Fanfic #140 Dialing Into DangeЯ(Psyren)

This fanfic is a friend insert into Psyren. I really like this fic because since the mc doesn't know anything about the Psyren universe everything is treated in a fresh and new way.

Synopsis: A world of espers and danger. A death game played for an uncertain prize. When destiny calls, will you pick up the phone? Psyren FI featuring The Oldman.

Rated: M

words: 45k

https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/dialing-into-dangeЯ-psyren-fi-feat-the-oldman.923702/reader/

Here's the first chapter:

It was an abyss where Alphonse found himself. Neither infinite in size nor especially small, his consciousness hung there like a condemned man from his rope. The space around him had no air, no light and no sound, and yet he could perfectly perceive its contents and dimensions. Before he could fully process how utterly, completely alone he was, he abruptly wasn't.

Before him, the being that had instantaneously made itself manifest cocked its alien, masklike head, revealing a long, chitinous tail sprouting from the back of its head like a twisted parody of a ponytail. Clad in a sterile white garment that seemed to be a fusion between a jumpsuit and a robe, the creature's arms were inhumanly long and ended in clawed, spidery fingers. Its wrists were encircled in large, smooth orbs, and its shoes terminated in tips much like that of a jester's. The only spots of color were the gold streaks on its carapaced mask, and the reddish-pink crystalline flip-phone in its right hand. Its left hand reached up to cup the bottom of its face and tapped at what passed for a chin as it examined the man.

The seeming curiosity with which it regarded him was shared, though it most likely wasn't of the same sort as his. The man looked upon the being in a mix of awe and shocked horror, wondering what the newcomer's intentions were.

He could scarcely guess how it was looking at him; he could not discern if it had been staring at him with the idle curiosity of a man seeing a building being constructed where there had been nothing, the disdain of a guardian wondering how to deal with an interloper, or the joy of a child wondering what to do with a new toy. The emotion behind what passed for its face was not something he could even begin to guess.

In a soundless, yet perfectly discernable voice that was the marriage between a dial-up tone and heavy television static, it pronounced, "Those seeking Psyren shall taste power and despair. There is one exit in this game. Those seeking Psyren… Find the gate." As the words echoed within Alphonse's mind, the being languidly raised its right hand to bring the bizarre phone to its head, as though it were about to make a call.

Without even seeking for whatever, or whoever, Psyren was, despair began to bubble up from Alphonse's stomach. Though he was still off-center because of the unfamiliar stimuli of the void (or rather, lack thereof) and that which lay within it, he knew that he was to be embroiled in something he'd had no understanding of, without any say on the matter.

But the words etched themselves into his mind. There is one exit in this game.

Find the gate.

Even as those words echoed within him, another sound began to blare, this one unmistakable and audible despite the impossibility of it. As the unknown being put its phone to its head and stared inscrutably at him, his ears were filled with a ringing. No, not a ringing.

A ringtone.

In the space between one instant and the next, Alphonse found himself no longer in the void, his eyes flying open to see a mottled, grey sky. Based on the rocks he felt pressing into his back, he was outside. He gasped a breath, and immediately began coughing. The air was sickly, choked with some unknown heaviness. He could breathe, but it was unpleasant and somewhat painful.

As he brought his breathing under control, he realized that there was no sound. Not the sound of birds and insects, nor the sound of cars or people; indeed, the sounds of life were entirely absent. All there was was silence. Instantaneous and oppressive.

As he rose from the ground, covering his mouth with his sleeve, he saw just why all was quiet. All around him was naught but rock and rubble. Large stones dotted the landscape here and there, and over a ridge he could see what looked to be the gutted carcass of an office building, with another half-sunken into the ground further away. As far as the eyes could see, there was no life: not animal nor vegetable; all that was left was mineral, it seemed.

Far in the distance, he spotted the silhouettes of a few mountains, but the air was full of dust and dirt, impeding his view of things in the farthest distances. As he gaped at the ruinous landscape before him, a sound reached his ears. That same ringtone as before, coming from his pocket.

Years of ingrained habits forced him to dig into his pocket, where he felt what must have been a phone and the brush of something that felt like a thin piece of plastic. Alphonse withdrew his hand with the phone in his grasp, a completely unremarkable, grey, rounded flip-phone, buzzing along. After passing it to his left hand, he withdrew the other unfamiliar element in his pocket.

