09-17-2016, 05:07 AM
Vincent sat at the end of a dingy cot, absent-mindedly fastening the many buckles and straps that composed his attire. He was not quite sure why he had opted to summon a set of clothes identical -- tears and all -- to the set he had always worn. He supposed that something such as a simple shirt and trousers might have been less conspicuous and overall easier, though something about the garb was comforting to him. As he tugged the last of the zippers into place and fastened his holster to his thigh, his thoughts drifted back to what the good doctor had told him.
“The Dataverse, yes.” The old man had answered plainly and without hesitation as he dropped the last of his tools into his med bag. “You were muttering, though, so there wasn’t much detail there.”
Though he had been a resident of the Omniverse for some time now, the name of such a place was completely foreign to him. Etymology told him that in some way technology or information was likely to be involved, but this was far from a complete understanding. “What...is the Dataverse?”
Fabre looked up from his tidying for a moment, scratching at his patchy stubble. “Dataverse, yes. More or less similar to the Internet if you’re familiar.” He gestured helpfully at an out-dated computer terminal. “The kicker is, you can actually go in.”
Entering a realm of data. Vincent had become familiar with such an outlandish idea when he had met Shelke in Deepground, her technopathy having saved his neck more than once. Whether or not one could Net Dive into the Dataverse as the girl had done back home, such a place seemed to be a good place to find her. At least if she could not be found, perhaps he could use this Dataverse to track her down. Being so intimately connected with technology, she ought to have at some point dabbled in the ‘Verse.
“Ah, you’re leaving then?”
Vincent glanced up at the kind face of his savior, now wearing a wrinkled flannel shirt and suspenders that supported a torn pair of blue jeans. The bloody lab coat had hopefully been thrown in the wash. “Yes,” the Prime answered.
“Where do you intend to go?” The words were inquisitive, more born from curiosity than contempt. “Surely not back to where I found you?”
The gunslinger shook his head as he holstered Cerberus. “The Dataverse.”
Fabre nodded slowly, removing his grimy glasses and wiping what he could from the lens’ surface with his roughspun shirt. “Chasing whatever’s got its hand up your back, hmm?” He smiled warmly at Vincent’s slightly alarmed expression. “Call it a lucky guess.”
“He talks to me,” the pale Prime stated, getting to his feet. His sabatons shone in the dim basement lightning, their polished surface casting reflections onto the ceiling above. “And I can hear...someone I care for.”
“I won’t pretend that’s something I hear everyday,” Jack replied, stuffing his thin, spidery hands into his pockets. “How do you intend to get there?”
The cloaked Prime blinked. He had more or less skipped the planning phase up until this point; the thought of Shelke’s life being in jeopardy had overridden his typically logical mind. “The upper tiers have many kinds of technology, I’m sure they must have a way of getting there.”
“Nope.” The bluntness of the man’s comment caught Vincent off-guard, his jaw falling slack for a moment before the elder continued. “The Emperor got rid of the Uplink Booths a while back, shortly after the Jubilee. I get the feeling he wasn’t terribly thrilled with anyone having access to a world composed of information. They go to great lengths to keep everyone in the dark in their little utopia.”
“Can you…?” the ex-Turk trailed off as Jack shook his head before the words could escape his lips. He fell silent, his mind groping in vain for any shred of hope. Whatever way he could get there, he’d have to do it.
“There is one way that I might be able to help you,” the doctor said, crossing the room to a cluttered desk. He found a medium-sized legal pad, quickly flipping through its contents while Vincent waited patiently. “Ah-ha, here we are. It’s probably broken beyond repair, but I imagine with you being a Prime it shouldn’t be too difficult to get working.” He tore a piece of lined paper from the spine and handed it to his guest.
“A map?” The ex-Turk’s eyes rolled quickly across its surface, synthesizing the information as fast as his fatigued brain would allow. “What am I looking for?”
