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Thread: Overcount 2030 [Extraverse/Notes]

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    Overcount 2030 [Extraverse/Notes]

    When I came to, I found myself in an empty room.

    My eyes opened. Light flickered in and out of the tank, sunlight through a crumbled ceiling. Ruins of God knows what. I found myself numb and unfeeling, submerged in liquid. Cold steel was attached to my body. Apparatuses in the mouth and nose, probes along the spine. Wires along my arms. A monitor over the breast, where my heart must be. My eyes flicker open for the first time.

    Senses come on, one-by-one. I think of lights in a city, counting them as they blink on, but I can’t remember how or why. A city I don’t know. It occurs to me then. I don’t know anything at all.

    It’s cold. I shiver. It’s dark. I struggle to see. Something thumps, a slow rhythm. The beating of my heart. I hear sounds, distant, like I’m at the bottom of the sea.

    Gunshots. Boots against steel. Voices and chatter and radio static.

    An impossible memory. I can’t have felt. I can’t have seen or heard. But I remember it now; I relive that memory, a clip in repeat. Maybe it was a delusion of mine, how I’d imagined it must have been. Maybe it was a dream I’ve had, the mind writing memories now where none existed.

    A face looks at mine, through glass and amorphous ice. I look back at him. A kindly smile.

    Within this murky dream, I saw you for the first time.



    Quote Originally Posted by Contents


    Overcount 2030

    0/Nameless


    She remembered it like yesterday, because it was.

    The girl found herself on a hospital room, or something that resembled one, anyway. Colorless walls. White sheets. The electrical humming of machinery, a low, steady rhythm. A blank curtain cut off her section of the room from the rest, and it resembled a colorless box.

    She tried to raise herself up, and winced. Her joints ground into each other like stone. Her spine ached. With difficulty, she raised a hand. Open. Close. Her movements were sluggish, as if the signalling to each digit had slowed to a crawl, as if something had blocked up the signals, flickers of electricity. She thought of clogged pipes, decades of accumulated dust and rust and rot, drawing water for the first time in years. Of course, she knew nerves didn’t work that way.

    She looked down at her arms, and saw they were bandaged.

    Falling back into her pillow, she waited. For what, she hadn’t a clue. She listened. She felt. She explored her senses for the first time in God knew how long.

    An oxygen mask covered her face, a steady, cold stream to her nose and lungs. She turned her head with difficulty, and saw a mess of medical equipment, of monitors and electrocardiographs, of numbers and charts and flickering displays she didn’t know the meaning of. She heard distant waves and cries of gulls. It was bright in here, and if she focused, she could feel a faint rhythm, the room rocking back and forth. It made her feel ill.

    She looked down, and saw a name—

    whose, I wonder—

    —that she did not recognize. A label. She trouble reading it upside down, and tried to turn her head, to get a better view. She winced as something seemed to pop in her neck. She rubbed it with her hand and felt a scar.

    She read the name, or tried, at least. She didn’t recognize the characters, four blocky things, lined up in a row. The second one had the radical for ‘water’ on its left, though she couldn’t make out much more. The third one, the only one she could make out, was the character for ‘white’.

    An unfamiliar thing. She frowned. Come to think of it, nothing here was familiar. She hadn’t the slightest clue how she got here. She tried to remember, what had happened. She failed.

    She fell back onto the bed, listening to the sound of the sea. Nothing remained in her memories but a delirious dream.


    “How is she?”

    The man frowned. He wasn’t sure why they kept asking him this, seeing as how he wasn’t the doctor, and hadn’t really a clue about medicine. Hell, if this woman was a nurse, wouldn’t she know better than him? He shrugged, and nodded towards the window, and the woman looked through, watching the girl as she laid on the bed. Her figure was slight and pale, her movements stiff. She stirred, slightly, eyes blearily taking in her surroundings. Her first movements in a long while. You didn’t have to know her story to know this just from looking at her.

    The woman clicked her tongue, and sighed. “Poor thing. The only survivor, too. But that’s not what I meant.”

    “Oh?”

    “How is she mentally. Can she speak? Hear? Think? Though I don’t suppose you’ve talked to her, yet?”

    He shook his head. “She just woke up, as you came by.”

    She laughed. “It’ll have to be you, you know.” The man frowned, but she continued. “You’re the only one here that really speaks Japanese.”

    “And Rin?”

    “—Was born in Europe.”

    She smiled apologetically. He sighed. “Will she even remember how to talk?”

    A nod. “Perhaps. AS typically affects episodic, rather than semantic, memory. Not to say that her semantic memory will be completely untouched, but the spread to the rest of the brain only happened in the later stages— spread to the brainstem, that was what killed. She was just lucky enough to get thrown into stasis beforehand.”

    “...How do we know she’s Japanese?”

    “Well, we found her in Japan.”

    “At one of Pieceman’s facilities. Considering the man’s work, she could’ve been a fly-in from China, or Korea. So how do we—”

    “Her name, Nanashi.” The nurse sighed. “Come on, what’re you afraid of?”

    He grimaced. Well, that was that. There was no talking his way out of this one, he supposed.

    He sighed, and made his way to the door. The nurse patted him on the back and smiled, as she took her leave. He wasn’t great at comforting others, but he was great, unfortunately, at making girls cry. And now, he supposed, it was that time again, for that to bite him in the ass. He took a breath and opened the door.

    The patient sat on the bed, propping herself up on a pillow. She watched a seagull perched on the windowsill. The salty breeze wafted in past it. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the colorless room to a nearly nauseatingly clean white. He frowned. Maybe not the best sight to wake up to after such a long nap, but oh well. It’s not like they could spare the budget for better decor.

    He pulled up a chair, and seated himself by the bed. Slowly, she turned to look at him. Her skin was pale, and scarred in several places. He looked at her arms, and saw marks like burns. The resuscitation had been mostly successful, but some tissue had retained damage from the cold. A part of him wondered how much of her brain tissue had been damaged by it all. That, combined with the surgery and drugs for the AS treatment, and he wondered how much of herselfremained. A part of him wondered how she’d react to it all, and another part of him dreaded it.

    But he didn’t tell her any of that. Instead, he smiled.

    “Good morning.”

    She blinked in response. Almost shocked, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but a noise— halfway between a cough and a choke and a grunt— came out instead. She looked upset at this, and he almost sighed, but managed to not let it show. He supposed her vocal cords might not have recovered yet.

    After some struggling, perhaps a minute or five of starts and stops, she managed to form words. “Hello.”

