.Hack//Heist
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Project .Hack that could make me money. In fact, it's more likely the exact opposite, and not in the form of employment either.
Notes: Takes place shortly after Mutation begins. Parentheses indicate thoughts. My god can beat up your god. And I don't even believe in my god, I actually believe in yours... hmm... waaaait a minute, lemme think about this for a second...
Chapter XVII - Reprieve
------------
A pair of feet beat listlessly against the cobblestone street, leather boots making slight scuffling noises as they were almost dragged along the ground; slowly they drifted into an alley, their owner unconcerned with posture or poise. Around him was the gentle splashing and swirling of water, one of the smaller tributaries from the main river branching off to run parallel to the walkway; the noise amplified as he stepped further into the alley, digital sounds matching their real-life counterparts as they echoed off the dense urban sprawl which now surrounded him.
The noise went unnoticed by the Twin Blade, his eyes fixed straight ahead in a distant expression; he came to a stop as he entered a small cul-de-sac in the alley, surrounded by buildings on all sides save his right - where the river lay - and his back - from where he came. The stream carried with it a gentle breeze, which tugged at his bright red and white outfit, stray fingers of air lightly teasing the spiky teal locks which poked out from beneath his cap.
His thousand yard stare held, a telltale sign that his puppeteer had his eyes elsewhere at the moment, a fact that may have saved the Heavy Blade which approached him a moment of confusion.
"Kite?" called BlackRose, slowly approaching the stalled Twin Blade.
She waited a handful of seconds before addressing him again. "Hey, you there?" She moved to stand in front of him, her voice rising into a shout. "Hello!!"
"Uh?" grunted Kite, his eyes breaking from their absent gaze and finding a more focused pair staring back at him, purplish-red orbs filled with confusion and frustration. "Ah, sorry..." Kite muttered as he came back to himself, his body assuming a more natural pose, "I was checking my mail."
"Still nothing?" asked BlackRose.
Kite shook his head. "Nothing yet. I can't tell if he's online or not... he didn't respond to flash mail, so I tried e-mailing him." He sighed. "I think... something happened to him."
"Something?" She blinked. "Do you mean that... that, whatever it was... uh, Delphi?"
With a shrug, Kite said, "I don't know... I just think they'd tell us if something was going on."
"Urrrgh!" growled BlackRose, stepping to her right and throwing a hard, backhanded punch out at empty air. "Damn it! Now what are we supposed to do?"
"If only we'd gotten some kind of lead... I guess we're back to square one."
She frowned. "That's just great. All that work for nothing, and now who knows what is lurking in that field."
Kite's head lowered a notch; without thinking, his gaze shifted to his right arm. He flinched, briefly. (It's like it doesn't matter what I do,) he thought, failing to notice BlackRose performing a similar motion, head drooped forward slightly, eyes to the ground.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave his head another shake, scattering his thoughts long enough to remember a more immediate problem, one evidenced by the sudden rumbling of his stomach.
"Hey," he said, lifting his head to face BlackRose. He made brief note of her posture and sudden bout of silence, but opted against comment. "I'm going to log off for a bit, I need to get something to eat."
"Yeah... okay," she muttered, not looking back.
He paused. Something was definitely off with her, and he had a hunch it wasn't just the events of the past hour. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking a tentative step towards her.
"I'm fine!" she snapped, spinning on her heels and giving Kite a piercing stare; he shivered as her features contorted to one of barely subdued hostility, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, brow furrowed. A part of him sensed it wasn't her character making the face.
"All right..." he mumbled, raising a hand defensively, backing away. "I'll... see you later, then." He didn't want to leave, but the choice between filling an empty stomach and dealing with the angry Heavy Blade was rapidly tilting in favor of the former. Kite turned away, miming Hiroshi as he reached up to remove the visor, his other hand issuing the logoff command to The World.
Just before the alley faded to black, he heard her voice once more. "Why are you always like that?" she hissed, more to herself but loud enough for him to hear. As he drifted from one World to the next, he pondered whether this was intentional or not.
-
"Jesus, Max!"
"Son of a bitch... just like those goddamn kids. Son of a bitch!"
"He's still alive. Call an ambulance, now!"
-
"Mnnnn..."
Hiroshi buried his face in his hands and vigorously massaged his eyes with his fingers, forcing them to obey his half-hearted desire to remain conscious. The ambiance of the aqua capital was still fresh in his ears, though it had long since been replaced by the whirr of a microwave to his right, and the chatter of a TV news anchorman to his left.
