It was a nice chapter - lots of world-building - though I'm certainly curious at the effort the Harways have gone to here, for a presumably-relative unknown . . .
And yes, the reference(s) were cute, too.
It was a nice chapter - lots of world-building - though I'm certainly curious at the effort the Harways have gone to here, for a presumably-relative unknown . . .
And yes, the reference(s) were cute, too.
“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
3/Si Vis Pacem
She started up at the sight, scrambling, staggering, backing up into the wall. Something in her throat constricted, breath tight, lungs heavy, a sense of nausea that bubbled up from her stomach. The stench hit her before the image. It took her a moment to register the scene.
The alleyway was dark, though the smell made her gag. Stings of salt and iron and rust. She couldn’t see well; there was no light. The sun had long set, it seemed, as the webs of steel loomed up above, blotting out the lights of the stars. She was left alone with the silhouettes, shadow puppets along the walls flickering like ghosts.
The body laid there in the alley, face-up, shards of glass sticking out of the eye, the leaking blood a steady drip. One of his arms was bent the wrong way. Something splashed as she took a step back, blood that stuck and rusted on the bottoms of her shoes. A passing car’s headlights briefly illuminated the alley. The man’s expression was frozen, wide-eyed and open mouthed, a look of shock.
She spun around, nearly tripping over herself, collapsing against the wall for support.
A silhouette, some ten meters away. Rin watched her from the end of the alleyway.
◆They locked eyes. Normally, Rin put on a coquettish face, teasing and smiling, but she simply stared from the end, cold and emotionless.
She felt fear. Not for her own safety, the fear one feels in the face of danger or death. No, this was a fear of things unknown, things she didn’t understand. Why was she here?
“I— no, this can’t have—”
“Can’t have what?”
The words lodged themselves in her throat, like plaque clotting up pipes, constricting and suffocating. She opened her mouth, and closed it, open, and close. She shook her head, as if by believing hard enough, she could reject this.
“He can’t be…”
Rin strided forward, taking an apparatus out of her pocket. A cable that retracted out of a black box, that she plugged into the datajack at the base of the man’s neck, the box locking itself against the skin. Something in her hand lit up, and she shine it on the man’s face. Bloodied, and lacerated like glass, the bottle out looking like a cartoonish eyepiece.
“Does he look alive to you?” An LED on the apparatus lit up, and she nodded in satisfaction. She felt a Code-cast set itself up around the alley.
“Because you killed him,” she said with a shrug. A matter-of-fact tone.
“I watched you do it, like thirty seconds ago—”
“I can give you the recordings, if y—”
Her voice echoed throughout the alleyway, reverbing about the walls. Whispers of ghosts, I didn’t, I didn’t.
Rin was wrong. She had to be. She didn’t kill him. She didn’t do anything to him. She wasn’t capable of killing someone like this. If she did, she’d remember it, she’d know. So that’s why—
She gasped for air, a sudden shock. Rin plugged something into her datajack, something seeping into the back of her neck. Instead of going dark, her body froze.
“What are you—”
“Just shut up and watch.”
Images flooded her mind, colors painted across her retinas, silhouettes like a shadow puppet show. A figure of a girl and a man. They speak, she runs. She’s blasted to the ground; he moves to pin her with an eerily glowing hand. Her body jerks, sudden movement, rolling out of the way. By the lights off his arm, she saw his face. Shock. Miscalculation. The girl picks up a glass bottle, shatters it against his skull. A shout of panic. A twisted arm. His body’s thrown to the ground. She plunges the shattered bottle into his—
The jack came out. She gasped for breath, stumbling back into the wall. She sank down to her knees, tasting bile in her throat. She couldn’t afford the energy to stand.
I did it. I really killed someone. I—
Rin watched her all the while, impassive and expressionless, and moved to the body, examining and fiddling with it. As she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, the taste of acid still lingering on her tongue, Rin spoke.
“Are you done?”
She didn’t answer her. Rin seemed to take that as a ‘yes’.
“If you’re done, then we should go. It’s already late.”
She struggled with her words. She didn’t understand. Questions raced through her mind, a maelstrom of disoriented thought. Something weighed on her, a lethargy and exhaustion ever since seeing that memory. She only managed to articulate a few words. “—but the body?”
