Chapter Thirteen: Uncertainty
The air was still. Like a duck on a pond, above the water everything seemed normal. But beneath…those legs were churning a mile a minute. Chaos was beginning to ensue at Hell's Outpost, and as the story unfolded, the threat became more and more clear. With Revolver Ocelot and Rogue at the head of the operation, Philosophy was beginning to inspire quite a fright. Otacon and Farrel were on their way to the facilities by way of helicopter, Solid Snake and Jack were creating trouble for the terrorists, and Frank Jeager (the Ninja) had somehow returned. All had happened in less than four hours.
Snake stood, his mind on fire, his hands clenching tightly as he thought. In the emptiness of the elevator, he could finally stop to think. Generally, Snake was a rather contrary figure. Naturally, he found his patience and emotions on the battlefield, and that was where he expressed them. With the noises of war playing like beautiful symphonies, he could think, and it was the emptiness and the quiet of the room that, opposite his tendencies, allowed him to think.
Everything was crazy. It had been only months ago that he was last exposed to the almost routine craziness in his life. He was an unusual man to come upon, for his body and mind could meet unbelievable heights, but it was almost too overwhelming; everything he went through, that is.
He slammed his fist against the wall of the elevator and it shook. With an unnerving halt on the fourth floor, he composed himself, his mind still without sleep, and waited for the metal doors of the elevator to slide open, halls of endless white sitting before him.
"Beep!" the elevator blurted and the doors screeched aside, their noise alerting something not far from him. Snake's train of thought quickly shifted as he stepped into the small area that opened into the hallway stretched from left to right in front of him. His hands were shaking. Not because he was afraid, but because he was uncertain. Death was something he had stared in the face many times before, and it was something he had eluded, something he had fought back against. He was not afraid of death, and as he peered around the corner, he knew it. The thought was not conscious, for the actions he took were fairly normal, but the thought was there, hidden deep within his mind.
"Stop!" A familiar voice called as Snake whipped his head to the right. There, standing only feet from him was Jack. He had obviously stripped from the clothes he wore earlier, and had most likely been wearing what he did then, beneath. A tight body suit was covering all but his face. It appeared much like the one Snake had last seen him in, during the Sons of Liberty incident. On his face was a smile. "Snake…it's been a while."
Snake loosened up and turned to him, his hands no longer shaking as fitfully as before. "Jack," he said in a soft, muffled voice. Jack looked back as he holstered the gun he was holding up: a SOCOM.
"Don't bother to tell me about Olga. I know…I shouldn't be here," he said as he took a step closer.
"You're damn right you shouldn't be here! Her kid…if you die…" Snake retorted, his anger returning, but in a different form.
"I told you not to bother," Jack snickered. "You were right," he patted his SOCOM, "this is a good gun." Snake remembered the showdown with Turret. He remembered the delivery boy.
"So you ARE Jack," Snake grunted and turned away, looking down the hall to the left. Jack walked to his side, shooting a quick glance down the right hall to make sure that they were alone. "He your brother? A clone?" Snake asked, not turning to face Jack as he spoke.
"A clone," he said. "Like they did to you, he's trying to get me framed. I can't understand why, but that doesn't really matter. I guess they just…want me out of the way."
"That…or Ocelot might be having second thoughts," Snake said as he stepped over to the wall, sitting down against it. Jack looked at him oddly.
"What's that supposed to mean? Second thoughts? About what?" He asked, taking a seat by Snake.
"The disc I recovered back in the Arsenal incident," Snake began, "Otacon managed to dig up all the intel we needed, but when he researched the names of the twelve men detailed on the disc…they came up dead. All over 100 years ago." Then, Jack experienced the pain of lies all over again. The uncertainty, the deception, and the confusion consumed him.
"How is that?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.
"No idea, but Ocelot might be wondering whether that's true or not. If you are framed, or killed, either way he would eventually find Olga's child. Dead or alive: then he might know for sure." Snake paused.
"Wait…if you had the disc, how would he have any idea?" Jack turned his head, watching as Snake thought.
