Hello everyone! Hope all's going well in this part of the website! :)
So this oneshot was actually a request by my good anon friend on Tumblr whom I have aptly titled "Gray Fox" xD I normally write Tomb Raider and Mortal Kombat fiction, but I've been an MGS-fan for a long time now, and have finally taken the plunge with a Raiden oneshot :)
Drabble is a bit of a forte, if I can say so. I do cheesy and corny and try to make it as less cheesy and corny as I can X_X ... But nevertheless, I tried my best with this – and hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it out!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners, and I'm not making any profit out from this. (Which is sad. We all deserve compensation for the way MGS characters and their stories tear apart our hearts *wipes tears away*)
Note: Italics basically represent Raiden's thoughts. However, the whole italicised bit in this story is a dream sequence, where Raiden's internal monologue is highlighted in bolded italics.
Warning: Some scenes contain gore and bloody descriptions – for those who are uncomfortable with such scenarios, caution is advised!
THE RIPPER'S REQUIEM
It poured relentlessly –
Jack held up his trench coat over his head, using it as a meagre cover from the pounding rain as he got off the bus and ran toward his home. It was a Friday evening – and the suburbs were quieter than usual this weekend. The evening crowd evidently knew better than to test their luck strolling about in such abysmal weather.
He gave it a thought. The silence from the streets were a blessing – far more welcome than the intrusive stares and disgusted whispers that usually followed wherever he went. Maybe this night, for these few moments, the world could be at peace ignoring the monster that he was. He wouldn't mind that.
Nevertheless, Jack did not ponder too long on it. With his strengthened cybernetic body, it took him no longer than a few seconds to clear the block and reach the gate; though raindrops had begun to gather around his brow, and leak into his eyes. Squinting with a frown, Raiden jerked his head upward – and was left strangely spell-bound by the view.
A single bolt of lightning, thicker than his clenched fist, stretched out to the heavens, branching out into millions of brilliantly white subsidiaries; flashing across the many colours of the receding day against the inky night sky.
And then – the sound of thunder; raw, carnal as it clapped and rumbled angrily for several moments. As if the heavens had imploded, as if they were crying out in pain…
All the while, heavy rain - clear and hard as bullets - pounded on his form with no mercy, drenching him to the bone.
'How… peculiar…'
As if the hard rain could wipe away his sins and his past…
Jack's trench coat lay forgotten on the ground, his mind a million miles away. His clenched fist raised itself, reaching midway towards the sky – beginning to claw away at it for some semblance of peace. A gesture borne from an unknown hunger, that he had no way of rationalising or explaining.
Jack was not aware of anything anymore – apart from this newfound, primal desire to snatch something away – tear it out from the hands of the gods…
The ones who'd cast him on this earth as a beast, and named him after one of their own.
Raiden.
A divine caricature. A mockery of humanity.
Where had he seen this drowning sky before? The night the Patriots had abducted him, before experimenting cybernetics on him like a guinea pig? The night he sacrificed himself for his comrade to end this age old war?
Or eons ago in the jungles of…
"Jack! What are you doing?!"
Pale blue eyes diluted as the words interrupted his thoughts. 'What…'
Snapping out of his mental reverie, Jack stood aloof and soaked to the bone – the swirl of emotions and incoherent thoughts that had arrested him seconds ago, all dissipating before he could even register what had happened.
Blinking, he tore his painfully eyes away from the sky and lowered his arm. The fleeting bolt of thunder and lightning left behind rays enclosed in a misty glow, and rumbles echoing all around him. He then looked down, at the soles of his wet loafers, simply unable to process anything. Despite the chill, he felt a flush rise to his cheeks, embarrassment setting in as if he were but a mere child, caught doing something he should not be doing…
Guilt.
Seems like he was the battleground for shadowy emotions this night.
"Get in, it's so cold!" Rose called out again, this time, shivering in the doorway, and rubbing her hands on her folded arms.
