Kayaba Akihiko hadn't slept last night. Or the night before. This wasn't unusual for him, he was used to pulling all-nighters back to back to satisfy deadlines. The sunrise that morning was one he would, on any other day, consider glorious. It streaked purples and yellows across the clouds in the sky, but the most plentiful color by far was bright cherry red. He poured himself another shot of whiskey. It was an expensive vintage, the name and year he couldn't recall. It was sold to him 56 thousand yen per glass. He looked from the shot glass to the fifty inch plasma TV that sat between his bookshelves, unused since the day it was installed. His gaze flicked back out of the window of his massive corner office that sat on the highest floor of the Argus Technology and Research Corporation's skyscraper in Tokyo's city center. Kayaba's skin prickled with guilt.
The alcohol may have been doing him more harm than good, but Kayaba hardly cared. There he was, there with Robert Oppenheimer and Alfred Nobel. They'd both been bomb makers, one for dynamite, the other for the atomic warhead. Each of them had campaigned the rest of their entire lives to stop their inventions from doing the damage they did. Each failed. Kayaba didn't plan to follow any further in their footsteps. It's not that he wasn't willing to accept the possibility of defeat, that he couldn't stop the march of progress, that it would continue no matter what he did.
No, he could live with that, but what he couldn't accept was people remembering him only speaking words, taking no real action to stop his creation. Even if it meant he was hated, even if it meant the blood on his hands wouldn't be indirect, Even if it meant he'd be erased from the historical record. He'd do something.
It had always disgusted Kayaba, the kind of revisionism that the Japanese government indulged in. In 2007, the Ministry of Education silently removed passages mentioning that Japanese soldiers forced local islanders in Okinawa to kill themselves rather than go to American refugee camps in 1945. When Okinawans protested, the government claimed that was too mature a topic for a school textbook. The passage concerning incidents of rape committed by occupying American soldiers against the women of Japan was kept in. Lines about 'Comfort Women' kept by Japanese soldiers were struck out.
The Kariyushi Club, dedicated to making the southern Ryukyu islands of Japan a sovereign nation, saw their recruitment double, then triple. They became the dominant political party in the region. A referendum was sent to the Diet for a semi-sovereign state of Ryukyu. The proposal stated that Ryukyu could perform some functions of a real country, but would still remain a client state of Japan for a set amount of years before a final decision for independence was made. It was not only denied, but the Diet refused to even see it. Protests turned to riots, and the Japan Self Defense Force was called in. It all came to a head with the Iso Park Massacre, that was where it turned from a concern to a disaster. Rioters in Urasoe threw bricks at soldiers, and they responded with 'controlled warning fire'. Miraculously, none of the 5 injured died.
Only one JSDF officer was court martialed for giving the order, and all hell broke loose when the story slipped 2 months later that he wasn't actually responsible for the incident, only used as a scapegoat to dull public backlash. Any official Japanese news source that disparaged the JSDF or government that allowed this to happen was slapped with harmful misinformation fines hefty enough to make them file for bankruptcy for referring to it as the Iso Park Massacre when technically no one had died. The rest of the mainland media compared this situation to the American civil war, comparing Ryukyuan separatists to the slavers of the South, and glorified JSDF troops peacekeeping in the region. International support shifted to and fro, never favoring either side enough to be of any real help. A short string of reprisal murders were committed in retaliation against JSDF there, usually local extremists finding off duty troops passed out at bars and slitting their throats. The government dissolved the Kariyushi Club, classified it as a domestic terrorist group, then completed a number of political arrests of known party members. Recruitment for the JSDF skyrocketed from 250,000 to 400,000 over the course of two years.
Kayaba poured himself the last of the whiskey. He turned his PC monitor back on. The player count sat at around 300K. It should start exploding once people actually woke up after staying up until midnight to get a chance to buy Wargame Online. Every hour he waited to enact the plan made it exponentially more likely to be discovered. Still he waited. To distract himself, Kayaba thought wistfully about the Japan of his youth. It was almost idyllic, even though he didn't think so at the time. Why does happiness only really come in retrospect? Those first few years he spent at Argus were the best of his life. The first time he tested Full Dive for himself, the little fantasy game demo he'd released, the feeling of being a virtual knight in full armor plate, rescuing the townsfolk from the goblins.
Then they'd been offered the contract. His smile withered on his face. The Argus corporation had gone all in on Kayaba's invention, sinking every spare coin into it. Stocks had been skyrocketing after the initial success of the Nervegear, but then had started to drop once investors began realizing that a real set of fully fleshed out games for it wouldn't be around for at least half a decade. The JSDF had offered them billions in yen in exchange for a simulation to train their soldiers in combat readiness. He'd managed to convince the board earlier to not sell his invention out to the army, but that was before the dive.
Kayaba had never liked the idea of contract work for the military, there was too much shadiness there. Still, work was work, and it kept the company afloat. The project gradually scaled, from just a basic combat test to a small battle sim, to a sim with realistic OPFOR, and finally a full virtual wargame of a potential second Korean War, a wargame was a realistic simulation of a potential conflict, and no wargame was as meticulously crafted and accurate as the one Kayaba had, even if the opposing force was only bots.
The test group of JSDF soldiers thought it was amazing. The early prototype was immediately pressed into service and was used as a training tool. The South Korean government also paid out hundreds of millions to Argus and the JSDF for access once the 'final' product was made. Everyone knew Argus just pushed for a Korean war simulation instead of a more practical homeland security one so they could double dip with the ROK armed forces, but with a few well placed bribes, no one sweated the details.
Eventually, one of the officers, an off putting one from the 'Advanced Network Division' had the idea of using it as a recruitment method, dubbing it Wargame Online. The basic idea was disturbingly similar to the Great Japan Youth Party, or the program it was based on, the Hitler Youth. Train the young boys as future fighters, teach them the basics of how to use military hardware, forge strong senses of brotherhood between them, and indoctrinate them by filling their heads with ideas about the glory of battle. Over time, Kayaba became more and more disgusted with it.
Converting a military trainer into a civilian game was surprisingly easy; most of the legwork was just redesign and refitting old assets for new ones. That would've been reasonable if the board didn't give Kayaba and his team just 4 months to complete their end of the work. Kayaba argued that even though it was theoretically possible, given their previous speed working on other projects, they should have another half of a month for leeway in case of delays. The board replied that it wasn't their choice, that it wasn't their decision. In the field of game development, you get used to project managers breathing down your neck at every little speedbump, but having actual generals walk into your office and berate you for not keeping up with the schedule was something else entirely.
