.Hack//Relapse
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: Project .Hack and attached concepts and characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Takes place after the start of Outbreak. Parentheses indicate thoughts, brackets are for writing. This is a direct sequel to Heist, using characters established in that story alongside characters from the games and the show. For the most part it is not necessary to have read Heist beforehand (although I do recommend it :) - any important events from Heist will be summarized herein to expedite this.
With that in mind, read on, critique to your heart's content, and above all, enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Footnotes
---------------------
"Okay. Let's go over it once more, from the top."
His brown eyes drifted away from his voice - the black tape recorder, merrily whirring away on his desk as it replayed the conversation - and to his thoughts, hastily scrawled out on a white notepad.
"I'd prefer not to use my real name," said a different voice, deep and gruff.
He trailed the notes as his voice spoke once more. "That's fine. I'll refer to your character name in my notes."
At the cue, he read the top of the current page, where two words sat underlined: [Silver Knight].
"He had been trapped in The World apparently to cultivate this... 'Aura' to her liking. 'Her' being... well, I'm still not sure."
["Her" -- needs Aura cultivated (trained?) Aura = Key (of Twilight?)]
"And you can confirm that the monsters you fought, that she sent after you, were clearly out of the system's programming - capable of causing real harm to players?"
"Yes. One of them..." he paused, swallowed hard. "One of them hit me... I was out for a short while. I later learned that she produced these things as a means to protect him."
[Guardians - defense mechanism. Designed for use in The World. Related to Project Delphi?]
"Lady Subaru and the Heavy Blade pursued Tsukasa into a location of her design. I'm still not sure what happened afterwards, though the server was knocked out shortly afterwards. The Hacker, Helba, mentioned something called 'Skeith'..."
"Right. Supposedly one of the Phases, I've heard of it as well. Combined, they precede some sort of 'Wave'."
[Eight phases. Wave = danger unknown. Expansion beyond confines of The World (conjecture) Dictated in Epitaph of Twilight.]
"Yeah, I've heard much the same. Anyway, it wasn't long after that I stopped playing... most of the other knights did as well. It was just too much to handle. However, some of the others who investigated this stuck behind, you may want to ask them as well. Bear, Mimiru... I thought BT was around as well, but I can't say for sure."
[Possible contacts: Bear, Mimiru, BT. Find names, addresses, info; low-level surveillance only.]
There was a short pause before the player spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go right ahead," said his recorded voice.
"What's your involvement with this, anyway? I mean, this... this is huge. I filed a formal report to CC and the cops, but nobody's called me back. So why are you doing this?"
He heard himself sigh. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I'm not so sure myself."
The man chuckled. "Well, you got you work cut out for you. Did you have any other questions?"
"No, that's it," said Dean. "Thanks for your time."
He reached out and stopped the tape, his eyes coming up from the notepad to survey his surroundings. A cheap, yet serviceable white-walled one-bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown Tokyo, Dean had taken the liberty of giving it a personal touch - posters from old Bogart movies, a neon 'Coors' light, a calendar of artwork from some cartoon whose name escaped him, and a worn-out La-Z-Boy serving as a computer chair. On top of the desk sat a dusty black desktop computer and flat-screen monitor, and next to it a rack of DVDs and video games.
Off in the corner, a couple game systems sat before a television/stereo combo, on which the news was displayed, white text on the bottom translating the anchorwoman's words to English. Like the desktop, a mild layer of dust covered the TV set and attached electronic miscellany.
Dean rolled his eyes. (Can never keep this junk clean,) he thought as he gingerly elbowed the monitor with the sleeve of his shirt, brushing away the dust before the bright blue Altimit background. Nudging aside his notepad, he scrolled the mouse to the internet browser icon, but was interrupted by a soft beeping from his watch.
(8 o'clock). He reached for the cordless phone with one hand, his other sifting through the pile of papers next to the keyboard. "Ah-ha," he muttered, producing a small index card with a phone number and a name neatly printed on it, the former he punched into the phone.
Two rings, and a click as the receiver on the other end was lifted. An unremarkable voice answered: "Masamoto."