“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve called HQ; they’re sending someone to pick it up.” She moved to the alleyway exit, and glared back as Hakuno stayed rooted to the spot. She looked irritable. “Well, come on now. You aren’t planning on spending all night here in this dump?”
Mechanically, she followed, like a puppet on strings. As they exited the alleyway, like walking through a veil, she felt something shimmer, brush against her skin. Another Code Cast. Her archives told her this was to hide her from the public eye. Shimmering lights and textures layered themselves over the blood on her clothes, the dirt in her hair. A mask. She heard Rin whisper to her.
“Keep your connections offline.”
They made their way through crowds, pedestrians and traffic, roadside stalls and twisting streets. Blaring noise and glaring lights. An atmosphere of life and energy she couldn’t stand. Rin shot her a look, half of concern, half of pity. She sighed.
She beckoned to her to follow, and sat herself down at a roadside stall. Hakuno followed suit.
Rin spoke to the server in accented Mandarin, and the man nodded and worked behind the bar, brewing tea, steeping spices, blending juices. They waited in silence.
The stall smelled of spices and fruit, warm and sweet, amidst the chaos of the night market. Hakuno looked about her. Food stalls lined the roads, frying snacks and grilling meats, the streets smelling of sweat and food and smoke. The street goers made their way as usual, chatting and walking and eating, as if someone hadn’t just died in the alleyway just a few blocks away, as if that death had simply happened in another world. As if she could just act like them, too, and pretend nothing had ever happened. To them, at least, that was very well true.
Soon enough, the server brought over two cups. Rin slid one over to her.
“Here. Drink.” Hakuno hesitated, and Rin glared, her voice irritable. “Just drink it. It’ll help.”
She took a sip of the tea. It tasted sweet, warm spices soothing her throat. She didn’t feel much less nauseous, but she still felt a bit calmer.
Rin looked at her, and down at the tea tray, and tapped the back of her neck. On the tray was a connecter jack, a small grey connector box. Hakuno took it, and plugged it into her datajack. In the air, nearly invisible to the naked eye, she could see the etherlite cable linking to Rin, a stream of information linking their cyberbrains. She heard Rin’s voice in her head, saw her looking very carefully into her eyes.
“Have you calmed down, now?”
A pause. She took another sip of tea. Rin still hadn’t touched hers.
“I— yeah. Thank you.” She fell silent, and simply sat there. She could feel the fear and anxiety leaving her body, being back in the crowd. Like a whole other world, where the happenings in the alley were a far off dream.
“I see, then. Well? Any questions, or can we head back once you’re done with your tea?”
She hesitated. “Well…”
“How did you find me?”
“You caught a cyberbrain virus in the bar. Not sure where, or how it even got past your defences. But we noticed, so we did something about it. The man ended up making you wander off on your own, using low-level Code Casts to try deceive us. Unfortunately for him, he was up against me.” She could hear the smugness in her figurative voice. “We pretended to be tricked to lure the man out. Though then again, you seem to have handled the situation yourself.”
“...I don’t remember anything.”
“Odd. Maybe they installed a counter-measure into your body. Go all Terminator in the face of danger?”
She smiled inwardly. Jain had shown her that movie, a few nights before. Mister Velvet, uncharacteristically, had watched it with them.
“I don’t know.”
Rin snorted over the etherlite connection. “Well, I doubt it. Higher ups aren’t paranoid enough to install something like that, something that could backfire if the protocols fails to deactivate.” She sighed. “You had the muscle memory programs installed recently, right?”
“That solves that, then. Your body was just still acclimating to your memories. You were distressed, so your body responded before you could think about it, using the muscle memories you’d received. Emotional reactions are processed before logical thought, you know? So it’s not different than your spars with Nanashi.”
“—except you actually managed to land a hit this time, didn’t you?”
“...Don’t joke about things like that.”
It took her a second to realize she had said this out loud.
Rin smirked. She blew on her tea, taking a sip, and winced as she burned her tongue. The tea still hadn’t cooled down after all her talking.
They fell silent. Rin ordered a pastry, some fried bun sprinkled with sugar and sesame seeds, and munched on it all the while as they drank their tea. Hakuno, using the allowance and fake ID she’d been given by Linan, bought one too. It was filled with sweet red bean paste.
