The name Medici had, within just a few days, transformed from an obscure preliminary contestant into the hottest and most controversial symbol in the Federation's virtual entertainment sector.
This fever pitch reached an unprecedented peak the moment the steel body of the Warhound-class Titan descended from the shattered dome.
If the Leman Russ tank brought a kind of "I can drive this big guy and rampage around" romance and bold spirit belonging to vehicle operators, then what the Warhound-class Titan displayed was something different entirely.
It was a kind of primal awe and fervent yearning for "absolute power" that transcended individual control and reached deep into the soul.
That wasn't merely a unit in the game; it was a "totem of power" that Medici had forged with code, models, physics engines, and brutal aesthetics.
Thus, on Medici's personal social media accounts, the Dawn Project official forums, major gaming communities, and even in the comment sections of streamers like Scorchwind and I Will Carry You, a silent "petition" movement spread like wildfire.
It rapidly swept through the entire player community.
At first, there were only scattered exclamations:
"Medici! The Titan is too awesome! Please give us the official version!"
"When can we play Warhammer 40k? My wallet is already desperate!"
"Medici, I was wrong! I shouldn't have called your work cursed. Hurry up and release the game. I'll accept any setting!"
Soon, these voices merged into a unified torrent:
[Release it! Release it! Release it!]
[Medici, stop competing and hurry up to negotiate with the officials to make the game!]
["Battlefield: Warhammer 40k"official version! Immediately! Right now! This instant!]
[I'm willing to trade my roommate's ten years of being single for the game to go into open beta tomorrow!]
The heat of the discussion even temporarily overshadowed attention to the competition itself and other contestants' works.
Countless players looped Scorchwind's recorded compilation of the Titan's entrance and battles while scratching their heads in front of their screens.
It was as if they could smell the virtual gunpowder and molten iron through the network, feeling the tremors transmitted through the ground with the Titan's footsteps.
They were no longer satisfied with merely experiencing it through livestream clouds.
They wanted to personally grip that radiation rifle, to personally command even just a small squad of rigid servitors.
To... even if only from afar, look up at the steel deity's back and feel the shockwave sweeping through body and mind when it opened fire.
This desire was so intense and widespread that the occasional voices of doubt about the game's setting and optimization suggestions seemed weak and out of place in the comment sections.
"Um... Medici, the game is really amazing, but could you change the Mechanicus servitors?
I know it's the setting, but using living people for modification is too... unsettling. Can't you make them into pure robots? Something more sci-fi?"
"+1, and the Genestealers too. I know you want it to be scary, but sometimes when a four-armed thing suddenly jumps out around a corner, my heart literally stops. I don't want to be sent to the hospital playing a game... Could you make it a bit more... aesthetically pleasing?"
"The hive environment too. It's so dark, with rust and unidentifiable slime everywhere. Playing for too long gets a bit depressing. Could you add some... uh, brighter scenes? Like the Empire's magnificent cathedral plaza or something?"
These voices weren't entirely unreasonable.
After all, the vast majority of citizens in this Singularity society had long grown accustomed to gentle, bright, positive entertainment products.
The dark tone, brutal settings, and deliberately created physiological and psychological discomfort of "Battlefield: Warhammer 40k" were indeed too much of a shock for many people.
However, in the face of the overwhelming clamor to release it, these proposals from the moderate reformers were instantly drowned out.
Even more surging commentary from hardcore players and audiences purely captivated by this unique charm flooded in:
"Change it my ass! We want exactly this!"
"Servitors should be made from living people to have impact! The Mechanicus should be this kind of cold, fanatical cult style! If you turn them into cutesy robots, would it still be Warhammer?"
"Genestealers are scary? That's exactly the effect we want! Otherwise how can they be called xenos? How can you experience the brutality of the battlefield? If you're scared, don't play!"
"You think the hive is too dark? Then don't go there! The Battlefield universe is supposed to be hopeless and dark! If you want sunshine and beaches, go play "Leisurely Flower Language"!"
"Medici, whatever you do, don't listen to them! Stay true to your vision, we want it unfiltered!"
That call to "stay true" became the supporters' rallying cry.
What they valued was precisely that uncompromising, even somewhat obsessive dark aesthetic and hardcore setting in Medici's work.
What they wanted wasn't another warm little piece wearing a sci-fi skin, but a real and brutal alien world they could immerse themselves in.
A world where they could experience something completely different, even if uncomfortable.
As for Medici himself?
He remained as he always was, deaf to outside voices, fully absorbed in crafting his bleak, cursed game.
He didn't respond to the massive calls for release, nor did he acknowledge the suggestions requesting changes to the setting.
He was like a silent craftsman sitting in the eye of the storm.
No matter how the outside world raged with wind and rain, thunder and lightning, what he carved in his hands remained that fierce, dark, yet fatally attractive divine statue.
But everyone could sense the storm was gathering.
The players' fervor, the tearing of public opinion, and the increasingly complex attitude of the "Dawn Project" officials toward this phenomenal work... all the contradictions pointed to an imminent flashpoint.
And Medici and his "Battlefield: Warhammer 40k" were undoubtedly the explosive core of that flashpoint.