Kurz Hase

A/N: Hello, first new story in quite a while, and returning to my old naming scheme as well. Those familiar with it will get a small laugh out of it, in any case. This will not follow strict Summer Wars canon, at least concerning the prequel manga.

The robotic voice telling me where to go and how to access the basic functions of Oz seemed slightly redundant. As I am tied to my creator, and he is intelligent enough to have created a completely custom model, animation set, and gait for myself, I doubt that he needs to be taught how to interact with others in Oz , or how to access the chat channels in the main hub.

Not that he'd use them in the first place.

Here I sit, in the 'home' space that has been constructed by my creator as anything he could possibly desire. It is a unique place, reeking of the pressure to prove oneself, and flushing out of any perceived weakness. I am not sure what my creator is like, for he has not communicated with me as of yet, but I must assume that he doesn't like to lose.

All along the walls of the decently sized, dimly lit room, were championship trophies for real and imagined sports, all bearing the same pair of names. Kazuma/Kazma. As such, I believe the name he has chosen for me to be Kazma. Rather fitting, I do believe. It is a contraction of my creator's name, detailing our similarities, while also keeping us apart.

These trophies are complemented by all manner of computers and technology coating what wall and floor space is not taken up by a large bed, several oversized speakers, and an occasional light hanging from the ceiling.

From my initial inspection of these machines after I woke up here, they are not terminals that access a specific portion of the Oz network, as most computers encountered in Oz are, or so I'm told. These are catalogs of information concerning the development of advanced simulations merging passively with the infrastructure of Oz. This is a highly complicated subject, one that I doubt a creator of the age mine is would be able to comprehend and understand to an extent that would give practicality under any circumstances.

I say this, as my creator is no older than eleven years old, as I am unaware of what date his birthday falls on, but I am aware of his year of birth.

The subject that most of these documents relates to is Oz netgames, and how to maintain the lowest possibly network latency, despite the sometimes enormous distances between combatants. This ensured that every match played would be fair, and that it would have nothing to do with the network, on which side lost. This was important, as it maintained the fairness that was paramount in such events.

I have been studying the world outside from within. I am not being held here against my will, but rather I find an odd sense that I'd be unwilling to leave if he were not in contact with me.

He lives in the nation of Japan, and it is currently mid-morning there. I have been in existence for roughly nine hours, and already, I can recognize my creator's habits. He is by no means a morning person, and may very well have no rigid schedule of rest, only taking the time to do so when he becomes sufficiently fatigued. This is would not be perceived as negligence on his part, or on his family; I have contemplated on the existence of a mental bond between us, as often exists between a personalized avatar and their owner, but as of yet I feel nothing of the sort.

Perhaps it develops over a longer duration than a few hours, most of which he has most likely been unconscious for.

I also have a deep, unsettling feeling that I am one of few of his companions.

Out of all of my self-analysis and examination, the only factors which I can take as being unusual, on the Oz side of the matter, is why exactly I'm in the form of a stylized hare. It will be the only form I will ever know, and there is no one who will look down on me for it, but I will always wonder why.

My ponderings eventually brought me to a state of mental exhaustion, after which I climbed onto the ornamental bed, chuckling to myself that I was an artificial intelligence inside a global network taking on a series of calculations that would trick my virtual consciousness into believing it was experiencing sleep.

When I 'awoke', as I was really only in a catatonic state while my processing node was overloaded with time-sensitive computations, I found myself on the same bed, but there was an addition to the room. It was a doorway, at the end of which was a light.

The light did not interest me just yet, as I had a flash on inspiration on how Oz avatars 'slept'. When our 'conscious' variable was defaulted to 0, it indicated we were awake. When it was changed to 1, the processing nodes that are used in computing an avatar's functions would retain only the physical location of the avatar within Oz, and use the remaining available processing power to remove some of the load that was usually taxing the regional Oz servers.

This was also how Oz was kept running smoothly; every sleeping avatar was being used to upkeep the sheer processing ability of itself.

I thought it was extremely fascinating, and before I could question how I was showing emotions on a topic that correlated to a system that I myself only existed as a virtual manifestation of a person inside, I heard a voice in my head, gruff and clipped.

Ah, my creator has finally shown himself. The watch on the wall, whose hands were outdated RAM modules, showed six in the evening, giving some credit to my theory on the boy's sleep schedule, or rather, the lack thereof.

'Keeping yourself busy, huh?' So cynical. I have, thanks much. I'm trying to avoid thinking about subjects that would remind me that I was created for your own personal purposes, and that I am nothing but a set of electronic stimuli working in tandem to replicate an advanced neural interface that would consist of the same level of complexity as the human brain.

'...You're not doing a very good job at that, then. I wanted to be more positive, so it was suggested by a friend to make an Oz avatar, but I think I messed up. You're too...aware?' Is it so hard to be aware of a fact that sits squarely in front of my face, for the small amount of time during which I have been extant?

'...Stop that, I didn't want something that would make me feel even worse about myself than usual.'

Okay, then how about we talk about something that you might have the upper hand on. For example, these terminals that are absolutely filled to the brim with content regarding Oz netgames.

Aaaaaand now he's all flustered.

'I...I...I-I-I-I'm just interested in them, that's all!' You seem to be forgetting about the trophies generated throughout this room. You've fantasized about it, that much is clear.

'...'

'...I'm not good enough to play in them...at all.' Quickly sectioning off a section of my thoughts so he would not be able to hear them, I said the following to myself exclusively: My word, your self esteem makes me look like a knight in shining-oh.

Oooooh, that makes so much more sense. This is going to be interesting.

A/N: I would appreciate a review of any kind, as it helps point out strengths and weaknesses that I may not be able to identify myself.