Chapter 2: First Steps in Termina
January 14th, 2009
Even by winter's frigid standards, it was an unusually cold day. The winds tore at the few bits of flesh that were exposed to the elements, like ravenous hounds hungry to devour their pray. The slums beneath Termina's Sector Seven were a dreadful place. Above us was not a sun to warm the barren ground, but a dark and obstructing series of interwoven plates and pillars that lifted the privileged elites into the stratosphere. Above us were a myriad of pipes, some containing raw sewage. To the people above the masses of the slums, the downtrodden were literally worth less than their piss.
The scarf around my neck was a deep, vibrant blue. Otacon probably chose it to match my bandanna. I didn't have the time to bother with fashion statements. Otacon handled the technology, and apparently, he dabbled a bit in following men's clothing trends. Phoenix handled our finances and our public relations strategy. I just discovered new and exciting ways to kill people.
Together, we were Philanthropy. Multiple websites had compared us to the likes of Avalanche. Our rhetoric had been misconstrued as advocating a return to the days of violent revolution. Those were boldfaced lies. Avalanche failed a year after its coup because they had presented no sustainable alternative to Link's rule. Avalanche was colored in the language of socialism, but its leaders did not follow their own decrees to the people they presumably served. Their answer to the cries of the masses was to respond with a slight variant of the corruption that the people knew too well. Avalanche failed because Cloud was foolish enough to seek the same power that Link had attained.
But he let Link live, because the public would only condone executions of anonymous criminals. Those that were famous in the eyes of the people often escaped persecution. Their connections, their networks, enabled them to get away with murder. Phoenix told me that a competitor of his, a man named Edgeworth, found a loophole in the legal system with which to spare Link's life. Cloud was too busy sleeping beside men, women, and children to give a damn. In those days, Edgeworth was a defense attorney and Wright's partner. Once Link regained power through his coup, he promoted Edgeworth to lead the Turks Intelligence Agency, and Edgeworth then commanded the Turks from his bully pulpit, convicting innocent men and women of false crimes. The friendship between Phoenix and Miles fell apart around that time. I was too smart to ask Wright to reveal most of the gritty details.
Link, then Cloud, then Link again. The cycle continued into perpetuity, and the one in charge mattered little. The crimes of those who resided in Shinra's Headquarters remained shrouded in a veil of mystery. Both men engaged in the same...pleasantries. Piles of money. Exorbitant taxation. Favors for 'friends.' Men in black suits cruelly and efficiently mowing down perceived 'enemies.' The most attractive men, women and children were the least lucky. They would be kidnapped, forced to suck down the juices of barbarism firsthand. The luckiest were those smart enough to stay homeless in the slums. Better to live next to an abandoned train car, dressed in rags, huddled over a fire, but still possessing one's precious dignity.
I could have found a quiet corner to rant and rave for hours about the system. I could have sat there forever, breathing in the toxic fumes of my beloved nicotine. I had for years. Yet this day was the dawning of a new era. Today, Operation Philanthropy began in earnest.
Phoenix and Otacon were both safe in our underground labyrinth, a headquarters buried beneath the safety of the streets of nearby Kalm. Link's forces were present there, of course, but not to such a degree. These days, only a few lucky thousand possessed the privilege to reside outside the overcrowded hellhole of Termina. More than ninety percent of the world was being drilled. Holes had peppered the surface of our once beautiful planet, searching for those last hidden crevices of mako energy. Meanwhile, untold millions of unfortunate people were stuffed like sardines into the city of nightmares. Millions more, of course, were buried beneath it.
Otacon provided me with a passport to acquire access into the slums. Although a necessary security precaution to ensure my infiltration, doing so probably wasn't even necessary. Security was always tight to get into the city above, but the ground beneath was home only to vagabonds, criminals, anarchists, gangs, and those generally of ill repute. Link's Administration ruled Termina with an iron fist, but it relied on an ambiguous network of lackeys to oppress its wastelands. My credentials were viewed for all of five seconds by a single 'officer' who was more interested in raping the poor girl in line behind me. This is not a land that follows any laws but those prehistoric ones, decided by blunt objects and the pouring of blood.
She was young. Maybe twelve. Traveling with her grandfather. Brunette. She had a ponytail, I think. She sang a lullaby as she was 'inspected.' I wanted to snap every bone in that inspector's neck, but I couldn't risk being exposed so soon. There were too many soldiers in the vicinity, and I was only one man. I had to drown out her screams as I walked away.
Otacon pleaded with me over the codec. "Kill him!" he shouted. "Save her!" Phoenix was slightly more subdued, but Wright still believed in a concept of nonviolent justice, the notion that the pen could still eclipse and overtake the sword. I had to resist any virtuous impulse that could compromise the mission. In truth, there are thousands of girls like her. Even if I had rescued her today, she probably would have been raped by another tomorrow. The system of vile oppression would only die when Link, the head of the monster, was killed. And I could only kill Link if I was nothing but a shadow.