"It's me, lieutenant. Just checking in like the judge said."
"Good. Any problems?"
"Nope," said Dean, kicking his feet back up on the desk. "All quiet over here."
"Glad to hear it. Keeping out of trouble, are you?"
"Heh," grunted the P.I. "You could say that."
Dean heard a snort. "I could. But would it be true?"
(This guy's good.) "Well, it is right now," Dean replied. "The night is young."
"Right. Well, I could give a damn what you do after my shift ends, but at least try not to do anything stupid until then, okay?"
That got a smile out of Dean. "Sure thing, lieutenant. Scout's honor."
"Works for me. Oh, by the way, your gun will be cleared to go tomorrow, you can pick it up then."
"I just might do that. Take it easy, man."
"Sayonara, Dean." Another click, and the line was dead.
(I always did like that gun,) he thought as he sat up straight and hung up the phone. Slowly he stood, trudging away from his desk. He passed the doorway to the bedroom, entering the small kitchenette and prying open the refrigerator. He snatched a half-empty 1-liter Coke bottle from its icy clutches and opened it as he turned back, kicking the door shut with his foot.
Before he reached the desk again, his eyes crossed a familiar framed photo - a police station office room, crowded with over twenty officers in two loose rows, some garbed in LAPD uniforms, some not. A familiar young man in the center of the back row grinned happily and waved to the camera, the cap in his hand having left his black hair mildly askew. To his left stood a stout, jovial man wearing a "We survived Y2K" t-shirt. Below the picture in the frame sat the words [Los Angeles Police Department, precinct #4 - January 7, 2000]
Dean chuckled. (And here we thought it'd all blow up at the drop of a hat...)
This thought called others to his attention, fast-forwarding five years into the future - thoughts of the Internet going black the day before Christmas, and the world going mad; thoughts of chaos and panic unheard of in the history of man, much less in that of Los Angeles.
It was years ago, yet the feelings were still crystal clear: the safety of a comfy bed and warm household left behind, bulky riot gear offering little protection from the cold, plastic shield and heavy baton like dead weight in his hands; shouts and cries of panic tore at his ears, aided by wailing sirens and helicopter rotors; his body shook as fists of protest and rage beat against his shield, fists belonging to the frightened, the scared, the hopeless - people just like him, only without arms and armor. It was all he could do to stand with the rest of his unit until backup arrived - to serve and protect, yet he could do neither.
Then the gunshots started.
The screaming became cacophanous as those who struggled to get past now sought only to get away. Bullets went flying to and from the crowd; some in his unit drew theirs, fired upon by unseen assailants. As the crowd cleared, bodies were visible in the street: almost a dozen, including two cops. He got a clear look at the nearest one's face, his eyes wide with surprise and shock.
His mind fast-forwarded once more to more recent events.
Hired by a rival software company to steal data from Cyber Connect, he and his team - the hacker Shinji, and their employer Max - were attacked by the same data they were charged to steal, though they were told it that it was accounting information. The anti-hacker program called 'Delphi', yet another digital entity capable of causing very real harm, was disguised as said accounting information, and demonstrated its power by mortally wounding Max's character in 'The World' and putting his player in a coma. Not content to simply protect their data, Cyber Connect had dispatched two agents to finish what Delphi started; they killed Shinji, and Dean retaliated, killing one and fatally wounding the other.
("Prove it to me," he says...)
A shotgun shell exploded in his mind's ear, clouds of buckshot slicing and tearing into clothed flesh. The look on the agent's face matched that of the cop's - brief, but intense pain and surprise, even fear.
Using the agent's identification badge, Dean infiltrated Cyber Connect's Tokyo office and deleted the files necessary for Delphi's existence. He knew now that no one should have it, that too much harm could come from giving men a weapon that could kill others over the Internet.
(Just wish we'd all figured that out sooner.)
Tearing away from the wall he'd been staring at - his eyes long since drifted away from the picture - he turned back to the computer. (Whatcha doin', Hiroshi?) he thought, remembering his meeting at the hospital with the player who had helped him, the boy behind the outlaw character Kite who had saved both his and Max's lives. With the Heavy Blade BlackRose, he stood against Delphi as he had so many other abberations in the system, risking life and limb for their own sakes as well.
