A/N: Welcome to Sun Dancer, this has a happy ending I think!
Theawesomess1: Damn.
NetherOrbit: Are you suggesting I don't praise the sun? You hollow wench!
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The [Chameleon] [Unique Skill] is an earned asset, for those who've proven themselves within the confines of an undisclosed temple, by an equally undisclosed group. The skill comes with three tiers of cloaking, allowing its user to modify how he or she wishes to blend to their environment.

The first ability unlocked is [Active Camouflage], the most mobile of the three. Activating such will let the user obtain a water-like outline, still perceivable to others with keen [Search] skill. What the skill does offer that the others do not, however, is the ability to strike with compact weaponry, such as [Daggers], [Shortswords], or [Small Bows].

Second on the roster is [Blend], in which the user can morph himself into an environmental piece such as a rock or tree, or simply manipulate his skin into replicating its texture. While under this form, the user cannot attack, forcing a more passive approach.

Finally comes [Disguise], allowing for a visual copy of the desired target, though it cannot exceed the player's one porportions (or minimize) by over 50%. During this, a player is allowed to mimic the basic abilities of the person/creature, bettering the infiltration, their voice also modified to match the target.

Ideal for assassin playstyles, this skill when activated decreases one's defense stats by 75%, both during and shortly after deactivation

August 6th 2022 – 3 months before the incident

Vassago Casals firmly stood before his father, the Spaniard of six foot two biting his cheek in shame. He watched as his father read his transcript, feeling the sting that came with every 'B' announced, the lone 'A' political science gave the only island without criticism. After what felt like hours of reading aloud his every mistake, the father threw the paper to the ground, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"Vassago, not gonna lie." his father snarled, "Do you have any idea just how far back this sets you here?"

Casals said nothing, his long black hair covering his eyes, hiding his annoyance with the repeated lecture. This wasn't the first, nor third, but his focus had almost promised a similar outcome, knowing his father.

I couldn't care less what he thinks. I have a completely different goal in mind, one that'll save this country from the doom of corrosive prudence.

His father sighed, putting his old cigarette to the ash tray, the smoke trail lofting through the barely lit apartment room.

"Do you even care about your future here, Vassago?" he leaned back, "The Japanese are ruthless, especially in schooling. They'll chew and spit you out, cause what's a round eye doing in their country?"

"I'm well aware of that, Dad." Casals sighed.

"Then why aren't you trying harder in other fields? This isn't Spain, son. There's a reason I brought us here and it isn't to get acquainted. There's good money here, no civil unrest."

Casals shrugged his shoulders.

Like as if I haven't heard this a million times, wouldn't be surprised if the exact same words were recycled too. All he wants is for me to continue his legacy, being an accountant. Spain was my home, now Japan...yet I can't change a thing about the places I dwell. People need something, to feel like they matter.

"Dad, you know for a fact that my interest is in politics, not accounting. So quit wasting my time, will you?"

"Don't talk to me like that, never again!" the father shouted, "I'm not your friend, I'm your father!"

His elder slammed the nearby table with his fist, dark eyes sharp on Casals.

"I spend all day everyday working to build you a future, yet this is how you repay me? Your obsession on one thing is hurting your grades, plain and simple."

"So what?" Casals rebuked, "Countries aren't run by mathematicians, they're run by leaders, people with solutions."

"And who do those leaders turn to when things get complex, mathematicians." Juan Casals stated, "You're going to be in the business, whether you like it or not. They'll never accept you."

Casals refused to budge, looking his father in the eyes.

I don't believe him, this isn't Europe. I'm not dealing with colonialists, I'm dealing with human beings. If I was back there, then he might've had a point.

"Look, I'm trying to help you." Juan reasoned, "Showing this kinda weakness's like flashing red at a bull. What will your competitors think, knowing you give them so many options? It's bad enough that you're not Japanese."

"And it's bad enough you decided to move us here, in a country that according to you hates us." snapped Vassago, "Why couldn't we have just moved to England or something?"

