.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 look like this.) All I'll say is, y'all better be sitting down for this chapter. And no, I'm not trying to hype it up as something spectacular, I'm just saying it's a real pain trying to use a computer while standing up. I mean, you can if you want to, I'm not gonna stop you… just sayin' is all :)

This chapter done to the tune of: Rise of the Triad OST – Havana Smooth

Chapter 38 – Know Thine Enemy

He reached down and let his fingers brush the side of her face – rounded, smooth, and slick with sweat – and she instinctively jerked her head away, the tape over her mouth muffling her words of protest. The sudden motion jostled her long, dark hair slightly, just enough to notice the large welt on the side of her forehead – roughly the size of the pistol butt he had hit her with.

"You were better-looking online," said Felix with a smirk. She shot him a look that would surely have killed him, if looks could. "Your highness," he added, mockingly.

She struggled against the chair for a moment, the handcuffs biting into her wrists and securing her arms firmly behind her.

"We shouldn't be bothering with her," said Mako with a scowl. "It's all about that stupid girl, anyway. The sooner we get rid of her, the better off we'll be."

"Settle, man," Felix replied, not taking his eyes off their prisoner. "She was in on the ground floor of the whole thing. Weren't you… Miss Takahashi. Oh, I'm sorry… Miss Minako. Sorry to hear about your…" he looked over at Sato, standing near the window, watching the city below. "Was it her third divorce?"

"Second."

"Mmmmmph!" she growled through shut lips.

Felix chuckled, and ruffled her hair before stepping towards the office door. "You're a capable hacker, Yumi, but it doesn't take a particularly good spy to know a bad one." He hid a scowl. "Scum-sucking little shits write a virus and do some virtual sleight of hand, they think they're master spies all of a sudden." He stopped before the door, turning back to Mako. "We're keeping her because her husband would like a few words with her. As soon as the body's gone, we can get rid of the disc, and her too. Aura's gone, we get paid, no muss, no fuss."

"And what about Dean?" asked Sato, almost eagerly.

"I can't say for sure he's on his way, but they're watching every move Takahashi makes. Him and his retinue."

"Retinue?" asked Mako, raising an eyebrow.

Felix gave a short chuckle. "Word of the day calendar. It means entourage, attendants, or in this case, bodyguards." There was a knock at the door, causing Felix to smile. "Just make sure you do your part if and when he does show up. I'd hate to have to rely on Cole's plan."

"Where did they go?" hissed the guard, hefting a flashlight from his belt and shining its light into the darkness of the office floor. "At least one of them should be near the elevator at all times."

Dean gripped his gun firmly, the too-light weight of the weapon telling him what he already knew. (Just hope I don't have to fire it,) he idly thought. "Police reported seeing the Vice President's bodyguard entering the building. Are you sure you didn't see anything suspicious?"

He shook his head, causing a few strands of his spiky hair to bristle. "No. Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"One of the people involved is an insider here," Dean explained. "I couldn't be sure. Better call for backup."

"Right. Frank's office is down that hall, about five doors down," said the guard, pointing around the corner from the elevator. "I'll call for a team and wait for them here."

Miku frowned. "No, we should probably stay together. Just in case."

Dean nodded to her. "She's right. Talk while you walk. Let's go, Mr…" he leaned forward, squinting at the nameplate on the man's uniform, "Himaru."

"Takeshi," the guard said abruptly, with a short bow of his head.

"I'm Dean, that's Miku. Let's get a move on."

Together, the three rounded the corner of the elevator bank, passing empty cubicles and following the blue carpeting into a dark hallway, lit every so often by an emergency light. Unoccupied offices stared ominously at them as the guard spoke into his radio, in his native tongue.

Dean picked up a few words here and there; "missing," "request," and "search." He also heard the names of the two absent guards, along with Moritsu. He lost his focus on diction when he caught sight of Miku glancing around nervously.

"You all right?" he asked.

She mumbled something he only half-heard, and repeated herself more loudly. "I'm okay. Just nervous." She swallowed before explaining, "I never liked the dark."