(All in a goddamn video game.) Dean shook his head as he sauntered back to his chair. (Jesus... "Tron" had it right all the time. Who knew?) he thought with a bitter chuckle, sitting down before the computer, now darkened to show a field of stars soaring past the screen.
(Guess I'd better get cracking. Let's see if I can't find these players as well. Who to start with?) He set the Coke bottle down and gave the mouse a vigorous shake, dispelling the screen saver; opening 'The World', he wandered over to the forum and dragged out his keyboard.
-
Topic: To Bear
Author: Stolls
Interested in obtaining information regarding Key, Epitaph of Twilight, your experiences involving both. Would like to meet w/ you to discuss; respond to [email protected] if interested."
-
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Discussion
Will be at Theta root town for the next hour. Meet me there.
-
His now-green eyes watched the man before him with calculated interest. A powerfully-built middle-aged man, the Blademaster Bear wore his heart on the sleeves he didn't have - eyes kind but studious, square jaw set but not in stone, arms folded casually across his broad chest but one hand within inches of the hilt of his massive blade. Blue body-paint covered half of his body and face, the latter of which was framed with a head of shortish brown hair, and his posture was decidedly neutral, if only because the contrasting signals cancelled each other out.
In a nutshell, Bear looked every bit the steadfast, reliable old man of the group - assuming there was a group, though he spotted no one else nearby; the two men stood in the shadow of a towering windmill, out of the direct line of traffic between the skyborne, grassy islands which comprised Dun Loireag.
"So, what's your interest in the Epitaph of the Twilight?"
"I'm looking into the bizarre events happening in 'The World'," said Stolls. "I understand you've had some experience with this, correct?"
Bear nodded, his lips flat and unreadable. "That's right. I encountered some of the strange creatures, the ones that have infinite hit points. I also met the Wavemaster Tsukasa."
"Tsukasa... right, that player that was supposedly trapped in 'The World'." An alarm went off in his head as the sentence tumbled out, and he froze. (Damn it! Rookie mistake... can't let him know how much I know.)
If the Blademaster noticed, he made no comment. "Yes. I still don't know how, exactly, he came to be trapped in 'The World'... but I do know that she was responsible."
(She... that has to be the thing that Silver Knight mentioned.) "She?"
Bear uncrossed his arms, gestured vaguely with his weapon hand. "Some kind of artificial intelligence, I think. She needed Tsukasa to remain in 'The World'."
"I see." Stolls glanced left and right, making sure that no one was listening. "Do you think she's behind this as well?" For emphasis, he gestured to the sky, fractured and splintering away into the nothingness above, the reality of 'The World' being torn away into visible code and data - which had been blamed on recent hacker attacks by Cyber Connect.
"I do, but if you asked me to support the theory, I couldn't." Bear shook his head.
Stolls nodded. "So, she's an AI? How did she come to be? I mean... in here?"
"Part of the original programming, I think; they said something like 'She is The World', but I'm skeptical. Her power doesn't seem to be absolute, at least not anymore. Even before, she usually acted through monsters - like the Guardians."
"Hmm." The Wavemaster rubbed his chin, scratching at the jawline with his middle finger.
A short silence passed between them before Bear spoke again. "Something happened to you, too... didn't it?"
(I thought he was watching me a bit too closely.) Stolls hid his brief surprise. "Is it that obvious?"
Bear chuckled, shook his head. "This isn't something anybody just up and starts investigating. Especially since these things have hurt people in the real world." He gestured to the black-robed Wavemaster. "
Shifting his weight, Stolls idly tapped the tip of his spear to his foot, toying with it for a moment before resuming his earlier posture. "Got it in one. I lost a friend of mine to this... and that ain't even the half of it." He lifted his head and met the Blademaster's gaze evenly. "Tell you what; I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours. Not here, though. Somewhere safe."
Bear creased his brow, clearly pondering the offer. After a fistful of seconds, a smile crossed his lips. "I know a place," he said. "I'll mail you instructions."
"All right then."
