Castle Carnation

~Chapter 8~

Kirito's «PPSh» lay, half-buried in the mud, having fallen from his hands as he'd struggled with Argo. He made no move to retrieve it, as his attention was focused on the diminutive information broker before him.

"Rosalia ported to a cleared town, where she'll be jailed for some time," Argo said in a low voice, like she didn't want to be heard.

This was of no comfort to Kirito. «Castle Carnation» was a game, after all, and games did not sell by detaining players indefinitely; there were plenty of ways to make an escape, presented as quest objectives. Kirito knew Rosalia would be free again soon, perhaps even with a bit of additional experience gained from the minor quests made available to keep those in jail from becoming bored.

Their attention was taken by the sound of approaching wet footsteps. Asuna quickly appeared in their midst. "What happened? Where are they?"

"Gone," Argo said. "And there's no following them."

"Where?" Kirito asked. "Silica and that guy. Where did they go?"

"Up," Argo said, accurately but unhelpfully. "It worked. I was right." She closed her eyes.

"Argo," Kirito said, stepping in front of her, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. The obvious questions were on his mind. What is «Titan's Hand» trying to do? Are you helping them do it? Why? But clearly the look on his face was enough to convey his questions, as Argo spoke without him asking a thing.

"I helped «Titan's Hand»," Argo said.

Asuna took a half-step back. "Huh?"

"I... gave them info. Helped them organize. And... the reason I came here, or part of it... I wanted to make sure they got away."

"You... what?" Asuna said. "Wait, slow down..."

Kirito sighed. "You're an info broker. You're supposed to always sell out to the highest bidder. You're profit-focused, but absolutely truthful, and absolutely fair, and that means you don't care about your clients' pasts, or what they do with your information."

He looked straight at Argo, though her face was mostly obscured by her hood. "That's what your reputation says. I know that's wrong. You wouldn't; you wouldn't help commit a crime—not without a reason. There are very few people in this world that I trust; and I mean really trust, not just count on to not lie. One of them is you. So could you explain your reason? To us?"

Kirito glanced at Asuna, whose eyes flicked back and forth between them. He looked back at Argo, who was steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

"To me?" Kirito pleaded.

Argo looked up.

"Let's walk," she said, pushing herself upright and setting off into the dark.

So they walked. Kirito and Asuna trailed after Argo, deeper into the damp, dark woods.

"We're not sure what this world is," Argo started. "We've lived here for a while, and by now we're well familiar with the mechanics, the game-like aspects of this world, but there's still so much that's unclear. There's a lot that doesn't match, between what we've been told and what we've observed.

"We noticed, early on, that the «Monument of Life» lists only five thousand of the ten thousand players who were given access to the game. More than ninety-five percent of us former beta testers are there, though...

"Then there's what supposed-Kayaba said to us the first day: We've got an «Energy Nexus» to defend beneath us, and an «Energy Nexus» to attack above us. But all players start at floor one and work together to reach the top, and we haven't yet collectively faced any challenges or events that would put us on the defensive. It doesn't make sense..."

Argo abruptly stopped walking.

"Unless, soon, there's a paradigm shift. There'll be something on an upper floor that'll completely alter the way this world works. And the key to us—all four thousand of us—surviving... it's foreknowledge. We'll want... we'll need the edge of apparent clairvoyance. And that can only come from reconnaissance. So that's why I'm working with «Titan's Hand»." She drew a breath. "I... devised a plan, to send an expeditionary team to Floor 47."

Kirito stared at her back, dumbfounded. "You what? Forty-seven?" But the progression system... You can't skip floors. There's the physical barrier as well as an invisible one, keeping players from climbing up the outside. How do you get past a floor without clearing its end dungeon?

Argo turned to face him and Asuna. Her unease was gone. With the conversation grounded in facts, she was in her element.

"I'll get to why I chose forty-seven specifically in a moment. I know what you're thinking. I didn't think bypassing the front line was possible at first, either. But, remember the message that pops up whenever we get to a gate? What does it say?"

"Uh... that the gate was activated?"

"Not exactly. The message says, '«Gate» aligned to Alpha,' implying that a gate could be aligned to several different factions, of which only one is ours. Other factions, Kirito: People we're supposed to be fighting."

Argo held up her hands, all fingers extended.

"Ten thousand players at launch," Argo said, and curled up the fingers of her left hand. "But we count five thousand on the «Monument of Life»."

"Then... you think we'll have to fight the others?!"

"Paradigm shift," Argo reiterated. "So, maybe." She curled up all her remaining fingers except one. "But that's not the point. For this recon mission, there is a group of people, who are still listed on the «Monument», who I thought might be considered a different faction."

"Player killers?" Asuna guessed. "There aren't many of them, but people who are permanently orange aren't protected by safe zones. They get targeted by the NPCs and auto-turrets."

"Exactly my thoughts," Argo said. "PK-ers aren't stopped from «NTB»ing to gates we've 'aligned.' Still, I hypothesized that these perma-orange players are classified by the system as an independent, rogue faction. And I supposed that this faction could «NTB» to gates that haven't yet been aligned: gates above our front line."

"That's crazy," Kirito muttered, his head spinning. "So you got in touch with «Titan's Hand», because you needed PK-ers to go on this mission... where, again?"

"Floor 47. Now, this may seem like a tangent, but it's all related: You know what 'dianthuism' is?"

Kirito paused. "I don't-"

"«Dianthuism Core» items," Asuna interjected. "They're for «Engineering». They're used to make mechs."

"Right. But the word itself, 'dianthuism?' Do you know where it comes from?"

