.Hack//Heist
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing at all related to Project .Hack. Still no money pile, either, but I know a guy who went to Japan once, maybe, and he owes me a dollar, so I'm getting closer. Kinda-sorta.
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. Freemasons run the country.
Chapter X - Hostile Takeover
------------
"What is it?!" shouted Shinji.
Dean ignored him, ducking behind a chair and pointing his gun at the door, waiting for something, anything to happen. More footsteps came through the door, moving up and down the hallway erratically; he guessed there were at least three pairs of feet attached to the noise.
"Dean, what's going on?" asked Shinji, poking his head cautiously around the corner.
Cautiously, Dean rose to his feet, keeping his weapon trained on the door. "That was Ken on the phone... one of the guys."
Shinji gasped. "Kenichi? Shit, how'd they find me?!"
"Oh, I don't know," replied Dean. "Employee records, maybe?" he added, sarcastically.
A muffled *wham* shot through the door, this one sounding further than the last.
Shinji glanced at the door briefly before turning back to Dean. "I moved a year after I left the company," he hissed, slowly stepping up to Dean. "And this is an unlisted number."
Turning his attention back to the door, Dean passed the weapon from his right hand to his left. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered aloud, hesitantly taking a step forward, sweat building on his forehead.
"What exactly did he say?"
Dean glanced back at Shinji. "Not much, just keep back and get ready to duck."
Shinji started to inquire further, but stopped as Dean moved forward, walking heel-to-toe, as silently as possible. His plain white socks left brief footprints in the blue carpeting, not a sound escaping either foot as it landed; from the bedroom, Shinji's monitor whirred quietly, almost deafening in the silence. Dean's right hand was raised defensively, as if to shield him, and the pistol trembled slightly in his left hand, half in fear and half in anticipation.
Reaching the door, Dean turned the lock and unceremoniously yanked the door open, leading with his gun.
Empty air greeted the barrel. Dean scanned the hall through the door, and took another step forward, the cool air of the hallway greeting him eagerly, contrasting sharply with the humidity of the apartment. He leaned forward, peering up and down the hallway, expecting a silenced bullet to come sailing in his direction at any moment.
Another pounding noise caught his ears; glancing right, he saw a young Asian teenager two doors down, one hand wrapped around a large stack of colorful paper, the other pressing against the door. He removed his hand and proceeded to the next door, revealing a flyer stuck to the previous one. Further down was one of his accomplices, equally equipped and occupied.
Dean cocked his head back to his own door, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he saw one of the flyers, decorated with all the colors of the rainbow, and then some. Obscure kanji wrapped itself around the edges, and highlighted amongst the colors was a silhouette of a young woman.
Dean snorted. "False alarm."
"What is it?"
Snatching the flyer from the door, Dean brought it to Shinji and showed it to him. "You tell me."
Shinji's eyes moved back and forth behind the glasses, his expression changing from confusion to amusement. He let out a chuckle. "What'd you think it was?"
Dean lowered his head slightly. "Well... with that guy on the phone, I thought they were gonna storm the place. Thought it might've been a breaching charge or something."
"Heh." Shinji stepped past him, closing the door. "This is an ad for a rave," he said with a smirk.
Dean groaned loudly, wiping his forehead with his arm. "Son of a bitch. I nearly had a heart attack over a goddamn rave flyer."
Shinji chuckled again. "No harm, no foul... but if Ken found the number then it's only a matter of time before they trace it. They might even be on their way here, but I doubt it."
"Right... so, now what do we do?"
At this, all trace of humor left Shinji's demeanor, quickly reminded of their prior conversation. "We can't stay here. We've got what we came here for, but we can't just hand it over to Asara."
Dean frowned. "I know, I know... hell, so much for the money. But you're right, this... this shouldn't be. This thing killed a man. It might have killed Max, and now it's after all of us, too. Last thing we need is more of them." He turned away from Shinji, avoiding his penetrating, emotionless stare. "We've gotta do something."
Shinji nodded. "Thinking the same thing. Question is, what?"
Dean stopped to think, idly chewing on his lip. "Hell if I know... on the phone, I threatened to take this public, get the data on the news or something. I don't know if that'd work, though... hell, I don't even know if we can." He let out a frustrated sigh. "We sit on it, Cyber Connect's gonna kill us. We turn it over to Asara, God only knows what'll happen."