The father stared, caught by his son on the matter.

"Oh, that's right." Vassago paced, "You just wanted to find Mom, don't you? Instead of changing yourself, you repeat your mistake."

"Enough!" the father yelled, "You're crossing the line! I never want to hear you say that again, you understand?!"

Vassago looked back at him.

"Or what? You know for a fact she lives here, I see you calling her company at least twice a week."

Juan kept a stern gaze, but Vassago could see the pooling in the corner of his eyes.

Ever since she left, he's been trying to be a part of my life, following Mom too. I wish he'd just let me go, I know what I'm doing, I'm twenty three for crying out loud.

The father sighed in defeat, leaning back further in the recliner. His eyes fell from his son, a hand clenched, Juan's focus solely on keeping a strong front.

"Yes, I do." he answered grudgingly, "I miss her terribly."

Vassago sighed, unsure how to approach further.

"Son, you as a politician have to take consideration for the culture you're residing in. This society is all ran off of how well one meshes with the group as a whole. Unity isn't inclusive, that's something you've probably seen."

"What makes you think I care what others think?" Casals questioned, "When I can use my voice to bring society forward, I don't need to heed some backwards minded prudes lamenting about how everything should stay the way it's always been. Not when I can show the right way."

"They treat mindsets like yours as villainous, evil even." Juan shook his head, "That might've worked back home in Spain...but not here. Here it's just best to keep your head down."

Casals pointed out the window of their hovel of an apartment, the notion of submission, even subservience bringing his ire.

"You know something, this country runs like a damn monarchy. The rich ruin everything for the rest of us! They take the best education, the best schools, with the lowest chance of failure! The rest of us get to work like slaves all day long! When do we as common people have a chance to make money?"

The father sighed, slowly rising from his chair. Picking up a pack of cigarettes, he turned to his son.

"I know you're still adjusting to life in Japan, I'll end the discussion with this. The education system here is extremely competitive, defining your ability-"

"To obey." Vassago interrupted, "Not to think."

Juan nodded, checking his watch as he inspected the open kitchen.

"You know I'm right." his son persisted.

"Son, one of these days you're gonna learn that you can be right and still wrong."

"That doesn't make sense though, they can't both be true."

"How will you possibly stand toe to toe with the rest of your competition?"

"By being different, new, fresh." Vassago offered.

'The Japanese have a strict adherence to their ideals. For you to think you're just going to change it all, is foolish. I hope for your sake no one ever hears you say the things you said today."

"I don't care." Casals argued, "By appealing to reason, I will bring down the barriers that keeps this nation tied down!"

He watched as his father flicked the lighter for the fourth time, the smell of smoke reaching his nostrils faster than he cared to time.

"You need to consider something more viable in the long term. I've offered accounting, but you've shown no interest. I've suggested marketing, still no interest. Business leaders are the true figure heads here."

He speaks of competition, of grandeur, yet he orders himself overpriced goods…commodities such as fruit in a place like this. He thinks bringing in a new woman every week is going to change a thing, to make Mom jealous...haven't the heart to tell him I've been seeing her with another guy.

"At this rate, you'll never amount to anything." the father suddenly snapped, "You'll be picking food out of trashcans, all because of some delusion that you're going to change an entire society. I'm trying to help you!"

Help. Yea, that's exactly what you're doing. Your not just trying to get me into the accounting business, like you. I want to follow my own destiny, not what someone else tells me.

Vassago quickly turned away, obeying his father's command, leaving the cramped apartment for the overcrowded streets below. Colorless buildings surrounded the young politician on all sides, some packed so close together they seemed to share walls.

Nothing colorful, friendly or inviting can be said for this place. Course this isn't where the tourists go, wouldn't be worth their time.

Swarmed with the blank faces of thousands, he couldn't help but feel clammy, almost dead. These were nothing like the streets of Spain, with music playing, food cooking in the open air. As each of these people went to their destination, none of them so much as looked him in the eyes.

