Chapter Five: Control
"Did you see that?!" Snake questioned immediately.
"The real question is.did you?" a voice returned, but it was not Otacon's familiar tone. It was a completely different voice. Snake looked into the empty hall with a look of confusion.
"Who is this?" He asked.
"You will know.soon enough. Or.you will die." The voice was shrill and squeaky, but it belonged to a man.
"?!"
"Remember my frequency.142.06. It may.come in handy, eventually."
"Wait!" Snake yelled, but the man had all ready left. The transmission ended, and just as it had, the ringing continued. "Otacon?" He asked.
"Yes?" It was Otacon.
"Did you see that?! And.did you hear that transmission?"
"Yea. Both. A mechanism in your body suit causes it to flash a picture using a built in visual imaging system when your heart rate significantly increases. That thing you saw.was it human?"
"It didn't look like it," Snake retorted.
"Did it give you any identification of itself?"
"Jesus, Otacon. Don't you have some gadget on me that records everything I say?"
"Yes, but unless we can take out the Jamming Tower on the Northern side of the building, its useless."
"Why doesn't it jam the Codec?"
"Well, most of the soldiers associated with Philosophy, reportedly have Codec installed, having been part of military nations in the past. And things like the Visual Imaging System installed in your suit.well, who would try and prepare for something like that?"
"And the Soliton Radar?"
"CODE has been spending its downtime on developing some sort of redirection system - something that would gather the image, but go around the jamming in order to hit the satellite and reach me."
"And how did you do that?"
"We ran a sensor line into the casing of the VIS (Visual Imaging System) that disguised the Soliton signal as one sent when I receive a picture, like of that puppet. The VIS works double as a Soliton imaging machine. Then, once it gathers the images, they are sent up to the satellite and get back to me in a matter of milliseconds."
"Thanks for the lesson." Snake smirked.
"So, the puppet - did it give you any identification?"
"It calls itself Little Mary. And apparently, I'm its toy."
"I can try and run the name through the computer, but I can guarantee anything."
"I understand."
"Right, now about that transmission. I'm running a voice analyzer to try and figure out who.or what contacted you. Of course, the chances of me finding a match are slim to none."
"Why is that?"
"Well, the voices are put into an Indexer only when the individual schedules a voice test. Surely, if this man is an enemy, he would not go to get his voice Indexed."
"Well, if nothing turns up, then I'll have to find him."
"Heh. Snake don't go looking for trouble. What you need to do is figure out whether or not Philosophy has the Perfect Cell in their possession. And figure out where the hostages are being held. You have to set them free. They're hardened soldiers, they'll be able to help."
"Roger that."
"Hey, Snake, I was thinking about dinner. How about some black, crispy lungs? Sound good?"
"Heh," Snake grunted and the transmission was closed.
Otacon sat quietly at a computer in the lab located in the fourth leg of the Pentagon. Outside the room, federal agents sped by, trying to make important deadlines, or catch a meeting in one of the Pentagon's many conference rooms. Otacon looked up over his shoulder, through the glass walls, to watch the people run. His eyes followed them through the halls and into the rooms, and they never strayed from the people. The people. The people.
Where were they going? To meetings. Why were they going there? To keep the people safe. Still, even after going over the questions and answers as they popped into his head, one seemed to be raised time and time again. Who were they working for? The Patriots.
Whether they knew it or not, they weren't really helping anyone, nor were they assassinating foreign rulers that upset the U.S. The Patriots were saving the people and the Patriots were assassinating the foreign rulers that upset them. The people who lived their lives only because they knew they were not just the same as everyone else, had no idea about the Patriots. Only highest government officials knew the truth.
"Its people like them," Otacon said aloud, watching a team of three soldiers walking down the hall toward the room he sat within. "They are the ones that the stress is pinned on. They do what they are told, and they get burnt." Otacon watched as the soldiers quickened their pace. Then, when one of them pointed toward Otacon, he stopped cold.
"Damn!" Otacon turned to his computer and on the screen he saw a flashing notice. "How could I be so stupid?" He tried to remove the notice, but it kept blinking: System Locked. The Patriots controlled the government. The government controlled the Pentagon. The Pentagon controlled the computer network. The computer network controlled him. "Damn!"
