Mia could see perfectly in the darkness, by all means. Her eyes flew open, though heavy as lead, the pupils contracting before expanding to adjust to the black that obtrusively clouded her vision. Normally, once she performed this little action, things—anything—would become blaringly outlined by light; night became day (though the sky would be less blue than gray), silhouettes became harmless and low-detail reflections of objects. Her heightened senses were that of a predator's rather than just an AI, and that made her a better swordswoman than most (if not everyone else).
There was nothing.
Was she blind? Panic quickly dulled her thought process, and she summoned the strength in her legs to stand; her knees almost buckled beneath her, and she raised a shaking forearm to eye level. No, she wasn't blind. She idly fiddled with the gauntlet whilst her eyes strained in the darkness.
She found herself groping aimlessly in the darkness, walking here and there and mildly surprised to discover solid ground beneath her feet, allowing the pads of her now-uncovered fingers to daintily test the air, feel for any wayward objects she couldn't quite place. She kept her golden eyes unfocused, schooling her features into a mask of calm control, contradicting the turmoil and panic that quickened her pulse and her breathing. She ignored the way her ears twitched, listening to the chorus of discomforting whispers of what-ifs and dangers-of, because she knew well the trickery of the mind.
Mia also knew well the taste of fear when it lingered in the back of her throat.
She stopped moving and hunched over, cradling her body with her arms to the best of her ability. Her feet stumbled, and in a rare moment of inelegance, Mia was sent careening onto a floor she couldn't see.
She lay still for a long moment, in awe of her helplessness.
"Elk…?" she whispered softly into the black, her small, pink tongue flitting to the side of her face to catch a salty tear.
Am I crying…?
For not the first or last time, she felt the pull of a separate entity within her: a carnal urge informing her that the cause of her predicament would pay in blood. The urge carried a sense of familiarity, as if she had once allowed it to consume her in a state of desperation and unbearable pain; at the same time, she felt alienated from it as though it were merely a memory from a dream. Her tail curled around her knees, and then uncurled as her glove—the one she had removed—appeared and was pulled over her hand. Her sword materialized, and she picked it up, resisting the urge to swing it experimentally and instead propping it on her shoulder. She walked onward, exploring the unfamiliar and featureless territory.
She was in a prison; a purposefully secluded world, a world where the air was oft flooded with the sound of screams, and the floors (though invisible at the moment) were splattered with the brownish-red color that belonged solely to dried blood. Yet, unlike the others, she had yet to echo those screams; her limbs were still energized and her eyes were still open, and she was levelheaded enough not to allow the pitch-black to siphon her sanity. She didn't know this place. She didn't know if its purpose was for good or for evil, but she was willing to bet the latter.
Mia's violet fur was slightly damp with perspiration, though she did not recall ever physically exerting herself. The silence was pregnant. She couldn't care less.
Her real memories as to where she was and how she got here were like evasive phantoms.
Her thoughts drifted, and as the visage of her dearest friend suddenly etched itself unto the "walls," Mia wondered if her feline body could house a soul, when it had enough difficulty discerning the matters of the heart.
Serendipity
Part 2 – Treading Softly
There's something green that's leaving town
Always thought it was blue; always knew I was wrong
Where it goes, hell knows
Maybe somewhere better than here
And what they say of the grass on the other side's true
Too much time looking up's turning everything blue
Including me…including you
Including you
Trucks and Trains – Alkaline Trio
"What!?" BlackRose shrieked, instinctively thrusting her arms at Balmung to shove him backwards a substantial amount of space. However, she didn't relent then, and Balmung grunted his discomfort as she continued to push him backwards. "Are—you—insane!? CC—Corporation—is—out—to—kill—us!" she screamed in escalating volume, pushing him farther with every word. "I told you this would happen! Couldn't just let our main source of inside information be Lios, could you? No—! You had to get a job there!"
Kite was torn between amusement and mortification.
As the Heavy Blade retracted her arms for another good shove into the dirt, Balmung caught her wrists with a relative amount of ease.
Her left eyelid was twitching.
He sighed, launching into a regretful explanation.
"I know," he began, hesitating before sighing again and relinquishing his grip on one of BlackRose's forearms to massage his ivory forehead, "that eventually, I will be drilled for information. I know that they know that I am in possession of your member addresses…"
Kite approached, wrenching BlackRose's wrists out from Balmung's steely grip and loosely intertwining his fingers with hers. The action seemed to calm her only slightly, if at all, but her expression faded from anger to resignation as she studied the Azure Sky's lavender eyes. He hesitated again, looking the epitome of discomfort, as she silently willed him to meet her lingering stare; he refused and dismissed the challenge and looked sideways, much to the swordswoman's chagrin. She didn't comment, though, because Kite had opened his mouth to speak at last.