In his hands was a reddish-pink card with a white magnetic strip. On the right there was a black emblem which looked something like a closed eye, with a lance-like line running down the middle and two diagonals at its sides. At the right, in all caps and with a mirrored R, there was a single English word right down the middle of the pale strip.

Psyren.

As he regarded that, the ringtone seemed to grow louder. The displaced man looked at the flip phone. Instead of a number, there seemed to be static in the panel on the lid of the old-timey contraption.

With nothing else to do and not even a clue as to what happened. Alphonse flipped open the phone, seeing that the caller ID, rather than displaying a number as it ought to, displayed merely a word and a letter.

Nemesis Q.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he immediately heard that same, unnatural voice from before. Again, it took not the form of sound but words spoken directly into his mind.

"Your world has been co-ne-ct-ed."

There was a click, and then silence. Not even so much as a dial tone.

"Motherfucker." Alphonse spoke the word that most succinctly described his current thoughts, letting the arm holding the phone droop down to his side.

He didn't know anything. He didn't know what the place he'd been taken to away from the safety of his own home was supposed to be. He didn't know the purpose for which he'd been brought there. He didn't know what was expected of him. He didn't know who the being known as Nemesis Q was or what it wanted of him.

But most of all, he didn't know what the words it spoke unto him were supposed to be. A warning, a statement or a taunt slung his way. No matter what they were, they put him ill at ease.

He thought to dismiss them. To focus on the immediate situation of having found himself in a wasteland not unlike those of stories he'd become intimately familiar with, to try and find safety, food, water, shelter.

The thought was not dismissed. It continued to worm its way into his head, almost like someone had put him under a drill press and began to pull the levers, insidiously tearing its way through skin, bone and grey matter.

He didn't think to question what his world had been connected to. He didn't need to know that to recognize the fact that it was something that should not have been allowed to happen at all.

If the man didn't already know that he wouldn't get any answers just by sitting by and pondering upon everything, he would have stood there for hours on end. Raising the phone, he tried to look at the date and time, only to see that the phone's power had been cut off completely.

"Oh fuck off, really?" Alphonse muttered and let out an annoyed growl, he clasped it shut and pat himself down.

Aside from the unfamiliar items, he had nothing on his person. Just the battered, slightly scratched glasses he should have replaced well over a year ago, the blue jeans and black belt on his legs, and the black t-shirt and his late grandfather's old, well-worn olive jacket that he had been wearing up top. Next to him, he found his brown messenger bag, discarded on the floor.

Sighing, he picked the bag up, dusting it off and slinging it over his shoulder. It wasn't even necessary to look inside it to know it was empty, just the weight and, moreover, the absolute shitshow that had been the start of the 2020's, were enough to know that without even a glance.

He slipped the phone and card into the bag, and as he straightened, he heard a noise that stood out all the more for the eerie silence that had blanketed the land. It was a voice, a human voice, crying out in Japanese, but somehow he understood what they were saying as though the words had been spoken in his birth tongue.

"Help!" howled the voice, pained and desperate. "Somebody help me!"

Before he could do more than turn towards the source of the screaming, he saw a man stumble from behind a large pile of rubble beneath the shattered remnants of a highway. He was clearly Japanese, his short dark hair mussed and as ragged as his clothes, a once-fine two-piece business suit which was ripped and covered in dirt and grime. The man's eyes met Alphonse's and hope flickered in them as he opened his mouth to yell.

That hope died as it fell upon the man. It couldn't be called an animal or a human, despite appearing to be composed of both. Its face was vaguely humanoid from the top of the jaw upward, though its eyes were visibly distended and its skin stretched across its skull as though the face of a child had been stretched across the head of an adult. A ring of scars wreathed the crown of the monster's head, and where the face was the pale tinge of a bloodless scrap of flesh, the scalp was a faint pink, making it clear that this thing had scraps of flesh from many different sources.

Of course, that was also made clear by the massive, knife-like mandibles that it sank into the screaming man's flesh with vicious abandon, as well as the several-meter-long, pale white centipede body that its head was mounted on. A beard of thin, jellyfish-like tendrils lapped at the blood that dripped from its fangs as it tore into its victim.