Otacon jumped up from his chair and shot a look at the soldiers as they neared the lab. He turned and ran for the other door as something began to rumble in his left pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a cell phone. As he bolted through the door and ran down the right hall, which led outside, he turned on the phone.
"Otacon, Farrel here," the man spoke calmly. He seemed young, in his mid- twenties. He was Otacon's main source of information in the Pentagon, which he had just exited. Ahead of him was a large lawn littered with federal agents leaving one side of the Pentagon to reach the other. Otacon looked to his right and bounded into a wall of hedges that sat against the inner wall of the Pentagon.
"Now is not a good time," Otacon replied, hurriedly.
"Why? What's wrong?" Farrel asked intensively.
"I was on the computers.they were being monitored.there are some military men on my tail. I just got." Otacon stopped as the soldiers ran onto the lawn and stopped. They peered left and right and then one of them pulled a radio from his back belt loop.
"Otacon?" Farrel asked, but Otacon said nothing.
The soldier spoke. "This is Jones. Suspect has disappeared. Requesting search team, sir." Otacon waited for the soldier to continue. "Yes sir.not a problem, sir.thank you." Otacon took the thanks as a verification of a search party. The soldiers stood against the wall beside the entrance, almost twelve meters away from Otacon.
"Otacon?! What's happening?!" Farrel cried.
"I'm outside." he whispered, quietly. "I'm in the courtyard. I need a way out. Badly."
"Slow down. I can get you out of there, but have you gotten any word regarding Hell's Outpost?" Farrel insisted.
"15 million dollars were delivered to the terrorists. Have you heard anything about a delivery?"
"They all ready have the money?! How could that be?!"
"I don't know, but have you heard anything? Anything at all?"
"No. Otacon, wait there. I'll get you out," Farrel said and the transmission ended.
Otacon had no choice. He had to sit and wait until someone came to help him, and as he watched the soldiers by the doors, he noticed their hostility. Of course they did not know why they had been ordered after Otacon, but even if they were unknowingly corrupting the nation, they were more frightening than someone with higher intelligence of the Patriots. They thought that Otacon was nothing more than a scheming punk. Since they knew no better, they would go to much greater lengths to capture him, where as those who knew of his intelligence and of his skills, would not pursue. Control. It was all about control.
"Did you see that?!" Snake questioned immediately.
"The real question is.did you?" a voice returned, but it was not Otacon's familiar tone. It was a completely different voice. Snake looked into the empty hall with a look of confusion.
"Who is this?" He asked.
"You will know.soon enough. Or.you will die." The voice was shrill and squeaky, but it belonged to a man.
"?!"
"Remember my frequency.142.06. It may.come in handy, eventually."
"Wait!" Snake yelled, but the man had all ready left. The transmission ended, and just as it had, the ringing continued. "Otacon?" He asked.
"Yes?" It was Otacon.
"Did you see that?! And.did you hear that transmission?"
"Yea. Both. A mechanism in your body suit causes it to flash a picture using a built in visual imaging system when your heart rate significantly increases. That thing you saw.was it human?"
"It didn't look like it," Snake retorted.
"Did it give you any identification of itself?"
"Jesus, Otacon. Don't you have some gadget on me that records everything I say?"
"Yes, but unless we can take out the Jamming Tower on the Northern side of the building, its useless."
"Why doesn't it jam the Codec?"
"Well, most of the soldiers associated with Philosophy, reportedly have Codec installed, having been part of military nations in the past. And things like the Visual Imaging System installed in your suit.well, who would try and prepare for something like that?"
"And the Soliton Radar?"
"CODE has been spending its downtime on developing some sort of redirection system - something that would gather the image, but go around the jamming in order to hit the satellite and reach me."
"And how did you do that?"
"We ran a sensor line into the casing of the VIS (Visual Imaging System) that disguised the Soliton signal as one sent when I receive a picture, like of that puppet. The VIS works double as a Soliton imaging machine. Then, once it gathers the images, they are sent up to the satellite and get back to me in a matter of milliseconds."
"Thanks for the lesson." Snake smirked.
"So, the puppet - did it give you any identification?"
"It calls itself Little Mary. And apparently, I'm its toy."
"I can try and run the name through the computer, but I can guarantee anything."
"I understand."
"Right, now about that transmission. I'm running a voice analyzer to try and figure out who.or what contacted you. Of course, the chances of me finding a match are slim to none."
