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Fortress
Nightmare
It was cold.
The metallic corridor did nothing to dispel the thin layer of frost that had settled on the lights. A thick veil of mist enshrouded the area, visibility was less than four feet in front. An alarm blared, a faint whine that grew ear-piercingly loud before returning back to faint. The tapping of boots was the only contrasting sound to be heard past the alarm. A sniper rifle silently rattled on the figure's back, blotches of black in-between the eyes.
A single thought ran through the figure's mind as she ran through the corridors.
How she had watched him die.
Quiet passed through a hissing door and scanned the next room. A rectangular box with flashing red lights. Empty, just like the rest. The mist did nothing to improve her vision, and the alarm deafened her to any sounds that emanated from the nearby rooms. She only knew the room was empty because of her sixth sense, a sniper sense it could be called. He was to the left, about seven rooms away- give or take.
She walked left and came upon a blinking door light. Red. Red for locked. Quiet silently cursed. Of course it would be locked, things were never easy for her. Taking a detour, Quiet made her way towards another door and dashed along the corridor. Door after door she went through of empty rooms. Until something pricked upon her face.
Quiet stopped and felt her cheeks, something brushed against it, small particles that felt like sand paper. She raised her gloved hand and caught some within her palm. In the low light, Quiet inspected the particles. Beige with a tinge of gray layered on top. Sand, how it got inside this deep in the fortress was beyond Quiet. She pressed on, the sand suddenly growing at her feet. It filled her boots and scratched against her ankles. Pressing her lips together, the sniper looked away from the billowing winds. Sand whooshed around and the entire area was given an orange-yellow look to it. The sand grew to her thighs and Quiet stumbled and fell. Beige filled her vision and the heat burned at her back.
Images burned into her eyes. Images of the past. Quiet scrambled to her feet and willed the past away. Now wasn't the time to think about such things. A snake slithered by her feet as Quiet drudged along to the door.
With a hiss of the door, she dived through and shut it behind her. A sigh of relief brushed past her lips as Quiet stood up and brushed most of the sand off her body. She held her rifle in her hands. The barrel gleamed and the wooden body was polished. The scope reflected some of her face in the lens. Quiet checked the inner mechanisms for any sandy damage. There was no sand, to her relief. Bolting the gun back up, Quiet looked at the dusty scope, a single crack running along the lens. The body was worn, scratches and chips all over. The barrel was slightly warped.
Quiet smiled, her eyes slightly watering. The clean gun brought nostalgia and she enjoyed it for a few seconds before moving forward. Past another door and into another empty room. All the doors in this room were locked, all except for one. Blinking green and beckoning her to enter. She checked the other doors, and they wouldn't budge, no matter what she did to it. Quiet tried phasing through the metal, but it was too thick to accommodate her petite size.
The green door led to a short and narrow corridor with a single door standing at the very end. It almost beckoned her towards it. With one hand held protectively on her rifle strap, Quiet walked towards the other door. One foot in front of the other. Only a couple more rooms beyond this and she'd meet him.
The light above her blinked and shattered, casting a dark shadow behind her. She continued forward, surefire and steady. The next light above her blinked and shattered. Every bulb Quiet walked under broke and cast the corridor further into the darkness.
Small rectangular mirrors ran along the walls, reflecting Quiet in all directions. Harden, changed and lonely through the years. Her body remained the same, a curse of her specialty. Quiet donned a sandy tunic, with chest pockets full of ammunitions. A similarly colored tanned scarf covered her neck and tipped at her shoulder. Combat pants were tucked into of black boots. A black horn sprouted from the side of her forehead, large and ever menacing. Blood covered her face and dripped down onto her tunic. Dark emerald orbs could be seen apart from the crimson, staring at the goal ahead.
One by one, the mirrors along the wall cracked. Parts of the mirror showed a man, other parts showed a woman. They shared in common the blood that coated their faces and the look of determination and reminiscence in their eyes.
Their Phantom Pain.
Quiet stopped and let the door retract upwards. She stepped through and adjusted the weight of her rifle. This room was clear of mist, but in its wake was three soldiers in combat uniforms, automatic rifles in hand. Balaclavas covered their heads and on tense shoulders was an emblem that Quiet didn't recognize- didn't need to recognize.
They jumped at the sight of her, each crying out in a different language. Fear ran through their bodies, and their tense shoulders trembled at the sight of her. They all said the exact same thing.
"It's Quiet!"
A faint smirk crossed the sniper's face as she stood motionless and waited. The men took a triangle formation around her and pointed the business end of their rifles at her. She waited as they cast furtive glances at each other in an effort to decide on when to shoot her. She even waited when they wrapped a finger around the triggers of their guns.
Then, in one fluid move, Quit jumped and pirouetted in the air. She landed behind one of them and pulled out her knife. Viciously stabbing the man in the left shoulder, Quiet used his convulsing body as a shield. Bullets rained into his corpse as Quiet pushed him along towards another. Planting her boot on his chest, she propelled the body towards his buddy. He dropped his gun to block the large hunk of flesh rocketing towards them.
The last guy let loose a burst from his rifle. Quiet twisted and hurled her knife at the man, a sharp yelp and a gurgle coming from her target. Bullets ricocheted off the metal and empty casings rattled on the floor. Quiet's knife had lodged itself into the man's cheek, penetrating into the spinal cord. He slumped and fell onto his face, pushing the knife further into his head. Quiet walked over to him and wrenched her weapon out. Sheathing it in its respective holster on her belt, she picked up his rifle and moved towards the last man alive. Four short, loud, staccato pops came from the rifle and Quiet tossed it away.