There were also concerns, even before WGO was being adapted for civilian audiences, about how players could potentially go through psychological trauma in the simulator. Of course, people can consciously understand that they won't die in the real world when they die in game, but they couldn't know for sure whether or not it would traumatize them. A few members of the Diet called for a referendum on delaying the project so more research could be done on the potential effects of the simulator if played for long periods of time, as Japanese gamers tend to do. The referendum was never held.
The facade of combat was required to be as real as possible. Before WGO was even conceptualized, they had invited American combat veterans who were Japanese citizens to playtests to gauge how accurate each individual experience was. Bullets whizzing by your ear, the initial shockwave of a nearby explosion, etc. The noises themselves were easy enough to replicate, but it was the feeling that they really wanted. The pain emitters were always set low, people often reported after being shot that the pain of the wound was less unpleasant than the feeling of wind being knocked out of your lungs by the kinetic energy of the bullet. They knew they had it perfect when one of the Americans who were in for the day had a severe stress breakdown. That was an unpleasant day, and an unpleasant talk with the man's wife, for both Kayaba and the JSDF.
From that day onward, they worked on a mental distress easement program that worked in tandem with the onboard sensors of the Nervegear, generally calming and soothing the player by suppressing the parts of the brain that make you experience distress. It paid dividends in the long run though, when they had to make WGO palatable for the Japanese masses. That, and they toned down the gore by a lot.
He would've just completed the game and moved on had it not been for that incident. They wanted one of his devs, Botan, to implement a keyword algorithm that monitored what the players said in game and flagged specific player interactions to be reviewed by human operators. Figuring this was just for toxicity or harassment, he agreed. He was given the list of keywords. Okinawa, Iso Park, Nanjing, Ryukyu, independence, Kakuei Tanaka, Cherry Blossom scandal, Chosuke Yara, Kariyushi Club.
Botan protested that he wouldn't help the government weed out political dissidents. They replied that that was fine, they would find someone who would. Botan threatened to take it to the press, he had the evidence, and the legal right to use it.
Botan Tajima was found dead by police on November 16th, 2022. It was presumed that he went home drunk, fell into a ditch, and drowned in three inches of water. Kayaba said nothing about what he knew to anyone. After the funeral, Koujiro asked him some pointed questions. She knew something was up. Botan didn't drink. Still Kayaba said nothing and pushed her away. At least she wouldn't have to answer for his actions this way. Hopefully.
To distract himself, Kayaba checked and double checked the sequence he'd hidden in the code, every once in a while glancing at the player count, 337K, 366K, 400K. Forty five minutes later, it sat at 493K of the original five hundred thousand copies sold for opening day. Good enough. Kayaba shook the jitters out and reached for the Nervegear on his desk.
"Link start!"
The other Game Masters had been waiting for Kayaba to log on, most had assumed he was just getting his beauty sleep after working his ass off on last minute patches and bug fixes. Kayaba ignored their messages and updates on how things were going so far. He opened the backlog.
CMDACTIVATESEQ.1310
Sequence 1310 was a potential cutscene for the beginning of the game to welcome players before it was scrapped due to bugginess in favor of something simpler. Kayaba had repurposed it, if the other devs had seen a completely new sequence that nobody was told about, they'd have questions. This, however, was just an old string of code that was left here, not worth deleting.
The first of three main functions of the new sequence 1310 was to strip all players of admin privileges except for Kayaba, the second was to remove the functionality of the log out button and to not accept any more players entering the server, trapping them inside. The third function was to disable the safeties of the microwave emitters in all connected NerveGears, and make them activate at full capacity should they be removed. There were also several other, smaller functions, but nothing anyone else needed to know for now.
CMDNOTIFICATIONALLUSERS
He hesitated, but only for a moment, before typing in the speech he'd been mentally rehearsing ever since he'd first planned this:
'Attention: Players of WGO, your lives are in danger. You may have noticed in the design specs for your NerveGears that they have the capability to emit microwaves at high dosages. If someone outside attempts to remove it from your head, they will now activate and you will experience instantaneous brain death. If you open your menu, you will find that the log out function no longer works. This is intentional. If you are killed in game, the emitters will activate and kill you in real life. You will not respawn. The only way to escape the game and return to your lives is to beat the simulation and win the war. Good luck.'
It was short and sweet. Lying was against his nature, but so was murder, so it was a moot point. A fair few would die having their NerveGears removed, but it was a worthy sacrifice. Kayaba expected the players to remain there for months on end. By the time it was finished, those players would've had their fill of war. A significant portion of the young men interested in the JSDF would be simply gone. They couldn't even use it as justification to expand the military budget because there was no physical threat to fight. He fought a grin from his face as he imagined the generals and politicians attempting to explain to the press that their fun little recruitment tool had made almost a half million people, including a few thousand of their own soldiers and weekend warriors, forcibly comatose.
Kayaba had his revenge. It was regrettable that some people were caught in the crossfire, but it was necessary. Now for the final part. He opened the backlog, one last time.
CMDNERVEGEARSETEMITTERSFULLCAP.
Kayaba would later be found dead in his office.Today was a momentous day for Kazuto Kiriyaga. It was on par with the day he got his NerveGear. The very first real game set for full dive. Wargame Online. The way the whole game worked was that the whole server would fight the entire Second Korean war over the span of a few months and then, win or lose, it would reset and the whole scenario would play out all over again. It may sound tedious, but the simulation covered all of Korea, much of it was auto generated from satellite images and then having the kinks worked out by devs. It was incredibly unlikely that you'd have the same experience twice. It was promised in the future that more would be added, like Korean players replacing the A.I. ROK army once the Diet gave approval, but for now, it would just be the Japan Self Defense Force. There were jokes about adding nukes, but nothing serious.
It was the last subject before school let out for the day, and he'd had a tough time containing himself. The basic schedule was that new players would apply for certain positions, like mortarman, artillery, scout, helicopter pilot, etc etc, and it would be a race to see who could get in first. After that, even if you ended up a regular foot soldier, you'd go through training with real JSDF operatives temporarily brought in for the week, and even after that the 'commanders' in game would be real JSDF officers in training. One week may sound short, but the game had 'system assist programs' that simplified a lot of the mechanics, like cleaning your gun or fixing a broken vehicle, but all these things were purportedly done quicker and easier by hand.
