.HackRelapse
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: The story and its characters are mine, but the world of .Hack and ITS characters are not. I wish they were, though, because then people would be putting MY name in their disclaimers, and that's just cool no matter how you look at it :)
Notes: Takes place during Outbreak. (Thoughts) and [writing] appear as such. In an interesting turn of events, last Saturday's episode of Sign presented me with just the information I needed to finish this chapter. Ito, you magnificent bastard, you.
Bonus cookie for anyone who can recognize where the chapter title is from.
Chapter 9 - Auspicious Hunting Ground
-------------------------------------
"Got your message. Are you absolutely sure?"
Dean anxiously drummed his fingers on the desk, his other hand holding the phone to his ear. He allowed his eyes to droop shut for a moment, a consequence of a fitful night's sleep, the evidence of which was all too visible: hair unkempt and yet to be brushed; shirt and boxer shorts instead of an actual outfit; the humming of a microwave as a frozen lunch was attacked by heat and light; the whirring of a computer fan as his machine came to life, monitor aglow with meaningless words, numbers and progress bars.
Masamoto's plain voice challenged him through the phone. "Their equipment and weapons were made in America; expensive, definitely not civilian. They're all registered U.S. citizens. One of the injured ones demanded to speak with the American consulate, and we found several fake IDs along with the equipment." He took a deep breath. "In addition, the one we have locked up confessed."
"This has international incident written all over it," remarked the detective.
"You're not kidding. The captain's on the phone right now with the U.S. embassy. He looked even more uptight than usual."
Dean sighed. "So where does this leave us?"
"Well, I doubt he'll be able to get any answers out of them, so I have another idea in mind." He hesitated. "I... don't think you're going to like it, though."
"Try me." Finished booting, the computer blinked the desktop into existence, icons appearing one by one.
"I cross-referenced the information on the spooks with that of one Seijiro Tanaka. As you know, Tanaka used to work for the Defense Department; the ARPANET project leader. He was also an envoy to the U.N., and was connected to big shots from several agencies, including the CIA."
The mail client flashed a notification. Eyebrow crooked in curiousity, Dean opened it with his free hand as he replied, "go on."
Masamoto lowered his voice, as if to hide it from other listeners. "I've just taken the liberty of sending you a few documents in regards to this connection."
Dean put one and two together as his inbox was laid bare before him.
[AMasamotomailserv.net
FWD: Tanaka bio
FWD: Incident 272-09 summary
FWD: Suspect profiles
FWD: Testimony of Han Katsuro (suspect, Inc. 272-09)]
"Not the real deal, but verbatim; suffice it to say that Tokyo's finest is sitting on some very interesting pieces of information regarding this whole affair." The lieutenant's smirk was all but audible. "Information that may make a few key people very cooperative."
"Define 'key people'."
Masamoto continued as if he hadn't heard Dean's request. "I was recently informed by one of my subordinates that a Mr. Seijiro Tanaka did not show up for work today. In fact, it appeared he has not left his house."
Dean's fatigue slowly vanished, giving way to an almost mischievous curiousity. "Is that a fact?"
A ding shot out from the microwave as the boxed lunch finished cooking. Dean ignored it, concentrating on Masamoto's reply. "I never liked mysteries, and this one isn't changing things for me. Find out what you can."
"I'm all over it," said Dean. "How do you want it done?"
"Do what it takes. Be creative. Good luck, Dean."
The line clicked dead, prompting Dean to hang up his end. (Creative, huh?) he thought with a devilish smile, one hand reaching for the printer power button. (I can do creative.)
-
The car eased its way down the street, the drive with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the door, as if he hadn't a care in the world - a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of thought in his head. He rolled through an intersection, the engines of other cars painfully audible through the two bullet holes in the passenger-side window, almost drowning out the unintelligible chatter of talk radio.
(So, Seijiro and the CIA... well, he was a Fed, but how does that fit in? Was he doing something that's related to his work with Cyber Connect?)
A backward glance over his shoulder told him that no one was close behind; instinctively flipping the turn signal, he eased the wheel right and guided his car into the next lane. Through the window, buildings and storefronts leisurely coasted by, gradually becoming less frequent as he left the downtown area and entered the suburbs.
(He had to be bullshitting me about Morganna. With all that's going on, no way that thing was some 'primitive' A.I. wannabe that got out of hand. It's following the Epitaph way too closely to be an accident.)
Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, upon which rested a large envelope; metal folds locked it shut and trapped the police documents inside, the detective's ticket to the next stage of the game, or so he hoped.
(We're getting closer, I can feel it... god, this better work. Like he said, we're all out of options.) He smirked. (Hell, if all else fails, I still have the iron...)
A familiar rumbling erupted from the glove box, a high pitch muffled by the enclosure surrounding it. Dean wrinkled his nose in annoyance. (Aw, not again... goddamnit, why do people keep calling when I'm in the middle of something??)
With a free hand, he popped the box and pulled the phone loose from the mini-library of vehicle and insurance information. A press of a button brought the caller's voice to his ears. "Y'ello!"
"Dean?"
The speaker was female, familiar, her voice soft and cautious. "Miku," he replied, careful not to sound surprised. Had he more time, he might have wondered why he would worry about how he sounded to her.
"I think I've found what they were looking for."
Dean's internal alarms went to DefCon 1 in a fraction of a second. "I'm listening."
"I can go over this better in person; are you busy?"
"Maybe." Dean gave the brake a solid push, coming to a stop at a red light. "What've you got?"
"Have you heard of something called 'Echelon'?" He recognized a minute amount of confusion in her voice, as if the word were foreign to her.
It wasn't to him. He threw a knowing glance at the enveloped documents, his pulse rising in anticipation. "I know of it. And I know someone who was in on it, too."
"I see." Almost no hesitation, as if she was less interested in listening than being heard. "Do you remember the incident I told you about? When I saw the Broken Man? That recording of Harold?"
"Yeah..." The light turned green. (C'mon, Miku, where are you going with this?)
"I found it buried in a log, very subtle. There were bursts of static, and patterns to them in binary. You might want to have a look at this."
(Now we're talking.) "All right, stay put," he said calmly, hiding his excitement. "I'm on my way."
"Okay," she said simply.
"And find out what you can on the 'net about Echelon. Our old pal Seijiro had a hand in that too, long before he hooked up with Cyber Connect."
"I'm on it." Her voice was firmer, more confident.
Dean relaxed his vigilance, flipping the turn signal as he rolled up to the next street. "You sure pick the best times," he said in mock sarcasm. "I was just on my way to have a little chat with Mr. Tanaka. 'Chat' being the operative word, if you get my drift."
A brief chuckle, throaty and subdued; a character trait he found oddly endearing, if in a smug I-know-something-you-don't kind of way. "I'd hate to pull you away from your leisure time, detective."
"Yeah, well you're not such a bad sleuth yourself," admitted Dean.
"Some people do more in 'The World' than just play." There was a faint lilt to her voice that hinted at a smile.
An ironic grin worked its way onto Dean's face. "Yeah, I've noticed."
-
"All right, play it back one more time."
Dean stood back and watched as Miku brushed a series of keystrokes into the computer, breaking his observation only to take a brief glance at his new environs. Situated partially below ground, the den in which he stood bore physical similarities to that of Ryo's - he suspected it was the same model house - though the decoration was on the sophisticated side, with a few carefully-placed pictures and a potted plant to add color to the blue carpeting and stucco walls. A love seat and futon partially circled a glass coffee table, all of which sat before what he surmised to be the entertainment center of the house - flat-screen plasma TV, almost state-of-the-art desktop computer with the requisite VR gear.
"I don't know how, exactly, they knew, but they must have found out that I tried to log as much as I could back then. It was the only way I could make sense of it."
Not super-extravagant acquisitions by any means, but his curiosity was undeniably aroused. His trained eye also noticed that one section of the futon appeared more worn than the rest, as if it hadn't seen more than one repeat user in a very long time.
"Here we go. Watch closely."
His attention was called back to the screen, watching as Miku played the log. On screen, he saw an old, white-haired man that he assumed was Harold; bound to a chair by a strange red mass.
"Seijiro..." he said, his soft voice just barely above a whisper, a long, drawn-out echo making it louder than it was. "Your lock is broken."
A flash of static crossed her screen, a bizarre chime ringing as her vision was marred by transparent rectangles. Another flash, and Miku pressed a key, stopping it. "There," she said, pointing to the screen.
Dean stepped up next to her, squinting at the screen. The static had been frozen in midair as it occupied her entire field of view, strings of ones and zeroes criscrossing through the black-and-white space.