Saying it aloud brought another question to mind. "Shinji, who are these guys, anyway? Even Microsoft didn't have corporate hit squads."
The hacker shook his head. "Microsoft didn't have the market share that CC does. They practically own the internet, and when you have that much capital you tend to want to hang onto it, no matter what." He gingerly scratched the back of his neck, cocking his head forward. "The guy you talked to is Kenichi Fukada. Been at CC's security corps for about five years. Arrogant little brown-noser who takes himself way too seriously." The rolling of eyes accented the statement as he continued. "Nobody's really sure what he did exactly, except that my section leader called on him for a lot of quote-unquote special projects. Don't know much about him past that... I left two years later. As for the American... he's new, that's all I can tell you."
Dean answered with a nod. "Perfect. He sure as hell won't deal, so what else can we do?"
Shinji paused, furrowing his brow in concentration. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he stared at Dean. "We have to destroy it all," he said simply.
Dean blinked, confused. "Huh? Destroy it?"
"The data," said Shinji. "They won't bargain because they've got the data and the prototype. With all that's happened tonight - on top of our priors - they have deniability if we go public. So, we make sure we're the only ones with a copy."
"You mean we go back in? With Delphi still waiting in there?"
"We don't know what's happened with Delphi, and we won't unless we go back in and make sure that it, too, is destroyed." Shinji's face flattened into a stern, no-nonsense look. "It's our only chance. We take it all with us, and then at least we'll be in a position to negotiate."
A moment's hesitation, and then Dean nodded in affirmation. "All right. You talk with Kite and BlackRose, see if they'll help us again. And get a copy of that data. I'll get the number for the nearest news station, that'll be our backup plan."
"Good idea." Shinji turned and headed for the bedroom. "And keep an eye on the hallway. We don't have much time."
As his partner disappeared from view, Dean started for the phone, but slowed to a stop before the bathroom. Fatigue suddenly caught up to him, a leaden weight that tugged at his eyelids. He clicked the safety of his weapon and stuffed it in the waist of his jeans, half-stumbling through the bathroom. Light from the living room shone in far enough to partially illuminate the room, reflecting off the mirrored medicine cabinet which hung above the sink.
With a sigh, he twisted the dial towards cold and pulled the handle, sending water gushing forth from the faucet. He bent over the sink and dove his hands into the icy stream, drawing small handfuls of water up to his face. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut as the first splash struck his face, freezing him back to full consciousness and granting him blissful relief from the thick, moist air; the second and third soaked into his shirt collar and hair, removing all hint of exhaustion from his body.
Dean looked up into the mirror and stared at his reflection, his face outlined in shades of darkness against the bright doorway. (Son of a bitch,) he thought. (How in the hell did this get so complicated?)
A flick of the wrist shut off the faucet; the sound of keys clacking filled the void, coming from Shinji's bedroom, an aural texture to his thoughts. He gazed into the mirror once more, and for once saw a different man staring back at him.
(So much for 'all about the money,') he thought with a snort. (Once a cop, always a cop, I guess.)
A sudden crack greeted his ears, and the keystrokes ceased. Puzzled, he stepped out of the bathroom and into Shinji's room, eyes trailing the direction of the sound.
The first thing he noticed was a message displayed on the monitor, bold red letters on a black background: DELPHI HAS FOUND YOU. The second thing he noticed was Shinji sitting before the monitor, his body slumped to the left, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Dean felt all the color leave his face. "Shin?" he called, quietly. It was then that he saw the hole in the window, broken from the outside. The chair creaked from Shinji's weight, and it toppled over, spilling him onto the ground next to his bed.
A gasp came from Dean's lips, but not from spotting the hole in Shinji's right temple, still oozing blood. Instead, his eyes fell on the white wall opposite the window, which contrasted brilliantly with the flickering red dot that was slowly creeping towards him.
All rational thought and feeling left his mind as he bolted out the door, away from Shinji's corpse. He had barely enough sense to grab the phone and punch in the emergency number.
He didn't even wait for the operator to identify herself before he shouted, "I need the cops, they're shooting at me!"
"Sir??" asked the operator, startled by Dean's outburst.