    He nodded, and spoke slowly. “Can you understand me?”

    A brief moment to process. Her speech was slow, and dull. “...Yes.”

    He looked for the label that should’ve been on her bed, but it wasn’t there. She seemed to be playing with it in her hands; slow, clumsy movements.

    “What’s your name?”

    “...I don’t know.”

    “You don’t remember?”

    She shook her head. She looked upset.

    She continued to play with the label, frowning at it as she turned it over in her hands. Her hands shook, dull clumsy movements. She wouldn’t raise her eyes, and only continued to stare at the characters. She held it up for him to read.

    “I see.” He smiled, if it would be any comfort. Tread carefully. He wasn’t keen on making anyone cry. “Good morning, then, Ms. Kishinami.”

    “...Good morning.”

    They fell silent at that. He, to consider his next move, on how to approach the subject. She, to observe the man, this familiar stranger who had entered the room. Dark skin. White hair. Faintly golden eyes. Gulls circled outside the window, the sea visible beyond that, islands on the distant horizon. To his surprise, she spoke up.

    “Where are we?”

    “The East China Sea. If that means anything to you, anyway.”

    She blinked, and nodded. He wasn’t sure if that was a nod of confirmation, or just a nod in general. He leaned forward. “I’ll cut right to the chase, then. Do you remember anything?”

    She frowned at that, her brow furrowed. Perhaps she was digging at what remained of her memories, or perhaps she couldn’t find anything at all. A shake of the head.

    Welp.

    “I’ll fill you in, then. It won’t do to dance around the subject.

    “We don’t know anything about you either, other than your medical records, and your name,” he said. “These say you were a victim of AS— Amnesia syndrome, colloquially, though the proper medical term is Grain-induced cerebral sclerosis. I suppose, from the name, you can guess what it does?”

    She nodded. He continued.

    Anterograde and retrograde. The loss of the ability to form new memories, and to retrieve old ones. A symptom of a greater problem, but the most well-known. Hence the name. Given time, the hardening of tissue would spread to the rest of the brain, resulting in death; so I’ve been told, anyway. It wasn’t treatable at the time, so you were put into stasis. This happened in around the year 2000. That’s what the records say.”

    He shifted in his seat, and leaned back. “I don’t know much of what happened after, but we found you. A treatment had already been discovered, and the operation has been a success.” He smiled. “You’re cured now.”

    “...Thank you,” she said.

    “I didn’t actually do anything.”

    She blinked. “Then why—”

    “I’m the only other one here who speaks Japanese.”

    “...Oh.”

    The man got up from his seat, turning to leave. “The organization that had ordered your preservation had long since been destroyed, though your life support managed to survive. We’ll have you with us for the moment, until we reach shore and find a sanctuary. Until then, our staff will be providing mental and physical therapy, until you can be discharged. That should be all, for the moment.” And with that, he made his way to the door.

    “—Wait.”

    He stopped.

    “Hm?”

    For a brief moment, she hesitated. “What’s your name?”

    He frowned, and decided to give the usual answer. “Nanashi.”

    As he reached for the door, she spoke.

    “...You’re lying.”

    “Huh?”

    She looked frowned, almost angry, or with as much anger a girl as exhausted as she could muster. “What kind of name is Nameless?”

    The man stared at her, mouth slightly open, and laughed. That was probably the most he’d ever heard her say. Of course. He was so used to being surrounded by non-Japanese speakers, that he had almost forgotten she might’ve been able to understand his name.

    “You’re right, it’s a pretty silly name.”

    And with that, he left.


    She learned a lot over the next few days.

    Well, not much. Two things really, but they were the only two things she knew. The first, that her name was apparently “Hakuno Kishinami”, and that people had trouble pronouncing the latter part. It didn’t feel like her name, even if it was. But she wasn’t really sure what felt like it would be her name. It was what they called her, and that was all that mattered.

    The second, that they were on a military vessel, of sorts.

    She wasn’t sure what a military vessel should have looked like, but she was still quite sure of that fact. No one told her this outright, but she could deduce that from what she had seen. Between physical therapy sessions, medical tests, psychological examinations, the works, sometimes, she found the occasion to wander about the ship on her own.

    Her condition wasn’t good enough that she could walk about on her own, but if she had a wheelchair, or her nurse with her, she could get a bit of fresh air.

    Most of the men and women she’d see in her free time wore body armor or uniforms; some with balaclavas, others with masks. They carried rifles in their hands and blades at their sides. Some had limbs that shined like metal, others had crystalline structures embedded in their skin. Here and there, someone would have strange machines attached to their bodies— to their spines, or foreheads, or projecting out of their arms.

    Among the soldiers, she would find some with strange markings on their bodies— across their arms or chests or eyes— like veins and circuitry that glowed, an eerie mechanical light. Nanashi, the strange looking man she had first met, was one of them, green lines that ran along the length of his arms, that faded in and out like a trick of the light. She had seen a few others, too, with the same condition— a blonde girl with Asian features, an old man in a dress uniform, a woman with nearly purple hair, and so on— and hadn’t talked to a single one.

    Half of her felt that she should’ve found all this strange. The other half couldn’t figure out what was strange about them.

    The lingua franca of the vessel was English. Her memories, she was told, had degraded, but she still understood snippets of English here and there, and could even speak a few phrases. She didn’t know where she picked it up. “Hello.” “Goodbye.” “Where’s the bathroom?” “Thank you.”

    Hakuno had only two conversation partners. The first, Nanashi, the only one here who could speak her tongue. The other, her nurse, who used the former as an interpreter and translator. A nice, friendly lady, who was born in Bordeaux and earned her degree at the Sorbonne. She hadn’t a clue what either of those places were, though simply smiling and nodding seemed to satisfy. The nurse’s name was Léonne, and she had trouble pronouncing her name. Léonne thought it was cute.

    Nanashi however, didn’t seem too keen on talking to her. She got the feeling that she— her very presence, really— bothered him, and he kept their conversations brief and formal. Filling her in on her physical therapy sessions, explaining the layout of the ship, the works. She didn’t have a past to talk about, and as far as she knew, neither did he.

    She didn’t know why he called himself Nanashi, but no one else seemed to find the name odd. He’d write the name with the characters, ‘seven’ and ‘will’, a disguise that should’ve been as paper-thin as a pair of Groucho glasses. She wasn’t sure what Groucho glasses were, or how she’d even remembered such a thing. But they were the first thing to pop into her mind.

    He also made her meals. They were better than she’d expected.