"Philanthropy is," he began, "not the most secure organization. Things get misplaced, and fall into the wrong hands. It could have found its way to Ocelot. And if it did, this might be just one more setup to ruin another guy's life. This time…yours." Snake slid up the wall, his body rested: his mind still running rampant. "Join the club," he muttered as he began to walk off. Jack stood, his heart heavy, and his head low. Snake had suffered the worst fate. He had lost his identity. He was alive, but in a way…dead.
Suddenly, before Snake could turn around, and before Jack could call out to him, every light on the fourth floor dimmed. It's light cut in half, a muffled, tainted voice came from the shadows. "Hello," it said. Snake squinted to see something emerge from hallway only paces ahead.
Turret.
Sluggishly stalking out from the shadows, he stumbled. Clenched tightly in his hand was his long, sharp knife, the only living light gathering on its tip. A frightening grin was pulled over his face, and both Jack and Snake looked on in awe. A large black and red scar sat on his chest, etching his encounter with Snake in him for a lifetime to follow.
"You are…frightened?" Turret asked, his feeble legs carrying him closer with increasing steadiness. Neither Snake nor Jack answered. "To frightened to…speak?" he scowled. The shadows cast by the absence of the once blinding light, made his all ready frightening face seem all the more fierce and scornful. "You thought…I had…died?" he asked, his breath holding out only for him to take quick, rapid gasps of air.
"Actually, yes," Snake said. Jack began to move toward him, but before he could move any more, three thick rope-like bands bound him around the arms. Then, something fell down upon him. "Fourth floor," it said, speaking into a radio. Its voice was high and cold.
Little Mary.
Her stringy red hair fell over Jack's face as he struggled to be released. Snake looked over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Turret. "I don't want them here," Turret said and Little Mary cocked her head to the side. "The soldiers are of no use to me…I…want them for…myself," he gasped, taking in enough air to continue. "Mary…call them off." Little Mary raised the radio from her hip again, taking it in her hand and holding it to her painted ears.
"Never mind," she said. "False alarm." Turret smirked and she returned the device to her hip, where it seemed to stick. "Do you wish to keep this one too?" she asked. Jack continued to pull and wrestle with the cable that bound him.
Turret thought. "He may…stay, I suppose. He is not…needed, but I can…find something for him…to do."
"If you do not need him," Little Mary started, "then let me take care of him. He is rather cute." Jack's arms began to wail furiously through the air, now, certainly frightened by her comment. Turret scowled.
"There is another…that the boss speaks of…find him, and kill…him," Turret coughed, blood dripping over his lower lip. Little Mary nodded, hesitantly, and pulled from nowhere, a series of thick, white strings that worked their way around Jack like a spider web, binding him there. He struggled for only moments before realizing the futility of his actions.
Then, Little Mary smiled. "Good day," she said, before disappearing into the roof of the room. Jack shook his head in confusion. He was lost.
Turret and Snake were left, their eyes not wavering a single inch from each other. Turret had stopped walking forward, and the two found themselves no more than two meters apart. His knife twirling in his fingers, its light flashing around the hall, he grinned.
"Now," he began, "we play another game. This time…a little different." He slipped a small device out of his back pocket and held it up for Snake to observe. "This…is a Comm (short for Communicator. It resembles a Palm Pilot). I have linked it…to the building's various status points…Using it, I can do this," he paused to push on the screen with his thumb. Suddenly, the lights fell darker. He smiled, and even with the faintest lighting, his smile stood out like the sun. "You see?" Snake simply watched.
"So, we will play a game. Hide and Seek…it is called. Fairly simple, eh?" Snake watched. "With one more touch…the fourth floor will be in a black out."
"Leaving me with a crazed lunatic," Snake said, being careful not to mention that he was unarmed. Turret grinned once more.
"Precisely," he coughed. "The ultimate test of wit. Now…give me your NVG's. There will be…no cheating in my game…Snake," he said and Snake looked down at the goggles hung on his belt, dangling behind him. He pulled them from their belt loop and took one look at them before tossing them over to Turret. He caught them with his free hand and slung them over his head, letting them dangle about his neck.