Hakuno felt calmer now. She didn’t do anything wrong. The man attacked her first, trying to kidnap her. It, everything she’d done, was in self-defense.
And yet he died.
“What will they do with him? The body?”
“Will they just leave him there?”
“Who cares?” She shrugged. “Police will take care of it, and we’ll take care of them.”
Rin downed the rest of her tea, and stuffed the rest of the bun in her mouth. She winced again; the filling was still hot. Regaining her composure, she got up to leave, disconnecting the etherlite connection.
“Well? Shall we go, then?”
◆“There’s no need to glare at me, like that, Emiya.”
He stood in a darkened room, a holographic display on the other end. It formed the image of a woman, sitting in a chair behind a desk, her back facing the man. She was looking over her shoulder, half her face scarred by burns, a faint smirk on her normally stern and authoritative face.
He was scowling, even if he knew it wouldn’t do anything. She wasn’t the type to be intimidated, nor to think anything of it. But he couldn’t help it. It had to be done, he knew. And yet…
“It’s just a bit cruel, to make me use my own soldiers as bait.”
She laughed at this. “What is it they say again in your language? It can’t be helped. Relax. She was never in any real danger in the first place.”
“Have some faith in your soldiers.”
“It’s no question of faith.”
“Of course it isn’t.” She sounded unconvinced. “The agents stationed here, compared to her implanted memories, should not be much of a threat to her. Hangzhou’s too far from Europe for the Harweys to keep a tighter watch out here, even with the Net— not without knowing of our presence here beforehand.”
“But they’ll know now, won’t they?”
“Perhaps. They will know the patient’s here now, but they won’t know the rest of it. Who our affiliates are here, or how much of a presence we really have out here— if your group was just caught as you relocated, or if we had set up base here,” she said. “The hole in Hakuno’s security software was only enough to allow a low-level cyberbrain hack, with enough fabricated information to think he’d succeeded. Sialim will patch it back up once she returns. Nothing of importance was truly compromised.”
He sighed. “Was capturing such a grunt-level agent really worth this risk?”
“But of course. Even the most lowly of Harwey agents format their cyberbrains when we corner them ourselves, so managing to obtain even one intact was a challenge. As we finally caught this one by surprise— he let his guard down against Hakuno, I assume— we managed to obtain one before they could remotely wipe it on his death.”
The hologram gestured with her hand, a snap of her fingers. Something blipped in his field of vision, a downloaded file— the autopsy report for the man.
Shirou looked up. “Find anything?”
“Not going to read it?”
“I won’t understand any of it, anyway.”
She snorted. “I’ll summarize it for you, then. Ask ‘Rin’ later if you want the full details.”
The hologram turned to the wall, and motioned. Various images appeared on screen, documents and files found in his system, visual input from memories transduced into digital photos and videos.
“His pseudonym at Hangzhou, Adams. His real name, Francis Hathaway. Most of of we found isn’t relevant to you directly: locations and identities of other agents, orders and missions from up above, an insight into the internal structure of the Harwey’s organization. As expected, they’ve bugged many of the public interfaces with a cyberbrain virus, that lays dormant until certain triggers are detected in one’s memories. It was through this they found the girl.”
This he knew. The rest of the staff, on the other hand, had more secure systems, and were more careful with regards to viral infection. Monitored interfaces such as the bugged television were more common in Europe, where the Harweys had a greater hold on the social system at large, and could get their hands on all the interfaces in the name of ‘regulation’ or ‘security’, official business. Transactions, public transit, the works.
But so far out here, without a complete hold over the government, they could only act through agents, than agencies. If they were to try track them through triggered viruses, then Hakuno should be the only blip on their radars, as far as Hangzhou went.
She continued. “What we did find, however, were documents on the Parabellum Virus.”
Something in him froze. He paused mid-thought, and looked up.
“Paying attention now, I see?” She smiled. Several files in his field of view opened up, forming a web of screens and words. “To be blunt, we didn’t find much that we didn’t already know. What little we managed to decrypt only indicates that this agent had been issued orders pertaining to the virus, and its investigation.”
He sighed. Disappointing. “So even the grunts know of it, now? Seems they’re getting pretty serious about cracking down on the thing.”
“Have you watched the news, recently?”
“I’ve been busy. Hit me.”
