Metal Gear Solid: The Compilation
PART TWO: RAINDROPS
...By espresso d gecko
Chapter Seventeen: A Face All Too Familiar
The team had reunited, and had broken again, going their separate ways in hopes of reuniting again, their company strengthened in numbers. The immediate responsibility was to ensure the safety of all on-site People's Will operatives, and retrieve gather as a whole to prepare for the task of overtaking Hell's Outpost - a task that could only be executed with the assistance of Jack's colleagues.
Snake was heading for the hostage room, in search of another operative, and both Otacon and Jack were in charge of contacting two others using Codec, but in order to do so, they had to cloak their frequency and that required further mechanical assistance, and Otacon was without his greatest friend besides Snake: a computer. He and Jack were wondering the halls of the fourth floor in search of a powered station to utilize in their efforts.
"Hey, come over here!" Jack yelled, two rooms away from where Otacon stood which was in the hall, his arms crossed and his breath going out like smoke before him. He had not come prepared for the cold weather, and the shattered wall didn't help the situation.
Quickly, putting his obvious state of misery out of mind, he jogged into the maze of offices in the interior of the fourth floor, and continued to wind through them, his destination near. But, his attempts seemed futile, for even though he had been less than two rooms away, the confusing path of the cubicles was so convoluted that every direction from where he now stood - about eight cubicles away - lead right back to where he was.
"I...I can't find you!" Otacon cried, crossing his arms again and bundling up under a desk. There was no doubt that finding Jack was much easier than he had made it, but the temperature was grueling for him, and being under a desk seemed much more favorable than walking through a series of cubicle aisles. Then, there were a few shots, and Otacon covered his head in fright. Looking up, he saw three holes in the cubicle wall across from him.
"Anything?" Jack asked again. Otacon gripped his hand on the edge of the desk and pulled himself up. He sighed and then called out.
"I'm in that direction," he said. Then, ducking, he heard a few more shots, and then the breaking of wood and cardboard. Waiting there, Otacon watched as the cubicle before him began to bend in the middle and crack halfway down its back. Standing before him, no longer cloaked by the endless aisles of white cubicles was Jack.
"Come on," he said, reaching out his hand to help Otacon over the existing desktop of the cubicle he had destroyed. Otacon put out his own hand and took Jack's lifting himself onto the desk and then jumping down to the stiff-carpeted floor. They continued over several desks until Otacon saw an operating computer, the only one out of a box on the fourth floor, hooked into a hub at the base of the cubicle. Otacon's face lit up with glee and he took a seat in the wheeled chair that was there.
"Good job, Jack," Otacon said as he put down his hands to the keyboard, immediately entering the Hardline server installed on the computer. Microsoft's Windows had been discontinued in 2007 after Microsoft was tried for fraud and misappropriation of their technological advances. In plain words, they were ejected on terms of embezzlement. Specifically, a program entitled Find Fast, loaded on Windows, was investigated and proved to be a data indexer, which recorded any and all information regarding the owner of the computer, along with all other technical `things' on the computer. This program worked as Microsoft's `Patriot Program' as some in Philanthropy called it, for reasons quite obvious I am sure.
Nonetheless, Otacon booted up the Hardline server and watched as several windows appeared on the screen, their contents of the control sort. As the computer had not yet been booted up, seeing as all of Hell's Outpost was overrun before the construction had been assessed, Otacon was required to set all of the system's parameters. Hardline had become well known for its customizing features, giving the owner almost full control over any and all specifics regarding the system's operating server.
Jack was obviously bored out of his mind, watching as Otacon sifted through windows and windows of customizable parameters and data sorters, but he could do nothing but blame himself. He had been the one who insisted on staying with Otacon, and at the moment their work seemed to be going rather slowly. Still, Otacon was indulged in the process and was enjoying it more than anything since joining Philanthropy. The only thing he wished was for things to be simpler. He didn't need guns or action, but just peaceful living, but ever since his involvement in the Metal Gear Rex project, he knew he would never get out of the trade.
"Okay," he said out of the blue. "It's up and running. Give it a second to load and we can get to work on the Codec tricks." Jack looked this way and that and found a chair to sit upon, seeing as their work may take a while longer than he hoped, and falling asleep while standing could result in some major injuries. Wheeling it over to the desk, he sat down. Hardline's logo appeared on the screen and with it was a short tune, like the introduction to Windows, before Otacon was ready to go. "All right, we're set. Now...we just have to figure out a method for bouncing this signal off your colleague's."
Jack looked at him. "It would be nice if we didn't have to worry about it at all," he said, sighing, but Otacon ignored him, realizing that nothing he would say in the coming moments would be supportive or helpful. Jack was a shooter, not a mathematician.
"Obviously, this computer wont be equipped with nanomachines feedback capabilities...at least naturally. Seeing as this site had no nanomachines functions or management systems, there would be no need for something like that. So, what we have to do is get online." Otacon said, initiating Netscape, the most popular ISP to date.
"What will getting online do to help?" Jack questioned, and Otacon who wished not to ignore him as he had been doing, answered politely.
"Philanth...," Otacon corrected himself. "CODE has an international server that I use to monitor Snake on his missions. I can use the features built into the server to link with our satallelite and in turn imitate the transmission's frequency. It's really pretty simple." Jack looked at him, dumbfounded and decided the best thing to do was nod his head and go along with it.
"Gotcha!" Otacon exclaimed as his server's .com appeared on the screen before him. Clicking through the menus and interactive windows that were enabled using a new programming language available, known as Pedro, he found the login page. "Access to the sat's (satellite's) control systems is granted after inputting a 12-digit pass-code and a valid username. Look away," he said and Jack turned in his chair, peering about the cubicle area. He waited, whistling a short tune "Raindrops keep falling on my head," and then turned back when Otacon approved.