Her words sparked a previously unconsidered thought in his mind; his eyes scanned the empty offices, shadows chased back by the dim lighting, but not far enough to play tricks on him, or to hide threats.

"Me neither," he quietly replied.

"Hai," said Takeshi into the radio. "Arigato gozaimasu." In English, he spoke to Dean and Miku. "They're on their way."

"Can't get here quick enough, as far as I'm concerned," said Dean. Two doors away, he spotted light shining through the windows of one of the offices. Needlessly, he asked, "That it?"

"That's his office."

Reaching the door, Takeshi knocked thrice, and waited for the "Come in!" before opening it.

Hinges creaked loudly as the door swung open, Takeshi leading the way into the brightly-lit office. Dean holstered his gun and took a quick appraisal of the room; token outdoor group picture on the wall, a small bookshelf next to the window, a photo of a young girl sharing space with the computer, a desk lamp, and a glass ashtray. The raised nameplate bore the owner's name: Francis Moritsu.

Behind the desk sat the man himself: middle-aged, blue-eyed and thin-faced, with hair short, sharp and gray. He wore a navy business suit, which didn't quite hide his otherwise slim body. A perfect example of a high-level administrator or paper pusher, yet the intensity with which he studied Dean made him uncomfortable, and the ashtray was the detective's first clue that the man had his share of stress. The lines on his face were the second.

"It's you," said Francis, shifting his stare from Dean to Miku, and back again. "Well, I'll be."

"This is…" Takeshi began.

"Detective Dean Stollis," Francis finished for him. "This… is unexpected."

"I wasn't counting on it myself… Lios."

Miku cocked her head at Dean. "Lios? This is him?"

"I never forget a name," said Dean, clenching and unclenching one of his hands. "Or a voice."

"And I never forget names on incident reports," Francis shot back, just as curtly. "Or in newspapers."

Dean rolled his eyes. "This from the guy in charge of CC's brute squad."

The security officer jerked his head back, confused. "Huh? What's your problem, anyway, Mr. Stollis?"

Takeshi spoke up. "Um, detective, didn't you have something you wanted to ask Mr. Moritsu?"

Making an effort to stow his discomfort, Dean cleared his throat. "All right. About a half hour ago, police watching this building spotted the Vice President's bodyguard on site, alone. I was asked to investigate, and just now we found out that the two guards on this floor have gone missing."

"What?" Francis rose from his seat. "What's going on?"

"I've called a security team to investigate, sir," Takeshi reassured him.

"We think they're doing the switch in here," Dean explained, stepping closer to the desk. "The cash for Aura."

"That's not possible," Francis said slowly. "How could they… why… why would Takahashi be involved in all this!"

"Maybe it's not him," Miku suggested. "They did only see his bodyguard enter the building, right?"

Francis sighed. "Maybe. In any case, we need to find them. I hate to say it, but you may be right, Mr. Stollis. I'd bet you a million that I know where, too." Before Dean could ask, he continued. "There are only two ways it can be done."

"What's that?"

"Get rid of Aura."

"I don't understand," said Miku. "Wasn't she knocked out?"

"Yes," said Francis, facing the window. "And no. Effectively, she… is comatose. Aura is a part of The World, now," he explained. "She can't actually be removed, at least not normally, but if made manifest – if concentrated in one particular area – she can be incapacitated."

"I spoke with one of their techs," said Dean. "He told us that they basically cut-and-pasted her onto a disc."

The elder man scoffed. "You can't just move AI. Harald made sure of that, hard-wired her to be impossible to simply duplicate or put somewhere else. But, she's still data. You can get her out of there – sort of. It would seem that in stealing her, trapping her on that disc, they…" he rolled his eyes. "I'm not one for things dramatic, but it's as if they stole her soul."

"Holy shit," murmured Dean.

Miku lightly touched a hand to her lips, obscuring her quiet gasp. "My god… why would they do that?"

"Hiding the evidence." Dean said. "Someone at CC wanted her gone, they needed Rosenberg to get the manpower and for the software they'd need to do it. Rosenberg said was going to get a copy of the AI; obviously, he didn't know that was impossible."

