.Hack: Penance
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: Project .Hack and attached characters/concepts are property of Bandai and Cyber Connect. They are used without permission, but with the utmost respect.
Notes: Happens after the end of Quarantine. Thoughts are indicated (like so). Well, thus begins the second half, or as I call it, 'my chance to make good on my claims of satisfying resolution.' Wish I had a more interesting segue into the actual story in these here notes, but what the hell, let's let the text do the talking. Or something. I don't know, it's friggin' 3am here. Give a guy a break :)
This chapter done to the tune of: Linkin Park - Session
Chapter 21 – Give Me Liberty
"Where am I?"
Darkness surrounded him, suffocating and absolute; his eyes searched in vain for something, anything to focus on, any kind of detail. His other senses seemed equally bereft of input, no obvious smells, textures, tastes or sounds.
Dean thought back over the past few minutes; a tense confrontation between the players, Helba, and the man controlling his own character. The realization that it had all been a trap. A brief, yet painful biting sensation across his chest, then falling away from his own body – half of it – and finally, nothingness.
A chill sank into his core, and it took him a few seconds to realize it had been there all along. "H-hello?!" he called, unable to hear his own words. "Kite? BlackRose! Somebody answer me!"
He shivered, and again took stock of his lack of surroundings; for the first time, he noticed he was able to see his own body, clad in a uniform that was at once familiar and unusual. He was quicker to find the police-issue 9mm handgun in a holster on his belt.
(They killed me.) He saw his 'death' again. (Yeah... that's right, it was all a trap for Helba or Lios. Shit...)
Feeling a sudden ache in his lower back, he slid a hand around to rub the offending area. (So... where am I? Didn't Helba say I was in front of a computer? Then how... why can't I see? How is any of this possible??)
He concentrated as hard as he could, trying to feel and see what wasn't there – the controller in his hands, the headset and visor on his head and over his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched, grasping at empty air, eliciting a quiet sigh.
A chime rang, clear and low, coming from no obvious source or direction. There was another, and Dean scanned the area for the third time. Doing a 180, he leapt back, startled, when his eyes fell upon a silver-and-white figure, that of a small girl.
She was clad in a long robe that billowed out from her shoulders, hiding her slender figure; the robe bore several shades of multiple colors, shades of white, purple and pink; her hair was comparable, although more definitely white and gray with a purplish hue. A long, white shawl hung around her neck, held together by a silver clasp in the shape of infinity. Her eyes were a solid blue, shimmering despite the lack of light, and she looked on him curiously, analyzing him as he took in every detail of her.
Dean took a few steps toward the girl, and she matched his advance, floating gently toward him like a spirit, an effect that was only enhanced by the glow that radiated from her. "Are you..." he began, quickly losing his tongue. He came to a stop within arms' reach of her, and she halted as well.
"You're... Aura, aren't you?"
It came back to him after he said it; interviews and questions, other players and those who had investigated 'The World,' or been involved in it. The young girl inside 'The World,' the one who had given Kite the bracelet, the sum of Harald's efforts in the digital realm. Artificial Intelligence.
He detected a faint nod, a barely visible bobbing of the head; her lips parted and mouthed words, but her words were muted, inaudible.
"W-what's going on?" he stammed, surprise giving way to frustration. "Where are we? Where's everybody else?"
Pain filled her deep blue eyes, and he felt it as surely as any that could have happened to him. He remembered their plans, their attempt to extract Aura from 'The World.' The who, the why and the how were slowly coming back to him.
His attention to detail was next to return, and with it he spotted an irregularity, a graphical glitch which translated into a partially decayed spot along the edge of her robe. There was a minor blot on the otherwise immaculate garment, evidence of corruption or damage, he wasn't sure which.
The detective looked into Aura's eyes again. "I understand," he said, as assuredly as he could muster. "I have to get out of here. I can't stop them from in here." He slowed his words. "How do I leave here?"
She raised a hand, palm out, fingertips slightly bent, and waited. After a moment of confusion, Dean mirrored her gesture, tentatively touching his hand to hers.
A sudden current rippled through his body, all his nerves alight with energy; he gritted his teeth as a feeling of vertigo settled in his stomach, and he sensed that he was falling backwards.
He heard a soft voice calling to him as he settled on the 'ground'. "Please," she whispered, "wake up."
He lay prone, and though he could no longer see himself, he got the distinct impression he was lying on a bed. His head was propped up on a slight angle by something soft, and his hands were securely clasped on his belly around an object he couldn't discern.
(Wake up...)
The object in his hands became better defined; the material was plastic, tough with smooth protrusions that molded to his hands, shaped remarkably like a videogame controller. He became dimly aware of the words "System Error" flashing bright red before his eyes.