    It was lonely, in a way. If she knew English before, she’d remember soon enough, so they assured her. The hardening of the brain tissue caused by AS had been reversed— all it was now was a matter of if the memories and associations had survived this process, both the hardening and dehardening, and the resuscitation from stasis. Some memories were bound to have lost, anyway, but others would come back to her soon enough. She didn’t know how she felt about this. All that remained was a sense that something was lost, and that something would return.

    She could feel neither happy nor sad about it all. It was a difficult feeling to process. It was hard to care about something that was gone, if she didn’t know what even had been lost.

    It was harder to care about something that was to return, if she didn’t even know how she felt about it in the first place.

    Feeling nothing, thinking nothing, her days on the ship passed like a dream.


    “She has Circuits, you know.”

    “I know.”

    In a secluded quarter of the ship, there was a room that normally remained locked. The common soldiers knew little of what it was for, but they’d speculate, spread rumors. Confidential meetings, stores of top-secret weapons, dark secrets of the organization that owned them. That sort of thing. In reality, it was really nothing more than an empty room, with little more than a plastic table and several chairs, a room the higher ups had yet to come up with a purpose for. You could enter through the back door, which led to the one of the meeting rooms. Perhaps some day, they’d figure out what they wanted for it. But until then, it was little more than an empty room, occupied by two figures.

    A blonde woman paced back and forth, irritably speaking. A small terminal sat on the table, its projected hologram slowly rotating about its base. A man seated at a chair managed his equipment, listening all the while, polishing something in his hand.

    This was the fourth time she had brought up the topic. His eyebrow must’ve twitched. ‘Rin’— he hated calling her Rin— was persistent on this, no matter how much he tried to dodge this topic. He knew what came next, what she’d like to say.

    This Hakuno had Circuits. How, they didn’t know. Results in the database for any Kishinami bloodline all came up cold; if he had to guess, by a genetic mutation. Plausible. He’d talk about coincidences, but he wasn’t one to talk. Perhaps these dormant circuits were the behind how she, alone, survived resuscitation. The rest had died in their pods, at the Pieceman facility.

    “—ashi.”

    And what then? The obvious answer. Conscription. Resocialization. Recruit training. Getting sent to the warzones and killing fields, out of the frying pan and into the blender, all because you had an unfortunate, albeit useful, mutation. The practice was widespread, the secret of Circuits out, after that fateful day thirty years ago.

    Overcount 1999.

    It didn’t sit right with him. Not the practice itself— it was ugly, cruel, but necessary to survive. It was the new arms war, a crime all sides were guilty of, and neither side could afford to let up. No, what bothered him was the particular cruelty of this case. Here’s a girl whose wakes up after thirty years, her self and past and entire world gone without a trace, and what does she wake up to? A gun, a Code, and a veritable death sentence. And it’d be so easy, too. Little of the girl’s self remained for her to refuse, to object. She had no choice.

    He sighed. Ideally, they could at least give her a choice, or the illusion of one. A decision, to either join their cause of the return to that ordinary life of hers that had been robbed from her. Of course, if the ideal situation was possible, they wouldn’t have to—

    “—Nanashi!”

    “Huh?”

    ‘Rin’ looked angry. “Were you even listening?”

    No.

    “Yes.”

    “Then what’d I just say?”

    “Ah, well…” He put a hand to his chin. “Something about the patient—?”

    “You weren’t listening.”

    He shrugged. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Come on. Take this seriously, will you?”

    “I am.”

    “Then why don’t you—”

    “—want to drag this patient into our war?”

    “...That’s not…” She frowned. “Well, yes, but that’s not what this is about.”

    “But it’s still what it is all the same, no?” He snorted. “Here’s someone who’s woken up for the first time in over thirty years, who’s lost her home and memory and everything that she could have had, who’s still a child—”

    She’s seventeen.

    “And her AS onset when she was fourteen.” His voice grew heated. He wasn’t used to this sort of anger. “She lost three years of her childhood to this thing, and thirty more years from the stasis. Her life was taken from her, and now she has it back. And now you want to take it away again?”

    “Orders from above, from the Queen herself, Nanashi. I have no say in this, and neither do you.”

    “Then why consult me?”

    “Because we need you for this.”

    “And I won’t drag a child into a war, our war, a war she doesn’t believe in—”

    “—Funny. I wouldn’t think you, of all people, would object to that.”

    He fell silent, at that. Stared.

    “I—” Her expression softened. Traces of worry. Guilt. “I’m sorry.” Her voice had quieted, now. “Look— I know how you feel.”

    He grunted.

    “But, and listen to me here, the moment she was born with Circuits, that life was taken from her. You’re right, it’s cruel for us to drag her into this, to take that life away from her again, but you know what would be crueller? To throw her out in the world, for someone else to find. She has Circuits, Nanashi. Sooner or later she’ll be found out. They would do the same as we would. Maybe even worse. So please.”

    —Please what?

    “We’re protecting her, Nanashi. This is the best she’ll get.”

    He knew what, she didn’t have to say. It’s not like the girl could reject what they made her do. Her life was at their mercy. So please what?

    “She’ll have to get surgery, again.”

    “It’s not a dangerous operation.”

    “She’ll have to be trained for all this.”

    “We have trainers to spare.”

    “...What would you have me do?”

    “Convince her.”

    And that was that. He couldn’t argue. He hadn’t even any reason to argue.

    The terminal sat on the table, quietly humming along as it worked. His eyes lingered on it. A weary sigh. “Fine.”

    She smiled. “You know, it’s not like you to be so much of a bleeding-heart.”

    He grunted, and returned to his task. This was, in the end, the most rational decision, but he still hated it all the same. He sat wordlessly, and ‘Rin’ stopped pacing. He held up the jewel he had been polishing up to a dim ceiling light, which bounced about its surface, a glimmering blood red. It spun slowly about its chain. Silence crept in, drowning distant waves.

    He spoke. “Have the reports come in?” A change of subject.

    “About what?”

    “The facility. It’s how we found the girl, anyway. Find anything?”

    She shook her head, looking irritable. “Nothing new. At least, we’ve found fragments and rough drafts of the man’s manifesto. You know the one. But none of the material itself is new, or new to us, anyway. There were signs of other things stored there— documents, hard drives, and whatnot— but they’re beyond salvaging. Damaged beyond repair, from the bombings.”

    “Has the team tried analyzing the drafts? You know. To predict his thought process, or rationale, or whatever it was you were doing?”