"You know English isn't one of my strong suits," Kirito said.

Asuna concentrated. "I don't think it's really English. Is it... Greek roots? Dia..."

"Right," Argo confirmed. "It comes from the Greek word 'dianthus.' 'Dios,' meaning god, and 'anthos,' meaning flower. Literally, 'flower of god.'"

"Dianthus," Asuna repeated. "Yeah, I think I've heard that before."

Kirito regarded Argo doubtfully. "You were right: I don't see how this is relevant."

"I'm getting there. You know «CC»'s attention to detail is insane; nothing is named without a reason. You've seen flowers around, right?"

"Of course," Kirito said. "They're all over the place. Just part of the scenery."

"But some of them aren't just scenery. One month ago, on the third floor, a player found a unique flower in the «Forest of Wavering Mist». They described the flower as red, with lots of petals, spread out with wavy edges. When they picked it, and it turned into a «Mk I Dianthuism Core»: extremely valuable to certain people, and when it got out that it was found without any grinding, in such a low-level dungeon... crafters from «Taft» mobbed the area. Since then, the hype has died down. The general consensus is that there was only one there, and it's chance of respawning is extremely low. But the original find definitely happened.

"From idle NPC dialogue, we know that the whole forty-seventh floor is themed as a flower garden, and its central area is called «Floria». A certain NPC on the third floor, where that special 'dianthuism' flower was found, tells of an item available in «Floria» called the «Pneuma Flower». It's called, directly quoting the NPC with this, 'a channel for the soul's resurrection.' It's, supposedly, a revival item."

Kirito's jaw dropped. "...I don't think I heard you right. Revival item?"

"Exactly my reaction."

"If it's the truth," Asuna pondered, "that means one of the main premises of our existence has been a lie. That we aren't physically killed when our avatars die here."

Argo nodded. "If there's the slightest chance it works, our entire understanding of this system and the rules behind it will have changed. Even if it doesn't, there's still some link between the «Pneuma Flower» and the «Dianthuism Core» items. All I need is a bit more information, and I'll be able to connect the dots, see the whole picture. The NPC goes on to say that a skilled engineer is needed to obtain the «Flower». 'Skilled,' coming from an NPC, implies a skill rank of 500 or greater."

"You needed a crafter," Asuna pieced together, "who'd spent a lot of time training «Engineering», to go to the forty-seventh floor. So you found Silica."

"Oh no," Kirito murmured. "You didn't need just anyone with «Engineering»."

Argo let him reach his conclusion.

"For them to be able to reach Floor Forty-seven... you needed them to be on the rogue faction. You needed them to have killed someone. Silica was green when she was kidnapped, then she turned orange. That means... someone..."

Asuna gasped. "They forced her to kill someone?"

"A player named Griselda was trying to sell a valuable item," Argo said, monotone. "I directed her to someone with decent appraisal skill. Unfortunately, an individual had contracted «Titan's Hand» to kill her."

"Oh god," Kirito murmured.

"When Griselda arrived, her appraiser had fled, and «Titan's Hand», with Silica among them, was engaged in life-or-death combat. In the chaos, through a series of... regrettable fortuities, Silica fired the shots that reduced Griselda's HP to zero."

Asuna's eyes widened. "She what? This can't have happened. I don't believe it."

Argo's voice became much softer. "Information brokers... they're passive. They serve their clients, not the other way around. They don't have favorites, they don't take sides, you said. That's how it's supposed to work, right?"

"You wanted that to happen," Asuna realized. "You used your information to manipulate. You..."

"I organized this," Argo finished for her, her voice as flat and thin as paper. Her head was down, and her arms were stowed within her cloak. "I had Silica kidnapped. I took advantage of someone wanting someone else dead. I posted a ridiculous amount of hush money to keep it secret. I orchestrated events to give this the best chance of happening."

"That player, Griselda, is dead," Kirito whispered. "Dead... because of this plan, because of... of..." Because of you, Kirito wanted to say. She's dead because of you. Maybe it was true, but he couldn't make himself say that. Not like that. Not to her...

"Because of me," Argo said herself. "I killed Griselda. I killed her to try and prove a hypothesis. And all the others. If they all die on Floor Forty-seven, I'll have killed them, too."

She took a step back from Kirito and Asuna, and brought her arms out of her cloak. In one hand, she held the neon blue bar of an «NTB»; in the other, a small round capsule, chrome laced with gold: a miniature «EMP» device, its fuse already ticking.

Asuna's mind briefly considered reaching for her pistol, but she banished the thought and just crouched, preparing to call on «Acrobatics».

"Argo?" Kirito warned, bending his knees slightly. "What are you doing?!"

Argo ignored them and pitched the capsule. Kirito dove forward and Asuna rolled to the side, trying to avoid the pulse, but it detonated midair before either of them had moved more than two meters, catching both him and Asuna in its radius.

"Teleport!" Argo called, as the two others scrambled to pick themselves up from the mud. "«Taft»!"

Blue particles coalesced around her and carried her away.

Kirito watched the last of the particles rise, like glowing embers up from a fire.

She's running, Kirito thought. Not wanting to face us... or maybe face herself. Suddenly, his sister—or, rather, his cousin—came to mind. Is this what it's like, being left behind, by someone you've gotten to know? Someone that... you care about?

"Is she going to be alright?" Asuna asked.

"I don't know," Kirito said, his eyes still fixated upwards. "I don't know."

"Marc! They finished it!"

"What?"

"Their copy of «Cardinal», reverse-engineered from Kayaba's files. Version one point zero. It's working."