It bothers me deeply that nobody smiles. It's like we're all just a a roving horde of machines. Without hopes. Without dreams, shutting off our brains to keep the monotonous cycle from driving us absolutely insane. I don't even recall there being a welfare system here, the country hates the poor...truly.

Posters of an upcoming game were everywhere, starkly contrasting in hue alone in the fog filled sidewalks. From the sides of buildings, to the promotional videos from tablets held by bystanders awaiting transport. Everywhere he looked, this game, Sword Art Online was displayed prominently. Casals gazed upon a large poster, just around the corner of his apartment.

A high speed rail train flew over as he observed, the air shifting and brushing the two strands of his sweater. Casals groaned, hating the sounds of the passing locomotive almost flying over his head, the machine drowning out the noise of people with its mechanism. Still the fifty percent off label on the headpiece captivated his calculating conscious.

This always caught me as odd, the fact the governments of many countries not only adopted this NerveGear, but have even but subsidies towards it. They want people to buy it, considering it a benefit to their citizens.

He turned away, aware of the fact his shift was almost up.

Oh I hope the advertising idea's going well, spent a few nights planning a new way to sell our product. Sure it adds a bit of fat to the recipe, but the flavor should work, tested it myself.

Following his own path of habit, Vassago wandered to a nearby soup shop, his humble place of employment. Checking his attire, he anxiously awaited his next report, easing open the glass doors, the manager noticing him as he stumbled into the kitchen.

"Casals, good news!"

The Spaniard nodded, walking back with his boss to a tiny space the manager called his office.

"Our sales have skyrocketed ever since we started that recipe change...though I admit it was rather simple."

"Grateful to hear, sir. That's great news." Vassago bowed his head, "Glad I could help all of us here. Perhaps I can consider other ideas?"

His boss suddenly frowned.

"No, sir?" Casals withdrew.

"Sadly Casals, I'll have to cut this short. You're fired."

"Wha- why?" His eyes widened, body running cold at hearing those words.

The manager sighed, dusting his tie.

"You are a selfish Westerner." the older gentleman declared, "I've already arranged for your replacement. You're free to your last paycheck, have a good day Mr. Casals."

The manager turned his chair away from his former employee, staring into the light of an open computer.

"Hey, wait a second!" Casals pleaded, "please sir, what can I do to prove myself worthy of service? Please, give me another chance."

At that moment, he heard the door open, someone stepping inside the office. Looking to him, Casals kept composure, drowning his disgust. With features strongly resembling the manager's own, it became apparent to Casals what just happened.

"Sir, I'm ready to start."

"Then get to it." the manager nodded, "Customers will be coming shortly!"

The teenage boy bowed his head, leaving for the kitchen in the back.

I've...been replaced by his son, for his convenience.

"Mister Casals."

"Y-Yes, sir."

He held back the tears, shaking his head in shame as he left the soup shop. Job number six was gone, leaving him devastated.

What am I going to tell my father, that I just got fired? What's this now, my fourth job this year? I've already angered him enough today, anything more would be too much. Ugh, I just wish for something to go right, to just relax. Any way I can escape, even for a few minutes.

Another bus rolled by, a poster of Sword Art Online plastered all over its dull red flank. He watched it pass with convenient timing, his focus set on a new avenue.

I may just take that chance, that is if I can afford it and my college fees. Stepping into another world, getting away from here, I can see that.

Venturing to a local electronics shop, he saw droves of tents lined beneath a bridge, the growing village of impoverished souls. It hurt Vassago, looking into these faces, seeing the hopelessness in their expressions, some of them being sneered by the local high school boys.

"Hey!" Casals shouted, marching up to a pair of them.

The well groomed teens turned to the twenty three year old, huddling closer together as he closed in.

"What're you talking him down for?" Vassago growled, "You think you're above him or something?"

"He's too lazy, he doesn't work." one huffed, "These people are useless to Japan."

"I could say the same for you, kid. Bet that haircut wasn't cheap..."

"His Japanese girlfriend probably dumped him, don't listen to him." the other sneered, "Round eyes don't get it."

