Well, first and foremost, I'd like to thank you for taking an interest in this (honestly pretty bizarre) story of mine. If you've ever read any of my other fics on here, you'd know that my specialties are rarepairs and ridiculous AUs. This story is no exception.

There are a couple of OCs in this fic, just to bear in mind, but they're part of the setting more than anything else and they don't really take centre stage.

Anyway, I won't tell you anything else about the story, lest there be spoilers. Just bear with me; this is one hell of a wild AU.

Oh, and a quick heads-up; the story so far is fairly tame in terms of its content, but that may of course change in later chapters. Smut, character death and non-con are all possibilities for the future, folks.

Feel free to drop a comment to let you know what I thought. I'm always eager to hear constructive criticism.~

With that being said, I'll shut up, so enjoy!

Stay hopeful~

-Le Fez-Wearing Husky

chapter_one/spliced_beginnings

[access:archive_14/suzume_kamukura/entry_01]

This world is hopeless.

It doesn't even try to hide it.

Ultimates and Reserves… The talented and the talentless… the rulers and their subjects. Or rather, the scientists and their lab rats.

It's your typical cliche dystopia. The strong take advantage of the weak, etcetera, etcetera. Everyone's heard it before.

As long as such a duality exists, there is no hope for progress; for, as advanced as we Ultimates are, the core functioning of our society is dependent on Reserves.

It's pathetic, don't you agree?

And that's why I'm going to change it.

That's why, as an Ultimate, it is my sole responsibility to change it.

But, regardless. None of the higher-ups suspect a thing. And our first subject is developing nicely.

I'm anxious to meet him, but it would be reckless to rush things at this stage.

We have nicknamed him "Izuru". It's a rather more hopeful name than GMRS-001, don't you think?

...Izuru is also my cat's name, but I don't suppose you really need to know that...

...Ah.

There I go again. Talking to computers as if they're humans.

I can't exactly be blamed when their performance is *this* convincing, though, can I?

Well, ultimately all of us are just piles of code. That is our true form.

Abstract notions like humanity are illusions. We must prove that to the world.

But humans will only listen if they are presented with some sort of godlike authority. It's pitiful… the majority of the human race even lack the simple capacity to think for themselves.

Therefore we must create a being that is perfectly inhuman. A god born from humans… now that would be a true symbol of hope for our species.

And what then? Well, indeed.

That is something we should all consider.

The gusty zephyrs stirred out a mournful elegy as they scattered detritus against the rotting brickwork.

Technology from ages past gathered at a funeral for the departed future of the town. Clustering and coalescing, they mourned for their past selves, their unbroken wholes, their futures.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu shivered in the dead winds of the phantom town. Of course, he shivered internally; concealing weakness was a yakuza's second nature. Without his nonchalant facade, he could easily die.

Not that anyone could touch him in his current position. But, as heir to the most powerful yakuza clan in the country, one could never be too careful.

Fuyuhiko flicked his tongue off the top of his mouth and glanced at his watch impatiently. He was somewhat used to tardiness amongst dealers; at the best of times, they were lazy and narcissistic, always trying to put one over, even when they knew their customer was a fucking yakuza. It seemed they were incapable of learning that fact.

Then again, they were but mere Reserves, so stupidity was to be expected.

But that notion didn't suppress Fuyuhiko's urge to separate a fair few fingers from the hand that brought him the goods. Go on and try injecting yourself without any thumbs, pigshit.

Then again, this was a dealer who - despite his inexcusable tardiness - had shown unflinching loyalty to the Kuzuryuu family through the years. If he were to lose him as a contact, Fuyuhiko could be certain to be the next one to lose fingers as soon as he arrived home.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Fuyuhiko felt the air suddenly shift around him. He turned, just in time to see a slouched figure wade out of the detritus.

He was obviously high, with pupils of an almost comical size, sunken cheeks and ragged eyebrows. His unruly hair was jammed underneath a faded headband and splattered with various fluids that Fuyuhiko could not distinguish by sight alone. The man was a shell. A pseudo-human. A being rejected by nature.