"Do you see?" she asked, still pointing. She gently touched a nail to one line of code, and then another. "They're all the same pattern, repeating themselves." She glanced over at him. "I ran it through a translation program; most of it I didn't understand, but that first sequence here, it says 'Echelon'."
Dean frowned. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch..."
"You said you knew something about this?"
He nodded. "Seijiro used to work for the U.S. Defense Department. After ARPANET, he headed a project under that name. Not exactly sure what it is, but it's American, no doubt about it. Did you find out anything else?"
She sighed, her features falling in moderate disappointment. "Not much beyond speculation and conspiracy theories. Talk about centralizing information, datamining and surveillance, things like that. It doesn't look like it ever got off the ground."
Dean struggled to put the pieces together, knowing they were all in front of him, or at least most of them. His intuition failed, but not before he could jump to the nearest logical conclusion. "Harold actually programmed Morganna, for who knows what," he thought aloud, "but Seijiro modified it. There's code from Echelon in it, which is the codename for a government project he was working on. You know what this means, don't you?"
Miku watched him expectantly, her rich brown orbs curious, nervous, several other words that end with 's'. She kept silent, waiting for him to finish his thought.
"Big Brother didn't make Morganna what she is. Uncle Sam did."
He knew the truth wasn't quite that simple, but it was close enough to send a chill down his spine. It apparently had a similar effect on his companion; she turned away, seeming to stare through the wall.
"We've gotta call Masamoto, he's gonna want to..."
bing
A new mail notification popped up, flashing in the corner over the log window. Coming back to herself, Miku closed the log and opened the window purely by reflex.
[From: Anonymous
To: NoLettucemailserv.net
Subj: theyre after you get away
no text]
"Huh?" she muttered. "What's this about?"
A loud crack rang out as glass was broken in. Trailing the noise, Dean spotted a metal canister as it sailed through the air, clanking loudly against the far wall of the den. His eyes bugged out as he saw thick gray smoke start to spray from the object, the subject title of the email suddenly taking a definite meaning in his mind.
"Gas!" he shouted. "Run for it!"
- End of Chapter 9
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: The story and its characters are mine, but the world of .Hack and ITS characters are not. I wish they were, though, because then people would be putting MY name in their disclaimers, and that's just cool no matter how you look at it :)
Notes: Takes place during Outbreak. (Thoughts) and [writing] appear as such. In an interesting turn of events, last Saturday's episode of Sign presented me with just the information I needed to finish this chapter. Ito, you magnificent bastard, you.
Bonus cookie for anyone who can recognize where the chapter title is from.
Chapter 9 - Auspicious Hunting Ground
-------------------------------------
"Got your message. Are you absolutely sure?"
Dean anxiously drummed his fingers on the desk, his other hand holding the phone to his ear. He allowed his eyes to droop shut for a moment, a consequence of a fitful night's sleep, the evidence of which was all too visible: hair unkempt and yet to be brushed; shirt and boxer shorts instead of an actual outfit; the humming of a microwave as a frozen lunch was attacked by heat and light; the whirring of a computer fan as his machine came to life, monitor aglow with meaningless words, numbers and progress bars.
Masamoto's plain voice challenged him through the phone. "Their equipment and weapons were made in America; expensive, definitely not civilian. They're all registered U.S. citizens. One of the injured ones demanded to speak with the American consulate, and we found several fake IDs along with the equipment." He took a deep breath. "In addition, the one we have locked up confessed."
"This has international incident written all over it," remarked the detective.
"You're not kidding. The captain's on the phone right now with the U.S. embassy. He looked even more uptight than usual."
Dean sighed. "So where does this leave us?"
"Well, I doubt he'll be able to get any answers out of them, so I have another idea in mind." He hesitated. "I... don't think you're going to like it, though."
"Try me." Finished booting, the computer blinked the desktop into existence, icons appearing one by one.
"I cross-referenced the information on the spooks with that of one Seijiro Tanaka. As you know, Tanaka used to work for the Defense Department; the ARPANET project leader. He was also an envoy to the U.N., and was connected to big shots from several agencies, including the CIA."
The mail client flashed a notification. Eyebrow crooked in curiousity, Dean opened it with his free hand as he replied, "go on."