Another flick of the hand. More files opened, news reports and articles from the Net, as well as autopsy reports, some of KRONE’s own documents. While they’d been out retrieving the girl from the ruins of Pieceman’s facility, the tensions in Romania had finally ignited the fires of civil war. The spark, a terrorist attack. A story that he’d heard too often nowadays, almost so much that he hadn’t thought much of it, when he heard of the war from hearsay.
What caught his eye was the autopsy report of the initiator, and KRONE’s analysis. Officially unspecified, only noting infection by cyberbrain virus. KRONE’s report gave it a name.
Parabellum. Madness born of ideology. Pieceman’s last gift to the world, whether he wanted it or not.
“Romania’s too close to home,” the hologram said. “These incidents had been mostly confined to Asia and Africa, less cause for their concerns of stability, but it’s starting to rear its head as a real threat.”
“From the looks of it, this agent was stationed out here not for us, but for the virus. The rest of the cyberbrain’s files are encrypted; not even the HERMES system could crack it. Completely locked down upon death— but not successfully wiped. Of course, you know what this means.”
He sighed. “Our next mission, then?”
She nodded. “Miss Scarlet should be able to help you with this. As usual, we’ll provide the funds for the transaction.”
Miss Scarlet. Of course, that wasn’t her real name. A brilliant dollmaker, and a magus of no loyalties. A freelancer, like he used to be. He had only met her a few times in passing before joining up with KRONE, after which, they seemed keen on using him as the intermediary between she and them for their business. Even if they were officially amended, she still had some beef with what once was the Association.
He’d questioned this once, to which they replied that she’d probably be less wary interacting with another free agent like her— even if said agent could not longer be considered independent.
How the mighty have fallen. Rin always said I’d just get myself killed, if she didn’t chain me down first.
“You’re sure she’ll be fine working with KRONE?” He knew the answer already, but couldn’t resist asking.
“Even if she has always rejected our invitations to join, she has had no problem working for us— so long as it’s as a freelancer.” A compartment opened up, rising out of the desk. A briefcase. “Here. The cyberbrain.”
His eye must’ve twitched. He felt a hint of revulsion. “...Why?”
“A physical brain will be required for her to work with; just the digital copy won’t do.”
He strided over to the desk, taking the case into his hands. Something could be felt sloshing around inside it as the case moved. He felt a twinge of disgust, like he was carrying a briefcase full of spiders or flesh. Sure, the brain was probably treated so it wouldn’t rot or smell, and he’d seen worse in his lifetime.
But a brain’s a brain.
“Keep it safe.”
The image flickered like a snuffed-out candle, leaving him alone again. He spoke aloud, perhaps to the empty room, or perhaps to the brain.
“Sure thing, Queen.”
◆She toyed with a pocketwatch in her hand, looking out the window of the plane.
When she had returned the the building from the whole debacle of the alleyway, they ran her through a few days of psychiatric evaluation and emotional treatment, after which she had been declared mentally sound. They had reinstalled her security software— they’d detected a security hole in hers, attributed to outdated software— and added to her training regimen defense against cyberbrain hacking.
Hence, the watch. While they had only installed the basic know-how of dealing with software and hardware before, they’d started to give her proper training given recent events. The watch was a gift from Nanashi.
It was a wholly antiquated thing, a brass locket, that opened and closed like a clamshell. On the surface, it was engraved with what looked like a snake eating its tail, and opened up to a watch face, hands ticking away beneath a glassy surface, slowly shifting gears and clockwork visible beneath the crystal.
These days, there’s not much you can trust.
Senses can be fabricated. Information can be fabricated. Memories can be fabricated. Anything and everything could be faked, created out of nothing. We live in an age where we no longer trust our minds, where digitization threatens our perceptions of reality.
People have questioned the nature of the reality they perceived for ages. You know. The whole question of the brain-in-a-jar, or the genius malignus. Is what they see real? What they hear? What they feel? How do you know the reality you perceive truly exists, rather than being a fabrication? And so on. You can imagine how digitization helped with all that, now that what once were just the realm of thought experiments became a real, concrete reality.
—She dreamt she was a butterfly.
This is just a watch. Go on, take it. Looted this back at the ruins they found you in. Probably not yours. Yes, it works just fine. The point is, people use these sort of things— photographs, trinkets, mementos, material anchors to ground themselves in the physical reality.
