(A/N) I don't like leaving Author's Notes in front of stories, but I felt the need to make an exception here. This story is about a school shooting, and there will be be some social commentary throughout its few chapters. It's utter and complete bullshit that people have to legitimately worry about their safety when going about their daily activities nowadays, and I personally blame the media for it. These people, most of them are just attention seekers, and plastering their names and pictures all over the place is giving them exactly what they want. The obsessive national news coverage of events like this is disgusting and horrifying.

Sorry if I somehow offended anybody with that. Just a bit of a touchy nerve for me. If you want to discuss anything I said, feel free to PM me. Enjoy the read, and hopefully, the President's speech tonight does something to improve the situation.

Boozeday Tuesday is an absolutely essential piece of the college experience. It's the quintessential stress reliever, a break from the brutal double whammy of college coursework and chaotic weekend frat parties. The concept is incredibly simple; acquire whatever intoxicating chemicals the group desires, head to the dorm/apartment with the biggest TV, and binge on cooperative video games until the wee hours of the morning. Just you and your tightest friends, basking in the childish nostalgia of drunkenly playing classic video games together.

Kazuto Kirigaya knew, from previous life-altering experiences, just how important the occasional break was. Most of his close friends were girls, and while he cared for them deeply, he needed some bro time on occasion. There were only so many times he could tune out the shopping stories and period talk. So, every Tuesday night since he first started his freshman year, his old friends, who very much prided themselves on their manliness, would come to his dorm with alcohol and video games. They even built their schedules around it, with Kazuto leaving his Wednesday mornings class free and the others altering their work schedules to avoid hungover opening shifts.

This Tuesday night, in particular, had been a classic among classics. Klein had shown up with his old Nintendo Wii, and Agil brought the usual case of beer, along with the cheapest, shittiest fifth of vodka money could buy. Sure, Agil ran a bar, and could probably bring a much finer selection, but it was almost always the same. He insisted that nicer drinks would simply ruin the college experience that he so fondly remembered, and Klein didn't mind as long as it got him drunk.

The night started with the consensus Tuesday night favorite, Mario Kart Drunk Driving, sometimes fondly referred to (on purpose or otherwise) as Kario Mart. The rules were simple. Finish your beer before you finish the race, and you can't tough the controller while drinking. They all started with complex strategies, drinking during long jumps and Bullet Bills at tactically sound intervals, but, as usual, it quickly devolved to everybody chugging their beer at the start and drunkenly playing catch up for the rest of the race.

Ten races (and many creative curse words) later, the case was emptied, and they moved to another favorite, this time on an old, dusty Xbox 360 that Kazuto had found in his grandma's attic. Apparently his mom used to play it. They booted it up and loaded up Star Wars: Battlefront II, and deliriously enjoyed the onslaught of vodka, lasers, and force choking that followed.

The drinking game, an oft-bragged about creation by Klein, usually didn't last long, as it involved consuming copious amounts of vodka, but their livers seemed to be particularly efficient tonight. When Kazuto very drunkenly made his way to his bed, the clock on his bedside table (all too brightly) showed that they were almost a sixth of the way through their Wednesday. Kazuto couldn't help but smile at that fact, and he chugged some water before falling asleep, genuinely content.

Kazuto awoke sharply to what he could only describe as loud noises. He hazily looked over at the couch, where Klein was in the process of pulling a pillow over his head. Agil, who was sprawled out on the floor thanks to Klein's Kario Mart victory, simply groaned. The noises continued on, forcing the three into hazy, hungover consciousness, until their foggy brains finally processed what the noise was. Suddenly, they weren't so hungover.

It was screaming. Terrified screaming, and lots of it.

As the realization hit home, images began to flood Kazuto's head. He saw the terrifuing first floor boss battle. He watched his first guild die as he stood there, helpless. He could only…

A sudden sharp pain on his face snapped him out of it. He looked up to see Klein gingerly shaking his hand, muttering about how damn hard Kazuto's head was. Kazuto silently thanked him for the much needed slap, and got out of bed.

Agil decided to take charge. "How can we find out what's going on? Who knows, it could be prank or something."

Kazuto thought for a moment. Assuming that the screaming started when they woke up, it probably wouldn't be on the news yet. If it was even a newsworthy story, that is. Maybe Asuna would know what was going on. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but instinctively groaned. It was 11:30, and Asuna would be in class…

Wait. What if she was in danger? What if her screams were among… No. He forced himself to take a deep breath. For all he knew, Agil was right, and this was some annoying prank or shitty fraternity rush event. Yik Yak would know. Yik Yak always knew. He scrolled through his phone's app list, skimming through the three dimensional projected images, until he found the notorious green logo. You would never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, but the info was usually good, if you could sort through any added bias.