"They just shot my friend through the window," said Dean between staggered breaths. "Uh... Takashi Arms, 5th floor... think there's two of 'em..."
The operator's reply was drowned out by a violent explosion from beyond the hallway door; a large hole exploded through the door, taking the deadbolt with it and blasting bits of wood and metal across the blue carpet. Seconds later the door was kicked in, and Dean instinctively drew his gun and took cover behind the counter as a man marched through it toting a pump-action shotgun.
The man instantly spotted Dean and turned his weapon to fire, but Dean was ready first. A single pull of the trigger threw a 9mm shell forth from the barrel, the report echoing in the narrow confines of the apartment. The bullet missed its mark, but punched through the intruder's right flank with enough force to spin him to one side, throwing his aim off. Dean followed up with another shot, taking a quarter-second to aim before firing. A bloody hole was torn through the man's overcoat at the shoulder level, drawing a howl of pain from the assailant as he stumbled back against the wall.
A third pull of the trigger resulted in a disgusting, grinding *clack*. Panicked, Dean examined the ejection port and grimaced; the gun had become jammed.
Still stunned from the gunshot, the man was helpless as Dean raced around the counter and rapidly closed the distance between them; the detective shoved the shotgun aside and struck the intruder hard across the face, knocking his head painfully against the wall and causing him to slump the ground, groaning loudly.
Quickly pocketing the jammed pistol and grabbing the shotgun from the dazed man's hands, Dean held the man at bay as he analyzed his bruised, bloody face.
Memory finally kicked in. "Carl," he said with a low growl, remembering the details of the American agent.
The brown-haired man coughed loudly, leaning to his right. Dean noticed an additional bullet hole in the left shoulder of Carl's coat, stained dark with old blood. Through the hole, he spotted a trace of reddish-white bandages.
With a morbid smirk, Dean balanced the shotgun in his left hand, tightening his hold on the pistol-like grip of the weapon, and firmly squeezed the twice-wounded shoulder. "I'll say this once," he said, staring at the agent's deep, penetrating blue eyes. "I can make it hurt, or I can make it *really* hurt. Where's Kenichi?"
Carl turned his head to glare at Dean. "Go to hell.... graaaaaaaaahhhh!!" he suddenly cried as Dean harshly clamped his hand over the wound, agitating the still-bleeding flesh wound. This was followed up by a hammer blow to the shoulder, which instantly ignited the agent's nerve endings in a blinding flash of pain. "Ohhh, god..." he groaned weakly, tears of pain twisting free from his eyes.
"Where's Kenichi?!" shouted Dean.
"Augh... parking lot. Silver Lexus... nnng... section 4. KNZ-4224." Carl broke off as he coughed loudly, weakly clutching the wound in his side.
Dean released Carl's shoulder and moved to his feet, taking the shotgun in both hands. "Cops are on their way. If you wanna save your own ass, you're gonna stay right here."
At that, Dean moved to his feet and dashed out into the hall. He heard several gasps and cries of alarm as curious residents spotted him. "Stay in your rooms!" he ordered, being careful to keep the shotgun pointed before him, away from any of the bystanders as he raced by, heading for the elevator.
Mercifully, the door responded instantly to the call button. Dean scrambled inside and hit the button for the lobby, his mind stringing together a truly majestic volley of curse words in a vain effort to grasp what had just happened. The shotgun trembled in his hand as the elevator swayed and sank; his sweat-slickened palms readjusted their hold on the weapon, the acrid stench of spent gunpowder still detectable from the barrel.
He watched the floor counter decrease from five to one, and then to the ground floor. Barely waiting for the doors to open, Dean sprinted through, hearing a chorus of confused murmurs and frightened shouts as employees and guests spotted him. Seconds later, he found himself staring through the blackened, sliding glass doors leading out of the apartment.
As he approached, they slid open, a gaping maw threatening to consume him. Briefly, his mind flashed back to a dungeon, a doorway from mere hours ago, and yet it seemed like an entire lifetime. It beckoning to him with its darkness, purple, ethereal wisps of smoke heralding the danger that lay beyond.
(All right, Mr. Fukada,) thought Dean as he stepped forward to meet this field's boss, his shoeless feet gingerly falling onto the concrete of the parking lot. (It's just you and me now.)