It was a massive departure from the RPG games Kazuto was used to; milsim was definitely not 'his thing', especially since there was no leveling or skill system. However, it was all worth it to play the Nervegear multiplayer. He'd been studying for the game more than his tests. Wargame Online was almost indistinguishable from actual combat, except you wouldn't die if you got shot. It was the most advanced of its kind, videos demonstrating the graphics and the physics engine went viral among the gaming community, and the very best part was, it was practically being given away. Kirito didn't have to scrimp and save the way he did for his NerveGear, and that was a blessing. He looked up. The teacher was lecturing about the Meiji restoration. It wasn't that the topic wasn't interesting, but Kazuto already had all he needed for the test memorized, so he discreetly checked his phone under the desk. It already had the schedule for WGO's release pulled up. At 12:00AM, December 6th, online sales would open. There were no pre orders, but Kazuto was confident he could get his hands on an online copy in time before they sold out.
Class ended, so Kazuto picked up his bag and walked to the bike racks. Kazuto was an otaku by any measure; he didn't try to make any friends at school, and didn't respond much when others tried to make friends with him. It was actually a little impressive how little anyone interacted or even thought about Kazuto Kiriyaga. He had average looks, average grades, and an overall run of the mill life. It didn't bother Kazuto much that he was practically wallpaper in the real world, he was quite satisfied with it in fact. He never enjoyed being the center of attention, and all his social needs could be met online. The most interesting thing about him was that he used to do kendo, but quit a while ago. Kazuto unlocked his bike and set it off down the bike lane. He estimated he had maybe two and a half hours to play with before anyone fussed at him for being home late. He put it to good use, zooming down south, just skirting around the edges of the city center, cutting down side streets and powering up hills. The air was cold and crisp on his cheeks, and Kazuto found himself relaxed, even as he sped through the city. He was vastly ahead of schedule, so he decided to take the scenic route through Yoyogi Park.
Nostalgia hit him like a brick wall as soon as he passed through the gateway. When he was younger, maybe 9 or so, he'd always beg his aunt to drive him down to the park, never just to see the cherry blossoms or the garden, but to watch the people go by. Old men, young men, salarymen, housewives, babies in strollers, kids his age. He made it a game to guess why they were all there, from the casual sightseers to the tourists, to the picnickers, and the pairs going on dates.
For some reason only understandable in the mind of a little boy, it was the most fun thing in the world. Sometimes, when he just couldn't figure it out, he'd stalk passersby, even going to the point of trying to listen in on phone conversations, which was difficult, as people in Tokyo always made those quietly. These behaviors had earned him his fair share of strange looks as a boy, and Kazuto was sure if he tried it now he'd get arrested.
Smiling, even as his cheeks burned from residual embarrassment, he pedaled faster, over the bridges and down the trails, through the cherry garden, and looping up towards the dog walk. He had to dismount to ascend some stairs to get back on the road, but he hardly minded.
He idly gazed up at an airliner as he waited at an intersection. It was probably headed for the Haneda airport, just starting to slow down and drop in altitude. Kirito grinned unconsciously when he thought about how he'd probably be flying a jet too by the end of the night. When he'd first started researching WGO he'd only been somewhat interested, but as he learned more and more about the intricacies of dogfighting he kind of fell in love. Most of his self indulgent daydreams recently were about climbing into the cockpit and fighting gracefully above the clouds, his vision blurring at the edges due to G forces, straining his head forward in the cockpit to maintain visual on a vague, unspecified opponent.
He'd just passed the Matsuzawa hospital, thinking he could just make it before the pedestrian crosswalk timer turned on when a girl stepped out from behind a blind corner. He jerked the handlebars far to the right, skidding onto the sidewalk at a 45 degree angle. He landed on his shoulder fairly softly all things considered, the sharp turn having eaten up much of his velocity. When he finally came to a stop, he was a little surprised to be viewing the world sideways.
"Oh! Would it kill you to slow down?" She huffed and answered her own question. "It certainly won't kill you any faster than doing that."
Kazuto's shoulder smarted, and his heartbeat quickened at the jolt, but he was completely unharmed otherwise. The girl noticed he wasn't getting up.
"Are you okay?" She asked, her hostile tone not completely gone.
He pushed himself up and grabbed at the handlebar of his bike, which had only migrated a few feet from his fall. Embarrassment prickled at his skin and he wanted nothing more than to go immediately. He could sense the eyes of the others waiting by the crosswalk on him, and the feeling intensified.
"Are you okay?" She repeated, and tugged at the arm of his uniform. He was forced to turn and face her now. He recognized the school uniform of a local all girls academy, and the bag she carried confirmed she was going home the same as he was. Her eyes and hair were both a warm chestnut, almost caramel color, which made him wonder for a moment if it was dyed, as anything other than black was rather uncommon in Japan. These observations had temporarily alleviated his stress over making a scene, but only for a moment before he realized he was expected to respond.
"Oh. Er...yes. fine, thank you."
Her eyebrows knitted together in worry.
"Are you sure? You still seem a little dazed, you could've gotten seriously hurt there."
'Well, it would've been convenient, the Matsuzawa's right here.' Kazuto thought to say, but the words never quite made it past his lips. What he actually said was much dumber.
"Yes, I'm very fine, sorry. Thank you."
The mental noise he made was some combination of an exhausted groan and a scream of unbridled agony. Nevertheless, he shook her off and threw his leg over the seat, setting back down the bike path. The second Kazuto was sure he was out of view he took off at top speed, futilely trying to outrun the shame. He pedaled and glided up and down the regular hills he took on this route, but found himself making a right turn. He coasted right up to the bike rack, the bright neon convenience store sign shining harshly in his eye. The usual bell jingled as he walked through the door, and he nodded to Andrew, the cashier. Kazuto grabbed a pack of some generic off-brand energy drink and brought it to the counter.
Kazuto had met Andrew when he recognized the (INSERT POPULAR JRPG) charm on Kazuto's keychain, and they got to talking. Andrew and him both played the same games and both had an obsession with the NerveGear, so Kazuto found it harder to push him away as he did with other people.
"Hey Kazuto-san." He picked up the barcode scanner and got to work on his usual routine. "Gonna be a long night huh?" He said, gesturing to the drinks. Kazuto was about to respond when Andrew interrupted him prematurely.
"Hold up, you're gonna get WGO tonight aren't you?"
"Umm, yeah. Planning on it. You too?"