- End of Chapter 1
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: Project .Hack and attached concepts and characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Takes place after the start of Outbreak. Parentheses indicate thoughts, brackets are for writing. This is a direct sequel to Heist, using characters established in that story alongside characters from the games and the show. For the most part it is not necessary to have read Heist beforehand (although I do recommend it :) - any important events from Heist will be summarized herein to expedite this.
With that in mind, read on, critique to your heart's content, and above all, enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Footnotes
---------------------
"Okay. Let's go over it once more, from the top."
His brown eyes drifted away from his voice - the black tape recorder, merrily whirring away on his desk as it replayed the conversation - and to his thoughts, hastily scrawled out on a white notepad.
"I'd prefer not to use my real name," said a different voice, deep and gruff.
He trailed the notes as his voice spoke once more. "That's fine. I'll refer to your character name in my notes."
At the cue, he read the top of the current page, where two words sat underlined: [Silver Knight].
"He had been trapped in The World apparently to cultivate this... 'Aura' to her liking. 'Her' being... well, I'm still not sure."
["Her" -- needs Aura cultivated (trained?) Aura = Key (of Twilight?)]
"And you can confirm that the monsters you fought, that she sent after you, were clearly out of the system's programming - capable of causing real harm to players?"
"Yes. One of them..." he paused, swallowed hard. "One of them hit me... I was out for a short while. I later learned that she produced these things as a means to protect him."
[Guardians - defense mechanism. Designed for use in The World. Related to Project Delphi?]
"Lady Subaru and the Heavy Blade pursued Tsukasa into a location of her design. I'm still not sure what happened afterwards, though the server was knocked out shortly afterwards. The Hacker, Helba, mentioned something called 'Skeith'..."
"Right. Supposedly one of the Phases, I've heard of it as well. Combined, they precede some sort of 'Wave'."
[Eight phases. Wave = danger unknown. Expansion beyond confines of The World (conjecture) Dictated in Epitaph of Twilight.]
"Yeah, I've heard much the same. Anyway, it wasn't long after that I stopped playing... most of the other knights did as well. It was just too much to handle. However, some of the others who investigated this stuck behind, you may want to ask them as well. Bear, Mimiru... I thought BT was around as well, but I can't say for sure."
[Possible contacts: Bear, Mimiru, BT. Find names, addresses, info; low-level surveillance only.]
There was a short pause before the player spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go right ahead," said his recorded voice.
"What's your involvement with this, anyway? I mean, this... this is huge. I filed a formal report to CC and the cops, but nobody's called me back. So why are you doing this?"
He heard himself sigh. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I'm not so sure myself."
The man chuckled. "Well, you got you work cut out for you. Did you have any other questions?"
"No, that's it," said Dean. "Thanks for your time."
He reached out and stopped the tape, his eyes coming up from the notepad to survey his surroundings. A cheap, yet serviceable white-walled one-bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown Tokyo, Dean had taken the liberty of giving it a personal touch - posters from old Bogart movies, a neon 'Coors' light, a calendar of artwork from some cartoon whose name escaped him, and a worn-out La-Z-Boy serving as a computer chair. On top of the desk sat a dusty black desktop computer and flat-screen monitor, and next to it a rack of DVDs and video games.
Off in the corner, a couple game systems sat before a television/stereo combo, on which the news was displayed, white text on the bottom translating the anchorwoman's words to English. Like the desktop, a mild layer of dust covered the TV set and attached electronic miscellany.
Dean rolled his eyes. (Can never keep this junk clean,) he thought as he gingerly elbowed the monitor with the sleeve of his shirt, brushing away the dust before the bright blue Altimit background. Nudging aside his notepad, he scrolled the mouse to the internet browser icon, but was interrupted by a soft beeping from his watch.
(8 o'clock). He reached for the cordless phone with one hand, his other sifting through the pile of papers next to the keyboard. "Ah-ha," he muttered, producing a small index card with a phone number and a name neatly printed on it, the former he punched into the phone.
Two rings, and a click as the receiver on the other end was lifted. An unremarkable voice answered: "Masamoto."
"It's me, lieutenant. Just checking in like the judge said."
