Battery Park, New York

Wednesday, 12:05 pm

Otacon strolled leisurely through the park. The incoming summer months had brought an increased amount of warmth, as well as a return of wildlife. The squirrels chattered up into their trees, and an occasional rodent was seen dipping through the foliage of some of the bushes. Otacon cringed a bit when he saw it, not bothering to wonder why the city was strict in its sanitation policies.  A light breeze accompanied his stroll as he waited for Snake. He carried with him a small coke he had bought at a local McDonalds. He sipped from the plastic straw and looked around him. He had been raised a rather sheltered life in a wealthy family, not seeing much of the city. Not exactly a country boy, the city still amazed him, and he was easy to spot for a tourist occasionally looking up at the expanse of buildings. He almost forgot why he was there, until his watch alarm rang. He glanced at it. It read 12:10.

Snake's late…he doesn't usually miss appointments. Especially when he made them.

Otacon thought about using the codec, but decided against it. Nano communications could be monitored, especially since their signals were clearly defined. Though they would be overlooked by all civilian sources, high tech military equipment could pick them up. And with recent events firm in mind, high tech surveillance would be in place. No point in making the world know that Solid Snake was still alive. He slowly began to pace back and forth, wondering what had happened. Was Snake in trouble? Had anything happened to Meryl? The questions fluttered through his mind. But he missed the most obvious one. It was a tiny red dot staring into his left eye.

Otacon fell back in the nick of time as the sniper shot rang out, rippling through the air, slamming into the bushes causing a flood of pigeons to swarm up. Even worse, Otacon didn't hear a sound. A silenced sniper had a bead on him from a dozen possible locations. He burst off in a run, using zigzag patterns that Snake had taught him during his 'basic training' the year after Shadow Moses. The sniper couldn't get a head on him, but that didn't prevent the telltale plink of gunfire tracing his steps.  He huffed and moved, pushing past pedestrians, hoping that they won't be in the line of fire. Nearly getting into a fight with one man, he pushes him down and tries to keep moving on the cobblestone path. He can feel the bullets whiz past him as he continues his steps towards the exit. He turns and continues to move, weaving in and out of tables and leaping over trashcans. Elegant jumps mark his foot falls, with the strange on look of pedestrians. Though their questions are soon answered with the small destructiveness that the bullets cause. During his flight, he briefly thought of Wolf and her skill. He knew that the sniper wasn't as skilled, but was twice as determined. Forlorn love wouldn't save him in this situation. He saw the end of the park in sight; it was only a few more feet. To the fence and freedom. He jumped over the bushes surrounding it as he latched on to it, moving up it as a spider would. Though it wasn't fast enough. He could feel the bullet whiz through his pant leg, causing a slight flesh wound. He winced slightly, but leapt over the fence, dodging the sniper in the park. He walked casually up the block, into a crowded section of street, avoiding the sniper.

He could feel the blood soaking in, the wet sticky feeling of life. He would have to get out of his current clothing if he wanted to stay relatively healthy. It was a set-up. Figures. How had they known where they were staying? He took the note out of his pocket. It was written in hotel stationary, with a black pen in fine handwriting. Which also raised the question, why didn't they kill him in his own room? Or capture him for that matter? It simply didn't make sense. He needed to get out of these clothes, fast. And get to a payphone.

Looking around, it didn't take long for him to see a GAP located nearby o the crowded streets. Increasing his stride, he moved as quickly as the pain in his leg would allow him. Which seemed to be growing by the moment. The bullet had hit him deeper than he thought. He needed to stop the bleeding before it became to obvious. Crossing the street he, got into the store. He picked up a hooded fall jacket, gray t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He paid for them and got into the changing room.  Taking off his old pair of jeans, he looked down at the wound in his calf. It was deeper than he thought. Ripping off a piece of material from his old shirt, he wiped away the excess blood and tied the fiber to it. Sighing, he got up and hobbled out of the store.

Looking much less conspicuous, he quickly located a payphone with graffito carved into the handle. He inserted a quarter and rang the hotel.

"Pliesmann's. How may we help you?" The clerk's cheery voice sounded over the phone.

"Hi, uhm, did you deliver a message to room…" Otacon, forgetting his room, dug in his pocket and fished out the key. "Room 512?"

 The clerk went salient, and all that could be heard was typing over the keys. "Yes sir, we did. At around 3 am. Phone service was unfortunately unavailable to that room, so we had one of our bus boys bring it up."

"Thanks." Otacon hung up the phone, and walked to lean against the wall.

Why would they deliver a message to his room? Why not give one just to Snake's room? Unless…

Otacon ran up to the curb, and frantically waved a hand to hail a taxi. He needed to get back. And prayed that he was wrong.

******

Pliesmann's Hotel, New York

Wednesday, 12:30 pm

The elevator beeped three times, denoting the new floor. Snake and Meryl stepped out. Snake stepped out, wearing a leather bomber jacket, with black jeans and military boots. Extra bulk under his jacket could be mistaken for fat, but it was actually a form of high-grade Kevlar. It could even stop the cop killers, or 'green apples' as they were called. Meryl clutched his arm, wearing a military surplus jacket with a green t-shirt, complimented with camo pants and military boots similar to Snake's.