    She shrugged. “I suppose so. Maybe they’re working on that now. But the thought process of a dead man’s no good to us. At most, it’d give us a reason, a motive, but the virus spread mostly on its own. After his death,” she said.

    “Guessing you don’t believe in the cyber ghost theory?”

    A derisive snort. “Superstition.”

    “Said the magus.”

    “Magic’s dead. There’s only the Net for us, now. And I was never a magus, you know; at least not a real one.” He blinked, and sighed. He must’ve mixed her up with her.

    Come to think of it, this must’ve been the first time she’s admitted they were different people.

    “But really now,” she continued, “A virus of ideology doesn’t need the man himself to spread it personally. It comes with the territory. That’s how ideas are.”

    “I see. Does that refute the cyber ghost theory?”

    “No. But an explanation doesn’t need it. The cyber ghost theory just needlessly complicates the thing.” She frowned as him, her look incredulous. “You don’t… believe that rumor, right?”

    He shrugged. “There’s just the question, of who propagated the thing in the first place,” he said, getting up from seat. He pocketed the pendant. “But it’s none of my concern. It’s your specialty, not mine. I’m a soldier, not a thinker.”

    She crossed her arms. “Liar. But whatever. As long as these wars and attacks continue, it’s everyone’s concern. It’s time now. She should be done just about now.”

    He nodded, as he made his way to the door.

    “You’ll keep your word, right?”

    A grunt of affirmation. And with that, he left.

    Silence settled back into the room. Electrical equipment hummed. The girl sat herself down on the seat.

    “See? We can trust him. He’ll keep his word.”

    The image on the terminal flickered. It was shaped like an eye.

    See to it that he does.


    The man came by as she was resting in her room.

    She had finished her physical therapy for the day, and she was exhausted. Her body had been improving, however. Memories were beginning to return to her— nothing episodic, like who she was or where she came from, but her motor skills. Walking now was not as hard as it used to be. Her hand was steady enough to draw and write, again. She didn’t need a wheelchair to get around, and could manage on her own with crutches. Soon, she wouldn’t need them.

    The room wasn’t as gloomy as before. She’d found things to decorate it with, and Léonne had helped her with it. A few photos sat by the bedside. There hadn’t been much to take pictures of, out here in the middle of the sea, so she only had pictures of seagulls and sunsets to keep her company. Once, she even managed to snap a shot of what looked like a large fish, leaping out of the water.

    Her eyes settled on him, as he entered the room. She frowned. It was strange, really. It was rare for him to come by at these hours. He sat himself on the chair again, the same one he’d taken before.

    “I suppose I have something important to discuss with you.”

    She tilted her head slightly, and he continued. An ironic smile, like he had just recalled a bad joke.

    “Well, to start off, I guess you could say I’m a magus.”




    AN: Thanks, as usual, to Frosty for beta-ing. And also thanks to Dullahan, both for beta-ing too, and for developing some ideas for this premise, though they haven't really came up in detail yet. And thanks to GD for answering my F/E questions.

    If it hasn't been clear by now, this is based on the outside world of Extra, tying it in with an almost pre-Notes setting. So no Moon Cell, no Servants, no Heroic Spirits. The point of the thing is to explore the outside world in detail, with more focus on cyberpunk-ish elements, though more GitS-like than Neuromancer-like.

    "Nanashi" is a joke on Emiya being called "Mumei" in Extra/Extella.
    Last edited by Kirby; January 7th, 2017 at 07:15 PM.
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  2. #2
    OGRE-LIKE Leftovers's Avatar
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    The point of the thing is to explore the outside world in detail, with more focus on cyberpunk-ish elements, though more GitS-like than Neuromancer-like.
    Sounds like heaps of fun.

  3. #3
    死徒二十七祖 The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors Alternative Ice's Avatar
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    What a coincidence, I was just thinking that it would be awesome if someone wrote a story fleshing out the world of Notes.

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    (;゜Д゜) Kirby's Avatar
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    1/The Queen’s War

    “...A magus?”

    “Yes.”

    She stared at him for a moment, as she tried to recall. A magus? Like what? A wizard, or magician, or something?

    “Yes, I suppose that ‘magician’ or the like would be an appropriate term.”

    Ah. Did I just think that out loud?

    Hakuno frowned at the man, taking him in. Dark skin and white hair. A tan cloak was draped over the chair. He wore body armor, dark like pitch, and a bandage on his left arm dotted with rust-colored blotches. It wasn’t there before. There was a chain around his neck, from which hung dog tags, rosaries, a blood-red jewel. She had remembered asking him about them once before, and he had replied that none of them were his.

    He didn’t look like a magician to her. Trying to remember what a “magician” entailed conjured images of sharply dressed men pulling bunnies out of top hats, or maybe sawing pretty ladies in half in boxes, who’d pop out of the thing unharmed. The man before her, however, simply looked like a worn soldier. She frowned.

    “So, you do magic tricks?”

    “I suppose so.”

    She blinked. Not the answer she’d been expecting. She put a hand to her chin, lost in thought, and came to her conclusion. “Can you do one for me, then?”

    “...What?”

    “A magic trick.”

    He stared at her. She thought his eyebrow might’ve twitched. Silently, he held on his hand, and obscured it with the cloak. With a flourish, he pulled it off. In his hand held a blade, a strange looking thing, with a broad black blade and a faint hexagonal pattern along its surface.

    “Happy?”

    “Can you do another?”

    He stared at her again, wearing a strange expression. Exasperation, or amusement, or disbelief, she didn’t know. But she didn’t understand. Magicians did magic tricks, didn’t they?

    With a sigh, he took a helmet lying around, and stuck his hand inside. From within, he drew out another sword. It was white this time.

    “...Why are they all swords?”

    “That’s my trick.”

    She felt a sinking sense of disappointment. “No flowers, or maybe bunnies?”

    “If I could do tricks like that, I’d get another job.”

    She nodded. That made sense. She didn’t know what his job was anyway, but supposed it must’ve been unpleasant.

    “Well, with that over with, I suppose I should get to the important stuff.” He hung his cloak back over his chair, and set the helmet back where he found it. She blinked. The swords were gone. He had been holding them just now, but they’d disappeared without a trace.

    “I am a magus by mutation, a specific mutation that allows one to practice these tricks we’ve shown you. Well, the long and short of it is, you have that mutation too.” He sat up a little straighter, his tone now stern, formal, the casualness in his voice now gone. “Our organization would like to extend their invitation to you, to become a magus under our wing.” He extended a hand towards her.