(Please, wake up.)
"Croker just called. The operation failed."
The voice came from his left, and shortly after he heard a door close. Footsteps, clothes rustling, a stifled sneeze, and then a second voice. "Nn... what do you mean? What happened?"
"It was that damn kid. The one who plays Kite. They caught onto us, I'm not sure how, but right we've got other problems. The police are in the lobby."
"What?! Aw... shit! All right, what do we do?"
Dean listened carefully to their voices, gauging their location. "Relax, I don't think they know we're here. Croker wants us to neutralize him and sneak the body out the service elevator. He's still under?"
"Yeah, hasn't made a move in a while. Was mumbling something about leaving, but it sounded like a bunch of nonsense, I wasn't really paying attention."
(They think I'm out,) Dean thought, suddenly seeing an advantage despite what little he knew. (Gotta keep still. For all I know, one could have a gun on me right now.)
"All right. I gotta use the john, just give him a dose of strychnine or something and let me know when his heart stops."
"Sure thing."
More footsteps, followed by a door opening and closing. He heard the other goon in the far corner, humming quietly to himself, along with the sound of glass bottles clinking.
(I don't have much time... if there's just one guy in the room, maybe I can escape. If he's looking at me, though...)
As a test, he tried to lift his arm up an inch, and found his arms were bound to the bed above the shoulder, pinning him down while allowing enough leeway for his hands to hold the controller. His legs were similarly restrained at the ankle. He held his breath, waiting for the cry of alarm at his movement. When none came, he got bolder, inclining his head and releasing the controller. He then bent his arms and reached for the headset, just managing to grasp it by the visor and pull it over his head.
The plastic and wires made an odd creaking noise as the headgear was removed, not very loud but not nearly quiet enough. Dean caught sight of a man in a doctor's outfit – a white coat, rubber gloves, and tan trousers – as he whirled around to stare at the detective, a shocked look in his eyes, a needle in his hands.
"What the... holy shit, you're awake!" exclaimed the doctor.
Dean wasted no time reaching for his bindings, just within the grasp of his fingertips. He started pulling at the strap, which was linked via a tight-fitting buckle; the doctor raced forward to stop him, but Dean got the strap open just in time to intercept him with a wide back-handed punch. Eyes on the needle, he blindly felt around with his now free hand and released the second strap.
"Son of a bitch!" hissed the doctor, advancing again with the needle. He made a lunge for Dean's arm, but was batted back again when Dean jerked his arm away and landed a backhanded punch to the doctor's head. He stumbled back, off his balance, stunned long enough for the detective to reach down and unbuckle his leg restraints.
"Ow! S-somebody help! He's awake!"
Dean scrambled off the bed, for the first time noticing that he was wearing light blue paper clothing, akin to a hospital patient. He reached the doctor just as he was coming around again, but Dean was far quicker; grabbing hold of his opponent's wrist, he pushed the arm back and threw a hard punch into the man's gun, forcing him to double over and grunt painfully.
His grip on the needle loosened, and Dean pried it out of his hand just as the door opened. Thinking quickly, Dean spun the doctor around and poked the needle against the side of his neck, using him as a shield. Without even looking at who had stepped in, Dean barked out, "Don't move!"
His eyes zeroed in on the gun in the guard's hand, to the point where all he noticed about the guard himself was that he wasn't actually in uniform, instead dressed in a dark blue blazer and a pair of matching slacks.
"Let him go, Stollis!" ordered Blazer.
"Put it down," Dean shot back. "Don't think for a minute I won't kill this asshole."
The doctor struggled in Dean's grasp, but ceased when Dean prodded the needle harder against his neck, not quite breaking the skin. He repeated his order, placing his thumb on the injector. "Drop the damn gun!"
Blazer's eyes moved from Dean to his hostage, and then back to Dean. Slowly, and with obvious reluctance, he bent over and placed the gun gingerly on the floor.
"Kick it away." Blazer complied; the gun scraped noisily as it slid over the tiled floor, and Dean released his hostage, scrambling over to the gun and picking it up. After double-checking the safety, he motioned Blazer to step away from the door.
The two men moved to the foot of the bed, Dean carefully circling around to avoid letting either one within arm's reach. He backed towards the door, turning the knob with his left hand and nudging it open. He then spun around and dashed through, leading with his gun.
A third man stood on the other side of the door in a black button-down shirt; he returned the favor with his own gun, as angry as he was surprised.
Dean was no less shocked, but acted first; he pulled the trigger without hesitation, and was nearly blinded by the flash, deafened by the report. The bullet caught the goon square in the head, killing him before he hit the floor. He fired his gun, too, a microsecond too late; that bullet sailed past Dean's head, missing by several inches.
