.Hack//Heist
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing whatsoever related to Project .Hack, save for characters created solely within this story, and the Dunkin Donuts coffee that helped me write this.
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. I could theoretically write whatever I wanted to here.
Chapter III - Consequence
------------
"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean between breaths. "It can't be."
He jumped, startled, as the phone rang; slowly he moved to his feet, grabbed the receiver and punched the call button.
Shin's voice greeted him. "Dean?"
"I'm here... I'm okay. You all right?"
"I'm fine," replied Shin, his voice quiet, yet lacking his earlier composure. "But Max, he... he didn't answer his phone."
The uneasiness that had taken hold of Dean in The World tightened its grip. He glanced again at the visor, still flashing the error message. "I, uh... I think he might have been data drained."
"What? Are you sure??"
"I don't know... he told me he couldn't log out." He paused, swallowing loudly. "That thing, it... it caught him. It was... ah, I don't know, something happened. Goddamnit..." his voice cracked, and he paused to calm himself, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.
"All right, all right, relax. I'll be there in five minutes to pick you up, we'll check on him. Bring your piece."
"Got it," Dean answered. He then hit the 'off' button and set the phone down on the base. With a sigh, he turned towards the bed. (Son of a bitch,) he said in his mind.
Slowly he strode towards the bed, where he knelt down and pulled a small metal box from beneath it. He carefully set the box on the bed and punched a combination into the keypad mounted on the lid. A soft click of a lock, and Dean flipped the lid open.
Inside sat a clean, civilian model Glock 40 handgun, bolt locked back, barrel visibly empty. Buried beside it in the cushioned container was a full 9mm magazine, a single round protuding from the top.
(Haven't used this in a while,) he thought as he pulled both out. He tilted the gun and double-checked the safety before he slid the magazine into the waiting chamber; a satisfying click escaped as it locked into place, pushing the bolt forward.
He sighed, shaking his head vigorously to dispel the image of Tamon being Data Drained; his comrade's scream echoed through his mind as he recalled the event. He shivered, the familiar chill of uneasiness sinking deep into him.
(Hang in there, Max.)
-
"Excuse me, miss."
The receptionist glanced up from her paperwork at the men who now stood before the desk. She blinked in surprise; were the two not of obviously different race, they could have been twins. Both sported short black hair, brown eyes and similarly rounded facial features - though the American, or whom she assumed was an American, appeared slightly older. They even stood at similar posture.
An inch of height, a pair of glasses and choice of outfit were all that separated them; the Asian half of the duo was clad in a tan trenchcoat, a brown shirt, matching slacks and expensive leather shoes, while the American bore a dark green windbreaker, khaki trousers and a pair of worn gym shoes.
She smiled at the men, making a mental note of the conspicuous bulges in their coats. "Can I help you?" she asked in fluent English.
Windbreaker nodded and glanced over at Trenchcoat, who answered in Japanese. "Yes, we're here to see Mr. Max Kerrek. Could we have his room number, please?"
"Certainly," she answered, turning her attention to her computer. A few seconds of keystrokes brought up the desired information. "Suite 317."
"Doumo arigatou," said Trenchcoat with a slight bow before nodding to Windbreaker. "Let's go."
-
"Go ahead, I'll keep an eye out."
Dean turned around and leaned against the wall, glancing up and down the long, white, well-lit hallway of the hotel. He folded his arms across his chest - his left hand lightly nudging the concealed Glock in his windbreaker - and idly toed the teal blue carpeting which ran the length of the hall.
He looked right and watched for a moment as his trenchcoat-clad companion removed a small card-shaped device from inside his coat, which he slid into the card reader on the door to room 317. Dean noticed a small cable running from the tip of the card to a small black box, partially hidden in one of the coat's interior pockets.
"Starting now," muttered Shin as he reached in and pressed a button on the box. The card reader reacted instantly, blinking off the red light and shifting to yellow, indicating that the 'card' was being read. He furrowed his brow, and with his free hand pressed his narrow, wire-rimmed spectacles back to their perch on the bridge of his nose, from which they had slipped. "Almost there..."
Dean cocked his head down the hallway, and felt his heart stop as a man in a black suit stepped out of the elevator. A two-way radio dangled from his belt loop; pinned to the lapel was a shiny metal object, which, despite the distance, bore a remarkable resemblance to the hotel's logo.
"Aw, Christ," whispered Dean. "Shinji, hurry up, we've got company."