Fight or flight instincts kicked in hard. There was a cliff to his back and a tall mound of rubble to his right, but the path to his left was reasonably clear, though it did take him within a few meters of the revolting thing that was noisily feasting in front of him.

Fight? Fat chance. Flight? Still unlikely. Without the decisiveness to do either, all he could do was cower in fear as the man was torn to shreds in front of him, unable to even tear his eyes from the carnage as it unfolded.

So frozen in terror was he that it took him a full second to realize the sound of flesh parting and being slurped up had ceased. That realization brought with it a fresh wave of fear, as the creature locked eyes with him for the longest moment he'd ever felt in his life.

In the next instant, the sound of chitin scraping against stone filled the air as the monster scuttled forward, crossing the ten meters between them in a matter of a second or two, before looming over him with eyes devoid of emotion, devoid of mercy.

In those eyes, all Alphonse could see was his own grisly demise.

His heart in his throat as it reared back, once again he heard a voice.

"Get down!" it commanded, weary but so absolutely sure of itself that he felt himself shaken from his frozen state. He didn't need to be told more as he let himself fall backwards onto the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Over the beast's shoulder, for a fleeting instant, he saw a blur of blue and white.

In the next instant, the monster was carved in twain as a pale blue haired girl in a worn Japanese seifuku practically materialised in front of it, sliding a katana back into its scabbard as the bifurcated corpse toppled to either side in an eruption of blood.

Both the girl's face and her clothes were covered in sand, dirt, and dust, her body bruised and battered, with dirty bandages wrapped around her right thigh. Despite all this, her eyes were sharp and clear as she pushed her thin spectacles up her nose and fixed Alphonse with a curious, slightly manic stare.

"A foreigner?" she muttered aloud, before walking over to him and offering him a hand up with the hand that wasn't clutching her sword in a deathgrip. "That bastard will drag even foreigners into this?"

The question was, of course, rhetorical, but the ones that rocketed around in Alphonse's skull as she helped him to his feet were anything but. The girl cut an imposing figure in a way, making him feel smaller in spite of her being small enough that he could probably rest his chin on top of her head if he got on his tiptoes.

Bringing a hand to his temples, he took in a deep, but still very unsteady breath as the dying man's unanswered pleas for salvation echoed in his ears.

"I have so many questions."

The girl gave a curt nod and turned. "I'm sure. However, staying out in the open like this is not safe—" her eyes passed over the corpse of the monster to land on the dead man and she frowned, "—as you just saw all too clearly." After a moment of silence, she continued. "We should look for the starting point; it's usually safe...as safe as anywhere in Psyren is, anyway. I'll do my best to answer your questions while we walk."

With that, the girl began to walk forward, a noticeable hitch in her step and a stiffness to her shoulders.

"Walk and talk. I can do that," he replied unsteadily, noting the way she walked even as he moved on to catch up with her. "I can do that."

He took a breath, trying to formulate a response even as the bloodied chunks of flesh of the slaughtered man kept coming into focus in his eyes despite no longer being.

"Sakurako," the girl said, abruptly. "That's my name; Sakurako Amamiya."

"Well that's one question answered," he muttered in response after she supplied something to begin with. "Alphonse Quijano. I'd say nice to meet you, but I would have rather met you under different circumstances than these."

Sakurako's frown didn't budge, though she gave an absent nod of acknowledgement.

His mind was awash with countless questions and doubts. Sorting through them wasn't something he could do on the spot, but he could at least pick the ones standing out the most.

"'The bastard,'" Alphonse began distastefully. "I take it he's some sort of higher being organizing a death game of sorts?"

The girl glanced at him. "Truth be told," she said bitterly, "I don't know who or what the bastard, Nemesis Q, actually is. God, demon, or insane Psychicer; I have no clue. But yes, he brings those who have used the Psyren phone cards into Psyren and imposes a goal upon them."

As she finished speaking she stumbled, catching herself and pulling herself upright before continuing to walk. Now that he was closer to her, Alphonse could see that her brow was clammy and that her face was flushed unhealthily. Nonetheless, she stubbornly pushed herself forward.

Concern wrote itself on the man's face. She didn't strike him as the type who took well to being offered help, and his lack of medical knowledge didn't help his decision on what to do much.

