"We have validated your application," the omnipresent voice said tonelessly in the blackness, and Balmung summoned the necessary amount of self-control in order not to flinch in intimidation. The voice (although lacking much by way of personality) had a sort of authoritative sense—fitting, he realized with a grimace, considering it was the voice of the collective System.
Dimly, the winged swordsman pondered how long it would've taken him to make that particular conclusion under different circumstances. His intelligence was declining somehow, and he found the prospect of blaming Kite and company somewhat amusing.
He realized the silence was carrying onward—a sort of gloomy thing in the "conference room"—and spoke, burying his underlying defiance beneath calculated restraint. "And?" he ventured, noting with disdain that defiance wasn't the only thing he was forcibly keeping from his monotone. The taste in the back of his throat was vile and brittle, but he refused to swallow.
The shadows, he hypothesized, had eyes.
"Congratulations," the System announced in a cold attempt at an amicable manner, "you're hired."
Balmung exhaled sharply through his nostrils, barely managing to keep the gesture quiet.
A pause, and then, "We will resume discussion later concerning schedules, regulations, penalties, and so forth." His wings ruffled slightly in response, and the voice hummed—almost scoffed—signifying the System's acknowledgement of his dismissive gesture. "You will also be expected to attend work at the corporation itself, not just in the game."
"I know that," Balmung said with a derisive snort. There was another pause, and the Blademaster wondered if he'd crossed a line; the notion was set aside and he reluctantly chose to discern it as dubiousness. The System made him uneasy, and again he second-guessed his true motives for being here and asking for a job from the corporation that continually damned his comrades. Lios said that the System rendered the .hackers harbingers of destruction and on the same ranks as Morganna herself in terms of nefarious intent.
He grimaced upon recalling that he possessed the same mindset once upon a time. If the System saw it, the voice did not comment.
"One last thing before you are dismissed."
He froze, armor clinking as his arms shifted stiffly at his sides. "Yes?" he grunted, finding it hard to do so. He hadn't realized his breath had long since hitched in his throat.
"You are in possession of the member address of the Twin Blade Kite and the Heavy Blade BlackRose?"
Somehow, his disappointment was not as profound as it should have been; in fact, his employment was preferable for the System, and they would pretend to act as though he was worth more than a simple source of inside information. Balmung wondered why and how the company could be so tainted, and why it was so bizarre that alleged "warriors" such as he could do nothing about it. For someone who crammed the definition of justice down peoples' throats, Balmung was irrationally powerless…and perhaps rationally afraid.
He answered the only way he knew how: honestly. "I am," he said just as flatly, reflecting upon BlackRose's angered realization of the System's advantageous position.
"…You are dismissed. Congratulations again, System Administrator Balmung of the Azure Sky."
"…Thank you."
His courtesy was strained as he vanished in ringlets of gold.
As he Gated Out, he briefly contemplated the reason as to why he allowed himself to be used like this. He also wondered if his strict morals only applied to here—where his shimmering armor belied just how much damage he was capable of handling, and where his sword spoke volumes more than his word.
He briefly contemplated the reason as to why he was hailed as a hero…when Kite was branded as nothing more than a heretic.
Serendipity
Part 1 – The Encroaching Shadows
Discomfort endlessly has pulled itself upon me
Distracting; reacting
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection
It's haunting how I can't seem
To find myself again
My walls are closing in
Crawling – Linkin Park
BlackRose's reflection was immaculate from the edge of her sword; her fingers curled around the thin excuse for a hilt and tilted the weapon this way and that. She eyed with no small amount of distaste the way the raindrops fragmented the reflection of her face; her drenched pink hair no longer framed her face, instead dangling limply past her shoulders. The ends simply refused to curl upward in their sharp, jagged manner, and she realized just how uneven it was, and with a frown narrowing her field of vision she silently cursed the rain.
"You're a lot of things," came the gruff voice of Sanjuro from somewhere ahead, and she looked up, realizing that she had been entranced by the mirror and that her comrades had continued on their merry way, "but I didn't think vain was one of them."
There was a twinkle in his one visible eye. She snorted, ensuring the gesture was loud enough to express her disdain. "Shut up."
Kite was silent, observing the exchange.
She continued speaking whilst pacing towards Sanjuro, still frowning. "Damn rain," she grumbled. "It's messing up my—…" She glowered a challenge at the samurai, whose shoulders were quivering in silent laughter. "Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "I'm just not used to it like this!" Her sword vanished in her hands as she wrung them to prove her point, but the blade reappeared as she completed the gesture.
He grinned and mussed the wet strands, splaying his palm on her head and laughing as she made weak attempts to bat it off.
She pulled away and trotted to Kite. Kite's gently solemn expression caused the amicable glint in her eyes to fade, and concern overtook her features. "Kite?"
