Zulu Compound was either Glocken's most formidable federal department building or its first domestic forward operating base. Clearly, by the way it was constructed and the amount of damage it had sustained these past few weeks, the number of sorties that had been conducted into the outlying neighborhoods, it wasn't there to simply "keep the peace," as the papers so eloquently had it.
Only a few months ago it had been an empty lot nestled at the base of the former battle cruiser, little more than a geographical oddity amidst the dense urban sprawl of Glocken's Low City. She hadn't even a file on the neon-lit shantytown until very recently, in fact.
Now, it was centerpiece to a whirlwind political drama the likes of which the young spy had not seen in years—least of all in a game where "guild politics" were not, for once, her primary source of grief.
Setting aside another cup of coffee, her third since logging-on to «GGO» that cold wintry evening in December, young Kana Akiko leaned forward against the station guardrail and gazed fixedly towards that most familiar square-shaped dip in the east.
It was hard to miss, even in this light: five towering stories of reinforced ballistic glass and smooth black iron, set inside a ring of blast resistant concrete and scorched plate metal.
"Blast resistant," she thought to herself, because of the near daily bomb threats made here according to intel; "scorched," she decided, because of those people who still had the guts to try.
It was an unusually large compound, especially for the locale, which was something Akiko had noted at once the first time she'd surveyed the area. Distinct for its size just as much as for its architecture, with elements of both gothic and military design built into its structure, as if they had changed artists halfway through construction. Located just off Spandauer Street, some 70 odd meters from the spy's observation point and in clear view of some of the busiest shipping lanes in Glocken, it was easily the most conspicuous thing in the city for miles in all directions.
Looking at it today, less than a couple months after completion, Akiko couldn't help but feel just a tad "itchy" peering at such an ominous structure.
The story went—the "official" one, told in the papers—that Zulu Compound had been built for ostensibly benign purposes.
Ostensibly, it was meant to "encourage positive communication" between the city's infamously rebellious lower class and the so-called Security Forces sent there by the higher ups. Bridging the communications gap between the classes, as it were.
But in practice, Zulu Compound's more conventional function was in retaliation for the not-quite unexpected deaths of some rather important men with rather powerful friends.
Men, with too many ties to money to know the Devil's hand when they've reached too far into the darkness; friends who were able to get things moving along in that uniquely expedient way that only money, and vast amounts of political corruption, could accomplish.
The perfect storm, or perhaps fate, or just plain bad luck; whatever the case, it little mattered in the end.
Needless to say, the populace hadn't received the news of further government encroachment peacefully. And the response of the corporate players with a dog in this fight was every bit as terrible as theirs.
...No. That was wrong. Broadly speaking, the whole situation was terrible, Akiko thought to herself, with a pang of dull pity. A sigh.
"Like throwing water over an oil fire to extinguish the flames..." Akiko murmured to herself, with the same quiet dispassion that she had used days earlier when she first brought up her plan with the rest of the WolfHounds. Staring down at the compound.
The blood hadn't even dried on the concrete by the time she heard the Fuller Corporation was erecting a fortress on the very street where the killings had taken place. Residency among a nest of hornets.
Her spiritual successor in field espionage, Rosalia, might have put it best all those weeks ago.
'Zulu "Compound"—', the older woman had remarked, pursing her thin, strawberry red lips together, '—is what happens when you give bull-headed idiots like Kibaou money and enough clout to raise an army. Bunch of chest-pounding brutes who lack the self-awareness to realize when they've overstepped their bounds, so they go around smashing things without the thought that, one day, they're going to stop and find they've stirred up far more trouble than they're willing to deal with."
And then, shortly thereafter, the Wall went up. It was strengthened, heightened. Staffing and armed patrols were increased tenfold in the immediate area.
And throughout this whole ordeal, none had seemed to realize that all this only made near every single accusation levelled against the barons of Glocken's corporate world appear to have been valid.
Akiko brushed aside a loose strand of her short silver hair from her forehead.
Not that it came as some terrible surprise to her. No, not at all. This must have been the… What? She thought to herself. Fourth time, she'd seen a power struggle like this unfold? A frown.
She leaned into her hand, her expression a dour mix between sleeplessness and the sort of mild disinterest that only comes with experience. "'Self-awareness,' huh?" Akiko muttered to herself with a sigh. "Hm. Maybe that's the reason their's is the type that always wonders why these sort of flare ups happen… … …"
She tapped her boot against the station platform. Tired, maybe a little bit impatient, Akiko drew swirls with her finger against the dusty cement guardrail, and wondered to herself why the uniformed men down there ever bothered following through with the "community outreach" propaganda…
A noise buzzed inside of her ear, then. A pop of static at first, before resolving itself into a clear radio crackle.
'To be fair, Boss. If they'd that level of foresight, you'd be out of a job right now.'
A small icon flashed at the far left of Akiko's peripheral, right under her avatar's vital information. She knew him by the accent alone; wasting no time at all, Akiko flicked her eyes towards the side of her HUD and focused on the icon, the «Active Comms» button lighting green next to the player's name as her radio earpiece was keyed in.
"Out of a job like an adventurer runs out of quests to take on," Akiko said into her mic, quickly. "Ain't exactly a hard thing, finding idiots in places where they don't belong. Certainly makes the work a whole lot easier when they're all this damn predictable.
She smirked, eyes suddenly bright with conspiracy: "And bloody fuckin' hell man, it's about well time you called! You realize how long you've kept this poor girl waiting out here in the cold?" She put her hands to her side and cocked her hips in an expression of mock sternness, as if in face-to-face conversation. "Any longer and I'd half a mind to bin yer arse, you know that?"
'Oh, come off it now,' the voice responded, still a characteristic low rumble but audibly taking on a more casual tone as the young man spoke. 'You fire me? Really? This coming from the same girl who set that scarlet witch up with a spot in intel?'
"Like I said: idiots where they don't belong." Akiko shrugged her shoulders. Then, a wry smile. "Same reason I gave you a job, innit?"
And with that, they shared a laugh. Tired and irritated though Akiko was, it was a welcome change of pace from the norm. At least now she had somebody to relieve the boredom that always came with this part of her craft, and if not through riveting conversation, then at least because she could tease the hell out of him.