I was surrounded by a series of dilapidated huts, in varying states of disrepair. The few slum lords here who controlled this territory lived in the nicest accommodations, but by the standards of the world above, even their possessions were worth mere scraps of gil. There was a marketplace in the center of this village, bustling with the most activity. Most of the property traded was in the form of people sold into slavery. The most unfortunate ones would be forced to compete against each other in matches to death to provide entertainment for their captors. It was brutal to watch, yet to witness such a sight firsthand was to understand the face of the enemy. Link was not a heroic figure in green tights anymore. He was no longer the elf who rescued fair damsels, the common boy who rose to fame through a fine mix of luck and prophecy. Nor was he a man wearing a pressed Shinra business suit, the benevolent image of a patriotic patriarch that adorned billboards and posters in the world above. Link was found instead in the expressions of sheer agony found on the faces of the subjugated and exploited masses in these slums.
Hidden from plain sight were the few weapons I had managed to smuggle into this territory. To possess weapons of some sort in the slums would be expected. Despite this, most could not have afforded firearms, let alone a dozen specialty grenades. Most enforcers in the depths were equipped with knives, the occasional sword, maybe a whip or a spear. I was fortunate to smuggle in a tranquilizer pistol, a modified Beretta. Even though the weapon was non-lethal, the gun was probably worth more than several dozen slaves.
I was not wearing my stealth suit. Not yet, anyway. It was carefully hidden in a single suitcase, strategically placed next to lightly soiled undergarments. (The apparel had been intentionally soiled, so as to prevent the officer from proceeding with a closer inspection.) Unwashed clothing was not atypical in these parts, and I drew no additional attention. I had cigarettes and a lighter in one pocket, but I brought no money. To travel with anything of worth in plain sight would have drawn plenty of unwanted attention. Phoenix had provided me the extent of my connections by leading me in the direction of a local establishment in this sector. Even still, he did not sound incredibly enthusiastic of the prospects that I would quickly acquire the resources I needed to break out of the slums anytime soon.
My goal was to eliminate Link. Even reaching Link, however, was virtually impossible. He resided on the top floor of a headquarters that was elevated far above the Earth. Once I made it atop the plates, I had to find a way to acquire access into Sector One, also known as Neo Kokiri. It was the most heavily guarded sector, and it contained the only passageway to the central pillar, atop which rested Shinra Headquarters. After climbing dozens upon dozens of floors unnoticed, a fortunate assassin might have reached Link's quarters. Heh. Good luck.
The fluorescent lighting of this freezing locale seemed redundant. Why illuminate an unchanging sea of brown and gray hues? Yet in front of me was a tavern with letters in brash shades of neon red and blue. "Seventh Heaven," the sign proclaimed. If this was heaven, I thought, I needed to pray for unattainable immortality. It was here, more than five years ago, that Avalanche, the original resistance movement, was born. Strangely, after regaining power, Link did not think to close this establishment. Maybe he left it open as a sign to those conspiring against him; "Resistance is futile. You could plot all you want for your precious revolutions, but change will never come, and you will never be free." In any case, since Cloud and Sephiroth's brutal public executions in 2004, no one dared to cross Link again. Link did not repeat Cloud's fatal flaw. Cloud had let Link recuperate in a jail cell, and he had paid a hefty price for his indiscretion. Link may have become a truly sinister, revolting facade of his former self, but he was smart enough to outwit his spiky-haired nemesis.
"I've made it to the contact point. Are you sure Luigi will be here?" I muttered, though no one nearby would have seen my lips move. I was speaking privately, almost telepathically, through my mind's inner voice. Naomi was a despicable person, a traitor with a mind easily swayed. She nearly destroyed Philanthropy before the project even began. Still, her nanotechnology breakthroughs had proven useful, and her innovations would outlast her demise.
"I have no idea," Otacon's high-pitched voice responded. "Stay on your guard. Luigi used to be a top law enforcement officer in Link's regime. He could still be working with the enemy. But we don't have any other leads. Few high ranking government officials willingly find themselves in the slums."
"Isn't he Mario's brother? Seems like an odd candidate to turn traitor," I said.
"Yes," said Phoenix, the third and final participant in our traditional codec conversations. "He's Mario's younger brother."
"Strange. I don't feel comfortable trusting the word of General Mario's brother. It's more likely Luigi's either set up a trap, or he's been burned so bad by Link's Administration that he'd have nothing to offer us."
"I understand your concerns, but it's still a risk worth taking," replied Phoenix, in his traditional matter-of-fact recitation. "I knew Luigi, albeit vaguely, back in my days as an attorney. He had a heart, and a conscience. A nice guy surrounded by piranhas. He just got caught up in the wrong kinds of causes. Having an influential older brother immersed in such a world…led to the inevitable."
"Besides," Otacon interjected, "you're still the best covert operative in the world, trained by Foxhound, the clone of Big Boss."
"Foxhound. Big Boss. Those words mean nothing these days," I said, spitting those putrid words out of my mouth as if they were curses. "And I'm getting older, in case you haven't noticed."
