It had been thirty five minutes on the dot since the JSDF trainers had herded them into the barracks, Kirito had been checking the clock. He was lucky, he'd been one of the early ones shoved in. He'd climbed one of the bunk beds to get some space to sit and to breathe, not that Kirito was in any danger of asphyxiation, given he wasn't in the real world. Everyone else below him stood shoulder to shoulder. He sat with his legs hanging off the bed, his boots at about their eye level. There were six others also squeezed on and no matter how Kirito shifted, he couldn't get himself in a position where he wasn't rubbing against the person on either side of him. The noise in the building was deafening at first, everyone shouting and screaming, clamoring to have their questions heard by the soldiers. Once the doors were locked and the players found that no amount of pounding would get them open again, people began to settle.

It was still far from quiet though. Sobs and screams echoed against the white painted concrete walls, making them sound like they were coming from everywhere at once. Dozens of hushed conversations and arguments broke out. Almost all of them ended the same way.

"I'm sure it will be fine, don't cause a fuss."

"This will be sorted in a few hours, just watch."

"The government will handle it."

After the initial shock of Kayaba's message, all the instructors had begun receiving notifications from their superiors, the officers in training, to round up their trainees and lock them in buildings to wait for the technicians outside the game to handle the crisis. It made sense, Kirito thought, even if they were a little miserable right now, it was better to have them panic in here than out there, where they had access to military equipment.

Especially if what Kayaba said was true. And Kirito had the sickening, bone deep feeling that it was.

The building they were trapped in was a five floor 'prefab' barracks with small windows that were reinforced with security wire, and no roof access. The room on the first floor Kirito sat in was long and hallway-like, flanked on either side by bunk beds every 4 feet or so. A few stood on stools and footlockers to get a little less claustrophobic. There were probably two hundred fifty people crammed into a space that could comfortably accommodate forty.

Only a little more than a half hour ago, after the initial message was sent, the world went silent. People in the motorpool stopped talking, engines in the distance turned off, the bullhorns of frustrated trainers faltered. It had taken the Master Sergeant ten seconds to realize something was off, and a further fifteen to swallow his agitation enough to read it. Klein was the first one to break the moment of stillness.

'This is a joke, right?'

Well apparently nobody had told the JSDF, and they weren't laughing, Especially Masao. He didn't bother answering Klein's question, and just told the trainees to come with him in a tone that could make a full grown grizzly bear roll over and play dead. When Kirito hadn't moved, still frozen in place, he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and dragged until he snapped out of it.

Another notification had gone off on Masao's menu and everyone flinched at the noise. Diavel asked him what it was.

"It's from my superiors, we're moving you civilians to a controlled area until the server can be shut down and you can be removed from the game. Stay calm."

He sounded like he was reading from a script. All anger or emotion drained away from his tone. The trainees exchanged glances with each other.

Every JSDF soldier in the base converged on the barracks, confused trainees in tow. The enterance was a river of human bodies, no space to stretch even your fingers. Although the tankers in training tried to stick next to each other, the effort was futile, as first Diavel, then Klein were swept away in the current. It reminded him of the subways in Tokyo, always overcrowded during the rush hours, the one notable exception being that everyone there was confused and scared, not just the tourists.

Questions and pleas went ignored, those who hesitated were forcibly pushed through the doors. A few of the more agitated players tried to fight back, Kirito could tell because he saw them nursing bloody noses and black eyes.

The hallway outside was still moving, albeit awkwardly and lethargically. People were trying to find some room with enough space to sit down, or maybe just to stand somewhere quieter. Either way, they wouldn't have any luck. Occasionally, one of them would get pushed into Kirito's room and give up trying to get somewhere else. The worst areas were around the windows, people crowded around them trying to get a look at what was happening outside. Just after Kirito had climbed the bunk bed to get away from the others, some idiot on the far side of the room grabbed a chair and tried to break the glass with it. Of course, the only thing he'd accomplished was breaking a chair, breaking the glass, spreading it all over the floor, and leaving the razor sharp security wire intact.

Kirito swiped his fingers downward, opening the menu. The log out button still remained non-functional, he was still a tank crewman, and he was still in a squad with MSG. Masao Miyako, Klein, and Diavel. It was the same results he'd found five minutes ago. And five minutes earlier. And five minutes before that. The players below him physically couldn't check their menus. Even those who had the room to stretch their arm far enough for the system to recognize the motion, the menu itself clipped into other player's avatars, making the whole thing useless.