"You think Hal is alright, Dave?" Meryl asked. Using codenames in public was just too damn conspicuous.

"He should be, I sent a message to his room around 12:45 last night." Snake responded, walking along the corridor.

"Hmmm. Yeah, I guess so." Meryl cocked her head to the side, her flowing red hair coming down a little past her shoulders.  "How is he holding up? After Emma's death?"

Snake sighed. "He took it rough went it all went down. He sounded pretty good last time I checked."

Meryl nodded and gripped Snake's arm a bit tighter. She was afraid that she had lost Snake during the Big Shell mission. He had always informed her on his activities with Philanthropy, she had come on some of those missions as well. It scared the hell out of her that Snake went off without warning, but she was relieved he came back safe. I guess he was worried that she would get hurt on that one. And he had good reason to worry as well.

They came down the hall and reached Otacon's room, 512. Meryl knocked a few times on the door. "Hal, we're here!"

No response.

"Hal?"

No response.

Snake muttered a curse and slid his trusty SOCOM from his jacket. It was outdated since he had first used it on Shadow Moses, but it had brought him luck. And he would be damned if he would upgrade any time soon.

Meryl mutters to Snake, "You have a copy of his key?"

Snake shook his head slightly, lowering the suppressed SOCOM. "We can't call the manager for the key. Can you pick it?"

Meryl squinted and looked at the lock, analyzing it. She whispered back to Snake, "A new form of deadbolt. I don't think so."

Snake grunted lowly. Meryl bit her lip slightly, and turned the knob to the room. The door creaked open. Snake smirked at her. "Its always the obvious."

He nudged the door open with his foot and quickly took position behind a wall. Looking across, Meryl was doing the same. She held out her powerful Desert Eagle, able to blow a hole in any living opponent that crossed her. Even with body armor she'd be able to break a few ribs. Snake motioned to Meryl, counting to three with his fingers. Her head bobbed in succession with his count, taking a breath with each number. Each second mattered. As the count reached zero, the both side stepped and whipped into the room, guns pointed at any number of opponents. Though they saw the little present that did greet them. On the bed was a canister, labeled 'Napalm' in wispy calligraphy, and painted on with a certain off white. It bore a US Army symbol under it, juxtaposition of cute and sinister. Though what was written, burned, into the fabric of the bed gave light to their dire situation.

I wonder what kind of Snake are you? Are you a Salamander?

"Move!" Snake burst off running; Meryl didn't need a command to start off after him. And he thought he had gotten enough bombs with Fatman. They always had to be fucking bombs!

They didn't even reach the end of the hall before the Napalm canister exploded.

******

The taxicab pulled in front of the Pliesmann hotel just as a rain of fire erupted from the fifth floor, spraying hapless pedestrians with flaming rubble of what once used to be a hotel room. Otacon instinctively flinched as the fiery wood and timber came crashing down like a rain of brimstone. He burst out of the cab and looked up. He didn't see any bodies fall to the ground, nor none were seen from the gaping hole in his room. He could hear the scream of the unfortunates that were injured by the blast. Whoever was after them didn't seem to care about the individuals around them. Otacon immediately leapt out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. After the rain of fire ended, a small crowd had began to gather in front of the hotel.

Otacon ripped his hands into his scalp. He had gotten there too late. He hoped that Snake wasn't a burning corpse lying on the carpet of his room.  Looking around the crowd of people that had now gathered, he didn't notice that his taxi had drifted away. He didn't see them, so he ran into the lobby.

Pushing several people out of his way, including several beat cops, he rushed up to a clerk and shouted a question at him before the cops could drag him off.

"Did you see a man come down from the fifth floor? Before the explosion?" The beat cops began to drag him back, throwing curses at him as they tried to pull him away.

The clerk shouted back. "Get this guy the hell out of here! No reporters!"

Otacon punched and wrestled, attempting to get back in. Though the beat cops had cordoned off the area. The wail of fire engines could be heard in the distance.

"Dammit, Dammit, Dammit…" He muttered consecutively under his breath, as he started to pace across the street. He hated these moments. Why did he always have to be the survivor? Just bad luck…

"Otacon…" A familiar voice called out to him as he took a step on the asphalt. He quickly, and as inconspicuously as possible drew back and walked toward the alley.

He peered in and saw Snake and Meryl. They were covered in soot from the smoke, and dark crimson was coming from Snake's left arm. His jacket was torn up at the back, though Meryl seemed to be unharmed, just wet and winded. Her bright green eyes shown through her dirty skin.

"Are you two alright?!"

"Yeah, we're fine. The sprinkler systems kicked in before the fire could spread too far." Snake coughed, inhaling a bit too much smoke. His head jerking down, he glanced toward Otacon's leg, noting the blood soaked bandage.

"What happened?" Snake commenting on the bandage, flicking his finger downward towards it.

"Oh, this…" Otacon looked down towards his leg. "We can talk about it later. What happened up there?" Otacon turning and pointing toward the gaping hole in the fifth floor.