"Are you ready, Snake?" Turret asked, but Snake must have taken it for a rhetorical question for, like always, he did not answer. "Good…then, Snake…its lights out." At that, a faint beep sounded and the lights failed.
Natural light was almost non-existent. On the fourth level, the lights were placed at such angles that they did not shine inside, and the time presented there be no natural source of light other than the moon's faint glow. To Snake, Turret, and Jack, the floor was no brighter than bright enough for them to see their hands just inches from their faces. Only when Turret was upon them would they realize he was near.
"Go on, Snake," Turret said, his voice now seeming to echo through the halls, causing him to seem even more distant. "Do not just stand there…go on." Snake took the advice and quickly, without making too much noise, darted off in Turret's direction, seeing as Jack was blocking the hall up he other way. Passing by him quickly, Snake continued to run from memory.
A few moments later, he hit the wall as hard as anything. He fell back, his face becoming red, and stopped to listen. Footsteps were drawing near, but he could not tell, now, where he was. He had not hit glass, so he was not at the end of the building. Certainly, it would have to go left or right from there. He felt to the left and when his fingers sensed a cold, coarse wall, he pulled away and began to move off in the other direction, no longer with speed but with silence. He could not be detected or else he would be dead.
It went on like that for a while. Jack waited miserably; trying to listen for the growing footsteps that rapidly entered and exited his hearing range as time passed. Time…such a vicious thing.
"It has gone on like this for almost an hour now, Snake," Turret said without halting in his speech. He had begun to heal. "Do you wish to continue, or do you wish to die?" Turret waited, almost hoping that Snake would answer, but he expected he would not.
"Die," a voice said. It was Snake. He was standing in the corner of the room in which Turret also waited, and it seemed as if he knew something his opponent did not. It almost disappointed Turret to hear Snake call out for death and it was obvious that while it was growing tiresome, the game was something he did not wish to end.
"As you wish," Turret said, and when he went over to where the voice had emanated, he lifted his knife in the air and with a quick downward slash, he swung it. It met nothing but air, and to his confusion he regained his stance, but before he could do anymore, he reached to his back pocket and upon noticing the absence of his Comm he swiftly turned. Snake was holding it beside his face, its faint but noticeable glow sweeping over his facial features with light. "You," Turret began, but before he knew it, Snake's hand was dug into the tender part of his chest. He wailed with pain.
"Gah!" he yelled, and Snake pulled away only to return with a kick across his face. Using the glow of the Comm, he watched as Turret fell onto the floor. Blood started to pour from his chest like a terrible rainstorm, the wound having been gouged at. Snake threw his foot down on Turret's right hand and he retrieved the long, silver knife from where it now lay on the tiled floor.
"Game over," Snake muttered and with a quick swipe, Turret fell on his back, the pain no longer there. He had died. There was no remorse in Snake's body. He did not wish to take back what he had done. There was no reason to do a thing like that. He had meant to do it, and if he were to feel remorse later, he would not have committed the act.
He stepped out of the room, his eyes as wide as ever, and his hand tightly clenching the spongy handle of the knife. Finding his way back to Jack by light of the Comm, he cautiously made his way back to where he had started and upon bumping into Jack, he stopped.
"Snake?!" Jack cried.
"Yea, don't worry," Snake replied, and Jack relaxed as the cables began to loosen and then fall from his sides. He brushed his arms and turned to Snake with a smile. "Wanna smoke?" he asked, and by light of the Comm, he saw Jack nod.
The two sat at the foot of the wall, their cigarettes tipped on the edges of their lower lips. Snake held his lighter up to the tip of his "cig" and held the flame there, letting it lick at the white end until a separate flame began to burn in its place. Relieving his mouth of the smoke, he removed the cig from his lips and lightly blew the grayness from his throat. He replaced his cig and held the lighter up to Jack, only pulling it away when his too had lit.
"I didn't know you smoked," Snake insisted and Jack began to choke on the fiery air. Then, after a moment, he returned, his eyes filling with tears.
