New home

**Chapter 3: The Beta Test**

"You believe nothing can surpass a family bond? Pathetic."

Anastasia Romanova holstered her gun with a sharp, metallic click. She holstered the weapon, but the threat lingered in the air like smoke.

"Let's see if you hold on to that sentimental garbage after you experience your first war."

Yuriy didn't respond. He had nothing left to say. The fight had drained out of him the moment the gun was raised. He was defeated, not by logic, but by the raw, undeniable reality of the muzzle that had been pointed at his forehead.

Mission accomplished.

In Yuriy’s country, military service wasn't mandatory. Anastasia’s role was recruitment—specifically, "voluntary" recruitment. The other soldiers, knowing the fragile state of the young man who had just lost his mother, shot each other concerned glances. They stepped forward, intending to handle Yuriy with kid gloves, to offer gentle words and soft blankets.

But Anastasia cut them off with a glare. She knew exactly how to break a horse, and she knew how to break a man. There was no time for coddling.

"Move out," she commanded.

They dragged Yuriy out of the house. The rain had stopped, leaving the village gray and dripping. Yuriy was shoved into the back of a military truck, flanked by Vasyl and Vladyslav. As the engine roared to life, the truck lurched away from the only home Yuriy had ever known.

Inside the transport, the air was thick and suffocating. Yuriy sat in the corner, staring at his knees. The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a loud, booming voice shattered the quiet.

"Bwahaha!"

Yuriy flinched. Vasyl, the soldier who had manhandled him earlier, was slapping his knee, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

"Hmm? Why is everyone so serious?" Vasyl looked around the truck, genuinely puzzled. "Making the atmosphere all awkward... Is it because we have a new member? Come on, guys, chill! Yuriy is one of us now. No need to act so different."

Vladyslav, sitting across from them, offered a weak, strained smile. "W-Well, Vasyl, it's been a long day. Not everyone has your... boundless energy."

"Hah? What's wrong with being energetic?" Vasyl retorted, puffing out his chest. "If you stayed positive once in a while, you wouldn't run out of battery so fast, Vlad."

Vladyslav sighed, rubbing his temples. It was a long-suffering sound, the sigh of a man who knew that while there was a cure for every disease, there was no cure for foolishness.

Vasyl, however, was undeterred. His curiosity was like a dog chasing a scent, and right now, that scent was the mystery sitting next to him.

He leaned in close, peering at Yuriy’s hands.

"You're a gamer, aren't you?"

Vladyslav’s eyes widened slightly. *How did he know? Did he actually read the dossier? That’s unlike him.*

Yuriy slowly lifted his head. His face was a mask of apathy, but his eyes were sharp. "And what about it?"

"Aha! I knew it!" Vasyl pumped a fist into the air. "They really are recruiting pros! It must be for that new tech we confiscated from the enemy, right?"

"I thought you read the report," Vladyslav interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"Report? Who reads those?" Vasyl waved a hand dismissively. "Just look at his hand!" He grabbed Yuriy’s right hand, holding it up for everyone to see.

"See these fingertips? The index and middle finger? The skin is flattened, callused from clicking thousands of times a day—fire buttons, scope switches." Vasyl grinned proudly. "This guy isn't just a player; he's a grinder. A veteran. Just like us."

Yuriy stared at his own hand. He hadn't realized his addiction had left such a physical mark.

"You're gamers, too?" Yuriy asked, his voice low. "And you were recruited specifically for this? Why would the army need gamers?"

Vasyl opened his mouth, waving his hands excitedly, ready to launch into a long-winded explanation.

"It’s like..."

"Shut up, Vasyl."

A cool voice cut through from the front of the truck. Anastasia was sitting near the cabin, her back to them. She didn't turn around, but her voice carried clearly.

"I’ll explain it. I’d rather not rely on the clown's interpretation."

She leaned her head back against the metal wall.

"Recently, we intercepted over ten enemy trucks crossing our western borders. They were poorly guarded, which was suspicious. We seized them without firing a shot, and what we found inside was... beyond our comprehension."

Yuriy felt a spark of curiosity despite himself. "What was inside?"

"Technology," Anastasia said, her voice dropping an octave. "Top-secret machinery that even the Western powers have never seen. Our experts analyzed it and found something strange. The interface... it didn't require complex levers or heavy machinery. It was designed to be operated remotely, using a mouse, a keyboard, and a few other simple tools."

Yuriy’s mind raced. "So... the army is recruiting gamers to pilot these machines?"

"Precisely," Vladyslav picked up the thread, his tone more academic. "But we haven't deployed them yet. We’re in the 'Beta Test' phase. We have former pros like Vasyl and myself, but we need more. We need a full squad to test the devices collectively, to find glitches, and to learn to fight as a unit before we face the real enemy."

Vladyslav gave Yuriy a hopeful smile. "And guess what? You’re part of the squad now. Isn't that exciting?"

Yuriy didn't answer.

*Beta Test.*

The word hung in the air. It was a term he knew intimately. It meant broken mechanics, unfair matchups, and exploiting bugs to win. It was a world he understood better than the real one.

He lowered his head. The irony wasn't lost on him. He had tried to escape reality through games, and now reality was pulling him back in—by turning war into a game.

He closed his eyes, resigning himself to the path ahead. Refusing wasn't an option. It was either this, or a bullet in the back of the head from the blonde commander.

The truck rumbled on, carrying its precious cargo toward the unknown.

***

Eventually, the tires crunched onto gravel. The truck jerked to a halt.

"We're here," Vladyslav announced softly.

The back doors swung open, revealing a sprawling military complex. High concrete walls, watchtowers, and soldiers moving with purpose. It was a fortress.

Yuriy stepped out, his boots landing heavily on the ground. He looked around with careful, analytical eyes. This was it. This was his new home. The place where he would either die a soldier, or learn why the army was so desperate for a "Philosopher."

He took a deep breath, the smell of oil and steel filling his lungs. The game had changed.