"You said there were only two ways to get rid of her," Miku began, turning to Francis. "What are these ways?"

"Part of Harald's programming ensured that she couldn't be simply deleted once awake and integrated into the game – which is one of the reasons Morganna had to corrupt her before she became conscious. One option is to destroy the source file – in this case, it would be all of 'The World'."

There was a lapse in conversation as the words sunk in. "Two…" Francis shuddered, "convince her to die."

"I don't understand…" Miku trailed off as she glanced at Dean, and then behind him. "Hey… where'd the guard go?"

Dean and Francis turned towards the door. Sure enough, Takeshi had vanished, and the resulting silence was just enough to hear a footstep.

"What the hell?" mumbled Francis. "Takeshi?"

A loud click, also timed between dialogue, sounded enough like the bolt of a gun being cocked to cause Dean's internal alarms to start blaring. Two options presented themselves to him, and he jumped all over the one that said 'don't give them the chance to start firing.'

His hand lashed out and snatched up the ashtray, and he charged the open door, hurling the glass dish through it mightily. Dean saw a shadow cross the doorway as whoever it was stepped back, ducking out of the way; the dish sailed into the far wall and cracked noisily, falling to the ground in three large chunks and several smaller pieces.

"Look out!" Dean hollered as he barreled into the hallway, which held enough light for him to notice the trenchcoat-wearing man bearing down on him. He instantly grappled with the still-startled assassin, one hand grasping his right hand, which was attached to a rather large pistol.

"Damn you!" grunted the assassin, struggling against Dean's grasp. Though taller than the detective, his build wasn't any better, and Dean quickly got the upper hand, slamming his weapon arm into the wall painfully and rocketing a knee into his abdomen.

Dean saw him start to counter with an elbow to the face, but not soon enough to avoid being hit; he staged backward, his hands still grasping the arm and coat of his assailant. Lashing out with another kick, his foot slammed hard on the man's knee, and a second slam of the hand against the wall forced the man to drop his gun.

He howled a curse in Japanese, prying himself away from Dean as the handgun tumbled to the detective's feet. He was about to dive for it when Dean drew his own weapon and pointed it square at the man's head.

"Get up," Dean ordered, kicking the fallen pistol backwards with the heel of his shoe, and taking a full step away from his prisoner.

"Dean, what's happening?" called Miku from the office.

"It's all right!" Dean shouted back. "I got him!"

"I don't believe this," sighed the assailant, rising to stand in the light of the office.

The detective recognized him instantly; the weathered face, the gray hair, the trenchcoat. "Sato."

The aged Japanese man acknowledged his name with a short nod, eyes closed. "Yes," he said simply, dryly.

"Start talking, man," said Dean. "Who are you? How do you fit into all this?"

Sato opened his eyes – brown, clear, sharp – and squinted at Dean. "I could just as easily ask you that." He scowled. "This isn't your fight, detective. It wasn't last time, and it's not this time."

"What fight!" Dean almost yelled. "What the hell are you talking about!"

Francis' voice came from the doorway. "Satori?"

Dean's brief glance at Francis was all the encouragement Sato needed. Dean saw a flash of movement and the glint of steel out the corner of his eye, and instinctively pulled the trigger of his gun.

Just before Sato's sword connected with the barrel of the Glock, Dean remembered it wasn't loaded.

"Ah!" the detective yelped as the gun was batted out of his hand. He barely had enough time to reel backwards as Sato slashed at him, the katana almost whistling as it whipped through the short hallway.

"Dean!" cried Miku, frozen in place in the office.

Dean's eyes zeroed in on the slightly curved blade, watching for Sato's next move as he backed off; focusing to the point where he didn't notice stepping on Sato's fallen gun until it was too late. He gave a startled gasp as the gun shifted unsteadily under his foot, and he spun around trying to right himself – exposing his back to Sato.

