5.03.14
It's been three days since Arsenal crashed into the federal building. The cover stories orchestrated by the Patriots details that Arsenal was actually a new form of environmental control and clean up facility that was disguised under the Big Shell. Mass manipulation of the media and other sources is readily apparent. If they can conceal this mess, I wonder what else they can hide?
The crash was blamed on an anarchist terrorist cell, aptly named 'Sons of Liberty'. They wanted 1 billion dollars in cash or they would take down the top-secret plant. Apparently, the mobile facility crashed after a large amount of infighting from the terrorists. The resulting crash left them all dead, including their leader. Patriot forces immediately recovered Solidus' body in order to prevent a massive scandal. All claims that the leader was actually the former president were discounted, and their advocates discredited.
The story that followed a result was that the terrorists took control of the facility while the President and other VIPs were touring it. I guess a little truth thrown into the deception makes it more palpable. The resulting takeover led to the deaths of the President, Richard Ames, the SEAL teams sent in, and the unreleased identity of a hostage. Stillman's death was explained that the SEAL teams needed an expert on bomb diffusion, and was captured and executed by the terrorists once he was found.
A surviving member of the SEAL team, using a chopper that was stolen by the terrorists, accounted for the hostage's rescue. They even had a SEAL ready to take the credit for it in the end.
After the crash, the navy reclaimed Arsenal and put it under heavy guard. With effort, I am sure the Patriots can easily get it back into their hands. It's discomforting to know that their digital tyranny can be rebuilt with adequate time and effort, but we intend to stop them before it ever reaches completion. I think it would be hard to find a programmer with your intelligence.
Anyway, after the crash, Snake left Raiden to Rose. He doesn't expect him to be coming to hunt for the patriots with us. He has a family now, and a new life to start. More death won't help him lose the past.
Leaving the two, we went to our hotel. There we found an unexpected guest. Meryl was waiting for us. She didn't seem to be sad, angry or even nervous. She was just hiding herself. I went up to my room, letting them talk. They really needed to catch up after all this went down.
I didn't waste any time in getting to sleep. It had been a long mission, and an even longer day. It was a dreamless sleep, though restful. The next morning I had awoken to find Snake gone from his room apparently with Meryl, with a note under my door. It read:
"Battery Park. Noon Today. Don't be late."
-S.
I guess it was strange to find a note like that from Snake, but I guess he needed more time with Meryl than I thought. I'd better head off; I have some things I need to take care of. Talk to you later, Emma.
-Otacon
******
Somewhere in the United States2 days ago
The sun began its leisurely pace of descending below the horizon, ending in a cascade of purples and oranges. The small spaces in between the blinds let the orange glow radiate around the conference room. Pictures of dead presidents hung on the walls, and the gleam of the lacquered oak desk shown in the sunlight. A man stood staring out the window, the unmistakable glass of bourbon never far from his hand. The ice swam in the amber like crystal in a blonde's hair. The old man took a sip, his black Armani suit stood ironed in all of its perfection. Not a wrinkle, fold, showed itself. A strange window to perfection.
Another man sat behind him. His shadow. He lay in an executive leather chair, the black leather nearly as dark as his skin. He was dressed casually, in black khakis and a dark green sweater. He was clearly younger than the man holding the bourbon. His hair wasn't graying, nor did he have a wrinkle on his face. His black hair was neatly trimmed, as was his goatee.
"You have a bead on them?" The man with the bourbon spoke.
"Yes sir. We know their location."
The older man turned to the younger. "Put on Beethoven. Moonlight Sonata." He went back to staring out the window, sipping his bourbon.
The dark skinned man got up off of his chair and picked up a plastic remote lying lazily on the desk. It was obviously modified, with several extra buttons. The man aimed it at the wall and clicked it twice. The cabinet opened, revealing a state of the art stereo system. The CDs clicked to change, and the somber melodic tones filled the room. The younger man sat back down.
"You really should learn to listen to something else. Classical is outdated."
The older man scoffed, and took another sip of his bourbon. "It is the only thing left worth listening too. Its too bad no one composes anything new."
The dark skinned man took out a thin French cigarette and lit it, filling the room with the scent of mint. "We can have a musical discussion later. About business."
"Ah yes. Business. Your men?"
"On stand-by. The others have already taken care of cover stories." He took another puff. The music added to the prelude of action.
The older man took a sip of his bourbon. "Good. Everything is in place."
The dark skin man nodded. "Yes. It is."
"How is the digital flow about Arsenal?"
The dark skinned man sighed and lightly tapped the cigarette, a hint of annoyance. "Most concerns focus on the Illuminati, or an internal new world order. Even extraterrestrial involvement is quoted. The cattle just can't get it right, so it seems."
The older man laughs. "They always think its some form of new tyranny. Nothing ever goes back to the old orders. The old ideals."
"Indeed." The darker skinned man turns in his chair, blowing the crisp smoke out of his mouth.
The old man sips his bourbon again, the ice dwindling down into the depths of the amber waves. "Have the operation go by day break. Now leave me be."
"Yes sir." The darker skinned man got up out of his chair and pushed it back in. He quietly walked out of the darkened office into the hallway. The older man was alone with his music.
"They must learn…no one escapes their past. No one." He whispers, as the sun set, claiming the office for darkness in the country of liberty.