Shinji prayed silently as he waited for the reader to unlock, throwing a sidelong glance at the security guard. (Don't look over here, don't look... oh, damn, he sees us! Come on, come on, hurry up and work!)
Dean's blood ran cold as the guard approached, his expression unreadable, one hand already reaching for his radio. Mind racing, he pounded on the door. "Max, c'mon! Quit jokin' around, open the door man!"
Soft footsteps against the carpet grew louder, barely heard over the beating of the men's hearts. Feigning a broad grin, Dean chuckled and rapped on the door again. "You better not have gotten into the minibar again, you know this is all on my dime!"
(YES!) Shinji wanted to shout as the reader blinked green. He leaned forward against the door, covering the reader with his coat and deftly pocketing the electronic lockpick. Out of view of the guard, he gave the handle a quick twist and pushed it inward, almost stumbling as the door opened.
Dean smiled at the security guard as Shinji stepped through. "Tourists," he said with a wink before following his companion and nudging the door closed behind him.
"Max?" called Shinji, eyes carefully scanning the room. Despite signs of recent use - lights on, microwave dinner set before the microwave, beer bottles empty and lining a coffee table before the TV, which was also on - the room was empty.
Dean noticed a light from beneath the door leading to the adjoining bedroom, and indicated it with a nod. "There," he muttered, eyes narrowed. "Come on."
Shinji's eyes narrowed as the two approached the door and opened it. Stepping through into the bedroom, he gasped aloud at the sight.
"Jesus... Max!"
Clad only in a hotel robe, a white t-shirt and a pair of striped boxer shorts, the tall, blond-haired young man lay motionless on the floor, still connected to his glowing terminal via his headset and goggles.
Dean and Shinji raced up to aid their friend; Dean pulled the visor from his face and recoiled in fright as he saw Max's face, his expression contorted to a mix of pain and terror, his mouth agape. Shinji took Max's wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse.
"Son of a bitch... just like those goddamn kids," Dean hissed. "Son of a bitch!"
"He's still alive," said Shinji. "Call an ambulance, now!"
-
"Status: superior vessel acquired."
"Condition: outside interference terminated."
"Conclusion: vessel shall serve to allow greater mobility for Delphi."
"Recommendation: data concerning additional assets of vessel is desirable."
"Experimentation in combat versus other intruders is necessary."
"It is so."
- End of Chapter III
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing whatsoever related to Project .Hack, save for characters created solely within this story, and the Dunkin Donuts coffee that helped me write this.
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. I could theoretically write whatever I wanted to here.
Chapter III - Consequence
------------
"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean between breaths. "It can't be."
He jumped, startled, as the phone rang; slowly he moved to his feet, grabbed the receiver and punched the call button.
Shin's voice greeted him. "Dean?"
"I'm here... I'm okay. You all right?"
"I'm fine," replied Shin, his voice quiet, yet lacking his earlier composure. "But Max, he... he didn't answer his phone."
The uneasiness that had taken hold of Dean in The World tightened its grip. He glanced again at the visor, still flashing the error message. "I, uh... I think he might have been data drained."
"What? Are you sure??"
"I don't know... he told me he couldn't log out." He paused, swallowing loudly. "That thing, it... it caught him. It was... ah, I don't know, something happened. Goddamnit..." his voice cracked, and he paused to calm himself, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.
"All right, all right, relax. I'll be there in five minutes to pick you up, we'll check on him. Bring your piece."
"Got it," Dean answered. He then hit the 'off' button and set the phone down on the base. With a sigh, he turned towards the bed. (Son of a bitch,) he said in his mind.
Slowly he strode towards the bed, where he knelt down and pulled a small metal box from beneath it. He carefully set the box on the bed and punched a combination into the keypad mounted on the lid. A soft click of a lock, and Dean flipped the lid open.
Inside sat a clean, civilian model Glock 40 handgun, bolt locked back, barrel visibly empty. Buried beside it in the cushioned container was a full 9mm magazine, a single round protuding from the top.
(Haven't used this in a while,) he thought as he pulled both out. He tilted the gun and double-checked the safety before he slid the magazine into the waiting chamber; a satisfying click escaped as it locked into place, pushing the bolt forward.
He sighed, shaking his head vigorously to dispel the image of Tamon being Data Drained; his comrade's scream echoed through his mind as he recalled the event. He shivered, the familiar chill of uneasiness sinking deep into him.
(Hang in there, Max.)
-
"Excuse me, miss."