In many ways, his mind had yet to leave the alley. No small amount of consternation had erupted from their ultimately fruitless encounter with Tamon and his group; Hiroshi suspected that, if anything, things had only gotten worse.
What, exactly, had gotten worse was open to more speculation than the boy was willing to delve into at the moment. More to the point, he had something else on his mind.
(She seemed really angry... it has to be about that thing. Those Bugs... I don't know...)
His head lowered again, sinking beneath his folded arms. He saw the alley once again, the harsh features of BlackRose etched in his memory before he vanished. He had seen her angry before, but mostly it was all a farce, a character trait meant to cover for her otherwise obvious newbie status in The World. For all her cheerful bravado and cutely self-centered behavior, he knew that beneath the thorny exterior was someone not unlike himself. Uncertain, scared, yet striving to find out more, not content with just sitting back and waiting for things to work themselves out.
That's why he trusted her. And that's why her parting comments had stuck with him so. ("Why are you always like that?" Because I'm afraid... I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing.)
(Is that it?) a rebel faction of his thoughts asked.
(Of course it is,) he answered himself. (Isn't it?)
(Perhaps. Or perhaps you're afraid of saying the wrong thing?)
He blinked at his own thoughts. (What?)
The timer on the microwave ticked off its last second, spending the last of its heated radiance against the box of noodles it contained. A loud beep added fanfare to the event, freeing Hiroshi from his dueling thoughts, if momentarily so.
With a groan, he stood up, approaching the microwave. The words of the anchorman caught his ears long enough to sound like complete sentences, though he paid them no heed as he produced his meal from the still-warm innards of the appliance. As he set the box down on the table, questions poured into his mind; he sat down and tumbled them across his thoughts as his silverware-equipped hands went to work on the noodles.
(So, something happened to her about a Data Bug... and those guys are looking into this as well. I wonder how many others are, too?) He winced slightly as he bit into a still-cold noodle, the ineptitude of the aging machine quickly coming to his attention. "Euch," he muttered, dropping the rest of the noodle back in the box and fishing around for another.
(I don't think they knew about that Delphi, though. But then why was it there? Was it waiting for us?)
Once again, the boy found himself with far too few answers for the multitude of questions facing him. Before he could begin to crack just one, the last of his noodles disappeared into the depths of his stomach - including the half-eaten, partially thawed one.
A shake of his head dispelled the sense of futility which naturally accompanied his thoughts, and he nonchalantly tossed the empty box in the garbage. Slight scent and taste of garlic and soy on his lips - or something awfully close - he strode back upstairs, the light from his bedroom shining like a lighthouse into the darkened hallway.
Again, his thoughts wandered, returning to the spat with themselves prior to his meal, playing out a microscopic game of Pong in his mind. (A kind word here and there wouldn't hurt. She has her own problems too.)
(Not that she's bothered to share either with me,) he thought with a sigh. Rebound.
His thoughts immediately bounced back. (Have to give to receive sometimes; maybe she has her reasons.)
He rounded the corner into his room, closing the door behind him. (But what if I say the wrong thing?) he began, paddle scrambling madly into place.
The ball slipped past the paddle. Game, set and match. His thoughts fell silent, paralyzed; he frowned, realizing his earlier self-critique had been right. He WAS afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Feeling a tightness in his arms and legs, he stood up on his toes and raised his arms towards the ceiling, letting out a long, satisfied groan as his muscles stretched and pulled, grateful for the movement after World-induced inactivity. He chuckled. (Well, she's right about one thing, at least,) he thought, recalling one of their first e-mail exchanges. Relaxing, he collapsed back into his desk chair and set his hands at the keyboard.
To his surprise, the e-mail client popped up immediately with a notification, informing him of a new message. His response was as natural as scratching an itch; he opened the client and the message it contained.
-
From: BlackRose@theworld.com
To: Kite@theworld.com
Subj: Those guys
Something's not right... I just spoke with a Blademaster who said that a Long Arm tried to PK him - he described somebody that sounds like TamonAdillo. So I did some asking around; nobody seems to know who these guys are. Didn't they say they were investigating The World?
I'm meeting with another player soon, at Delta: Expansive Pagan Nothingness. Come by ASAP, I'll fill you in on what I found out.
-
He smiled. (No rest for the l33t,) he thought with a chuckle, scrolling up to the icon for "The World" and clicking it twice.