“Some kind of fancy Dataverse terminal,” Fabre replied, handing him another piece of paper. “The booths topside might have been converted or destroyed, but I know of a few places where you might find some less savory options on this tier. Immersion Fights have been a hot trend lately, downloading yourself into a game and fighting another idiot with whatever weaponry you can imagine. Allows secondaries to feel like they’re Primes. As you can imagine, the Emperor isn’t too keen on letting the practice flourish. Most of them have been scrapped if they’re known, but I happen to have seen few that might be salvageable.”
The gunslinger noted a few ‘x’s on the hand-scrawled map, the closest of which being not far from the square marked “Home”. With a nod, Vincent neatly folded up the papers and slipped them into his pocket. “Thank you.”
Fabre smiled, tugging open a drawer and fishing out a small piece of tech. “No need to thank me. Here, have this. It has my contact info in it so you should be able to get a hold of me through email. I confess I don’t have one of those communicators everyone seems to have; I find them to distract me from my work. Still, though, I check my mail often enough.”
The Prime took the object gratefully, depositing the device in another of his many pockets. Vincent gazed at the doctor for a long moment, unsure of how to react to such an act of kindness. In lieu of the usual formalities, Fabre himself took command. Before he knew it, Vincent found himself shooed out the lab’s side door by the smirking scientist. The gunslinger managed to slip another phrase of gratitude before Jack cut him off.
“Find your friend,” the man said, nodding kindly. With that, the door snapped shut.
The ex-Turk quickly made his way through the deserted streets, moving toward what he hoped was the location marked on his makeshift map. Vincent could not be sure of which direction he had to go; truthfully, he wasn’t even sure the sketch was to-scale. He cast such thoughts aside as he strode through the ghetto, senses probing the unseen for any incidence of danger. Despite his better judgement, he soon found himself hastily making his way down Sixth street. If Fabre’s map were to be believed, he would find his terminal on this street.
Six-Six-Six. Vincent read the scribbled name of the establishment as he walked, musing at the symbolism behind the title. In this instance, the number of the beast referred literally to the structure’s presence as the sixth plot on Sixth Street of Tier 6. The Prime could only imagine what the decor must be like. He did not need to wonder for long before a particular sign came into view.
He stuffed the papers back into his pockets as he neared the door, noting the many broken windows that marred the face of the building. A large neon sign lay upon the sidewalk, ruined and shattered. It looked to have been torn from above the doorway, its coils twisted into shapes depicting a female devil performing acrobatic maneuvers around a pole. The door beside it looked to have been closed off by someone (likely the Imperial Police Force), the doors’ metal panels melted together at the seam. With a sigh, Vincent climbed gingerly through the shattered picture window and into the lobby.
Vincent learned quickly that the interior of the building was just as damaged as the outside, with tables upturned and pulverized into splinters and various glassware shattered upon the broken floorboards. The room seemed to reek of alcohol, despite the fact that the carnage looked to be quite old. The remnants of the bar’s stash lay mostly broken, a few lone bottles left untouched to gather dust. The Prime ignored the fire water, instead setting his sights on a small terminal recessed in a wall opposite a large catwalk. A lone pole stood sentinel at the end of the platform as if standing guard over the computer. As he approached, Vincent spied the words “ATM” scrawled across the top in stylized writing. The ex-Turk made to turn away from the apparent dead-end, stopping only as he spotted what looked to be some fragment of lettering barely obscured by the machine’s header. His gloved hand quickly found the corner of the sign, peeling it off with moderate effort.
Vincent nodded to no one in particular, relieved to have found the machine without too much difficulty. As he stood among the splintered stools and shredded carpet, his thoughts casted him back to the bar he once called home, one not too unlike where he now stood, minus the incentive of exotic dancers. The establishment had belonged to Tifa, serving as both the headquarters for her and Cloud’s delivery business and as a hole-in-the-wall watering hole for those who might pass through. The gunslinger, like most of the other members of Avalanche, had spent many of their days in that cantina, recuperating from some particularly vicious fight and reminiscing. The motley collection of warriors had become the closest thing to family he had known in quite a long time. Remembering such times brought a smile to the Prime’s face; even when the world was quite literally being torn apart, the days that he spent standing beside him comrades were some of the best he had yet had. A thought struck him as he reveled in the nostalgia: in the Omniverse, the tavern could yet live again.