She leaned against the railing again, a self-satisfactory smile on her lips.
No matter how poor her mood, she could always afford to take a few shots at the former leader of her second least favorite «clearer» guild in all of SAO.
/
[Chapter 1: The First Days]
"Seriously though Kibaou, it's good to hear from you again. Doing well off on your end I take it?" Akiko said, consciously matching Kibaou's own laidback tone of voice.
'Ya, just finished exams at Uni.' Kibaou replied. 'I'm on winter break now, so you'll be seein' more of my handsome mug 'round a few more months.'
"Nah kiddin'?" Akiko said with a little roll of the eyes. She reached inside her long coat and seemed to fiddle with something, the display on the «equipment» section of her HUD changing in response to her actions. "Well. Seein' how you'll be around a while then, I take it you'll be available till 'bout…until around March, right? Yeah. Three months sounds like a good round number."
There was a pause. 'Well, I dunno 'bout that, Boss. Unlike all those hikoNEET virgins you've got under bill, I actually have a degree I'm workin towards." Then he added: "And unlike them, I actually know what those bills bloody look like.'
Akiko couldn't help but chuckle at that. He hadn't changed much, in all the time she knew him.
The same familiar Osakan twang, same brusque snap of a person used to being in command; same sharp wit, same self-assured arrogance borne of experience. Same utter disdain for formality and tradition, reflected in the almost insultingly casual way with which he spoke to everyone he met.
An utterly abrasive, utterly self-centered, utterly self-absorbed attitude, matched only by Akiko's own categorical disregard for respecting the privacy of others.
Nowadays, the cocky bastard worked under Akiko as her 2i/c (^1) in the WolfHounds. And though he lacked much of the arrogant bite he once had…well, he still had his moments of brilliance.
"Okay, okay! Fine. Fair's fair, you got me on that one." Akiko said. "Geeze, you've gotten good at this, haven't ya?"
'Seein as the fact I have to work with you and Old Red on a daily basis, it's practically a job requirement. We'd never get anything done if you two bastards just kept gettin free shots on me all day.'
Akiko laughed. "Well, unlike that stoneface accountant of ours, you don't average a maximum of seven words per week. Can ya really blame us for picking on the easier target?"
'You? …Yeah, maybe not. You've always been like that, Boss; I know that… But, Red here—and if ya don't mind my saying here—Red's a right cunt. Bitch never liked me, she has. Frankly, I'm surprised she didn't tell me to shove off the moment I asked her to do that last minute recon job on this place.'
There was a shuffling on the other side of the radio. Papers, mainly, by the sound of it. Followed by the distinctive swooshes ^1and clicks of what was likely Kibaou navigating the in-game menu.
A cough, as if clearing the throat. 'You seem, ahhh…You're in an awful chipper mood today. Aren't ya, Boss?'
—That note of hesitation in his voice. She took notice immediately.
Akiko stopped what she was doing at once. The humor had gone from her face completely. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in response; just pretended to continue cycling through her gear selection.
Where are you going with this? She wondered to herself quietly, though she already suspected the reason.
Did the old man say something to you? Or did you suddenly grow a sense of empathy while you were away? Certainly this isn't Rosalia's doing; and you've never…
Well, whatever the case. She didn't really need to ask.
'Everything good with you down there? Nothing ya want to say here—or, ah, well. At least say ta me, anyhow?' He continued on, utterly oblivious to what was happening on the other end of the line.
Akiko's eyes had narrowed into a positively ratty expression.
Never one for subtlety, the spy surmised. A blessing, really.
Kibaou played at it the same way as someone who believed themselves overly familiar with their target—he allowed for the shorthand of argot and gossip to dictate, wholly, the flow and direction of the conversation.
A basic intelligence trick, and one she'd used herself on occasion: the use of argot and slang to foster a sense of closeness with the target, easing the tension in the atmosphere. Followed naturally by the relaxed chaos of social gossip where, perhaps, someone will confide a juicy secret or two in misplaced confidence.
Much like, she reflected, observing a bunch of teenage boys passing around a dirty magazine in the dorms. Or drunkards at a bar.
She knew the score.
A simple tactic to execute, difficult to get wrong; almost impossible to detect for the layman. Especially attractive to novices of the tradecraft.
But also a very unreliable, very inefficient method for gathering specific pieces of information. And very easy to avoid when the target knows what to look for.
Base gossip, essentially. Nothing more or less.
And it showed in his execution, too, of course.
Uneven tempo. No proper lead-in. Accusatory tone against a target whom he should know, perfectly well, will not respond at all to aggression. Rapport built, yet no other participants in the conversation to fall back on to cover his obvious missteps. Not to mention his choice of target, to begin with.
He may as well have stormed up to her in person, right now, demanding to know what her troubles were, and he would've had about as much success.
If she didn't know the man any better, she might've commended him for his efforts—no matter how misguided his intentions may have actually been. None knew Akiko's limits better than Akiko herself; of this, the former broker was adamant about.
…She frowned to herself.
Even so. The sudden line of questioning had caught her completely off her guard. And that was not a thing to take lightly, not in her line of work.
Nor was Kibaou himself just a "mere stranger" whom she could easily dismiss from memory either; some transient face for her to keep at arm's length until their business together was concluded, soon to disappear into the ether and out of mind until the next time her skills were needed.
No. No, if a complete novice could get this sort of reaction out of her, then perhaps… … …
Akiko breathed in mock exasperation.
But, of course, she had far more pressing matters to attend to at the moment than to humor a narcissist's delusions of heroism.
C'mon, Akiko. You've endured worse for far longer, girl. You can hang on, just a little bit longer. Then after all is done, we can start focusing on ourselves. After all this…
She took a moment to steady herself.
No need to worry. Nothing to worry about. Just stress getting to you, is all. Nothing to worry about.
Argo sighed again, scratching her nose. Making a show of exaggerating her movements for the benefit of the man no doubt watching her through a pair of binoculars from his observation post.