- End of Chapter XVII
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Project .Hack that could make me money. In fact, it's more likely the exact opposite, and not in the form of employment either.
Notes: Takes place shortly after Mutation begins. Parentheses indicate thoughts. My god can beat up your god. And I don't even believe in my god, I actually believe in yours... hmm... waaaait a minute, lemme think about this for a second...
Chapter XVII - Reprieve
------------
A pair of feet beat listlessly against the cobblestone street, leather boots making slight scuffling noises as they were almost dragged along the ground; slowly they drifted into an alley, their owner unconcerned with posture or poise. Around him was the gentle splashing and swirling of water, one of the smaller tributaries from the main river branching off to run parallel to the walkway; the noise amplified as he stepped further into the alley, digital sounds matching their real-life counterparts as they echoed off the dense urban sprawl which now surrounded him.
The noise went unnoticed by the Twin Blade, his eyes fixed straight ahead in a distant expression; he came to a stop as he entered a small cul-de-sac in the alley, surrounded by buildings on all sides save his right - where the river lay - and his back - from where he came. The stream carried with it a gentle breeze, which tugged at his bright red and white outfit, stray fingers of air lightly teasing the spiky teal locks which poked out from beneath his cap.
His thousand yard stare held, a telltale sign that his puppeteer had his eyes elsewhere at the moment, a fact that may have saved the Heavy Blade which approached him a moment of confusion.
"Kite?" called BlackRose, slowly approaching the stalled Twin Blade.
She waited a handful of seconds before addressing him again. "Hey, you there?" She moved to stand in front of him, her voice rising into a shout. "Hello!!"
"Uh?" grunted Kite, his eyes breaking from their absent gaze and finding a more focused pair staring back at him, purplish-red orbs filled with confusion and frustration. "Ah, sorry..." Kite muttered as he came back to himself, his body assuming a more natural pose, "I was checking my mail."
"Still nothing?" asked BlackRose.
Kite shook his head. "Nothing yet. I can't tell if he's online or not... he didn't respond to flash mail, so I tried e-mailing him." He sighed. "I think... something happened to him."
"Something?" She blinked. "Do you mean that... that, whatever it was... uh, Delphi?"
With a shrug, Kite said, "I don't know... I just think they'd tell us if something was going on."
"Urrrgh!" growled BlackRose, stepping to her right and throwing a hard, backhanded punch out at empty air. "Damn it! Now what are we supposed to do?"
"If only we'd gotten some kind of lead... I guess we're back to square one."
She frowned. "That's just great. All that work for nothing, and now who knows what is lurking in that field."
Kite's head lowered a notch; without thinking, his gaze shifted to his right arm. He flinched, briefly. (It's like it doesn't matter what I do,) he thought, failing to notice BlackRose performing a similar motion, head drooped forward slightly, eyes to the ground.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave his head another shake, scattering his thoughts long enough to remember a more immediate problem, one evidenced by the sudden rumbling of his stomach.
"Hey," he said, lifting his head to face BlackRose. He made brief note of her posture and sudden bout of silence, but opted against comment. "I'm going to log off for a bit, I need to get something to eat."
"Yeah... okay," she muttered, not looking back.
He paused. Something was definitely off with her, and he had a hunch it wasn't just the events of the past hour. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking a tentative step towards her.
"I'm fine!" she snapped, spinning on her heels and giving Kite a piercing stare; he shivered as her features contorted to one of barely subdued hostility, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, brow furrowed. A part of him sensed it wasn't her character making the face.
"All right..." he mumbled, raising a hand defensively, backing away. "I'll... see you later, then." He didn't want to leave, but the choice between filling an empty stomach and dealing with the angry Heavy Blade was rapidly tilting in favor of the former. Kite turned away, miming Hiroshi as he reached up to remove the visor, his other hand issuing the logoff command to The World.
Just before the alley faded to black, he heard her voice once more. "Why are you always like that?" she hissed, more to herself but loud enough for him to hear. As he drifted from one World to the next, he pondered whether this was intentional or not.
-
"Jesus, Max!"
"Son of a bitch... just like those goddamn kids. Son of a bitch!"
"He's still alive. Call an ambulance, now!"
-
"Mnnnn..."
Hiroshi buried his face in his hands and vigorously massaged his eyes with his fingers, forcing them to obey his half-hearted desire to remain conscious. The ambiance of the aqua capital was still fresh in his ears, though it had long since been replaced by the whirr of a microwave to his right, and the chatter of a TV news anchorman to his left.