"A canister of napalm went off in your room." Meryl chimed in. "The napalm wasn't high grade. Usually it would be a fast burn, most of the building would have gone up."

"Everything plotted for show…" Otacon stated sourly. He briefly thought about the things in his room. Luckily his journal wasn't in there, he had forgotten it at the safe house. Forgetfulness was a virtue after all.

Snake nodded. "Everything seems thought out to every detail. They didn't know my location, so they removed you from your room to get to me."

Otacon leaned back against the wall. "Ohh…"

Meryl coughed, spitting onto the pavement. "We should get back to the safe house, clean ourselves up. Take a breather from all this." Meryl wrapped her arm around Snake's good one. She clearly didn't want to begin a mission without first talking to Snake.

Snake nodded, "Lets head out." He turned to Hal.  "I've got a car stashed a few blocks away from here. Since you don't look like you were just doused with Napalm, could you go pick it up for me?"

Otacon nodded. "Sure." Snaked tossed him the keys, and Otacon caught them deftly. He walked slowly out of the alley as the crowd increased around the building, the police presence evidently being more hostile. As Otacon left, Snake and Meryl embraced each other, hoping that they would both make it out in one piece. New lives come at a price. Just how costly, Snake didn't know. This was new ground for him. He needed to find that price. He just hoped it wouldn't come at the expense of their lives.

******

Somewhere in the United States

Wednesday, 11:09 pm

A TV sat shining on a view screen in the conference room. Its digital luster shined over the conference table. All twelve leather seats were filled. All twelve sets of eyes glued to the set, watching the events unfold before them.

Channel 2 News at 11

(Blonde haired, Blue Eyed woman sits in front of the news desk)

Cindy Kayman: An explosion ripped through the Pliesmann hotel this afternoon, blowing out a room on the fifth floor. Three people were killed, and dozens of others wounded in the blast. Sources say that the most likely cause is arson, but to what purpose remains to be seen. Marc Lewis is on the scene, what can you tell us, Mark?

(Scene cuts to report behind police lines. Police scurry around him)

Mark Lewis: Well Cindy, all I can say is that it looks like hell down here. With the big shell crashing into federal hall a few days ago, police are taking no chances here. The hotel is crawling with Military and Arson investigators wondering if this is backlash from the 'Sons of Liberty' incident. As you can see, room 512 is completely destroyed. Nothing is left of it at all.

(The reporter points upward towards a gaping hole in the building.)

Cindy (Voice): Are there any indications that there might be a cell of the 'Sons of Liberty' on Manhattan?

Mark: The police are tight lipped about anything regarding the 'Sons of Liberty' or any such related organization. Our military sources aren't saying anything except they are keeping a close eye on our Nation's Metal Gear units. Back to you Cindy.

The dark skinned man raised up the remote and clicked off the television. Associated grumbles to be heard throughout the room. The man with the bourbon in hand sat next to the dark skinned man. He took a sip of the amber liquid.

"What the hell was that?" One of the twelve said.

"It looks like a major fuck up to me." Another growled.

Bourbon shook his head, "Gentlemen, please. It is a minor set back. For all we know, Solid Snake is dead. One less genetic nightmare left."

"I don't know." A voice from the back of the conference table perked up.

"We want a body. It's the only way to make sure." A man across the table said to bourbon.

Bourbon sighed. "We don't have any other leads on Snake. He was able to avoid our radar until he created Philanthropy. How long do you think he can hide from us now that he is back in the underbrush? With help I might add!"

The collective power brokers and manipulators grumbled.

"You need to talk to your man. He's out of hand." A voice from the head of the table spoke up.

The dark skinned man pulled out a French cigarette and lit it, puffing on the smoke. "I'll talk to him. This won't happen again."

"We wanted a flachette bomb, to make it look like a botched assassination. The committee did NOT approve this." A voice from his right announced.

"Just be more careful next time, Gitanes." A voice from his left spoke.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we move on with phase two. Leave Snake dead for now. We have the child, he'll come to us." Bourbon stated confidently, taking a sip of his drink.

The other men in the room harrumphed and talked among themselves. Before anyone else could say anything, Gitanes spoke out. "My men are ready in France. There are no explosives involved."

"And the plan is clear to you?" A voice from the far right spoke.

"As crystal."

Bourbon nodded. "Well, that takes care of that gentlemen. All we have to do is wait. Our control will be assured."

The group collectively broke out in side conversations after the meeting was over. Bourbon turned to Gitanes, "You sure everything is ready to go?"

Gitanes nodded slowly. "Jefferson and his team is ready."

Bourbon laughed, "Jefferson in Paris, a nice touch indeed." Gitanes simply smirked ever so slightly. He looked out towards the silver moon and thought. Was Solid Snake alive? He hoped so. It seemed everyone had met the legend, except for him. Even if he wasn't. There were others he could play with…so many others. The art of manipulation was beautiful. He was so engaged in his thoughts, he missed out on the toast.

Bourbon raised his glass, "Gentlemen, to the old world order!" The rest followed suit, drowning their glasses of whatever drink they had chosen. Gatines simply sat in silence, and waited on news from Paris.