Masamoto lowered his voice, as if to hide it from other listeners. "I've just taken the liberty of sending you a few documents in regards to this connection."
Dean put one and two together as his inbox was laid bare before him.
[AMasamotomailserv.net
FWD: Tanaka bio
FWD: Incident 272-09 summary
FWD: Suspect profiles
FWD: Testimony of Han Katsuro (suspect, Inc. 272-09)]
"Not the real deal, but verbatim; suffice it to say that Tokyo's finest is sitting on some very interesting pieces of information regarding this whole affair." The lieutenant's smirk was all but audible. "Information that may make a few key people very cooperative."
"Define 'key people'."
Masamoto continued as if he hadn't heard Dean's request. "I was recently informed by one of my subordinates that a Mr. Seijiro Tanaka did not show up for work today. In fact, it appeared he has not left his house."
Dean's fatigue slowly vanished, giving way to an almost mischievous curiousity. "Is that a fact?"
A ding shot out from the microwave as the boxed lunch finished cooking. Dean ignored it, concentrating on Masamoto's reply. "I never liked mysteries, and this one isn't changing things for me. Find out what you can."
"I'm all over it," said Dean. "How do you want it done?"
"Do what it takes. Be creative. Good luck, Dean."
The line clicked dead, prompting Dean to hang up his end. (Creative, huh?) he thought with a devilish smile, one hand reaching for the printer power button. (I can do creative.)
-
The car eased its way down the street, the drive with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the door, as if he hadn't a care in the world - a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of thought in his head. He rolled through an intersection, the engines of other cars painfully audible through the two bullet holes in the passenger-side window, almost drowning out the unintelligible chatter of talk radio.
(So, Seijiro and the CIA... well, he was a Fed, but how does that fit in? Was he doing something that's related to his work with Cyber Connect?)
A backward glance over his shoulder told him that no one was close behind; instinctively flipping the turn signal, he eased the wheel right and guided his car into the next lane. Through the window, buildings and storefronts leisurely coasted by, gradually becoming less frequent as he left the downtown area and entered the suburbs.
(He had to be bullshitting me about Morganna. With all that's going on, no way that thing was some 'primitive' A.I. wannabe that got out of hand. It's following the Epitaph way too closely to be an accident.)
Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, upon which rested a large envelope; metal folds locked it shut and trapped the police documents inside, the detective's ticket to the next stage of the game, or so he hoped.
(We're getting closer, I can feel it... god, this better work. Like he said, we're all out of options.) He smirked. (Hell, if all else fails, I still have the iron...)
A familiar rumbling erupted from the glove box, a high pitch muffled by the enclosure surrounding it. Dean wrinkled his nose in annoyance. (Aw, not again... goddamnit, why do people keep calling when I'm in the middle of something??)
With a free hand, he popped the box and pulled the phone loose from the mini-library of vehicle and insurance information. A press of a button brought the caller's voice to his ears. "Y'ello!"
"Dean?"
The speaker was female, familiar, her voice soft and cautious. "Miku," he replied, careful not to sound surprised. Had he more time, he might have wondered why he would worry about how he sounded to her.
"I think I've found what they were looking for."
Dean's internal alarms went to DefCon 1 in a fraction of a second. "I'm listening."
"I can go over this better in person; are you busy?"
"Maybe." Dean gave the brake a solid push, coming to a stop at a red light. "What've you got?"
"Have you heard of something called 'Echelon'?" He recognized a minute amount of confusion in her voice, as if the word were foreign to her.
It wasn't to him. He threw a knowing glance at the enveloped documents, his pulse rising in anticipation. "I know of it. And I know someone who was in on it, too."
"I see." Almost no hesitation, as if she was less interested in listening than being heard. "Do you remember the incident I told you about? When I saw the Broken Man? That recording of Harold?"
"Yeah..." The light turned green. (C'mon, Miku, where are you going with this?)
"I found it buried in a log, very subtle. There were bursts of static, and patterns to them in binary. You might want to have a look at this."
(Now we're talking.) "All right, stay put," he said calmly, hiding his excitement. "I'm on my way."
"Okay," she said simply.
"And find out what you can on the 'net about Echelon. Our old pal Seijiro had a hand in that too, long before he hooked up with Cyber Connect."
"I'm on it." Her voice was firmer, more confident.