One glance at the recent posts and he got the answer he wanted. Or, well, that he didn't want. Emotions began to flood his brain. Fear. Worry. The classroom building that his girlfriend was in was under some kind of attack. He dropped his phone, freezing up in shock. But the familiar feeling of adrenaline to pounding its way through his body flipped a switch in his head. He was no longer Kazuto Kirigaya, the quiet, nerdy college student. He was now Kirito, a battle-hardened hero, with two long years of combat experience. He ran over to his closet and nearly ripped off the door, throwing dirty clothes and old shoes out of the way as he climbed atop the mini dresser that Midori had bought him. He pushed one of the roof tiles up and felt around with his hand. After a few panicked seconds, he found what he was looking for. The feel of the hardened fake leather of the re-purposed saxophone case took a huge weight off his shoulder, even though he had just checked for its presence the day before. He had what he needed.

Ever since he'd beaten Sword Art Online, Kazuto suffered from PTSD-fueled nightmares. Every night, he'd jolt awake, covered in sweat with adrenaline surging through his veins, ready to continue whatever losing battle his brain had decided to revisit that night. He saw therapist after therapist, tried medication, and even tried to just quit sleeping. But it was a simple coffee shop encounter, a 20 minute conversation with a stranger, that finally relieved him of his hellish nightmares.

Kirito had been sitting at a table, trying to control his jittery hands enough to down another much-needed cup of coffee, when a large, somewhat old man approached his table. Kirito did his best to fight off the urge to fight or flee as the man asked whether he would mid some company. Kirito knew that he was overreacting, that this man did not really pose a threat, but his sleep deprived brain couldn't quite control his body when his old SAO instincts kicked in. Still, he somehow managed to shake his head, and the man took a seat. He took a sip of his steaming coffee, and gave Kirito a once-over.

"Kid, you're in a Starbucks, not a war zone. Calm down." The man chuckled as Kirito's face blanched. "I don't know what hell a shrimp like you could've gone through, but you've clearly been there. You're eyes are just like mine."

"Uh, what do you mean, sir?"

"I'm going to tell you some stuff that you already know. This building has three exits, four if you feel like taking some shard of glass with you through that front window. I walked up to you with a limp in my left leg, and you already have about a dozen ideas of how you could use that to your advantage in a fight. You're sitting in the single most tactical spot in this café, your back to two walls and a view of all possible entrances and exists to the room." Kirito nodded, intrigued as to how this guy knew that. "Kid, those are the eyes of a warrior, a tired one, and we've both got 'em."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you look like you haven't slept in months, and I know how that feels." That wasn't really far from the truth. Kirito couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep. "Nightmares?" Kirito nodded. "Tell me about them." And Kirito did. He told the man about SAO, about Asuna, about Alfheim. He told him the friends lost, the survivor's guilt, and the lives taken. Sure, it felt good to talk, but Kirito knew that it wouldn't solve his issues. He'd vented to plenty of shrinks before.

To the man's credit, he was a very good listener, asking a few questions but never prying for too much information. When Kirito finished talking, the man took a long swig from his coffee.

"A long time ago, I was a soldier. A sniper, actually. I could go on all day with horror stories, and I'm sure I have, just like you could, too." He paused for a moment, surely fighting off the memory of some of those horrors. "When I was at war, I seemed to be one of the few who had a handle on it. I slept relatively well, did my best to keep the mood light, and made a ton of tea fans in my company." He smiled with the last one. "But soon, an eventuality when it comes to war, something happened. My brother, little brother, he was… He was under my command, and he didn't make it back from a mission that I had lead."

"I think that it was God's punishment. I did take his job, controlling fates with the flick of a finger." He imitated the pulling of a trigger. "I ended up quitting the military, and I swore myself a quiet life of peace and pacifism. I told myself that, every day, and yet every night, my mind returned to the war. My few friends became worried. One, a former soldier too, invited me over. He had a wonderful family, a beautiful wife and an adorable daughter, with the white picket fence and everything else that I wanted. Like me, he'd sworn himself to pacifism, to try to atone for the sins of war."

"I'd always been restless, and the PTSD didn't help. I ended up roaming his house, exploring, when I found an old, war-torn trench knife. Why did a pacifist have such a weapon? My sleep-deprived brain could only come up with one answer. My friend must've been suicidal. I got angry. This guy seemingly had it all, and yet he would give it all away, just like that? I confronted him about it."

"He vehemently denied my accusations, nearly laughing in my face. He said that he simply couldn't sleep without it. He said that, like it or not, one's weapon becomes part of its wielder. At war, you carry a weapon every day, you clean it, care for it, and in return, it cares for you. It saves your life."

Kirito thought about that for a moment. "You're talking about a gun like its part of your family."

"You're exactly right. Tell me something, do you have trouble sleeping when you're around this Asuna that you kept mentioning?"

Kirito shook his head. They were rarely afforded the opportunity, and the rare nights that they shared were restless for other reasons, but they always slept well when in each other's arms.

