Chapter Three: Where the Spotlight Dares Not Shine
The large spotlights that searched in the shadows of the plateau did not reach, nor did they try to reach, where Snake ran. At his age, one less problem was something to cheer about, but in his current situation, cheering wasn't necessarily the appropriate reaction.
His legs jumped wildly, leaving no more than 1 inch imprints in the snow. As he ran, the snowmobile that sat in the thick, icy, snow came closer and closer until it was less than two feet away. But, just as he reached it, he heard a sneeze from the cave near by and he dropped onto his stomach behind the mobile as a soldier stepped out of the cave.
He wore a somewhat odd uniform. It's camouflage was not platoon, nor solid white as the surroundings would imply, but instead - gray with splotches of black, white, and occasional splashes of green and brown. It was hideous in all honesty, and it in no way suited the environment. Odd.
The soldier walked, in no unordinary fashion, over to the snowmobile. He stopped before he had quite sat down upon it and yawned, letting his eyes wander up to the black sky. There, off in the distance, he saw something that looked oddly like a Cypher. Snake peeked up at him, and saw the confusion in his eyes, tracing them to the Cypher that buzzed off in the distance. As the soldier reached for his radio, Snake jumped up, surprising him, and grappled around his neck. He pulled the soldier over the seat of the snowmobile and closed his eyes as he heard a pop. Then, the soldier's body slumped to the ground. Snake opened his eyes and put his hand to his ear.
Snake switched the channel to 141.12, and waited. Suddenly, Otacon's nervous voice emerged in the depths of Snake's ear.
"Yea, Snake?" Otacon questioned. The thought that Snake had contacted him less than two minutes after the two had conversed before was slightly unsettling.
"Did I just see what I thought I saw?"
"No doubt about it, Snake. That was definitely a Cypher."
"How?"
"I don't understand it either. It can't be another trap like the tanker mission. Philosophy has no ties with the Patriots."
"How do you know that?"
Otacon gave a small whimper. "Well, we cannot confirm that, but its obvious. The government has released specific details about the situation to the public all ready. They can't fool the people into believing you started it all if the whole world all ready knows the truth."
"Hmm."
"Listen, Snake. Find a weapon ASAP. You can't go wondering through Hell's Outpost and expect to stop the threat without a weapon."
"I can't get anything from these soldiers. Internal gun ID systems are installed into almost all military weapons nowadays."
"Actually, Snake, their weapons probably don't have the ID systems installed. Philosophy isn't a military force by any means. Their men come from all nations and ethnic groups. I doubt they have first-rate weapons equipped."
"Hmm.I'll take a look around. Try and figure out what the hell that Cypher is doing out here."
"I'll do my best. Keep yourself hidden. Remember, the spotlight is your enemy. The shadows - your friends."
"My only friends."
Snake ended the transmission and reached down for the soldier's radio. Snatching it up in his hand, he broke away some snow and set the black box into the hole. Then, he covered it again, and stood. He scanned the body of the snowmobile and noticed a few side-seat compartments. He flipped up their tops and reached inside.
From one of the compartments, he pulled a few rubber bands, a pen, and a dirty magazine. Snake looked at the cover of the magazine, but gave a low grunt and jammed it back inside. Then, he reached into the next compartment, beneath the seat of the snowmobile. As soon as he put his hand inside, he knew what he had touched: a SOCOM pistol. Anxiously, he drew it from the compartment and held it steadily in his hand. He surveyed it, running his other hand over the grooves, and smiled when he held it out ahead of him.
"Hmm.It's got a laser sight.but no ammo." Snake frowned at the realization of its empty magazine, and slipped the gun into a holster on his left hip. At that, he stood and just as he did, a loud whirling began to echo in his ears. The snow began to fall more rapidly now and as it did, the spotlights mounted on the roof of Hell's Outpost turned toward him. Snake jumped into the snow and rolled onto his back as the whirling became increasingly louder.
Then, with a burst of sound, three helicopters hovered over the plateau and came into Snake's field of vision. Lights were placed all over the hull of two of the helicopters. It was obvious that they were no enemies of Philosophy. The spotlights quickly scanned the bodies of the helicopters and as they did, Snake looked up at them, trying to make sense of the insignias.
