Web小説 「.hack//bullet」


End of the World Radio! I'm your host, Dr. Final.
It's the number one pirate broadcast here in Tokyo, travelling across wards to deliver the truth over the airwaves to you. Today's topic: the end of the world, like always! The destruction of decadence, the annihilation of politics, the world's first free state that we'll establish on the moon. No ifs ands or buts.

The word of the doctor is final.

This is how the world ends. The big suit big wallet corporate punks have reached their final stage as foretold by our granddaddy Yasutaka Tsutsui--the complete domination and commercialization of our very existences, my friends. You guessed it: the biological implant IC chip! Passmo--thing of the past! Suica--gone by the end of the week! The world is changed, man, The World is now the world! The IC-UC-They-C-Everything-U-DO Chip! Rumour has it that folks here in our Japanese Diet are working with corporate forces and the Americans cross the oceans to put these things in our necks--step 1 in uprooting the world. Dr. Final will have none of it--the doctor's word is final.

New wave new tech--it's all the same to me. Business demons using the tools that were supposed to set us free to drag us to the pits of the earth. It stinks down here, man, and I've had enough, haven't you? The world itself is a copy of the past. We live in a simulation--no, not the Matrix, not the brain in the jar, not the world behind the screen--the world itself has become an imitation, cheap and obvious. The modes and reasons of living are all replicated perfectly under the circus tent as set up by our arch nemeses up top, and we suck up like a baby to a teat. We all live along the rails of the corporate-washed world wide web, a wonder wasted and disfigured into the worst. There's nothing online anymore, friend, what we once called cyber-reality is now plain old reality, 2500 yen a month and free for all. The real world's all we got left, refuge, respite, relief. We find reality in those non-places, the unseen spaces, the zones that are unmonitored and unclean, dirty as humans should be. Concerts, coffee houses, art exhibits, the things we've shunned off as being outmoded and out of date--reality exists here, friend. True connection starts here, in the art created by others, just like this art I'm blasting out from the powerlines that gives you power.

The doctor's word is final--don't argue with me. I only speak the truth and nothing but the truth.

That's why we can't stop covering up our unreality with the real reality, the 100% authentic product--drag it out from the seams, bring everyone you know and give them a taste of that indelible real life glow. Protesting in Aomori--nice work. The bastards: CC, ALTIMIT, NAB, Japan, America, the capitalists and the consumerists, the "world" as we know it needs to know that the analog warriors of the 21st century will have a say before they start digging holes into our necks to tie us to their world wide web that entangles us in their schemes, keeping us asleep, in a dream, where they provide our every need.

Sugai--the one and only, our old man on the front lines, preaches our word daily, you need not fear. He'll be elected any day now. And when he is, you have to rally, you have to scream, you have to shout! Shout and cast your spell--the spell that says you want reality back in the palm of your hand, not what some messed up corporate schmuck tells you is "reality.” Yeah, he yells from his vans across rice paddies about how we need to control the net or whatever, but don’t let the word “control” scare you, folks, because the two words before it are always “take back,” as in “we have to take back control of the Net.” That’s what we have to do—we have to seize the means of information dissemination and make sure it’s out of the hands of those up top and free reign for those down below. He wants to make the world a whole lot smaller, a whole lot louder, and a whole lot sounder.

Peace and love for Emir Savas, the analog warrior above them all. Love and peace. There’s no such thing as justice in this world if true heroes like you can’t find peace. This one goes out to you, chief, I hope you find peace out there—wherever you are. Just come back in time for the show, so you don’t miss the grand finale. We’re waiting for you. The doctor hopes you're doing alright, and the doctor's word is final.

This world’s burstin’ at its seams lately. The news never ends, don’t you think? New this, new that, and the latest is that of Yuri Seto. Word is that this old flame of hackers worldwide tried to stage an attack that would’ve taken anyone online, offline—if you know what I mean. Disconnected. Gone. Thanks to those who tried to keep this a secret, and thanks to those who made sure that secret got out without issue. We love to hear tales about the things we’re not supposed to hear about—so I say freak out. This shit is wild. Insider sources to Dr. Final tell me that this was more than just a fun little computer virus—if it had gone through, we might be goner than gone: DEAD. Story has it some CC suit who threw himself from a kitschy Chinese restaurant last month was Seto’s first victim in about two decades—the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.

That’s why it’s time we counterattack—can’t let the government let fools run around with murder programs on their hands (just don’t ask me how I know this thing kills, because I ain’t no hacker, just a man who knows the truth). Enough of this post-modern, post-truth, post-reality, post-nonsense. The fact of the matter is the people who turn the planet round and round to the rhythm of their electrical pulse don’t know the first thing about its terms and agreements—the fact is that they put our lives in danger with their dangerous mismanagement, and the matter is simple: we strike back.

How, Dr. Final, how do we do this? What’s the means of attack? Where’s our armouries, our 1000-folded blades and cleanly polished muskets? The Doctor’s answer is simple, friends: right there in your pockets.

The means of organizing, disseminating, and gathering have always been right in the palm of your hands for a few decades now, chief. Why’d it take you this many second opinions to use them? A dentist doesn’t need to tell you to brush your teeth, and Dr. Final doesn’t have to tell you to transmit the resistance. You get what I mean? The Doctor doesn’t have to tell you where or when. The Doctor only gives you a subtle reminder that the health of the planet ain’t lookin’ so good, and it’s up to all good patients of regularly scheduled pain and suffering to curb it.

The Doctor’s word is final—so get on it.

next ch.70: PLUTO'S KISS