"Of course! Hold on, what's your username, I'll friend you."
"I mean, it's Kirito, but…"
"Kirito, how's that spelled?"
Andrew tore Kazuto's receipt in half, writing down Kazuto's username on one piece, and writing down his own username on the other. His name was Agil.
"I don't think there's a friending system," Kazuto said sheepishly.
"What? Oh that's a shame, if we run into each other though, let's try and party up."
Kazuto nodded, grabbed his drinks, and left. He was definitely going to be late now, but it didn't matter. Clouds had swept down quickly from the mountains and made the sky overcast and gray. He let his mind wander a little.
He'd hated that feeling of being seen, the eyes of everyone at the crosswalk piercing through his back when he'd been getting up from his fall. He hated every second of it. He hated the way he stuttered and tripped over his words, and he wanted to forget about all of it immediately. Unfortunately, the encounter was probably already seared into his brain to occasionally revisit on sleepless nights. Usually he didn't stutter that much, Kazuto figured he was just taken by surprise. Kazuto looked down at the energy drinks he got from the convenience store. He didn't really need them, he'd already stocked up for tonight in his earlier preparations. The truth was, he just wanted to talk with him for a little. Andrew made him feel more normal, a little less dysfunctional when it came to people. Andrew was probably his only friend in the 'real world'. That may have been a depressing thought for some, but Kazuto was fairly used to it. Now that he thought about it, Andrew was a very odd friend to have. For starters, he was a gaijin that spoke fluent Japanese, was nearly a decade older than him, and he was absolutely massive, about 180 centimeters tall. He was also the only black person Kazuto had spoken to in real life.
As much as he liked Andrew, Kazuto kind of dreaded the thought of meeting him in WGO. None of the people he knew online had seen his face, and he sort of preferred it that way. Kazuto just didn't want to mix up his worlds, the dull, oppressive real life with the fast paced, exciting virtual. Nothing good could come of that.
And yet…
He bought the Nervegear, didn't he? And he intended to play it with others. What was really the difference between them then, when you're not just alone in there aside from a few NPCs? It would just be a disparity of stimuli at that point. Acting like the world around them was fake would simply be a formality, a pretense. And what then? He found himself uncomfortable but reassured himself that he could just log off and not play if it didn't work out. Harmless.
'See, there's a difference.' He thought to himself. 'That world is harmless.'
The ride home was relatively uneventful after that, and Kazuto soon arrived home to the old-style Japanese house. He put his bike up and walked inside, he could hear Sugu in the dojo practicing Kendo. The afternoon's ordeals had tired him out, so he left a note in the kitchen for when she returned.
'I'm home, should be taking a nap upstairs, make yourself something to eat'
He set an alarm on his phone for 10:30PM and trudged up to his room.Kazuto was immensely pleased with himself. He'd not only secured a copy, but it downloaded astonishingly fast for a game of this size. The clock read 3:15 AM and he was ready to slam on his NerveGear as soon as the progress bar hit 100. After only 5 more tense minutes, it happened. Due to the Advanced Anatomy System, he had to hit 'OK' on a terms and conditions form licensing him to use the information stored in the NerveGear from the calibration sequence to simulate what his body actually looked like. While he would prefer to be taller, if he didn't accept the form it would just be like playing any other full dive game, so he'd have to make do with his actual height.
"Link Start!"
If he wanted a good job, he'd have to move fast. He spawned and immediately knew it was different from just using the NerveGear normally. He could actually feel his heartbeat, the bones under his layers of flesh, hell, he could even sense the hairs on his legs touching the inside of his pants. It was like he was just standing there himself. He'd read about the AAS, but actually experiencing it was something else entirely.
He looked around his surroundings, a completely black void with only a character customization screen. He wore a plain olive fatigue top and fatigue pants of the same color, with ankle length combat boots. Dog tags hung around his neck, bearing nothing but his username and blood type. Customizing his body wasn't an option due to the AAS, so he just made a face that looked vaguely like him, (with a stronger jawline of course) and hit the submit character button.
Then was the part Kirito had been waiting for. There were a limited number of job slots available, especially for pilots, and the system was first come first serve. Of course, if your instructor thought you weren't a good fit, you could be moved somewhere else. It pulled up the dream sheet. The menu displayed all available positions for jobs. It was a lot different from the real dream sheets Kirito had researched in preparation for the game, the ones they hand you when you actually enlist in the military. The options were incredibly vague. In the real ones, the titles were things like: Unexploded Ordnance Disposal, Air Traffic Controller, Security forces, etc. This sheet was...less specific. It did follow the standard formula however, and Kirito quickly checked off his top 4 preferred jobs, he'd planned it out beforehand of course.
1. Fighter Pilot
2. Bomber Pilot
3. Attack Helicopter Pilot
4. Attack Helicopter Gunner
There was actually a fifth slot. Once again it defied his expectations. He was still on a time trial, so he just picked something at random.
He hit the deploy button fast as lightning, and the menu in front of him vanished, leaving him in the inky black void.
A half minute passed, then he spawned. A loud dull roar filled his ears as he found himself strapped to an uncomfortable seat. Looking around, he saw others there with him, their heads swiveling, just as confused as he was. It took them collectively a few more moments to realize they were in a long helicopter that Kirito recognized as the CH-47 'Chinook'. Its seats could probably hold forty or so players, but was just slightly under capacity. He twisted in his seat to look out of a porthole. Most of what he saw was just a cloudless sky, but when he strained to look downwards he could spot the ocean. Others were trying to undo the clasp of their harness, but were rebuffed by some invisible force. Music kicked on as the helicopter slowly began to lose altitude.
Only a little while later they hit land, and the ramp at the back dropped. The clasps now came undone easily and they walked out to see a bustling military base. Immediately he tried to guess which camp he was in. The way it was set up, there were three initial training camps, creatively named A, B, and C. For the initial week, they'd be here, training for the coming invasion. If he squinted, he could still see the ocean, but without a map it would be impossible to tell if it was the Sea of Japan or the Yellow Sea. Camp B was located far inland, so he wasn't there. The area around them was mountainous, rugged terrain, but that was 90% of Korea, so it wasn't really useful. He could tell his surroundings were rural, no towns or cities in sight. camp A was located next to Seoul, and thus, by process of elimination, he was at camp C. Probably.
A haggard looking junior officer in full flecktarn pattern combat kit walked over to the loose group that shuffled off the Chinook.