Three dead bodies lay in the room, blood pooling out of their wounds.
Picking up her pace, Quiet ran to the next room. The mist had returned and shrouded her in its gray blindness. Once again, Quiet was in another empty room, devoid of any furniture or life. She moved past this room and into the next, maneuvering around empty storage containers. She pushed through the next door.
This one was yet again empty. Quiet grumbled silently as she listened to the sounds of the distant rooms. Something moved in her peripheral view. Quiet stopped and brought out her pistol. A soldier on the ground was crawling away, his uniform a tattered mess. It looked as he had stepped into a meat grinder and barely escaped without chopping his bottom to pieces. He brought his head up and stared at Quiet with glassy light blue pupils, a low guttural moan arose from his lips. An Infected.
Quiet stopped and killed it, the bullet echoing through the room.
An Infected? She asked herself. It was impossible. They died out without Skull Face's Skull unit.
She turned on her heel and moved around the body, heading out the door and into another corridor. Quiet ran along the hall and immediately felt the floor shift underneath her feet. She jumped back just in time to watch the floor panel collapse into a jet black abyss below. A small section of the panel still remained, about half a foot in length against the wall. Quiet sidled against it and moved, once she was on a wider footing, she bolted down the hall. Amplifying her body weight, Quiet dashed forward at an astonishing rate and pushed through the door at the end.
The mist in this room was easily three times as thick as the mist she had encountered previously. Quiet couldn't see an inch in front of her and her lungs felt congested- if she had lungs. Quiet had to use her sixth sense to move around the room, which was empty like the rest. She could make out someone standing in the middle, watching her movements. Quiet focused upon the shape. It did not move and it did not speak. She reached out and flinched when the figure twisted its neck and cracked it. Tiny black bugs, worms, undulated on its skin. It made the figure look blacker than shadows.
It stepped forward towards Quiet and her jaw slacked when she saw who it was. It was herself. Except in a more demonic form than what she is. Quiet raised her pistol and fired a muffled shot at the clone. It hardly flinched when the bullet embedded itself into its shoulder. Quiet backed up and fired more shots, but they did nothing to harm the clone. It continued walking towards Quiet, a black humanoid that was made entirely out of insects. She holstered her pistol and brought out her knife. Rushing forward, Quiet twirled around the clone and jabbed the blade into the base of its spine.
A foreign hand wrapped itself around Quiet's forearm and flipped her to the ground, disarming her. Quiet silently hissed in pain when her arm twisted abnormally. She spun to her feet and held her arms loose in a fighting stance.
He stood in front of her.
Snake.
Except his was younger, much younger than she had remembered. He didn't possess the eyepatch and the scars on his face weren't visible. His gray sneaking suit was pristine, unlike how she remembered it as worn yet fully functional. A similarly colored bandana was wrapped around his forehead, tied tightly behind his chocolate hair.
His fists were held high, ready to fight against her. His eyes showed no signs of recognition as he stared into Quiet's own eyes. Her jaw slacked and her stance dropped, she couldn't fight Snake. Yet by doing this, she gave him an opening to deftly punch her in the stomach and shoulder. He flipped her to the ground again and tried to break her arm, Quiet squirmed out and jumped back to her feet. She blocked his next set of attacks, deflected his punches and shoving him away from her.
Quiet silently screamed at him to stop, that he was trying to kill her- Quiet!
Then a blast of heat escalated across her face. She blacked out for a moment, the entire left side of her body ablaze with pain. When she came to, Quiet could only twist her head at the source of the heat.
"Snaaaake… You… Did good kid." A contorted voice uttered with its raspy breath.
There were two people in front of her, a couple of meters away. A veil of gray partly ate them, discovering who was who was difficult. One was on the ground, body burning, writhing, yet knowingly accepting his fate. It was like Quiet long ago, when she had discovered something that was detrimental to the ones she loved. She writhed and denied that such things could ever happen. But she accepted that she had to leave in order to protect the ones she loved. And she did leave, in the hot Afghanistan sun, hurting the person who cared for her the most.
As if on cue, the burning body jolted and twisted onto its side, giving Quiet a clear view of his face. The black eyepatch was melted onto his nose. His scars were still evident even after so many years later. A butterfly with bright blue wings fluttered and landed on his blackened nose, despite the flames licking at its wings. She reached out trying to use her voice to call out to him. The other person, who Quiet couldn't determine was, held a gun out in his hands. Quiet crawled towards him, her body screaming in protest.
As your time draws near…
"Quiet… You came back." His final words echoed through the building. A single gunshot rang along the walls as Quiet screamed.
She felt scared, scared that wasn't going to be able to see him again.
But most importantly, she felt robbed. Robbed of her only joy and determination in life.
Quiet couldn't save him. She watched in die in front of her.
And she did nothing to save him.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
[X]
Quiet jolted awake. It was pitch black, crickets chirping in the distance. The bark she was settled on scratched her back. The starry sky twinkled with lights, the humid air ever the same. Quiet shook, her face perspiring. Her throat was dry and her eyes were watery.
A nightmare. She thought to herself, wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead. A nightmare…
She looked around, observing the tranquil jungle for any threats that could have snuck up on her during the night. Foliage and trees swayed with the whisper of winds that passed by. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In precaution, Quiet pulled her sniper rifle close and checked the magazine. Full, with and extra bullet in the chamber. Content with her defense, she rested her hand back on the tree and looked to the stars. She tucked her sniper rifle close and closed her eyes, humming a tune that hasn't aged through the years. It was her tune, the only thing that she had to associate with Snake.
Snake. I hope you're okay.
You better be okay, because I'm coming back.
I hope.
[+] Clue : Nightmare
