- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chapter 0: Grey World - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (i.e Idea Factory and its lawful associates). The original characters and plot are the property of Idea Factory and Compile Heart. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material, nor is he profiting from the aforementioned material by publishing the following piece(s) of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. If Idea Factory considers this work a violation of any copyright laws, please contact me through this platform. Furthermore, this fanfiction is also under protection of copyright laws and are not to be published on other platforms UNLESS given permission. I do not condone plagiarism as it is highly detrimental to the community and to the creative writing community at large. Thank you for your cooperation.)

"…I'm back."

The boy's weak voice resounded in the empty corridor. There was no one to greet him in the decrepit house. Seeing as though things were as quiet as usual, he pushed the old, rusted door open. The only sound he could hear in his apartment was the creaking sound of old gears grinding against rusty metal.

"…"

It wasn't a surprise for the young man. For seventeen years he has been living in the place with barely any outside contact. He has no need to.

Formally-dressed men would occasionally pay him a visit, but those were more of a courtesy-coated annoyance.

They come, they ask how he has been, whether he has been well, and then they go.

These days of solitary confinement were nothing he couldn't handle. The quiet days with nothingness and the even quieter nights in the orphanage had the boy used to loneliness.

The boy drifted slowly to the living room, his gaze empty, devoid of life. Life as an orphan wasn't the best thing to experience, not to mention he also had work to do.

The boy was part of an underground organization – the very same that ran the orphanage – his home. In return for shelter, he must offer his body, and become the power the organization holds.

The organization was part of Japan's shadow, existing to maintain the illusion of peace with their services. Stagnant economy and government corruption was not the only issue that Japan had to face. The stream may appear calm, but tides were brewing.

While his young counterparts in Japan are busy socializing and having fun, the boy would reap lives. He thrives in the darkest corners of the city – he has to. His less able friends back home needed him to stay happy, stay alive.

The boy knew what would happen if he tried to disobey. As with the norm with all secret societies – dissidents and insubordination were not tolerated. Executions – dubbed 'punishments' – would be issued at once.

The more grotesque ones – death by toxic gas, acid baths, and so on… were usually captured live on camera, sent to the others to warn them of what might happen should they fail to meet their masters' expectations.

The moonlight shroud projected a dispersed ray of light onto the wooden table, and a white envelope came into view. It seemed it was still early for him to go into bed: duty calls.

It read,

'Tonight, red flowers shall blossom on the pure white snow. In the Amagi inn, room 23. There you shall find a man whose sins have tainted Japan.

We shall enjoy your red performance afar. May the war gods be with you.

With Love,'

The unsigned letter sent a revolting sensation to his stomach.

The assassin had gotten sick at killing. He knew naught of what they did to deserve death, but he had to do it, nonetheless.

The faces of his victims, and their shrieks, pleas and cries of agony and fear all came back. He had to do the deed, and so he bore his deathly claws to his victims, time and again. Eat or be eaten; kill or be killed – that is the way of the world.

And then instead of their wailings, all he could remember was the sound of flesh against metal.

Stab, stab, stab, the shadowy blade cut through bone and muscle like it was cutting through thread. Soon, it was over. Red streams flowed, another target neutralized. His peculiar, black knife clad in a shade of crimson. The stench of death followed him wherever he went.

The boy couldn't help but shiver. He hastened his actions, swiftly changing into his assassination gear. His steps, much like his thoughts, were unstable, almost erratic.

The door creaked again. The house became empty. The hunt had begun.

The shadow moved like the wind under the night haze.

Having neither the time nor luxury to indulge in the mesmerizing looks of the ladies, the boy lurked and crawled his way to his target: a young noble in his early 20s.

Accompanying his target was a couple of burly men in black suits, covering every possible angle in a tight formation. He felt presence scattered throughout the area. In the bushes, the nearby forest, on the walls… were people in hiding, more than he could count.

Their mere presence was a clear indication of how prominent the dressed young man was. Apparently, he was the heir to a powerful political party.

But all of that was nothing of concern.

The boy knew he couldn't sneak in without getting caught; a snipe attempt would surely be foiled by the high walls around the perimeter, but he had something else up his sleeve.

'A real man only needs two tactics: One, frontal assault; Two, death by frontal assault.'

The boy did exactly just that. Stealth was not a necessity, so straight up attacking the inn was the only option. After all, the dead cannot speak. None alive means no intel leaked.

Of course, the enemy would not be unprepared. Every guard was armed with weapons of varying kinds. The ruffling of trees seemed to signify that there were eyes in the shadows, carefully scanning the area for its prey.

He dared not stay in the area for long. As soon as he felt the piercing gazes fade away, he leapt out, dashing towards the wall.