Smiling, Vincent got to work.
- - -
“The Dataverse, yes.” The old man had answered plainly and without hesitation as he dropped the last of his tools into his med bag. “You were muttering, though, so there wasn’t much detail there.”
Though he had been a resident of the Omniverse for some time now, the name of such a place was completely foreign to him. Etymology told him that in some way technology or information was likely to be involved, but this was far from a complete understanding. “What...is the Dataverse?”
Fabre looked up from his tidying for a moment, scratching at his patchy stubble. “Dataverse, yes. More or less similar to the Internet if you’re familiar.” He gestured helpfully at an out-dated computer terminal. “The kicker is, you can actually go in.”
- - -
Entering a realm of data. Vincent had become familiar with such an outlandish idea when he had met Shelke in Deepground, her technopathy having saved his neck more than once. Whether or not one could Net Dive into the Dataverse as the girl had done back home, such a place seemed to be a good place to find her. At least if she could not be found, perhaps he could use this Dataverse to track her down. Being so intimately connected with technology, she ought to have at some point dabbled in the ‘Verse.
“Ah, you’re leaving then?”
Vincent glanced up at the kind face of his savior, now wearing a wrinkled flannel shirt and suspenders that supported a torn pair of blue jeans. The bloody lab coat had hopefully been thrown in the wash. “Yes,” the Prime answered.
“Where do you intend to go?” The words were inquisitive, more born from curiosity than contempt. “Surely not back to where I found you?”
The gunslinger shook his head as he holstered Cerberus. “The Dataverse.”
Fabre nodded slowly, removing his grimy glasses and wiping what he could from the lens’ surface with his roughspun shirt. “Chasing whatever’s got its hand up your back, hmm?” He smiled warmly at Vincent’s slightly alarmed expression. “Call it a lucky guess.”
“He talks to me,” the pale Prime stated, getting to his feet. His sabatons shone in the dim basement lightning, their polished surface casting reflections onto the ceiling above. “And I can hear...someone I care for.”
“I won’t pretend that’s something I hear everyday,” Jack replied, stuffing his thin, spidery hands into his pockets. “How do you intend to get there?”
The cloaked Prime blinked. He had more or less skipped the planning phase up until this point; the thought of Shelke’s life being in jeopardy had overridden his typically logical mind. “The upper tiers have many kinds of technology, I’m sure they must have a way of getting there.”
“Nope.” The bluntness of the man’s comment caught Vincent off-guard, his jaw falling slack for a moment before the elder continued. “The Emperor got rid of the Uplink Booths a while back, shortly after the Jubilee. I get the feeling he wasn’t terribly thrilled with anyone having access to a world composed of information. They go to great lengths to keep everyone in the dark in their little utopia.”
“Can you…?” the ex-Turk trailed off as Jack shook his head before the words could escape his lips. He fell silent, his mind groping in vain for any shred of hope. Whatever way he could get there, he’d have to do it.
“There is one way that I might be able to help you,” the doctor said, crossing the room to a cluttered desk. He found a medium-sized legal pad, quickly flipping through its contents while Vincent waited patiently. “Ah-ha, here we are. It’s probably broken beyond repair, but I imagine with you being a Prime it shouldn’t be too difficult to get working.” He tore a piece of lined paper from the spine and handed it to his guest.
“A map?” The ex-Turk’s eyes rolled quickly across its surface, synthesizing the information as fast as his fatigued brain would allow. “What am I looking for?”
“Some kind of fancy Dataverse terminal,” Fabre replied, handing him another piece of paper. “The booths topside might have been converted or destroyed, but I know of a few places where you might find some less savory options on this tier. Immersion Fights have been a hot trend lately, downloading yourself into a game and fighting another idiot with whatever weaponry you can imagine. Allows secondaries to feel like they’re Primes. As you can imagine, the Emperor isn’t too keen on letting the practice flourish. Most of them have been scrapped if they’re known, but I happen to have seen few that might be salvageable.”