How long had it been since the game's opening? Kirito glanced at the clock on the main screen of his menu, did a quick calculation, and closed it with a flick of his wrist. Seven and a half hours since the game was released, fifty three minutes since Kayaba's message, and thirty five- no, thirty eight minutes since they were locked in. By now, people outside should have noticed something was wrong. Sugu's alarm was probably just about to wake her up to prepare for school. She probably wouldn't think much of her brother lying on his bed with the Nervegear on, just another sleepless night. In twenty minutes or so, she'd probably get out of bed and shake him awake to try and bully him into being the one to make breakfast that morning.

'If someone outside attempts to remove it from your head, they will now activate and you will experience instantaneous brain death.'

Kirito froze. Were the police knocking on doors yet? Were there alarms and emergency broadcasts and sirens? Was Sugu already tired of poking at him? Kirito imagined her reaching for the power cord, ready to laugh and chastise him for spending his whole night playing games.

Kirito caught his breath. Sugu always checked her phone first thing in the morning, the government had an emergency alert system in place for disasters, mostly tsunamis and earthquakes, Kirito was sure they had enough sense to repurpose that for this situation. But to understand what was going on and get that message out in forty minutes? It was possible. Even if nobody had any way to contact the outside world, reports of random deaths caused by pulling people out of Full Dive must be flooding into police stations, and even if the dozens of streamers who were recording the launch of WarGame Online were cut short by Kayaba, every single one of them closing at the same time must've raised at least some eyebrows. Kirito gave himself assurance after assurance, but he still couldn't stop imagining Sugu, power cord in hand, staring down at Kirito's lifeless body in confusion and growing fear.

She'd never forgive herself, even if she knew she had no way to know, no reason to stop.

Kirito gritted his teeth in sheer frustration. Even if this was some 'joke', Kirito was sure if Kayaba Akihiko had been placed in front of him at that moment he'd have throttled him to death with his bare hands. Kayaba wrote what he did with such clarity, such impassiveness, as if he was just rattling off the latest patch notes but he didn't give a single word explaining why he'd be willing to kill everyone there. What if Kayaba was just insane? Sugu would hate herself, every minute of every day, just because Kayaba felt like it. Just because Kirito had wanted to play some stupid game. Kirito screwed his eyes shut and gripped tighter to the metal bar on the bed frame he steadied himself on. He mentally repeated a mantra of comfort to himself, trying to drown out all his other thoughts.

"It's been fifty minutes, they can activate the phone alert within 3 minutes of confirming a tsunami, they've most likely already made the connection. She'll see it. She will."

As Kirito opened his eyes again, he noticed the player next to him was giving him an inquisitive glance. Kirito realized he'd mumbled that aloud. The stranger didn't ask and Kirito didn't offer an explanation. The embarrassment was a welcome distraction from his previous thoughts.

Kirito surveyed the room again, from wall to wall. Someone caught his eye, a fatter man who was slumped against the wall on the far side of the room. Kirito couldn't see any tension in his muscles and the player's eyes were shut. He couldn't really fall over due to the packed space, but he looked to be asleep.

He almost looked like a corpse.

Kirito felt a coldness in his chest. He didn't see any blood, nor any other signs of bodily harm, but why would his virtual body be damaged if the brain it was connected to was destroyed? Kirito strained to see the rise or fall of his chest, but he was too far away. It occurred to Kirito that he should probably tell somebody about this, maybe he should scream at the people near the still player to check if he was breathing. He didn't. He sat there for a solid minute completely still, muscles stiff and mind racing. Each second that passed his breaths grew sharper and shallower, until he was nearly wheezing. A shout cut through his trance.

"This guy just passed out!

Kirito was surprised to hear it coming from his right side, and whipped his head around to find the source. The scene he witnessed almost looked like a renaissance painting, one player splayed out in another's arms as the crowd stepped back in horror, as if the two were contagious. The player who fell was a tall lanky guy, with plain black hair and a skinny frame.

The player who held the unconscious man darted his head from side to side, eyes wary and fearful as if he was expecting the crowd to attack him. He set the body down slowly, the heels of the player's boots clacking audibly against the tile floor, then lowering him to a sitting position, the body limp like a masterless puppet.

"Fuck! There's another!"

"This one too!"

