The Federal Virtual Network Platform, its highest-tier live broadcast channel: the "Dawn Live Room."
The studio backdrop displayed flowing, hope-filled golden light.
Host Charles wore an impeccable suit, his face bearing a smile honed through countless rehearsals, radiating practiced warmth.
He was a household name in the Federation, known for his steady style and skill at guiding audience emotions.
Having him host this official broadcast of The Dawn Project couldn't have been more fitting.
"Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the 'Dawn Live Room.' I'm your old friend, Charles!"
His voice traveled through the invisible network into countless homes.
Citizens either reclined in their comfortable immersion pods or sat before the wraparound screens of their smart homes, watching calmly as this cultural event, bearing so many expectations, unfolded.
"The Dawn Project carries all our hopes for an 'emotional renaissance.'
It's one of the most important cultural initiatives our Federation has launched in recent years.
It directly affects whether we can turn around the social atmosphere, inject new energy into our somewhat stagnant cultural sphere, and perhaps even... find a way to reduce our heartbreaking suicide rate."
Charles's tone grew slightly heavier, but quickly lifted again, filled with inspirational energy.
"Today, we're presenting the first round of works from the preliminary selection! We've implemented a dual-review system: inviting 1,000 representatives from all walks of life, along with 100 experts renowned in the arts and literature.
Together, they'll help us select the works most capable of touching people's hearts!"
A massive light screen unfurled behind Charles, rapidly scrolling through "seed works" that had passed the AI's initial screening.
"Look at these seed candidates! They're incredibly talented!"
Charles narrated smoothly. "For example, this novel, Crabapple blossoms speak their language, by the great writer 'Neil.' The prose is delicate and graceful, depicting beautiful emotions that transcend materialism. It currently has an AI emotional resonance score of 88!"
The light screen flashed with a beautiful virtual scene of blooming begonia flowers, accompanied by gentle music.
"And here's this punk-style track, Return to Silence, created by the anonymous talent '017.'
Its intense rhythm and raw, shouted questioning of existential meaning have sparked deep discussion among some judges. Score: 87!"
The distorted sound of electric guitars briefly tore through the mild atmosphere of the broadcast.
Charles continued his introductions.
Most works centered on "safe" themes: love, nature, philosophical reflection.
Even Return to Silence, with its critical edge, stayed within a predictable artistic framework.
The live chat scrolled with gentle praise and discussion. Everything proceeded as expected, wrapped in an atmosphere of elegance and restraint.
Until...
The light screen cut.
All that mildness and elegance shattered in an instant.
The background was no longer soft colors or abstract lines, but scorched earth, burning and riddled with craters.
The sky pressed down in oppressive dark red. Twisted metal structures in the distance rose like the skeletons of monstrous beasts.
At the center of the image stood a soldier wearing an iconic green helmet and heavy military gear.
His laser rifle's muzzle seemed to still carry traces of firing, and beneath the dirt-caked faceplate, only a pair of resolute, exhausted eyes were visible, reflecting the light of warfare.
Most striking of all was the massive, menacing skull emblazoned across half his face: the Aquila of the Human Imperium. To the current audience, it looked more like a symbol of death itself.
Below this intensely visceral cover image, rough Gothic lettering spelled out:
Battlefield: Warhammer 40k
Creator: Medici
AI Comprehensive Score: 90
Warning: Content contains extremely high-intensity realistic violence, graphic gore, and themes of extreme nihilistic despair.
May trigger severe physiological and psychological discomfort. Not recommended for those with lower psychological resilience.
The background music in the broadcast seemed to skip a beat. The smoothly scrolling, gentle comments in the chat suddenly froze.
Host Charles's professional smile locked in place.
Medici? Who was that? The name had never appeared on any notable creator lists.
A score of 90? That put it in the top tier among works shown so far, but... what was with that alarming warning?
"Realistic violence," "extreme nihilistic despair"? In the Dawn Project, meant to bring about an "emotional renaissance," the very presence of such a work felt absurd.
Even the experienced Charles was stuck for a full two seconds. His mind raced, searching for appropriate words to describe this misfit.
"Uh... it seems this creator named Medici has produced a work that's... very... unique."
Charles struggled to maintain his smile, though a hint of strain crept into his voice. "The style is quite... hardcore. Yes, it captures the... brutality of war."
He simply couldn't describe it with words like "beautiful," "moving," or "enlightening," as he had with other works.
He glanced quickly at the director's cue screen, which showed that applications to experience this game were climbing in a strangely slow but steady crawl.
Clearly, that bloody warning had piqued some people's curiosity instead of deterring them.
But this was an official broadcast.
He couldn't linger too long on such an "inappropriate" work.
"Alright, let's move on to the next piece..." With barely concealed urgency, Charles switched the display.
The light screen once again showed a painting of distant mountains and rivers, accompanied by refined music, as if the brief moment of warfare and bloodshed had been nothing more than a fleeting signal glitch.