There was a sickening tearing sound, something sharp cutting through cloth and then flesh, just barely; Dean felt the tip of the blade scratch at his back, just deep enough to draw blood. It alarmed more than injured, but it also caused Dean to stumble forward and fall to the ground.

"Satori!"

A loud crunch caught Dean's attention, and, ignoring the pain in his back, he scrambled to his feet and turned to face the noise, in time to see Francis wind up for another punch at Sato. The elder of the two staggered briefly, long enough for Francis to slug him again with a hard left hook to the face.

Grunting painfully, Sato took a swing with his katana in his attacker's direction, forcing him back and giving the swordsman time to steady himself. Not quite enough time, however, to notice Dean stand up and charge back into the fray. He felt one of the American's powerful hands gripping his weapon arm, forcing it skyward, while the other busied itself with several punches to the gut.

Sato countered by grabbing Dean's throat, squeezing until he started to gasp and choke. His face started to turn purple as the detective brought his free hand up and started chopping hard at Sato's elbow, trying to dislodge him. Francis rejoined the fight by wrapping an arm around Sato's neck from behind, yanking him backwards.

The hallway was filled with the pained grunts of men as the three struggled, Sato losing his grasp on Dean and Francis trying to maintain his. The swordsman suddenly pitched right, giving a guttural cry as he dragged the two men with him into the glass window of a neighboring office. Their combined weight was enough to bust through the glass, and the three of them tumbled inward, shards of glass coating their bodies as they bounced off the desk and fell to the floor separately.

The air was wrenched from Dean's lungs as the corner of the desk jabbed hard into the side of his chest, and he gasped for air while struggling to stand, trying to move away from Sato. Frank wasn't much better, having hit his head on the desk; he now lay on the floor, conscious but dazed. Sato regained his balance quickly and started towards Dean; the detective noticed that he had a slight limp in his step.

"Rragh!" growled Sato as he started a series of hard, but graceful slashes at Dean, which he barely managed to dodge by backing away. He bumped into a bookshelf, running out of room; in the half-second it took Sato to close in on him, he reflexively raised an arm to shield himself as Sato swung, striking a long, jagged blow across Dean's forearm and causing him to howl in pain.

As he reeled back into the bookshelf, Dean's hand came upon a particularly thick volume, which he pulled out and chucked at Sato, who was reeling back to ram the katana through Dean's chest. The book caught him by surprise and bounced off his face, stunning him. Clutching his wound, Dean jumped forward into the opening Sato provided for him, and threw a side kick at Sato's waist; his foot landed with a satisfying smash, throwing Sato back several paces.

Click. "Stop!"

Both men did exactly that, turning to see Miku standing in the hallway, holding Sato's .45 pistol unsteadily in her hands, the barrel pointed squarely at Sato's chest.

Sato managed a weak, yet menacing grin, a few cuts from the glass marring his already wrinkled face. He spat out something in Japanese, and from Miku's reaction he gathered it wasn't complementary.

"Put… put it down!" she hesitantly ordered. "The sword, now!"

"You really gonna shoot me?" Sato challenged.

Dean looked at Miku, seeing that the gun was trembling in her hands. She looked back at him, unsure.

"Just keep it on him," Dean assured her. To Sato, he said, "I think you better put the knife down, Sato."

Sato's face went blank. He stared hard at Dean. "I can't. Not after what you did that night."

"What's your problem, man? What did I ever do to you?"

There was a low rumble from the man's throat. He raised the sword high and screamed, "Give me back my son!" before charging at Dean.

Bang.

Sato was blown clear across the desk as the bullet slammed into the side of his chest, drilling effortlessly through his flesh and vitals. His body slipped off the end of the desk and tumbled to the floor, twitching violently as all signs of life started to fade.

Francis slowly moved to his feet, swaying slightly, nursing his bruised forehead. Miku cautiously stepped over the broken glass, handgun pointed low and away from both men; her eyes were disturbingly distant, lips parted just a hair, breathing shallow and strained.

"Miku," said Dean, still cradling the cut along his arm. He released the wound, his hand warm with sweat and blood, and gently placed it on the barrel of the .45.