Two of them wore the identifications of Philosophy while the third, which flew between the others, bore the U.S. seal. The spotlight rested on the middle helicopter as the three of them hovered over Hell's Outpost, circling the facilities before slowly coming to the snow-blanketed earth.
Quickly, realizing the attention had been placed on the helicopters, Snake got onto his feet and hurried to the helipad that lay meters from the actual buildings. It was nearly five football fields away, and upon noticing his distance, he began to sprint.
The two helicopters that seemed to be protecting the other, stayed in the air as the U.S. helicopter touched down on the helipad. There was space enough for only one other helicopter and once the propellers of the U.S. helicopter had halted and quickly buckled into a small compartment in the top of the chopper to take up less space, one of the others began to lift into the air while the other retreated to the area beside the U.S. helicopter.
Snake saw the third rise into the air and watched as it quickly flew away from Hell's Outpost heading east. Still, he ran. The helipad was 300 yards away. Then, it was 275. Next, 200. 195. 160. 120. 100. 80. 55. 22. 10. He stopped almost ten meters away and found a conveniently arranged tower of crates to hide behind as the U.S. helicopter was slowly unloaded. He moved around to the other side of the crate tower and watched a man emerge from the shadows that dwelled against the walls of Hell's Outpost. He wore a long black trench coat. His hair was silver. He wore beneath his trench coat, what the military called "Smart Skin," and his face was one that Snake had no trouble recognizing. He was Raiden.
Snake looked over him in bewilderment. He looked EXACTLY like Raiden had only four months back. But.what would ever give him the inclination to go to terrorism? He had worked side by side with Snake, fighting for the good of the country, but in only one look Snake changed his mind about him. He was no friend.he was foe.
"Do you have the money?" The voice of his was frighteningly familiar. Snake closed his eyes for many long moments before turning back to the scene. It was too strange.
"Good. Now, let me see you all." The voice was sharp like death, like a needle in Snake's mind, driving him mad with pain. He just looked on and waited as six men, dressed in black jumpsuits and ski masks stepped out of the U.S. helicopter, and as three soldiers dressed in camouflage identical to that of the soldier Snake had killed near the cave, stepped out of the other helicopter. They raised their guns and surrounded the six others who reached for the sky as two other soldiers quickly patted them down. "You can never be too cautious, you know?" Raiden smirked.
The two soldiers stepped back from the six U.S. men, drawing their guns as they waited beside Raiden who then took three steps toward them. He stared into the eyes of the first man and smiled. "You have courage. But, you believe you will never die. That you can never be touched or hurt." Raiden laid his hand on the man's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "You are insane to believe such foolish things."
He moved on to the next, eyeing him for only a second. Then, he smiled. "You are a coward. Yet, maybe the only sensible one of this group." With that said, he moved along the line again. He skipped one man who seemed to be no more alive than dead, standing like a totem pole, and stopped before the next. He saluted Raiden and shook almost as horribly as the second in the line, but Raiden did not respond the same as he had. He merely took the man's hand in his own, and in one twist, snapped his hand out of its socket. The man yelled out, cuddling his hand like it was his life, but Raiden grabbed his chin and said very softly, "You do not serve me. You are a disgrace to your comrades." Raiden waved his other hand and as he walked down the line, two soldiers aimed and fired on the man whose blood then stained the clothes of the two who had stood next to him.
Raiden looked over the next two rather quickly, not stopping for a moment, but as soon as he saw the eyes of the last, he stopped dead in his tracks. Nervously, he pivoted on the heel of his boots and faced the man with the most composed look he could come up with. Moments passed and Raiden did not act at all. He did not speak, he did not order his men to take another life; he did nothing.
Snake looked up at him in confusion, as did the soldiers supporting Raiden.
"You." Raiden began, his face going deathly pale. "You are.what.what are you doing here?" The man spoke no words. He simply stared back, striking Raiden down with his penetrating gaze. "Tell me! Why are YOU here?!" Slowly, the man began to turn and the soldiers took aim. Before they did anything more, Raiden's hand flew up from his side, making a right angle; his hand completely flat. They lowered their guns and Raiden watched as the man continued to turn very slowly. When he had his back to Raiden, he stopped and stood at attention.