"I'm not worried about the fact that you got a job," he said slowly, almost as if the idea was just dawning on him, "at CC Corporation." He paused, as if drawing confidence—and perhaps even trust—from the words. "I don't think you would…willingly…'betray' us. Me. Whoever. I trust you."
The Twin Blade seemed to dwell on his words, before nodding in acceptance and smiling halfheartedly at the paladin before nodding briefly at BlackRose, then spinning on his heel and trotting back towards the hideout. BlackRose lingered, maneuvering in front of Balmung, burgundy eyes weighted with both concern and antipathy—two emotions that only she could mix in their entirety. His shoulders slumped and he fought the instinct to glare at her. She pressed her palm to the metal plate on his shoulder, and his left foot shifted backwards, preparing for yet another push, but it simply remained there; he knew it wasn't meant to be a comforting gesture, but all the same his armor was a thin barrier between his skin and her touch.
"Listen, you," she said through gritted teeth. "Kite might be a little queasy about the thought of what he might have to do if you do anything stupid, but let me tell you now I'm not so squeamish. If you do anything to hurt my friends…" She allowed the threat to hang in the air for a moment. At last, her eyes lost their severity, and she sighed, wrapping her fingers around his wrapped forearm and dragging him towards the hideout entrance. She hesitated at last and turned, placing her hands on her thin waist and cocking a brow. "I don't trust you," she said at last, though her voice expressed her uncertainty.
I don't trust the System.
Balmung dipped his head in a jerky nod. I understand.
She didn't seem to.
The hideout was silent, and Kite felt obscenely uncomfortable with every pair of eyes on him. He knew they were awaiting his command…and the thought, he realized, was unnerving. This was a problem that couldn't be solved by pointing his arm at something and reciting two simple words that automatically labeled him a hero; he found himself belittling his leadership qualities upon realizing that he had none. He felt like tugging at the roots of his cyan hair and asking just what the hell was wrong with these people, and just why they had so much faith in him…
Although no one would blame him for trying, if he failed, if Mia was—he wrapped his arms around himself—incapable of rescue for some reason…he would blame himself.
The .hackers were seated on a sort of stylish, circular dinner table propped on a dark metal stand; the table was meant for four or five at most, more suited for the former than the latter. Sitting down as well, Kite extended his bracelet-arm; in a shower of white-and-black static appeared a tanned velvet-bound Ryu Book, opening automatically to a designated page. The thick, dark lettering seemed somehow out of place on the ancient parchment.
Pause. Kite swallowed as his eyes scanned the page, but Rachel was quicker. "Hey," she observed in a mix of relief and surprise, "Mia's still online!"
Kite stiffened, one of his fingers nearly tearing off the page altogether; his slate-blue eyes grayed faintly. Well, that narrows it down, he thought bitterly. His priorities were in disarray, and his confusion mounted; he struggled to gather his thoughts. What would a leader do…? He hesitated before standing and turning, pressing his index and middle finger on his tattooed cheek. "Elk," he muttered.
"K-Kite?!! Have you seen Mia?" came the desperate, panicked voice, and Kite winced.
"No," he said quietly, and an anguished sound emitted from Elk's throat. "Listen, Elk. We're organizing a search. Could you name the last, say, five or so fields you and Mia were last at?"
"Y-yeah. Um…hold on. …Sigma: Unusual Destroyer's Drift…Sigma: Tested Quicksilver Neigh… Sigma: Expansive Fallow Twins… Delta: Bursting Passed Over Aqua Field… Lambda: Lightless Pagan Widow." Pause. "Please…help me find her…" Elk's voice broke on the last two words, and the distraught Wavemaster ended the transmission.
The Twin Blade emitted a shuddering sigh, feeling his own eyes water at Elk's desperation. The people at the table weren't much better. Nuke had laced his fingers together, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. His eyes were closed again, and Kite was suddenly reminded of Krim. Rachel was drumming her fingers nervously on the tabletop, chewing on her lower lip with her eyebrows tilted in a frown; Gardenia had settled for glaring at the glass surface, a thousand worries fleeting within her steely eyes and none escaping her colorless, thin lips. Sanjuro was basically in the same state.
BlackRose and Balmung entered, and Kite nodded curtly at them, though his gaze lingered on his partner for a long moment. Then again, he thought glumly, he could understand how Elk felt. The threat of Twilight had passed, and now he could focus on more arduous things such as emotions; namely, the usually subdued ones he harbored directed at his roseate-haired comrade. If she were to just up and vanish…
Moonstone appeared in the doorway. He adjusted his blindfold and craned his neck to spare Kite a glance—or something like it, considering the orange bandana around his eyes; he nodded curtly and shifted to allow any other newcomers passageway. He folded his arms.