"Will you have enough time to rest up at the starting point?" he asked with measured concern.

Sakurako kept her eyes firmly ahead as she replied, "Doubtful. It's been five days; most likely, the only reason the game's been delayed this long is because of me, and now you. As soon as we get there, Nemesis Q will likely give us, along with whoever else survived, our goal." Though she did not look at him, the weariness in her gait was plain to see. "Your next question?"

"Right..." Alphonse muttered, shaking his head. Of course he wouldn't have much time to adjust. "Psyren, this place...I think I heard the bastard mention power when he mentioned it; would I be correct in assuming that you—"

The singular moment where the girl who limped along at his side exterminated the monstrosity that attacked him and butchered a man in front of him came to mind, her posture and nigh-instantaneous appearance before him.

"—That you learned how to do that because of your time here?"

"Yes and no," Sakurako replied. "There's...something in the air here that awakens a person's latent PSI energy, but it doesn't take effect until you've made it out alive once." Her grip on the katana tightened further, her fingernails biting into the lacquered wood of the scabbard. "That's why so many people die when they first come here."

After a long pause, she let out a shaky breath, and continued. "But that's just awakening. I have a teacher, back at home. She's a veteran of Psyren who can't come back anymore, but she's skilled enough, and has enough connections with natural born Psychicers, that she was able to train me up to where I am now."

More questions came to mind, and theories came to mind. Psychicers; basically Espers. The implication that people came here by choice by using the Psyren cards to become proper Espers wasn't lost on him. Neither was Sakurako's initial reaction.

She had likely not come here alone the first time, but likely left alone. It wasn't pretty to consider given her apparent age. Fingernails dug into his skin as he tried to bite down the instant and likely worthless apology for overstepping like he did if he was right. He had been tempted to phrase the question differently and ask if he could learn how to do as she did to avoid being dead weight, but he was glad he didn't.

"So when the 'game' ends, people can leave Psyren. That's good, I guess," he noted, still reeling from everything as he kept pace with the blue-haired girl. "Means I can stuff most of my questions until after everything's done and dealt with."

Sakurako nodded. "Yes, if you clear the game, you can...can..." She swayed on her feet, dizzily, "Go...home…" she mumbled deliriously, before toppling towards Alphonse. Almost without thinking, the man's arms came up and caught her, her katana clattering to the ground as it slipped from limp fingers.

Her eyelids fluttered and a cloudy gaze fixed on his own. Her hand came up and grasped at his collar weakly, pulling his face closer to hers. "Find...a pay...phone," she rasped. "There's probably...other people too…

"That's the starting...point…"

Before he had a chance to form a response, he saw something crumble in her countenance. "Please…" she whispered, eyes wide and desperate, "help me clear this game...together…

"I know we're strangers, but please! Don't leave me behind..."Sakurako all but begged, her steely stoicism falling away to reveal naked terror for the first time since she had appeared before him.

In lieu of an immediate response, the arms that had caught the girl fully wrapped around her. He could feel the heat of her forehead through his clothes; it was abundantly clear even to him that she had a bad fever. Nervously, he held her tightly, unsure if he was trying to comfort her or to gather up whatever meagre strength he could from within himself.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He lied. A dark part of his brain had screamed to just drop her and go alone, take the katana, however much it might have helped him, and just leave. He was already doubtful he could complete whatever the game was on his own power.

A part of his brain that he stamped out violently, clenching his teeth and making a disgusted expression while the blue-haired girl couldn't look into his face. To hell with thoughts like those; even if he could somehow bring himself to do that, he wasn't sure he could live with himself after the fact. It was already difficult enough to try and fail utterly to ignore that if he had any more space to run along, he would have instantly bolted the second the nameless man that was butchered only a scant few moments ago got jumped.

But he wouldn't let go of the girl. Despite merely being acquainted for all of half an hour or maybe even less, he couldn't let her die alone in this miserable place called Psyren.

'In a place of La Mancha, of whose name I do not wish to recall...'

The tale of the Knight of the Sad Figure began thus, and unbidden, the words came to mind. If he was akin to the Hidalgo, then was he a dry-brained, delusional fool or a tireless dreamer and idealist? Alphonse Quijano didn't yet know...but doubtless, he would soon find out.