"Good. Any problems?"
"Nope," said Dean, kicking his feet back up on the desk. "All quiet over here."
"Glad to hear it. Keeping out of trouble, are you?"
"Heh," grunted the P.I. "You could say that."
Dean heard a snort. "I could. But would it be true?"
(This guy's good.) "Well, it is right now," Dean replied. "The night is young."
"Right. Well, I could give a damn what you do after my shift ends, but at least try not to do anything stupid until then, okay?"
That got a smile out of Dean. "Sure thing, lieutenant. Scout's honor."
"Works for me. Oh, by the way, your gun will be cleared to go tomorrow, you can pick it up then."
"I just might do that. Take it easy, man."
"Sayonara, Dean." Another click, and the line was dead.
(I always did like that gun,) he thought as he sat up straight and hung up the phone. Slowly he stood, trudging away from his desk. He passed the doorway to the bedroom, entering the small kitchenette and prying open the refrigerator. He snatched a half-empty 1-liter Coke bottle from its icy clutches and opened it as he turned back, kicking the door shut with his foot.
Before he reached the desk again, his eyes crossed a familiar framed photo - a police station office room, crowded with over twenty officers in two loose rows, some garbed in LAPD uniforms, some not. A familiar young man in the center of the back row grinned happily and waved to the camera, the cap in his hand having left his black hair mildly askew. To his left stood a stout, jovial man wearing a "We survived Y2K" t-shirt. Below the picture in the frame sat the words [Los Angeles Police Department, precinct #4 - January 7, 2000]
Dean chuckled. (And here we thought it'd all blow up at the drop of a hat...)
This thought called others to his attention, fast-forwarding five years into the future - thoughts of the Internet going black the day before Christmas, and the world going mad; thoughts of chaos and panic unheard of in the history of man, much less in that of Los Angeles.
It was years ago, yet the feelings were still crystal clear: the safety of a comfy bed and warm household left behind, bulky riot gear offering little protection from the cold, plastic shield and heavy baton like dead weight in his hands; shouts and cries of panic tore at his ears, aided by wailing sirens and helicopter rotors; his body shook as fists of protest and rage beat against his shield, fists belonging to the frightened, the scared, the hopeless - people just like him, only without arms and armor. It was all he could do to stand with the rest of his unit until backup arrived - to serve and protect, yet he could do neither.
Then the gunshots started.
The screaming became cacophanous as those who struggled to get past now sought only to get away. Bullets went flying to and from the crowd; some in his unit drew theirs, fired upon by unseen assailants. As the crowd cleared, bodies were visible in the street: almost a dozen, including two cops. He got a clear look at the nearest one's face, his eyes wide with surprise and shock.
His mind fast-forwarded once more to more recent events.
Hired by a rival software company to steal data from Cyber Connect, he and his team - the hacker Shinji, and their employer Max - were attacked by the same data they were charged to steal, though they were told it that it was accounting information. The anti-hacker program called 'Delphi', yet another digital entity capable of causing very real harm, was disguised as said accounting information, and demonstrated its power by mortally wounding Max's character in 'The World' and putting his player in a coma. Not content to simply protect their data, Cyber Connect had dispatched two agents to finish what Delphi started; they killed Shinji, and Dean retaliated, killing one and fatally wounding the other.
("Prove it to me," he says...)
A shotgun shell exploded in his mind's ear, clouds of buckshot slicing and tearing into clothed flesh. The look on the agent's face matched that of the cop's - brief, but intense pain and surprise, even fear.
Using the agent's identification badge, Dean infiltrated Cyber Connect's Tokyo office and deleted the files necessary for Delphi's existence. He knew now that no one should have it, that too much harm could come from giving men a weapon that could kill others over the Internet.
(Just wish we'd all figured that out sooner.)
Tearing away from the wall he'd been staring at - his eyes long since drifted away from the picture - he turned back to the computer. (Whatcha doin', Hiroshi?) he thought, remembering his meeting at the hospital with the player who had helped him, the boy behind the outlaw character Kite who had saved both his and Max's lives. With the Heavy Blade BlackRose, he stood against Delphi as he had so many other abberations in the system, risking life and limb for their own sakes as well.