She'd seen that face before, shadowed by his pale blue bangs, an absence of direct light, and…something else she couldn't quite place. She found herself immersed in a momentary flashback about the past few months, post-Morganna and mostly lacking in Data Bugs (with the exception of the sporadic cleanup job). Helba, a woman who she once found intimidating, had showered them with gifts and praise; Lios, she heard, had offered to make her mythological Net Slum a public area, and she politely declined (though the .hackers often gossiped about her secret mortification at the idea). The administrator had often acted as a buffer between the System and Kite's party; thanks to him, the commotion concerning a certain group of legendary heroes died down to a dull roar.
Mistral had returned. BlackRose faintly recalled that the Wavemaster—who had become an irreplaceable sort of motherly figure in her life—had dragged her out one day and outright demanded she help think of names for the baby. At that time, the Heavy Blade had had no idea she was with child at all, and after getting over her initial dumbstruck reaction, the two had compromised on either Mireille or Mireiyu—not very different by way of pronunciation, but still.
The more timid of her magic-utilizing friends, Elk, had assumed the personal responsibility of helping Mia recover her memories and, of course, create some new ones. He hadn't yet confessed his deeper feelings for her, as many of them (including BlackRose) had assumed, but he was content with their almost-but-not-quite neighborly existence. Though the Heavy Blade had made it a mental note to one day give either of them a push in the right direction, she was happy if they were happy.
A celebration had been held in honor of their victory. Net Slum was a refuge for the illicit; the grim, sordid look of a city in ruins provided a kind of warped atmosphere for a party. The amount of NPCs and disguised characters made it difficult to discern just who or what you were dancing with, but it was one of her fondest memories.
After the music had slowed substantially and the balance between dancing and socializing was more easily maintained, Nuke and Marlo had taken it upon themselves to order some premium brand The World alcohol, straight from the database. Sora had joined in shortly thereafter, and the trio successfully masqueraded as a pair of giggly, tipsy drunks; though it was insanely gratifying when Nuke was almost throttled for falling unceremoniously into an unhappy Gardenia's lap, perhaps the highlight of her evening was dragging the idly-standing Balmung of the Azure Sky onto the dance floor. She'd practically had to drag him by his white hair, but she'd managed the impossible. And he wasn't that bad at it, but the knight appeared more suited to a waltz or something of the sort rather than spunky and fast-paced techno music.
She forced herself back to reality, ruby eyes scrutinizing him carefully; he blinked, not knowing what else to do. Doing her best to be unassuming, BlackRose smiled warmly at him and draped her arm over his shoulders, glancing backwards at Sanjuro. Sanjuro merely shrugged, a slight smile curling the edge of his thin lips, and he remained a little ways behind even then as they continued to walk in silence. She found the prospect of entering the dungeon suddenly increasingly uncomfortable, but when she thought to withdraw her hand, his palm suddenly covered hers.
BlackRose looked at him, but he had made an obvious effort to hide his expression, tilting his cap to the side—though not because of the rain.
She smiled more gently this time, and compliantly Sanjuro began reciting an excuse to leave.
Alas, the moment was cut short by a little note appearing above the trio's heads; the digital slip of paper somehow deformed the natural surrealism of the eternally raining area, and they opened the message simultaneously, eyes unfocused as the contents were recited in a grim voice.
The recording belonged to Gardenia.
"You three," she said grimly, "we've got a problem."
The party looked at one another, and Kite was the first to respond. "What is it?"
Gardenia's voice was dull, and yet there was a sort of underlying distress. "It's Mia. She's missing."
The implications were far more severe than they sounded. Mia was usually online every hour of the day due to certain reasons; she slept in The World, she ate and drank in The World—The World was her world, and she was practically incapable of logging out. The hacker Helba created a sort of home for Mia in the Net Slum—a house, furnished to her liking with direct access to the realism database (containing hideout furnishings and so forth that would usually be obscenely rare or expensive).
"Missing?" BlackRose echoed incredulously. "Missing—how—since when?"
"It had to have happened some time last night. She was with Elk until he logged out. He doesn't know anything else aside from that."
BlackRose's heart skipped a beat, and her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides until a sword materialized in her hands, and upon reflection she didn't know if she consciously took it out of her inventory.
Sanjuro frowned. "Where are you?"
"Mia's hideout, Net Slum. Elk has begun the search. We may require Helba's assistance later on." The statement of the last part owed to the fact that the infamous hacker would only respond to summons issued by Kite, BlackRose, and on occasion Balmung. "That is all. Although Terajima, Marlo, Orca, and Natsume are offline, please report to the hideout nonetheless."
"How's the kid?" Sanjuro grunted, expression resolute.
Pause. "He is…searching. He is particularly distraught…and it's not difficult to understand why." Another pause, and then a resigned sigh. "Report to the hideout."
The transmission ended, and BlackRose drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she Gated Out.