As if the cold mattered to him. Why was it that Rose always forgot he was incapable of feeling such sensations? He was the discarded pile of tin – what was cold wind but a pressure beating on his body? What was the warmth of a caress but soulless contact?
Without a word, Jack retrieved his coat and rushed to the safety of his humble abode. Yet he could not shake off the strange sensation now taking hold of his mind – beckoning him to think.. To recall…
What exactly? Jack had no idea…
"Long day, honey?" Rose asked gently while handing her husband a towel, and putting away the soaked outerwear.
Unable to shake his mind free from his unnamed bothers, Jack merely grunted a response. He wiped away the excess water from his face and shoulders, knowing it would take a while before his hair dried out.
Rose sighed, understanding Jack's tiredness and frustration even if he never voiced it. "It's the damned economy… But don't worry, I know something will turn up soon…" She rose on her toes to quietly peck his cheek, before leading him into the living room.
The naïve, selfless Rosemary. Jack found himself staring at her, towel around his neck, a wayward hand unbuttoning his oxford shirt and pulling at the tie as rivulets dripped from his neck.
'The beauty. Trying to pull everything together. Trying to weave together this fragmented, shattered man into a husband. Turn this cheap shit-hole into a home. While I, the beast, hungrily feed off of the delusions she'd preach. About a life together…'
Jack felt the demons claw back in his mind – as he stood still, dazed.
"Dad! Come on, The Last Samurai is on again!"
Little John.
'A family together.'
A small smile came to the fore on Jack's tired face, an expression of hidden gladness concealed in the darkest corners of his heart.
'Let it rot there. This pathetic sentiment of fatherhood. What do you know about being a father? Don't let your fool heart know it's capable of loving this innocent boy. Do not give it a name - let it rot inside you.'
The young boy jumped wildly about his father, pulling him from his hand to the living room of their small house. It was impeccably clean – yet the smell of her infamous cooking wafted around lazily, marring the pristine room.
'How much had Rosemary changed… I remember the mess she was before – but the years in between us had changed her so… Everything had changed…'
'Save for these voices...'
A brief pause in his thoughts.
'And her godawful cooking.'
Plopping down onto the sofa, Jack robotically fixated his gaze on the television as he was expected to do so. John scrambled onto his lap – again, barely more than a slight pressure on his artificial limbs, while Rose set out the dinner. Without a word, he watched slaughter executed cleanly by clear steel blades, blood flowing while enemies collapsed and his son jumping from excitement, exhilarated by the action on the TV screen. From his vantage point, Jack glanced at the bobbing silver-white head – he felt the pull of a déjà vu again.
For a moment, he could have sworn he tasted gunpowder on his lips. But the fleeting sensation escaped as soon as it had been realised.
'Stop. Don't go there.'
The boy seated across his lap, shadows from the television dancing on his innocent face… Jack exhaled slowly, and pulled his son in closer and breathed in his clean scent, his son too amused by the violence to notice the tremble in the cyborg's rock-steady grip.
'This, is my reality. All that matters now…'
'Once upon a time, there lived a small, fair-skinned boy… deep within the jungles of –'
A roaring bolt of thunder, defeated the calm inflection of… who? Jack turned right, then left. No one in sight – yet the voice continued, unperturbed.
'Stormy weather – does it bring back memories, Jack?'
Gray skies. Bulbous white clouds staining the murky pristineness of the heavens above. Pouring – rain and occasional hail, even in this part of the world.
'Don't worry, I'll help you remember.'
'Deep within these jungles, was a group of young children. Playing, laughing, they made merry of their work, all day and all night.'
'Everyone works in a war, Jack. Even the children.'
'But… these were good children. Obedient and quiet. Never questioning. Never complaining. They worked with whatever was handed to them, with smiles of glee and flighty springs in their little steps.'
'They worked hard. And the enemy body-count mounted – one, two, three, four…'
'Such good children. They all did their job well. But there was one – one, fair-skinned boy, who outshone them all.'