Kirito surveyed the room, seeing maybe a half dozen players had dropped. The shouts crescendoed to a fever pitch, and Kirito knew from glimpses of the hallway outside that people had fallen unconscious there too. The unconsciousness probably wasn't infectious but the panic certainly was. Kirito tried to gain back control of his breathing, holding on to the frame of the bunk bed as tightly as he could, pain shooting into his chest. It didn't work. He screwed his eyes shut and panic overtook him.

Suddenly Kirito felt very removed from the world around him. His pulse, which had been hammering in his throat just a few seconds before, slowed drastically. He felt his breathing slow, his muscles unclenching to the point where he was sure he would fall down from his perch, but strangely Kirito found he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew something was strange about the oppressive calmness fogging his brain, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that either.

Kirito felt like he was falling asleep, no that wasn't it, falling asleep felt less heavy, if that made sense. Kirito felt more like a fly caught in amber. Was this what drowning was like? Kirito remembered Sugu almost drowned once in the pond in their garden once, he'd have to ask her about it.

Out of idle curiosity, Kirito tried flexing his index finger, the skin on it chafed and red from gripping on the metal beam at the edge of the bed. His finger moved upward, albeit grudgingly, as if someone had strung weights to it. Kirito maintained it in that position for a few seconds before deciding it wasn't worth the effort. It was already tiring enough to just breathe and think.

He felt movement against his shoulder as the player next to him fell forward. Kirito felt once more he should be concerned, but instead passively observed as the player fell, eyes closed, body limp. The player's ankle hit the edge of the solid metal foot locker at an awkward angle and bent until it couldn't anymore.

'Hm. That's blood.'

After the initial impact with the locker the unconscious man's fall was broken by the other players, and they all collapsed into a heap. Clean white bone shone through the deep red spurting from the broken ankle.

By now, Kirito's heart thrummed calmly, and his breaths were even and deep. He felt the shroud of calmness melt away from him like morning mist evaporating in the sun, leaving him staring at the pile of players trying to right themselves and figure out whose blood they were covered in. The shouts and cries, previously sounding like Kirito was hearing them underwater, were now terrifyingly real and present. He tore his eyes away from the scene and tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding in the barracks room below.

In middle school, Kirito remembered reading excerpts from Dante's Inferno for world literature. The images described by the medieval writer were the only things Kirito could equate this to. About one out of every five players had fallen unconscious and the bodies piled on top of one another, some were even trapped under them, flailing to grab onto the limbs of those still upright for support and pulling them down like crabs in a bucket. The glass that had been broken earlier now cut people's arms and legs as they fell. People tried to separate themselves from the unconscious, as if it was some disease that spread from person to person. People fell left and right, just dropping to the floor as if someone out there had flicked a switch on their brain.

Without warning, Kirito's vision went black, and all the noise around him disappeared instantly. He looked around, finding only darkness. He couldn't see his own body, The bunk bed beneath him was replaced with a smooth textureless floor. Kirito dropped down to his knees, feeling along the ground with his hands, expecting to find some ledge or bump, but his fingers found only the floor. Kirito tried taking another look around him. Kirito spotted a bright white progress bar floating in the air a dozen feet away from him.

'Running NerveGear diagnostics'

The bar edged ahead little by little, and as it reached completion the message changed.

'Cannot connect to Argus network. Please log out and check network connection.'

"Cannot…connect." Kirito parroted, trying to understand. If he wasn't connected, then he should be dead. That was what Kayaba said. But Miyako-sama said they'd shut down the server. He opened the menu, not daring to hope. He tapped the log out button gingerly, as if it were a kitten he was trying to befriend. It didn't work. Kirito hissed air through his teeth. "No. Of course." He swiped the menu away and fell on his back, burying his face in his hands.

Kirito was tired. He didn't even know for sure if he was actually in danger and he'd spent the past hour feeling like he was about to die. He didn't understand where he was or know what happened to him or even how his real body was. Kirito laid like that for a while, his emotions swinging between rage and despondency.

As the minutes pressed on, Kirito became more and more aware of how silent it was around him. It wasn't just quiet, it was true silence. Nothing disturbed it. No sound of distant cars, no machines humming, no wind blowing. At first he was relieved after the assault on his ears that had been his entire stay at the barracks, but the longer he lay there the more Kirito felt unnerved. The blackness and the silence became almost physical things, Kirito could feel them filling his lungs and choking him. He wanted to say something, anything, any kind of noise, but every poem and story he'd been made to memorize in school abandoned him. Every anime opening stuck in his throat before he could even get the first syllable out. Kirito ran his fingers over the dogtag around his neck until he could identify each letter of his name by touch alone. He eventually just started scratching at the floor, his nails making a sound like mice skittering on kitchen tiles. Kirito stared at the only light in the room, the error message. He did that until the katakana lettering and the formal font were burned into his retinas, then he rolled over to stare at the darkness until he couldn't stand that anymore either.