- End of Chapter X
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing at all related to Project .Hack. Still no money pile, either, but I know a guy who went to Japan once, maybe, and he owes me a dollar, so I'm getting closer. Kinda-sorta.
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. Freemasons run the country.
Chapter X - Hostile Takeover
------------
"What is it?!" shouted Shinji.
Dean ignored him, ducking behind a chair and pointing his gun at the door, waiting for something, anything to happen. More footsteps came through the door, moving up and down the hallway erratically; he guessed there were at least three pairs of feet attached to the noise.
"Dean, what's going on?" asked Shinji, poking his head cautiously around the corner.
Cautiously, Dean rose to his feet, keeping his weapon trained on the door. "That was Ken on the phone... one of the guys."
Shinji gasped. "Kenichi? Shit, how'd they find me?!"
"Oh, I don't know," replied Dean. "Employee records, maybe?" he added, sarcastically.
A muffled *wham* shot through the door, this one sounding further than the last.
Shinji glanced at the door briefly before turning back to Dean. "I moved a year after I left the company," he hissed, slowly stepping up to Dean. "And this is an unlisted number."
Turning his attention back to the door, Dean passed the weapon from his right hand to his left. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered aloud, hesitantly taking a step forward, sweat building on his forehead.
"What exactly did he say?"
Dean glanced back at Shinji. "Not much, just keep back and get ready to duck."
Shinji started to inquire further, but stopped as Dean moved forward, walking heel-to-toe, as silently as possible. His plain white socks left brief footprints in the blue carpeting, not a sound escaping either foot as it landed; from the bedroom, Shinji's monitor whirred quietly, almost deafening in the silence. Dean's right hand was raised defensively, as if to shield him, and the pistol trembled slightly in his left hand, half in fear and half in anticipation.
Reaching the door, Dean turned the lock and unceremoniously yanked the door open, leading with his gun.
Empty air greeted the barrel. Dean scanned the hall through the door, and took another step forward, the cool air of the hallway greeting him eagerly, contrasting sharply with the humidity of the apartment. He leaned forward, peering up and down the hallway, expecting a silenced bullet to come sailing in his direction at any moment.
Another pounding noise caught his ears; glancing right, he saw a young Asian teenager two doors down, one hand wrapped around a large stack of colorful paper, the other pressing against the door. He removed his hand and proceeded to the next door, revealing a flyer stuck to the previous one. Further down was one of his accomplices, equally equipped and occupied.
Dean cocked his head back to his own door, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he saw one of the flyers, decorated with all the colors of the rainbow, and then some. Obscure kanji wrapped itself around the edges, and highlighted amongst the colors was a silhouette of a young woman.
Dean snorted. "False alarm."
"What is it?"
Snatching the flyer from the door, Dean brought it to Shinji and showed it to him. "You tell me."
Shinji's eyes moved back and forth behind the glasses, his expression changing from confusion to amusement. He let out a chuckle. "What'd you think it was?"
Dean lowered his head slightly. "Well... with that guy on the phone, I thought they were gonna storm the place. Thought it might've been a breaching charge or something."
"Heh." Shinji stepped past him, closing the door. "This is an ad for a rave," he said with a smirk.
Dean groaned loudly, wiping his forehead with his arm. "Son of a bitch. I nearly had a heart attack over a goddamn rave flyer."
Shinji chuckled again. "No harm, no foul... but if Ken found the number then it's only a matter of time before they trace it. They might even be on their way here, but I doubt it."
"Right... so, now what do we do?"
At this, all trace of humor left Shinji's demeanor, quickly reminded of their prior conversation. "We can't stay here. We've got what we came here for, but we can't just hand it over to Asara."
Dean frowned. "I know, I know... hell, so much for the money. But you're right, this... this shouldn't be. This thing killed a man. It might have killed Max, and now it's after all of us, too. Last thing we need is more of them." He turned away from Shinji, avoiding his penetrating, emotionless stare. "We've gotta do something."
Shinji nodded. "Thinking the same thing. Question is, what?"
Dean stopped to think, idly chewing on his lip. "Hell if I know... on the phone, I threatened to take this public, get the data on the news or something. I don't know if that'd work, though... hell, I don't even know if we can." He let out a frustrated sigh. "We sit on it, Cyber Connect's gonna kill us. We turn it over to Asara, God only knows what'll happen."