Kite swallowed and very nearly blushed, remembering his train of thoughts. Now isn't the time, he chastised himself. He internally braced himself, but his words came out steady. "I'm sending an e-mail to those who are offline," he said. "Five fields…we'll divide into groups of three. Some groups might have less or more people, depending on who's online this afternoon." He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly—damn it, it was too early to be this exhausted. "In the meantime…well… Just spread out, search the Root Towns. Balmung, if it's not too much trouble, post something on the message boards."
The Azure Sky's eyebrow arched, and in spite of his queasiness earlier, he managed a slightly incredulous, "Why me?"
Rachel snapped out of her melancholy reverie and scoffed. "'Cause you're Balmung, ya goof. Everyone listens to you."
It was no secret that the female American in their group held the same admiration for the Azure Sky as the rest of his (not-so-official) fan club; her blue eyes twinkled and her lightly tanned cheeks flushed almost immediately as he gave her a disbelieving look. Nuke and BlackRose snorted simultaneously; the latter shot the former a somewhat alarmed look. The colorful Long Arm's eyes were still closed.
"She's right, Balmung," Kite said with a sigh, not patient enough to have his arrangements questioned. "I'll contact Lios…and probably Helba if we don't find Mia in those fields, alright?"
Nods.
Silence.
"…Well?" Kite pressed, raising an eyebrow in a manner reminiscent of Balmung. "What're you waiting for? Root Towns. Mia. Look for. Go. Come back in two hours. Don't go to the fields Elk listed. Ask around."
Moonstone, the last to enter, was incidentally the first to leave, nodding compliantly and practically vanishing. (Kite had the strong suspicion he had no idea what was going on. Fortunately, the wielder of the Twilight Bracelet couldn't be pushed to ask.) Rachel was next, standing with a determined expression; her sword materialized in a shower of yellow sparks, and she walked out of the hideout with an abnormally glum Nuke in tow. (They seemed almost inseparable at times. Had it been anyone but Nuke and Rachel, he would have thought…) Last was Sanjuro, who spared Kite an acknowledging nod before Gating Out just outside the doorway.
Which left Balmung, who had no real incentive to leave as of yet, BlackRose, with whom he wanted to spend time, and…himself. Not much to say there.
"So," the Heavy Blade began without an ounce of discomfort, "let's think of groups, okay? 'Cause Balmung's parking his shiny metal ass here and he won't leave until the last minute, so…"
The white-haired Blademaster glared, stubbornly tightening his grip around the arms of the emerald green chair upon which his shiny metal ass was parked.
Kite consulted his member address list, sitting down in the chair opposite the one Balmung was sitting in; BlackRose had perched almost daintily (if such a thing was possible for the somewhat coarse swordswoman) on the armrest. Her presence washed over him, and he found his tension receding at a surprising rate. "I messaged Elk," she said, absentmindedly adjusting her burgundy gauntlets. "He'll be here in two hours, like everyone else…" She pursed her lips, the corners of her mouth curled downward. "I think we should put him with someone he won't feel intimidated by. What about Natsume?"
Kite nodded, mentally filing away the names as she ticked them off with her fingers. "I think that Sanjuro should go with them," she said, "because he's a nice guy. Got a lot of paternal instincts, and Elk needs friendly and not-scary people to help him look for Mia." She chuckled in spite of herself. "And probably…let's see…"
Half an hour later, the groups were as follows:
1. Elk; Natsume; Sanjuro;
2. Gardenia; Marlo; Orca;
3. Nuke Usagimaru; Rachel;
4. Mistral; Wiseman; Piros;
5. Terajima Ryoko; Moonstone; Kazu (?);
6. Kite; BlackRose; Balmung;
Finished with the tedious task of organization, Kite sighed and leaned back, somehow guiltless for lazing about whilst his teammates held full-scale inquiries at the Root Towns. In the real world, a pair of eyelids drooped closed, his exhaustion rather self-imposed; in spite of his unease and confusion, in spite of his worry for Elk and Mia and in spite of the fact that the idea of a darker force behind Mia's disappearance made him physically sick, Kite found himself slipping away to euphoric unconsciousness, in which a hastily-dismissed concern was the fact he was to awaken in an hour and a half.
He would instead be pulled from his nightmares in a mere 25 minutes.
BlackRose smiled, her smile belying more than fondness as she drew a blanket over Kite's dozing form. Gently, she eased herself off the armrest and instead took a seat on the bed (now lacking somewhat in the blanket area).
