Delta puts the scope to her eyes, her irises burning a fierce vermillion. The blood in her veins jumps and pulses, yet the finger on the trigger is cast in stone. As she magnifies her target into sharp focus, she mentally traces the path of her quarry, and moves her weapon slightly to the right. Then, just before the figure's head appears in the crosshairs, she fires.
The empty cartridge is spewed from its chamber, clattering onto the concrete beside her feet. The tiniest of sparks burns into a blazing inferno, and the air within the barrel is sucked into an infinitesimal singularity, before exploding forcefully and sending the golden bullet rocketing out of the muzzle. The gleaming shell traces a deadly path through the air, homing in on its prey.
The target walks into the bullet, which strikes him square in the chest, piercing through binary flesh and hexadecimal bone.
It will hurt. It will feel as if his ribs have been torn open, laying bare his failing heart and lungs to the arid tarmac. It will bring him to his knees, and he will be ripped into infinitesimal pieces, before being blown away by the dusty wind.
But he will not truly die.
"Great shot," breathes a husky voice over the radio. "Was that two clicks away? That's crazy."
"Might've been," Delta replies nonchalantly. "That's their gatling down, so you should be safe. Move up to the tower – I'll cover you and look for their sniper."
"Got it."
The girl shifts her focus away and starts scanning the ochre horizon for aberrations. From her position, she can see the long road leading out into the center of the city, and the long array of buildings flanking it, but not too much else. Not the best of vantage points, but this is as good as it gets – more cynical players might be minded to think that this was the intention in the first place, to throw a spanner in the works of those snipers who deigned to camp out in one spot for the entire round, taking potshots from places of relative safety.
She pans towards her teammates, who, even with the magnification, look like ants scurrying through the abandoned district, shuttling towards the rusty spire that served as a watchtower in a bygone era. Now, the tower and the area around it is nothing but a hideout for bandits; a safehouse for vagabonds.
And, of course, the perfect spot for a deathmatch.
A speck of dirt floats into her vision. Her attention is briefly shifted, which proves to be a costly mistake.
A second speck appears. It is not dirt.
"Get down!" she hisses.
The frontmost of her teammates immediately crumples into a heap and bursts into bright shards, and the people who were following him dart behind a nearby barrier. Delta hurriedly aims the sniper at the black dot and lets off a shot. However, just as the round departs her barrel, the black dot disappears and the bullet strikes nothing but granite.
"Two blocks down, building to the left, third floor," she whispers. "But I think they're on the move."
"They might know where you are," mutters the guttural voice of her team leader. "Move to an adjacent building. There's a skywalk two floors down."
"Roger." She folds her tripod and slings her weapon onto her shoulder, scurrying out of the room. The corridors are littered with debris, and every step she makes sends a loud crunch reverberating through the halls, but she cannot trade even a modicum of caution for the safety of her team. Leaping down the stairwell, she finds herself facing the skywalk, whose windowed walls have been blown open, exposing its faded marble tiling to the elements. Crouching down, she sneaks across the walkway, taking care not to reveal her head above the concrete part of the wall.
The neighboring building is no less dilapidated than the last, a tapestry of cracked plaster and peeling paint. She hurriedly looks for a room with an opening facing the same direction as before. Finding what looks like an abandoned storage space, she hefts a table next to the window and props her sniper up on it.
"I'm in position," she says.
"We're in the ground floor of the building next to where Gamma was taken out. If you don't see them, get near our location. There's a building opposite us which overlooks the intersection. You'll get a better view of the rest of the map here."
"Copy." Delta considers her options as she peruses the landscape. The building where the enemy sniper was last seen is part of a complex of two interconnected former apartments, with several bridges linking them together. The nearest bridge to the third floor is the one on the seventh, so with any luck she will have made it just in time to see her adversary crossing it.
Sure enough, as she focuses on the lowest bridge, she sees a tiny stick poking out from below the bridge's windows, moving slowly to the left. She has seen that stick before – it is the barrel of one of the game's more popular sniper options.