"Well, time isn't on my side right now," he said. "If I die in two minutes, I will be happy and proud to know that I've tried just one more thing."
"Watch out," Snake said. "If you live, it'll grow into a nasty habit," he snickered and put away his lighter. Jack slowly adjusted to the idea of smoking and the two continued to converse amongst each other. "So…you know what's going on here?"
"Yea," Jack coughed.
"So?" Snake pursued, but he could barely see Jack shake his head.
"I'll tell ya later."
"I thought you were gonna die in two minutes," Snake laughed. Jack looked at him.
"Yea…you know what drives me crazy?" Jack asked. Snake grunted, and he took that as a sign to continue. "That element of uncertainty…when you never really know what's happening. It's in everything we do, but I still like doing it…I don't know why."
"That's why," Snake answered, letting another river of smoke to spew from between his lips.
"Huh?"
"The uncertainty…that's why you keep going. It's dangerous…but it's thrilling."
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Time is an odd thing. It constantly changes sides. One moment, you have twenty minutes to reach your work, before being lectured as always by your pompous boss, and the next, you find yourself all ready late to a business meeting in Los Angeles. The consequences in both of these examples are generally alike, and would most likely not prove to be overly threatening, but in the case of Solid Snake, there is much to be done and so little time to do it. And the consequences are…let's say…somewhat more harsh…
While Snake does not have a set deadline, in this particular situation, it seems even more dangerous. He has left the time up to those he does not trust, Philosophy, and only when they have decided to end things will the time be up. In a situation such as this, uncertainly plays the role of the main antagonist, and in every Metal Gear story we have ever played, watched, or drooled over, the word uncertainty has created quite a problem.
Uncertainty…such a terribly open word…in the Metal Gear series has proven to be, somewhat, the element that makes the story turn, or the clock tick. However one wishes to describe it, uncertainty is a key to letting everything in a Metal Gear story work. For it to be Metal Gear, it has to have twists. And the only way for there to be twists is by implementing a certain level of uncertainty, fueled most commonly by deception and lies.
Keep a look out for examples of this throughout the story. Happy reading!
-- Espresso
The air was still. Like a duck on a pond, above the water everything seemed normal. But beneath…those legs were churning a mile a minute. Chaos was beginning to ensue at Hell's Outpost, and as the story unfolded, the threat became more and more clear. With Revolver Ocelot and Rogue at the head of the operation, Philosophy was beginning to inspire quite a fright. Otacon and Farrel were on their way to the facilities by way of helicopter, Solid Snake and Jack were creating trouble for the terrorists, and Frank Jeager (the Ninja) had somehow returned. All had happened in less than four hours.
Snake stood, his mind on fire, his hands clenching tightly as he thought. In the emptiness of the elevator, he could finally stop to think. Generally, Snake was a rather contrary figure. Naturally, he found his patience and emotions on the battlefield, and that was where he expressed them. With the noises of war playing like beautiful symphonies, he could think, and it was the emptiness and the quiet of the room that, opposite his tendencies, allowed him to think.
Everything was crazy. It had been only months ago that he was last exposed to the almost routine craziness in his life. He was an unusual man to come upon, for his body and mind could meet unbelievable heights, but it was almost too overwhelming; everything he went through, that is.
He slammed his fist against the wall of the elevator and it shook. With an unnerving halt on the fourth floor, he composed himself, his mind still without sleep, and waited for the metal doors of the elevator to slide open, halls of endless white sitting before him.
"Beep!" the elevator blurted and the doors screeched aside, their noise alerting something not far from him. Snake's train of thought quickly shifted as he stepped into the small area that opened into the hallway stretched from left to right in front of him. His hands were shaking. Not because he was afraid, but because he was uncertain. Death was something he had stared in the face many times before, and it was something he had eluded, something he had fought back against. He was not afraid of death, and as he peered around the corner, he knew it. The thought was not conscious, for the actions he took were fairly normal, but the thought was there, hidden deep within his mind.