Raiden's face became as red as the depths of hell and he pulled a Desert Eagle from within his trench coat. In less than a second, it was only centimeters from the back of the man's head. In outrage, he spoke. "Do you wish to die?! Answer me! Now!" The man looked as if he was debating whether to answer yes or no, but when Raiden dug the head of the gun into the back of his head, he let out a quiet hiss of an answer.
"No," he said, but Snake did not hear him. Only Raiden heard his response, and at the man's word he jumped back. Quickly, he assembled his soldiers.
"Escort them ALL to the third floor. Find a vacant area, and close them in. Do not let your eyes waver! Especially from him!" Raiden pointed his Desert Eagle at the man who stood with his back turned, and turned away in disgust.
Snake made a mental note of where the men would be held. But just then, a new figure appeared in front of Raiden, blocking his path back to the entrance of Hell's Outpost. It was Revolver Ocelot. Snake's eyes widened and he listened intently to what they said at the far end of the helipad, their voices louder than normal.
"Raiden, what shall we do about our part of the deal?" Ocelot spoke in his dark, mysterious voice; his accent clearly Russian.
"We'll keep the money. 15 million dollars. They will not get their corpse." Raiden replied, indignantly.
"How do you expect to get the other 30 million from them if they don't get their corpse?"
"This was one sick joke!"
"What do you mean, Raiden?"
"Sending.HIM?!" He pointed back at the man who stood with his back turned. Revolver Ocelot seemed to recognize him even from the back.
"I will not lose this money because of your conscience, Raiden!"
"It's not your money to lose! Now, help my men get them to the third floor! I need to talk with the Pentagon and inform them of their 'absent delivery boys.'"
Revolver Ocelot grinned. "You are risky, but a fool. They will not pay 30 million, Raiden. Not once they hear about this."
Raiden brushed past Ocelot and neared the entrance to Hell's Outpost when he turned back ad smiled. "Not 30 million - 50." Ocelot narrowed his eyes. Raiden was defiant, and Ocelot was being stepped on by him. It was something neither of them were used to. "And by the way, Shalashaska! It's Jack. Jack the Ripper."
At that, Jack swiftly pivoted on his heel and continued into the shadows - where the spotlight dares not shine.
The large spotlights that searched in the shadows of the plateau did not reach, nor did they try to reach, where Snake ran. At his age, one less problem was something to cheer about, but in his current situation, cheering wasn't necessarily the appropriate reaction.
His legs jumped wildly, leaving no more than 1 inch imprints in the snow. As he ran, the snowmobile that sat in the thick, icy, snow came closer and closer until it was less than two feet away. But, just as he reached it, he heard a sneeze from the cave near by and he dropped onto his stomach behind the mobile as a soldier stepped out of the cave.
He wore a somewhat odd uniform. It's camouflage was not platoon, nor solid white as the surroundings would imply, but instead - gray with splotches of black, white, and occasional splashes of green and brown. It was hideous in all honesty, and it in no way suited the environment. Odd.
The soldier walked, in no unordinary fashion, over to the snowmobile. He stopped before he had quite sat down upon it and yawned, letting his eyes wander up to the black sky. There, off in the distance, he saw something that looked oddly like a Cypher. Snake peeked up at him, and saw the confusion in his eyes, tracing them to the Cypher that buzzed off in the distance. As the soldier reached for his radio, Snake jumped up, surprising him, and grappled around his neck. He pulled the soldier over the seat of the snowmobile and closed his eyes as he heard a pop. Then, the soldier's body slumped to the ground. Snake opened his eyes and put his hand to his ear.
Snake switched the channel to 141.12, and waited. Suddenly, Otacon's nervous voice emerged in the depths of Snake's ear.
"Yea, Snake?" Otacon questioned. The thought that Snake had contacted him less than two minutes after the two had conversed before was slightly unsettling.
"Did I just see what I thought I saw?"
"No doubt about it, Snake. That was definitely a Cypher."
"How?"
"I don't understand it either. It can't be another trap like the tanker mission. Philosophy has no ties with the Patriots."
"How do you know that?"
Otacon gave a small whimper. "Well, we cannot confirm that, but its obvious. The government has released specific details about the situation to the public all ready. They can't fool the people into believing you started it all if the whole world all ready knows the truth."
"Hmm."
