Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

There was a grave misunderstanding between Weasel and Kieran, most of which came from the former's egregious mind. Engage in enough crime, and one's mind would tend to the negative more than the positive.

It didn't remotely cross Weasel's mind that Kieran meant his words in a recruitment sense. He wanted him on his team… not in his bed.

'Eugh… who would?'

Kieran gave Weasel another pass, shaking his head with a grimace. What an unsightly person. How could his first thought ever be that someone wanted him? No… they wanted his skills, his specialization.

People capable of successfully hacking into government institutions, financial centers equipped with multi-stage security protocols, and magnate-level corporations were extremely few in number.

Though they existed, their methods were not as ingenious and untraceable as Weasel.

Hence, his sobriquet Weasel of the Net—a slippery scoundrel who was extremely difficult to catch because he left weaselly redundancies for escape.

The silence and Kieran's gaze somehow added to the disturbing atmosphere.

Weasel broke out in a frightened sweat, attempting to scurry backward to prepare to scamper away, but an absurd vice gripped his nape like a helpless puppy grabbed and suspended in the air.

"P-please don't assault me… I don't consent. You've already kidnapped me. If you take this any further, this is assault, and I can report you for your crimes."

"Oh…"

Kieran nodded noncommittally, something treacherous flashing in his dark, spellbinding eyes.

"I guess it's fine if I report you for your crimes. I'm sure the government would have a field day with you. Extracting your occupational secret through advanced interrogative techniques, keeping you hostage to teach them to others. What a joy!"

Kieran emphasized the words with disturbing rumors behind them slowly and deliberately. They impacted Weasel like a pelted brick or a few wrenching stabs to the back. He paled and quite nearly dry-heaved but held himself back.

"No, no way. We're friends. You wouldn't sell out a friend, right? That's just bad faith. Who would ever want to be your friend again? No… you don't want that reputation. Of course, you don't. I'm telling you that you don't, so you shouldn't. Because I'm a genius, and I know better. You ought to listen to geniuses, ya'know."

Kieran forced down a chuckle. Weasel's shamelessness knew no bounds. Friends?

"I thought you said I was your assaulter? Your kidnapper? Would a friend do something like that to you?"

"Oh, I'm just a victim of the world's fastest case of Stockholm Syndrome. We've already bonded and… I love you. I'm in love with you, and so we're friends. Friends until the end. Brothers, even. That means you can't tell on me."

"Wow… you've certainly jumped a few levels there. Okay, friend—brother? In that case, what's my name? If you're my brother, you should at least know my name, age, birthday, and occupation."

"You're Friend. I just told you that. But if you must know…"

Weasel paused abruptly, scanned his surrounding then coughed violently. He hacked up something vile and disgusting while a strange azure light swept through his iris. The lines resembled an electronic circuit board in complexity and volume, but they didn't remain for long.

Weasel blinked. Then, those bright bluish-green lines receded, their remnants lingering for a few moments, and he looked up with a big grin sporting spotted teeth.

'Eugh… for fuck's sake, brush those things!'

"My beloved friend, Mr. Silver! Wait... Mister? Is that your first name? Wait, of course, it is. I know you, so I know that's your first name."

Kieran sighed. Faint regret bubbled in his mind. Sure, he remembered how invaluable Weasel's future presence was, but he forgot how infuriatingly shameless he could be.

'At least there's a plus. It seems he has already begun creating DANG. Only someone like him would manage to create an odd acronym like that.'

DANG stood for the Data Acquisition Networking Group. He was the head of that group, and so he bore the Master Circuit, implanted in either one or both eyes. But considering that he had to escape detection to employ it… DANG and its Master Circuit were extremely far from their perfect rendition.

Kieran wondered what phase it was in.

"I guess that eye of yours isn't all that good."

"My eye? What about my eye? Are you telling me to visit an optometrist? Sound advice. I guess my vision has been getting pretty bad lately."

Kieran squinted. Weasel's favorite tactic—playing the wily fool. But the issue with playing is that you stop playing and fully assume the role after some time.

For example…

"Dang, I thought I had something."