It doesn’t really help with the big picture, of course, but it helps against cyberbrain hacking. Manufactured sensory inputs aren’t perfect. They’re engineered by humans, after all, and humans are not omnipotent. What happens then is that there are, inevitably, oversights in their fabrications; they can’t perfectly replicate a false reality, only try come as close as they can. These anchors are tools to help you detect these flaws.
Study this watch. Know its details; how the hands tick, how the gears turn. A watch like this is useful because it’s mechanically complex, a complexity that can be observed through vision alone. If you suspect your mind to be under attack, take out the watch. You’ll see it in its clockwork.
Once you realize your mind’s been compromised, it’s easier to see the seams where the illusion falls apart.
If you can’t trust your mind, at least you can trust this.
She raised the watch to eye-level, as it gleamed from the sunset from the plane window, lights that traced themselves along their surface. The hands ticked, second by second, a steady mechanical rhythm.
There, on the 6 o’clock line. For a second there, the hand froze.
“Oh? So you’ve been paying attention after all?”
She closed the watch. A warmth pulsed in her arm, Grain circulating through the crystal embedded within her hand, and her vision flickered. There across from her, in what was once an apparently empty seat, sat Rin. She smiled, crossing one leg over the other. “When did you notice?”
“Just now. The hand stopped.”
She snorted. “Is that how he’s teaching it, then?”
“Something as mechanical as clockwork. Well,” she said with a shrug, “it works, anyway. It’s just so clinical.”
Hakuno frowned. “Shouldn’t it be?”
“I suppose so. But the catch with such detached methods is that they simply don’t feel natural, no? Something you make yourself do, rather than something you do own your own.”
“Is there any other way?”
“Of course. You know, most people use something meaningful to them. Something that with just that feeling, you know?”
She laughed. “Of course.”
“I don’t get what you’re getting at.”
“Of course you don’t. You barely remember anything, do you?”
Hakuno shook her head, and Rin took a sip of coffee from a cup Hakuno hadn’t noticed her holding before. “Well, it’s not your fault. It just puts you in a unique position, compared to the others. Most people, when their senses or memories are altered, can at least detect on some level that something’s off. That unease just lurks too far beneath the surface for it to matter, but one can jostle it, call it forth, through emotional stimulus.”
“The mind’s a complex thing, too complex for us to perfectly understand— and deceive. Call it instinct, if you will. The link between emotions and memory, one invoking the other, are unpredictable enough to throw a wrench into the whole affair of fabricated information. What did Nanashi say about this, again?”
“ ‘Grounding oneself in reality.’”
“Hmm.” Rin nodded. “Yes, I guess that’s a pretty apt way to put it, even for him. A cyberbrain hack can fake what you see, or hear, or remember. But it’s quite clumsy, when it comes to faking how you feel.”
“Well,” she said, hopping out of her seat, “I suppose I just came by with a word of advice. Clinical observation might help so see through some illusions, but there’ll be a point where they break down.” She smiled. “But by that point, you could probably find a better anchor anyway. Not even Nanashi gets by with that sort of thing, even if he looks the type.”
Hakuno blinked. “So what does he use?”
Her face flickered, a mix of emotions that lurked hidden beneath the surface smile. Regret. Resentment. Ironic amusement. “That pendant of his, the one he always carries about with him. A keepsake from the first girl he’d loved.”
◆They’d landed in Tehran about an hour or two later.
It was just the six of them— her, Rin, Nanashi, Jain, Adeline, and Blackmore. Mister Velvet had stayed behind, as his job was as an instructor, while Sialim had been relocated to KRONE’s main headquarters, apparently some barge off the coast of God knows where, to provide mission control from afar, should it be needed.
As for what they were here for, they’d been given a briefing. Nothing too urgent. Nanashi was to conduct some sort of business deal, as an intermediary between a freelancer and them. One or two others were to accompany him, for backup.
Meanwhile, one of KRONE’s magi had gone missing here on a mission, and the rest were to investigate his disappearance. Rescue him, if he had been captured. Retire him, if he had deserted. Salvage him, if he had been killed.
She felt nervous. This, of course, would be her first real mission for KRONE. Her memories gave her the physical skills to fight and shoot, but they wouldn’t teach her higher functions, like how to go about an investigation.