"Listen, Snake. Find a weapon ASAP. You can't go wondering through Hell's Outpost and expect to stop the threat without a weapon."
"I can't get anything from these soldiers. Internal gun ID systems are installed into almost all military weapons nowadays."
"Actually, Snake, their weapons probably don't have the ID systems installed. Philosophy isn't a military force by any means. Their men come from all nations and ethnic groups. I doubt they have first-rate weapons equipped."
"Hmm.I'll take a look around. Try and figure out what the hell that Cypher is doing out here."
"I'll do my best. Keep yourself hidden. Remember, the spotlight is your enemy. The shadows - your friends."
"My only friends."
Snake ended the transmission and reached down for the soldier's radio. Snatching it up in his hand, he broke away some snow and set the black box into the hole. Then, he covered it again, and stood. He scanned the body of the snowmobile and noticed a few side-seat compartments. He flipped up their tops and reached inside.
From one of the compartments, he pulled a few rubber bands, a pen, and a dirty magazine. Snake looked at the cover of the magazine, but gave a low grunt and jammed it back inside. Then, he reached into the next compartment, beneath the seat of the snowmobile. As soon as he put his hand inside, he knew what he had touched: a SOCOM pistol. Anxiously, he drew it from the compartment and held it steadily in his hand. He surveyed it, running his other hand over the grooves, and smiled when he held it out ahead of him.
"Hmm.It's got a laser sight.but no ammo." Snake frowned at the realization of its empty magazine, and slipped the gun into a holster on his left hip. At that, he stood and just as he did, a loud whirling began to echo in his ears. The snow began to fall more rapidly now and as it did, the spotlights mounted on the roof of Hell's Outpost turned toward him. Snake jumped into the snow and rolled onto his back as the whirling became increasingly louder.
Then, with a burst of sound, three helicopters hovered over the plateau and came into Snake's field of vision. Lights were placed all over the hull of two of the helicopters. It was obvious that they were no enemies of Philosophy. The spotlights quickly scanned the bodies of the helicopters and as they did, Snake looked up at them, trying to make sense of the insignias.
Two of them wore the identifications of Philosophy while the third, which flew between the others, bore the U.S. seal. The spotlight rested on the middle helicopter as the three of them hovered over Hell's Outpost, circling the facilities before slowly coming to the snow-blanketed earth.
Quickly, realizing the attention had been placed on the helicopters, Snake got onto his feet and hurried to the helipad that lay meters from the actual buildings. It was nearly five football fields away, and upon noticing his distance, he began to sprint.
The two helicopters that seemed to be protecting the other, stayed in the air as the U.S. helicopter touched down on the helipad. There was space enough for only one other helicopter and once the propellers of the U.S. helicopter had halted and quickly buckled into a small compartment in the top of the chopper to take up less space, one of the others began to lift into the air while the other retreated to the area beside the U.S. helicopter.
Snake saw the third rise into the air and watched as it quickly flew away from Hell's Outpost heading east. Still, he ran. The helipad was 300 yards away. Then, it was 275. Next, 200. 195. 160. 120. 100. 80. 55. 22. 10. He stopped almost ten meters away and found a conveniently arranged tower of crates to hide behind as the U.S. helicopter was slowly unloaded. He moved around to the other side of the crate tower and watched a man emerge from the shadows that dwelled against the walls of Hell's Outpost. He wore a long black trench coat. His hair was silver. He wore beneath his trench coat, what the military called "Smart Skin," and his face was one that Snake had no trouble recognizing. He was Raiden.
Snake looked over him in bewilderment. He looked EXACTLY like Raiden had only four months back. But.what would ever give him the inclination to go to terrorism? He had worked side by side with Snake, fighting for the good of the country, but in only one look Snake changed his mind about him. He was no friend.he was foe.
"Do you have the money?" The voice of his was frighteningly familiar. Snake closed his eyes for many long moments before turning back to the scene. It was too strange.
"Good. Now, let me see you all." The voice was sharp like death, like a needle in Snake's mind, driving him mad with pain. He just looked on and waited as six men, dressed in black jumpsuits and ski masks stepped out of the U.S. helicopter, and as three soldiers dressed in camouflage identical to that of the soldier Snake had killed near the cave, stepped out of the other helicopter. They raised their guns and surrounded the six others who reached for the sky as two other soldiers quickly patted them down. "You can never be too cautious, you know?" Raiden smirked.