'They called him - the White Devil.'
Silver – Molten and glittering. The iris, almost translucent – the blade immaculate, and deadly as it lay in wait. Mesmerised, Jack walked forth within the jungle. He held a knife in his hand. By some sorcery, another one materialised in the other. One from before the battle, one stained, from after.
'A hundred, a thousand, ten million… How many did you kill?'
"Nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty four." The words left Jack's lips without him even retrieving the information from his befuddled mind. A number that had a life of its own, and was engraved within his mind.
'That many, huh? Not bad - you might just get a sliver meat with your sour-bread.'
Jack felt it in his mouth, then. The rock-hard, unforgiving crust of the bread long-due its expiration. One that could take out the molars if not softened before. Softened in dirty, putrid water they all shared with the animals of the jungle. He could hear the flies buzzing. He could taste the sour-taste from the fungus-infested bread; smell the distinctly metallic tinge of the dusty 'flour' mixed with the fetid stench of animal manure.
A salty lick of meat – thrown at the children from the table where the commanders ate, if they felt charitable.
Never the White Devil, though. He was the most proficient in killing. He always got a full portion of protein, in secret. Infused with blood and gunpowder – fuelling the most perfect child solider. Who would deny such wholesome sustenance?
'Oh - Finished already? Such a good boy.'
The thunder bellowed once more. Lightning sparked across, illuminating the confines of the dark jungle in a momentary curtain of white. The downpour of rain drowning incessant and relentless against the vibrant, thick foliage.
'Pay attention, Jack. Do you remember? You were born on a rainy day.'
Jack was wet to the bone – but his attention was wrested from the blades in his hand, to another figure ahead of him. Alert, he walked slowly toward it, noting the short stature and fair hair from the visible back-side.
The hair raised at the back of his neck and arms – muscles tensing, his body rigid with the anticipation of an encounter. But upon approaching the enemy, Jack noted the sailor-uniform, and the plastic, blood-coated sword-toy held in a tiny, child's hand.
Standing directly behind him, Jack felt a crippling sense of dread wash over him like a million tsunamis. Foolishly denying the reality that unfolded before him, he called out to the figure, in a voice that was as quiet, as it was scared.
"John… is that you?"
A moment went by, then another, for several long minutes. Eventually, the child answered, without facing Jack.
"I am Lightning. The rain transformed."
Suddenly, the small boy turned and attacked Jack with an angry roar. Jack reacted without thought, plunging the forgotten blades he'd been holding, deep into the child's body.
Cold steel met soft tissue and bone – while crimson tainted everything in existence.
'Jack the Ripper, meet your progeny - the White Devil.'
"NO!" screamed Jack once realisation dawned; holding the dying body of his son, as the latter's cornfield blue eyes glazing over in his pale innocent face.
The child was unarmed, save for his plastic toy. All he had done was slash Jack with it, as a form of play.
A blade-duel turned on its head, paid for by the price of his own son's flesh and blood.
'Do not grieve over him, Jack…'
'After all, he was born on a rainy day, too.'
The next morning…
"You're leaving early, then?" asked Jack tonelessly, as he sat on a threadbare two-seater – surfing through TV channels. His mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once – and he fervently hoped the small talk might deliver him. Little John was asleep, and would be for a few more hours while she went away for her morning shift.
He hadn't said a word to Rose about his night. After waking up, he'd lain curled beside her, wrought with tension – fearful of breaking the trance, or falling back asleep.
He was all too familiar with it all. The former child soldier had long decided that he desperately needed these precious few hours – away from Rose and John - to sort out it all out. And thus, he resisted the urge to literally push her out of the doors, and bang it in her face.
"Yes... Just for today – the new batch of vaccines is shipping, so we have to…" Jack glanced at first, but then mentally tuned out entirely and never heard her complete her reply. Once the talking stopped, he merely grunted his own response.
