Chapter Nine: Desperado
Jack…it was Jack. Snake stared at him as he disappeared from the room. Since they had parted after the Sons of Liberty incident, he had not spoken directly to him and as he watched him run away, his skimpy, rather annoying style shone true. Quickly, Snake crouched against the column and reached for his ear.
"Otacon?" Snake questioned. There was a moment's hesitation.
"Yea…what is it Snake?" Otacon's voice was shaky, but somewhat confident and proud. Something had happened.
"Weren't you watching?" Snake asked, somewhat confused.
"I…I couldn't. I don't have access to any feedback systems where I am," he replied, cautiously awaiting Snake's surely bewildered reply.
"Then where are you?"
"Umm…in a helicopter. I'm heading your way," he replied. His voice began to crack.
"Christ," Snake shook his head. "You were never this anxious to be on the front line before."
"Something happened. I'm sorry, Snake, I can't tell you everything right now. I'm sort of busy. What is it that you needed to tell me?"
Snake sensed something had happened and he wasn't about to let it go. He knew Otacon too well to miss such an obvious attempt at changing the subject. "What happened, Otacon?"
"I had to relocate, that's all. What do you need?" Otacon seemed preoccupied, but Snake couldn't understand what work he would have that wasn't pertaining to their mission.
" Why are you coming this way?"
"It went sour. It seems as if the Patriots were watching the networks at the Pentagon, which I was utilizing to receive data regarding your mission." Otacon answered tiredly. It was obvious to Snake and would have been to any other person, whether they knew Otacon or not, that he had been through something extraordinarily exhausting. Never, unless he had been put under some sort of rigorous trials, did he speak in any tone different from excitement, or nervousness.
"Are you alone?" Snake asked quizzically.
"Besides the pilot and one other man, yes," Otacon returned. "And don't worry they're both secure. The man is Timothy Farrel, our prime source for information. He called in for a helicopter using a secured line."
"Who was the receiver?"
"A good friend of his. Snake do not worry. I'm sure you have your own problems to take care of."
"Actually, I do. That's why I tried to get a hold of you…it seems a friend of Ocelot's is going to be arriving here shortly. Philosophy is expecting to buy something off of him or her, and they're going to use the money they recovered recently to get it."
"Do they have any idea who sent the money?" Otacon asked, Farrel obviously quieting him in the background. Snake's brow curled and he stared strangely into space.
"Not the government, that's for sure. All claims were denied, apparently, but what I really needed to tell you….One of the delivery boys was Jack…I am in the room where the hostages are being held. Had to get past a pretty beefy guard, but the threat is neutralized. When I cut him free, he pulled off his ski mask and I saw his face. There's no doubt it's him."
"But, how is that possible?" Otacon asked. "He had been meeting with Ocelot when the money arrived. He spoke to the deliverers!" Farrel attempted to hush him again, but Otacon ignored the attempt.
"I remembered something Jack had said," Snake began, "when I saw him at the helipad…He seemed to be upset when he spoke with one of the delivery men, and when he had spoken with Ocelot…I don't know what the hell is going down here, but I have a feeling someone else is acting in the mission."
"Do you have any way of getting those hostages to safety, Snake?" Otacon questioned.
"I don't have any means of transportation from here. I don't see any way to get them out."
"Then you'll need to leave them there. Philosophy wont kill them or else they could lose the money they're expecting from the government. If you could, try and dig up some information on Ocelot's friend, and if you need anything check back with me."
"Got it." Then, the conversation ended and Snake got to his feet. He took a look at the hostages whose eyes portrayed their obvious fear. Grimly, he turned away from them and started for the door when he heard them begin to sob. Short cries burst out and Snake stopped at the door Jack had left through and looked over his shoulder. As soon as he did, the people stopped, and he stared at the ground. "Forgive me," he said and left.
Hell's Outpost was comprised of four above ground levels and was (security- wise) controlled from the Spire as it was called. The Spire was a five level control tower posted on the mountainside, less than a football field away from the facilities themselves. It had the most technologically advanced security systems (available to the public) installed. The only known security network that surpassed it was the network used in the most important buildings in the United States. These included the White House, the Pentagon, along with several other monuments of power.
The infrastructure of Hell's Outpost was designed to circulate cold air in unison with negatively charged air particles. Proved prematurely, Oxygen was claimed unable to take on a charge, but through research this theory was denied. Using a laser, (like the one J. J. Thomas had used to find electrons in an atom) scientists could "eliminate" the electrons within the Oxygen atom in order to give it a negative charge. When the cold air is exposed to these genetically mutated atoms, which are unable to deteriorate or combine with other fumes, (causing pollution) the air heats itself quicker than any known machine.
Max Styles, the designer of Hell's Outpost, had worked with Socrates for months to find a suitable layout of the building. When they finally did manage to find a well-suited design, Socrates awarded Max an innumerable amount of money, and then hired construction workers and managers to build it. By this time, Max had retired, living off the sole pay from Hell's Outpost. When Socrates died, the main structure of Hell's Outpost had been completed, but in tribute to him, Max returned to work and helped oversee the rest of the construction phase. As it turned out, Max was on site when Philosophy took control, and as it turned out, he was sitting before Snake that very moment.