"Holy... I didn't think RECTO could do it. How accurately does it represent «CC»?"

"I don't know. Their hardware is a mix of leftover components and substitutions... and the code that they had to write is based off of Kayaba's notes and papers. They built everything to Kayaba's specifications, where they could find them. And Sugou's been fairly confident in his team's ability to fill in the gaps. At any rate, the copy runs."

"But it's not enough to just have a blank-slate Cardinal system. You tested the event generator, didn't you, Ohkawa? Cardinal is constantly tweaking itself, adding new features, seamlessly applying updates without requiring server resets. The version of Cardinal that's running «Castle Carnation» right now might have applied a hundred million patches to itself already."

"Right, but it should only change things server-side. We can use this copy for safe testing of more possible angles of attack."

"Good idea. I don't think we're getting anywhere on the high-level software side of things. Cardinal can react too fast. Hey, what's happening over on the other branch of the rescue force, the team testing the physical attacks?"

"Oh, god. You do not want to know. They got five families to volunteer. Not a single... shit, we probably shouldn't be talking about that."

"They're covering up the deaths!?"

"Yeah. They don't want families to stop volunteering their folks for 'rescue attempts.' I don't like it, but I get why they're doing it. We need more volunteers to work with, especially with this device our team is working on. All of those in «CC» are connected to the servers, right? What we've designed is a transmission relay that we can splice in between the NerveGear and the «CC» servers. It'll let us monitor the data that's going back and forth, and inject spoof data going one way or the other."

"Wait... For someone to be killed by their NerveGear when they die in-game, the server needs to tell the NerveGear that they are dead. It has to send a kill signal, right?. If we get that relay working, can't we just figure out what the kill signal is, and block it?"

"The thing is... there is no actual kill signal. The NerveGear determines if the kill conditions are satisfied on its own, without consulting the server, like physical disturbances of the device... and also significant irregularities in the data stream."

"But the NerveGear doesn't have Cardinal running on it. There has to be a way to fool it."

"Exactly. Marc, this device, combined with the copy that RECTO has produced... it's the breakthrough we needed. We take a player's data stream, cut it off from «CC»'s servers, and redirect it to the recreation. The NerveGear doesn't run extensive checks on the data coming into it. As long as the environment is roughly similar, the NeveGear shouldn't detect anything wrong with RECTO's version of Cardinal. In essence, we'd be force-logging them out of «CC» and into the other environment."

"Redirect players out of the dangerous system and into a safe one?"

"Exactly. The NerveGear won't have changed, so we still can't log them out or pull it off, but the software run by RECTO's Cardinal copy won't send any signals that could be interpreted as kill conditions. We won't have woken them up, but we'll have ended the immediate danger to their lives."

"Ohkawa. It's brilliant. How soon can we get this done?"

"The limiting factor right now is getting RECTO's virtual world to resemble «CC»'s closely enough for the NerveGear to not register a data irregularity. All we coded for «CC» we did logged in through «Cardinal», so all that source code is locked up in by the system now... But I remember a fair bit of the structure and mechanics. You think we can do this?"

"Let me get this straight. We have to write Castle Carnation's source code again? Recreating the game for RECTO's verison of Cardinal?"

"Not «CC», not exactly, but some MMORPG that should be close enough. We'll be directed by the Sugou and his team. So, are you in?"

"I code these kinds of things for fun. You're asking me to work on one to save the thousands of people who I helped to screw over? Do you even have to ask?"

There are a few layers—phases, that go into the design of a game level. There are themes to stick to, concepts that must be kept consistent. The majority of the many architects contracted to help construct Aincrad did so with reserve. Then there were some, like the man who had conceptualized Floor 75, who might have taken his floor's theme a bit too far.

Floor 75 was, in a word, trash. It was supposed to be a scrap yard: A final resting place for worn and rusted metal bits of all shapes and sizes. Gears. Tubing. Engine blocks. Gutted ship hulls. These parts were scrunched, smashed, and scattered across the landscape of the floor in piles the size of icebergs; veritable hills of scrap were the defining feature of the terrain.

Here you are, up on a heap of trash, holding a gun.

Sinon crouched at the crest of one such scrap pile, which dropped off sharply as a cliff on one side. Her «Hécate» rifle hung from her arms, and her booted feet were carefully balanced on the rusted edges of who-knew-what.

So, Sinon, have you taken over my body, or have I taken over yours?

Equipped in her 'neck' equipment slot was a tan muffler, which she wrapped around herself loosely, her black hair coming down to its level.

Maybe you're pretending, Sinon. Or maybe I'm the one who is. You know, one of us, when we're not pretending, can't stand the sight of a gun...

It was obstructive, it had no armor value, and she was plenty warm without it, but Sinon still found it necessary, for the ability to pull it up over her mouth and feel a bit more like she was really herself, not just someone pretending to be.

You think you're strong, Sinon? You think you're better than me? You think I'm pretending when you're not? Where are your glasses?

"20/10 vision," Sinon said into her muffler. "I don't need glasses."

Then why does Asada Shino?

"Shut up," Sinon whispered. "Neither of us are pretending. You are me."

She tightened her muffler, like she'd used to straighten her glasses, and wasn't sure if she believed herself.

The area was a dungeon, «red-con», the training ground that Fuurinkazan had decided to use. She wasn't supposed to be there alone, but, not wanting to wait around as the guys took their time getting ready, she'd fallen into the habit of venturing to their training locations ahead of the rest.

For the first time in a while, she was using her «Hiding» skill, not for the sake of avoiding enemy aggro, but for staying unnoticed by the group that she was watching.