"Alright then. If you open up your menus you'll see directions for where to go for initial training. Go there."
With that eloquent and thorough breakdown of events, they were shooed away to their respective destinations.
Kirito deftly navigated through the menu to find the temporary communication/directional system that had been set up to make training the whole half million players in basic combat competency a little easier. Granted, it was still largely expected to be a dumpster fire, but that was neither here nor there. Mostly, they were going to learn by doing, which suited Kirito just fine. He was directed to a warehouse a quarter mile away, and set off at a brisk walk, quickly acclimating to the differences between the regular NerveGear and WGO. He passed crowds of confused newbies and exasperated JSDF trainers yelling through bullhorns. He finally came to a stop at a line of vehicles set up for the day. Apparently, the trainer for his team was somewhere here. The name of his trainer was Misao Miyako, and Kirito idly wondered why the pilot trainer had chosen to meet at a motorpool. Maybe the airfield was far away, so they had to take a truck or something.
He found several trainers hanging around the area, but none of them were his. After a good 15 minutes of trying, he consulted the directional system again. It claimed the trainer was 2 meters away from him. Kirito looked around with a start, before concluding that it was somehow broken. He was just starting to walk off and ask someone about it when a pneumatic hiss sounded above and behind him. Kirito spun around to see a short stocky man pull himself out of the hatch of an old looking tank. The man groaned and swore profusely as he swung his legs out of the top hatch, gained a foothold on the hull, and almost lost his balance putting the other foot down. With one last push, he dropped down to the ground with an uff. He slapped the side of the tank with the thick paperback manual he had in his right hand, his cursing growing both dirtier and more creative. He rubbed his temples and turned to see Kirito standing there sheepishly.
"Move along, ain't nothing to see here."
Kirito hesitated for a moment before responding.
"A-are you Master Sergeant Masao Miyako?"
The man gave Kirito an almost contemptuous look.
"Ugh, you're one of mine for today aren't you?" he mumbled, almost to himself. "Christ, I thought I had more prep time."
"One of yours?" Kirito inquired frantically, his voice cracking a little.
"Just-...Just stay here for a bit, okay kid? Give me a few minutes."
Kirito nervously waited as MSG. Miyako paced the length of the tank, periodically stopping to examine parts seemingly at random. He entered and exited the various hatches multiple times, and just blankly stared at the manual for long periods of time. The man himself was maybe in his thirties, only a little shorter than Kirito. He was dressed in an unflattering olive drab jumpsuit and tightly laced black combat boots. His black hair was buzzed down to peach fuzz, and he had bushy eyebrows that furrowed in constant agitation. He was wide, but not fat, nor was he particularly muscular.
His accent was definitely Kansai, which was a more rural, countryish section of central Japan. Oddly though, he didn't really use much of the stereotypical slang, keeping his speech clipped and inexpressive. Kirito remembered a classmate who sat next to him in his algebra class that was from there. She sounded very much like she was trying to hide it, overcompensating by making her consonants ridiculously sharp and her voice as flat and monotone as possible, passably mimicking the Tokyo style, but also she had a weird inflection to the end of her sentences he just couldn't pin down. To Kirito's utter shock, this ruse lasted for a whole week before she slipped up and used 'washi' instead of 'watashi' as her first person pronoun.
Her life was basically over after that. People from Kansai, as well as most other rural areas, were basically considered on a similar level as Americans, loud, obnoxious, stupid, overly emotional, etc. Even the teacher of that class joined in on mocking her occasionally. Kirito didn't like it, of course, but he considered avoiding the ire of his classmates more important than defending someone he didn't even know. The last he'd overheard from gossip about her was that she'd started skipping classes and became some sort of otaku delinquent.
He was shaken from his reverie by the arrival of another player, red haired, taller, and older looking with a generous dusting of chin stubble across his jawline.
"Yo! Are you Sergeant Masao Miyako?"
It was a moment before Kirito registered that the question was aimed at him.
"Uh, no, he is." Kirito said, gesturing towards Masao.
"Cool." He turned to the still-grumbling man. "Hey there! Is that our tank?"
"Our…?" Kirito trailed off, but even if he hadn't he would've been cut off by Masao's response.
"Yeah, unfortunately. Sit there with him until the last one gets here."
Kirito finally realized what was going on.
"Hold on, I don't really think I'm supposed to be here, I didn't sign up for any-"
Oh no.
The fifth job he'd selected. Tank crewman.
"...You alright?"
Both of them stared at Kirito blankly. A thin sheen of cold sweat formed on the back of his neck, which would've been really interesting to think about, given he was in a virtual world, except for the fact that he felt violently sick.
'Am I alright? I mean, everything I've been hoping and preparing for the last 3 months of my life just got tossed out the window, But yes, I'm doing alright. Just fucking dandy.'
"Yes...Yes, yeah, nevermind. Give me a moment."
Kirito's flight response won him over and he walked to the other side of the tank, trying desperately not to let his disappointment show. He opened the menu and checked his personal profile. Sure enough, his official role was listed as 'Tank Crewman'. Kirito exited and re-entered the profile despondently, hoping that this was just some ultra specific glitch that would magically fix itself with his correct role if he just persevered. After a minute or so reality set in, and he considered just logging out then and there, but realized he had one hope left. If your JSDF trainer deemed you unfit for the job, you'd be sacked and sent to fill another role. It was all up to the trainer. This may seem harsh, but it was important to make sure the people who operated valuable resources could actually use them. Pilots had complicated and high stress jobs, and even with system assist it could be too much for some.
This system left holes in the ranks that had to be filled. While vacant jobs could technically be filled by A.I., if he could convince Sargent Miyako that he knew enough to be a pilot, he might just recommend him for a replacement. That would guarantee that he would at least be considered. And he had a basic grasp of almost everything they taught. He knew the exact range of an AIM-130 air to air missile in ideal conditions, he knew how to perform an Immelmann turn, he knew the ideal displacement of G forces on the human body to stave off unconsciousness, and he was confident if he could just get his foot in the door, he'd excel.
All he had to do was convince Masao that he could do it. Clinging to this last desperate hope, he started formulating his plan of attack. Kirito wasn't delusional enough to believe he could do it with charm, he was pretty sure there were full time Discord moderators with more charisma than him. That left only one other course of action. He'd just have to display how much he knew and hope that his instructor cared. Master Sergeant Miyako had climbed back inside the tank by now, and Kirito jumped as the monstrous engine suddenly and loudly kicked on. Standing next to it felt a lot like standing next to the drum section of a marching band, all slamming their instruments as frequently and loudly as physically possible. By the time that Kirito had pressed his hands to his ears, it shut off again. Kirito rounded the tank once more and the redheaded recruit nodded to Kirito and spoke, apparently shrugging off his odd behavior before.