"Yeah I'm fine. For the most part, anyway. Most of our intel looks to be good so far—thank fuck Rosalia takes her work more seriously than she respects you. Guards are on schedule, lights are on, lazy arses are being lazy arses. Foot traffic's increased around the streets as well, looks like, so I should be pretty well covered on the approach to the compound.
"About the only problem now is that arsehole from corporate still hasn't come down yet, and it's been well over an hour since he was supposed to show. I've yet to see a single one of these tossers go into the comms room neither, so I've no idea if he's still comin' or if he's just fucked right off for the night and I should start reevaluatin' exactly how much plastic I'm going to need for this mission."
It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but it was the one he was gonna get. Kibaou must have known this, too, because he sighed and said; 'Yeah, sure. Whatever you say Boss.'
He seemed to be going to say something more after that as well, but he cut himself off in a hurry.
'Oi—shit! Looks like you're not gonna have to wonder 'bout that for much longer—got eyes on a black utility vehicle movin along the highway right now. Confirmed: matching plates.'
Akiko stood up stock straight. She snapped the safety off on the handgun sitting in her shoulder holster as she stepped towards the stairs. "How long."
'Approx ten minutes till arrival. Southbound. Best get movin.'
"Rodger. Copy." It was time to get back to work. "Keep me posted on their location 'til I reach the compound. Streets have been gettin' a tad hot lately with all the racket they've been making; I might be a moment."
Kibaou acknowledged her last and the line went dead.
Akiko pulled at her cloak, drawing the tattered grey thing close around her young-thin frame.
She stepped down into the street.
/
Shino tugged at the black scarf wrapped around her scrawny neck.
It was more a nervous gesture than anything. A bad habit she'd picked up—heaven knows how long ago. She started to turn her wrist to look at her watch, but stopped herself when she realized what she was doing.
"Dammit, Shino…you don't have time for this right now…"
She peered through the peephole again. She opened the door, peeked her head out to the side.
It wasn't even all that cold out. The city was still. There was no dry wind chill to buffet her about, and the cool air was refreshing against her exposed cheeks, which had been flushed a deep rosy red on her pale skin.
She shut the door behind her gently, and, without turning back to look, set the deadbolt and the electronic lock on.
She tugged at her neck again.
Anxiety? Perhaps paranoia? Hmph. Both emotions were blended so thoroughly into her daily routine, she could no longer tell which motivated her more strongly now.
Then why are you doing this, now, if you're supposed to be so damn cautious?
Shino muttered to herself. "Because I need to, stupid. Why else…"
She checked her pockets, feeling around for her phone and her keycard in their usual places. Then she peered into the darkness, trying to make out anything out of place down there. In the darkness of her apartment's tiny yard.
Much as Tokyo liked to pride itself as a sterile and safe modern city, cities packed a whole lot of different people into a very small space. A lot could hide in all of those blind spots. Especially in an older neighborhood like Yushima.
By day the neighborhood's age gave it a quaint rustic charm that remind Shino more than a little of her home, but once the sun went down that "age" really let itself be known.
Well. If there was anything she could thank Endou for, Shino thought to herself, with no small amount of bitterness, it was reminding her that you could never be too careful.
Exactly like home, eh?
And yet, here you are. A lone teenage girl. Taking a nightly stroll in the city. You're barely fifty kilos soaking wet and a full head shorter than most men; it's like you're daring something to happen to you.
"And what am I supposed to do then, huh? Starve myself on virtual food in GGO and burn time until server maintenance or sleep takes me out?"
Normally she wouldn't be out past dark. Dark streets and blind corners did not mix well in her mind. But an empty fridge and a charcoal dinner meant that she had a choice of toughing it out for several hours, or go to the konbini while there was still light out for a quick bite.
In the end, hunger won out against fear.
"It's not even night yet. It's only 5 o'clock." Shino reassured herself. But already, she was beginning not to believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Just…just stop thinking about it, okay? Just go out and do it; you can worry about the details later."
"It's what «She» would say in this situation, anyway…"
…
Shino was already starting down the road when she realized she'd said that last part aloud.
But she did not break step.
She looked over her shoulder. Just as quickly, she shook her head, and kept walking, favoring the right side of the road and keeping to the same brisk pace she'd had since the day she learned that you could never be too cautious.
Watch the sides.
/
Watch the sides.
Akiko's hand twitched.
She twitched at the same time the thought and an NPC, who was moving too fast but just fast enough to avoid taking a bullet to the sternum, registered in her sleep-deprived mind.
That is what she chocked it up to: the sleep. Not complacency, but sleep had saved that man an early trip to the morgue.
He probably wouldn't be the first today.
That was something you forgot. 'Til you were actually down here.
Even when you knew the whole story, that old song and dance, it was somehow difficult to make the connection that this poverty-stricken maze of squalor and lawlessness was a part of the most powerful, post-apocalyptic city-state on the Peloponnese.
The clouded jewel in an ashen crown: Glocken's Low City was one of those unforgiving places where its people lived and died by their actions. Where everyone was simultaneously both predator and the ones the predators preyed upon. A place of short life and violent, often abrupt death.
A real concrete jungle.
But, jungle or no, no matter how dangerous this part of the city was—it was still a place populated by people. And Akiko had plenty of experience learning how to handle people.
To degrees, Akiko was naturally attuned to such work as this. It was what had led her to information brokering at the beginning of her VR career, in the first place. Back when she'd just been a mousy, nosy little thirteen year old girl, always pretending not to know any better.
When her primary weapons had not been any mere blade…but a simple notepad and pen, and the skills she once used to fill those pages.
Now, as she stalked down the dreary rundown streets of Glocken's Low City, she felt a little bit of the old rush coming back to her again. Like a hunter and her game, she found those old habits that once sustained her calling to her once more from the city's dusty cracked stones.
She strode noiselessly along the side of the street, shoulders dropped. Hands stuffed into her pockets. Moving quickly, past the dim blue signage of numerous dive bars, drug dens; briefly under the garish pink neon of some horrid establishment. Stopping only once at the corner for traffic.