Five men in armor, accented scarlet red and iridescent white, stood together at the cliff's base. One of them, in a bulky, predominantly red affair with a silver-white cape and flowing hair to match, was clearly their leader. The rest formed a semicircle behind him, watching as he demonstrated his skills.

In the man's hands was an assault rifle. Assault rifles were powerful, useful in most situations and ranges, offering high close-range DPS in automatic while still being reliably damaging to farther targets. So, despite the skill's extensive prerequisites—just to unlock the «AR» skill, one needed to train «Rifles», «Carbines», or «Light Machine Guns» to a rank higher than six hundred—assault rifles were still quite popular.

However, Sinon didn't immediately recognize the rare model the man held. It was an «L85A2», a dubiously ergonomic gun in the bullpup layout: the magazines were inserted behind the grip and trigger, allowing for more accuracy with a shorter overall gun length. Mounted on its top was a sight, an «EOTech holographic»: No zoom magnification, but its projected crosshair would stay accurate even if the shooter wasn't exactly in line with the sight. Sinon suspected the gun had plenty of 'plus' stat enhancements applied to it as well. The modified «L85A2» the man held was probably on-par in value with her «Hécate».

"Sinon!"

Sinon turned and saw Klein, Dale, and Kunimittz clambering up the twisted metal towards her. She put a finger over her lips.

Klein saw her gesture and nodded, and the three of them continued up the slope, quietly. Sinon turned her attention back to the scene down below.

Ahead of the man, a pack of four small robotic enemies emerged from the tangled metal. Two glorified automotive gun mounts called «TALON»s rolled along on their treads. The other two enemies hovered higher using foot-long rotors, resembling those of a helicopter. Metallic pods hung precariously underneath the rotors, about the size of watermelons. Players called them «Buzzers», for the annoying insect-like sound they made as they approached, shuddering from moving faster than their fragile bodies could handle. And they always approached rather quickly, as their primary attacking method was 'kamikaze:' the drones would accelerate towards their target until less than a meter away, then, after a brief three-second delay, blow up in a grenade-sized blast. A direct hit from a level 15 Buzzer could knock off three thousand health points. This made them a significant threat, especially in combination with other, more intelligent enemies.

The man calmly took a shooting stance. A controlled spray cut down one Buzzer, shattering it into blue remnants. The other was nearing him, but he paused and his gun developed a sunset-colored glow. He fired a single focused shot, piercing the last Buzzer, which detonated in a showy blast of fire — just far enough away to do the shooter no harm.

He's good, Sinon thought. Or he thinks he is.

"Couldn't wait for us today either, huh," Klein reprimanded, clambering to beside her. "You don't have to call all of us, but at least get someone to come with you so you're not fighting alone. I would have woken up earlier if you'd asked."

"Sorry."

Dale and Kunimittz also reached her, and carefully picked places to sit.

"He's pretty good," Kunimittz noted.

"Of course he is," Dale said. "He's Heathcliff."

Kunimittz narrowed his eyes. "On second thought, he's kind of bullshit," Kunimittz revised.

"Him?" Sinon asked. "Heathcliff is him?"

"Yeah," Dale said. "He's legend, after what happened in the Floor 76 boss fight."

"The «ALF» is pretty butthurt," Kunimittz added. "Heathcliff's «CRoO» of five outperformed all of them."

"I'll bet Kibaou's idiots would call them «beaters»," Klein said, "if they had the balls to say that to someone who's actually better than them."

"That's the one accusation they could make that I might actually believe," Kunimittz said. "They say his health has never gone into the yellow. Ever. And he's got that O.P. assault rifle. I mean, granted, you've got the «Hécate», but..."

"We should have been there," Sinon said. "For the Floor 76 boss."

"We've been over this," Klein sighed. "Kibaou was trying to make it a pure «ALF» raid. I didn't want to antagonize him any more than I have already."

The guild called the «Aincrad Liberation Force», or «ALF», had formed before the end of the first month, with Kibaou as its leader. Its idea—for all players to band together and work as one to conquer the floors below—was powerful, and, by the end of the second month, the single guild represented nearly a thousand players. And about a thousand other players' guilds had pledged alliance with them, agreeing to share items and information and collaborate in dungeon raids.

Klein wasn't sure what to think about the widespread presence of the «ALF». There were clear benefits to having a centralized system through which to coordinate. But Klein felt there was something lost through it, the person-to-person touch that was the heart and soul of clans like Fuurinkazan. And, though many found Kibaou to be an inspiring leader, Klein felt he was an arrogant loudmouth.

Klein insisted on keeping Fuurinkazan separate from the «ALF», but there was no escaping their influence completely. Merchants and crafters in partnership with the guild gave it and its affiliates discounts while charging more from everyone else. And sometimes Fuurinkazan would approach a training area and would be blocked off by «ALF» members who designated it 'ALF-exclusive,' for the 'greater good of all players.'

In the floor dungeons, however, it was a different story. The «ALF», representing more than a fourth of the player base, always had a significant contribution. But it was clear that even the «ALF»'s best weren't quite on par with certain smaller groups. This had never been more apparent than in the last boss fight, to clear the 76th floor and open the 75th.

"I was glad we didn't join," Kunimittz said. "Not 'cuz I didn't want to piss the guy off. I was hoping that, without our help, the boss would sweep his party's ass. Teach him a lesson."

"They would have gotten swept, too," Dale remarked, "if «CRoO» wasn't there."

«CRoO» was pronounced like 'crew,' and referred to a small, exclusive guild ran by Heathcliff. Its full name was «Company of the Rose Oath».