Without further warning, Casals took the boy's backpack, throwing it into the nearest puddle of murky water he could find.

"H-Hey!" the boy shouted, "My electronics!"

"You wanna talk tough, punk? Feel what he's going through first, you idiotic snob."

Taking the soaked bag they ran off, leaving the homeless figure to himself, who smiled at Casals, bowing his head softly.

"I wasn't looking for help, but I thank you."

"Tell them it'll be worse if they bother you again. Cops or no cops."

With that Casals turned away, attention turning back to his own predicament.

I don't know when I'll find another job...the homeless camps are growing everyday.

Finding the local store he noticed a row of five helmets resting in a glass cabinet behind the counter. Stepping closer, he looked up at the price.

Over 115,000 Yen, definitely gonna check my classes first. Thankfully these helmets restock fairly quickly, I won't have to wait long.

Casals wandered the streets of Kyoto, finding peace in his lonely walk. For hours he let his mind wander, passing by the thousands that toiled ceaselessly. He gazed around at the droves of people walking beside him. Seeing the usual stoic expressions, devoid of joy.

All I want is an escape...a chance to make a difference. I wish we could all escape from this.

Cashing in his last paycheck, he felt his heart pound, the 230,000 Yen deposit registered to him. The result of two weeks worth of labor, it left only disappointment in himself, inadequacy circulating.

Where am I going to find work now? Maybe my father was right, am I doomed to an existence of poverty? There's not even welfare for us...this government provides none.

Twelve hours a day, If it weren't for my father's income, this money might last me a week at best.

Returning to the house, Casals found the house empty, the lights switched off as expected.

Dad must've left for work, better sign up for my next college classes now that I've got the money.

Vassago's eyes glued to the screen, running through the list of courses available, scanning for the classes he wanted to take. Inspection, however, only left the man wanting to tear his hair out. The majority were taken, leaving him with a total of eleven units after a careful cost and yield assessment.

Despite an hour of searching, no other relevant or interesting courses could be found. Left at one unit, Casals let his forehead rest against the keyboard, tears gathering in his eyes.

To apply for student government, I must have at least 12 units. They're all taken...I only have an opening for a total of 3 units. That means, I can't pursue my dream.

He threw the chair back, slamming his face to the bed in frustration, hiding the expression clsoely with muffled screams. Feeling the tears soak into the fabric, he screamed into the mattress.

No job, no career...I have nothing. Not even the love of my father, or my mother. She's never talked to me, ever since she walked off. Why did she cheat on him?!

After many minutes of sobbing, Casals lifted his face. His almond skin was wet, his long hair messy.

I need an escape...anything to run away from this life. Wait, what about that NerveGear? I could audit the classes I want, reduces the cost and still gets me the knowledge and opportunity. Fine, I'll indulge myself. I need this.

Vassago wiped the tears from his face, feeling the strands of black hair brush off to the side. He raced out of the house, seeking the fix of his strained morale. Within minutes, he had arrived at the same electronics store, the line unchanged in length. Waiting in line, he looked at the NerveGear helmets, partially guilty as he continued.

I'll have to hide this somehow, maybe under the bed? I don't care what Dad thinks...I feel completely drained.

Directing the clerk to the helmet, his purchase was made, the broken man watching half of his paycheck vanish. A box over a foot long was placed on the counter, the brightly blue cardboard container displaying the blue-gray aluminum helmet within. Lifting it, Casals smiled slightly.

"Thank you, sir." the cashier remarked with a soft bow, "Have a good day."

"Thank you," Casals bowed, "you too, sir."

He turned away, clutching the boxed helmet under his right arm. As he swung open the door, the sun shined through the clouds, dazzling the street with its brilliance.

No matter what, I will find a way. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow...but I will succeed. I want to help everyone, beat down these wealthy pricks.

Sun Dancer

November 6th 2022 – three days before the incident

An eager Casals woke from an anxiety ridden sleep, excited for his brief lapse of fantasy, away from the troubles of life. A quick check of his clock spurred him further, eyes lit at the time displayed. He quickly got up from bed, changing into his usual suit and tie, brushing his hair briefly.