In many ways, his mind had yet to leave the alley. No small amount of consternation had erupted from their ultimately fruitless encounter with Tamon and his group; Hiroshi suspected that, if anything, things had only gotten worse.
What, exactly, had gotten worse was open to more speculation than the boy was willing to delve into at the moment. More to the point, he had something else on his mind.
(She seemed really angry... it has to be about that thing. Those Bugs... I don't know...)
His head lowered again, sinking beneath his folded arms. He saw the alley once again, the harsh features of BlackRose etched in his memory before he vanished. He had seen her angry before, but mostly it was all a farce, a character trait meant to cover for her otherwise obvious newbie status in The World. For all her cheerful bravado and cutely self-centered behavior, he knew that beneath the thorny exterior was someone not unlike himself. Uncertain, scared, yet striving to find out more, not content with just sitting back and waiting for things to work themselves out.
That's why he trusted her. And that's why her parting comments had stuck with him so. ("Why are you always like that?" Because I'm afraid... I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing.)
(Is that it?) a rebel faction of his thoughts asked.
(Of course it is,) he answered himself. (Isn't it?)
(Perhaps. Or perhaps you're afraid of saying the wrong thing?)
He blinked at his own thoughts. (What?)
The timer on the microwave ticked off its last second, spending the last of its heated radiance against the box of noodles it contained. A loud beep added fanfare to the event, freeing Hiroshi from his dueling thoughts, if momentarily so.
With a groan, he stood up, approaching the microwave. The words of the anchorman caught his ears long enough to sound like complete sentences, though he paid them no heed as he produced his meal from the still-warm innards of the appliance. As he set the box down on the table, questions poured into his mind; he sat down and tumbled them across his thoughts as his silverware-equipped hands went to work on the noodles.
(So, something happened to her about a Data Bug... and those guys are looking into this as well. I wonder how many others are, too?) He winced slightly as he bit into a still-cold noodle, the ineptitude of the aging machine quickly coming to his attention. "Euch," he muttered, dropping the rest of the noodle back in the box and fishing around for another.
(I don't think they knew about that Delphi, though. But then why was it there? Was it waiting for us?)
Once again, the boy found himself with far too few answers for the multitude of questions facing him. Before he could begin to crack just one, the last of his noodles disappeared into the depths of his stomach - including the half-eaten, partially thawed one.
A shake of his head dispelled the sense of futility which naturally accompanied his thoughts, and he nonchalantly tossed the empty box in the garbage. Slight scent and taste of garlic and soy on his lips - or something awfully close - he strode back upstairs, the light from his bedroom shining like a lighthouse into the darkened hallway.
Again, his thoughts wandered, returning to the spat with themselves prior to his meal, playing out a microscopic game of Pong in his mind. (A kind word here and there wouldn't hurt. She has her own problems too.)
(Not that she's bothered to share either with me,) he thought with a sigh. Rebound.
His thoughts immediately bounced back. (Have to give to receive sometimes; maybe she has her reasons.)
He rounded the corner into his room, closing the door behind him. (But what if I say the wrong thing?) he began, paddle scrambling madly into place.
The ball slipped past the paddle. Game, set and match. His thoughts fell silent, paralyzed; he frowned, realizing his earlier self-critique had been right. He WAS afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Feeling a tightness in his arms and legs, he stood up on his toes and raised his arms towards the ceiling, letting out a long, satisfied groan as his muscles stretched and pulled, grateful for the movement after World-induced inactivity. He chuckled. (Well, she's right about one thing, at least,) he thought, recalling one of their first e-mail exchanges. Relaxing, he collapsed back into his desk chair and set his hands at the keyboard.
To his surprise, the e-mail client popped up immediately with a notification, informing him of a new message. His response was as natural as scratching an itch; he opened the client and the message it contained.
-
From: BlackRose@theworld.com
To: Kite@theworld.com
Subj: Those guys
Something's not right... I just spoke with a Blademaster who said that a Long Arm tried to PK him - he described somebody that sounds like TamonAdillo. So I did some asking around; nobody seems to know who these guys are. Didn't they say they were investigating The World?
I'm meeting with another player soon, at Delta: Expansive Pagan Nothingness. Come by ASAP, I'll fill you in on what I found out.
-
He smiled. (No rest for the l33t,) he thought with a chuckle, scrolling up to the icon for "The World" and clicking it twice.
- End of Chapter XVII