"Stop!" A familiar voice called as Snake whipped his head to the right. There, standing only feet from him was Jack. He had obviously stripped from the clothes he wore earlier, and had most likely been wearing what he did then, beneath. A tight body suit was covering all but his face. It appeared much like the one Snake had last seen him in, during the Sons of Liberty incident. On his face was a smile. "Snake…it's been a while."
Snake loosened up and turned to him, his hands no longer shaking as fitfully as before. "Jack," he said in a soft, muffled voice. Jack looked back as he holstered the gun he was holding up: a SOCOM.
"Don't bother to tell me about Olga. I know…I shouldn't be here," he said as he took a step closer.
"You're damn right you shouldn't be here! Her kid…if you die…" Snake retorted, his anger returning, but in a different form.
"I told you not to bother," Jack snickered. "You were right," he patted his SOCOM, "this is a good gun." Snake remembered the showdown with Turret. He remembered the delivery boy.
"So you ARE Jack," Snake grunted and turned away, looking down the hall to the left. Jack walked to his side, shooting a quick glance down the right hall to make sure that they were alone. "He your brother? A clone?" Snake asked, not turning to face Jack as he spoke.
"A clone," he said. "Like they did to you, he's trying to get me framed. I can't understand why, but that doesn't really matter. I guess they just…want me out of the way."
"That…or Ocelot might be having second thoughts," Snake said as he stepped over to the wall, sitting down against it. Jack looked at him oddly.
"What's that supposed to mean? Second thoughts? About what?" He asked, taking a seat by Snake.
"The disc I recovered back in the Arsenal incident," Snake began, "Otacon managed to dig up all the intel we needed, but when he researched the names of the twelve men detailed on the disc…they came up dead. All over 100 years ago." Then, Jack experienced the pain of lies all over again. The uncertainty, the deception, and the confusion consumed him.
"How is that?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.
"No idea, but Ocelot might be wondering whether that's true or not. If you are framed, or killed, either way he would eventually find Olga's child. Dead or alive: then he might know for sure." Snake paused.
"Wait…if you had the disc, how would he have any idea?" Jack turned his head, watching as Snake thought.
"Philanthropy is," he began, "not the most secure organization. Things get misplaced, and fall into the wrong hands. It could have found its way to Ocelot. And if it did, this might be just one more setup to ruin another guy's life. This time…yours." Snake slid up the wall, his body rested: his mind still running rampant. "Join the club," he muttered as he began to walk off. Jack stood, his heart heavy, and his head low. Snake had suffered the worst fate. He had lost his identity. He was alive, but in a way…dead.
Suddenly, before Snake could turn around, and before Jack could call out to him, every light on the fourth floor dimmed. It's light cut in half, a muffled, tainted voice came from the shadows. "Hello," it said. Snake squinted to see something emerge from hallway only paces ahead.
Turret.
Sluggishly stalking out from the shadows, he stumbled. Clenched tightly in his hand was his long, sharp knife, the only living light gathering on its tip. A frightening grin was pulled over his face, and both Jack and Snake looked on in awe. A large black and red scar sat on his chest, etching his encounter with Snake in him for a lifetime to follow.
"You are…frightened?" Turret asked, his feeble legs carrying him closer with increasing steadiness. Neither Snake nor Jack answered. "To frightened to…speak?" he scowled. The shadows cast by the absence of the once blinding light, made his all ready frightening face seem all the more fierce and scornful. "You thought…I had…died?" he asked, his breath holding out only for him to take quick, rapid gasps of air.
"Actually, yes," Snake said. Jack began to move toward him, but before he could move any more, three thick rope-like bands bound him around the arms. Then, something fell down upon him. "Fourth floor," it said, speaking into a radio. Its voice was high and cold.
Little Mary.
Her stringy red hair fell over Jack's face as he struggled to be released. Snake looked over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Turret. "I don't want them here," Turret said and Little Mary cocked her head to the side. "The soldiers are of no use to me…I…want them for…myself," he gasped, taking in enough air to continue. "Mary…call them off." Little Mary raised the radio from her hip again, taking it in her hand and holding it to her painted ears.