After what felt like an hour, but he didn't want to check the time, Kirito got up to explore the boundaries of the dark area he was stuck in. It actually turned out to be a room, square in shape, each wall at least fifteen feet long, and Kirito couldn't find any ceiling with his eyes nor his hands. Eventually he unlaced one of his boots and threw it upwards as far as he could. It struck the ceiling with a hollow clunk and fell back down. The error message may have been bright, but it somehow couldn't illuminate anything in the room, including Kirito. After a minute more of searching Kirito realized that that was it, that was everything in the room.

"The devs must've not designed this place for players to stay in more than a minute or two." Kirito wondered aloud, adding a pause afterwards as if he was waiting for a response. He sighed and sat in the corner, back against the wall. He opened the menu, narrating it to himself.

"Log out…no. Still a tank crewman. Squad…MSG. Masao Miyako, Klein, Diavel. They're all alive. The time…who cares."

Out of a complete lack of anything to do, Kirito played with the settings, adjusting them just to see what they did. Kirito found one to turn off the sakura flower insignia over the heads of himself and his squad, but no way to actually leave the squad, not that he wanted to. Another thing Kirito found odd was the button to turn off 'Mental Distress Easement', whatever that was. Other settings were more run of the mill, brightness did next to nothing and contrast was similarly useless. Kirito found that if he set the volume slider to max, he could faintly hear the sound of his own breathing, which made him feel a little less tense.

Exiting the settings, Kirito noticed an option below labeled 'WGO Encyclopedia'. When Kirito clicked on it, it led to a list of other options.

Weapons

Vehicles

Locations

Miscellaneous

Kirito hit the weapons option and an alphabetically ordered list of every handheld weapon in the game was presented to him, with pictures of each right next to the name. Kirito exited the weapons section and tapped on the search bar at the top. A keyboard sprang up from the bottom of the menu and Kirito entered in 'Type 61'.

The tank he was looking for appeared and Kirito dug into the text, even if most of the terminology went over his head. The main gun was an L/52 90 millimeter rifled cannon, and it took up a sizable portion of the space inside of the turret. The top speed on paved roads was forty five kilometers per hour, off road was closer to twenty.

The armor was thickest on the 'mantlet', which apparently meant the front of the turret. The armor on the turret got thinner as it got higher, and the armor on the bulbous commander's cupola on top was paper thin compared to the rest of the tank. The commander's cupola was a spherical protrusion from the turret that was ringed by ballistic visors and periscopes, making the commander the only member of the crew who could see three hundred sixty degrees around the tank. A rangefinder intersected the center of the cupola and stuck out either end. The back half of the cupola swung outwards, presumably either as an escape hatch or to use the browning 50 cal. machine gun that was mounted on top.

From the X-ray map of the different parts of the tank, Kirito could see that ammunition was stored in front, behind, and below the loader's seat. The ammunition stored in the turret, about 22 shells, were labeled 'ready racks' and the rest of it that was stored below the turret was labeled 'extra ammo stowage'. The driver's compartment was offset to the right side, the rest of the space in the front of the tank was set aside for the transmission. The hatch had about 5 armored periscopes mounted on it to afford the driver decent visibility compared to the rest of the crew. The periscopes were arranged in a semicircle, except for one that sat on top, almost giving the appearance of spider's eyes.

After that he went down a rabbit hole, starting with the other tanks of the JSDF, then planes, helicopters and other cars and trucks. Kirito wasn't retaining much of the information, but this was the best he'd felt since before the message. Nobody was shouting, nobody was crowding around him, and he had something to read to keep his mind busy. Between the distraction of the encyclopedia and the gentle thrum of his own breath, the blanket of silence that hung over the room felt a little less smothering, and Kirito could feel his eyelids droop. He was utterly beat, having been awake for what was probably nearly twenty four hours. For once in Kirito's life, sleep came quickly. It was deep and dreamless.

