[Open Intro] a pirate's life for me

[captainkurusu]

I. In the Velvet Room

The sight of an Akira in a long black coat and a high-necked gray vest is no rarity around these parts, but the one currently studying the conspiracy board is different. He has gold earrings, for one thing, and his clothes have a different style: hand-sewn wool and linen, not the slick, modern leather of Metaverse garb. His casual, hands-in-pockets slouch as he studies the conspiracy board, however, should look familiar to almost anyone.

Well. Anyone who knows an Akiren, anyway.

At the sound of anyone approaching him, Captain Akira turns sharply, his right hand flying to the hilt of the cutlass hanging from his belt. Depending on who he sees, he’ll say one of the following things:

If the character approaching him is an Akiren, his eyes widen briefly in surprise. Then he puts his hands on his hips, studying his double with interest. “You look oddly familiar, somehow,” he quips. “I’m afraid I can’t place you, though.”

If the character approaching him is an Akechi, the choked syllable “Go–” escapes him before he can stop it. Then he cuts himself off, smiling in apology. “Excuse me. I mistook you for someone else.”

If the character approaching him is anyone else, he nods a polite greeting and points at the conspiracy board. “Did you write this?” he asks cheerfully. “ ‘For mine own part, it is Greek to me.’ ”

Whether the character he addresses recognizes the quote or not, Akira’s puzzled expression translates its meaning clearly: Hey. What the hell is this?

II. In Tokyo

Tokyo is the last place Akira ought to set foot in--so of course, it’s the first place he does. To his disappointment, the city beyond the door is all but unrecognizable, full of bright lights and strange buildings and marvels Akira can’t begin to puzzle out. Even so, a vague familiarity remains, an instinct leading him deeper and deeper into the urban sprawl.

Any character passing through Shibuya can find Akira just off of Center Street, standing outside the door to Untouchable with a bemused expression on his face. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, turning to smile at whoever is watching him.

“This place has changed a great deal since I saw it last,” he jokes. “Then again, I was a bit preoccupied the last time I was here.”

Comments

[unit_8910_wolf]

Maybe that's just how life used to work back in those early days. In retrospect, he didn't know if he should have expected something more...carefree rather than hearing about such a life filled with hardships. Was that really just the norm here?

"Thirteen seems way too early of a time to send your kid to someone else," Zenkichi comments lightly- being a father once. Not to mention the overall vagueness of how he simply went from a merchant sailor to....a whole pirate, even by coincidence just didn't fit the bill of what he had seen. Akira Kurusu and Ren Amamiya were prominent names for a reason- he would be damned before he doesn't consider the circumstances. His lips drew down into a frown but he held his hand out and backpeddaled on his own comment. He's seen others here who have been walking around without a guardian for far too long. "But-! I get it. That would be me going back into interrogation territory and actually no, I don't get it at all- probably because of the difference in our years. My early twenties were spent patrolling around in cars till late night and maybe catching a thief once in a while when I was daring. You have one hell of a resume, kid."

It doesn't help that his world, in the near future had also forced many kids to grow up faster than they should have and it reflected upon them for the rest of their life.

"Did you kill people in this illegal occupation?" Akane's voice speaks right through the otherwise shifting words being exchanged between them. "...Did they deserve it?"

"Akane..." he winced. "Maybe you shouldn't-"

[captainkurusu]

Well, that's certainly a pointed question. Akira shrugs, trying to keep his expression unbothered. "Did and still do, when necessary. I give every ship the chance to surrender peacefully, but not all of them do. I'm not self-centered enough to claim it's some sort of noble cause or self-defense, but I don't attack any ships that don't belong to the Madicce Trading Company, and I don't kill anyone who isn't armed and fighting back. Not unless they're one of a very select list of people I know beyond all doubt the world would be better off without."

Kamoshida. Kobayakawa. Okumura. Madarame. Kaneshiro.

Shido.

He glances at Zenkichi, observing his reaction. "I don't have any illusions about what I do. I do right by my crew, and I repay my debts. That's the most I'll say in my defense."

[unit_8910_wolf]

Akane's expression remained unreadable as she observed this Akira. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move—her wide eyes locked onto him with a calculating intensity that belied her age. She was trying to read him, dissect him with a single glance to figure out just what kind of man stood before her. Was he truly the ruthless pirate captain as history usually painted them to be? Or was there something else beneath that surface? Something more like her and Zenkichi.

The Unit #8910, Wolf.
That’s what they’d been dubbed, a fitting name for the small faction that operated as shadow enforcers on the law bidded by their now ruined world. Or perhaps even working at the edge of it. Zenkichi had worked himself to the bone to uphold to his duty, even if it meant bending the rules. And Akane—well, she was no innocent. After everything that happened with EMMA and her directive given by the Kirijo Group they’d put down jail owners who were too far gone, people whose minds had fractured beyond repair. Sometimes, it wasn’t about justice. Sometimes, it was mercy.

Akira's explanation of his killings—measured, not without regret, but firm in his resolve—wasn’t so far removed from their reality.

But then, everything stopped at the mention of a name.

Madicce.

The words hung heavy in the air, laced with history and venom.

Zenkichi’s stance shifted immediately, tension radiating from every inch of his frame. His gaze darkened with something far more dangerous than suspicion—it was outright hatred. His jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack- his altered canines just a tad bit bigger like a Wolf's now nearly in full display.

“The Madicce Trading Company?” Akane’s voice was sharp, shocked. Her fingers twitched as she straightened, processors working overtime as she scanned the area again.

“Those bastards exist in your timeline too?” Zenkichi’s voice was low and taut with restrained anger. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The weight behind those words was enough to make even the air around him seem heavier.

Two names echoed in the man's mind like a curse:

Akira Konoe.

Jyun Owada

The bastards who had orchestrated the EMMA disaster. One of whom he couldn't bring to justice because he had killed the other, the only other witness- trapped in the making of his own abomination.

Madicce, a global IT company in their world, who had unintentionally unleashed EMMA, a rogue AI that promised a utopia but instead brought their society to its knees. It had stripped 80% of the population of their will, their individuality, reducing them to mindless puppets in service of false ideals- left in the coma called The Eternal Sleep. Zenkichi had witnessed the fallout firsthand—seen people collapse under EMMA’s control, watched entire lives torn apart.

And now, to hear that the same company—or at least some version of it—existed in this strange, pirate-filled reality? It was a gut punch neither of them had expected.

Akane’s voice rang out in Zenkichi’s server. I scanned him for tech when we met. He doesn’t have any phones or devices. If he’s from a version of the 1800s, then how...? She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

Zenkichi responded swiftly, mentally and verbally. “This might be some multiversal thing.” His tone was grim. “Madicce’s reach may extend across more timelines than we realized. We better be vigilant.”

He turned his attention back to Akira, though the intensity in his eyes hadn’t dulled even behind his mask. “Do you really know nothing about AIs? More specifically—Madicce’s ugly little creation. A program called EMMA.”