Hell's Outpost had two accessible helipads. One was located conveniently at the foot of the building, set near the entrance (where Snake snuck inside) and the second was located on the roof of the forth floor of the building. This helipad is only reached through a high-level security elevator shaft on the third floor that leads to the roof.
Just as Snake had made his exit, the wind began to cut and a helicopter moved over the mountains through the heavily falling snow. The door of the elevator opened on the roof and out stepped Ocelot, his revolvers properly holstered. He had gone for the helipad after meeting with the security agents on the first floor of Hell's Outpost to gather information regarding the "intruder". Using the stairs to reach the third floor, he avoided any confrontations with the "intruder" and made his way to the high-level security elevator shaft on the eastern side of the building.
The helicopter slowed as it came overhead, passing once before beginning to hover down to the helipad. A man sat within the helicopter, his eyes gleaming as Ocelot watched. Before the propellers atop the chopper had halted, the man he stepped onto the helipad, his face watching his feet. He wore a long white overcoat much like Ocelot's brown one, and beneath it was a black shirt, along with a pair of warm, black pants. His hands were protected with cycling-style gloves that cut off halfway up each finger, and slung across his back was a long and expensive sniper rifle. Holstered beneath his overcoat were guns of all sorts, and in his right hand was a silver suitcase. He looked up at Ocelot, grinned, and tipped the white western hat that sat over his shiny black hair.
"Long time no see, friend." Ocelot smiled and held out a hand with which he shook the man's.
"Yes," the man replied in a cold, flat voice, "longer than either of us would have liked." His grin was like that of a snake. His nose was much like Michael Jackson's (no offense intended) and his eyes dark and penetrating.
"You have it?" Ocelot asked. The man looked down at the suitcase.
"The money," the man began, "do you have it?" Ocelot hesitated to answer this question, for he was unsure of whether Jack the Ripper had truly intended to use the money they had all ready scavenged.
"I do. If you would like to follow me, I can take you to Mr. Ripper. He has the money secure, and wishes a word with you before the operation begins," Ocelot stared at the man who simply nodded in return. At that, they went for the elevator. "What is it that you go by now, old friend?"
The man stopped and Ocelot did only moments later having realized the man's halt. He looked back. "Desperado," he said and Ocelot smiled an evil smile. His friend had come, and so had something both he and 'Mr. Ripper' were very much looking forward to…
Jack…it was Jack. Snake stared at him as he disappeared from the room. Since they had parted after the Sons of Liberty incident, he had not spoken directly to him and as he watched him run away, his skimpy, rather annoying style shone true. Quickly, Snake crouched against the column and reached for his ear.
"Otacon?" Snake questioned. There was a moment's hesitation.
"Yea…what is it Snake?" Otacon's voice was shaky, but somewhat confident and proud. Something had happened.
"Weren't you watching?" Snake asked, somewhat confused.
"I…I couldn't. I don't have access to any feedback systems where I am," he replied, cautiously awaiting Snake's surely bewildered reply.
"Then where are you?"
"Umm…in a helicopter. I'm heading your way," he replied. His voice began to crack.
"Christ," Snake shook his head. "You were never this anxious to be on the front line before."
"Something happened. I'm sorry, Snake, I can't tell you everything right now. I'm sort of busy. What is it that you needed to tell me?"
Snake sensed something had happened and he wasn't about to let it go. He knew Otacon too well to miss such an obvious attempt at changing the subject. "What happened, Otacon?"
"I had to relocate, that's all. What do you need?" Otacon seemed preoccupied, but Snake couldn't understand what work he would have that wasn't pertaining to their mission.
" Why are you coming this way?"
"It went sour. It seems as if the Patriots were watching the networks at the Pentagon, which I was utilizing to receive data regarding your mission." Otacon answered tiredly. It was obvious to Snake and would have been to any other person, whether they knew Otacon or not, that he had been through something extraordinarily exhausting. Never, unless he had been put under some sort of rigorous trials, did he speak in any tone different from excitement, or nervousness.
"Are you alone?" Snake asked quizzically.
"Besides the pilot and one other man, yes," Otacon returned. "And don't worry they're both secure. The man is Timothy Farrel, our prime source for information. He called in for a helicopter using a secured line."
"Who was the receiver?"
"A good friend of his. Snake do not worry. I'm sure you have your own problems to take care of."
"Actually, I do. That's why I tried to get a hold of you…it seems a friend of Ocelot's is going to be arriving here shortly. Philosophy is expecting to buy something off of him or her, and they're going to use the money they recovered recently to get it."
"Do they have any idea who sent the money?" Otacon asked, Farrel obviously quieting him in the background. Snake's brow curled and he stared strangely into space.
"Not the government, that's for sure. All claims were denied, apparently, but what I really needed to tell you….One of the delivery boys was Jack…I am in the room where the hostages are being held. Had to get past a pretty beefy guard, but the threat is neutralized. When I cut him free, he pulled off his ski mask and I saw his face. There's no doubt it's him."
