.Hack//Heist
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of everything related to Project .Hack. Now I shall un-claim it before Bandai's lawyers get here. Ha on thee, I say!
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. Hugo Weaving single-handedly made "The Matrix" enjoyable.
Chapter IV - Third Party
------------
Flashing emergency lights swirled about at a dizzying pace, bathing the streets, sidewalks and onlookers in their primary colors.
"Let's go!"
On a three count, the two paramedics lifted the gurney holding Max's prone body up and pushed it forward into the maw of the waiting ambulance.
Standing nearby, Dean threw a look at Shinji. "Shin, maybe, uh..."
Shinji nodded, his face set in a no-nonsense expression. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."
"All right." Dean hopped up into the back and immediately turned towards Max, making room for the medics as they went to work.
Shinji slammed the doors shut and pounded on the back of the ambulance, which quickly sped off. He watched as the white metal beast rounded a corner and disappeared, the piercing wail of its siren lingering for several moments before becoming inaudible.
(This can't be happening,) thought Shinji with a frown. (This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out.) He turned and laboriously strode towards the hotel, a stray gust of wind tugging gingerly at his trenchcoat. (Find the data, grab it, deliver it. That was the plan.)
Slowly he made his way back to Max's room, dark thoughts clouding his mind. He sighed as he walked up to room 317, praising himself for the foresight to pocket Max's keycard before the ambulance arrived. A beep from the reader and a twist of a knob opened the door; he stepped through and quietly closed the door behind him.
He worked his way to the terminal, briefly shuddering as he recalled discovering Max lying on the floor, utterly motionless, horrific expression locked on his face.
Shinji shook his head as he sat down before the monitor, which had since reset to the default Altimit desktop. (That wasn't normal... Asara Corp. said nothing about internal security.)
A cursory search around the desk produced a blank disc, which he slid into the drive. A few seconds of keystrokes and commands saved what he assumed to be relevant information: member addresses, e-mail, logs from the past few days, and personal memos. One in particular caught his attention.
To: TamonAdillo@theworld.com
From: ARosenberg@acor.net
Subj: Re: Orders
We should obtain the desired information by this Sunday. We will acquire the necessary expertise to penetrate the mainframe through The World as per your specifications.
However, I must again question the nature of the data. I know you aren't telling me everything for a reason, but if the data is more sensitive in nature than I am led to believe, then there may be extra security present that we cannot anticipate. Given the incidents that have occurred to players of The World, I'm sure you would agree that the safety of my team is a valid concern.
Mr. Kerrek, I assure you the data is utterly benign. We require their accounting information for the last fiscal year, and that is all you need to know. You have the desired filenames and their location. Acquire them by any means necessary. We will have a courier at the previously agreed upon meeting place, midnight.
- Aldous
(Rosenberg.) Shinji's eyes narrowed. (If the data is so benign, what the hell was that thing doing running around on the same server as the backdoor? That Delphi... it acted like it was trying to protect something.) A frown twisted his lips. (But that area wasn't it, though... so why was it there? Was it waiting for us?)
He closed the e-mail and opened the next file, a text document dated two days ago.
"Target file - 7,214,483 (.zip, 36 files)
FY XX file - 3 mb (variable, .zip, 4 files)
Extra 32 files/4mb. What is it?"
Shinji raised an eyebrow. "What the hell?" he muttered. (That's awfully big for accounting data...) With a mental shrug, he removed the disk and shut off the terminal. (I better catch up with Dean,) he reminded himself.
-
("Is there anything that can be done, doctor?")
Dean buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously, slouching forward in the chair. Before him lay Max, utterly motionless on the bed, hooked up to an electrocardiograph and artificial respiration machinery. A slight hissing indicated the movement of air in and out of his body, though the lack of movement made it very obvious that it was not through any will of his own; the only other noise was from the EKG, gently beeping every second or so to a predictable, mechanical rhythm.
("Mr. Kerrek is comatose; it's not something that has a proven treatment. I'm sorry, Mr. Stollis. There's nothing we can do but wait.")
Dean lifted his head and stared at Max through half-closed eyes. His face had lost its frightened expression, falling into a relaxed state, eyes closed, rings beneath them indicative of sleep long since lost. His short, spiky blonde hair lay in mild disarray, and his pale, slender arms sat peacefully at his sides, the right connected to an IV drip solution.
"Max... goddamn it, it wasn't supposed to be like this."
Reluctantly, Dean stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out at downtown Tokyo which stretched before him endlessly, lights shining from every visible corner like an overdecorated Christmas tree. (I know he needed the money... hell, we all do.)
A glance over his shoulder reminded him how much more Max was in need than he; in the dim light of the room shone a diamond, painstakingly perched upon a golden band which sat on his right ring finger.
(I'm sorry, man.)
His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened, spilling light from the hallway into the room. He turned and squinted into the brightness. "Shin?" he called as he saw a tall, shadowy man in a trenchcoat step into the room.
The man's features grew more defined as he neared, but Dean's attention was called to the object he held in his hand: a 9mm pistol, barrel sporting a silencer and aimed straight as his head. A second man entered behind him, similarly armed.
"Dean Stollis?" asked the lead man.
Dean's eyes narrowed, still zeroing in on the tip of the silencer. His hand slowly reached for his own weapon.
"Don't," said the man with a shake of his head, raising his pistol for emphasis. "Come with us, Mr. Stollis. We're going for a ride."