"Mother hen instincts?" Balmung challenged, though his tone was more good-humored than biting. They had never really gotten along that well at all; although they set aside their petty difference for the sake of The World (and Kite's sanity), she still treated him as less of a Descendant of Fianna and more of a piece of crap beneath her boots that required scuffing. And naturally, he, being a respected and revered member of online society, would simply not take that attitude from a Heavy Blade with a pair of twigs for legs.
She chuckled. "Not really. I'm an older sister. This stuff comes naturally." Pause. Her eyes wistfully studied the orange-and-white-clad character slumped over in the chair, as if trying to burn the image into her mind. "Kite's a real hero," she said quietly, and Balmung looked up, something unreadable in his lily-colored gaze. "I mean…if things were fair, Elk would be the one organizing this search…but Elk's the desperate one now, running around out there like a chicken with its head cut off…and he's here, giving orders to people who are willing to listen." Pause. "Giving orders to us. For something totally unrelated to viruses or Data Bugs or Morganna…"
The Azure Sky was quiet, and this time his eyes were prying; she genuinely hadn't noticed, too busy watching the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Kite's chest as he slept.
When her silence began to unnerve him, he spoke. "You're just noticing that we're more than his soldiers?" he dared to ask. The tone and question implied a sort of underlying disrespect, none of which Balmung meant.
Her gaze shifted to match his, burgundy eyes relaying a whole new slate of emotions he didn't know she was capable of feeling, much less expressing.
"No," BlackRose said at last. "He is."
In a long moment in which no one spoke, Balmung turned her response over and over in his mind. When he couldn't decide what to make of it, he simply watched Kite sleep.
He was used to being brave, he realized, floating aimlessly in the dark; his clothes had a neon greenish tinge, but when he looked for the source of light, he found none. After a moment, a horrible stench assaulted Kite's nostrils, and he would have vomited if he could have opened his mouth. He had just enough time to classify it as the stench of rotting corpses—until he was attacked, wisps of something hissing and violently shifting as if slowly eating away at the thin barrier between his heart and anything else: his skin.
Hooked claws like scythes emerged from the darkness and began tracing curved lines on his pale torso—thick, curved lines, created with agonizing slowness; pain flooded his senses like liquid fire.
His mouth was sewn shut.
Muffled screams were issued from his swollen throat.
No one answered.
The lines—they were too…too perfect, almost immaculate, and there were too few—
pain opens the door
The claws retracted; as blood fell from the crimson streaks like teardrops, as the air was heavily scented with salt and decay and blood, as maggots fell from the darkness and began to writhe their way towards the unfinished image carved in his flesh, as he spiraled into the darkness enveloped by the sound of laughter—
unfinished
Kite awoke with a soundless scream, one hand splayed on his clothed chest and the other frantically attacking the air. In real life, one of Takamoto Kenji's hands curled around the front of his visor—and the player behind the hero ripped it off, standing up so quickly the chair toppled out from beneath him, and he tripped, tumbling over the fallen object.
His heartbeat drowned out the concerned shouts of his friends emitting from the headphones.
His throat was dry and gravelly, and he opened his mouth, gratefully accepting the rush of oxygen into his empty lungs.
He could so vividly remember the pain, the feel of tiny white maggots wriggling across his chest and immersing themselves beneath his skin, indulging themselves in the taste of his blood and flesh and muscle and whatever…
He sat down at his desk, a shaking hand picking up the fallen visor.
As the dizzy image of BlackRose's face swam into view, the Twin Blade named Kite stared dazed up at them, his forehead and neck coated in sweat. One of his hands weaved beneath his orange vest and white shirt, a finger lightly tracing the searing injuries the claws had inflicted upon him—and they weren't there. Well, of course they weren't. He dreamed them.
"Pain opens the door," Kite whispered.
"Kite?" BlackRose queried, concern flashing in her garnet eyes.
Inebriated, he whispered, "You're beautiful…"
Takamoto Kenji tilted his head away from the monitor and vomited. The action was mimicked by his digital counterpart.
Author's Note: Whoo, vomit. oo; OKAY! Since Of the Young And Foolish has told me I have forgotten a disclaimer, I shall DISPUTE ALL CLAIMS THAT I OWN PROJECT .HACK. XD Whoo! I feel better now.
If anyone could check out the fields listed above and give me the weather, general description, and so forth, I'd be most grateful. ;-; Why? I suck too much to do it myself… And I'll write a fluffy and/or angsty fanfiction piece for your favorite pairing if you so desire. Help, please? Thanks.