The playing cards Nuke was shuffling were intricately designed, with a rather expensive-looking sword etched on the backs; the kanji boldly recited the term "Key of the Twilight," but he paid it little heed as he prepared for another round of Solitaire. He stole a glance at Rachel, who busied herself with threading her fingers through her brown hair; she was particularly antsy. She only did that when she was nervous. Admittedly, she, Elk, and Mia hadn't been all that close, but they were friends nonetheless…
Nuke had damn good intuition, and he suspected it branched off of his eternally good mood and his willingness to maintain it. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something—something didn't feel right. He was antsy—so unlike him—owing to Mia's disappearance, but he suspected a deeper plot.
…Then again, it was always a deeper plot…
He smiled to himself as he placed a last card face-up in a column. The game was set—and he hesitated at that thought, touching the tips of his index fingers together. He looked at Gardenia, who sat in a rather extravagant chair in a rather lonesome corner; she met his gaze and frowned. He grinned weakly in return.
The first to enter the door was a disgruntled Descendant of Fianna; his armor shifted as he turned to shoot the inhabitants of the hideout a look. He walked to a chair and eased himself into it, armor (and general appearance) spick and span…though when he sat, it sort of clanged together in a way that reminded Nuke of a person kicking a tin can.
…Or aluminum. Nuke wasn't picky.
He set aside an Ace of Spades, plopping a Two atop it with a self-satisfied smile. "There we go," he commented quietly to himself upon turning over a facedown card. His hands were moving more quickly now, and his purplish-blue eyes darted from card to card. The entertainment business, he had decided a while ago, required versatility; though he considered comedy his specialty, within days of picking up an encyclopedia of card tricks he could probably pull cards from his nostrils if so inclined. With a flourish, he drew the last King of Hearts and slapped it onto the leftmost pile.
Nuke chuckled in a manner most considered slightly maniacal and gathered the deck for shuffling. Stylish shuffling.
Unfortunately, his talents went unappreciated. "Nuke," Rachel said testily, still preening her longish hair, "cut it out. Now is not the time to be playing games."
He gave her a scathing look. "Are you suggesting I log out?" he asked incredulously. "What'll poor Elky think? How far into the dark pit of depression will he fall without the smiling guidance of one such as myself?" Rachel opened her mouth for a snappy retort, but he held a hand up to silence her. "I'm shocked and appalled, Rachel. To derive a boy of laughter is so beneath you."
Rachel practically growled her exasperation. "Alright, Nuke," she said through gritted teeth, fingers twitching at her sides. "How many cards are in that deck?"
"Umm…well, excluding the jokers, 50. Why?"
"Let's play a game." The yellow-clad Blademaster stalked over to Nuke and crouched downward, snatching the deck from his hands.
"Hey!" he protested.
"It's called 52 pickup!!" she yelled, flinging the cards into the air. The cards scattered across the hideout in various directions, and a particularly large amount had landed on Balmung.
The white-haired man blinked and sighed heavily, pulling a card out from between the feathers of his curled and somewhat withdrawn wings. "How did I know that would happen…?" he grumbled, absentmindedly brushing off his blue-bandaged arm.
Rachel opened her mouth to reprimand Nuke in that businesslike way of hers, but the door swung open; Nuke, who looked predominantly disinterested in whatever she had to say, took the liberty of snapping his fingers and causing the cards to disappear in a surge of blue sparks. He smiled good-naturedly, if not somewhat weakly, directing a two-fingered salute at Kite, BlackRose, and Sanjuro. Balmung stood at once, almost causing the chair behind him to topple over; his usually stern demeanor seemed somehow strained. Naturally, Nuke commented.
"You look like you're about to either scream or vomit. What's it gonna be, champ?"
"Nuke!" Rachel and BlackRose exclaimed at the same time, though BlackRose's was more chastising and Rachel's was more…threatening.
The paler-than-usual paladin tactfully ignored the clownish Long Arm and stalked to Kite, lips pressed into a thin line. "Kite…BlackRose," he added as an afterthought. "I know there are other things to worry about, but I need to talk to you two."
BlackRose raised a delicate pink brow. "This is about something other than Mia and/or Elk?" she asked, somewhat suspiciously. He nodded, and she paused before nodding as well. Sanjuro walked in. Kite, BlackRose, and Balmung walked out.
Silence. Nuke sighed and looked at a finely detailed "photograph" of Mia, Elk, Tsukasa, and Subaru, perched neatly on a nightstand. The ebon nightstand sat beside a dark green bed with a crème-colored canopy; the bed was fairly circular and rather large in diameter. Something fit for a cat… He chuckled at his own thoughts, and the inhabitants of the room shot him a glance.
Nuke drew his knees to his chest. "The game is set," he said quietly, closing his eyes in an uncharacteristic display of seriousness. His smile was grim once more.
His comrades answered by maintaining their silence.