Saying it aloud brought another question to mind. "Shinji, who are these guys, anyway? Even Microsoft didn't have corporate hit squads."
The hacker shook his head. "Microsoft didn't have the market share that CC does. They practically own the internet, and when you have that much capital you tend to want to hang onto it, no matter what." He gingerly scratched the back of his neck, cocking his head forward. "The guy you talked to is Kenichi Fukada. Been at CC's security corps for about five years. Arrogant little brown-noser who takes himself way too seriously." The rolling of eyes accented the statement as he continued. "Nobody's really sure what he did exactly, except that my section leader called on him for a lot of quote-unquote special projects. Don't know much about him past that... I left two years later. As for the American... he's new, that's all I can tell you."
Dean answered with a nod. "Perfect. He sure as hell won't deal, so what else can we do?"
Shinji paused, furrowing his brow in concentration. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he stared at Dean. "We have to destroy it all," he said simply.
Dean blinked, confused. "Huh? Destroy it?"
"The data," said Shinji. "They won't bargain because they've got the data and the prototype. With all that's happened tonight - on top of our priors - they have deniability if we go public. So, we make sure we're the only ones with a copy."
"You mean we go back in? With Delphi still waiting in there?"
"We don't know what's happened with Delphi, and we won't unless we go back in and make sure that it, too, is destroyed." Shinji's face flattened into a stern, no-nonsense look. "It's our only chance. We take it all with us, and then at least we'll be in a position to negotiate."
A moment's hesitation, and then Dean nodded in affirmation. "All right. You talk with Kite and BlackRose, see if they'll help us again. And get a copy of that data. I'll get the number for the nearest news station, that'll be our backup plan."
"Good idea." Shinji turned and headed for the bedroom. "And keep an eye on the hallway. We don't have much time."
As his partner disappeared from view, Dean started for the phone, but slowed to a stop before the bathroom. Fatigue suddenly caught up to him, a leaden weight that tugged at his eyelids. He clicked the safety of his weapon and stuffed it in the waist of his jeans, half-stumbling through the bathroom. Light from the living room shone in far enough to partially illuminate the room, reflecting off the mirrored medicine cabinet which hung above the sink.
With a sigh, he twisted the dial towards cold and pulled the handle, sending water gushing forth from the faucet. He bent over the sink and dove his hands into the icy stream, drawing small handfuls of water up to his face. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut as the first splash struck his face, freezing him back to full consciousness and granting him blissful relief from the thick, moist air; the second and third soaked into his shirt collar and hair, removing all hint of exhaustion from his body.
Dean looked up into the mirror and stared at his reflection, his face outlined in shades of darkness against the bright doorway. (Son of a bitch,) he thought. (How in the hell did this get so complicated?)
A flick of the wrist shut off the faucet; the sound of keys clacking filled the void, coming from Shinji's bedroom, an aural texture to his thoughts. He gazed into the mirror once more, and for once saw a different man staring back at him.
(So much for 'all about the money,') he thought with a snort. (Once a cop, always a cop, I guess.)
A sudden crack greeted his ears, and the keystrokes ceased. Puzzled, he stepped out of the bathroom and into Shinji's room, eyes trailing the direction of the sound.
The first thing he noticed was a message displayed on the monitor, bold red letters on a black background: DELPHI HAS FOUND YOU. The second thing he noticed was Shinji sitting before the monitor, his body slumped to the left, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Dean felt all the color leave his face. "Shin?" he called, quietly. It was then that he saw the hole in the window, broken from the outside. The chair creaked from Shinji's weight, and it toppled over, spilling him onto the ground next to his bed.
A gasp came from Dean's lips, but not from spotting the hole in Shinji's right temple, still oozing blood. Instead, his eyes fell on the white wall opposite the window, which contrasted brilliantly with the flickering red dot that was slowly creeping towards him.
All rational thought and feeling left his mind as he bolted out the door, away from Shinji's corpse. He had barely enough sense to grab the phone and punch in the emergency number.
He didn't even wait for the operator to identify herself before he shouted, "I need the cops, they're shooting at me!"
"Sir??" asked the operator, startled by Dean's outburst.
