.Hack//Heist
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing related to Project .Hack. Not that I ever really wanted to own it in the first place; granted, it'd make fanfic writing a heck of a lot easier, but what's the fun in that?
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. This space for rent: call Todd at (141) 555-1337.
Chapter XI - Justify the Means
------------
Slowly he crept past row after row of lifeless vehicles, their headlights silently watching his every move. Crossing over into lot four, he hunched over to duck behind a dark red SUV, attempting to stay in its shadow against the lightpost which loomed overhead. The shotgun rattled slightly as the handle shook in its relaxed position, slick with sweat from the palm of his hand.
(Come on, Chino) thought Dean. (Show me what you got.)
He took another step forward, and gasped sharply as his foot fell on something hard and pointy, with little more than the sock to protect it. With a grimace, he lifted his foot and brushed the rock aside before continuing his advance. (God damn it.)
Cautiously, he peered around the back of the SUV, carefully scanning the next row of cars. Spotting a silver car roughly fifteen feet away, he cast a glance at the license plate; inwardly, he cursed again as he realized he'd forgotten the number given to him.
Taking a cursory appraisal of his surroundings, he spotted no one nearby, and promptly made a hushed, hurried dash for the next row. His lack of footwear aided greatly in his ability to remain quiet, his feet barely making a sound as he scurried along the blissfully smooth pavement. Quickly reaching the next row, he repeated the procedure, ducking down beneath the trunk of a sports car and cautiously poking his head around to search for his assailant.
Without warning, a tiny, yet intense flash of red light swept over his eye; he reacted instantly, ducking back behind the car and out of the laser's view.
(Damn, he saw me!) His heart, which had almost settled to a normal rhythm, began pounding once more; he sunk down low, half-sitting, half-laying on the ground, making sure no part of him was exposed.
An uneasy silence settled over the parking lot, as pervasive as the warm, damp night air; Dean cringed, realizing he had no real idea where Kenichi was.
The suicidal part of him took over, reasoning that anything was better than waiting for the sniper to advance. "Kenichi!" he shouted, wincing slightly from the uncomfortable position he occupied. "Come out and face me, you chickenshit bastard!"
To his surprise, Kenichi answered. "It's over for you, Stollis! You know there's no way you're coming out of this alive!"
Dean listened carefully, trying to deduce Kenichi's location from his voice. "The cops are on their way. Your man's down; all I gotta do is wait."
"You needed the money that badly, did you?"
Dean glared, sparks of rage flickering in his eyes at his opponent's mocking tone. "You just killed a man, Ken; you're in no position to get self-righteous with me."
Kenichi's reply was all he needed; a rough guess of his location permitted Dean to move, rounding the front of the car, careful to stay low and out of sight.
"Do you have any idea what you three almost did tonight?!" hollered Kenichi. "You're right, Delphi is a weapon. And you were all trying to release it!"
Keeping silent, Dean continued along the row of cars, cautiously peering around the front fender to scan the next row over. "You had no idea what it was Asara really wanted," Kenichi continued, "what they were going to do with it. Don't you dare try to play hero, Stollis; you just wanted your goddamn money!"
Seven cars down, Dean tilted his head around a pickup truck and stifled a gasp as he spotted Kenichi kneeling behind a silver Lexus, training a scoped, laser-equipped rifle on the sports car Dean had been hiding behind. Dean crept past one more car before sneaking around it and creeping towards the next row. Leading with his shotgun, he leaned around the back and glanced quickly at Kenichi; a dry smirk crossed his lips as he realized the gunman hadn't left his position.
He heard Kenichi sigh. "I know this will mean nothing to you, Stollis, but Shinji's death was necessary. We were just doing our jobs, what we were trained and paid to do. It was you who wanted to take it, to use it... even if you didn't know it."
Dean took a deep breath, holding it and, with painful caution, crept out of hiding and towards Kenichi. He kept an eye on the rifle, waiting for any sign of movement, slowly closing the distance between the two men. Six steps later, Dean felt close enough to confidently fire his weapon with any degree of accuracy.
Throwing caution to the wind, he stood up, his joints groaning in satisfaction as they straightened out; keeping the barrel trained on center of mass, he called out to Kenichi. "Put down the rifle, Ken." He took another step forward, a slight chill running through him as his finger brushed against the trigger. "I'm only asking once."