The flare, however, didn't miss. Tongues of flame from the exploding powder scratched the side of Dean's face, causing him to howl in pain and clutch his left eye. Tears welled in both eyes as he staggered out of the room and into a brightly lit hallway, his vision blurred enough to make it relatively featureless to him.
"Augh... oh, god," he groaned, the side of his face only mildly burned, but enough to distract him from noticing other things. Like the clicking of a magazine being shoved into an automatic rifle.
The first round sailed through an open doorway he unknowingly stumbled past, along with the second and third; the rifleman trailed him through the wall, shooting effortlessly, if blindly, through the wooden obstruction. Dean doubled his pace, breaking into a full sprint, away from the trail of bullets that rapidly closed in on him.
He rounded a corner as the gunfire stopped, and heard several footsteps behind him. Throwing a glance backwards, he tripped over his own two feet and collapsed to the floor, landing hard on his back and forcing the air out of his lungs. Gasping and panting, he scuttled away from the corner, his eye clear enough to spot approaching shadows.
Raising the handgun, Dean pointed it at the edge of the corner, and waited for the first pursuer to round it. Blazer obediently went first, stepping right into Dean's sights. Two solid pulls of the trigger, and the blue, slightly blurry mass before him crumpled to the ground, pistol slipping from his hands as he fell still.
Frantic, Dean scrambled to his feet and continued running, firing blindly backwards; he let out a triumphant "Hah!" as he saw the cold steel doors of an elevator. Reaching the elevator, he punched the down button and turned around, keeping his gun aimed at the corner, which was now a sizable distance away.
Several seconds passed; though his heart was pounding as fast as ever, all he heard were the whimpers of bystanders.
He took another look around, shocked to find he wasn't alone; in the small lobby, three men and one woman, all in suits, had backed far away from him, looking on him with shocked and frightened expressions, the nearest man exclaiming something in Japanese.
The bell rang as the elevator arrived. Dean moved cautiously into the empty lift, and reached for the button to the ground floor.
More gunshots rang out, this time singular instead of in an automatic burst, this time felt instead of heard. As Dean hit the button, a 7.62mm round punched into the side of his waist, causing him to buckle and collapse. More bullets ricocheted off the far wall of the elevator, leaving large dents as the doors slowly closed.
"Ohhh..." he moaned, tears flowing freely from his eyes, the pain from his face quickly forgotten; he clutched weakly at the bloody hole, feeling the sticky warmth as his hand soaked in his own blood. Unaware of the elevator's gentle side-to-side swaying amidst its descent, he ceased trying to fight the pain, heavy sobs wracking his body as he started to cry openly.
An eternity passed before the doors opened to more startled shouts, most in Japanese, but one in accented English.
"Jesus... Dean! Look out, let me through! Make way!"
Semi-conscious, Dean cocked his head up and saw an elderly Asian policeman approaching him, holstering the pistol he had been holding. "Dean, can you hear me?? It's me, Masamoto!" His blurry face cringed, and he hollered back to one of his subordinates. "Koji, get the paramedics in here. You two, seal and evacuate the building! And someone find me the supervisor, tell me what the hell is going on here!"
Lieutenant Masamoto knelt down next to Dean, propping his foot against the elevator door to keep it from closing. He took one of the detective's hands into his, and snapped the fingers of the other hand before his eyes. "Dean, stay with me. Can you hear me?"
Dean let out a loud, hacking cough. "Aniki... uh, y-y-eah... yeah, I'm here... I'm... where am I?"
"It's all right, you're gonna be all right," he said soothingly. "It looks like it's just a flesh wound. We got people on the way, we're gonna help you."
"Heh," Dean grunted, angling his body as he tried to sit up.
Masamoto held him down. "Don't move. Just stay still." He paused to swallow. "Dean... what happened to you? Who did this to you?"
He wheezed, the pain slowly becoming numb to him. "18th floor," he rasped, "they're on the 18th floor. I don't know who they are." Another cough. "Made me play a game... they wanted to take her from the game. I remember now... I remember..."
One of the other officers returned, with two paramedics in tow. "Sir, we've got a stretcher. We're going to move him."
"All right, let's do this. On three!"
Dean barely felt other hands grab him, lifting him up and immobilizing him on the stretcher. He stared emptily at the ceiling, which moved above him as he was wheeled out of the elevator, out of the lobby, and into a waiting ambulance. Somehow, he knew he had to stay awake, he couldn't afford to rest, although his body was screaming at him to do exactly that.
Through it all, he had only one other thought on his mind; a promise he neglected to make, but intended to keep.
(Aura... I will stop them.)
- End of Chapter 21