This was not a quest. This was a trap!

Misha disregarded the possible exit and looked for bullets or any weapon she could use. No matter where she looked, Misha could only find empty tables and counters.

Fortunately, there was a jackknife that the military had her carrying around as a tool, but it could hardly be relied on as a weapon.

'It's better than nothing, but it's still impossible.'

Misha took a deep breath, steeling herself.

'I must not log out no matter what happens! I will die, but it's just a game!'

Zombies were already climbing the range counter, which had surrounded her.

Gritting her teeth, she charged at the nearest zombie with a small knife while the other hand swung her rifle like a bat to shove all zombies away.

'Force field! Field Bas.h.!.+ Fly! d.a.m.n it, I can't use a single telekinesis in this game!'

Misha attempted to use the psychic abilities that she could use in real life, but she failed.

*CHOMP*

A zombie bit her arm, and the 110% pain sense hit her.

The real body inside the capsule jerked.

Misha roared and punched the zombie at the face, but that gave away an opening to other zombies.

More bites and scratches tore her game character body apart. Although the killing and torturing process lasted a few seconds before Misha lost her consciousness in-game, she felt like it was an eternity.

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<3>>

<2>>

<1>>

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Misha snap-opened her eyes and sat up. Her wide eyes looked at her naked body while her hands touched every part that was bitten by the zombies.

After confirming that she was still alive, Misha sighed.

'Wow! That was an intense death. That feeling when my innards were dug out is too disgusting! Why does the government have to go and simulate the death to that extent?'

Fortunately for Mia, the player of Misha, he had experienced many deaths in virtual reality games to the point that he felt nothing about it. However, the death in this game gave him a torturous nightmarish death that could traumatize him for life.

Misha took a deep breath and meditated to lower her heart rate, which was about to burst from the nervousness and fear of death. She did not even pay attention to her surroundings and her naked body.

"Recruit Misha, Cloth yourself and follow the staff. I repeat, recruit Misha. Cloth yourself and follow after the staff."

The voice from the speaker on the top corner of the white room awoke Misha from her meditation. She finally realized that she was in a place that was similar to a hospital room.

Female staff in a black suit and sungla.s.ses stood by the door, watching Misha since she woke up from her first death.

Misha looked around and saw the scenery outside the window. She could see the field that the drill sergeant always made her ran around and cross several obstacles along the way.

Misha was still in the military camp, but she did not know which building she was inside.

.

The black suit lady guided Misha back to the boot camp. There, the drill sergeant looked at Misha with a grin.

"How does it feel when you lost your first death to zombies?"

"..."

"I forgot. You have the permission to speak."

In military boot camp, recruits could not speak anything but "Yes/No/Aye Aye." Without permission, Misha could not reply or she would get yelled to the face.

It was a disciplinary training to take away the individuality of the trainees so they could teach them to work as a team.

Misha smiled wryly, "Painful, ma'am."

"I'm sorry that I have to do this. It's a test of mentality. By the way, I don't know if you notice it or not, I'm not an NPC. I'm Sgt. Joan Brim, an examiner from the Government Army. Nice to meet you, Cadet Officer Mia."

"Err, you knew?"

"You and your colleagues are quite famous those years. You can guess why."

"I'm not proud of that, ma'am. It's a disease."

"A good disease that changed the vision of the higher-ups. Anyway, congratulation for completing my a.s.signment. You pa.s.s."

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Misha scratched her head, confused, "I barely did anything worthwhile. What're the criteria for pa.s.sing that trap room?"

"As long as players didn't lose their mind after the gruesome death, they will pa.s.s. Well, since you log in early, I tested you first. I will test the others later."

"Everybody? Everybody has to go through with this? What's the point of this, anyway?"

"To filter out some rich spoiled brats out of the talented ones. All combat cla.s.s players will have to go through with this before we can allow you to play it normally."

A bad feeling crept in Misha's mind.

Government employees were working here instead of NPCs, and the mental test of combat cla.s.s players was too extreme. This game and the government were suspicious.

Sergeant Joan laughed as she could read Misha's mind, "It's a part of the education. We want to teach every youngling that real wars and combats aren't as fun as in the simulation or games, especially the spoiled brats that will eventually succeed their parents and become our superiors. We don't want an inept who doesn't understand death to command us in the future."

"But that was dangerous ma'am. What will happen to the others that forgot about the warning and log out in that trap room?"

Joan grinned, "Don't worry about it."

…

Meanwhile, Dawson and his friends also took the same quest. Each of them was isolated and trapped within a room with over 200 zombies.

Even though they picked the Psychic Division, which was the easiest combat cla.s.s in their point of view, they still had to go through with it.

"Let me out!"

"d.a.m.n it! Log out … wait, I can't!"

"No!!"

All of them screamed and cried in pain as the 110% sensitivity kicked in.

When the aftermath set in, all combat cla.s.s players died in the zombie room by being eaten alive.

Dawson woke up in the military hospital, just like Misha. He was guided back to his drill sergeant, who waited for him and several of his colleagues.

"Congratulations, recruits. Out of hundreds of players in the Psychic Division around the world, only 169 of you pa.s.sed this test of willpower. You, too, are one of the 169 that have pa.s.sed the test."

The sergeant gave them a similar explanation that Joan gave to Misha, which made all players astonished.

Dawson gulped and raised his hand, "Requesting permission to speak, sir."

"Speak."

"How did the others fail?"

The drill sergeant revealed a mocking smirk as if he was enjoying this.

"They logged out during the test."