She aims for the opaque segment of the bridge just below the protrusion and squeezes the trigger. Her bullet pierces through the wall and finds its mark hidden behind their supposed cover. The upright barrel splinters into a wash of light.
She allows herself a small smile. "Sniper dispatched," she proclaims triumphantly into her mike.
"Lovely. Now get your ass over here."
"Yessir."
Sneaking out of the building and onto the street, she traverses the desolate urban environs of this particular map. Vehicles from half a century ago are scattered around the road, broken monuments to an era that has long since passed them by. They are dirty, clunky things, a far cry from the sleek and sophisticated machines of the modern era, but she feels a strange pleasure in seeing their rustic, boxy forms. It is a strange sentiment, a nostalgia for a past that has never been hers.
Within minutes, she is in the first floor of the structure across the road from what remains of her team. Five started the match, but only three, including her, are left. Her team leader, a grizzled, lean-faced forty-something – or at least, that is how his avatar was made to look – peers over the counter they are hiding behind and gives her a thumbs up. She waves back.
"Without a sniper, they'll be forced to bring the fight to us," he says as he pulls up his player menu and stares at the rosters. "But they have an assault rifle, a double handgun, and a grenade launcher. We have a sniper, an SMG, and a single handgun. I'm not sure about our odds."
"Don't worry," says Epsilon, the single handgun in question. "I spent my points in a stun trap and some extra grenades. We have the firepower to match them."
"That won't do shit against the grenade launcher. If they have extra ammo, they don't need to show themselves. The grenade launcher can just rain hell on us from a mile away."
"I may have a plan," Delta interjects.
Their team leader sticks his head over the counter again and frowns. "What is it?"
"There's a big truck parked just outside this building. My guess is that the enemy team will be coming in from around where the sniper was, which means they'll make their way through the road perpendicular to the one we're on. Epsi, you put a stun trap on the side of the truck facing me, and once they appear, you throw the grenades at them and they'll duck for cover behind this truck. When that happens, you trigger the trap, and me and Alpha will finish them off."
"Sounds great. Hop to it, Epsi."
"On it." As she watches, Epsilon duly creeps out of his hiding spot and installs the trap on the truck's corrugated steel container. And not a moment too soon – just as he makes to return to Alpha's position, Delta sees movement in the corner of her eye.
"They're here," she whispers. "Get to cover, and throw the grenades at the intersection on my mark."
Epsilon ducks behind the closest barrier. Three shadows emerge from the murk, slinking around the obstacles, looking up and down at the nearby windows, clearly watching out for the sniper homing in on their location.
But it is not the sniper they should fear.
"Three… two… one… now!"
A cluster of small gray baubles sails through the air, landing at the figures' feet. As planned, they instantly duck behind the truck, bracing themselves for the grenades' impact from the apparent safety of the container's great shadow.
"Alpha, get ready! Epsi, the trap!"
As Epsilon pushes the button, Delta points her sniper down at the truck. At once, the world explodes into motion.
The trap comes to life, shooting bolts of blue electricity towards its targets, who fall to the floor in agony, suspended in painful paralysis. Alpha leaps over the counter and thuds towards the truck, his submachine gun locked, loaded and primed for battle. Epsilon joins him, and they round the corner to find their opponents exactly where they want them.
Within seconds, it is over. A red screen materializes into view, with the words "Victory" emblazoned in gold across its surface.
"Good stuff, Delta." Her team leader flashes her another thumbs up, and she returns the favor. She has seen this screen many times before, but she never grows tired of the feeling of satisfaction she gets from it. In a world where everything is safe and secure, adrenaline is a difficult thing to come by, but she has found a haven in which she can find herself in the most danger, and thus reap the most reward.
Just then, another popup appears.
"Oh, crap," she murmurs.
"What is it?" asks Alpha.
"My mom's calling. I have to go. Good game, guys."
"Alright, good game. See you in a bit." Alpha and Epsilon give her brisk salutes, and the last thing she sees as she disconnects is the sunset disappearing under the roof of the nearest structure, beckoning the arrival of night.
The girl pulled the chip reader away from her neck and stared up at the bland, gray ceiling in her bedroom.