"They just shot my friend through the window," said Dean between staggered breaths. "Uh... Takashi Arms, 5th floor... think there's two of 'em..."
The operator's reply was drowned out by a violent explosion from beyond the hallway door; a large hole exploded through the door, taking the deadbolt with it and blasting bits of wood and metal across the blue carpet. Seconds later the door was kicked in, and Dean instinctively drew his gun and took cover behind the counter as a man marched through it toting a pump-action shotgun.
The man instantly spotted Dean and turned his weapon to fire, but Dean was ready first. A single pull of the trigger threw a 9mm shell forth from the barrel, the report echoing in the narrow confines of the apartment. The bullet missed its mark, but punched through the intruder's right flank with enough force to spin him to one side, throwing his aim off. Dean followed up with another shot, taking a quarter-second to aim before firing. A bloody hole was torn through the man's overcoat at the shoulder level, drawing a howl of pain from the assailant as he stumbled back against the wall.
A third pull of the trigger resulted in a disgusting, grinding *clack*. Panicked, Dean examined the ejection port and grimaced; the gun had become jammed.
Still stunned from the gunshot, the man was helpless as Dean raced around the counter and rapidly closed the distance between them; the detective shoved the shotgun aside and struck the intruder hard across the face, knocking his head painfully against the wall and causing him to slump the ground, groaning loudly.
Quickly pocketing the jammed pistol and grabbing the shotgun from the dazed man's hands, Dean held the man at bay as he analyzed his bruised, bloody face.
Memory finally kicked in. "Carl," he said with a low growl, remembering the details of the American agent.
The brown-haired man coughed loudly, leaning to his right. Dean noticed an additional bullet hole in the left shoulder of Carl's coat, stained dark with old blood. Through the hole, he spotted a trace of reddish-white bandages.
With a morbid smirk, Dean balanced the shotgun in his left hand, tightening his hold on the pistol-like grip of the weapon, and firmly squeezed the twice-wounded shoulder. "I'll say this once," he said, staring at the agent's deep, penetrating blue eyes. "I can make it hurt, or I can make it *really* hurt. Where's Kenichi?"
Carl turned his head to glare at Dean. "Go to hell.... graaaaaaaaahhhh!!" he suddenly cried as Dean harshly clamped his hand over the wound, agitating the still-bleeding flesh wound. This was followed up by a hammer blow to the shoulder, which instantly ignited the agent's nerve endings in a blinding flash of pain. "Ohhh, god..." he groaned weakly, tears of pain twisting free from his eyes.
"Where's Kenichi?!" shouted Dean.
"Augh... parking lot. Silver Lexus... nnng... section 4. KNZ-4224." Carl broke off as he coughed loudly, weakly clutching the wound in his side.
Dean released Carl's shoulder and moved to his feet, taking the shotgun in both hands. "Cops are on their way. If you wanna save your own ass, you're gonna stay right here."
At that, Dean moved to his feet and dashed out into the hall. He heard several gasps and cries of alarm as curious residents spotted him. "Stay in your rooms!" he ordered, being careful to keep the shotgun pointed before him, away from any of the bystanders as he raced by, heading for the elevator.
Mercifully, the door responded instantly to the call button. Dean scrambled inside and hit the button for the lobby, his mind stringing together a truly majestic volley of curse words in a vain effort to grasp what had just happened. The shotgun trembled in his hand as the elevator swayed and sank; his sweat-slickened palms readjusted their hold on the weapon, the acrid stench of spent gunpowder still detectable from the barrel.
He watched the floor counter decrease from five to one, and then to the ground floor. Barely waiting for the doors to open, Dean sprinted through, hearing a chorus of confused murmurs and frightened shouts as employees and guests spotted him. Seconds later, he found himself staring through the blackened, sliding glass doors leading out of the apartment.
As he approached, they slid open, a gaping maw threatening to consume him. Briefly, his mind flashed back to a dungeon, a doorway from mere hours ago, and yet it seemed like an entire lifetime. It beckoning to him with its darkness, purple, ethereal wisps of smoke heralding the danger that lay beyond.
(All right, Mr. Fukada,) thought Dean as he stepped forward to meet this field's boss, his shoeless feet gingerly falling onto the concrete of the parking lot. (It's just you and me now.)
- End of Chapter X