She followed a tall wire fence that bulged with old paper fliers. The fence surrounded what looked to be a small basketball court. A ramshackle affair, with both hoop sets having been so worn down that they'd been refurbished by locals with some of the random scrap that clogged much of the city byroads. Broken cable poles and rusting pipe to the stands; plastic shopping crates for the hoops; vandalized street signs as backboards.
Even if life held little value here, little else was left to rot for long, Akiko saw. A single street lamp flickered above. No one was there.
She turned a corner, stepping widely around a puddle of oil as she went.
'Target just left the off-ramp and is approaching Checkpoint Alfa. Edge of the current Exclusion Zone. Turning down towards Bravo; will be on the main street «Hauptstrasse» shortly. Estimate arrival at six minutes.'
Akiko keyed her mic on and off, the brief burst of static acknowledging that she'd received Kibaou's message. Her pace quickened by a half-step.
This was really happening tonight…wasn't it? Akiko allowed herself a small half-smile.
This was going to be her first real operation in months.
No more sitting around on piles of surveillance notes. Or fussing over the fine details with her co-conspirators in a stuffy cafe in the Financial District. Finally, she was going to see one of her own works to fruition—personally.
Akiko hoped that she hadn't gotten too rusty in the interim. Been more than a few months since she'd done work like this, after all. And many a night of lost sleep. But…she doubted it.
"About bloomin' time that bastard decided to show his face," she murmured to herself. "Doesn't he know better than to keep a lady waiting? Hmph. What poor character our dear colonel has…"
…
All of a sudden, her radio sprang back to life. A sharp burst of static noise that seemed to ring inside her ears even after the transmission had cut itself out: 'Oi, Boss! Come in. Now, dammit!'
Akiko bit her tongue at the sudden audio spike, resisting the urge to rip the earpiece straight out. "Oh, fer FECK'S—!"
She keyed her mic.
"Kibaou, I already copied your last you dirty idiot!" Akiko hissed, struggling to keep her voice from rising above a hush. "And quit bloody yelling ya absolute arse clown, I can hear ya just fine. But this better be important; 'less ya see the man in the car is feckin' dead, I don' want ta hear—"
'Boss, you have a tail following. Over.'
—That was all he needed to say.
Akiko sighed heavily. "Yeah…yeah, that was…exactly what I didn't want to hear right now… … …"
She went back to her radio and turned the mic back on.
"Numbers. Direction."
No time wasted. 'Two personnel, one in a green jacket and the other a beige duster. Maintaining 50 meters distance to your direct 7 o'clock.'
Akiko didn't turn around. Passing a storefront display window, she glanced at the reflection in the glass.
…Yea. Definitely players. No bots she'd ever observed had the fashion style of 1980s action movie rejects.
"Anybody else? Observers? We've got the shadow, but not the rest of the vulture it belongs to."
'If there're more teams down there, then they're doin' a damned fine job 'bout avoiding detection from the two of us…But, I don't think that's the case here. I'm no spy, but watchin these two don't give me the same vibe I get from watching Red's goons do their thing. Like, they're unsure of themselves, or something.'
Akiko nodded. "I get what you're sayin." Watching them for a little longer, she breathed a sigh of relief. She withdrew her hand from the inside of her cloak. "So, we can scratch professionals off the list. But that still leaves us with two gormless punks breathing down my neck. The hell are they then?"
'Could be a Player Killer team. The «Safe Zone» effect is disabled in that district, right? No weapons visible on our two friends, but it's possible they're carrying concealed—.'
"Of course they're bloody carrying, you git. That's not even a question." Akiko snapped, more irritated about her failure to spot them than she actually was at Kibaou. "Only idiots and newbies would take an afternoon stroll in the Industrial District unarmed, so let's not waste time with the obvious shit. Anyway—whatever these two got, I don't think they intend to use it on me. They're not set up for that."
'An' what gives ya the idear?' Kibaou said. She could hear a few notes of resentment beginning to creep into his voice.
"Because they haven't tried to kill me yet," Akiko said, consciously softening her tone now. "And can't. If they intend to kill me, then they needed to draw their bubble in way tighter to get a clear shot off. Too far away, too crowded. I'm probably sitting on the edge of their effective range as it is."
Not like it mattered besides which, Akiko thought to herself. Unlike SAO, the worst someone could do by killing her in GGO was maybe annoy her, or put her off schedule by a few days. Not something she couldn't just work around, of course…though, it was still extra work she'd rather not have to do.
There was a pause.
'…You're really not that worried about them at all, are you?'
"No, not particularly." Akiko said flatly.
"They're brokers not spies. An' not particularly good ones at that, neither. Bloody Pacer's goon patrol back on «Floor 22» were more threatening than these saps. Probably one of those merchant guilds whose toes we stepped on hired these blokes to keep an eye on us to see what else we're doing in their backyard, and then cut costs by just hiring on whatever random bastards they could find with time to burn stalking a bunch of high schoolers."
She rubbed her hands together, trying to ward off the virtual cold.
But at least it was easy game this time around—that never used to happen before. Terribly inexperienced. She didn't need more than a cursory glance to know where they stood.
If the need arose, she'd be able to deal with them at her leisure…
Akiko adjusted something inside the cuff of her coat sleeve…lingered for a moment. She appeared to consider something for a second, clicked her tongue, then seemed to think better of it.
Kibaou asked, 'Think they'll be a problem?'
"Nah. All they can really do is watch and report on what they see. No more threatening than bystanders, really." She stuffed her hands back into her pockets.
Upon reaching the last street corner, Akiko smirked to herself. She stopped once again, once again took stock of her surroundings. She stared straight ahead, up at her target, at the thin silver ribbon of barbed wire lining the top of those tall, concrete walls.
"Heya, reckon they're in for a show tonight? Been a bit since I've been in the field, after all; could be rusty, make a few mistakes here and there. Be a bit of a shame if our new 'friends' came back empty handed, ya know?"
She could almost hear the eyeroll on the other end of the radio. 'Doing what you do best and I reckon it'll look a pretty boring show from ground level, Boss.'
Akiko chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. Here's hoping to that…Right lad! I think that's enough gabbing about for now. Ready for things to kick off?"
'When you are, Boss.'
/
Akiko swiped her hand to the side, dismissing the «public view window» from sight. Clear of the wall of charts and texts that had been set between her and the others, she looked on expectantly.