"As much as I don't like Kibaou," Klein said, "any clearing team getting swept would have been bad news. Let's not forget that there are some nice folk in the «ALF». Anyways, even though he won, Kibaou lost a lot of credit because of that battle. From what I heard, things were going badly until Heathcliff basically took over."

"Three dead," Dale recalled. "All killed before the boss had gotten down to half health."

"We should have been there," Sinon repeated.

"Yeah," Klein muttered. "Maybe we should have."

Down below, the fight was wrapping up. Rapid fire from the two «TALON» bots plinked around Heathcliff, occasional hits just nibbling at his health. High quality ballistic armor, Sinon thought, and probably a well-trained armor skill boosting it. In return, two quick three-round bursts were enough to turn the bots to fragments.

Heathcliff turned around, smiling, and the four others applauded.

"Looks like they've got this spot," Klein said. "Let's go find another farming location."

"Wait," Sinon said. "That was a mini-wave. There'll be an identical spawn in ten seconds." She watched

Sure, you're strong, she thought. Guess who else is?

Sinon stood and swiped open her menu. She stowed away the «Hécate» and began looking through her inventory.

"So?" Klein said. "What are you doing?"

She found the item she was looking for and equipped it, letting the meter-and-a-half-long object appear and fall into her hands.

"Going to have a talk with him," Sinon said before vaulting over the edge of the cliff.

Kunimittz blinked. "Did she seriously just do that?"

"Where did she get a musket from?" Dale asked.

Klein sighed and rose to his feet. "Well, crap. Now both the «ALF» and «CRoO» are going to hate us. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

Sinon hit the ground in a crouch, musket held in one hand, shrugging off the slight fall damage. The five men immediately reacted, sliding into a line facing her.

"Oh? What are you doing?" Heathcliff asked, laying his «L85» over his right shoulder.

"I'm Sinon. I'll handle the second wave," she said, pulling back the musket's hammer.

"This is our place!" one of the «CRoO» members protested. "Go find somewhere else!"

"What guild are you from?" another of them demanded.

And then Klein, Kunimittz, and Dale landed amidst them, one after the other. Klein landed mostly upright, but Kunimittz landed off-balance and stumbled underneath Dale, bringing knocking them both into an undignified heap.

"Oh, hey guys," Klein said, scratching his neck, hoping to convey a hapless, easygoing 'what can ya do.' "We were just...ah... um... passing by..."

He stepped forward and grabbed Sinon's shoulder. "Come on, Sinon. Let's let them-"

Sinon faced him with a frozen expression that Klein had trouble reading... was it determined? Angry?

"The next wave is mine," she said, her voice equally cold.

And, on cue, a fresh pack of four enemies appeared out of the scrap: two «TALON»s and two Buzzers.

"Well, I don't see a problem," Heathcliff said, stepping back and nodding to his crew. "Give them room, everyone."

«CRoO», some albeit grudgingly, followed his lead. Klein pulled out his shotgun. "Sinon, do you always have to be so sudden? Maybe think about giving a bit of warning, let us talk about it before dragging the clan into fights..."

But she held out her left arm, pushing Klein behind her. "The wave is mine," she said. "Not Fuurinkazan's. I'll fight alone."

Klein rolled his eyes. "Bullshit. I didn't mean we'd leave you to fight by yourself. Fuurinkazan sticks together. We're helping."

The buzzing sound increased in volume.

Sinon's eyes narrowed. "I don't want you to," she said, softer. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

With that, she hefted her musket and ran forwards.

The «Brown Bess India Pattern» musket was, at one point in history, the standard weapon of the most powerful army in the world. However, «CC»'s implementation of it was by no stretch of the imagination an effective weapon.

Its base accuracy was worse than most pistols. Its single-shot damage, not any better than a carbine of their tier. Its recoil, higher than most shotguns - not that it mattered much, as after every shot, the musket had to be reloaded. In real life, that constituted the ramming of the bullet down the barrel and careful pouring of gunpowder, a process that took even the best-trained around ten seconds to accomplish.

The first Buzzer was just a few meters front of her, jittering and releasing that obnoxious humming, but Sinon disregarded it, taking aim at the Buzzer to the rear. She willed the musket into a citrine glow and fired, sending out a blinding flash, then sparks of loose, burning black powder and a plume of smoke. The focused lead ball veered high and dented the Buzzer's rotor; the compromised rotor kept the Buzzer aloft, but it meant the Buzzer could no longer purposefully maneuver, leaving it hovering helplessly in circles.

"Did she mean to do that?" Klein heard one of the «CRoO» members ask. Klein turned to Dale, eyebrow raised in question. Dale could only shrug.

Base reload time for the musket was an excruciating thirty seconds, reflecting the real-life complexity of the process. But Sinon hadn't bothered trying to learn the feat of a manual reload, leaving the auto-reload function as her only option.

Sinon pushed the floating auto-reload circle and then looked up at the Buzzer she'd ignored. It entered its activation range, and began to beep, signifying eminent detonation. Sinon leapt into the air with the aid of «Acrobatics» and, with the momentum of a mid-air back flip, kicked the Buzzer forwards with as much of her «STR» as she could muster.

It careened away, and then its detonation timer expired, and it exploded. Sinon hadn't fully escaped the blast—her health now read as 4720 of 5815. And as the smoke cleared, the two «TALON»s entered firing range and began pelting bullets from their mounted machine guns. Hits from them knocked off more than a hundred health points each; her equipment wasn't specced for defense like Heathcliff's was.