Phoenix did not bother to attempt a response. He had probably grown accustomed to my growing cynicism. "A woman named Tifa Lockheart is Seventh Heaven's owner. Former Avalanche member. It might be worth trying to converse with her. She was one of the leaders alongside Cloud and Sephiroth back in 2003."
"And she was spared the aftermath of Link's coup?"
Phoenix paused for a moment, seeming to search for the right words to say. "She has...assets. Link found her...useful, for a while. When he grew tired of her servitude, he let her go. Link no longer views Avalanche as a threat. Its remaining members have dispersed, and without Cloud and Sephiroth to rally them, they're in no position to commit to any more acts of terrorism. Link views them with absolute contempt, but massacring every former Avalanche member would probably lead to an avalanche of martyrs. Better to leave the weaker ones alive and impoverished."
"It also provides Link a convenient terrorist group to blame whenever anything goes wrong," said Otacon. "Every disaster is Avalanche's fault these days, and the media's portrayal only keeps Link's approval ratings stable. The administration could practically get away with genocide and no one would know!"
"Sounds like your cherished legal system is in a pretty deep pile of shit, Phoenix," I replied.
"Hey, buddy. I'm holding onto what little faith I have left," said Phoenix. "But with Edgeworth effectively running the Turks... the courts are absolutely emasculated. There's no such thing as objective truth, justice, equality. Edgeworth shut me down, and nearly everyone else who possessed a shred of integrity. Even prosecutors with a reputation as severe as Franziska von Karma were threatened. For all I know, she just might be dead. Most respectable esquires and politicians were butchered, along with the Constitution."
"Listen, Snake. You can reach Phoenix and I anytime you need to. Phoenix is a master at social interaction, laws, and politics. You can contact him for advice in handling interpersonal situations that you might struggle with. Remember, you'll need to cultivate friendships and relationships if you're going to last long out there. You can reach me anytime you need advice on technical issues. Computer hacking, repairing damaged equipment, that kind of stuff. We're here for you twenty-four seven, man. Don't forget about us."
"Affirmative. I'm commencing Operation Philanthropy. The first objective is to find Luigi Mario." I usually tried to keep military lingo light when speaking to Otacon and Phoenix, who were unaccustomed to their usage. In these kinds of moments, however, the habit was too hard to resist.
"Good luck, Snake. Make 'em pay," said Otacon.
"Just, promise me you'll forgo violence whenever you can?" said Phoenix. "We don't need to mar the cause with any unnecessary bloodshed."
"Deal," I said. "We're not Avalanche."
"While you're at it, can you promise me you'll give up that atrocious smoking habit?" Otacon pleaded. "You really can't afford it. With the accelerated aging kicking in and FOXDIE in your system, the nicotine could react..."
"No deal, Hal," I replied. "You know me better than that."
Once the conversation ended, I gathered one final look at my immediate surroundings. Having stood motionlessly in a spot for several minutes, I had garnered some stares from a few elderly men gathered next to a tent near the tavern. I nodded calmly at them and pressed onward. In this place, my moments of inaction while using nanotechnology were simply excused as atypical. Not every man in the depths could make a substantive claim of sanity. However, it could pose a far greater problem later in the mission, when my periods of eerie silence would be greeted with less mere curiosity and more clear suspicion.
Opening the door into Seventh Heaven, I was greeted immediately with a foul odor, a mix of alcohol, sweat, and filth. Nonetheless, this dump was probably still among the cleanest buildings in the forsaken seventh sector slums. My presence was barely acknowledged by the crowd, most of whom were too engaged in their own meager concerns. I looked for a tall, lean, mustachioed man fitting Luigi's basic description, but none fit the mark. In the interim, I noted that the group in the tavern was nothing if not eclectic. A gorgeous, well-endowed woman with raven-black hair was serving drinks and striking small conversation with the local inhabitants. Under other circumstances this would have merited my attention, but partaking in flirtatious banter was not at the forefront of my thoughts. The cries of terror from that young girl at the checkpoint were still too freshly ingrained. Furthermore, Tifa...I assumed it was her…didn't bother leaving much of herself to the imagination. Easy conquests rarely piqued my interest.
A small television, certainly the most expensive possession in the tavern, was blasting the proceedings of a sports game between the Neo Kokiri Elves and the Neo Hyrule Knights. No one seemed to be watching. There was another woman in the far back of the bar who had relinquished herself to the shadows of the establishment's dust-infested corners. In the center table, a group of men seemed to be enjoying an intense game of poker. As I examined the scene, I wondered exactly what to do next.
So it began.
STATUS:
Weapons: Beretta M9 tranquilizer pistol, six chaff grenades, and six stun grenades.
Social Links: None.
Support Links: Phoenix Wright, Hal Emmerich.
DECISION:
What should Snake do next?
A: Order a drink and strike up some small talk with Tifa. (Not chosen, five votes.)
B: Ask Tifa if she knows anything about Luigi Mario. (Not chosen, zero votes.)
C: Ask Tifa to change the television channel to Termina's News Network. (Not chosen, zero votes.)
D: Join the company of the men playing the poker game. (Chosen, six votes.)
E: Introduce yourself to the woman in the corner. (Not chosen, two votes.)