2:35, I'm early! Still have trouble believing that walking out in anything but this is taboo, but least I look good.

Creeping out from his closet of a room, he slipped around the main space on his toes, careful to not use his heels. Passing his still snoozing father, Casals frowned slightly.

I still haven't apologized for the things I've said, I should do that next time I see him. Casals are a stubborn family, sadly I'm no different.

He sneaked to the door, accidentally bumping something with his hip on the way. A soft thud was heard, causing him to jump. Looking down, he found an urn laying on its side, its powdery contents spilled on the carpet, his heart racing in worry.

No, grandma!

He panicked, scooping up whatever ash he could gather, cupping a hand as he scooped whatever his fingers could grasp. After a few frenzied moments of fast cleaning, Casals turned the door lock, ensuring his lone father stayed safe. Vassago escaped into the dark of early morning, a brief shiver escaping him as the air greeted him.

Casals strolled down the dark but still busy sidewalk, marching straight for the nearest train station at a brisk pace. The bright neon lights of the city warded off the dark, rendering moot whatever effulgence the moon could offer. As vivid blues, greens, yellows and reds lit the road, Casals made his way to to the high speed rail.

Crowds of people still filled in and out of trains, their unspoken labors uncounted, their faces gaunt with fatigue. Breathing in the cool fresh air, Casals readjusted his tie.

Can only imagine the crowds at Akihabara, Sword Art Online has been advertised virtually everywhere. Already decided on my build, [Agility] and [Intelligence] will be my mains, [Dexterity] my minor.

Waiting for an estimated 15 minutes, Casals first arrived at Chiyoda, Tokyo. Staring out the dew spotted window, his dreams still lingered, hopeful of someday taking his place in Parliament, later Prime Minister. The capital would be his new home, his kingdom.

After another few minutes, he arrived at Akihabara Station, the nation's city of entertainment. Quickly leaving his seat, Vassago left behind the static blue lighting of the metro rail, entering the sleepless district of dynamic themes and smiling faces. Neon signs, blaring of anime characters from various genres and shows shined in all sides, rotating every few seconds.

Women of considerable beauty passed fliers from all sides, huddled together for safety. Clad in the black and white frill of Victorian-era maids, their cheery faces always felt so fake to him, forced by corporate interests, rather than genuine bliss. Some turned to gaze upon Casals, eyes dilating as they glanced to eachother.

Masters of theatrics, if I ever needed liars I'd come here.

Casals smiled back, approaching them regardless with a bow and nod.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Casals asked in Japanese, "Electronics store?"

The maid's pale face blushed as his black eyes met hers.

"It's," she pointed to his right, "Just down the, s-sir."

"Thank you," he said casually, "Smart and beautiful."

With that, he turned away, smirking as he heard her gasp.

Should thank my father for giving me a voice like mine, it really gets people excited just talking to me.

He soon reached the lines, realizing his error. The thin skin of colored tents revealed a building under siege, the invading force easily taking space all the way to the end of the nearby street corner. Scooting to the back of this line, Casals hands slipped into his pocket, plugging an earbud.

People camped out here waiting...why didn't I do that?

The human centipede slogged forward, slow but purposefully. The store hadn't opened until another hour had passed, the four AM schedule following through. While lights had remained on within the facility, employees had been making preparations, hastily carting the stock away.

With the swing of doors Casals watched as people of all ages entered the store, remaining coherently in line despite the brimming excitement.

If there's anything I can commend this society for, its etiquette is truly remarkable. No pushing, shoving, no threats either. The cars are louder than they are...nothing like Spain.

Some left with NerveGear helmets and the game, others left with simply the latter. The sluggish pace of the line left Casals nervous, constantly checking his watch with every shift. Hours passed, waiting to make his purchase, drawing ever closer to snatching what he had paid for.