"…Aaand, that's pretty much the short of it. More or less, anyway. Any questions?"
The room remained as it was. Totally silent. Not a single person stirred from their spot.
Takao at his desk, busily tapping away at a private screen in his UI; Kibaou sprawled on the velvet mid-century sofa to the right, by the bookcase. Rosalia standing beside the door at the far end of the room, arms folded across her chest, with a look that was either a thoughtful glower or someone desperately trying to stay awake. A handful of her field officers, seated at the safehouse dining table, wearing the distinctive grey-on-green "uniform" of the WolfHounds.
And then there was her, a teenage girl holding conference with full grown adults. And getting jack all input out of any of them.
Fuck all, is this what it feels like to be one of my schoolteachers?
Akiko huffed. "Oi! Come on now, let's have it! I didn't drag your lot out here for the eye candy; if I wanted to listen to myself shout at a quiet room for 10 minutes, I would've stayed in bed under the covers at home…Rosalia!"
Akiko turned her attention to the scarlet haired woman, who tilted her head up at her name. "Rosalia, you know better than most here what's up. You've seen my notes, done your own work on this. What's your take on the situation?"
Rosalia. All the looks of a noblewoman, twice the venom, none of the scruples. Formerly the leader of a small-name «orange guild» from back when that sort of thing still mattered. A different avatar in this world…but, in the end, just the same.
Whether rich or poor, bandit or bard; whomever you asked after Rosalia, she would be either the last or the first person you suspected of foul play. And as was the mark of any good spy—that answer was always returned with neither the certainty nor the evidence to back it up.
Her elegant, coiled red hair and sharp, sultry features lent to her an air of nobility her companions sorely lacked, and she held herself up with a poise that belied a mountainous self-confidence more suited to an office building in Tokyo than a dingy apartment room.
With that same air of confidence about her, Rosalia maintained her grave silence. Not once did her gaze shift away from Akiko. In fact her expression didn't seem to change at all, and when she did speak, Rosalia said exactly what she wanted to say without a moment's hesitation:
"The whole thing is completely fucked. In 'my opinion,' if that makes you feel better."
—With precisely zero percent of the grace her looks afforded her.
Akiko didn't even have a response to that. She just huffed again, and glared at Rosalia.
"I have no clue what other answer you were expecting here." Rosalia said. "We're going up against an army of NPCs with equipment and weaponry equal to our own and in much greater numbers than us, not a bunch of throwaway mobs on a floor dungeon. We may as well be standing on top of their goddamn logistics line with how close we're operating to their HQ."
Rosalia pushed herself off the wall and strolled forward. Passing by the dining table, she nonchalantly scooped up a packet of cigarettes for herself, heedless of the glares being shot at her back as she tore open the cellophane.
"You want to hear my best case scenario, then?" Lighting one up for herself and taking a long drag on the paper stick, Rosalia threw the rest of the pack back on the table in front of its owner. "We can field maybe a couple hundred of our numbers from the main infantry body, if we do this near the holidays when everyone's off work. Another hundred or so if you want to risk compromising our other projects with non-essential intel and logi personnel. But our enemy? They have literally thousands of bodies to throw right back at us, and knocking them out as a threat is only the first part of this ridiculous plan of yours."
"Yes, that is true. We're also lugging around more concentrated firepower than at least a fifth of the city combined, and have the unmistakable advantage of not staying dead when we're 'killed'." Akiko rubbed the corners of her eyes with her forefingers. "Look—it's not like I'm asking we capture and hold half the city for even a single day here. It's just, ya know…breaking into a great big dirty fuck-off fortress, and assassinating the Head of Security of the most powerful, federally-sponsored security company in Greece and drawing the ire of every government body in, oh, a few thousand kilometers or so? Thereabouts?"
"Oh, no. I think we definitely heard you right the first time. I don't understand why we can't just wait for the armed dissidents to do it instead like a normal paramilitary group."
Akiko snapped. "Because I hate doing fuck all, and our current lack of funds means that we can do fuck all else until we fix this issue."
And Rosalia bit down on her lip, and it was clear that neither was going to budge from their position.
…
"Yoooo…" chimed the dark-haired lump of college student from the couch, rough voice shattering the silent standoff happening before him. "Much as I'd like ta agree with Red here this whole business is a right tidy waste of our talents, I can't really argue that our coffers've seen better days, neither."
The two women turned towards the speaker.
Kibaou. Hmph. Akiko had nearly forgot he was there; she thought he'd still been asleep this whole time, he was so quiet.
No longer the orange-haired goblin she knew from the ALF, and a dangerous mind regardless of the circumstances. His avatar was slimmer than his previous stout build in SAO, closer to what the typical Japanese physique was, though it was only a cosmetic difference. A little bit taller, too, and sporting a head of spiky black hair.
A normal cut this time; not like his old cactus-like style.
From a distance, Akiko thought to herself, it looked almost like the bristling points of a threatened porcupine…
Still lying face down, Kibaou turned in place to look at the two. Akiko unconsciously braced herself for the sound of tearing upholstery.
"Yeah… Glocken has all the bells an' whistles of a Cyberpunk cityscape, sure 'nough. But it ain't like we've got all the feckin' time in the world to do this shit for. Know what I mean?" Kibaou now said, staring right at Rosalia. His black meeting her violet. "I mean… Do you have the time and patience ta play shadow broker wit' a bunch of patsies 'til Downtown explodes on her own? 'Cause we could try adjustin around to the idear, if ya feel so strongly about it."
A beat.
"No…No, I guess I don't," Rosalia said.
Taking another drag off her cigarette, Rosalia tapped her fingers against her hip, unconsciously keeping in-time with Takao's keystrokes. She was silent for a few moments more, then rolled her eyes. "Tch. I already have enough ops of my own to babysit around the Mediterranean. If the «Rat Girl» here wants to start shooting at SecFor a few months earlier, then good for her I guess."
A breath of relief. Akiko's didn't know if it was Kibaou's or her's, or even when she'd begun to hold her breath. But it was a relief all the same.