A Reserve.

Fuyuhiko felt the usual grimace stretch across his features. "I'm not playing with you this time, bastard. I'm sick of this fucking slapstick routine. So just tell me straight and name your price," he spat.

The man's face broke into a humourless grin. "'Kay, okay, sonny. Better keep your eyepatch on, ey? You get me the doosh and you get the goosh. Jus' take care o' mah little snaps, will ya? They's hand-picked."

Just being around the man made Fuyuhiko want to regurgitate his breakfast. "Fine, bastard. I haven't got all day, y'know?"

"His Excellency has spoken," the man chuckled derisively. "Well, it's th' usual rate; 300,000 digits a snapbag. No more, no less." He held up a crumpled paper bag that was more faded and stained than his headband. "I even snuck in a couple cookies for the little prince - free of charge, 'course."

"Don't patronise me." Fuyuhiko's gravelly tone contradicted his broiling emotions. Cookies?! Where did he even hear about that? It had been a lifetime struggle for him to keep the fact of his sweet tooth a secret.

Ignoring the dealer's off-putting cackle, Fuyuhiko pressed his right thumb against the palm of his left hand. The device embedded within immediately flared to life in a series of technicolour holograms.

The yakuza heir deftly manipulated the icons and the virtual keyboard until a prompt appeared, to which he immediately gave authorisation. He then closed the fingers of his left hand with brisk finality, causing the holograms to dissipate as though blown apart by the wind.

"It's done, you bastard. Now hand it over." Fuyuhiko held out his hand expectantly.

With slow and arrogant deliberation, the dealer placed the paper bag in Fuyuhiko's palm, his marbled grin showing each and every shade of decay.

After a quick check to ensure the bag's contents were genuine, Fuyuhiko gave the man one last, curt nod and made to turn around.

"Oh, wait there a minute, sonny. I jus' 'membered… there's a favour I wanted to ask of you."

Fuyuhiko's body tensed, his fingers tightening around the bag of drugs. "A favour?!" he spat, almost incredulous. "Is it too much for your shitbag head to process that I might not have the time to fucking entertain you?!"

"Who said anythin' 'bout entertainment?" The dealer shrugged, a display of his typical ignorant nonchalance. "It won't cost you any o' your time, trust me."

"Why should I even listen to you? What am I supposed to get out of it?" Fuyuhiko demanded, never once shifting his gaze from the taller man.

The man cackled again. "Jus' a little ti'bit. Migh' be juicy for some, not for others. But I know you can use it. Migh' even bring your family back from the brink, ey?"

"The fuck are you talking about?!" Fuyuhiko spluttered. He can't possibly have heard of that… Unless, of course, one of Dad's bastard lackeys got drunk and blabbed.

"Jus' trus' me, sonny. After all, we's one an' the same, no?"

Fuyuhiko's frown tightened even further. "You and I are nothing alike. You're nothing but Reserve scum, and - "

"- You're an Ultimate," the dealer finished. "Or so your dee-'n'-ay says. But we're both livin' in a diff'rent world, ain't we? I'm a Reserve, so they's say it's mah destiny to drop out of society, tah have to break the law just to get by. But your family are all Ultimates. So what's it mean whe' an Ultimate breaks the law? By society's def'nition, he ain't an Ultimate no longer."

"Don't lump me in with you." Fuyuhiko spoke in an intimidating whisper. "Ultimate or not, I will always be above you, understand?!"

To the young yakuza's irritation, the dealer didn't seem in the least bit fazed. "Sure, say whatever you wan', sonny. Won' change the truth. But, anyways, you might wanna check ou' Mirai Inn. Bar over on the nice par' o' town. You migh' just ha'en to like what ya fin' there."

Before Fuyuhiko could reply to that, the man had already gone, melting back into the decaying filth that he had emerged from.

Fuyuhiko sighed irritably, glancing up at the rooftops above him. Beyond the railings to his left, a silent shadow stirred, crimson eyes blinking as a head turned. Despite what had just transpired, Fuyuhiko managed to smile.

"Let's go home, huh, Peko?"