Once, if someone said "Jack." to him, he'd have thought of Jack Daniels, the drink
(and whirlwind snow and caribou and dogs; not that he liked remembering those half-empty years).
And once, if someone cried "Jack?" at him, he'd have thought of the kid, the rookie from a non-existent organization, the toy soldier from the battlefields, the armored Lightning with a mind of his own.
And now, when someone cries—
"Jack!"
His mind fills with memories, thoughts that are not and were never his.
He hears—
"There can only be one Boss,"
—sees white flowers—
"and one Snake."
—death—
He realizes that he really wants a cigarette, something he hasn't had for—god, how long has he been in this place?
Four years.
—cracking gunshots missiles bombs and haunting tunes battle after battle after—
Four years.
Some of the old-timers have been for nearly fourteen. No way out. Just fight and fight and fight and you can't even die, just hit pause until the image burns into the screen.
"Jack?"
("Like you I too am filled with sadness," he remembers, and almost laughs.)
"Is that you?"
("This world is one of sadness. Battle brings death, death brings sorrow.")
And Snake turns to the woman-in-white and says
"No."
The snow is nearly blinding, but they're close enough to each other to make out most of the others' details.
Four years, and his memories have never been this close to the surface.
("The living…may not hear them,")
Blue eyes meet (designer, fake) green. (But is blue even real? Here?) A gloved hand reaches for a blank bullet hole that he once—that the other (Jack, John, father) shot through her skull
—red flowers—
("Their voices…may fall upon deaf ears.")
And she pulls a gun and points it between his eyes
("But make no mistake,")
and asks "Who are you and what is this place?" voice deadly serious. "And answer fast. I've got no patience for this sort of thing, especially now."
("The dead…")
He casually leans back against the (pointless, decorative) searchlights.
"Go ahead and shoot me," (Boss my Boss my Mentor—his Mentor his…mother; the reason for everything) "lady. Trust me when I say that that course of action will get you nowhere fast."
("...are not silent.")
She does not waver, at least not in her arms or her gaze. Perhaps her mind—?
The Snake shifts toward the Boss ("Boss! Why are you doing this—?") and tries to CQC the gun out of her hands. He realizes it's a stupid idea even as he acts on it.
He sees the Patriot's muzzle for less than a second, (click B—) and everything is dark.
(She notices his eyes are blank and bored, like he was thinking of something better to do, but was going along with this anyway. Just to humor her.)
/-/-/-/
The lights sear the words a challenger approaches! into his eyes andwords spill from his mouth—
"It's showtime!"
—without his consent, but that's too normal to bother him.
THREE
TWO
ONE
GO!
They stand on a swaying bridge. A river rushes far below, and the skies are already open as the music begins:
Petals of white
Cover fields flowing in grieving tears
And all the hearts once new, old and shattered now…
From the wrong time, but hey, it works. He quickly puts it out of his mind. There will be many more chances to learn the lyrics, anyway.
And she's standing there, gun clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes are calculating but not quite cold, and they seem almost relieved as they take his unharmed, (nearly) living figure in.
She's a warrior, one who can be taken by surprise, but she will always adapt. Snake knows this, would know it even without the not-memories, and she's all the more dangerous for it.
Before long they're face-to-face, and he can see muted emotion in her eyes.
He doesn't try hand-to-hand. CQC is something he's good at; he—no, his fath— Big Boss—
…His memories have surpassed her before, but today…
(he holds her and knocks her down, she holds him and knocks him down and breaks him)
…now…
(and he gets up and this is what she wanted isn't it? isn't—?)
…he can't do it.
He won't do it.
(the Patriot is warm in his hand. From being used or from being held, held by her still-warm but slowly cooling hands)
He makes the first move; drops a grenade at her feet and cypher-flies up. She's out of range nearly before he is, but by graceful whirling back rather than leaping.
The mechanics of this place are strange, he wants to tell her, but in the arena he can only choke on his voice.
She pulls out her gun and fires—actual bullets, not explosives.
Some hit. It hurts, but he shrugs it off.
His footsteps echo over the wooden planking at a steady pace, thumping like the heartbeat no-one and nothing here has. He's as far as possible when he shoots the Nikita missiles, half for attack, half just to see.
Her eyes narrow and she tries to dodge, but he just shifts it around and slams it into her back. For a split second he's filled with sick horror, but then he remembers that this is nothing.
She flies and hits the wood hard. He steps toward her and simply waits for her to understand.
And understand she does. In her own way, at least.
As he falls under the rushing current, Snake thinks, bemused, I should've expected this.
/-/-/-/
He fights his comrades and assists his enemies and vice versa, like always. It means nothing now. Because there's nothing else.
Because there's everything else.
…Nobody has beat her yet.
He catches a few matches. They all lose within one minute, generally less.
He sees Bowser stomping away, Ganondorf's icily furious demeanor, Mario's bemused smiles, Luigi's terror and awe. She's the talk of This World, more than anything else.
It's almost 's up to him to surpass her (again, and for the first time).
He speaks to Hal on the CODEC, to remind himself that he is Dave, he is not Big Boss, that he doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to.
"I'm going to do it anyway," he quietly states, (but he's thinking I haven't been with you in years, how do I— how do you know who I am anymore?) and Otacon doesn't try to dissuade him.