Akiko sniffed a little and said nothing. How ironic that he, of all people, should be the balanced party in this…
Kibaou nodded. "Fine. Fair 'nough."—Turning to Akiko—"So, Boss. Are you absolutely certain that we're prepared for a mission like this?"
"Being honest?" Akiko shook her head quickly, her brow furrowed in a look of consternation. "No, absolutely not. Not with our numbers. We'd lose a tenth of our equipment in the first hour alone trying to take Zulu in a head on assault, and that's being nice and assuming our blocking teams can hold off reinforcements from Central long enough for us to make a breach. Like Rosalia said: they could crush us under sheer attrition alone."
Rosalia looked about ready to explode. "Then what the hell was the point of that whole fucking speech, huh!? What the hell were you talking all that hot shit for!"
"Now. I never said anything about fighting the blue jackets ourselves. Did I?" Akiko said, unperturbed. And with just the slightest bit of a smug grin. "That was an assumption you chaps made all on your own. No, no, I've got something a bit more…elegant in mind than simply knocking the doors down."
/
She heard them before she saw them.
The convoy tore around the corner with only the barest sign of slowing down, the powerful engines of their armored SUVs roaring under the strain. Black clouds of dust and grime kicked up all around, and it was clear to everyone who saw them that these men had come prepared for war.
Bystanders nearby hurried to get as far away as they could from the epicenter; others jeered at the cars as they stood in the street. All, nevertheless, were cowed by the sheer weight of firepower barreling down the road towards them at one-hundred-and-thirty kilometers an hour.
Pulling up to the fort and into the long driveway, the cars staggered to either side in a defensive formation as their heavy vehicles rumbled to a halt. There, the convoy idled for a while outside of their fortifications, illuminated under the glow of the arclight beams, which danced theatrically along the swiftly darkening streets below.
There was activity at the gate. The door to the right tower guard station swung open, and five men walked out toward the cars. One leading, flanked on either side by men wearing the signature dark navy blue uniform of Fullerton Security.
"Afternoon, colonel." Said the apparent leader of the party, opening the passenger door of the center car, himself dressed smartly in his pressed black uniform and maroon beret. "I trust the drive wasn't too eventful?"
A young man, he was. Hardly older than his early 30s. Clean shaven, with a sharp jawline and fierce blue eyes, an officer's pistol strapped to his belt in plain view. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a military recruitment poster, an intimidating cross between a Soviet commissar and a German naval officer.
A deep harumph. "About as eventful as a drive through Glocken is, Major," replied the man in the car as he stepped out to shake the Major's outstretched hand. He wasn't smiling.
If the Major simply looked the part, then this 'Colonel' character was quintessential military given physical form. Hard look, rough skin, weathered grey hair, and facial hair thick enough to deflect grenade shrapnel. His olive green uniform was neat, straight, and pressed free of creases, just like his subordinate's…but every movement he made was just that little bit too stiff. That little bit too awkward. As if this was his first time dressing for a formal setting in a very, very long time.
His torso was full of shiny new medals that twinkled that factory-polished twinkle when the spotlight hit them, and his puffed-up chest might have been because of personal pride over them or an imperfect attempt to compensate for their awkward weight.
It was obvious to everyone what had happened here. A dressed-up bulldog didn't make it any less a bulldog, and this particular bulldog was older and meaner than most. Although, given the circumstances…it might not have been totally uncalled for to stick enough metal on his chest to deflect pistol rounds.
He crinkled his nose. "God almighty, that smell…"
The eponymous Colonel himself—Colonel Matthias Rallis of the 10th Security Brigade Commission—reached into his breast pocket, and fished out a lighter and a cigar.
Old world style, by the looks of it. Thessalian make. Much different from the type Glocken produced.
"Smell of home, sir." The Major said with a friendly nod. "That smog is how you know you're back in Glocken."
The man favored his superior with an inviting smile, but the gesture was not returned. "Hmph. Sure it does."
The Colonel put his hands on his hips, the deep earthy smell of tobacco smoke adding to the city's as he took in the scene around him. "Gods, I miss the sea breeze smell of Corinthos already. Raiders be damned…"—Gesturing to the gate with his offhand and turning— "Not taking the vehicles in?"
A quick shake of the head. "Orders from the top, can't have anything come in before being checked. Some of the…locals, have been seen poking around the place lately, you see. Can't risk any, er, 'contraband' of theirs getting inside, you understand. Sorry about that."
He waved him off. "Ah, save it. It's not like a bit of walking killed anyone. If you want to worry about my health, you can start with keeping me from eating bullets out here."
He leaned down to grab his attache case from his seat and, with a perfunctory gesture, waved his 'escorts' along. Although by now, it seemed pretty clear who was the one doing the leading here.
"C'mon Major, this mess isn't going to unfuck itself on its own," and he stepped quickly into the gravel pathway.
"…Well, Major? I know I'm a handsome beast, but you're not a leggy brunette and my wife ain't dead yet. If you've got something you want to say to me then you're going to want to speak up instead of just standing there." He jerked his head to the side. "I can feel the insurgents glassing us right now."
A pause. "Nothing, sir…Nothing at all."
The Colonel saw the Major's eyes flick towards a spot behind him. However, as he turned to follow the younger man, he saw nothing there. Just the city and the phantom shimmer of lights in the fog.
"Now, if you would follow me this way…"
/
The metal door slammed shut behind them with an echoing thud. The whir of the automated bolt locks was followed shortly by the whir of the gatehouse outside as the first vehicle rolled into the «inspection area».
The two men spoke loudly to each other. About the fighting. About security. About The Company. Safely drowned out as they were between the snap of their boot heels and the groaning din of the fortress around them.
The guard stationed behind the front desk, a boy-faced lad with the telltale hurried energy of a fresh recruit, stood and saluted the group as they sauntered past, two abreast.
He didn't bother to ask them to check in their ID's.
Peering at the security monitor feed, he watched until the group reached the end of the hall, where they exited quietly on the other side.
"…Fuck me. They're really not screwing around with this riot crap, are they?" He murmured after a spell.
He sat down, glanced up at the clock before jotting down a quick note on their arrival time. He leaned back in his chair, the echoing creak of cheap, 20-credit plastic echoing out to the dark corners of the hallway.