"I'm Klein, what about you?"
"I'm Kirito."
"So, Kirito-san, do you know why our instructor's so pissy?"
Klein suddenly seemed to remember he was talking to a complete stranger.
"Er, 'agitated', rather." He revised quickly.
"I think it might just be stress."
"So…what tank is that, exactly? It doesn't really look like the ones you see on the news."
"Well, I don't recognize the model…"
Kirito hadn't really considered the tank until now. It was slightly taller than it was wide, painted olive green and sporting a long gun with a large muzzle brake. It had a long trapezoidal protrusion from the back of the turret, as well as a huge round commander's cupola sticking out from the top of the turret, with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on top. From Kirito's very limited knowledge on tanks, it was probably from the cold war, but when exactly was beyond him. Overall, the whole thing was just ugly.
"It looks straight out of a budget war movie."
Kirito nodded amicably, but didnt say anything. The older player looked back at him with a relaxed, almost uninterested expression, but there was a reassuring gleam in his eyes that made Kirito want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Also what's with that cloth over the base of the gun? It looks like somebody tried to shove a brown paper sack over the turret."
Kirito chuckled a little.
"I mean, if I was a tank that looked like that, I'd want a paper sack over my head too."
To Kirito's surprise, he'd actually said that, instead of keeping his snide remarks to himself like usual. Klein laughed and continued the joke.
"Oh don't be dramatic, it's not that bad, he's just a little…" He stopped to lean over and peer comically at the back of the misshapen looking turret, then at the more modern tanks and armored vehicles lined up in the motorpool. "...special."
The conversation fizzled out and the silence remained for a minute or so, before it was broken.
"You're a high schooler, right?" Klein asked, apropos of nothing.
"What? How could you know that?"
"Sixth sense."
Kirito squinted at Klein, trying to figure out if he was being insulted.
"So what if I am?"
"Hey, hey, no need to be defensive. We've all been there, just now realizing the harem anime and American teen drama movies lied to us."
Kirito decided he wasn't.
"Well, I mean, it's not that there isn't drama, it's just that by the time the first gossip issue has resolved, they've moved on to a new one. Can't wait to leave, really."
Klein gave a knowing smile.
"Oh trust me, it doesn't change when you get older, you just start realizing how pointless it is."
Kirito smiled back.
"Well I must be aging faster than normal then."
"What? You don't enjoy hearing all about how person X posted a picture of person Y holding hands with person Z's boyfriend? Come on! You've gotta have something to make fun of yourself for in 10 years." Kirito shook his head.
"No, I don't enjoy that. To be honest I don't really have many friends my age. I guess I'm pretty normal." Kirito said, even though he had no clue why he'd admitted to that.
"Oh and let me guess, you have plain features, normal grades, and the personality of the color beige. Face it man, you're basically an anime protagonist."
Kirito tried to look impassive, but his expression gave him away. Klein grinned and tapped the side of his head.
"Sixth sense." He ignored the subsequent dirty look from Kirito, and once again extended the olive branch. "All I'm saying is, if you see a truck barreling towards you when crossing the street, don't try too hard to avoid it."
"Oh and before I know it every female in existence will be infatuated with me."
Klein snickered, but something else occurred to him and his jovial expression shifted to a deadly serious pallor.
"Okay, genuine word of advice: never refer to women as 'females'. I mean, outside of formal situations. Makes it sound like you're talking about insects."
"Everyone knows that!" Kirito exclaimed, angry with him because he had not known that. "I was just joking. Besides, what do you know about females?"
"How well do I know them? Well, besides the fact that that sounds like a question for your mother," Klein shot back, and Kirito pretended that he hadn't hit a sore spot as he continued. "I'll have you know I've slept with one whole woman." Klein said with immense self satisfaction.
"Really? Not just half a woman?" Kirito asked sarcastically, trying not to sound overly interested.
"Yes, yes, one whole woman." Klein reassured him.
"So you're not a virgin then."
At this Klein seemed to falter, scratching the back of his neck and studiously avoiding eye contact.
"Well…technically she-Oh! There's the last crew member!"
Kirito turned, completely expecting to see nothing, but was surprised to instead find, indeed, the last crew member. He was taller than Klein, but only by a little, with a slightly leaner frame. His hair was longish and his eyes were relaxed, and both were the exact same light shade of blue. He smiled as he casually strolled towards them. Klein took the initiative and spoke up.
"Yo, Masao Miyako's in there," he said, pointing to the tank, "we're the other guys you're with."
"Great!" The stranger responded, "Looking forward to working with you. I'm Diavel, by the way."
"Cool, I'm Klein and this is Kirito. We're waiting on Miyako-sama to get sorted."
And almost perfectly on cue, Master Sergeant Miyako finally emerged from the driver's hatch, a look of resignation firmly chiseled onto his features.
"So." He began "You're all here. This is a Type 61 main battle tank. It's the first indigenous tank developed since after the Second world war. Technically, this tank was pushed out of service with the JGSDF since 2000, however I guess some sweaty game dev just knows better than us and now we're assigned to crew it."
"Fun." Diavel commented dryly.
"Indeed," Miyako replied gravely. "Well, let's not waste any time, we need a gunner, loader, and driver."
"Who's gonna be the tank commander? I mean, you're only gonna be around for the initial week right?" Klein asked, stroking the stubble of his chin.
"There's a special job category for that in the officer corps." Kirito answered before Master Sergeant Miyako could respond, earning a slightly withering look for the effort.
"Yes, and to get into an officer job you'd have to be volunteered by a trainer." Diavel added.
"Speaking of that, none of you are gonna be volunteered, I've enough damn work figuring out how to command a tank that I wasn't even fucking trained for without writing up essays about how great you all are to a superior whose odds of accepting are basically as good as a dice roll no matter what I submit. Clear?"
Kirito's heart sank, but he nodded and gave noncommittal shrugs and grunts along with the other two.
This didn't bode well at all. But nothing had been decided yet. Klein and Master Sergeant Miyako began to mull over the specifics of crewmanship together.