Kenichi instantly tensed up, and Dean heard him mutter a curse. Reluctantly, the agent took his finger off the rifle trigger and set it down on the hood of the car.
"Take two steps back and put your hands on your head. Slowly."
Kenichi scoffed loudly, and disregarded the order, instead rising to his feet and turning to face Dean. "You going to shoot me, sarge?"
The rage returned, and Dean took a step forward. "Get on your knees," he ordered.
A menacing smirk crossed the Japanese agent's narrow lips and hawkish face. His hazel eyes stared coldly at Dean, hinting at the malice beneath them. "You're a sad man, Stollis. A thief who still thinks he's playing cops and robbers."
Dean growled. "Cut the high-and-mighty crap. Your techs were supposed to get rid of Delphi after the experiments were cancelled. Now you're using him as a digital hitman. You sent him after Max, Shinji and me." His eyes blazed. "You sent him after a couple of kids, for Christ's sake!"
Kenichi spat on the ground, throwing a disdainful look at Dean. "That 'Kite' is no kid. He and that other bitch, they helped you steal from us. They've been waltzing around The World like they own the damn thing, blatantly defying Administration."
"It was your program that put his friend in a coma!" shouted Dean, his voice rising to a guttural octave. "Your game, your programs are killing people!"
Visibly faltering, Kenichi stammered out a reply. "But, you... he... you were going to put that thing in Asara's hands..."
Dean felt an invisible hand clench his throat, his head lowering slightly in shame, one eye still carefully watching Kenichi. "You're absolutely right," he muttered. "We were going to just hand it over... until we found out what it was." He lifted his head once more, staring Kenichi in the eye. "It ever cross YOUR mind to get rid of it?" he shot, waving the barrel of the gun accusingly.
Kenichi inhaled sharply, but said nothing. "Two people are in comas right now, fighting for their lives, and by the end of the night two kids might be joining them. Three people have died tonight." Dean paused, letting the agent absorb the words. "How many more have to go before you'll put a stop to this?"
Kenichi blinked. "Me?!"
Dean nodded. "That's right. You haven't done shit but sit on this thing and wait for somebody like me to come along and try to steal it, or someone like Kite to fight it." He sighed. "Yeah, it was all for the money. I'm not proud of it, and I'm not happy about it; I never said I was doing the right thing, but even I know this's something nobody should have. You just shot a man who was going to put a stop to this, and right now that thing is in The World, and it's after two good kids who just wanted to know why the hell your game was hurting their friends."
"I don't understand," said Kenichi, his voice shifting to a neutral tone. "What are you doing this for?"
Slowly, Dean lowered the shotgun, keeping it pointed in Kenichi's direction. His eyelids fell, his eyes gazing at the concrete where Kenichi stood. The question tumbled over and over in his mind, and yet his heart came through loud and clear with a simple, yet brutal answer.
"Redemption."
Kenichi couldn't help but smirk. "Redemption? Are you kidding me?" He flinched as Dean lifted his head and stared straight through him.
"You're right, Ken," said Dean, the lump in his throat growing larger and more obtrusive. "We did a bad thing tonight, all of us. We nearly set it loose; god only knows what would've happened if we didn't bother to find out what it was." He let out a dry half-chuckle. "I suppose we have you to thank for it... if we didn't know it was protected, we never would've bothered to ask in the first place."
"Shinji's dead because of you, and Max might be joining him. Those kids are in trouble because of us, because we got them involved." He sighed. "I'm going to do what we *both* should've been trying to do."
Kenichi heard the weight in the words Dean spoke. "Maybe I can break even," said Dean softly.
"And that's enough for you?" asked Ken.
Dean nodded. "It's enough for me to try."
The agent averted his gaze, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his tan trenchcoat and pulling out a ring of keys. Dean watched, confused, as Ken set the keyring on the hood of the car, next to the sniper rifle. "Cyber Connect only wanted Shinji," he said. "They don't know anything about you; Carl and I didn't know either until we started trying to find him."
"What are you doing?"
