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Written for gw1000
Sigh... I do not own Metal Gear... =(
"This is it?"
"What do the coordinates say?"
"Well, if I followed them right, we're here. Seems a bit run down, though."
"It's better than some of the places I've been."
The pair stood outside the establishment door in confusion. They'd been living in Manhattan for a few months, and Snake hadn't really adapted to life in hiding. Being "dead" was harder than he had imagined. And he still wasn't accustomed to being called David.
And playing dead was even harder when you have a mystery contact still calling your codec. But none of it made sense. Everyone- even the Colonel, thought Snake went down with that Tanker. Otacon was the only one who knew what really happened.
The mysterious contact was withholding information. Information only someone on the inside would know about the Tanker incident. Only someone who knew Snake had survived would be able to send.
And that's why they followed the coordinates sent for a meeting place. And those led them there; a small, hole-in the wall bar on the south side of Harlem. The pair walked in and their noses were immediately filled with the smell of booze and tobacco. Dust and smoke floated through the air, and the only light came from the neon beer signs aligning the walls. Some of the people sitting at the stools looked over their shoulders to see who had entered the worn out pub, diverting their eyes the moment they met Snake. But most were too drunk to care.
"Well… what do we do now?" Otacon said while plunging his hands into his coat pockets.
"We wait." Snake muttered solemnly. While truthfully, he didn't really know what to do either.
They both stood near the door way awkwardly for a few moments before a woman behind the counter look up from the glass she was cleaning. She gave a warm half-smile a called out to them.
"Go ahead and have a seat wherever you like, just holler when you decide on a drink."
Snake motioned his head over to a small table near the back, and they walked over and made base. A ripped handmade drink menu lay upon the unclean table. Snake didn't need to read it. He already knew what he wanted.
"I just don't understand why they want to meet us here." Otacon looked around disapprovingly. He looked quite out of place from the night crowd.
Snake once again, ignored the comment. He simply gave a slight hand-wave to the bar maiden and grumbled "Whiskey. Dry."
There was silence for a moment. Suddenly, a crisp female voice came from behind, thick with a Kurdish accent.
"Ah, a tough man. I like that."
Snake froze at the feeling of a cold hand on his shoulder.