"Okay, so I know you just said you weren't gonna volunteer a tank commander, so-"
"Oh, shut up." Masao cut him off, unamused despite Klein's jovial tone.
"That wasn't what I was getting at." Klein put his hands up to soothe the man, still grinning.
"Really. Please, enlighten me as to your brilliant idea then."
Klein had an infectious smile, and Kirito could see Masao fighting fiercely to keep the corners of his mouth straight.
"What I was saying was, just quit your job to become a full time gamer so you can be our tank commander for the rest of the war."
"Mhm, let me just file my two weeks notice with the fucking SDF. I'm sure they'll just rip up my 5 year contract and cut me free without batting an eye."
"So fake your death then." Kein threw his arms out, incredulous with the closed mindedness of his instructor. "Come on, it'd be easy, just put a set of fatigues and your dog tags on a pig, hide in some bushes near your base, and chuck it under a tank as it passes by. Nobody could tell the difference."
The Master Sergeant cracked a smile, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to keep it from showing.
Kirito noticed that after Masao's declaration about volunteering, Diavel turned his face away from them, giving a private sneer of annoyance. The man's jaw clenched and his hands drew into fists. Kirito saw the markings of Diavel's fingernails on his palm as he turned to gesture to the tank, joining the conversation naturally and easily, no trace at all left of his former scowl.
"Hey, we could even practice right here, get something useful done with our training time."
"Go fuck a cow, the both of you."
Diavel gasped in mock offense.
"Sergeant-sama, I'd never disrespect your mother like that!"
Klein nodded solemnly.
"I absolutely would not either. But just so I know, what's her number?"
The tank commander finally allowed himself a laugh, the noise sounded like a stuttering growl. He smiled broadly, but this time without any humor in his eyes.
"You know what? You two would make good infantry. I'm sure they'd just love an extra pair of comedians."
The pair of comedians in question immediately paled and shook their heads vigorously.
"No, we're good here, really, no need."
Klein smiled appeasingly, though his voice was a little tight.
"Yep. Absolutely fine right here."
Diavel seconded.
"Suit yourself." Master Sergeant Miyako said dismissively, clapping his hands together to dispel the air of levity. "So, I already told you. Three jobs, driver, loader, gunner. If this was the real world, all of these jobs would suck. Drivers are about the most miserable, they spend ninety percent of their time crammed into a seat that would make an economy class flight look spacious, Loaders get treated like braindead apes since they're lowest on the 'totem pole' of tank crews, and gunners...well actually, being a gunner is pretty fucking sweet."
Kirito blushed profusely, he was seriously not used to adults talking to him like this, and felt more than a little awkward just standing there.
"And what about tank commanders?" he asked politely
"Well, when you're a tank commander you get stuck doing stupid shit like this. Anyways, since this is virtual, you're not going to bake like a guinea pig in a microwave the second you get inside, and I don't think the AAMS accounts for muscle cramps, so count yourselves lucky. So, who's gonna do what here, if you can't decide yourselves then I'll do it for you."
"Sure thing Sarge!" Klein agreed cheerfully. Unwittingly though, he struck a nerve.
"You're the driver." Miyako deadpanned.
"What do y-" Klein tried to respond, before being cut off.
"Shut the hell up, driver."
With that settled, Master Sergeant Masao Miyako turned and went back to his musings about the ancient tank before them.
Despite Klein's shell shocked expression, Kirito and Diavel simultaneously decided to unpack that later.
"I, um, don't mind being the loader, not really like I'm good with aiming anyways." Kirito said, rubbing the back of his neck.
'And I don't intend to stick around here', he muttered mentally, and immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
Diavel looked incredulous.
"Really?" He asked, but didn't wait for Kirito's reply. "Well, alright then."
With that, they both walked over to their instructor, with Klein following them defeatedly.
"Alright, we set?" their instructor inquired.
The two of them quickly explained their agreement as well as taking the time to actually tell him all their in-game names, not that he seemed terribly interested. He nodded, then pressed a few buttons on his menu. Circular green flower insignias immediately popped up over the heads of the other players and Kirito looked up to see one above himself as well.
"This is the squad system, and I am your current squad leader, as you can see by this here." he said, pointing to the golden flower insignia above his head. "What this system is-
"They're sakura flowers right?" Kirito interjected brainlessly, "It's the old Self Defense Force tradition of using sakura flowers in army symbols?"
Master Sergeant Miyako gave him a strained glance.
"Why thank you, trainee Kirito, for your relevant and useful input."
His country accent was laced with venom almost as much as sarcasm, and Kirito found the good sense to shut his mouth and feel ashamed of himself.
"Anyways, as I was saying. Squad system, it makes combat less of a clusterfuck, obey your squad leader, et cetera et cetera." He then walked back to the tank, "Next lesson."
He was navigating his way through a menu Kirito didn't recognize, but then quickly realized it was some sort of command list. Sergeant Major Miyako made a pleased grunt as he located what he was looking for. He tapped a button and a resounding CLANG pierced the air, causing all the trainees near the tank to jump. The front half of the steel track on the type 61's right side forced itself, as if by magic, off of the sprockets and wheels, and away from the hull itself. The tracks didn't look broken, per se, but hung slightly away from the road wheels loosely, resembling a bicycle chain that simply fell off the gears.
"This is what we call a thrown track, and it is my personal theory that the only thing less pleasurable than fixing it is an afternoon of passing kidney stones with a UTI."
This elicited a chuckle from Klein that went ignored.
"Lucky for you civilians, we have system assist."
"What's that?" Diavel asked, and it took all of Kirito's willpower not to interrupt the instructor again as he explained.
"Basically it's a system there to do menial, boring, or hard to learn shit that we can't be arsed to teach you. So that's 90% of real military work."
Diavel gave a wry smile and rubbed the back of his neck uncharacteristically sheepishly.
"It must be a little annoying for you, huh? Seeing all of us here playing soldier while you're stuck babysitting."
The tank commander snorted.
"Nah, playing soldier's fun as hell. Being a soldier sucks. Besides, I'm still getting paid, and the simulator's always better than sitting around in some office doing paperwork. Here or there, I'll probably get screwed over into doing way too much shit work one way or another, so don't worry your little cyan head about it."
The moment was unusually tender given how ornery the man was earlier, but nevertheless it passed quickly.
"So I'm assuming you didn't throw that track just to show us what it looks like." Klein said, having already recovered.