"Why is that?"
"Well, the voices are put into an Indexer only when the individual schedules a voice test. Surely, if this man is an enemy, he would not go to get his voice Indexed."
"Well, if nothing turns up, then I'll have to find him."
"Heh. Snake don't go looking for trouble. What you need to do is figure out whether or not Philosophy has the Perfect Cell in their possession. And figure out where the hostages are being held. You have to set them free. They're hardened soldiers, they'll be able to help."
"Roger that."
"Hey, Snake, I was thinking about dinner. How about some black, crispy lungs? Sound good?"
"Heh," Snake grunted and the transmission was closed.
Otacon sat quietly at a computer in the lab located in the fourth leg of the Pentagon. Outside the room, federal agents sped by, trying to make important deadlines, or catch a meeting in one of the Pentagon's many conference rooms. Otacon looked up over his shoulder, through the glass walls, to watch the people run. His eyes followed them through the halls and into the rooms, and they never strayed from the people. The people. The people.
Where were they going? To meetings. Why were they going there? To keep the people safe. Still, even after going over the questions and answers as they popped into his head, one seemed to be raised time and time again. Who were they working for? The Patriots.
Whether they knew it or not, they weren't really helping anyone, nor were they assassinating foreign rulers that upset the U.S. The Patriots were saving the people and the Patriots were assassinating the foreign rulers that upset them. The people who lived their lives only because they knew they were not just the same as everyone else, had no idea about the Patriots. Only highest government officials knew the truth.
"Its people like them," Otacon said aloud, watching a team of three soldiers walking down the hall toward the room he sat within. "They are the ones that the stress is pinned on. They do what they are told, and they get burnt." Otacon watched as the soldiers quickened their pace. Then, when one of them pointed toward Otacon, he stopped cold.
"Damn!" Otacon turned to his computer and on the screen he saw a flashing notice. "How could I be so stupid?" He tried to remove the notice, but it kept blinking: System Locked. The Patriots controlled the government. The government controlled the Pentagon. The Pentagon controlled the computer network. The computer network controlled him. "Damn!"
Otacon jumped up from his chair and shot a look at the soldiers as they neared the lab. He turned and ran for the other door as something began to rumble in his left pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a cell phone. As he bolted through the door and ran down the right hall, which led outside, he turned on the phone.
"Otacon, Farrel here," the man spoke calmly. He seemed young, in his mid- twenties. He was Otacon's main source of information in the Pentagon, which he had just exited. Ahead of him was a large lawn littered with federal agents leaving one side of the Pentagon to reach the other. Otacon looked to his right and bounded into a wall of hedges that sat against the inner wall of the Pentagon.
"Now is not a good time," Otacon replied, hurriedly.
"Why? What's wrong?" Farrel asked intensively.
"I was on the computers.they were being monitored.there are some military men on my tail. I just got." Otacon stopped as the soldiers ran onto the lawn and stopped. They peered left and right and then one of them pulled a radio from his back belt loop.
"Otacon?" Farrel asked, but Otacon said nothing.
The soldier spoke. "This is Jones. Suspect has disappeared. Requesting search team, sir." Otacon waited for the soldier to continue. "Yes sir.not a problem, sir.thank you." Otacon took the thanks as a verification of a search party. The soldiers stood against the wall beside the entrance, almost twelve meters away from Otacon.
"Otacon?! What's happening?!" Farrel cried.
"I'm outside." he whispered, quietly. "I'm in the courtyard. I need a way out. Badly."
"Slow down. I can get you out of there, but have you gotten any word regarding Hell's Outpost?" Farrel insisted.
"15 million dollars were delivered to the terrorists. Have you heard anything about a delivery?"
"They all ready have the money?! How could that be?!"
"I don't know, but have you heard anything? Anything at all?"
"No. Otacon, wait there. I'll get you out," Farrel said and the transmission ended.
Otacon had no choice. He had to sit and wait until someone came to help him, and as he watched the soldiers by the doors, he noticed their hostility. Of course they did not know why they had been ordered after Otacon, but even if they were unknowingly corrupting the nation, they were more frightening than someone with higher intelligence of the Patriots. They thought that Otacon was nothing more than a scheming punk. Since they knew no better, they would go to much greater lengths to capture him, where as those who knew of his intelligence and of his skills, would not pursue. Control. It was all about control.