    She struggled with her words, she felt them form and unform in her throat. “...Why?”

    “Hm?”

    “I mean— why me?”

    “May I be blunt?” He didn’t wait for her to nod, and let go of her hand. “We need all the manpower we can get, right now.”

    “For what?”

    “For our war.”

    “...War?

    He nodded, and leaned back in his seat. “Having second thoughts?”

    “I don’t know.”

    They fell silent. Waves echoed in the distance. There weren’t any gulls this far out. From what fragmented conversations she had had with the other soldiers, they were about a day or two away from the Hangzhou Bay, though they’d spent more time out in the waters, so as to avoid detection. It hadn’t occurred to her before, why a vessel full of soldiers would be in hiding, or what all these soldiers were doing here in the first place.

    “What… what war are you fighting?”

    “Do you like stories?”

    “I’m not sure.”

    He snorted. “Well, too bad.”

    “Well, where do we begin?” He sighed. “Our war’s no war of nations, or ethnicities, or geopolitical borders. It’s a war of ideology, with no singular battlefield. Well,” he said, with an ironic smile, “I suppose the less melodramatic way to say this is that neither of us can quite agree on how the world should be run, so we’re willing to tear at each other until we get our way.”

    “But who?”

    “Them. Us. Not nations, but organizations that control them. They, the Western European Plutocracy, though their influence reaches far beyond that. The Harweys, led by The King. And us, KRONE. The last remnants of the Magus’s Association, led by The Queen.”

    Hakuno took all this in silently. Her brow was furrowed, and he laughed at that. “Well, I suppose these names don’t mean much to you, don’t they?”

    She shook her head. He continued.

    “It’s a different kind of war than the ones we’ve seen before— trench-digging, island-hopping, city-bombing, the works. For a while, it was a cold war. A war of manipulation. Currencies and economy. Resource allocation. Media blackouts. Small-scale proxy wars, in the distant corners of the world.”

    “Well, ‘was’. Something changed, no one knows what. Strings of terrorist attacks and political strife— reignited blood feuds, waves of ethnic cleansing— that came from God knows where. Looking at them individually, you’d think they’re isolated, spontaneous incidents, save for the fact that they all occurred in such short periods of time of each other. Hell, they could be. We don’t know. But everyone’s certain there’s a cause to it all, that this sudden violence couldn’t have just spontaneously appeared without rhyme or reason. We just don’t know what it is— just that it exists somewhere out there.”

    “Don’t misunderstand. Despite our cold war, the world of before was very much at peace. The Harweys sought peace above all else, and achieved it against all odds. A world of silence, stillness. Frozen technology. Surveillance states. The micromanagement of life, that not even the ruling class can escape. Stagnation, as others would call it.”

    She didn’t understand. “But why would you fight against peace?”

    He shrugged. “I guess it’s because some people just don’t like being ruled over, lorded over, handing over their lives for some peace of mind and security. An instinctual, visceral reaction of disgust at the idea. Well, I wouldn’t know. I’m no member of KRONE, but a sellsword.” He paused, then grimaced at that, though she wasn’t sure why.

    “But the real reason, they say, is that this peace is unsustainable. It was peaceful, in the sense that a barren desert or graveyard is. This world’s changing, and we must change with it; that’s what they say. It’s like sitting still in the face of an oncoming storm. Regardless, this wave of violence is a pain to both of us. To them, because it threatens the peace they’ve worked so hard to establish. To us, because we’re the ones getting blamed for it.”

    “...Wouldn’t it help you, though? Wouldn’t all this chaos destabilize the… the whatever, that you’re trying to overthrow?”

    Another shrug. “Maybe. But whatever it is we’re after, this— these massacres, these genocides, these death tolls in the hundreds of thousands— sure as hell isn’t it,” he said. “So that’s our war. Waged, on one hand, against the rulers of the world. On the other, the violence that threatens to destroy it.” The man got up, taking the cloak. “The terms are simple. Become a magus. Join us at KRONE, and fight The Queen’s war. Or don’t.”

    He silently made to leave, and she watched him. She said something, under her breath. To herself, or him?

    “I can’t…”

    “Hm?”

    I can’t what? She didn’t know. To her, it was a sudden, if not unexpected, revelation.

    She didn’t know what she thought about the war. She had no stakes in it. She had nothing to gain from it— but nothing to lose. It wasn’t that she was afraid of dying. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to live.

    But her, a soldier?

    “...I can’t fight. I don’t know how.”

    “We’re well aware,” he said.

    “We won’t send you straight to the battlefields. As you are now, you’re in no condition to fight. Despite the therapy, despite your recovery from cold sleep, your muscles, as well as portions of nervous system, have atrophied. Not too severe, but it happens. That’s the danger of cryostasis.” He nodded towards her arms, and the scars that blotted the skin. Come to think of it, her arms had been recovering more slowly than her legs. Damage from cryoprotectant malfunction, they said, ice crystals that had formed and unformed from recovery.

    “But then—”

    “KRONE will provide your training, the memory softwares and augmentations to bring you up to speed. They’ll fix up your body too, of course. That, you shouldn’t worry about.” He stood by the doorway.

    “I won’t make you choose right now. I’ll understand if you don’t want anything to do with this, I’ll negotiate to get you back to an ordinary life,” he said with a nod. “You’ll have time to think about it.”

    And with that, he left the room, leaving her alone again.



    ‘Rin’ snorted. “Sellsword.

    “That wasn’t on purpose.”

    She’d been listening in to the conversation, waiting outside the patient’s room arms crossed. Seems KRONE didn’t really trust him yet, even if they’d been working together for nearly two years.

    ‘Nearly’. They’d probably say ‘not even’.

    “Satisfied?”

    “Well, you did fine enough, I suppose. But what the hell was that, at the end?”

    He frowned. “Was what?”

    “Well, Nanashi. Will you really negotiate with us if she says no?”

    He scowled, and didn’t answer, walking a bit faster. She’d probably take that as a ‘no’.

    He made his way down the hall, brisk strides, and she followed closely behind. She was smirking, and that irritated him.

    He made his way to the decks. From here, he could see some of the recruits training at a makeshift range, live-firing rounds at boards some distance away. Mister Velvet paced to and fro behind them as they fired, watching their shots, critiquing their forms. One of the few survivors of that fateful day in London. He wondered if they’d make him the patient’s instructor.