The slight scuffles he made in his haste had brought unwanted attention. Cursing at his mistake, the masked young man threw a piece of rock across the gates, hopefully diverting the guards' attention. Sure enough, he heard one or two of them moving to investigate.

'Now…what to do?' the boy thought.

The boy took out his short bow and took aim at the unsuspecting duo. Two quivers were all it takes to eliminate the curious men. The action had begun.

Four black figures appeared before him, spreading out under cover, unsuspecting. He felt the adrenaline rushing as he aimed and fired arrows at his enemies. One down, two down… bullets might be deadly, but arrows were more accurate.

The numbers began to dwindle, the rain of death showed no signs of stopping. The boy darted from plasters to trees, boulders to walls as the guards began to notice that something was amiss. Up and down and in and out they looked, to no avail. He was long out of their sight and into the unseen.

Swiftly, he stalked the scattered groups of men and snuck up behind. The smooth thrusting of his daggers quietly claimed one life. The other, delightfully unaware of the intrusion, would too join their comrades: A bountiful catch by the agile hunter.

Hilts and quivers were more than enough.

The blood-ridden trail led back to the entrance. By now, the noble, clearly in a panic, had ordered all of his underlings back into the perimeter, as shown by the faint, firearm-holding shadows on the paper walls of the inn – the wooden inn.

With a Molotov in hand, the hunter knew precisely what to do.

The relentless blaze ravaged the poor men inside. Soon, the smell of barbecued flesh smoldered the area, yet the hunter hadn't an appetite. The painful screams of the poor souls trapped inside were mixed with the grisly sight of the desperate human torches, clawing for fresh air. They were silenced with arrows to the throat before they could utter another word of help.

There was only one exit, and the hunter was patiently waiting there for prey. It was a good harvest.

He got what he came for, and so the killer retreated, leaving nothing but red blood, with a cackling bonfire as a bonus, in the snow, as was requested. The crimson flowers had blossomed marvelously that night, complementing the amber lanterns dangling silently in the empty ruins.

At least, that was what he thought.

With the sound of gunfire, the boy felt like the back of his head had gotten speared. He felt he was flying, but then he realized: it was his head that was flying.

As the boy is struggling to keep his eyelids open and his consciousness awake, images of his failed childhood came back to him. Days of harsh training and torture that makes death seem like bliss; nights of unending punishments that pushed him past the limits of the human body… they all came back to him, at once. It was beyond agonizing.

The boy wanted to cry, but tears just wouldn't come out. There was nowhere to run to, no arms to comfort him, no words to calm him.

His face finally touched the mushy snow. A big red flower blooms in the midst of the snowfield.

His story has ended, but another has just begun.

[GAME OVER]

[Restart at your last save point?]

Yes No

Return to title screen

Exit Game World

(MC)

The shock of being pierced through my skull stunned me, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit sick upon taking off my VR headset.

"Ugh… Motion sickness again? They really need to design a better VR system."

I could only groan in pain as I felt the urgent need to go to the bathroom. The new VR headset console system was a blast, but it also has lots of drawbacks. Prolonged use of the machine really messes up your brain and senses, so lots of hardcore users, like me, have to deal with the problem of being nauseated for a while after gaming.

Especially after playing 10 hours of 'Assassin's Last Stand: Do or Die', in a row. For some reason, I get sniped right after I finished the chapter mission. The problem is, it ain't my fault: People were complaining online about the invisible enemy. It wasn't a cinematic/story scene death either; which makes it all the more baffling.

"The backstory and the character setting is so bloody cliché. Seriously…tragic protagonists with special ninja powers? Plus, the devs are so damn hungry for cash that they are literally selling unfinished games… So much for consumerist approaches." I said, while yawning lazily.

What's with the backstory, anyways? Why do orphans, assassinations and teenagers seem like a Writing-For-Dummies starter bundle?

Normally I wouldn't even bat an eye to a triple-A game like this because they tend to be overhyped cash-grabs that gets boring 5 minutes in-game; but then again, I kind of ran out of things to play.

"SHUT UP! IT'S THREE IN THE MORNING!" a voice blared loudly from next floors, if it wasn't my friendly neighbor

*Sigh*

I am just an ordinary gaming NEET who skips school for a bit more game time.

What could I do? Return to normal student life? It's not as cheery and happy as those Gaijins think.

School might be a necessity in societal standards, but screw them; I could get whatever I need to learn online – why would I stick to the memorization-heavy education system?

I admit, I've got a meagre salary as a convenience clerk and a terrible school record – so what? Here in Japan, even honor students are stuck working to death trying to ascend the corporate ladder. Status and connections are ultimately what matters.

The world of games is better in every way.

Now then, what do I do?