When Kirito awoke, he found himself laying uncomfortably on the edge of a bed with his legs hanging off the side. He could hear low, tense conversation, which, with how high he'd left his volume, was like screaming. Turning down the volume and looking around, he found himself back in the barracks. Reddish light shone through the windows and it took Kirito a second to realize that it was dusk, not dawn, adding to the sense of wrongness he felt about the room. Kirito sat up despite his protesting limbs. Gently breathing bodies were strewn all across the floor. He looked down to the pile below him. The player with the shattered ankle was awake, leaning against the base of the bed, shirtless. His fatigue top was wrapped tightly around his foot, with the sleeves tied around his ankle. The blood was still there, of course, but while it would have coagulated or dried in the real world, here it remained as it was, as if it had just been spilled. Kirito couldn't decide if that was more or less disgusting. While he still didn't like the barracks, after his stint in the disconnection room Kirito felt eager to talk to someone else.

"Um, are you alright?"

The player looked up at Kirito, a pained grimace plastered onto his face.

"No."

"Yeah…I guess that's obvious." Kirito said, immediately regretting asking.

"Mhm."

Cheeks burning, and not really seeing anything else to do to help the situation, Kirito quickly found somewhere else to look. More and more people were getting up, untangling themselves from the mass of unconscious bodies that lined the floor like a squishy carpet. Kirito squinted to see out of the windows that were now unobstructed by players. Through the sunset's glare, Kirito could see silhouettes of men carrying rifles jogging this way and that, the occasional humvee driving by. The JSDF didn't seem to have anyone still unconscious, Kirito decided to take that as a good sign, maybe they still had some form of control over the game world.

There was some kind of commotion in the hallway outside that was getting closer, Kirito could hear exclamations of anger, confusion, and even a few scattered, delirious sounding laughs, all mixed together into a wall of indiscernible sound. Eventually it reached them, and three JSDF men muscled their way into the room. One carried a rifle and a bullhorn, the other two carried bags with medical crosses on them. They made their way to about the center of the room, taking care not to step on anyone's head or neck, avoiding the bodies entirely was impossible. The man with the rifle raised his megaphone and announced to the room:

"ANYONE WHO IS SERIOUSLY WOUNDED, MAKE YOUR WAY HERE TO RECEIVE TREATMENT." The soldier paused to look at the bodies piled on the ground around him. "IF YOU SEE SOMEONE WHO IS WOUNDED AND NOT CONSCIOUS, TAKE THEM TO US."

Immediately the man below Kirito reached up to steady himself on the post of the bed, pushing himself up on his good foot. Kirito leaned forward, about to jump down to help but thought better of it. The ground was still covered in people, and even a five foot drop could break rib cages or flatten windpipes. Kirito knew he would probably only make things worse, so he sat and watched guiltily as the wounded player limped over, leaning on whatever was available as the JSDF soldiers assembled a collapsible stretcher to carry him away. The others who only had minor cuts from the broken glass or bruises from trying to resist the trainers pushing them into the barracks were shooed away, and the soldiers made an awkward procession out.

Ten minutes later, mostly everyone was awake and as far as Kirito could tell the JSDF was still sending people in to check higher floors for wounded players. The sun finally set and fluorescent lights on the ceiling turned on. Kirito couldn't see through the windows but overheard that the soldiers outside were pitching hundreds of tents. This was met with mixed reactions, as it was good that meant they would probably be released from the barracks and find somewhere to sleep soon, but it also meant the government was expecting them to wait a little longer to get them out of the game. Having to use the restroom wasn't an issue, but the simulated pangs of hunger and sheer exhaustion were making everyone agitated. Arguments over personal space almost got violent several times.

After another miserable half hour the players near the windows started shouting, apparently people were being let out in small groups towards the tents. Again a ripple of excitement went through the whole building and everyone rushed for the doors. It was another hour before Kirito could see the hallway outside visibly moving. The crowd in Kirito's room thinned out, but not much. Suddenly Kirito noticed a green circle with a sakura flower in the hallway slowly passing by above the crowd. Immediately Kirito jumped down, trying not to hit anyone on his way down and wove awkwardly through the gaps in the crowd. He managed to make it to the doorway with minimal shoving but then reached an issue. The doorway was a narrow chokepoint that everyone had to file through to get past. Kirito ended up having to wait twenty minutes to get an opportunity to slip into the hallway and by then his squad member was long gone. Kirito couldn't even see the squadmate indicator over the other players.

