet him and foster some camaraderie.
But Zaire didn't look back, running straight out of the secret base.
David tilted its metal head, murmuring as it returned to its work.
"Perhaps the great Omnissiah forgot to turn off the gas at home?"
"Hmm… ninety percent probability."
——————
Expression rigid, Zaire dashed out of the basement.
He didn't head upstairs to his apartment.
Instead, he burst out of the building.
Amidst the neon lights illuminating the street, he ran.
His enormous frame plowed ahead, using physical exertion and familiar city streets to battle with his rising emotions.
Zaire ran aimlessly through Manhattan, like a maddened bull.
His heavy footsteps disturbed sleeping homeless people on the sidewalks, as well as some drunken bystanders.
Even a few startled petty criminals scattered away.
Some bystanders, thinking of filming him, found their phones mysteriously blacked out until Zaire's shadow disappeared.
Thirty minutes later, Zaire's chest heaved, and his breaths grew ragged.
Sweat beading on his forehead, he slowed to catch his breath.
His gaze was unfocused as he glanced around, uncertain where he had run to.
He gazed upward, familiarizing himself with the surroundings until he realized his location.
He had crossed most of Manhattan, in the south to Harlem in the north.
Whoosh
Zaire exhaled slowly.
He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips, as if mocking his previous actions.
Then, a cool night breeze passed over his scalp, bringing both comfort and clarity to his mind.
With a faint smile, Zaire turned, striding down a dimly lit street toward home.
Before long, he turned into a narrow alley—a shortcut home.
But after only a few steps, Zaire saw something unusual.
Under a dim streetlight stood a middle-aged man in a purple suit, violently beating a young girl.
The girl, dressed in a yellow dress with black hair, stood emotionless, neither resisting nor dodging.
The man's angry shouts filled the air, reaching Zaire's ears:
"My dear Jessica, do you think you can defy me? Let me tell you… you're delusional!"
Hearing the man's threats, Zaire's brow twitched.
He considered changing his route.
He wasn't a superhero, nor did he feel like intervening.
But as Zaire turned to leave, the man's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Look! A suitable punching bag! Jessica… go kill him for me!"
..............
May I get some Stones Gentlemen?
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