She met his eyes. "Dean," she whispered, her grip on the weapon going slack.

He gingerly took the pistol from her. "It's okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

"Ungh…" groaned Francis. "Damn it… Satori…"

Dean glanced over at Francis. "You know him?"

He nodded. "Satori used to be one of our guards. He quit that night you broke in." A sigh. "The night his son Shinji was killed."

Dean rounded the desk, looking pitifully at Sato's corpse. "He was Shinji's father?" he asked rhetorically, a pain not physical entering his voice.

"Yeah."

The detective gulped and sniffed loudly, but stopped when voices echoed from down the hall. "Takeshi! Mr. Moritsu! Is everything all right!"

"They're here," said Francis. Upon Dean's perplexed "Huh?", he explained, "I tripped the silent alarm under my desk. Relax, they're the good guys. C'mon."

Together, they filed into the hall, stepping into the glare of flashlights from a trio of security guards. "Mr. Moritsu, what happened? We heard a gunshot."

"We have intruders," said Francis. "Seal the building and call the police. Do it now!"

"Yes sir!" The lead guard motioned to the other two. "You, call the main office, tell them to close off all exits and send teams to sectors two, five and seven. You, get ahold of the police and tell them we have multiple intruders, armed and dangerous."

"And get an ambulance here, too," said Francis. "This man needs medical attention, and we have a body of one of the intruders here."

Before the guard could issue further orders, there was a loud crash across the main room, past the cubicles.

"Are they still here?" mused one of the guards.

"Let's check it out."

The five men spread out, working their way through the virtual maze of cubicles, Miku staying by the elevator doors. They came upon an office, and all of them jumped when another, louder, crash sounded from within.

Glancing in the window, the lead guard pointed to his eyes, and then held up one finger. Dean squinted into the office, which was dimly lit by the glow of the computer monitor; someone was silhouetted on the floor, struggling vigorously.

On a three count, two of the guards violently shoved the door open, shouting "Security! Nobody move!" – or so Dean guessed, as it was in Japanese. One of them hit the lights, revealing the figure as a woman bound to a chair, tape over her mouth and a bruise on her head.

Entering the office, Francis muttered, "Son of a bitch… help her up! Get those cuffs off her!"

Dean followed the last guard in. "What's going on? A hostage?"

Sitting her up, one of the guards gingerly peeled the tape from off her mouth. She whimpered painfully, her eyes squeezed shut. "You have to check the computer," she said breathlessly. "They were doing something to her."

"Her?" Dean asked. The woman's voiced sounded oddly familiar.

"Aura!" she exclaimed. "Check the computer!"

As the guards tried to free her, Dean rounded the desk, setting the handgun down and examining the terminal. The monitor showed a normal-looking desktop, with an open IM window in the corner.

"What is happening?" Dean read from the message box. "Why is it so dark?"

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Francis asked.

"There's a chat window open," said Dean. "Someone was… messaging this computer? Who's office is…" he trailed off as another line appeared.

"So cold. There's no one here. I can't move."

And then another.

"Please help me."

"Officer!"

He saw the girl approaching through the crowd, greenish jacket, blue jeans, a frightened cast to her face. He saved her some of the trouble, working his way past a group of people to meet her. "Yes?" he asked. "What's the matter?"

She was trembling, which caused the hair on the back of the police officer's neck to stand on end. "They," she panted, "they took him."

His blood turned to ice. "Who? What's going on?"

"This… this guy, he came up to him," she stopped to gulp down a breath of air, "and said Dean wanted to see him by the lounge. He said he'd be right back, but when I went over there, he was gone! And then I saw that man, this guy in uniform…"

"Slow down, slow down!" said the officer. "He had a uniform on? What did he look like?"

"He was American, I think… kinda tall, blonde hair. But he took him, I saw it! They went into the stairwell, but he locked the door behind him!"

"Okay. Okay, stay calm." He pulled the radio off his belt. "What's his name? The kid?"

"Hiroshi. Hiroshi Nakosuke."

End of Chapter 38