The gunslinger noted a few ‘x’s on the hand-scrawled map, the closest of which being not far from the square marked “Home”. With a nod, Vincent neatly folded up the papers and slipped them into his pocket. “Thank you.”
Fabre smiled, tugging open a drawer and fishing out a small piece of tech. “No need to thank me. Here, have this. It has my contact info in it so you should be able to get a hold of me through email. I confess I don’t have one of those communicators everyone seems to have; I find them to distract me from my work. Still, though, I check my mail often enough.”
The Prime took the object gratefully, depositing the device in another of his many pockets. Vincent gazed at the doctor for a long moment, unsure of how to react to such an act of kindness. In lieu of the usual formalities, Fabre himself took command. Before he knew it, Vincent found himself shooed out the lab’s side door by the smirking scientist. The gunslinger managed to slip another phrase of gratitude before Jack cut him off.
“Find your friend,” the man said, nodding kindly. With that, the door snapped shut.
The ex-Turk quickly made his way through the deserted streets, moving toward what he hoped was the location marked on his makeshift map. Vincent could not be sure of which direction he had to go; truthfully, he wasn’t even sure the sketch was to-scale. He cast such thoughts aside as he strode through the ghetto, senses probing the unseen for any incidence of danger. Despite his better judgement, he soon found himself hastily making his way down Sixth street. If Fabre’s map were to be believed, he would find his terminal on this street.
Six-Six-Six. Vincent read the scribbled name of the establishment as he walked, musing at the symbolism behind the title. In this instance, the number of the beast referred literally to the structure’s presence as the sixth plot on Sixth Street of Tier 6. The Prime could only imagine what the decor must be like. He did not need to wonder for long before a particular sign came into view.
6-6-6: The Devil’s Playground
He stuffed the papers back into his pockets as he neared the door, noting the many broken windows that marred the face of the building. A large neon sign lay upon the sidewalk, ruined and shattered. It looked to have been torn from above the doorway, its coils twisted into shapes depicting a female devil performing acrobatic maneuvers around a pole. The door beside it looked to have been closed off by someone (likely the Imperial Police Force), the doors’ metal panels melted together at the seam. With a sigh, Vincent climbed gingerly through the shattered picture window and into the lobby.
Vincent learned quickly that the interior of the building was just as damaged as the outside, with tables upturned and pulverized into splinters and various glassware shattered upon the broken floorboards. The room seemed to reek of alcohol, despite the fact that the carnage looked to be quite old. The remnants of the bar’s stash lay mostly broken, a few lone bottles left untouched to gather dust. The Prime ignored the fire water, instead setting his sights on a small terminal recessed in a wall opposite a large catwalk. A lone pole stood sentinel at the end of the platform as if standing guard over the computer. As he approached, Vincent spied the words “ATM” scrawled across the top in stylized writing. The ex-Turk made to turn away from the apparent dead-end, stopping only as he spotted what looked to be some fragment of lettering barely obscured by the machine’s header. His gloved hand quickly found the corner of the sign, peeling it off with moderate effort.
Test Your Might: Digital Warfare
Vincent nodded to no one in particular, relieved to have found the machine without too much difficulty. As he stood among the splintered stools and shredded carpet, his thoughts casted him back to the bar he once called home, one not too unlike where he now stood, minus the incentive of exotic dancers. The establishment had belonged to Tifa, serving as both the headquarters for her and Cloud’s delivery business and as a hole-in-the-wall watering hole for those who might pass through. The gunslinger, like most of the other members of Avalanche, had spent many of their days in that cantina, recuperating from some particularly vicious fight and reminiscing. The motley collection of warriors had become the closest thing to family he had known in quite a long time. Remembering such times brought a smile to the Prime’s face; even when the world was quite literally being torn apart, the days that he spent standing beside him comrades were some of the best he had yet had. A thought struck him as he reveled in the nostalgia: in the Omniverse, the tavern could yet live again.
Smiling, Vincent got to work.
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