Rosemary, in her neat blazer and skirt – very much worn, but clean – mirrored the look of an emerging professional. Here was a promising data analyst in some NGO, whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember. Only until some job opens up at any psychiatrists'. Campbell had used his contacts well, and at least made life much easier for her.
The clang of plates hitting the counter, eggs simmering on the stove, and banging of kitchen drawers and cabinets. She bustled about in the small kitchen, fixing a small breakfast for herself before she left for work.
What a painfully normal morning. He resumed to skipping channels without mercy.
No, she had no place here. Or rather, he had no place in this neat, little, normal world. He was nothing but a hindrance – extra baggage… Biting his lip with a muted frustration, Jack paused.
'Just wait till she lea-'
"Jack? Where are all the knives?"
'... Shit.'
He laid still, his thumb becoming stationery over the television remote, while the pale eyes widened, and his breath hitched. 'God, Rose please, just go away…'
Rosemary walked over slowly, her heeled pumps clicking on the floor – as Raiden closed his eyes and tried to will her away mentally.
"Jack, what is it?"
When he finally faced her, he found only softness and compassion, instead of contempt or annoyance. He wondered often, how could she possibly manage to beckon such calmness given how big a mess he was? How could she not feel anything bitter toward him, when he himself felt he had lost his capacity to be a human being?
He sometimes really hated Rose. Though he loved her beyond his own imagination.
Soft hands were now enclosed around his own, and the television remote cluttered onto the ground.
"Jack…?"
"Why?" he rasped, robotically, eyes fixated on the now switched-off screen. "Why can you never accept that I can't be the man you want me to be, Rose?"
A long pause ensued – one that was heavily pregnant with volumes of unspoken sentiments bubbling just beneath the surface.
"You are the man I want you to be, Jack. You're the only one I want-"
He cringed – lip curling in disgust as he shook his head away from the TV set and fixated a tortured gaze on Rose.
"Who are you trying to fool, Rosemary—"
"It's all in the past, Jack! No one can get to us, now—"
"NINE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND SIXTY FOUR, ROSE!"
Bewilderment crossed between her warm eyes, yet her mouth parted in surprise at the sudden outburst. A peculiar shadow glazed over Jack's face, his thoughts awry at the sudden realisation of what he'd just uttered.
And by uttering, brought the horrors of the past back to life.
"Wha-?"
"They… they made us keep count. Every single one of them – no matter how we killed them…" Jack began throatily, his voice a hollow whisper. "All before I was even ten."
"Back in Liberia?" asked Rose, cautiously.
Jack nodded, morose and unable to continue past a constricting throat.
"I see our son, Rose… so naïve, innocent… but I see glimpses of myself in him – and it terrifies me…"
"Oh Jack…"
"You've done far more than what was asked of you already… You kept John safe through everything, without caring how it tarnished your own reputation… But I beg you… save our son…"
The cyborg hybrid felt utterly helpless as he confessed – his voice low and laced with a melancholy that resonated from the depths of his soul, steadied by his auxiliary voice box. His empty eyes remained fixed on the television – facing Rosemary was no easy task.
"I can't be the father you want me to be, to him. I can't be the man you deserve. Not with the memories lodged in my brain. Not when my nightmares have me hurting little John. After everything – I can't do this to you both… I can't ask you to save me…"
At that moment, he turned, so he faced his wife. Tears brimmed around her freshly made-up eyes, a blush rose to her cheeks and nose, and her lips quivered to stifle her sobs. Even when crying, she remained so beautiful – it broke Jack's heart with a devastating blow.
But for her sake, he continued:
"There's nothing inside this body. What was once human is now steel and nightmares masking a dark abyss. I will only bring you down – walk away. I am too weak to push you myself, but I'm begging for you – for our son! Walk away, Rose…"
"Jack… You are the strongest man I know. I know it's hard – but know that I have accepted you in this fight. I can see into you, and there's no abyss. Only bravery, nobility and selflessness. What the Patriots did to you – it was never your fault! I do not blame you, and neither does John. But you have to try and let go…"
The warm hands clasping around his steel grip, gripping them strongly to convey her strength. Poor Rose – what did she know, that now even the most tender of her touches were nothing by unfelt pressures on his exoskeleton.