Entering the store, Casals took until roughly 7 in the morning to finally reach the desk of an equally exhausted clerk. As the morning sun leaked over the buildings, the neon lights dimmed from the saturating glow. Drawing the receipt kept for months, Casals requested his copy.

The clerk blinked, nodding nervously as he checked his desktop monitor closely. His swift movements left the customer further curious with every passing moment, the width of his eyes unsubtle in their suggestion of distress.

"Is there an issue?" Casals kept soft with his tone.

"I'm...sorry, sir." the clerk replied, "I honestly thought we packed more. We're sold out...so sorry. The last customer ordered for three copies."

Three? Guess he's bringing friends, family maybe.

The clerk lifted his head back to face Casals, readjusting his tie to ensure a professional appearance.

"Sir, would you be okay with coming back tomorrow? Crowds are usually this crazy on first day releases."

"That's fine." Casals sighed, "You might wanna take cover though, got a whole line behind me."

Sun Dancer

November 7th

Thin paper met metal, a note's adhesive backing hugging the sleek surface softly. Four A.M, her plan enacting under cover of darkness, words plastered on each radiant colored slip. Smiling to herself, a final mark was placed, slipping away to her bed all while holding back a giggle.

Warm blankets and a pillow muffled her laughter, a Shinozaki's three day plan executing. Rika's bangs shrouded her eyes, freed from the binds of hair pins. By six A.M, excitement couldn't be further withheld, even with the assistance of headphones playing metal. Shot up, her music was dismissed, an expectant twenty year old leaving to greet.

Shinozaki Rika half noticed her father and mother sitting together, a couch their choice of momentary contact, snuggled up warmly much to Rika's envy. Despite advancing past the age of fifty, both partners continued to cuddle whenever possible. Hailing from Scotland, whose accent she had adopted from years spent there, Cyril looked to his daughter. Her mother, native to Japan rested calmly against his shoulder. Imari was her name.

"Oi, we be makin' our daughter cross, love." Cyril joked, blue eyes shining with a new day's vigor.

"Mm, oh well."

A warmth spread through Rika, muscles relaxed with a soft chuckle.

"How'd ye sleep?" Rika placed hands behind her back.

"Good...till your father started snoring." a toss of black hair came before Imari readjusted her head to Cyril's chest.

"Only a wee bit."

To not hear the Scottish accent would've required deafness, a trait Rika too adopted from her father. Feeling a slow drain, however, the half Scot turned away.

"Besides, ya snore too."

"I do not!" Imari squealed, embarrassed as she curled up.

"Aw, but ye do, love. Gonna get me a small mic, hide it somewhere."

Cyril's shoulder wobbled, a soft playful punch simple to translate.

"Oi, I love it when yer feisty!"

Another soft giggle from Rika, drained slightly by an easily amendable loss.

They're so cute, even when they're as old as some buildings.

"Rika?"

A postulation quickly stopped her, frozen in place like a stalked deer, chest tight.

"Could you please make coffee for your dad? He won't leave me alone."

"No, she's mine." Cyril chuckled, pretending to bite Imari.

"Eek!"

A cup being prepared brought attention from the two snuggling parents to each other. Telltale signs of mischief, a look from their daughter reeking of suspicion, none of which passed unnoticed.

"What're we going to do, dear?" Imari wept, muffling herself in an attempt to conceal. "She still hasn't signed up for college, even after every attempt at encouraging. I can't remember the last time I saw her smile without smelling of..."

Imari's shiver forced her to stop, changing subject.

"Maybe we should head back to Scotland, maybe move to America, I don't know. Rika needs help and I don't know where to go!"

Cyril stroked Imari's silky black strands, swaying her side to side in contemplation.

"We're not goin' back, it's still better here than in Scotland right now. As for America, look at the place, my bonnie. Those Yanks are ready to wage war on each other any second, batshit insane I say. "

He sighed, hugging Imari back.

"Look me bonnie, we both know what happened to her back in school. I just wanted her out of Scotland before it got any worse."

"She barely knows the language, I hear people make fun of her all the time." Imari cried, "I'm trying to teach her, it's slow."