Kenichi continued without pause, seemingly ignoring Dean. "My computer's on the fifteenth floor. We used it to activate Delphi; you should be able to delete the entirety of the program from there." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, setting it next to the car keys. "Use my ID to get in. And keep your head down."
Dean blinked, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"
"You're going to delete the files, aren't you?" asked Kenichi, not waiting for a reply. "You can do it from CC's headquarters." He hesitated. "That... was your plan, right?"
"I guess so," muttered Dean. "Not much other choice, is there?"
Ken chuckled, a hint of the former malice crossing his eyes. "You're still trying to play the hero, Stollis," he remarked. "Do you really think you can win this one?"
Dean chewed on his lip for a second before answering. "Maybe."
Kenichi's lips parted into a slow grin, pearly white teeth shining in the light of the parking lot.
"Prove it to me," hissed the agent as his hand suddenly brushed aside part of his coat and went for a holster, concealed beneath the shoulder.
Caught off-guard, Dean barely got the shotgun up in time to fire as Kenichi came around with the pistol. The 12-gauge shell exploded in the barrel, spraying forth a tight cloud of buckshot which sailed unerringly towards its target. Kick from the blast pulled the gun up two inches, forcing Dean to fight for control.
Before Dean could pump the handle and load another shell, the buckshot struck Kenichi hard in the chest, the whole of the cloud slamming into his torso and upper body and blasting him off his feet. A fine mist of blood sailed from the numerous tiny wounds, coating the ground beneath him in a thin red paste. His body flew backwards and slammed roughly against the hood of the Lexus; he snapped like a whip, bouncing off the hood and falling forward onto his stomach, colliding hard on the unforgiving concrete lot. A desperate, gurgling groan escaped his lips as his body convulsed once before going limp, a pistol clenched in his right hand.
Dean frowned at the sight and looked away, the sudden metallic scent of blood almost strong enough to taste. Mere seconds later, the cacophonous wailing of police sirens stole any hope of reprieve from Dean. Hastily, he forced the handgun from Kenichi's lifeless hand, clicking the safety on and pocketing it; he then grabbed the keyring and wallet before dashing away into the night, leaving the parking lot behind him.
- End of Chapter XI
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I claim ownership of nothing related to Project .Hack. Not that I ever really wanted to own it in the first place; granted, it'd make fanfic writing a heck of a lot easier, but what's the fun in that?
Notes: Takes place between Infection and Mutation. Parentheses indicate thoughts. This space for rent: call Todd at (141) 555-1337.
Chapter XI - Justify the Means
------------
Slowly he crept past row after row of lifeless vehicles, their headlights silently watching his every move. Crossing over into lot four, he hunched over to duck behind a dark red SUV, attempting to stay in its shadow against the lightpost which loomed overhead. The shotgun rattled slightly as the handle shook in its relaxed position, slick with sweat from the palm of his hand.
(Come on, Chino) thought Dean. (Show me what you got.)
He took another step forward, and gasped sharply as his foot fell on something hard and pointy, with little more than the sock to protect it. With a grimace, he lifted his foot and brushed the rock aside before continuing his advance. (God damn it.)
Cautiously, he peered around the back of the SUV, carefully scanning the next row of cars. Spotting a silver car roughly fifteen feet away, he cast a glance at the license plate; inwardly, he cursed again as he realized he'd forgotten the number given to him.
Taking a cursory appraisal of his surroundings, he spotted no one nearby, and promptly made a hushed, hurried dash for the next row. His lack of footwear aided greatly in his ability to remain quiet, his feet barely making a sound as he scurried along the blissfully smooth pavement. Quickly reaching the next row, he repeated the procedure, ducking down beneath the trunk of a sports car and cautiously poking his head around to search for his assailant.
Without warning, a tiny, yet intense flash of red light swept over his eye; he reacted instantly, ducking back behind the car and out of the laser's view.
(Damn, he saw me!) His heart, which had almost settled to a normal rhythm, began pounding once more; he sunk down low, half-sitting, half-laying on the ground, making sure no part of him was exposed.
An uneasy silence settled over the parking lot, as pervasive as the warm, damp night air; Dean cringed, realizing he had no real idea where Kenichi was.
The suicidal part of him took over, reasoning that anything was better than waiting for the sniper to advance. "Kenichi!" he shouted, wincing slightly from the uncomfortable position he occupied. "Come out and face me, you chickenshit bastard!"