    Nanashi kept on walking to nowhere in particular, as ‘Rin’ followed, and found himself in the hangar. Some of the workers here greeted him, as he walked down the aisles, taking in the scene. Liner Mechs lined the hall, twenty meters tall, standing sentinel on either side. Mechanics on hydraulic platforms and moving lifts worked on their bodies for maintenance, on the cannons or open cockpits, the Grain reactors in their core exposed and dormant. One of them scrubbed bloodstains off the windshield. Several of these units had been flown in recently, damaged in a skirmish in Hanoi, though they wouldn’t get properly repaired until they docked at Hangzhou— once they were in the clear, anyway.

    He got into an elevator, and ‘Rin’ stuck her hand in the way before the door closed. And like that, he found himself alone with her, with nowhere to run— or briskly walk, anyway— and nothing to fill the silence but the humming of the lift, the creak of the cables.

    She was still smirking. He sighed.

    What?

    “Oh, nothing.”

    “Don’t play coy with me. What do you want?”

    She frowned, looking almost hurt, and sighed. “Really, nothing. Nothing important, anyway.”

    “If you’re following me, you have business with me. What do you want?”

    She stared at him, as the lift fell back into silence. Eventually, she spoke up. “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

    “About what?”

    “That girl.”

    “The patient?” He snorted. “I’m not particularly thrilled about recruiting child soldiers. I have a conscience, you know.”

    “KRONE’s had younger.”

    “I didn’t have any say in that. I wasn’t around.” He rubbed his temples, hand to his head. “But now you’re dragging me right into this mess.” He glanced on over. “When I signed up for KRONE, thought you just needed a fighter.”

    “Well, times change.”

    He only snorted in response.

    No, dragging the patient into this wasn’t, by far, the worst thing he’d have to do, nor was it the worst thing he’d ever done. Hell, even if he wasn’t the one dragging her into the Queen’s war, he’d be just as guilty if he’d simply stood by and watched. He was guilty no matter the outcome— save for stopping her recruitment entirely. But even he knew what was beyond the scope of his power.

    If he succeeded, by some miracle, all that’d happen would be the kid falling into the hands of the Harweys. If he failed he’d lose whatever bargaining power he had left with KRONE.

    He looked on over, and she was smiling, if only a sad one.

    “You’re such a bleeding heart.”

    His eyebrow must’ve twitched, but if it did, she didn’t comment on it. It irritated him, but he didn’t even know. How much of the Rin he knew had survived that day? This one wasn’t her, but she was trying her damn hardest to become her. To assume her identity, her face, her name. Cyberization was already well on its way before the Clocktower’s fall.

    Did this ‘Rin’ take even the memories of the original?

    He sighed internally. He was probably being paranoid. If she’d even assumed her memories, she’d do a much better job of imitating her. In that case, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. But he could.

    The elevator gate opened with a chime, arriving at whatever floor whose button he pushed— he hadn’t been paying attention, and had just pressed one at random.

    ‘Rin’ stepped out, and turned around. A little twirl.

    “Well, I had news to deliver too, but I just wanted to talk a bit first. Orders from the Queen. You’re to be the girl’s instructor.”

    A coy smile. “Congratulations, Mister Instructor-san.”



    He sat in his room, on the bed with a small terminal, a holographic image of an eye slowly rotating about its base. A voice came from the terminal, and he spoke to it.

    “Is this true?”

    “No, but good suggestion.”

    “No wai—”

    The display flickered off, and he was left alone in his room. His eyebrow twitched, probably.



    She’d agreed, in the end.

    When prompted for a reason, she’d only just shrugged her shoulders, mumbling something that could either have been “I dunno”, or “Mmmmph.”

    He sat on a bench in the hall, across from the operating room. Mister Velvet sat on the same bench, on the other far side. He had another name that no one used for him anymore. They were only casual acquaintances and rarely talked; rather, they only really knew each other through Rin, during his stint at the Clocktower, before it’d all went to hell. Friends-of-a-friend, in other words. Neither spoke to the other, and waited.

    The operation was a simple one, if he recalled correctly— basic installation of a cyberbrain, and light reparations of the damage in her arms. Minimal mechanical augmentation, he’d been told; just cell reparation, and the beginning of installing the Code into her arm. She was right-handed, if he remembered right. They’d taken cell samples a few weeks before to culture. Following the cyberbrain procedure, after she recovered and the installation was complete, they’d work on her Circuits.

    When they told her this, she just blinked. Smiled and nodded. She later confided to him that she hadn’t a clue what any of this meant, and he told her it’d be alright, the whole “there, there” treatment. And it would, if it all went as usual. The cyberbrain procedure was a basic one, one that everyone and their dog had these days.

    To be honest, the memory software installation worried him more.

    “They’re taking a while.”

    For the first time, Mister Velvet spoke up. Nanashi grunted looked on over. He’d dressed himself in a stiff black suit; a stubbed out cigar in one hand, and a magazine in the other. A gaming magazine, if the cover was to be trusted, though last month’s issue. The cover article was about a rising star Wakamesama in the pro-league, for some game he didn’t recognize. A strange sight to behold.

    “They still print magazines?”

    “In Thailand they do. Had one of the pilots pick one up for me at the last rendezvous. Not everyone can afford digital these days, especially out in this backwater,” he said, with a casual shrug. “Well, it’s nice for us, I guess. No signal out here. Can’t wait ‘till we get back to civilization.”

    “Thought you hated China.”

    “Better than the bloody Pacific, of all things.”

    Nanashi shrugged, and leaned back in his seat. He played idly with the holographic screens before him, reviewing the prospective memory softwares they’d like to install. The bulk of it was procedural memory, the standard-issue muscle memories for combat that most recruits received. How to shoot a gun, or throw a grenade, or pilot a Liner. The sort of thing. It provided a shortcut to recruit training, if you could just directly install those memories rather than having them learn them naturally. Of course, freshly installed memories required the recipient to use them to effectively integrate them into their system.

    In other words, he wasn’t off the hook for having to train the girl.

    The rest was a combination of semantic and procedural memories. Information about the world situation, of Circuits, of Code Casting and all the rest. It amused him to think of it like those little pamphlets you’d get when you opened a brand new phone— back when phones were in use, anyway— even if he knew that it was wrong.

    Most of it, however, was language memory software. English, Arabic, Spanish, and Mandarin— though the former took the bulk of the space, anyway. He doubted she’d need or even ever use the others, as English was now the lingua franca of all the world. The Harweys had made sure of that.

    He sighed. He wasn’t even sure why they’d make him review the memories they’d need to install. Maybe to occupy his time, or maybe to assure him or something. Of what, he didn’t know. He swiped his hand and dismissed the screens, and slumped into his seat.