But the blast had done what she'd intended. The second Buzzer, destabilized from the «True Physical Damage» it'd sustained, was shoved back by the shock wave. It now hovered directly above where the two «TALON»s were parked.

With a light click, the «Brown Bess» signaled to Sinon that it was once again ready to fire. She snapped the gun to her shoulder, and, not remotely caring for the huge aim circle that would've easily encompassed the broad side of a barn, pulled the trigger again, releasing another flash, spray of sparks, and burst of smoke.

Imbued with focus, the musket ball flew forth on its «True Trajectory» and punched squarely into the remaining, circling Buzzer, busting through simulated steel and imparting its energy to the explosives within.

«Sentry TALON»s: level 15 enemies with three thousand hit points each.

A direct hit from a Buzzer knocks off three thousand hit points.

The Buzzer, and the two «TALON»s beneath it, disappeared into an expanding ball of gas and fire.

"She just make that shot," one of the «CRoO» said, "with a musket?"

"Das fuckin' crazy," Kunimittz said. "Our girl's a beast."

Sinon tossed her musket to her left hand and walked back to the others.

"Impressive," Heathcliff said, his rifle hanging from a strap across his back. "Excellent efficiency and reaction times. Your name was...?"

"Sinon."

"Sinon," Heathcliff said. "Interesting." He paused, seeming to scrutinize her. "Well, the five of us," he gestured to the «CRoO» members behind him, "have somewhere else to be. This area's yours, if you want it."

"Thank you," Klein said. "Again, sorry for dropping in like that."

Heathcliff nodded, understanding. "It's alright. «CRoO» does not hold petty grudges."

"I'll remember you," Sinon said, still holding the «Brown Bess» in one hand. "And you should remember me."

Heathcliff's gaze locked with hers for a few seconds. His eyes were assessing, evaluating, judging her. "I likely will," Heathcliff decided. "Very likely will."

And he turned and followed his squad away, on the thin winding path between the piles of metal rubbish.

"Sinon?" Klein said. "Uh, need «medifoam»?"

Sinon looked down. "No, I've got it."

"Why did you just do that?"

She stared off in the direction Heathcliff had gone, resting the «Brown Bess» musket across her shoulders, where the much larger «Hécate» usually sat. "There's something about him... I just needed to make the comparison."

Because, to defeat a fear of guns, I've got to master them. Her hands are bloodstained, have held a gun and killed with it. To overcome that past, I have to become the strongest, here in this world where everything revolves around guns. I have to be the one to end this game. Not anyone else. That way, I'll be released, and without hesitation, she and I can become one.

The glasses that Asada Shino used to wear had no prescription. They were NXT polymer, material advertized as able to withstand a bullet. She'd needed them to feel secure, calm. They were a mental crutch.

I'll defeat this world of guns, and I'll free her, her mind and her body... but from the crutches, the fear, all the lingering chains from that day when she'd killed.

I'll save you, Asada-

-No. Not just her. I'll save both of us.

I'll save myself.

«Taft» was a relatively busy town at all hours of the day, but in the blue-grey-tinged shades of the pre-dawn—when, some days, far off in the distance, the pearled crescent of the moon could be seen between the floor disks—an alley or two would be empty and quiet.

Quiet was what Argo needed, now. Everything was too busy. It was a game, after all, and what kind of game was designed to have lulls? To not be engaging?

The alley she brooded in was barely more than two meters wide, but that was plenty. Her hood was up, her arms were crossed, tight against her chest under her cloak, and her back pressed into the texture of brick.

She heard light footsteps, from the entrance to the alley. Without looking, she knew who it was. How did he... the friends list locator, of course. Should've removed him...

"Kirito," Argo said. "Why are you here?"

"Real question should be why you're here," Kirito said. "Running away doesn't solve things, Argo."

"I know," she said, "but... you... you don't deserve to have to deal with this. All that's happened is because of me. Just me."

Kirito sighed, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall. "If you wanted me to hate you, forget you... if you wanted to hide... that's too bad. Maybe you shouldn't have friended me, eh?"

She didn't respond.

"Argo," he said, sincerely. "I've run away from things, people, before. When you run... It hurts, not just yourself, but those you're running from. So... don't run, Argo. Whatever you have to say, I'm listening."

Argo was silent for a few long moments. "I never saw a man who looked, with such a wistful eye, upon that little tent of blue, which prisoners call the sky.

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves; by each let this be heard: some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword...

"A prison wall was round us both, two outcast men were we: The world had thrust us from its heart, and God from out His care: And the iron gin that waits for sin had caught us in its snare.

"I know not whether 'laws' be right, or whether 'laws' be wrong; all that we know who lie in jail is that the wall is strong; and that each day is like a year: a year whose days are long.

"Some love too little, some too long. Some sell, and others buy; some do the deed with many tears, and some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, yet each man does not die."

The words lingered in the air; the game engine seemed to be as slow to process them as Kirito was.

"Argo?" Kirito asked, slowly. "Was that-"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I've got... good memory. Oscar Wilde," she said. "Incarcerated and then exiled from England for being homosexual. The Ballad of Reading Jail was his last notable work before his death.

"That's what this game is: a jail. Even if you slack off, you'll get food and drink, and you'll live. You could work hard, if you want... play the jailer's game... and hope you're let out a tad early for good behavior. But me? I'm the one murdering other prisoners for a better chance at escape."