Disheartened, Kirito spent the next hour alternating between cursing himself for not staying put and cursing himself for not trying to get out earlier. The soldiers were opening and closing the front doors approximately every ten minutes and allowing groups of forty or so to pass through before closing them again, probably so they didn't get overwhelmed processing too many at once. Kirito figured he was probably sixty feet from the exit, and every time they opened the doors they moved ahead around fifteen feet, and so it would probably take another forty minutes for him to reach the exit. He was wrong of course, apparently something happened up ahead to delay one of the intervals between openings and it ended up closer to an hour, but by that time Kirito was dead on his feet, barely able to enjoy the gust of cold night air as the soldiers pushed him past.

Things outside were considerably better, the JSDF had sectioned off several hundred square feet of area surrounding the barracks with plastic barricades and traffic cones they found somewhere, adding to the 'refugee camp' look that the sea of green tents gave off. They were organized in grids and each was spray painted on the side with a different number going in order from left to right. Everything was lit by flood lights that threw long shadows against the tents, silhouetting the armed soldiers that patrolled the rows. Kirito watched as two men emerged from what was presumably the mess hall building carrying an object that was too large to be called a pot, but not quite a barrel either. They were followed by several others carrying plastic crates full of water bottles. The object that was similar to a pot was set down on a folding table at the edge of the camp along with the water and a tall stack of plastic cafeteria trays. A soldier raised his bullhorn.

"TENTS FIFTY THREE THROUGH FIFTY NINE, COME OUT TO RECEIVE FOOD."

Several heads poked out of tent flaps, not all of them the ones that were asked for. Those who weren't were quickly given hard looks by passing JSDF soldiers, they shrank back into their tents like frightened turtles hiding in their nylon shell.

Kirito's group was divided up into sections of six, each assigned and escorted to their tents. Kirito felt a surge of tired irritation at the realization that this meant the tents would be just as overcrowded as the rooms, maybe more. Effectively, he'd gone though this whole ordeal for nothing, he couldn't even see any squadmate indicators. Players no longer shouted questions about whether or not what Kayaba said was true or what the government was doing to get them out, the promise of something to eat and somewhere to sleep was enough to satisfy them for now. Kirito was selected to go to tent seventy six along with five other players.

As Kirito shuffled across the camp with the others and the JSDF escort, his vision seemed to fade in and out, even with the sleep he'd gotten in the disconnection room, he felt his body inching closer to the upper limit of what it was capable of. The only sensation that seemed to come with any clarity or consistency was the mechanical pangs of hunger that felt like a knife being twisted in his gut. Kirito let out a yelp as he felt a muscular hand fall down on his shoulder. He twisted to find Master Sergeant Miyako, wearing a grimace of what could have been frustration or exhaustion or sheer resignation.

"Come on, you're with me."

Nothing else was said, Masao nodded to the soldier escorting them and again to the soldier guarding the edge of the makeshift camp. Kirito was led through the base quickly, with Masao occasionally looking back to make sure he was still following. Eventually they reached their destination, the motorpool, now missing a few trucks and humvees. The Master Sergeant walked up to the side of the type 61 and hammered on the driver's hatch with his open palm. A few long seconds later the hydraulics hissed and unsealed the hatch. Klein emerged, blinking blearily, his pink hair considerably messier than it was earlier.

"You come back to tuck me in? That's so sweet." he slurred, grinning despite everything.

"No." Masao answered simply, "The last one's here, wake Diavel up and make sure he stays that way, I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, he turned stiffly and marched off. Klein apparently hadn't noticed Kirito until now and he gasped with excitement.

"Oh dude! Welcome to the tank!"

"Thanks." Kirito replied automatically. Klein reached down to take Kirito's hands, and pulled/lifted him onto the vehicle. Once Kirito was up Klein disappeared into the depths of his hatch, shouting at Diavel. "Yo dude, Kirito-san's here! Sergeant Miyako-sama told me to wake you up." The gunner's answer was accompanied by a long groan.

"Kirito?"

"Yeah man, our loader." Klein reminded him,

"Oh. Kirito-san." Diavel muttered without recognition.

Kirito felt slightly insulted, but he couldn't really blame Diavel after all everyone had been through today. A few more moments of silence passed and Kirito shivered from the cold breeze outside, still awkwardly standing on top of the tank steadying himself on the barrel of the cannon, not quite sure what to do. Just as Kirito was about to poke his head down through the still open driver's hatch, the loader's hatch flipped open with a heavy clunk, and Klein spoke from inside.