    “Worried?” Velvet spoke up again.

    “The surgery will go fine. It’s not a hard one.”

    “Not talking about that.” He cocked his head to the other room. “They say you’ll be her instructor?”

    “Unfortunately.”

    “...Why?”

    Nanashi shrugged. “Who the hell knows.”

    A laugh like a bark. He wasn’t usually this casual. “Tough. Ever taught anyone anything before?”

    “Taught a friend how to cook, once.”

    “How’d that go?”

    “Died before it ever panned out.” He absently played with a chain in his hand. “Was pretty good at it, though.”

    Mister Velvet laughed again, and turned a page. “Tough.”

    He shrugged. Tough. He frowned at that. It should’ve been, but it’s been so easy to forget these days. Maybe he was busy, or maybe the test of time was doing it’s work. One would think, that with memories stored and saved into hard drives and external servers, that he wouldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget. They were immortalized there, into wires and signals and sheets of silicon.

    Or maybe that just made it easier to forget.

    “You know,” Velvet started up again, “Miss Tohsaka told me something about you.”

    “She says a lot of things about me.”

    “Not that one. The real one. Before London’s fall.”

    Whitened knuckles. He felt his face harden.

    He continued, either unaware or uncaring. “Told me that you were the kinda guy who’d get yourself in trouble, who’d need someone to keep you in check.” Nanashi snorted. Sounded like her, alright. How long had it been? Over a decade, since she’d disappeared? Velvet leaned forward, closing his magazine. “I don’t have any stakes in your future, but she certainly cared. So I’ll ask you. Are you sure you can handle this?”

    Probably not, no, but there wasn’t choice. But he just smiled, and replied.

    “Well, how bad could it be?”



    She woke up in a hospital bed. She told herself should’ve been used to this, but it was still disorienting to wake up. Though maybe it was because today was a different room.

    It was neither too different nor too similar; just different enough to be recognized as new, just similar enough to be familiar. Dissonant, that was the word.

    She felt bleary, and tried to gather her thoughts. This ward was Section E. She blinked at that. She didn’t know how she knew that.

    She looked around the room, and saw nurses and doctors flit about, conversing and working here and there. Unfamiliar faces. One of them noticed her, and spoke.

    “Ah, so Miss Kishinami’s awakened. How are you feeling?”

    “Oh. Fine, Doctor Martel—”

    Martel?

    Who was that?

    The man before you, he—

    —Was a stranger—

    used to work in Evocation, before moving to Policies—

    —A man she’d only just met today, only seen for the first time—

    moved onto work on the ARAY Project—

    A gasp of pain. She put her hand to her head, and only just now noticed it searing, a splitting headache. Maurice. Bouchard. Granger. Martel. She knew their names, even if they were strangers. Words and names and memories came to her that she didn’t recognize.

    This vessel is the Queen’s, the KS Pontus—

    —After Pieceman’s manifesto was discovered from the salvage missions at Neo-Tokyo—

    —Four months ago, another war broke out over after the Egypt ceasefire—

    —Digitization of the soul has its risks, one of which being viral infection of the cyberbrain—

    “—are you alright?”

    “I— I’m sorry, a glass of water please—”

    ‘A glass’?

    She’d spoken in English.

    These words that weren’t mine—

    She spoke in a language she did not understand.

    She gripped her head, as if it’d ease the pain, but it didn’t. No, that was wrong. It wasn’t just physical pain, but something else. Something in her circuited, overloaded. A gasp for air. Her breaths were short. A nurse brought her water and she took it with a muttered “Thank you”. It cooled her down, and she steadied her breathing, a hand nursing her head.

    It was only now she noticed that her head felt strange. Something hard, digging into it. Something in her hand.

    Slowly, she let go of her head, and raised her hand before her face.

    There, embedded dead center in her palm. A little nub of crystal.




    AN: Thanks, as usual, to Dullahan and Frosty for betaing.

    Of the different types of memories, procedural memories are like muscle memory, like how to ride a bike or juggle some balls, and semantic memory is information and fact recall, like the names of colors or days of the week. Episodic memory, the first type of memory that comes to mind, is recollection of events, like last summer vacation or a night out days before.

    "KRONE" is derived both from the cognate of "Crown", as well as the name Kron.
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  5. #5
    Eightfold Blessings of Smug Superiority Rafflesiac's Avatar
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    Poor Emiya, getting rused by a filthy fake.

    I forget, does Hakuno ever remember her travails on the Moon Cell or is that all gone?
    Supports:

  6. #6
    (;゜Д゜) Kirby's Avatar
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    To be honest, I forget. But this is mostly just assuming those memories are absent and/or gone
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  7. #7
    A mecha-loving Shotacon who plays children's card games naschyamamoto's Avatar
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    Loved that bit at the beginning, where EMIYA (I know he's Nanashi, don't care) tried to be cool and play it off like Kiritsugu did. Eventually he's just like "screw it, nevermind" and proceeds to continue in his own way.

    A lot of infodump, about the Harweys and KRONE, and some interesting takes on the 'old' and 'new' Rins along with the 'old' Waver Velvet. Judging from the conversation about 'old' Rin though, it looks like this is the original? Unless he's recalling the 'old' one's memories, that's honestly a little creepy. And that's funny too, because that sort of thinking, what's 'old' and original versus 'new' and true, is what's making EMIYA feel so off-kilter around Tohsaka II.

    Don't think I missed that mecha reference either, Kirby. I want to hear more about mechas in our grand and glorious era of 2030.

    Also that end sequence. I'm preeeetty sure brain implants aren't supposed to pop out of your forehead.
    What Fate/Stay Night character are you?Tohsaka Rin
    You are Rin. Cool and collected, you think logically about most situations. You strive for self-perfection, and rely on others only for your benefit. You may be cold toward most people, but you can be friendly when you try. Indeed, it could be said you enjoy helping others that you care for. Whatever the case, you tend to think logically and don't let emotions cloud your judgement.



    Quote Originally Posted by Elf View Post
    There was contributing. And suggestions and . . . okay a bunch of people demanding me to write this.

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  8. #8
    (;゜Д゜) Kirby's Avatar
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    Ah. To clarify a bit of stuff:

    1) Yeah, his name's still Emiya. Nanashi's just a sort of alias, so it's not like it's his one and only name, now.