Headphones blasted metal against Rika's ears, hearing nothing past the soft cushions, head resting on the pillow. Eyes set on the NerveGear laying nearby, her stomach twisting lightly.

Mom, why do you still care about me? I know you hate what I've become, I hate it too.

Her stomach growled, callous to her better judgement. Hearing the door to her room open, her expression lifted to her father, smiling sly.

"Really?"

"Ya remembered yer wallet, right?" Rika's eyes fixated.

Laughter broke out in the room, Cyril lurching slightly.

"With the one, two...five hundred sticky notes ya left on my car, yes it was!"

Rika's voice joined in the moment of mirth, headphones pried off to better hear him.

"How long did that take ya to prepare anyway?" Cyril leaned on a wall.

"Hm, I don't know..."

"pff, well Miss Troublemaker, now my boss's gonna see that." his lips pressed her forehead, stopping abruptly on the way out. "Where is it?"

Her smile dropped like a weight, her eyes darting a moment to the desk. Reaching back behind it, Rika drew a bottle of white wine. Mostly full, its top had been covered with an improvised cap of plastic and tape. Taking this left Cyril still, sighing before sitting beside her.

Wish I could do more for her, but what? This bastard of a country doesn't support AA groups, cause it'd make 'em look bad. Makes me wanna beat their tiny faces in, screw their pride, help somebody for once. It's like I'm watching my daughter slowly die inside.

"Hun, ya know yer mother and I love you very much. Why would ya hide somethin' like this?"

Stomach twisting harder, Rika inched closer to burying herself.

"My mom had the same problem ye got there, would prank too just like you too!"

The last half of the statement carried a lighter pitch, Rika's stomach unwinding slightly. Taking the bottle with himself, he returned with a shot glass, pouring only half full.

"Aye Dad, why ya got's to tease me so bad?" Rika giggled.

"I'm bein' serious, girl." he looked worriedly. "Ya gotta get some help. No college, no job, sneaking out at night to get these? I tell ya, girl...this ain't gonna last. Ya need to love yourself, not dwell on wha' the rest of 'em said or think."

A strict schedule prevented further dialogue, Cyril again kissing Rika goodbye. Not even a moment after his exodus did she resort facial burial. Her pillows cover darkened, whimpering muffled by a soft surface.

All I ever find is another excuse, another reason to keep drinkin', I've seen enough of these people, to expect better would be naive. Little boys will fall unconscious in the street, but nobody looks after them, not even a moment's thought is paid. Some even step over them, complaining of the delay. Least back home you'd get a sarcastic quip, barring of course Londoners...those people couldn't give less of a damn for anything.

An escape route was known, a lone helmet resting nearby.

The me in there's prettier, people like that person better. There I can be all confident and chatty all I like, least until the drinks wear off. It always feels so contradictory, to be raised and told to be me self instead of compromisin', yet wantin' to be like the other girls.

Grabbing the NerveGear helmet, the struggling brunette sighed for her second dive.

Least I can cause some havoc, people are so serious in 'ere.

"Link Start."

A teleport object is only half of the equation when it comes to fast travel in Aincrad. In order to teleport to a town, the respective territory must possess an [Aetherial Tether]. An object created solely by the House of Aramai, merely possessing one is usually a sign of contract with such establishments.

Housed in a single story, domed structure, these objects are delicate in alignment due to their construction. It is therefore unsurprising that during natural disasters that these would likely go offline, preventing teleportation to the town until it's repaired.

Being a utility since the Congregate's golden age, it'd be wise to assume it a crucial target for asymmetrical forces. Defending these is vital to not only teleportation, but also crystals designed for communication.

A/N: Blah, blah, blah, when is Failtastic gonna stop with the lore dump! Hey everybody, hope this chapter's proven excellent in its content. Remember that I love me some reviews, bad and good ones. Favorites and follows also lemmie know that you haven't thrown the story in the bin.

...Hopefully not the recently used one.

Thanks again, guys! See you in the next chapter.