"Come on in! Sergeant Miyako-sama told us to stay in here so nobody accidentally runs us over."

Kirito climbed up the turret and lowered himself into the tank. His feet found purchase on a barely cushioned seat that was bolted to the side of the turret. Kirito let go of the lip of the hatch and squinted to make out the figures of Klein and Diavel among the blurry shapes in the darkness. Inside the tank there was very little light from outside, Kirito's face was lit by both the open hatch above him and a rectangle of moonlight that reflected through what he assumed was the loader's periscope. Kirito's view of the driver's compartment was blocked by the breech of the cannon. A pinprick of light shone on the empty ready racks from the gunner's sights. Other than that the inside of the tank. reminded Kirito of the disconnection room. Kirito heard the sound of the driver's hatch creaking and the hydraulics hissing shut.

Making himself as comfortable as he could on the narrow loader's seat, Kirito realized the space he was in was deceptively cramped. If he sat straight the breach of the cannon dug into his shoulder, if he leaned away from the main gun the ready rack poked his ribs. After a few minutes of fumbling to find a good position, a voice spoke from the darkness.

"There's a back to the seats in the turret, they fold out from the side."

Feeling around the edge of the turret, left of the ammunition racks, Kirito indeed found a part that swung out. It was still far from comfortable, but at least now he had something to rest his back on.

"Thank you." Kirito said. It was barely above a whisper, but it felt like shouting in the confined space.

"Mhm." Diavel mumbled, letting out a low yawn.

Kirito found a position to settle in that didn't feel like a balancing act and relaxed, letting out a little sigh of exhaustion. He stared through the open hatch above him, false stars shining down through the narrow opening. Every time Kirito almost dozed off either Klein or Diavel would lean over and shake him. Kirito stared through the hatch above him until a large silhouette blocked his view. The face may have been obscured by darkness but the authoritative tone was unmistakable.

"When resting inside the tank you button the fuck up. No exceptions." To punctuate his statement, the Master Sergeant slammed the hatch shut. A few seconds later the back half of the commander's cupola swung upwards and Masao lowered himself inside with surprising grace.

The Master Sergeant reached upwards, pressed a button and a brilliant white light shone down from the 'roof' of the tank, causing all the crew to wince and squint against the glare. Kirito noticed a rucksack on Masao's back as he shut the cupola above him and turned to address his trainees. "Alright," He began, shrugging off the straps of the rucksack and letting it fall to the floor. "I got you civilians some food. Give me a minute to sort things out." He leaned down to unzip it and took out three olive green cans. A can opener quickly followed, tossed vaguely in Kirito's direction.

"Thanks Master Sergeant Miyako-Sama!" Klein practically shouted, leaning over from the driver's seat to examine the can of rice and vegetables.

"Drop the honorifics, if you brownnose any harder you'd be giving me a colonoscopy." Masao glanced over to see Klein's wounded expression and added, "Sergeant Miyako works fine."

As Kirito fumbled for the can opener in the still dimly lit turret, Masao pulled a fire extinguisher and a medical kit from his rucksack, jamming the medical kit under Klein's seat and the extinguisher into one of the shell holders, muttering darkly about 'those fucking devs' and the tank's lack of 'any basic fucking fire supression'. Finally he removed the last three items, an odd looking Uzi and two rectangular magazines. He slid one magazine into the magwell of the submachine gun and slipped the other into his back pocket. Kirito recovered the can opener that had fallen into a crack between two shell holders and the Master Sergeant sat down and gestured to the olive cans labeled 'Meshi' and 'Spicy Pickles'.

"Eat while you can, it might take another 24 hours before they can get us out."

Diavel frowned and looked at the tank commander.

"Why couldn't you just spawn this stuff in like with the crowbar this morning?"

"Apparently our dear friend Kayaba had planned for that." Masao shrugged apathetically, too tired to give his sarcastic comment any teeth. "We've still got the temp communication system though. Eat."

This time Klein interjected with more immediate concerns:

Their tank commander rolled his eyes.

"In case you hadn't noticed driver, this thing doesn't come with a stove."

Klein scratched his chin in thought, then looked back at Masao.

"Are you sure?"

Klein didn't wait for an answer to his question, disappearing into the driver's compartment. A few seconds later he asked another question. "How hot does the engine get on this thing?" Their tank commander scoffed.