The two soldiers stepped back from the six U.S. men, drawing their guns as they waited beside Raiden who then took three steps toward them. He stared into the eyes of the first man and smiled. "You have courage. But, you believe you will never die. That you can never be touched or hurt." Raiden laid his hand on the man's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "You are insane to believe such foolish things."
He moved on to the next, eyeing him for only a second. Then, he smiled. "You are a coward. Yet, maybe the only sensible one of this group." With that said, he moved along the line again. He skipped one man who seemed to be no more alive than dead, standing like a totem pole, and stopped before the next. He saluted Raiden and shook almost as horribly as the second in the line, but Raiden did not respond the same as he had. He merely took the man's hand in his own, and in one twist, snapped his hand out of its socket. The man yelled out, cuddling his hand like it was his life, but Raiden grabbed his chin and said very softly, "You do not serve me. You are a disgrace to your comrades." Raiden waved his other hand and as he walked down the line, two soldiers aimed and fired on the man whose blood then stained the clothes of the two who had stood next to him.
Raiden looked over the next two rather quickly, not stopping for a moment, but as soon as he saw the eyes of the last, he stopped dead in his tracks. Nervously, he pivoted on the heel of his boots and faced the man with the most composed look he could come up with. Moments passed and Raiden did not act at all. He did not speak, he did not order his men to take another life; he did nothing.
Snake looked up at him in confusion, as did the soldiers supporting Raiden.
"You." Raiden began, his face going deathly pale. "You are.what.what are you doing here?" The man spoke no words. He simply stared back, striking Raiden down with his penetrating gaze. "Tell me! Why are YOU here?!" Slowly, the man began to turn and the soldiers took aim. Before they did anything more, Raiden's hand flew up from his side, making a right angle; his hand completely flat. They lowered their guns and Raiden watched as the man continued to turn very slowly. When he had his back to Raiden, he stopped and stood at attention.
Raiden's face became as red as the depths of hell and he pulled a Desert Eagle from within his trench coat. In less than a second, it was only centimeters from the back of the man's head. In outrage, he spoke. "Do you wish to die?! Answer me! Now!" The man looked as if he was debating whether to answer yes or no, but when Raiden dug the head of the gun into the back of his head, he let out a quiet hiss of an answer.
"No," he said, but Snake did not hear him. Only Raiden heard his response, and at the man's word he jumped back. Quickly, he assembled his soldiers.
"Escort them ALL to the third floor. Find a vacant area, and close them in. Do not let your eyes waver! Especially from him!" Raiden pointed his Desert Eagle at the man who stood with his back turned, and turned away in disgust.
Snake made a mental note of where the men would be held. But just then, a new figure appeared in front of Raiden, blocking his path back to the entrance of Hell's Outpost. It was Revolver Ocelot. Snake's eyes widened and he listened intently to what they said at the far end of the helipad, their voices louder than normal.
"Raiden, what shall we do about our part of the deal?" Ocelot spoke in his dark, mysterious voice; his accent clearly Russian.
"We'll keep the money. 15 million dollars. They will not get their corpse." Raiden replied, indignantly.
"How do you expect to get the other 30 million from them if they don't get their corpse?"
"This was one sick joke!"
"What do you mean, Raiden?"
"Sending.HIM?!" He pointed back at the man who stood with his back turned. Revolver Ocelot seemed to recognize him even from the back.
"I will not lose this money because of your conscience, Raiden!"
"It's not your money to lose! Now, help my men get them to the third floor! I need to talk with the Pentagon and inform them of their 'absent delivery boys.'"
Revolver Ocelot grinned. "You are risky, but a fool. They will not pay 30 million, Raiden. Not once they hear about this."
Raiden brushed past Ocelot and neared the entrance to Hell's Outpost when he turned back ad smiled. "Not 30 million - 50." Ocelot narrowed his eyes. Raiden was defiant, and Ocelot was being stepped on by him. It was something neither of them were used to. "And by the way, Shalashaska! It's Jack. Jack the Ripper."
At that, Jack swiftly pivoted on his heel and continued into the shadows - where the spotlight dares not shine.