Her bed lay unmade beside her desk. The posters on her wall, which depicted a variety of games and some old pictures of weapons, were on the verge of falling, but she did not feel the urge to tack them back on. The weather outside was clear, but the sun did not reach her windows. A few clothes were strewn on the floor, a regular source of complaint for her mother, who now stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
"Risa!" she said sternly. "We're going to your great-grandma's today. Did you forget?"
"No, I didn't," Risa replied, still not budging an inch. "I just had something to do."
"It's that game again, isn't it? You know what I think about games like that. If you want excitement, maybe you should pick up a sport or join a club, instead of coming home immediately after school. You spend hours every day in that chair." Her mother sighed. "Anyway, get dressed. We're leaving in ten minutes. And clean up your room."
Risa wanted to snap back. It didn't matter what her mother thought about it – all that mattered was what Risa wanted for herself. It was the only thing that gave her purpose, gave her drive. But the words lodged in her throat, and her mother closed the door behind her, leaving Risa in silence again.
Maybe if her mother would buy a cleaning robot, Risa mused, she wouldn't have to yell at Risa for not picking up her clothes. Her mother was incredibly old-school in that regard, and some of that had rubbed off on her. Even so, there was a limit to how backwards you could be in this day and age. Everyone she knew at school had a robot or two at home to do the chores or cook for them. Risa's household felt like the glaring exception.
Risa sighed and rubbed her neck, feeling the small indent on her vertebrae. The gap between the bones there no longer contained only flesh – there was now also a small implant, one that could read and control the electricity passing through the nerves that connected the head and the rest of the body. With the right stimulus, the implant could intercept the signals emitted from the brain and transfer the information into itself instead.
It was an innovation that was more commonly utilized as an ID chip and hands-free virtual wallet, amongst other uses, but it had also ushered in the advent of true full-dive virtual reality, and all the myriad possibilities that came with it. Including, of course, the game that she had just been playing: Bullet Dance, one of the most popular VR titles around since the turn of the 22nd century.
She put on the clothes that were nearest to her chair – a hoodie and jeans – and took a moment to glance at herself in her bedroom mirror. Her short black hair was a mess, as would be expected for one who sat in the same place for too long, and there were barely visible eyebags under her brown eyes. She would have to do something about that eventually.
When she headed downstairs, her mother was already waiting at the front door, yelling furiously at her holo-phone. "Call taxi to grandmother's house. Call taxi to grandmother's house. Call taxi… This stupid thing isn't working again," she groaned exasperatedly. "Risa, can you use your phone to call a ride from the city grid?"
"Sure." Risa lifted her wrist, around which was wrapped her own device, up to her mouth. "Call taxi to great-grandmother's house."
The holo-phone blinked and glowed green. "Taxi arriving in five minutes," said the robotic voice emanating from it.
"You need to calibrate the phone to your own voice once every month," Risa explained to her frustrated mother. "Otherwise it'll stop recognizing what you're saying."
"But I just did that yesterday…"
"Then maybe you should stop yelling at it for a change." Risa took one of the suitcases next to the open door and hurried outside before her mother could retort.
She and her mother lived in the ring of houses that marked the border between the inner city and suburbia. On a good day, it was possible to see the network of steel and glass spires that populated Tokyo's central business district, their monochromatic faces glinting as the sunlight pooled over the silver gossamer matting their surfaces. The center of the city itself unfortunately did not see much illumination, as the buildings crowded around it often served to blot out the sun, leaving those who lived within the concrete web in shadow. The best compromise for those who worked in the city was to live where Risa did now, just outside the city limits, where one could still walk around in the daytime without the use of streetlights.
Her holo-phone bleeped, and a car glided into view, powered by the electrical ground-pads that had been laid across every street in and around Tokyo. The doors to the taxi slid open, and Risa and her mother slotted the suitcases into the baggage compartment before easing themselves into the seats. It was a good thing the suitcases were empty, or they'd have a hard time lugging them around.
As the taxi began to move, Risa turned to her mother.