(All in a goddamn video game.) Dean shook his head as he sauntered back to his chair. (Jesus... "Tron" had it right all the time. Who knew?) he thought with a bitter chuckle, sitting down before the computer, now darkened to show a field of stars soaring past the screen.
(Guess I'd better get cracking. Let's see if I can't find these players as well. Who to start with?) He set the Coke bottle down and gave the mouse a vigorous shake, dispelling the screen saver; opening 'The World', he wandered over to the forum and dragged out his keyboard.
-
Topic: To Bear
Author: Stolls
Interested in obtaining information regarding Key, Epitaph of Twilight, your experiences involving both. Would like to meet w/ you to discuss; respond to [email protected] if interested."
-
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Discussion
Will be at Theta root town for the next hour. Meet me there.
-
His now-green eyes watched the man before him with calculated interest. A powerfully-built middle-aged man, the Blademaster Bear wore his heart on the sleeves he didn't have - eyes kind but studious, square jaw set but not in stone, arms folded casually across his broad chest but one hand within inches of the hilt of his massive blade. Blue body-paint covered half of his body and face, the latter of which was framed with a head of shortish brown hair, and his posture was decidedly neutral, if only because the contrasting signals cancelled each other out.
In a nutshell, Bear looked every bit the steadfast, reliable old man of the group - assuming there was a group, though he spotted no one else nearby; the two men stood in the shadow of a towering windmill, out of the direct line of traffic between the skyborne, grassy islands which comprised Dun Loireag.
"So, what's your interest in the Epitaph of the Twilight?"
"I'm looking into the bizarre events happening in 'The World'," said Stolls. "I understand you've had some experience with this, correct?"
Bear nodded, his lips flat and unreadable. "That's right. I encountered some of the strange creatures, the ones that have infinite hit points. I also met the Wavemaster Tsukasa."
"Tsukasa... right, that player that was supposedly trapped in 'The World'." An alarm went off in his head as the sentence tumbled out, and he froze. (Damn it! Rookie mistake... can't let him know how much I know.)
If the Blademaster noticed, he made no comment. "Yes. I still don't know how, exactly, he came to be trapped in 'The World'... but I do know that she was responsible."
(She... that has to be the thing that Silver Knight mentioned.) "She?"
Bear uncrossed his arms, gestured vaguely with his weapon hand. "Some kind of artificial intelligence, I think. She needed Tsukasa to remain in 'The World'."
"I see." Stolls glanced left and right, making sure that no one was listening. "Do you think she's behind this as well?" For emphasis, he gestured to the sky, fractured and splintering away into the nothingness above, the reality of 'The World' being torn away into visible code and data - which had been blamed on recent hacker attacks by Cyber Connect.
"I do, but if you asked me to support the theory, I couldn't." Bear shook his head.
Stolls nodded. "So, she's an AI? How did she come to be? I mean... in here?"
"Part of the original programming, I think; they said something like 'She is The World', but I'm skeptical. Her power doesn't seem to be absolute, at least not anymore. Even before, she usually acted through monsters - like the Guardians."
"Hmm." The Wavemaster rubbed his chin, scratching at the jawline with his middle finger.
A short silence passed between them before Bear spoke again. "Something happened to you, too... didn't it?"
(I thought he was watching me a bit too closely.) Stolls hid his brief surprise. "Is it that obvious?"
Bear chuckled, shook his head. "This isn't something anybody just up and starts investigating. Especially since these things have hurt people in the real world." He gestured to the black-robed Wavemaster. "
Shifting his weight, Stolls idly tapped the tip of his spear to his foot, toying with it for a moment before resuming his earlier posture. "Got it in one. I lost a friend of mine to this... and that ain't even the half of it." He lifted his head and met the Blademaster's gaze evenly. "Tell you what; I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours. Not here, though. Somewhere safe."
Bear creased his brow, clearly pondering the offer. After a fistful of seconds, a smile crossed his lips. "I know a place," he said. "I'll mail you instructions."
"All right then."
- End of Chapter 1