The receptionist glanced up from her paperwork at the men who now stood before the desk. She blinked in surprise; were the two not of obviously different race, they could have been twins. Both sported short black hair, brown eyes and similarly rounded facial features - though the American, or whom she assumed was an American, appeared slightly older. They even stood at similar posture.
An inch of height, a pair of glasses and choice of outfit were all that separated them; the Asian half of the duo was clad in a tan trenchcoat, a brown shirt, matching slacks and expensive leather shoes, while the American bore a dark green windbreaker, khaki trousers and a pair of worn gym shoes.
She smiled at the men, making a mental note of the conspicuous bulges in their coats. "Can I help you?" she asked in fluent English.
Windbreaker nodded and glanced over at Trenchcoat, who answered in Japanese. "Yes, we're here to see Mr. Max Kerrek. Could we have his room number, please?"
"Certainly," she answered, turning her attention to her computer. A few seconds of keystrokes brought up the desired information. "Suite 317."
"Doumo arigatou," said Trenchcoat with a slight bow before nodding to Windbreaker. "Let's go."
-
"Go ahead, I'll keep an eye out."
Dean turned around and leaned against the wall, glancing up and down the long, white, well-lit hallway of the hotel. He folded his arms across his chest - his left hand lightly nudging the concealed Glock in his windbreaker - and idly toed the teal blue carpeting which ran the length of the hall.
He looked right and watched for a moment as his trenchcoat-clad companion removed a small card-shaped device from inside his coat, which he slid into the card reader on the door to room 317. Dean noticed a small cable running from the tip of the card to a small black box, partially hidden in one of the coat's interior pockets.
"Starting now," muttered Shin as he reached in and pressed a button on the box. The card reader reacted instantly, blinking off the red light and shifting to yellow, indicating that the 'card' was being read. He furrowed his brow, and with his free hand pressed his narrow, wire-rimmed spectacles back to their perch on the bridge of his nose, from which they had slipped. "Almost there..."
Dean cocked his head down the hallway, and felt his heart stop as a man in a black suit stepped out of the elevator. A two-way radio dangled from his belt loop; pinned to the lapel was a shiny metal object, which, despite the distance, bore a remarkable resemblance to the hotel's logo.
"Aw, Christ," whispered Dean. "Shinji, hurry up, we've got company."
Shinji prayed silently as he waited for the reader to unlock, throwing a sidelong glance at the security guard. (Don't look over here, don't look... oh, damn, he sees us! Come on, come on, hurry up and work!)
Dean's blood ran cold as the guard approached, his expression unreadable, one hand already reaching for his radio. Mind racing, he pounded on the door. "Max, c'mon! Quit jokin' around, open the door man!"
Soft footsteps against the carpet grew louder, barely heard over the beating of the men's hearts. Feigning a broad grin, Dean chuckled and rapped on the door again. "You better not have gotten into the minibar again, you know this is all on my dime!"
(YES!) Shinji wanted to shout as the reader blinked green. He leaned forward against the door, covering the reader with his coat and deftly pocketing the electronic lockpick. Out of view of the guard, he gave the handle a quick twist and pushed it inward, almost stumbling as the door opened.
Dean smiled at the security guard as Shinji stepped through. "Tourists," he said with a wink before following his companion and nudging the door closed behind him.
"Max?" called Shinji, eyes carefully scanning the room. Despite signs of recent use - lights on, microwave dinner set before the microwave, beer bottles empty and lining a coffee table before the TV, which was also on - the room was empty.
Dean noticed a light from beneath the door leading to the adjoining bedroom, and indicated it with a nod. "There," he muttered, eyes narrowed. "Come on."
Shinji's eyes narrowed as the two approached the door and opened it. Stepping through into the bedroom, he gasped aloud at the sight.
"Jesus... Max!"
Clad only in a hotel robe, a white t-shirt and a pair of striped boxer shorts, the tall, blond-haired young man lay motionless on the floor, still connected to his glowing terminal via his headset and goggles.
Dean and Shinji raced up to aid their friend; Dean pulled the visor from his face and recoiled in fright as he saw Max's face, his expression contorted to a mix of pain and terror, his mouth agape. Shinji took Max's wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse.
"Son of a bitch... just like those goddamn kids," Dean hissed. "Son of a bitch!"
"He's still alive," said Shinji. "Call an ambulance, now!"
-
"Status: superior vessel acquired."
"Condition: outside interference terminated."
"Conclusion: vessel shall serve to allow greater mobility for Delphi."
"Recommendation: data concerning additional assets of vessel is desirable."
"Experimentation in combat versus other intruders is necessary."
"It is so."
- End of Chapter III