"But, how is that possible?" Otacon asked. "He had been meeting with Ocelot when the money arrived. He spoke to the deliverers!" Farrel attempted to hush him again, but Otacon ignored the attempt.
"I remembered something Jack had said," Snake began, "when I saw him at the helipad…He seemed to be upset when he spoke with one of the delivery men, and when he had spoken with Ocelot…I don't know what the hell is going down here, but I have a feeling someone else is acting in the mission."
"Do you have any way of getting those hostages to safety, Snake?" Otacon questioned.
"I don't have any means of transportation from here. I don't see any way to get them out."
"Then you'll need to leave them there. Philosophy wont kill them or else they could lose the money they're expecting from the government. If you could, try and dig up some information on Ocelot's friend, and if you need anything check back with me."
"Got it." Then, the conversation ended and Snake got to his feet. He took a look at the hostages whose eyes portrayed their obvious fear. Grimly, he turned away from them and started for the door when he heard them begin to sob. Short cries burst out and Snake stopped at the door Jack had left through and looked over his shoulder. As soon as he did, the people stopped, and he stared at the ground. "Forgive me," he said and left.
Hell's Outpost was comprised of four above ground levels and was (security- wise) controlled from the Spire as it was called. The Spire was a five level control tower posted on the mountainside, less than a football field away from the facilities themselves. It had the most technologically advanced security systems (available to the public) installed. The only known security network that surpassed it was the network used in the most important buildings in the United States. These included the White House, the Pentagon, along with several other monuments of power.
The infrastructure of Hell's Outpost was designed to circulate cold air in unison with negatively charged air particles. Proved prematurely, Oxygen was claimed unable to take on a charge, but through research this theory was denied. Using a laser, (like the one J. J. Thomas had used to find electrons in an atom) scientists could "eliminate" the electrons within the Oxygen atom in order to give it a negative charge. When the cold air is exposed to these genetically mutated atoms, which are unable to deteriorate or combine with other fumes, (causing pollution) the air heats itself quicker than any known machine.
Max Styles, the designer of Hell's Outpost, had worked with Socrates for months to find a suitable layout of the building. When they finally did manage to find a well-suited design, Socrates awarded Max an innumerable amount of money, and then hired construction workers and managers to build it. By this time, Max had retired, living off the sole pay from Hell's Outpost. When Socrates died, the main structure of Hell's Outpost had been completed, but in tribute to him, Max returned to work and helped oversee the rest of the construction phase. As it turned out, Max was on site when Philosophy took control, and as it turned out, he was sitting before Snake that very moment.
Hell's Outpost had two accessible helipads. One was located conveniently at the foot of the building, set near the entrance (where Snake snuck inside) and the second was located on the roof of the forth floor of the building. This helipad is only reached through a high-level security elevator shaft on the third floor that leads to the roof.
Just as Snake had made his exit, the wind began to cut and a helicopter moved over the mountains through the heavily falling snow. The door of the elevator opened on the roof and out stepped Ocelot, his revolvers properly holstered. He had gone for the helipad after meeting with the security agents on the first floor of Hell's Outpost to gather information regarding the "intruder". Using the stairs to reach the third floor, he avoided any confrontations with the "intruder" and made his way to the high-level security elevator shaft on the eastern side of the building.
The helicopter slowed as it came overhead, passing once before beginning to hover down to the helipad. A man sat within the helicopter, his eyes gleaming as Ocelot watched. Before the propellers atop the chopper had halted, the man he stepped onto the helipad, his face watching his feet. He wore a long white overcoat much like Ocelot's brown one, and beneath it was a black shirt, along with a pair of warm, black pants. His hands were protected with cycling-style gloves that cut off halfway up each finger, and slung across his back was a long and expensive sniper rifle. Holstered beneath his overcoat were guns of all sorts, and in his right hand was a silver suitcase. He looked up at Ocelot, grinned, and tipped the white western hat that sat over his shiny black hair.
"Long time no see, friend." Ocelot smiled and held out a hand with which he shook the man's.
"Yes," the man replied in a cold, flat voice, "longer than either of us would have liked." His grin was like that of a snake. His nose was much like Michael Jackson's (no offense intended) and his eyes dark and penetrating.
"You have it?" Ocelot asked. The man looked down at the suitcase.
"The money," the man began, "do you have it?" Ocelot hesitated to answer this question, for he was unsure of whether Jack the Ripper had truly intended to use the money they had all ready scavenged.
"I do. If you would like to follow me, I can take you to Mr. Ripper. He has the money secure, and wishes a word with you before the operation begins," Ocelot stared at the man who simply nodded in return. At that, they went for the elevator. "What is it that you go by now, old friend?"
The man stopped and Ocelot did only moments later having realized the man's halt. He looked back. "Desperado," he said and Ocelot smiled an evil smile. His friend had come, and so had something both he and 'Mr. Ripper' were very much looking forward to…