"No," Kirito said. "No. It's not like that. You didn't mean-"

"I know what I meant." She looked up at Kirito, her unwavering gaze burning into him. "I am a killer," she said. "The coward kills with a kiss. I built a guillotine, called it 'a way to escape,' and got someone to stand under it. And you know, those that made it to Floor 47? Silica and the others from «Titan's Hand»? None of them are higher than level 30. What'll they be able to do? Flail at enemies that are far two powerful for them to handle? They're as good as dead, too. I'm the one who should have an orange marker right now. Maybe even a red marker. Yes, I know that's not how it works. But maybe there ought to be an entirely different classification for people like me."

"You're blowing this out of proportion."

"But I'm not lying. I'm insane, aren't I? I took dirty scraps of information from random unreliable sources and pressed them into the most outlandish, preposterous conspiracy theory imaginable, to justify human sacrifice to a cult of information-"

"Argo," Kirito said firmly. "Calm down. You messed up. Everyone does at some point."

"I didn't just fucking guess wrong," Argo muttered. "I wanted to do this. And I know why, too."

She tilted her head back, letting her hood slip off, letting the night ambiance paint her features indigo.

"Do you remember, Kirito?" Argo asked.

"Remember what?"

She continued to look up, past the roofs of the buildings around them, towards the heavens. Kirito followed her gaze, registering the flat ceiling of the next floor, a hundred meters above, barely distinguishable through the darkness. Sprinkled across it were tiny flecks of radiance: mock stars that would vanish at sunrise, purely graphical sprites added to help the ceiling feel like an open sky.

"Do you remember what the real sky was like?"

"Real sky?" Kirito said uncertainly.

Argo was physically diminutive, but normally carried an air of cheer and mystery that made her seem enormous, an antithesis to her shadowy role-play. Now, Kirito couldn't recall a time he'd seen someone look so vulnerable, so small in comparison to all that was around them.

"The sky was the first thing I noticed when I logged in, the first day of the beta test. You know what I thought of it, at first? I thought it was the wrong color. I wondered whether or not that was intentionally discolored for the fantasy vibe. But it's not, of course. The sky is normal. The problem was me.

"Shortly after birth, I was diagnosed with tritanopic dichromacy. One third of the cones in my retinas aren't developed properly. I'm blue-colorblind."

Kirito blinked. "What? You're colorblind? I had no idea."

"No reason that you would," Argo continued. "You've never met me outside of «FullDive». The NerveGear doesn't care about the retinas. It sends the graphical data straight into the visual cortex. I always saw the sky as... gray-green... like dirty grass. But that day, the day that beta started? It was the first time I'd ever seen the color blue. And there's traces of blue in almost everything. It's like the most psychedelic palette swap you can imagine. Everything's got colors that don't even exist in real life.

"I spent the first few days just wandering. Just looking. I wanted to see it all. And I tried, tried to see everything, and I tried to remember every last detail, and then I figured that people would pay for those details."

"That's why you became an info broker?"

"Partially. Also... I've mentioned my memory before, right?"

"You and your constant recitations of poetry, yeah. What is that, exactly? Perfect memory?"

Argo slapped her own knee. "It's not perfect. You're probably thinking of eidetic memory, being able to recall pictures in perfect detail after seeing them once? I don't have that. I'm a mnemonist, with mildly superior autobiographic memory; I'm not a walking image storage database, just better at recalling certain things—music, text, experiences.

"I don't know if it's biological too, or what, but being able to recall things perfectly isn't as great as it sounds. You know why nostalgia exists? It's because your memory of an event fades, so you can only recall the parts that were striking, that you had a lot of fun doing. I... I don't get that."

"But memory must still be useful, right?" Kirito asked. "I forget important things all the time. It'd be nice to not have to worry about that."

"Sure, it's useful... but some things you don't want to remember. Sometimes it's better to forget things.

"When I logged out of beta, back in real life, everything I looked at just seemed... dull." Argo gestured upwards. "Especially the sky. Some days, I just... refused to look at it. I don't know who I thought I was rebelling against with that. My body? Society? God? Only a third of the color wasn't there, but that single band of color? It makes an unbelievable difference."

"I don't doubt it," Kirito said.

Argo closed her eyes and let her head droop. "You know what there isn't, not on any of the floors we've seen? An ocean... or a big lake: a body of water, going out to the horizon. Cerulean under the azure of the sky... The sixty-first floor is supposed to be like that, almost entirely water. I'm a real hopeless romantic, aren't I?"

"Not even remotely how I'd describe you."

"Yeah? Well. Sixty-one. That's way up there. We've just started twenty-six. There's you, and Asuna, and Diabel leading the raids most of the time, and there hasn't been a casualty to a boss in over a month, but sixty-one? That feels so far... and I just can't shake the sense that we might never get there like this."

"We'll get there," Kirito promised. "I know we will."

"Do you?" Argo challenged. "Because we really have no idea what we're dealing with. We've even got people like me, throwing others to their deaths. To prove a theory."

"Your theory makes sense," Kirito reasoned. "It might reveal the most important things we could know about the world we're in. What you're saying about a paradigm shift, the missing players... It could save all of us."

"Could!" Argo hissed. "In the meantime, someone's dead, and they're not coming back, and I still haven't proven anything."

Her hands were rolled into fists, and shivered from how hard they were pressed against the brick she leaned on. "You know, on launch day, I was so damn happy to see proper color again... I couldn't have cared less about being trapped.

"Information that could have saved lives... I held it hostage, Kirito, because I was greedy. Selfish. So maybe that's why I'm trying to do all this. Maybe I don't really even care whether or not we win, whether or not we live. I just want the fucking sightseeing tour."