"Never mind," she said. "False alarm." Turret smirked and she returned the device to her hip, where it seemed to stick. "Do you wish to keep this one too?" she asked. Jack continued to pull and wrestle with the cable that bound him.
Turret thought. "He may…stay, I suppose. He is not…needed, but I can…find something for him…to do."
"If you do not need him," Little Mary started, "then let me take care of him. He is rather cute." Jack's arms began to wail furiously through the air, now, certainly frightened by her comment. Turret scowled.
"There is another…that the boss speaks of…find him, and kill…him," Turret coughed, blood dripping over his lower lip. Little Mary nodded, hesitantly, and pulled from nowhere, a series of thick, white strings that worked their way around Jack like a spider web, binding him there. He struggled for only moments before realizing the futility of his actions.
Then, Little Mary smiled. "Good day," she said, before disappearing into the roof of the room. Jack shook his head in confusion. He was lost.
Turret and Snake were left, their eyes not wavering a single inch from each other. Turret had stopped walking forward, and the two found themselves no more than two meters apart. His knife twirling in his fingers, its light flashing around the hall, he grinned.
"Now," he began, "we play another game. This time…a little different." He slipped a small device out of his back pocket and held it up for Snake to observe. "This…is a Comm (short for Communicator. It resembles a Palm Pilot). I have linked it…to the building's various status points…Using it, I can do this," he paused to push on the screen with his thumb. Suddenly, the lights fell darker. He smiled, and even with the faintest lighting, his smile stood out like the sun. "You see?" Snake simply watched.
"So, we will play a game. Hide and Seek…it is called. Fairly simple, eh?" Snake watched. "With one more touch…the fourth floor will be in a black out."
"Leaving me with a crazed lunatic," Snake said, being careful not to mention that he was unarmed. Turret grinned once more.
"Precisely," he coughed. "The ultimate test of wit. Now…give me your NVG's. There will be…no cheating in my game…Snake," he said and Snake looked down at the goggles hung on his belt, dangling behind him. He pulled them from their belt loop and took one look at them before tossing them over to Turret. He caught them with his free hand and slung them over his head, letting them dangle about his neck.
"Are you ready, Snake?" Turret asked, but Snake must have taken it for a rhetorical question for, like always, he did not answer. "Good…then, Snake…its lights out." At that, a faint beep sounded and the lights failed.
Natural light was almost non-existent. On the fourth level, the lights were placed at such angles that they did not shine inside, and the time presented there be no natural source of light other than the moon's faint glow. To Snake, Turret, and Jack, the floor was no brighter than bright enough for them to see their hands just inches from their faces. Only when Turret was upon them would they realize he was near.
"Go on, Snake," Turret said, his voice now seeming to echo through the halls, causing him to seem even more distant. "Do not just stand there…go on." Snake took the advice and quickly, without making too much noise, darted off in Turret's direction, seeing as Jack was blocking the hall up he other way. Passing by him quickly, Snake continued to run from memory.
A few moments later, he hit the wall as hard as anything. He fell back, his face becoming red, and stopped to listen. Footsteps were drawing near, but he could not tell, now, where he was. He had not hit glass, so he was not at the end of the building. Certainly, it would have to go left or right from there. He felt to the left and when his fingers sensed a cold, coarse wall, he pulled away and began to move off in the other direction, no longer with speed but with silence. He could not be detected or else he would be dead.
It went on like that for a while. Jack waited miserably; trying to listen for the growing footsteps that rapidly entered and exited his hearing range as time passed. Time…such a vicious thing.
"It has gone on like this for almost an hour now, Snake," Turret said without halting in his speech. He had begun to heal. "Do you wish to continue, or do you wish to die?" Turret waited, almost hoping that Snake would answer, but he expected he would not.
"Die," a voice said. It was Snake. He was standing in the corner of the room in which Turret also waited, and it seemed as if he knew something his opponent did not. It almost disappointed Turret to hear Snake call out for death and it was obvious that while it was growing tiresome, the game was something he did not wish to end.
