Chapter 453: The Storm Continues
The cheating scandal continued to escalate.
For Imperial Dynasty Interactive and Zen Interactive, although they had posted relevant announcements on the official websites of *Wolf Soul* and *Blazing Assault*, and manual detection and account bans were ongoing, the cheats were still spreading relentlessly.
The key difference between this cheat and previous ones was that the system could not automatically detect it. It relied entirely on manual review, making the inspection process far too inefficient.
Moreover, manual review could never guarantee 100% fairness. Some players were genuinely FPS experts, or had a flash of inspiration that led to an impressive play. Without supporting game data to back it up, it was often difficult to determine whether they were cheating or not.
Players who cheated too blatantly were quickly banned after being frequently reported. But clearly, the ban list included both false positives and missed cases.
Some smarter players only used the less noticeable features of the cheat, such as correcting aim angles or locking onto the body instead of the head. Combined with their excellent acting skills, even the manual reviewers—let alone opponents in the game—couldn’t always tell. They just thought, *Why is this person so strong?*
These people used cheats to blur the line between themselves and skilled players, causing some genuine experts to be falsely banned while they themselves successfully evaded detection.
In a short time, the gaming environments of *Wolf Soul* and *Blazing Assault* deteriorated drastically. Many skilled players, after pulling off impressive plays, were accused of cheating and even reported by other players.
Trust among players evaporated. When they lost, they no longer looked for faults in themselves or admired their opponent’s aim. Instead, they immediately typed insults, accusing the other side of cheating.
The relevant managers at Imperial Dynasty Interactive and Zen Interactive were all overwhelmed, and every customer service representative was working overtime to handle cheating accounts.
As for the Game Committee, both companies were pressing them for answers, but there was still no definitive response. They only knew that the technical team was working around the clock to find a solution.
But how long would it take? No one knew.
Some suggested locking down VR game pod serial numbers, banning pods that had cheated from logging into any FPS game—or even any online game at all.
But that was just a pipe dream.
This was the same problem Chen Mo had encountered. To access VR game pod serial numbers, players had to agree and grant the highest authorization. And disabling game pods was simply not within the authority of any game company.
Even if the Game Committee wanted to do it, they would have to consider the repercussions and whether players would accept it. It was easy to imagine that the resistance would be enormous.
Just like in Chen Mo’s previous life, when PCs were so widespread, if the authorities had demanded that every computer be registered with real names, or that every shooting game could track the PC’s IP address—imagine the backlash.
Players valued their privacy. They had a natural distrust of both game companies and authorities. Even players who didn’t cheat didn’t want their VR game pods to become ticking time bombs.
Of course, VR game pods weren’t completely private either. If the Game Committee wanted to investigate someone through their pod, they could. But such actions had to be kept within a small scope and couldn’t be done openly, or players would revolt.
Another reason was that such a large-scale cheating incident had never occurred before. So, the idea of “locking VR game pod serial numbers” had never been considered. The Game Committee was caught off guard.
Technologically speaking, the VR game pods in this world hadn’t advanced to the level seen in sci-fi novels. There was no automatic linking to resident IDs upon entering the pod, no DNA detection, no automatic querying of past criminal records—none of that.
In Chen Mo’s view, the only “black tech” about these game pods was their ability to collect players’ mental signals to control in-game characters and feed back visual, auditory, and tactile sensations to the player. That was it.
Beyond that, they could detect the player’s physical state, including age, blood pressure, heart rate, or certain illnesses.
Nothing else.
Because VR game pods were originally developed just for gaming. Back then, who would have thought to record resident IDs to prevent cheating?
Clearly, the resistance far outweighed the benefits. No VR game pod company in their right mind would do something so thankless and troublesome.
So, Imperial Dynasty Interactive and Zen Interactive had no choice but to pin their hopes on the Game Committee quickly updating the relevant technology so that the automatic detection system could identify this new type of cheat.
Some also suggested to the Game Committee that VR game pods be fully bound to players’ identity information, so that cheaters could be held personally accountable.
But the Game Committee gave no response. Obviously, that was too drastic—even more extreme than Chen Mo requiring Thunder Game Pass to obtain the highest authorization for VR game pods. The authorities weren’t all-powerful either.
Within just a few days, players of *Wolf Soul* and *Blazing Assault* were all complaining bitterly.
As for *Overwatch*, the situation had completely changed because of Chen Mo’s statement.
At first, a group of players cursed him on various forums and websites, accusing him of invading privacy and having malicious intent. Many threatened to quit the game and demand refunds.
Chen Mo’s response was straightforward: You want a refund? Fine, here it is!
Some of these players genuinely cared about their VR game pod permissions. For them, Chen Mo had somewhat harmed their interests, so he was straightforward and issued refunds.
Others were just making a fuss, trying to pressure Chen Mo into reversing his decision. For these players, Chen Mo’s stance was clear: No way.
Accept it or leave. If you don’t like it, don’t play.
For those who refunded, their accounts would be permanently banned, along with their ID numbers. Since they had already refunded and didn’t want to play *Overwatch* anymore, a permanent ban was only fair, right?
Among these players, Chen Mo didn’t know how many were threatening to quit and refund just to muddy the waters and continue cheating. But he was sure there were plenty.
Based on his experience, once cheats spread on a large scale, it meant the situation was already very serious. They had likely appeared earlier, but no one had noticed at first.
If he didn’t take decisive action, with the current pace of manual bans, catching all the cheaters would be like trying to put out a forest fire with a cup of water.
What if the Game Committee couldn’t solve the cheating problem technically within a month? Would all three FPS games be ruined by cheaters?