To his surprise, Kenichi answered. "It's over for you, Stollis! You know there's no way you're coming out of this alive!"
Dean listened carefully, trying to deduce Kenichi's location from his voice. "The cops are on their way. Your man's down; all I gotta do is wait."
"You needed the money that badly, did you?"
Dean glared, sparks of rage flickering in his eyes at his opponent's mocking tone. "You just killed a man, Ken; you're in no position to get self-righteous with me."
Kenichi's reply was all he needed; a rough guess of his location permitted Dean to move, rounding the front of the car, careful to stay low and out of sight.
"Do you have any idea what you three almost did tonight?!" hollered Kenichi. "You're right, Delphi is a weapon. And you were all trying to release it!"
Keeping silent, Dean continued along the row of cars, cautiously peering around the front fender to scan the next row over. "You had no idea what it was Asara really wanted," Kenichi continued, "what they were going to do with it. Don't you dare try to play hero, Stollis; you just wanted your goddamn money!"
Seven cars down, Dean tilted his head around a pickup truck and stifled a gasp as he spotted Kenichi kneeling behind a silver Lexus, training a scoped, laser-equipped rifle on the sports car Dean had been hiding behind. Dean crept past one more car before sneaking around it and creeping towards the next row. Leading with his shotgun, he leaned around the back and glanced quickly at Kenichi; a dry smirk crossed his lips as he realized the gunman hadn't left his position.
He heard Kenichi sigh. "I know this will mean nothing to you, Stollis, but Shinji's death was necessary. We were just doing our jobs, what we were trained and paid to do. It was you who wanted to take it, to use it... even if you didn't know it."
Dean took a deep breath, holding it and, with painful caution, crept out of hiding and towards Kenichi. He kept an eye on the rifle, waiting for any sign of movement, slowly closing the distance between the two men. Six steps later, Dean felt close enough to confidently fire his weapon with any degree of accuracy.
Throwing caution to the wind, he stood up, his joints groaning in satisfaction as they straightened out; keeping the barrel trained on center of mass, he called out to Kenichi. "Put down the rifle, Ken." He took another step forward, a slight chill running through him as his finger brushed against the trigger. "I'm only asking once."
Kenichi instantly tensed up, and Dean heard him mutter a curse. Reluctantly, the agent took his finger off the rifle trigger and set it down on the hood of the car.
"Take two steps back and put your hands on your head. Slowly."
Kenichi scoffed loudly, and disregarded the order, instead rising to his feet and turning to face Dean. "You going to shoot me, sarge?"
The rage returned, and Dean took a step forward. "Get on your knees," he ordered.
A menacing smirk crossed the Japanese agent's narrow lips and hawkish face. His hazel eyes stared coldly at Dean, hinting at the malice beneath them. "You're a sad man, Stollis. A thief who still thinks he's playing cops and robbers."
Dean growled. "Cut the high-and-mighty crap. Your techs were supposed to get rid of Delphi after the experiments were cancelled. Now you're using him as a digital hitman. You sent him after Max, Shinji and me." His eyes blazed. "You sent him after a couple of kids, for Christ's sake!"
Kenichi spat on the ground, throwing a disdainful look at Dean. "That 'Kite' is no kid. He and that other bitch, they helped you steal from us. They've been waltzing around The World like they own the damn thing, blatantly defying Administration."
"It was your program that put his friend in a coma!" shouted Dean, his voice rising to a guttural octave. "Your game, your programs are killing people!"
Visibly faltering, Kenichi stammered out a reply. "But, you... he... you were going to put that thing in Asara's hands..."
Dean felt an invisible hand clench his throat, his head lowering slightly in shame, one eye still carefully watching Kenichi. "You're absolutely right," he muttered. "We were going to just hand it over... until we found out what it was." He lifted his head once more, staring Kenichi in the eye. "It ever cross YOUR mind to get rid of it?" he shot, waving the barrel of the gun accusingly.
Kenichi inhaled sharply, but said nothing. "Two people are in comas right now, fighting for their lives, and by the end of the night two kids might be joining them. Three people have died tonight." Dean paused, letting the agent absorb the words. "How many more have to go before you'll put a stop to this?"
