I began watching "Accel world" this week, still on my break. The idea of implementing Virtual reality into my story gripped me, and I decided to try it out.
Needless to say I like it.
Conical shapes knifed through the virtual desert kicking up clouds of dust, silicates scattering starbursts of static as they danced across their metallic hulls. The pilots inside where dead, the suits, driven by A.I. hardly noticed, as if possessed by some primal force, red eyes glinting, glowing with hateful intent as they searched the desert for something to kill, anything to ease the rage of losing their Drivers, dogs without masters running free in the streets.
The simulation program FRINGE began as a simple multiplayer RPG high-school kids would play to escape the harsh structures of the United Front, or what the United States began calling itself after it invaded Japan in the late 2070’s. Though it was illegal, following its release, half of the student population was jacking in and enjoying themselves daily, millions participating in the virtual mecha based simulator.
However, the virus that hit its servers did far more than disable their ability to play; it trapped them, bodies driven to coma as their personalities where stored and virtualized.
Tatsuya Shirogane, a second year student transferred to the states a year after the take-over’s avatar was known as Robert Larson, a gunslinger type with a “Riot Duster” known as Thrill-Trigger.
“I don’t like them.” Shinjiro spoke up, he was hiding behind a large boulder as the strange two and a half meter tall killing machines approached, their sporadic movements frightening to behold. Berserk dusters where infamous for their hideous strength, generally out-pacing any normal, manned duster by several times. They where insane, obviously they didn’t care if their mechanics tore themselves apart as they hammered away at the skulls of their prey.
Not like Robert did, either.
“Get over it, just kill them. We do this twice a week at least, man.”
He reached up and adjusted the optics on his magnum, black bore.
“Just watch out, they’re fast. You’re new to this, right Jiro?”
“Yeah…the coma hit thirty days ago, glad we met up, I need levels man, and I’ll die without ‘em!”
“Just don’t worry man. We’ve got it, sides, the ladies over there are watching, believe me, you’ll want to work on impressing them quick or they’ll stomp you like you’re their husband or something. Man up.”
And with that he pulled the trigger, a Duster cocking backwards as a bright red “2000” blinked brightly above its head, it was a critical hit. It was funny, really, I mean, just look at it. The game was still a game but now, thanks to some terrorist with a sick sense of humor, turned into a virtual reality death sim like one of those anime series based in VR realms. When you died in the game, your personality was deleted, and your suit goes berserk, just like the others. They were like those running zombies except with guns and metal skin.
Seconds after the first shot, a scarlet explosion of numbers burst like a miniature super-nova as the rest of the party opened up, heavy caliber weapons large enough to tear a base human in half with its recoil blasting basketball sized holes through their armors. They were lucky, not a single casualty.
“W-wow…that’s it? Really?”
Robert turned to look at him, Thrill Trigger’s chrome armor beaming in the morning suns’ glare.
“The last time we lost twenty, be glad they didn’t see us coming. Bastards are tough as nails when cornered.”
He looked away. “…And I fucking hate it when cute girls get hurt, if that says anything.”
Jiro didn’t press the point, though he didn’t exactly understand. His Duster, a bulky close range type known as HYPEMETAL began to grow hot in the sun, the black paint-job doing little to help.
“We done here?” he asked, swimming in a pool of his own sweat.
“Yeah, I guess…”
Robert pointed towards the horizon as the dual suns rose further into the sky as glowing halos of energy surrounded them both, bending reality and allowing them to travel back to Chesterson.