"As you wish," Turret said, and when he went over to where the voice had emanated, he lifted his knife in the air and with a quick downward slash, he swung it. It met nothing but air, and to his confusion he regained his stance, but before he could do anymore, he reached to his back pocket and upon noticing the absence of his Comm he swiftly turned. Snake was holding it beside his face, its faint but noticeable glow sweeping over his facial features with light. "You," Turret began, but before he knew it, Snake's hand was dug into the tender part of his chest. He wailed with pain.
"Gah!" he yelled, and Snake pulled away only to return with a kick across his face. Using the glow of the Comm, he watched as Turret fell onto the floor. Blood started to pour from his chest like a terrible rainstorm, the wound having been gouged at. Snake threw his foot down on Turret's right hand and he retrieved the long, silver knife from where it now lay on the tiled floor.
"Game over," Snake muttered and with a quick swipe, Turret fell on his back, the pain no longer there. He had died. There was no remorse in Snake's body. He did not wish to take back what he had done. There was no reason to do a thing like that. He had meant to do it, and if he were to feel remorse later, he would not have committed the act.
He stepped out of the room, his eyes as wide as ever, and his hand tightly clenching the spongy handle of the knife. Finding his way back to Jack by light of the Comm, he cautiously made his way back to where he had started and upon bumping into Jack, he stopped.
"Snake?!" Jack cried.
"Yea, don't worry," Snake replied, and Jack relaxed as the cables began to loosen and then fall from his sides. He brushed his arms and turned to Snake with a smile. "Wanna smoke?" he asked, and by light of the Comm, he saw Jack nod.
The two sat at the foot of the wall, their cigarettes tipped on the edges of their lower lips. Snake held his lighter up to the tip of his "cig" and held the flame there, letting it lick at the white end until a separate flame began to burn in its place. Relieving his mouth of the smoke, he removed the cig from his lips and lightly blew the grayness from his throat. He replaced his cig and held the lighter up to Jack, only pulling it away when his too had lit.
"I didn't know you smoked," Snake insisted and Jack began to choke on the fiery air. Then, after a moment, he returned, his eyes filling with tears.
"Well, time isn't on my side right now," he said. "If I die in two minutes, I will be happy and proud to know that I've tried just one more thing."
"Watch out," Snake said. "If you live, it'll grow into a nasty habit," he snickered and put away his lighter. Jack slowly adjusted to the idea of smoking and the two continued to converse amongst each other. "So…you know what's going on here?"
"Yea," Jack coughed.
"So?" Snake pursued, but he could barely see Jack shake his head.
"I'll tell ya later."
"I thought you were gonna die in two minutes," Snake laughed. Jack looked at him.
"Yea…you know what drives me crazy?" Jack asked. Snake grunted, and he took that as a sign to continue. "That element of uncertainty…when you never really know what's happening. It's in everything we do, but I still like doing it…I don't know why."
"That's why," Snake answered, letting another river of smoke to spew from between his lips.
"Huh?"
"The uncertainty…that's why you keep going. It's dangerous…but it's thrilling."
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Time is an odd thing. It constantly changes sides. One moment, you have twenty minutes to reach your work, before being lectured as always by your pompous boss, and the next, you find yourself all ready late to a business meeting in Los Angeles. The consequences in both of these examples are generally alike, and would most likely not prove to be overly threatening, but in the case of Solid Snake, there is much to be done and so little time to do it. And the consequences are…let's say…somewhat more harsh…
While Snake does not have a set deadline, in this particular situation, it seems even more dangerous. He has left the time up to those he does not trust, Philosophy, and only when they have decided to end things will the time be up. In a situation such as this, uncertainly plays the role of the main antagonist, and in every Metal Gear story we have ever played, watched, or drooled over, the word uncertainty has created quite a problem.
Uncertainty…such a terribly open word…in the Metal Gear series has proven to be, somewhat, the element that makes the story turn, or the clock tick. However one wishes to describe it, uncertainty is a key to letting everything in a Metal Gear story work. For it to be Metal Gear, it has to have twists. And the only way for there to be twists is by implementing a certain level of uncertainty, fueled most commonly by deception and lies.
Keep a look out for examples of this throughout the story. Happy reading!
-- Espresso