"You two… you're all I have, Jack. I can never, be your enemy. Please. I only want you to try…"
'Try'.
That one word – the bane of his existence. Coming from the calm, cooing tone of the psychiatrist in her. The well-meant, if not well-practised, comments meant to shift the blame and feign ignornant understanding. He was utterly done with it all.
"THERE! There it is again – that, that… shrink I married!" he flared, unable to describe her as he envisaged her in his mind. "I'm not your goddamn patient, Rosemary! I don't want you to tell me what's wrong with me and what's OK! I know, what's going on inside my head! So – so just, stop with the 'understanding' and the 'caring' bullshit!"
"Jack, I have been specifically trained-"
"In what, huh? VR missions? Field combat? Being the fucking Jack the Ripper?!"
Several long moments passed. During his outburst, Jack had freed his hands of Rose's grip, and now stood to pace within their dinghy living room trying to pull his mind together. All the while, Rose wept bitterly – tears stretching boulders across her smooth skin. Tears that reminded her of the extent of sheer suffering within her husband, and her own complete helplessness at it all.
Wrought with the guilt of hurting her, Jack's spastic breathing eased – until he felt he was voluntarily holding his breath. Yet the guilt was overrun by the one question that had haunted him, since Outer Haven…
"When your name haunts you like mine does – when you can't think about yourself without isolating those… horrors…" he shook his head and closed his eyes, back turned towards Rose – trying to frame the sentiments that threatened to pull his world from under his feet, into simple logos.
"That your body is not your own, your thoughts are not your own… Then you know there's nothing left to salvage." His lip curled again, lending a ghastly view of his countenance, as he looked at the morning sun by separating two blinds. "A black-hole, right here in my chest. What am I?"
'I am Lightning. The rain transformed.' The phrase played in his mind in a meaningless loop; without Snake's words to back him, he felt it to be nothing but a worthless lie.
"A war machine – only capable of killing. Not parenting. Not… loving… I have nothing to give you…"
A second hadn't passed before Jack found himself turned about violently, Rose clutching the collar of his T-shirt, knuckles white and shaking, while her teary, bloodshot eyes glared furiously at him.
"You are no one to decide what I want, and what I need, Jack," she breathed lowly, anger coursing through her, wavering her soft voice.
"You don't get to make this decision, do you hear me? You don't get to decide what a wife and a child needs! How dare you, Jack?! I'm keeping you for myself!"
And within a moment, her arms were around his neck, locked in as tight an embrace as she could muster, sobbing at his shoulder, and caressing his hair. To Jack, it strangely felt… good.
"You are my light, you are my life. You are the reason why I held on for so long… Please, Jack. Don't leave me where there is no light… I'll fight for you, I'm not afraid anymore…"
'Selfish, stupid, loving Rose…' Finally, this was her, not her profession talking. He was still wanted, with all his nothingness, despite his madness. He was celebrated despite his scars, and his afflictions…
Jack was selfishly loved; someone else, too, had stared deep within his abyss, and still managed to find light in the heart of his darkness.
"Snake was right… You are the lightning in the rain–"
"Rose, don't…"
He had never completed the sentence. Pulling her to him, he had returned the embrace as fervently, kissing her forehead as she laid her own kisses at the base of his neck.
Somewhere within, he felt the demons recoil and shrink away. However temporary the respite may be -Raiden had gained dominion over his mind, and life. The kiss from a rose, chasing away the gray darkness of his own being.
"Thank you, Rose…"
What you liked, what you disliked, or anything that could have been done better – have a heart and please let me know what you all think! Have a great day, everyone :)