It was – as the kind neighbor had suggested – three in the morning, if I were to head downstairs to grab a bite or turn on the stove to cook me some food, my parents would probably shank me from all the ruckus.

So basically, all I could do was to wait until morning arrives so I can grab some sandwiches in the convenience store… that, or sleep.

I believe the decision is apparent.

*Rumble* *Rumble*

Against the growls of my (deformed) stomach, I plopped on my bed.

I'll just 'look forward to tomorrow'.

(The next morning…)

What woke me up was not the blinding sunlight through the windows, but the violent headache jolting me back into reality. I sleepily crept out of bed and got prepared for the day.

The house was quiet, and probably empty. I looked downstairs, only to find the shoe rack much less occupied. They were long gone.

Served on the dining table was not a plate of homemade breakfast, nor some money for it, and certainly not a hand-written note, telling me not to starve myself – it was utterly nothing.

I didn't complain, or moan, or anything. If anything, it has become the norm of my life.

I suppose I shouldn't, anyways.

Now dressed and refreshed, I left the apartment to start work.

(At the convenience store)

"Welcome, may I help you?" I said, maintaining my fake smile at the cashier, as I carefully helped unload my customers' items.

Life as a cashier is not easy.

One has to: 1. Have a 'businessman's smile' (or so I've heard), or risk getting chewed out by the manager; 2. Be disgustingly polite, even by Japan's standards; 3. Stand up straight for ten hours straight while maintaining said smile.

The manager sure wasn't cutting me any slack, too.

In fact, that fat, sweaty middle-aged man made sure I did all the work.

"Kurogane-kun, please come and unpack all the cargo."

"Kurogane-kun, please put all the products up on the shelves."

"Kurogane-kun, please come to the closet. I am waiting for you."

"What? Closet?"

"Oh? I meant that you can have your lunch now. Oh, but please make it quick. Business is booming, you see."

It was thanks to him that I have to work my rear off for the whole day just to not starve.

I am not hesitant to label the working culture as legalized slavery.

People come and go, I stay. The sun comes and goes, I stay. Those are my days.

The sky turned dark as I served the last of my shift.

My replacement – the night-shift clerk – looked at me with desperate eyes. It was as if he's pleading for help. I only looked away as I took off the store uniform.

What? You want me to pick up your slack? No way, Jose.

In these days of cruel labor, one must conserve their own energy to survive in the workplace.

Slowly, I drifted back to my apartment. The lights were on and so was the television. Sounds of running water can be heard from the kitchen. They were home, at last.

"I'm back." I said, my voice dry and my steps sluggish.

No response.

Typical. I thought.

It was 8pm, and yet no meals were to be found.

I peered in the kitchen to find the woman washing dishes in the sinks. Meanwhile, the man was sitting at the couch watching the news. Apparently, dinner is self-served today.

I then took out my cup ramen and had them boiled. As the mouth-watering aroma drifted from within, I promptly retreated to my room upstairs. The couple remained oblivious, still absorbed in their own little world.

The problem is, my game supply ran dry long ago.

Owing to me spending the majority of my high school life in seclusion, the industry's video game collection has long been exhausted. Bullet hell, racing, fighting games, FPS, rhythm games, heck, even dating sims… I've played all of them, the good ones at least. Now, I'm simply stuck with these.

This is not good.

I, a professional social recluse, am running out of games to play.

But…

"There must be some sort of game that I haven't touched!"

My fingers hurriedly swept through the pile of games stacked next to my console system, with my eyes scrolling through my collection. And when I had gotten to the bottom, my heart sank.

No… no! Impossible!

If I don't have any games, what is there to live for? Before I realized it, I was sweating bullets. What do I do with my life? Do I even have a life?

As I was about to give up, a glimmer of hope appeared before my very eyes.

"…What's this?"

It was a game called 'Hyperdimension Neptunia: HDD VR'.

Oh, it's that game they were showing live.

I remember seeing this game being broadcasted in the annual Akihabara Game Convention last year.

At the time, I only watched a few gameplay scenes, but it left me a lasting impression, and it was appealing enough for me to make a purchase right away.

Although it seems I seemed to have completely forgotten about the whole thing since then.

To be frank, I was actually pretty excited about the, um, 'plot' at the time.

With an eagerness to experience the rich story content, I expectantly hopped straight onto bed and put the headset on…

"Argh! Crap!"

…only to knock the ramen cups over, pouring the contents on top of my console.

Excellent.

After spouting some more profanity as I wiped the drippy stuff off, I laid down on the bed, ready to play me some good games.

The urge to play got the better of me, and I swiftly let my consciousness fade into oblivion, into the virtual game world.

The faint black smoke coming out of the console gradually masked the room, and yet I didn't care.

The descent from reality to fantasy became slower than usual.