"You know, I wasn't sure when to ask this, or whether to ask this at all, but…" Risa paused. "Did great-grandma leave a will?"
Her mother shook her head. "Not that I know of. But the two of us were her last surviving family, so we ended up inheriting the whole estate. Anyway, once we've taken the things that we want to keep, the sale of the house can go ahead."
"Seems like a shame to sell it. I miss going to her place during the holidays."
"I know. Me too." Her mother gazed out of the window wistfully. "But we don't have the people to maintain two houses. This is for the best." She put an arm around Risa, who quietly leaned into her shoulder.
Before long, they had pulled up to the house, which was situated in a much less well-populated district, and was surrounded by trees and other similarly empty abodes. It was made of wood, unlike most of the brick and mortar that lined Risa's neighborhood, which lent it a certain unique, earthen charm in an era where homogeneity was the norm.
Her mother rummaged for the key in her pocket and unlocked the door, pushing the suitcases through. "This'll be the last time I ever use this key," she commented. "Risa, go to the bedroom and have a look – I'll check the living room."
Risa stepped into the main room, tugging one of the suitcases alongside her. At first glance, the furniture still seemed somewhat clean – at least, as clean as a place that hadn't been lived in for half a year could be. Each step sent plumes of dust flying into the air, and there were thin translucent films over the couch and dining table.
She remembered all the times she had come here, sitting on her great-grandmother's lap – or, after she had outgrown the lap, sitting beside her great-grandmother, watching television together, seeing them smile warmly as Risa talked about her week. Their family had dinner together on occasion, and they would sit at the dining table long after their meals were finished, enjoying each other's company late into the night.
To see the couch and dining table now empty, collecting dust, destined to be sold to some anonymous homeowner after the house was sold – or worse, simply discarded – inevitably brought a tinge of sorrow to Risa's heart. Small patches of mold were beginning to form on the wallpaper, and the floorboards, unused to her weight, creaked and crackled under her feet. It seemed as though following the death of its owner, the house itself had lost the will to live.
Moving through the corridor and into the master bedroom, she found a double bed – not fully used since her great-grandfather died a few decades ago – with the sheets neatly folded into a pile on the mattress. The place was otherwise mostly empty, save for a few pictures of her great-grandparents on the bedside drawer.
Her attention was soon drawn to one of the closets, which was slightly ajar. Opening it, the first thing that caught her eye was a small container sitting near the front of the wardrobe. Risa picked it up and carefully opened the lid.
Inside were a collection of photographs, though strangely none of them were of either of her grandparents – instead, the people depicted seemed slightly cartoonish, slightly uncanny in appearance, as though they were not actually human. Most of them were of a single person, a girl with short light blue hair who wore a green jacket and a white scarf around her neck. Occasionally, there was a person next to her, one with long, flowing black locks clad in a dark uniform to match his hair color. The last photo in the stack was of a group of people, including the blue-haired girl and her long-haired partner, all gathered around a table, smiling at the camera.
"Mysterious," she muttered. She put the container down and continued her search through the closet.
Most of the other items were relatively normal, though a frilly pink dress that was a few sizes too big for her great-grandmother caused an inevitable moment of confusion. At the back, though, was something that seemed completely out of place among the rest of the memorabilia.
It looked like a metal headband at first glance, but when Risa placed it over her head, she found that it did not sit properly atop her crown, instead falling over her forehead and covering her eyes. She could just about see through the tinted shield at the front of the headband. Taking it off, Risa turned it around and observed the manufacturer's label at the back.
"Amu… AmuSphere?"
The name rang a bell. It was an antique game console, one of the older precursors to their current virtual reality technology – an external sense-inhibitor instead of an internal one. She had never had the chance to look at one, but here it was in all its slender glory. A little piece of history, nestled in her great-grandmother's cabinet.
This would be worth keeping around. Maybe she could play around with it a bit when she went home.
She squeezed the console between her armpit and carried on rummaging through the other closets. But the rest were simply full of clothes – nothing anywhere near as interesting as the first one.
"Risa!" called her mother. "Come help me move the dining table."