"You love her, just like you love your swords. I ended up following my friend's lead, and through some old connections, I managed to find my old, now retired sniper rifle. It was an M40A3, and I take care of it every day, just like it did for me. And when it's in my house, I sleep much more soundly."

Kirito was beginning to think that this guy was crazy. "You're beginning to sound like a gun-obsessed American hick."

The man couldn't help but laugh at that. "When said like that, you're not wrong. But you're close to seeing my point. I treat my gun like a warrior would treat their gun, because, despite my most vehement swears, I am still a warrior. A person like us, who's been through what we have, can never shake free of that. I believe that it is not the weapon itself that allows me to sleep, but what the weapon symbolizes."

"What does it symbolize?"

"Ah, that is the question most worth answering. It is a sign that, no matter what I do, I will always be a warrior. Life happens whether you make it or not, and I spent a decent chunk of my life ending others. And being a warrior is not a bad thing. After all, a warrior is capable of protecting those precious to it."

A dark question popped into Kirito's head, and despite his best efforts, it showed on his face.

"Kid, if you have a question, ask it. I wouldn't be having this conversation with you if I wasn't willing to dig a little deep."

Kirito gulped. "When you were at war, you were a warrior, right? And if warriors are only warriors so they can protect the ones they care about, then why…"

"Then why did my brother die? I ask myself that question almost every day. My belief is that, like you said, a warrior fights to protect those he cares for. And that war… we weren't fighting to protect anyone. It was a war of deception, of terror, and few of us even knew why we were killing. I killed because I was ordered to kill, and because I didn't want to die. Those are not the acts of a warrior. No, those are the acts of a soldier. The symptoms are the same, but the soul of a warrior is not as troubled as that of a soldier, for a warrior fights an undeniably just battle. Losing my brother, it was the justice that destiny delivered to me." The man seemed to be fighting off tears as he finished speaking.

"I'm sorry! I didn't…" The man held up his hand and shook his head, his eyes telling Kirito to halt his apology. The quiet chatter of the café around them became suddenly prevalent as Kirito thought about what had been said.

After a while, he gave a hint of a smile. "I think that this will actually help me. But I still don't get it. Why waste your time talking to me?"

The man smiled as he got up from the table. "Sometimes, the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else. Besides, having some coffee with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true delights. Although, to be honest, I much prefer tea." With that, the man left, and Kirito pondered his words.

After a long while, Kazuto took a long swig of his now-cold coffee and left the coffee shop, fresh ideas bouncing like electrons through his head.

Kirito carefully opened the case, and carefully removed its heavily wrapped cargo, gently placing it on his bed. He removed the soft cloth, blinking away the last of the haziness of his hangover. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but smirk as he strapped the two sheathed blades onto his back. Yes, the blades helped him relax and sleep, but there was something else too. See, Kirito wasn't exactly like the man that he'd spoken with that day, years ago. No, Kirito loved to fight.

According to Yik Yak, the screams were coming from the school building directly next to his apartment tower. Asuna was in a room on the third floor, if he recalled correctly. As he was trying to form a plan, a new sound echoed through his eardrums.

Gunshots.

Nope, not there was no time for a plan. He had to move, now. He tore open to door leading to the hallway, but his progress was quickly halted by a hand grabbing the hood of his hoodie.

"Now, now, trying be the hero again, Kirito? Let the little guys get some of the spotlight."

Kirito turned around to see his friends, now fully armed, smirking at him. He raised his eyebrow, looking at their swords.

Agil patted his sword. "You love telling that stupid story about the old man in the café, but he had a point. We both keep our swords in our cars, so they're always with us. We ran downstairs to get them when we saw your phone."

Klein tossed Kirito said phone. "It's got a fresh crack in it now from you dropping it."

Kirito wanted to argue, to tell them to stay behind, stay safe, but he knew that it would be a futile effort. "I have an idea. We need to get to the roof. Follow me." With that, Kirito took off sprinting down the hallway. The bastards had picked the wrong school to fuck with.

Klein pouted, muttering about the lack of a thank you, but they took off after their friend, eager to pay back the debt that they all owed Kirito after SAO. He had saved them all, and this time, he didn't need to do it alone.

(A/N) This was initially going to be a one shot, but I decided to split it up. It'll probably be 2 or 3 chapters, and I'm writing this story as stress-relief for finals, so chapter 2 will probably be up in the next few days. There's a lot of little references here and there throughout the chapter, and I'll give a cookie to anyone who can figure out who the old man is based off of.

I got the idea from the title of a joke fic posted a few days ago. There's pretty much no similarities between the two pieces but I'd just figured that I should mention it.

So, if it wasn't clear from reading this, I could really use a beta. If you're interested at all, PM me. I really don't care if you have much experience or not. Just the extra head would help exponentially.

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed! Be sure to lemme know what ya think in the reviews, and be proud that I went a whole AN without any sex puns. A rare feat indeed.

-theb3arjew