At least, the others were there with her.
As she exited the plane terminal, she looked up. An enormous wall loomed in the distance, like a blade had once cleaved the city across some point, one side cut off from the other. Her archives told her that beyond that wall laid a deadzone, contaminated by Grain beyond survivable conditions. Dotting the wall, she saw interlinked facilities, Grain-processing plants to power the city.
The ride to the city was relatively uneventful, save for Jain showing her videos of cats on his phone, and Rin looking up restaurants to visit while they were stationed there. Nanashi carried a black briefcase in hand, simple and unadorned, drumming his fingers across the edge, reading a news report of recent terrorist attacks. She took out her watch again, and watched it tick.
The time was off.
She nearly bolted up in alarm, but Rin spoke up. “Yeah, it’ll desync like that. Gravitational time dilation, ‘cause of relativity or something. Your mind hasn’t been compromised. Sit back down.”
She didn’t know what this relativity or time dilation was, so she still wasn’t sure if she could trust her words to be hers.
“Oh come on, don’t glare at me like that. Fine! Your mind’s been hacked and everything’s a dream and you’re really just sleeping in a coffin out somewhere in the ruins of Tokyo. Happy now?”
She still wasn’t sure if this was just to throw her off, or if she was telling the truth. Jain sniggered.
With little other choice, she accepted the explanation, sitting back down. The watch ticked along.
They exited the car to a marketplace baking in the sun, stifling heat that radiated in waves off the pavement, rippling in the air, all noise and clamor and bustle. The rest of the way, Nanashi said, they’d have to walk.
Carts of produce mingled with biomechanical walkers. Eyes flickered over them, sparing their scarved faces and obscured eyes glances and nothing more. They sought refuge from the sun under the arches of the Grand Bazaar, flashing neon holograms and VR displays projected by lines of textiles, heaps of spices and preserved fruits. The noise of the Net buzzed with frenzied Farsi. She paused, for a moment, at what seemed to be a circular clearing joining several alleyways, columns decorated with mosaic patterns and wreaths carved in stone. Her eyes drifted over to one of the many ads adorning the walls, a moving poster about an upcoming referendum, the cold visage of the King staring back at her, championing words she couldn’t read. Rin took her by the hand and dragged her back with the group.
The crowds thinned as they made their way, and they stopped at an alleyway, deserted save for a homeless man, slumped up against the far wall. Hakuno only just then noticed, now that they were free from the sea of bodies. Nanashi and Adeline were nowhere to be seen.
She gave Rin a questioning look, to which she nodded in response. They’ll know where we are, was the message.
Jain opened a backdoor, gingerly as if to test something, and nodded. They made their way inside.
With little else she could do, she followed suit.
◆“Still working for the Association?”
“If you can really call it that, yes.”
He found himself in a lab, standing cautiously about the entrance. Adeline waited by the door outside, a hand on her holster and her eyes on the streets, keeping watch. Against better judgment, they’d established a private two-way connection, hoping it’d be secure enough. But a workshop should have decent defenses of its own.
He wrinkled his nose. The lab smelled of cheap cigarette smoke, and it was chilly here, unlike the rest of the city. Dimly lit by electronic equipment and cold fluorescent lights, the forms of stasis tanks and tubing lined the walls. His eyes passed over a tank, within it the form of a woman, floating listlessly and suspended by cables, her hair pale and widened eyes red and empty. A breathing apparatus masked her mouth and nose, and as he looked to the rest of the room, he saw that the other tanks were the same, housing the forms of humans, men and women, children and adults, wired and floating and suspended in time.
On the far side of the room, besides terminals and monitoring equipment, sat a figure in a revolving chair. She stubbed out her cigarette in an all-too-full ashtray, setting her glasses down on the desk, and spun around to face him. A woman, red hair drawn into a ponytail, face drawn into a grin.
“So what business do you have for me this time, Emiya?”
AN: Thanks to Frosty for beta-ing and Dullahan for plot developments. I don't think I have much else to say at the moment, now.
<Lian|work> lynch kirby imo
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.
wow you can't just mock a man with anime like thatShe laughed at this. “What is it they say again in your language? It can’t be helped.
And now I'm curious what kind of discussion about artisanship Touko and Emiya would have/how annoyed they'd be with the other.