"Got it!" Risa slipped the AmuSphere into her suitcase and made her way back out.
Once they had bid their last goodbyes to the house and returned to their own home, Risa fished out the things she had collected from her suitcase – which was now surprisingly full – including the box of pseudo-photographs she had discovered and the AmuSphere. There were some dog-eared game posters that she liked the look of, as well as a repertoire of music disks and other collectibles that could no longer be used, but she was mostly interested in the console and the photos. She tossed the AmuSphere in the air, catching it with her outstretched index finger. For such a complex piece of machinery – at least, complex for its time – it was much lighter than she expected it to be.
Leafing through the photographs absent-mindedly, one of them slipped through her grasp and floated onto the ground.
"Whoops." She bent over and picked it up. As she did, she saw a line of tiny writing scrawled on the back. It was an unintelligible string of numbers and letters, which was odd, but maybe there was some hidden meaning behind them.
She held her holo-phone near the writing. "Scan writing," she said.
The holo-phone's camera clicked, and the writing was projected onto a hologram above her wrist.
"Search and analyze," she continued, expecting the "nothing found" window to pop up. To her great surprise, a single result was returned.
She tapped the result, and a sparsely-decorated website loomed into view, one that contained only a few lines of text on its front page.
"Game repository," she read. "Gun Gale Online. Archived on 7th August 2032. Game server status… unknown."
Risa frowned. 'Gun Gale Online'? What a cheesy name for a game. But it had the word 'gun' in it, so maybe it would be something interesting – assuming it worked at all.
Opening the only link on the page, she found a list of files and an option to download. Her curiosity now piqued, she scrolled through the list and discovered a document labeled 'README'.
"Let's see." Expanding the document, she began to recite its contents to herself.
This is a working copy of the VRMMORPG Gun Gale Online that was released for the first version of the AmuSphere. The game's contents have been duplicated onto this server, and it will run independently and internally until the server is shut down in a hundred years – 7th August 2132. Simply download the files into your AmuSphere and you will be able to play the game in its original form.
She glanced at the AmuSphere in her hand. It could be worth a try, though she didn't exactly have high hopes for a game that was coming close to eighty years old. As she absent-mindedly groped around her desk for a wire that might fit the AmuSphere's port, she continued reading the rest of the text.
This duplicate is a project that began two years ago, when GGO announced that it would shut down this autumn. We decided that we would like to cherish our memories in this game as best as possible, as it was the place where we first met, as well as the place where we shared our first embrace. Having previously obtained a new software that has the capacity to copy data from existing games, but also the ability to mold itself into entirely new game systems, my partner-in-crime decided that it would be a fun idea to generate a replica of the game using the software and allow it to run in its own little world. After many years of us trying to figure out how to contact the developers, they eventually agreed to the duplication, and the fruits of our labors are what you now see here.
We started this project for our own personal use, but we left hints of its existence here and there on the net. If you have managed to find these files, then we know the game will be in safe hands. It takes curiosity to play this game – you are living proof of that – but it takes determination to master it. Do you have what it takes? You will hopefully soon find out. Best of luck! From S & K.
Risa's hand brushed against what she was looking for, and she dragged it out of its enclave, inadvertently hauling out an entire ball of entangled wires. Dislodging the one she needed, she plugged the AmuSphere into her holo-phone and started the download. For such a large game, the download took relatively little time, and before long the entirety of the software had been installed onto the console.
She glanced at the clock on her phone. Still a few hours before dinner. Why not give it a go?
Pushing her blanket aside, she lay on the bed and slipped the AmuSphere over her head, connecting the wire to a socket above her pillow. As the current flowed into the console, she watched as the small light near her temple flickered green. For it to still work after all these years showed considerable longevity, but she did not dwell on that thought for too long.
For a while, Risa lay there, waiting expectantly for something to happen. For a while, nothing did.
"Didn't I already turn this on?" she muttered. "I'm pretty sure the power link's started to charge this-"
And without warning, the world descended into a kaleidoscope of color.