Kenichi blinked. "Me?!"
Dean nodded. "That's right. You haven't done shit but sit on this thing and wait for somebody like me to come along and try to steal it, or someone like Kite to fight it." He sighed. "Yeah, it was all for the money. I'm not proud of it, and I'm not happy about it; I never said I was doing the right thing, but even I know this's something nobody should have. You just shot a man who was going to put a stop to this, and right now that thing is in The World, and it's after two good kids who just wanted to know why the hell your game was hurting their friends."
"I don't understand," said Kenichi, his voice shifting to a neutral tone. "What are you doing this for?"
Slowly, Dean lowered the shotgun, keeping it pointed in Kenichi's direction. His eyelids fell, his eyes gazing at the concrete where Kenichi stood. The question tumbled over and over in his mind, and yet his heart came through loud and clear with a simple, yet brutal answer.
"Redemption."
Kenichi couldn't help but smirk. "Redemption? Are you kidding me?" He flinched as Dean lifted his head and stared straight through him.
"You're right, Ken," said Dean, the lump in his throat growing larger and more obtrusive. "We did a bad thing tonight, all of us. We nearly set it loose; god only knows what would've happened if we didn't bother to find out what it was." He let out a dry half-chuckle. "I suppose we have you to thank for it... if we didn't know it was protected, we never would've bothered to ask in the first place."
"Shinji's dead because of you, and Max might be joining him. Those kids are in trouble because of us, because we got them involved." He sighed. "I'm going to do what we *both* should've been trying to do."
Kenichi heard the weight in the words Dean spoke. "Maybe I can break even," said Dean softly.
"And that's enough for you?" asked Ken.
Dean nodded. "It's enough for me to try."
The agent averted his gaze, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his tan trenchcoat and pulling out a ring of keys. Dean watched, confused, as Ken set the keyring on the hood of the car, next to the sniper rifle. "Cyber Connect only wanted Shinji," he said. "They don't know anything about you; Carl and I didn't know either until we started trying to find him."
"What are you doing?"
Kenichi continued without pause, seemingly ignoring Dean. "My computer's on the fifteenth floor. We used it to activate Delphi; you should be able to delete the entirety of the program from there." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, setting it next to the car keys. "Use my ID to get in. And keep your head down."
Dean blinked, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"
"You're going to delete the files, aren't you?" asked Kenichi, not waiting for a reply. "You can do it from CC's headquarters." He hesitated. "That... was your plan, right?"
"I guess so," muttered Dean. "Not much other choice, is there?"
Ken chuckled, a hint of the former malice crossing his eyes. "You're still trying to play the hero, Stollis," he remarked. "Do you really think you can win this one?"
Dean chewed on his lip for a second before answering. "Maybe."
Kenichi's lips parted into a slow grin, pearly white teeth shining in the light of the parking lot.
"Prove it to me," hissed the agent as his hand suddenly brushed aside part of his coat and went for a holster, concealed beneath the shoulder.
Caught off-guard, Dean barely got the shotgun up in time to fire as Kenichi came around with the pistol. The 12-gauge shell exploded in the barrel, spraying forth a tight cloud of buckshot which sailed unerringly towards its target. Kick from the blast pulled the gun up two inches, forcing Dean to fight for control.
Before Dean could pump the handle and load another shell, the buckshot struck Kenichi hard in the chest, the whole of the cloud slamming into his torso and upper body and blasting him off his feet. A fine mist of blood sailed from the numerous tiny wounds, coating the ground beneath him in a thin red paste. His body flew backwards and slammed roughly against the hood of the Lexus; he snapped like a whip, bouncing off the hood and falling forward onto his stomach, colliding hard on the unforgiving concrete lot. A desperate, gurgling groan escaped his lips as his body convulsed once before going limp, a pistol clenched in his right hand.
Dean frowned at the sight and looked away, the sudden metallic scent of blood almost strong enough to taste. Mere seconds later, the cacophonous wailing of police sirens stole any hope of reprieve from Dean. Hastily, he forced the handgun from Kenichi's lifeless hand, clicking the safety on and pocketing it; he then grabbed the keyring and wallet before dashing away into the night, leaving the parking lot behind him.
- End of Chapter XI