There was a buzz next to his ear.
'Like hell it's a fucking riot, it's a full-blown rebellion out there. You been sleeping at that desk for the past month, Chrysostomo? We're—(HEY! Yeah, you, motherfucker! Fucking pay attention down there! Sweep the back, I don't want some shitlicking asshole's magnet bomb going off in here.)—we're buttoned-up in here because the locals out there want our goddamn heads on pikes, bro. S'why we've got so many of those new «Hoplitai» heavies stationed out here; this ain't a fucking holiday resort inn.'
"Rioters, rebels: what's the fucking difference?" Chrysostomo said, grabbing the radio mic clipped onto his shoulder pad. "Whatever they want to be called they're still trigger-happy assholes, same as always. The only difference I see is that now more of the city is on fire."
Alex looked through the bulletproof bay window, opposite his side of the hallway. Methodically but not slowly, a pair of soldiers were sweeping the van up and down for "contraband"—pipe bombs, bugs, trackers, networked transceivers: the works. Rounding the side of the vehicle towards him, Alex extended his index finger and thumb and pretended to fire at one of the men in the heavy suits. His "buddy" extended a single finger back at him pointed straight up towards the sky, then went to sweep the undercarriage.
'They're trigger-happy assholes with a cause, now. Big fucking difference, man; you'd be fucking amazed what kind of crazy shit a little bit of motivation can make.'
Alex rolled his eyes. "Quiet, you. You're making me think of the fucking Sarge back at Camp Lampeia," he said, wincing at the memory. "Fuuuck. I signed on so I wouldn't be stuck choosing between hell in the GDF and hell behind a desk job, and here I am stuck with the best of both worlds."
'Yea, and whose fucking fault is that do you think?' A pause. '—Yo, hold up a moment, sounds like they found something.' Alex watched as his friend appeared into view, leaning over the side of the balcony to shout something. There was a back and forth between him and one of the guys on the ground; then he saw him half-jog across the walkway, yelling and gesturing at someone just out of sight. 'I'm going down to take a look with Creon. I don't think it's anything, but you fucking watch yourself down there.'
"Yeah. Sure. Raise the alarm if I stop responding to the radio or you hear a faucet spraying. That probably means one of those fucking «Codex»…creepy… wannabe-techo-ninja thingies got in here and chopped my head off."
A snort. 'I actually meant I didn't want your pretty little face getting fucked up by glass shrapnel when this car bomb goes off, but sure. I'll make sure to do that.'
Alex laughed softly, and, taking the hint from his friend, flipped the switch to lower the blast plates on the bay window.
Just like that, with the radio line dead and his "guests" going about their business, his world became quiet again. The excitement had come and gone, and with it, his drive to do much more than sit around and wait until his shift was over.
He drummed his fingers on the desk.
Just another day at Zulu Compound.
He made to lean back to prop his feet up on the desk, when a thought occurred to him. He opened the drawer next to his feet and, moving aside the stuffed manila folders, started to thumb through the dusty black hardcover book, where he'd left off last time.
The whole compound was effectively under total lockdown while the Colonel was visiting. There was probably going to be a good several hours before his meeting with the Major was over. Discussing what, he neither cared nor wanted to know; he wasn't going to be paid for doing either. All he knew was that it was going to be absolutely ages before he was going to see another soul in this hall, so, until then, he figured he was just going to kick back and relax with some classic literature about that famous Etrurian knight, and—.
…!?
A noise. From the rooms behind him.
Alexander froze where he was.
Quietly, he shut his book and placed it gingerly on top his desk. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here except himself. The hallway to the right wing was just all barracks and office space; there was no reason for anyone to be there when the whole place was on high alert like this.
"…Hello?" He said, cautiously. He waited a beat, but there was no reply.
He kept his eyes locked on the doorway to his left, the one and only entrance into the video room. He thought about calling it in—his hand was already going up to his mic—but he hesitated.
He had no way of knowing if he was about to call a false alarm, since none of his cameras looked inside the rooms. And if there was an infiltration, what the hell were they going to accomplish in the "hardest" secured section of the compound? There was nothing vital there save perhaps for his own post, and the bulk of the compound's security was concentrated just outside in the courtyard and all along the walls. So unless empty beer cans and floor cleaning solution were suddenly considered "vital military provisions," there wasn't much they could do here.
Still…
Making sure not to make too much noise, he stood from his seat and began to back up slowly to the weapon's locker behind him. He looped his thumb in his key ring as he did so.
…Codex…
He stopped, paused a second, then he doubled back. He reached under his desk and unhooked his «Photon Scattergun». He pumped the slide on the shotgun-like weapon, checked the charge on the exposed battery pack, and, just as quietly as before, opened the door and peered around the corner into the hallway.
…
No movement. Hallway empty.
He stepped out, bringing his weapon up to his chest as he advanced. His heart rate was skyrocketing inside his chest.
Breathe. One…two…three…four…Hold. … … …Out. One…two…three…four… … …Breathe. One…two…
He did not know which took more effort. The effort of putting one foot in front of the other towards a threat he did not know even existed, or the effort of keeping himself from losing his cool right then and then. He was a damn office assistant with a gun, not a line trooper.
He came up to the first room on his left. His breath was heavy, though controlled. Barely.
He grabbed the handle and shoved the door open—with force. As the door swung in on its hinges, Alex immediately swung left into the room as he breached the doorway, sweeping down the room with his shotgun as he cleared the area.
THUD!
Clink!
"FUCK!"
Alex turned and sprinted out. That noise came from the next room over!
No time for a proper breach now; Alex dashed forward, slammed the door open with his shoulder, and raised his weapon to fire at—
…
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"What the hel—" Alex smacked his palm against the weapon light switch.
No way. There was no fucking way this room was empty.
Alex scanned, up and down, the whole room from the doorway, but it was to no avail. There wasn't a damn thing here.
Just as he was about to take a step into the room for a more thorough search, Alex's radio crackled back on.
'Chrysostomo! Hey! You motherfucker—answer the goddamn radio, you little shit.'