"Correct, this is to teach you how system assist works. You always need to have some sort of system recognized object in your hands to activate it, like this crowbar here. The activation sequence takes some getting used to, which is a little counterproductive given that the whole point of it is to make things easier to use. Loader, you're up first."
Kirito's heart stopped as Master Sergeant Miyako dug back into the menu, and just as he mustered up the courage to step forward a prybar materialized in the tank commander's hand. Kirito barely caught it as it was thrown to him, and he wasn't quite sure how to proceed, the massive tank tread in front of him seeming daunting. He almost dropped the crowbar as his instructor spoke up again.
"I'm shit at explanations, so this'll mostly just be trial and error for y'all."
He grabbed Kirito by the shoulders and positioned him closer, and then moved his arm to have the tip of the prybar touching the track. He waited, but nothing happened. Kirito was keenly aware of how stupid he looked.
"What now?"
"Well, you're in the right position. I think the way they first told it to us was that you need to build energy up and then let it…explode? Something dumb like that."
For some reason, his words struck a chord with Kirito; it almost sounded like something he'd heard or read somewhere else. This lead him to a stupid idea. He was probably just going to fail and embarrass himself in front of everyone else, but for a rare moment his curiosity overwhelmed his anxiety, and he tried it anyway.
The activation was immediate, and he could feel his arms being used like puppets by the program, machine finally exerting its will over man as it had always secretly prayed, and Kirito could feel no strain nor ache to his muscles as he leveraged and muscled the track back onto the spokes and road wheels. Only then he realized why the explanation was familiar, it sounded the exact same as the tutorial for using sword skills in Kayaba's demo, and system assist was just a re-used asset. It was actually a little miraculous that it was mechanically possible for such a thin boy like him to push and pull the thick tread, but he did nevertheless. When the tread was just centimeters away from being back in its proper place, Masao abruptly grabbed the bar from his hands, interrupting the skill and causing the track to slump back off.
"That was quick. Well, no need to make me go through that menu again."
"Yeah dude, first try! Nice." Klein cheered and shook his fists while Diavel just clapped.
"Good job."
As Kirito stepped away from the tank, his arms and back suddenly were hit with a wave of dull pain that washed through his whole body, and he almost thought he would fall over before it subsided into normal burning and limpness. This actually coaxed a laugh from the tank commander.
"Yeah, sucks doesn't it? You're Superman one minute and Scoliosis Man the next. Congratulations on not being too much of a whiner though, even if the pain simulators are practically nothing."
Kirito was a little surprised by the compliment, and even managed to smile back at the trainer.
Master sergeant Miyako checked his menu again, this time some kind of schedule, and gestured to Klein
"Next."
Klein stepped up and grabbed the crowbar, flexing his fingers and widening his stance. 3 minutes passed, and still he struggled, with Masao occasionally dispensing advice of dubious usefulness.
"It's like…cracking an egg."
"So try to think of it like you're flipping a switch."
"Maybe try hitting it? That worked for a few guys I think."
Finally the defeated tank commander called on Kirito.
"Loader. you try."
Kirito took a few steps toward Klein and began his explanation
"Okay so…um, I think you're hitting the activation without adding in the right pause beforehand, Sort of like hitting the 'print' button on a printer a lot."
"Except instead of doing that thing where it prints a lot of them at once, it does nothing."
Diavel added thoughtfully.
"Hey, if the analogy works, it works." Klein shrugged and put in a weighted pause before he tried again. It worked, and Kirito found it a little interesting seeing what he experienced firsthand from an outside perspective. Klein moved in a way that simply wasn't him, as if he'd been possessed. Which of course, he kind of was. Eventually, once it was almost finished, he was interrupted by Masao.
Klein raised his arms to cheer, but it died in his throat as the aftereffect hit him. Making a slightly undignified groaning noise, he hobbled his way back to the other two trainees.
"Oh yeah." The trainer stood up straighter. "Forgot to mention, the pain scales with how difficult whatever you're doing is, so that's not gonna happen every time you use system assist, only the hard stuff."
Once again Masao turned back and called for the final player.
"Next. Crayon boy."
If Diavel minded the nickname he didn't show it. He walked up, took the pry bar, and executed it immediately without any questions or fumbling. Did he realize too? Master Sergeant Miyako declined to comment, but nodded mutely as Klein gave a whoop. As the recruits lined up again to wait for their tank commander to continue, Kirito made eye contact with Diavel, realizing too late that the placid look on his face could easily be misinterpreted by him as jealousy or suspicion. Wait. He'd also forgotten to congratulate him. Kirito had to fight to stop himself from chewing his lip. Still internally agonizing over the potential misunderstanding, Kirito filed in next to Klein.
"That concludes the system assist tutorial. If we're gonna be getting in the tank today we'd better do it now. We're still moving quicker than I thought we would, but in 40 minutes every damned armored vehicle here is gonna go for a joyride with drivers who don't know what the hell they're doing."
He jabbed his finger at the trainees to emphasize his point. "Makes Tokyo rush hour look like a damn jok-"
He was interrupted mid sentence by an audible chime on his menu, which he stopped to read.
"Kayaba's joined the server? How the hell is that worth interrupting everything for a mass instructor notification? Fucking Game Masters."
Kirito was excited at the thought of being on the same server as Kayaba Akihiko, but wisely kept his mouth shut about it. He still prickled at his trainer badmouthing him.
'Yeah, not like Kayaba's one of the greatest scientists and inventors of the modern era or anything.'
"Alright then." The tank commander closed his menu and regarded Klein with an appraising look.
"Driver, you ever driven a tractor?"
Klein looked taken aback.
"Dude, I've barely even seen a tractor in real life. I can drive a manual though."
"Well that's wonderful, because it's nothing like that. The breakdown is that you have a steering wheel that corresponds to the power ratio in each track, turning it left puts less drive torque in your left track and more drive torque in your right, and vice versa. This is what is called differential steering, and it may throw you for a loop at fir-"
This time, everyone had a notification. From Kayaba himself.
"Oh fucking hell! Are they gonna roll out a red carpet and carry him in on a palanquin next?"
This time Masao didn't bother looking at it, instead opting to huff and intermittently roll his eyes as his rage simmered down.
Kirito didn't acknowledge his trainer's outburst and opened his menu, as did the other trainees.
'Attention: Players of WGO, your lives are in danger.'
A/N: This is my first time publishing my writing publicly, but I like what I've got so far, hopefully you do as well. As far as OCs are concerned, I plan to not make any of them too integral to the plot.