Risa would have fallen out of her bed if she could actually feel it underneath her body. Instead, she tumbled through the nether for what felt like an eternity, gradually becoming weightless, a ship borne aloft by the waves in a broiling, stormy ocean. It seemed as though the fall would go on forever, and she would be condemned to die in this chaotic prison of her senses.
Yet just as panic began to set in and she scrabbled desperately for an exit, she abruptly found herself standing on solid ground again.
"Holy shit." Risa leaned against the nearest wall for support, and when the world stopped spinning, she started to take stock of her surroundings. She was in the middle of what appeared to be a plaza. Throngs of people, all wearing an array of clothes or uniforms that looked several decades out of date, milled about the streets. As she looked above their heads, what she saw took her breath away.
Tall, spindly edifices awash with red and yellow lights towered above the ground, stretching upwards into a night sky that was blanketed by thick clouds, polluted and pocked with reflections of the ochre glow from far below. The line of structures seemed to accelerate in height as they pulled away from her, growing taller and taller until they reached their apex in a single, monstrous triangle of black and chrome. In the center of the triangle was a large circular hole, and within that hole was a sphere that rotated slowly about its axis, emitting parallel beams of light outwards in the manner of a high-tech lighthouse.
A passerby bumped into her, and she quickly grabbed him on the arm.
"Excuse me," Risa said. "Where am I?"
The passerby's brow furrowed, as if not quite understanding her question.
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"As in, what is this place? What is it called?"
His confusion unabating, he slowly answered, "We're… on the SBC Glocken. Are you on drugs?"
"I… No?"
"Okay, good. Wouldn't want you out of sorts before the big event. If you're not feeling well, I suggest you look for a clinic. Have a good one." He shrugged her hand off and walked away.
She staggered over to an alleyway between two nearby buildings and willed herself to be calm. She wasn't in Bullet Dance anymore, so everything seemed unfamiliar to her. It would take time, but she would get used to this virtual realm eventually. Nothing to worry about.
It was then that she noticed what she was wearing. Her cleavage was barely covered by an open-top white vest, around which was a jade-green overcoat that was cut at the waist. She pulled the jacket over her chest to cover herself, but it did not seem to fit her properly. Her trousers were the same color as the overcoat, but they were sliced open at the hips to unveil a pair of black shorts.
A strange design overall, but not an entirely unpleasant one… that is, if she were male in real life. Risa had never worn anything so revealing, yet it was still tame compared to what some of the other people here were sporting.
Her head was nested in a warm muffler that, even when wrapped several times around her neck, was still long enough to droop near her buttocks. She took it off, but the crisp, cool air seeped into the crevices in her outfit, and she was forced to restore the scarf to its original position.
Yet the biggest surprise was to be found further upwards. Rushing to one of the neighboring shops, she stared at her own reflection in the window. A crop of brilliant cyan hair adorned her head, falling just above her shoulders, kept in place by two square gray hairclips. A pair of deep blue eyes gazed out from the glass in disbelief. She soon realized, to her shock, that the face that stared back was not at all unfamiliar.
It was the girl she had seen in her great-grandmother's photos.
At that moment, a notification blinked in her UI. Pulling up her player menu after a few intuitive swipes in the air, she discovered a message that was ostensibly addressed to her, but whose contents were a complete enigma.
"Hey there, Sinon. Looking forward to facing you in the upcoming BoB prelims. Best, Musketeer X."
Her brow creased so deeply that it felt as though her eyebrows might fold into themselves. What was a BoB? Who was Musketeer X? How did they know her? Were they an actual player, or just an NPC?
But, most importantly…
"Who the hell is Sinon?" she wondered aloud.
A/N: Decided to write this in a fit of inspiration after I was finished with my exams. It's quite a different and experimental concept compared to most of the fics I've read or written, so I don't know how well it'll go down, but feel free to let me know what you think, as well what you liked or didn't like about it.
As for my previous fic, Bloodwatch - I am considering whether to rewrite the whole thing to make it more canon-friendly, which would probably take a few weeks or maybe a couple months. For now, I will be focused on writing this story - and my other stories - instead. Look forward to more in the days ahead.