Alex swallowed. The adrenaline rush had made his throat go dry.
His weapon still leveled, he reached up and keyed the mic with his offhand. "Y-yeah?" He said, in the most normal voice he could manage.
'Fucking finally! The fuck are you? I was knocking on the window for the past two minutes. I was about to radio in a squad to either rescue your dumb ass or to shoot you dead for doing stupid shit.'
"Sorry about that, bud. I…went to use the toilet for a moment—"
'Yeah, whatever, don't give a shit. Just get your ass back here, we can't open the doors until you raise the blast shields.'
Alex looked around the room one last time, but still, there was nothing. "Yeah…yeah, I'll get right on that." He turned to leave.
…?
His light reflected off something. He went over to it, and stooped down to pick the object up.
… … …
A can. A fucking aluminum can.
Next to it, a pile of books that had fallen with the can when it was knocked from the top of the filing cabinet. Over there, a 12-pack's worth of the stuff haphazardly thrown together in a pile with an empty cardboard box.
Chrys crumpled the empty drink container in his hand and tossed it across the room with an oddly disheartened huff.
"Fucking Lukas and his energy drinks…" he murmured to himself. "Sonofabitch better get his shit together, or I swear I'm gonna strangle that guy next time I see his stupid ass…"
He stood, flicked the safety back on his weapon, and turned to walk out the door.
The door locked behind him with a definitive metal click. The room was bathed in darkness. The click of his boot heels faded gradually into the distance, slowly, slowly…
…
One…two…three…four…five… … …
Akiko slowly began to lower her hand to her side, eyes still locked on the backside of the doorway. The green «Prediction Circle» pulsed erratically in her vision along with her heartbeat, which beat like a wardrum inside of her head.
"Haa…Haaaaa…"
Too close. That was way, way too damn close. She could feel her heart sticking inside of her throat.
Shakily, Akiko reholstered her suppressed 32-caliber Beretta pistol. She let out a long, deep breath of relief.
Not her cleanest performance ever…but, she was still alive. A damn lucky bitch, to be certain, but you had to be alive to be lucky.
She whispered into her throat mic. "Kibaou…I'm in."
'What happened down there. You took a bit to report back.' This time, Akiko could appreciate the hint of worry in his voice.
"Fucking decloak noise…louder than I thought it would be…need to be more careful next time."
'…Roger, copy that,' Kibaou said, deciding not to press the matter further. A pause. 'Not too many mistakes, eh Boss?'
"Oh, stuff it, won't you."
Dammit all. What she wouldn't give for another cup of coffee right about now.
When she was certain that he wouldn't be coming back, the silver-haired spy left her little alcove and made for the window at the far side of the room, being careful not to trip over anything on the floor that could make noise. That little "can incident" back there was a major feat of dumb luck, and not one she felt like repeating any time soon. She had to find a way to cross the courtyard, sooner rather than later.
First things first, though.
"Right-side gatehouse, looking into the courtyard. Start pos: approx 18 meters east following along the wall," Akiko rattled off, as she quietly clambered up the steel office desk to peer through the basement-type window. "Talk to me."
'Kay. Let's see what we've got to work with,' Kibaou's voice rang through the speaker with faux cheer. 'Gimme a sec here; doing this in the fekking dark is a bit killer on the senses… Okay. Got eyes on eight rifles on ground-level patrolling the hedgerow in that sector. Two of em real close to you. One by the roadside, one direct ahead behind a shrub. No overwatch; all guards on the wall facing exterior, but continue to advise avoiding the spotlights.
'—Aaaand yer going out a floor window, I assume?' he continued on.
Akiko answered in the affirmative.
'Unn… I see.' After a slightly too-long pause: 'Alright, got an idea to get you out of there. But we've got only one shot at this so I need ya to listen close. Ya with me?'
Akiko undid the latch on the window. All at once, like breaking the seal on a container, she was hit in the face with a strong blast of cold wind and rank air as the window swung down open for her.
"Copy. Go ahead," she said.
'Alright, I want you to keep an eye towards the gatehouse. Doesn't matter what direction you go when you break cover, just make sure you know exactly where the truck is as you move. All eyes and ears are going to be on that great dirty coffin box when it rolls out, so keep pace with it to mask your approach. Engine sounds should muffle your steps.'
Akiko felt the whole building shudder with a body-tingling buzz. Raised by the swinging of the rear gate, a remorseless grey cloud of dust and dirt peppered the drab grey environment in a haze of pollution, which seemed to blot out the spotlights in diffuse, smoggy clouds.
Akiko pulled her hood down over her eyes against the swirl of debris. She gripped the edges of the window panel, anchored her boot against the wall; began to lift her slightly-too-small avatar's frame from the desktop.
'Move on my mark.'
A/N: This is actually only a portion of a much longer draft I have of the prologue and first chapter.
I had originally intended for this to be released along with at least a handful of other chapters by the time New Years and the Holidays rolled around. However, the realities of real world responsibilities and just straight-up having a lot of other hobbies to attend to has...in few words, "somewhat hampered" progress on this story.
For now, this is just a placeholder to see how the response and activity is, and until I can get a more substantial level of content on standby. This file will be deleted and resubmitted with a more proper title and summary once I have more work done.
...And admittedly, this is also because I've been sitting on this goddamn thing for far too long, I feel, and I just want to put at least part of this thing out into the wild at some point.
Fair warning: there will be no set update or release schedule or anything of the like. Period. This is just one of my many hobbies, and while I may have had some quite lofty aspirations in my youth, the pragmatic realities of the world dictates that this can only be at best sporadically updated, based on a combination of luck, circumstance, and if the stars align in my favor.
There was supposed to be a different "author's note" in this section..but, I feel that message would be more appropriate for a proper debut. So, for now, I guess you can consider this a preview.
•Hopefully next time, you'll be looking at a LOT more content on standby than what's here alone.
—Mr. California
/
Footnotes:
(^1) 2i/c: Shorthand for "second-in-command." I use the abbreviation here instead of the full term since I figure it'd be in-character for a former info broker, a person who handles and sifts through a lot of raw information, to favor shorthand and abbreviations and jargon for expediency.