Dean relaxed his vigilance, flipping the turn signal as he rolled up to the next street. "You sure pick the best times," he said in mock sarcasm. "I was just on my way to have a little chat with Mr. Tanaka. 'Chat' being the operative word, if you get my drift."
A brief chuckle, throaty and subdued; a character trait he found oddly endearing, if in a smug I-know-something-you-don't kind of way. "I'd hate to pull you away from your leisure time, detective."
"Yeah, well you're not such a bad sleuth yourself," admitted Dean.
"Some people do more in 'The World' than just play." There was a faint lilt to her voice that hinted at a smile.
An ironic grin worked its way onto Dean's face. "Yeah, I've noticed."
-
"All right, play it back one more time."
Dean stood back and watched as Miku brushed a series of keystrokes into the computer, breaking his observation only to take a brief glance at his new environs. Situated partially below ground, the den in which he stood bore physical similarities to that of Ryo's - he suspected it was the same model house - though the decoration was on the sophisticated side, with a few carefully-placed pictures and a potted plant to add color to the blue carpeting and stucco walls. A love seat and futon partially circled a glass coffee table, all of which sat before what he surmised to be the entertainment center of the house - flat-screen plasma TV, almost state-of-the-art desktop computer with the requisite VR gear.
"I don't know how, exactly, they knew, but they must have found out that I tried to log as much as I could back then. It was the only way I could make sense of it."
Not super-extravagant acquisitions by any means, but his curiosity was undeniably aroused. His trained eye also noticed that one section of the futon appeared more worn than the rest, as if it hadn't seen more than one repeat user in a very long time.
"Here we go. Watch closely."
His attention was called back to the screen, watching as Miku played the log. On screen, he saw an old, white-haired man that he assumed was Harold; bound to a chair by a strange red mass.
"Seijiro..." he said, his soft voice just barely above a whisper, a long, drawn-out echo making it louder than it was. "Your lock is broken."
A flash of static crossed her screen, a bizarre chime ringing as her vision was marred by transparent rectangles. Another flash, and Miku pressed a key, stopping it. "There," she said, pointing to the screen.
Dean stepped up next to her, squinting at the screen. The static had been frozen in midair as it occupied her entire field of view, strings of ones and zeroes criscrossing through the black-and-white space.
"Do you see?" she asked, still pointing. She gently touched a nail to one line of code, and then another. "They're all the same pattern, repeating themselves." She glanced over at him. "I ran it through a translation program; most of it I didn't understand, but that first sequence here, it says 'Echelon'."
Dean frowned. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch..."
"You said you knew something about this?"
He nodded. "Seijiro used to work for the U.S. Defense Department. After ARPANET, he headed a project under that name. Not exactly sure what it is, but it's American, no doubt about it. Did you find out anything else?"
She sighed, her features falling in moderate disappointment. "Not much beyond speculation and conspiracy theories. Talk about centralizing information, datamining and surveillance, things like that. It doesn't look like it ever got off the ground."
Dean struggled to put the pieces together, knowing they were all in front of him, or at least most of them. His intuition failed, but not before he could jump to the nearest logical conclusion. "Harold actually programmed Morganna, for who knows what," he thought aloud, "but Seijiro modified it. There's code from Echelon in it, which is the codename for a government project he was working on. You know what this means, don't you?"
Miku watched him expectantly, her rich brown orbs curious, nervous, several other words that end with 's'. She kept silent, waiting for him to finish his thought.
"Big Brother didn't make Morganna what she is. Uncle Sam did."
He knew the truth wasn't quite that simple, but it was close enough to send a chill down his spine. It apparently had a similar effect on his companion; she turned away, seeming to stare through the wall.
"We've gotta call Masamoto, he's gonna want to..."
bing
A new mail notification popped up, flashing in the corner over the log window. Coming back to herself, Miku closed the log and opened the window purely by reflex.
[From: Anonymous
To: NoLettucemailserv.net
Subj: theyre after you get away
no text]
"Huh?" she muttered. "What's this about?"
A loud crack rang out as glass was broken in. Trailing the noise, Dean spotted a metal canister as it sailed through the air, clanking loudly against the far wall of the den. His eyes bugged out as he saw thick gray smoke start to spray from the object, the subject title of the email suddenly taking a definite meaning in his mind.
"Gas!" he shouted. "Run for it!"
- End of Chapter 9