From her eyes, tears leaked down over the painted whiskers on her cheeks. "Castle Carnation is as much about the realism as it is the fantasy. But it's all a fantasy to me, isn't it? You know what I was probably thinking when I came up with all this? 'Wouldn't it just be great if we were stuck here forever?' Beautiful, impossible colors everywhere. So now here I am, with a higher kill count than most criminals do..."

Kirito shook his head. "It doesn't matter! You aren't a killer. You had a plan, a plan to do good, and somewhere it just went wrong, that's all!"

"Nothing went wrong!" she . "Someone died, and that was the plan working perfectly! The plan was a plan to KILL!"

"Well, you aren't the plan!" Kirito shouted, grasping her by the shoulders. "Maybe the plan was spotless. Sure. Now shut the hell up, Argo. You are not the same thing as your plan. You're a person, and people screw up sometimes. No one's perfect. No one's defined by the plans they make."

Argo stared into his eyes, feeling the gaze burning into her as surely as his hands pressed down on her shoulders. His eyes were narrowed, and, though in the minimal light of the night, his face was dark, the corners of his eyes caught the moonlight and sparkled, like star sprites on the ceiling above.

"What are they defined by, then?" she asked, barely audible.

"Other things," Kirito whispered, and one of the stars escaped from his eyes and traced a wet path down his cheek. "But for fucking sure more than the consequences of just one action. I'm Kirito, obsessed power gamer, SMG wielder, reckless solo clearer. You... you're Argo, «The Rat», sarcastic, genre-savvy knower of everything that can be known, always in control, always lighthearted, always trying to rip me off for good fun. That's who you are. We're in a madman's death trap, and you're trying your best to analyze it. You aren't to blame for any of this."

Argo closed her eyes again, forcing out more tears, but found herself almost falling forwards, her arms wrapping around Kirito, their height difference made apparent as her face was buried in the soft onyx fabric around the chest of his coat. The movement caught Kirito off guard, but slowly, he moved his arms from her shoulders to around her back.

"It's not that simple," Argo murmured, into the cloth she was pressed against. "It's never that simple."

"Exactly," he continued. "That's the Argo I know. You see the nuance; you get things that no one else gets. You're a good person, Argo."

"Am I?" she whispered, and tightened her embrace. Kirito carefully stroked her back with one hand, feeling her breathing gradually settle, her tears subside.

The two of them stood there together, under the bluish night sky, for a long time, before Kirito had the odd impression that they were being watched. He cast his vision around and quickly spotted the silhouette of someone at the end of the alleyway, where it opened out onto the street.

It was Asuna. The corners of her mouth were bent upwards in a bare smile, and she had one hand pressed up against the center-left of her chest, as though she was reaching for her heart.

Sinon opened the door to the inn, a heavy but slightly crooked chunk of metal with rounded corners, seemingly pulled from a bulkhead in a naval vessel and repurposed. It certainly wasn't Aincrad's most impressive architectural feat, but the inn that was Fuurinkazan's 75th floor gathering location had a charm about it, derived from the generous integration of the floor's rough theme into its design. Chairs, walls, and lights all looked like products of a hobbyist let loose in a junkyard with a welding tool.

"Yo, Sinon," Klein called from his seat, waving her over to a small table folded out of corrugated iron. "Have you seen this?"

The girl tugged on her muffler. "What?"

He pointed at the wall beside him. There, pasted on the wall over the faded, peeling paint, was a square poster, a promotion of some sort.

Attention, players of Rho!

Tired of the stress of the dungeon?

Daily raids feel like a grind?

Need more excitement? Need to feel the thrill of competition?

You're in luck! Sign yourself and up to five friends up as a team in the first ever «SkillCap» tournament!

What is SkillCap?

SkillCap is a mini-game in which two teams of up to six face off, utilizing the recently implemented group duel feature. Using this feature, one party may challenge another to a 'one-hit elimination' match. Similar to a 'first strike' duel, if you take damage from any source, you are knocked out of the match. Additionally, as the match will continue around you, will be obligated to remain in an immobile, feigned death state until the match is concluded. Non-compliance with this rule is grounds for disqualification. A match is over when all players on one side have been knocked out, or all remaining players on one side select the 'surrender' option through their duel interface.

For safety reasons, no weapons with a base single-shot damage higher than 250 or damage-per-second higher than 1000 will be permitted, and only players level twenty or higher may enter the tournament.

Register your team through the new section that has been added to your menu. You don't need to know right away who will be on your team: As long as your team is not full, you may add new players to it. But assemble your teams quickly. The first round begins in three days. The tournament is single-elimination, with a standard bracket layout. The winning team will be crowned as SkillCappers, and may leave with extra-special rare items!

Will you prove to be a player who has reached the SkillCap?

"This is the first time I've seen anything like this before," Klein said. "A «PvP» tournament event."

Dynamm walked up from behind them, a cup of some drink in one hand, swiping at the air with the other. "Cardinal's automatic event generator at work, I guess. There really is a new 'registration' tab in the menu."

"Really?" Klein said doubtfully. "This flyer doesn't read like it was auto-generated. Pretty sure someone wrote this up themselves."

"Does that mean it's the guy who stuck us in here who came up with this tournament?" Dynamm snorted. "Hrmph, screw that then! We've got better things to do than put on a show for his ass."

"I don't know," Klein said. "I mean, no matter what we do, that jerkface is watching us. It might be a nice change of pace. We don't know how the «ALF» is going to react, though. They might just take control of it, and then, whoever wins, take the prize for themselves... Sinon, where are you going?"

Sinon paused, one foot already out of the salvaged door. "To find a gun that does less than 250 damage," she said, and let the oval door creak shut behind her.