- End of Chapter IV
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of everything related to Project .Hack. Now I shall un-claim it before Bandai's lawyers get here. Ha on thee, I say!
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. Hugo Weaving single-handedly made "The Matrix" enjoyable.
Chapter IV - Third Party
------------
Flashing emergency lights swirled about at a dizzying pace, bathing the streets, sidewalks and onlookers in their primary colors.
"Let's go!"
On a three count, the two paramedics lifted the gurney holding Max's prone body up and pushed it forward into the maw of the waiting ambulance.
Standing nearby, Dean threw a look at Shinji. "Shin, maybe, uh..."
Shinji nodded, his face set in a no-nonsense expression. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."
"All right." Dean hopped up into the back and immediately turned towards Max, making room for the medics as they went to work.
Shinji slammed the doors shut and pounded on the back of the ambulance, which quickly sped off. He watched as the white metal beast rounded a corner and disappeared, the piercing wail of its siren lingering for several moments before becoming inaudible.
(This can't be happening,) thought Shinji with a frown. (This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out.) He turned and laboriously strode towards the hotel, a stray gust of wind tugging gingerly at his trenchcoat. (Find the data, grab it, deliver it. That was the plan.)
Slowly he made his way back to Max's room, dark thoughts clouding his mind. He sighed as he walked up to room 317, praising himself for the foresight to pocket Max's keycard before the ambulance arrived. A beep from the reader and a twist of a knob opened the door; he stepped through and quietly closed the door behind him.
He worked his way to the terminal, briefly shuddering as he recalled discovering Max lying on the floor, utterly motionless, horrific expression locked on his face.
Shinji shook his head as he sat down before the monitor, which had since reset to the default Altimit desktop. (That wasn't normal... Asara Corp. said nothing about internal security.)
A cursory search around the desk produced a blank disc, which he slid into the drive. A few seconds of keystrokes and commands saved what he assumed to be relevant information: member addresses, e-mail, logs from the past few days, and personal memos. One in particular caught his attention.
To: TamonAdillo@theworld.com
From: ARosenberg@acor.net
Subj: Re: Orders
We should obtain the desired information by this Sunday. We will acquire the necessary expertise to penetrate the mainframe through The World as per your specifications.
However, I must again question the nature of the data. I know you aren't telling me everything for a reason, but if the data is more sensitive in nature than I am led to believe, then there may be extra security present that we cannot anticipate. Given the incidents that have occurred to players of The World, I'm sure you would agree that the safety of my team is a valid concern.
Mr. Kerrek, I assure you the data is utterly benign. We require their accounting information for the last fiscal year, and that is all you need to know. You have the desired filenames and their location. Acquire them by any means necessary. We will have a courier at the previously agreed upon meeting place, midnight.
- Aldous
(Rosenberg.) Shinji's eyes narrowed. (If the data is so benign, what the hell was that thing doing running around on the same server as the backdoor? That Delphi... it acted like it was trying to protect something.) A frown twisted his lips. (But that area wasn't it, though... so why was it there? Was it waiting for us?)
He closed the e-mail and opened the next file, a text document dated two days ago.
"Target file - 7,214,483 (.zip, 36 files)
FY XX file - 3 mb (variable, .zip, 4 files)
Extra 32 files/4mb. What is it?"
Shinji raised an eyebrow. "What the hell?" he muttered. (That's awfully big for accounting data...) With a mental shrug, he removed the disk and shut off the terminal. (I better catch up with Dean,) he reminded himself.
-
("Is there anything that can be done, doctor?")
Dean buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously, slouching forward in the chair. Before him lay Max, utterly motionless on the bed, hooked up to an electrocardiograph and artificial respiration machinery. A slight hissing indicated the movement of air in and out of his body, though the lack of movement made it very obvious that it was not through any will of his own; the only other noise was from the EKG, gently beeping every second or so to a predictable, mechanical rhythm.
("Mr. Kerrek is comatose; it's not something that has a proven treatment. I'm sorry, Mr. Stollis. There's nothing we can do but wait.")
Dean lifted his head and stared at Max through half-closed eyes. His face had lost its frightened expression, falling into a relaxed state, eyes closed, rings beneath them indicative of sleep long since lost. His short, spiky blonde hair lay in mild disarray, and his pale, slender arms sat peacefully at his sides, the right connected to an IV drip solution.
"Max... goddamn it, it wasn't supposed to be like this."
Reluctantly, Dean stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out at downtown Tokyo which stretched before him endlessly, lights shining from every visible corner like an overdecorated Christmas tree. (I know he needed the money... hell, we all do.)
A glance over his shoulder reminded him how much more Max was in need than he; in the dim light of the room shone a diamond, painstakingly perched upon a golden band which sat on his right ring finger.
(I'm sorry, man.)
His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened, spilling light from the hallway into the room. He turned and squinted into the brightness. "Shin?" he called as he saw a tall, shadowy man in a trenchcoat step into the room.
The man's features grew more defined as he neared, but Dean's attention was called to the object he held in his hand: a 9mm pistol, barrel sporting a silencer and aimed straight as his head. A second man entered behind him, similarly armed.
"Dean Stollis?" asked the lead man.
Dean's eyes narrowed, still zeroing in on the tip of the silencer. His hand slowly reached for his own weapon.
"Don't," said the man with a shake of his head, raising his pistol for emphasis. "Come with us, Mr. Stollis. We're going for a ride."
- End of Chapter IV