"If you wanna smoke your dinner in diesel fumes feel free."

Kirito hesitated a few seconds before speaking up.

"This game uses the standard Nervegear engine for simulating senses."

"So?" Diavel asked dismissively.

Kuiuirito continued shakily, hating how thin and reedy his voice was compared to the others.

"I-I mean, certain objects emit smells or have tastes, and certain factors like heat or amount can change that smell or taste, but one object sitting next to another can't change either sensation, the standard Nervegear senses engine doesn't account for it."

The Master Sergeant regarded Kirito with an expression closer to admiration than Kirito had ever seen him wear.

"Didn't you say that it doesn't get hot in here this morning?" Diavel asked.

"It's true the game doesn't let the temperature rise too much in the crew compartment, but there's no such rule for the engine." Masao turned to Klein, who was presumably fumbling with the controls. "It's not exactly as easy as turning a key, driver. Look on the dashboard there, find the power switch, then the fuel switch, and then the GUE." Sergeant Miyako paused to observe Klein's work before furrowing his brow and leaning down to the driver's compartment, away from Kirito's view. "This, this, and this, in that order, then you hit the main start." Masao nodded, straightening his back and looking at Kirito.

"Loader, come with me." The Sergeant's voice was almost drowned out as the engine in the back roared to life and Masao opened the cupola above him. Kirito nodded, pocketing the can opener, and opened his hatch, climbed upwards with more difficulty than he'd like to admit. Masao, after having to grab Kirito by the collar to keep him from falling off, made his way over to the back of the tank. He knelt down to unlatch a slatted piece of steel and lifted it. The foul stench of diesel and the uneven chugging of the heavy engine was an assault on the senses, but Kirito still drew closer. Masao set the cans down and gestured to the engine compartment, a labyrinth of pipes of various importance surrounding a central engine block.

"Use those long skinny twig arms of yours to reach down in there and put the cans in! Any flat surface will do!" If Kirito had struggled to hear his tank commander before, he had no hope now, and had to glean the meaning of his shouts by reading his lips. Kirito was fairly sure the cans wouldn't explode but just to be sure he punched a hole in the top of each with the can opener before placing them inside. Careful to not accidentally burn himself or drop them, Kirito gingerly set the cans down on top of the engine block.

Masao nodded to Kirito and gestured for him to step off the tank and get some desperately needed fresh air. After a minute of dry heaving and two more minutes of waiting, the food was done. Masao yelled at Klein to cut the engine. Eventually the engine turned off and Kirito vowed to whatever god was listening that he'd never take his senses of hearing or smell for granted ever again. Climbing back up, Kirito removed each of the cans carefully, having to grab them through the sleeve of his fatigues to not burn himself. Kirito passed them to Masao through his hatch and climbed down through his own, making sure he closed it afterwards.

Masao passed a meshi can to each crewman and the can of pickles in the center, presumably to share. Kirito opened the meshi as quickly as he could, cutting his thumb in the process, but passed the can opener to Diavel without complaint. The contents were nothing but unseasoned white rice and the odd chunk of pork. The smaller can of 'Spicy Pickles' was far less disappointing, but Kirito couldn't quite tell what seasoning was flecking the pickle chunks. Still, food was food, and the pangs of hunger wouldn't go away on their own.

"Do we have any cutlery?" Diavel asked.

"Nope." Masao responded, having settled into a squatting position, arms folded. Kirito noticed Masao almost glaring at his meshi.

"You didn't get any for yourself?" Kirito asked.

Masao broke eye contact and occupied himself by flipping the switch on the commander's radio on and off, presumably making sure it worked.

"I already ate." He glanced at Kirito. "Yeah, after I dropped you off here."

Klein leaned out of the driver's hole, his head just barely visible to Kirito over the gun's breech.

"That explains why you took so long. Anyways I'll give you guys my share of the pickles if you let me pour the pickle juice on my rice."

Diavel made a disgusted sound.

"You're some kinda freak aren't you?" He asked jokingly.

"You simply lack good taste." Klein chided.

"I don't think you have any taste at all." Kirito stated flatly.

"Man, screw you guys."

Klein poured the pickle juice onto his rice and disappeared behind the gun again.

"If you get a single drop of that shit on the control board you'll be running until morning."

"Yes, Sergeant Miyako!" Klein yelled back innocently.

The crewmen ate with their fingers and slept soundly, if not comfortably.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, the next chapter introduces Argo as a B protagonist.