Weasel's breathing hitched. He blinked and looked at Kieran.

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"You said dang and then trailed off. Like you REALLY said dang."

"Oh, yes. Because I thought I had something. But I just needed to gather myself because it was clear I had acquired the wrong idea."

Weasel sighed a breath of relief like a proper fool and spoke his thoughts aloud.

"For a minute there, I thought you were talking about DANG. But how could you? No one knows about that. It's a secret project that no one knows or understands. A revolutionary venture of a genius!"

Right, a genius. Who had just foolishly revealed the existence of their clandestine project of unknown value.

'Truly the most genius… genius I've ever seen. This is why he does not belong in the real world. A room with computers to talk to is the only place he can thrive.'

"Oh, so there's something called DANG, is it? Must be some networking group focused on data acquisition."

"WHAT?! Who spilled the beans?"

That was a screamed question Kieran did not answer. There was no need. After some moments to process his own words, Weasel reddened, avoiding the many looks with furtive glances.

"I'm an idiot! A stupid genius is what I am. But wait…"

Weasel squinted at Kieran, skepticism brewing behind his burrowing gaze.

Sure, he had revealed the existence of his project and the acronym, but there was nothing especially concrete there. Not enough to guess its purpose with terrifying accuracy.

"You gave it all away. You may think you're smart, and that is entirely true. But that's only regarding numbers and technology. You spoke your weakness aloud earlier. You can't read people, and you don't know they can easily read you."

Slowly, Kieran explained Weasel's reaction to him, earning a perplexed look. Every last breath he used was just wasted. Maybe the rodent of a man wasn't designed to master human interaction.

A bot in human skin. That's what he was.

That was fine, though.

Kieran found it acceptable because his role required little human interaction. He wanted Weasel to design the security, information gathering network and become the warden of the team's cyberspace.

"No way, I'm not that stupid. You must just be another fellow genius. You did beat that devil of a dealer so that it might be true."

Weasel was, without a shadow of a doubt… the most delusional and in denial person Kieran had ever encountered. Dealing with him was a gruesome torment in itself. Some would say that could even double as payment for the disproportionate bastard.

'Gods… he just doesn't shut the hell up.'

"Sure, I'm a fellow genius or whatever. That said, we should stick together. You've gathered information on me. You know who and what I am—well enough, at least—so join my team."

"Can I say no?"

"No. Because my threat will become a reality. Agents will sweep through this den of questionable legality and scoop you up like creamy soft serve. You'll be a delicacy for them."

"Stop! STOP! Get the picture out of my head. I'll bite. I'll listen. What would you have me do?"

Kieran smiled.

"Nothing you haven't already done. Except your services can longer be provided to others. You'll be taking up an… exclusive position on this team."

"Did I just sign my life away? Am I a slave now? I thought that was abolished. History, you duplicitous bitch! You lied to me. Slavery very much lives. It is just disguised. Woe is me; my friend is a slavemaster!"

Kieran waited for Weasel's complaining to die down before continuing, doing his best to sweeten the deal. But it was hard—damn near impossible—to please Weasel.

"You won't be working for free, though. I'll bankroll whatever you need to continue perfecting DANG. That is why you do everything you do, right? To perfect the legacy that you're building?"

For once, Weasel grew unbelievably serious.

Criminals usually committed crimes to fulfill self-indulgent desires, primarily the acquisition of riches, status, and station, but Weasel didn't quite care for money. He wasn't attracted to the idea of wealth. But he did love knowledge… numbers, and the relationship between them.

More than that, he wanted to create streamlined access to those things, engendering the appearance of more people like him. In the end, he was lonely. No one quite understood Weasel. He was eccentric, capricious, and extremely shameful to baffling extents.

All distasteful and off-putting traits to most.

So, he wished to create an environment where people of a similar likeness could network. An endeavor of massive amounts of trial and error, so a massive sponsor was required.

"You won't screw me over? You won't take this from me?"

"I won't."

Weasel didn't trust easily, and it showed in his contrite expression.

"You promise? You really won't? This is all I have. I'm Weasel of the Net. The net is all I know."