    2) The 'old' and 'new' Rins are mainly referring to FSN and Extra versions, where despite names and appearances are separate people. So the here it's just being taken a step further and exploring the idea, mostly because if I'm writing this premise, I can't really run from Extra Rin. If the two Rins were present in the same room, one would be maybe a decade or two older than the other.

    3) Also, idk about if I worded it poorly, but in the last sequence I meant it so that the nub of crystal was embedded into her palm.

    4) The cyberbrain operation was directly inspired/lifted from Ghost in the Shell, so rather than an outright replacement or implantation, it was meant to be mostly just augmenting it with digital components.
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  9. #9
    Battle ready and breathing fire Draconic's Avatar
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    So the characters from EXTRA in the real world. It's an excellent concept to work with.

    What's really got me hooked though is Emiya's strained relationship with EXTRA Rin. You've done a really thorough job of making her different but only from his perspective, what with the way she's referred to as 'Rin' in all of his scenes, and the way he's always comparing the two, or focusing on the pendant whenever he talks to her. It's actually heartbreaking, and it's really well done.
    Are we to assume that EXTRAverse's Tohsaka, as you're writing her at least, is a homunculus made using Rin's body as materials? And are we going to learn more about the specifics of her death? I mean it's not too hard to assume, but it'd still have an impact.
    Where am I going?
    And why am I in this hand basket?

    Eldritch Whispers: An RP set in H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos. Currently recruiting.

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    Cards Against the Nasuverse – a fanmade Cards Against Humanity expansion
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    A mecha-loving Shotacon who plays children's card games naschyamamoto's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Kirby View Post
    2) The 'old' and 'new' Rins are mainly referring to FSN and Extra versions, where despite names and appearances are separate people. So the here it's just being taken a step further and exploring the idea, mostly because if I'm writing this premise, I can't really run from Extra Rin. If the two Rins were present in the same room, one would be maybe a decade or two older than the other.
    Actually, I was asking about Waver, not Rin. That was probably my bad wording, not yours. lol

    Quote Originally Posted by Kirby View Post
    3) Also, idk about if I worded it poorly, but in the last sequence I meant it so that the nub of crystal was embedded into her palm.

    4) The cyberbrain operation was directly inspired/lifted from Ghost in the Shell, so rather than an outright replacement or implantation, it was meant to be mostly just augmenting it with digital components.
    That definitely clears things up for me! I'm a little bit of a fast reader, so sometimes a few words' difference doesn't impact me until I'm either a chapter ahead or rereading it the second or third time.
    Also, I've yet to see Ghost in the Shell, just haven't ever really felt like getting around to it. I know Crunchyroll added a bunch of new stuff to their catalogue, thank you Funimation, so if GoTS is there I might as well plan a night and binge it.
    What Fate/Stay Night character are you?Tohsaka Rin
    You are Rin. Cool and collected, you think logically about most situations. You strive for self-perfection, and rely on others only for your benefit. You may be cold toward most people, but you can be friendly when you try. Indeed, it could be said you enjoy helping others that you care for. Whatever the case, you tend to think logically and don't let emotions cloud your judgement.



    Quote Originally Posted by Elf View Post
    There was contributing. And suggestions and . . . okay a bunch of people demanding me to write this.

    Quote Originally Posted by Aiden View Post
    Well yeah, that last one always happens.

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    (;゜Д゜) Kirby's Avatar
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    Again, this is all drawn from Fate/Extra's setting, so she's simply the Rin from Fate Extra. So she's a descendant of the Tohsaka family-- I honestly forget the details, but I think a relative? Where Tokiomi had an affair abroad, and the child of that line became Extra!Rin, at least, as far as I can recall about her backstory.

    So rather, 'Rin' isn't, genetically or biologically, that same Rin from Stay Night, but is instead trying to imitate her. Emiya's speculation of her salvaging the real Rin's memories was supposed to point to part of her efforts in imitating Rin, along with her taking her name and modeling her appearance after her.

    And yes, what happened to the real Rin will get more detail later on.

    - - - Updated - - -

    Quote Originally Posted by naschyamamoto View Post
    Actually, I was asking about Waver, not Rin. That was probably my bad wording, not yours. lol
    Ah. In that case, this Waver is just the same old Waver as usual, just much older now. The memories of what Rin said to him are his-- as in, not like downloaded or implanted or anything, but just normal reminiscing.

    That definitely clears things up for me! I'm a little bit of a fast reader, so sometimes a few words' difference doesn't impact me until I'm either a chapter ahead or rereading it the second or third time.
    Also, I've yet to see Ghost in the Shell, just haven't ever really felt like getting around to it. I know Crunchyroll added a bunch of new stuff to their catalogue, thank you Funimation, so if GoTS is there I might as well plan a night and binge it.
    GiTS is honestly one of my favorite anime series, but if you watch it, I mostly recommend the Stand Alone Complex seasons, and movies 1 and 2 (Innocence). I honestly haven't seen Arise or any of the others, but I haven't heard much good about them, so welp
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  12. #12
    死徒二十七祖 The Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors Alternative Ice's Avatar
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    So does all these mysterious conflicts breaking out everywhere mean that this is a world where Twice succeeded in controlling the moon cell?

  13. #13
    (;゜Д゜) Kirby's Avatar
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    IIRC, something similar in Extra happened even without Twice winning, where from the Moon Cell he was able to orchestrate increases in terrorist attacks and general violence just as an NPC.

    That aside, this fic is mostly operating independent of the Moon Cell. Kind of a "what-if" where the Moon Cell is never discovered or never comes into play (so as to focus on the rest of the Extra world), and so most of everything here isn't related to it. So it's something else, basically.
    [00:06] <I3uster> spinach is distracted in another channel quick flirt with kirby while you still can
    Drawings.

    Linger: Complete. August, 1995. I met him. A branch off Part 3. Mikiya keeps his promise to meet Azaka, and meets again with that mysterious girl he once found in the rain.
    Shinkai: Set in the Edo period. DHO-centric. As mysterious figures gather in the city, a young woman unearths the dark secrets of the Asakami family.
    The Dollkeeper: A Fate side-story. The memoirs of the last tuner of the Einzberns. A record of the end of a family.
    Overcount 2030: Extra x Notes. A girl with no memories is found by a nameless soldier, and wakes up to a world of war.

  14. #14
    Nok Kieran's Avatar
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    Fair enough. Even without the Moon Cell, this is one of the most intriguing stories I've come across in ages. I look forward to seeing what you've got in store next.
    “Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”

    — Carmilla Theme




    "Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."

    ―Jim Butcher, Vignette

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