"You see, I need to input a nano-ID, carried in the nanomachines, in order to focus on a single person. Their ID is identical to their Codec frequency, making it a shorter process. What was the frequency?" Jack looked back into his memory, trying to pull it forth like a bunny rabbit from a hat.
"143...point 29," he said, and Otacon quickly entered the nano-ID. He received a `positioning' notice, and the two waited in silence for the ID to be approved. When a message blinked on the screen, asking for confirmation, Otacon re-entered his pass-code, and the sat's direction was insured.
"There we go, that satellite is positioned on your friend. Now, if I can access the Pedro code...I can send a signal to their frequency that will then rend it useless, putting it under our control. Then..." Otacon paused as he brought up the code of the control page, and fiddled around for a few moments before continuing. "Then we enter my nano-ID...and...voila! It's done." The computer confirmed the position and the execution as Otacon turned to Jack, a smile on his face. "I'm good for something," he said.
"Give it a try. Contact frequency...143.80," Jack said, and Otacon set frequency to 14380, waiting silently for something to reply. Seconds passed, then minutes before a voice finally returned.
"Sorry," the man said. "I had to get in another room. What is it, Naomi?" Otacon sat their, dumbstruck and at awe.
"What...did you say?" he asked, and in return there was a quick and fearful reply.
"Naomi?! Where's Naomi?"
"Naomi...Hunter?" Otacon asked, still unable to complete a sentence were he to make the attempt. "This...this is a friend...of Jack's. Naomi Hunter?"
"You're no friend!" the man cried, but then Jack yelled back.
"Keith! It's Jack!" Just barely, the man could hear Jack in the background, and he immediately slowed his breathing, relieved but not yet convinced that Otacon was a friend.
"Yes," Keith replied, "Naomi Hunter. Why?! Why do you want to know?" Otacon didn't return any conversation. Naomi Hunter, the medical expert of the Shadow Moses incident, and the mastermind behind the FOX-DIE operation staged as a means of killing off the hostages and eliminating need for further caution. Last Otacon had heard was she had been spending time with service, and was still being somewhat confined, and watched by the government...or the Patriots rather. She was part of People's Will? How?
Snake made his way into the hall of the third floor, the elevator doors sliding closed behind him, their shiny metal screeching as he slowly stepped toward the hostage room, its door only feet away. Someone important was supposed to be there. One of the People's Will operatives was there, and the architect of Hell's Outpost, but hat could he be used for? There were four levels...Snake had seen them all. There wasn't any need for an architect.
Stepping through the doorway, his eyes immediately caught sight of the bare spot where Turret once lay...before he rose with a knife to take his and Jack's lives. There was very little blood still staining the cold floor, and as he took notice of it he couldn't help but remember the blood that stained the roof of the building, still. The blood of Farrel, who he had not even known...still it stayed with him even after he tried to shake it out of his head.
Continuing forward, he looked around the room, seeing the frightened, wide eyes of the hostages all around him. "I'm back," ha said and as soon as his mouth opened there were various screams from their mouths, muffled by anything from socks to handkerchiefs. As he stalked into the mass of them, he looked this way and that trying to spot the black suits he had seen the deliverers come in. As his eyes scanned the room, they caught something in the corner, somewhat hidden in the shadows.
His pace quickening, he hurried toward the form and when he was standing over it, he could tell it was a woman. She wore the black clothing, though, and there was blood on her jacket, probably from the delivery boy they had murdered on the helipad when Snake arrived. She was not shaking, looking through the holes in her black ski mask. He could tell...she was someone she had far from forgotten. She was familiar. Her eyes...quickly he pulled the ski mask from her head and stopped. Her face...was all too familiar...
PART TWO: RAINDROPS
...By espresso d gecko
Chapter Seventeen: A Face All Too Familiar
The team had reunited, and had broken again, going their separate ways in hopes of reuniting again, their company strengthened in numbers. The immediate responsibility was to ensure the safety of all on-site People's Will operatives, and retrieve gather as a whole to prepare for the task of overtaking Hell's Outpost - a task that could only be executed with the assistance of Jack's colleagues.
Snake was heading for the hostage room, in search of another operative, and both Otacon and Jack were in charge of contacting two others using Codec, but in order to do so, they had to cloak their frequency and that required further mechanical assistance, and Otacon was without his greatest friend besides Snake: a computer. He and Jack were wondering the halls of the fourth floor in search of a powered station to utilize in their efforts.
"Hey, come over here!" Jack yelled, two rooms away from where Otacon stood which was in the hall, his arms crossed and his breath going out like smoke before him. He had not come prepared for the cold weather, and the shattered wall didn't help the situation.
Quickly, putting his obvious state of misery out of mind, he jogged into the maze of offices in the interior of the fourth floor, and continued to wind through them, his destination near. But, his attempts seemed futile, for even though he had been less than two rooms away, the confusing path of the cubicles was so convoluted that every direction from where he now stood - about eight cubicles away - lead right back to where he was.
"I...I can't find you!" Otacon cried, crossing his arms again and bundling up under a desk. There was no doubt that finding Jack was much easier than he had made it, but the temperature was grueling for him, and being under a desk seemed much more favorable than walking through a series of cubicle aisles. Then, there were a few shots, and Otacon covered his head in fright. Looking up, he saw three holes in the cubicle wall across from him.
"Anything?" Jack asked again. Otacon gripped his hand on the edge of the desk and pulled himself up. He sighed and then called out.
"I'm in that direction," he said. Then, ducking, he heard a few more shots, and then the breaking of wood and cardboard. Waiting there, Otacon watched as the cubicle before him began to bend in the middle and crack halfway down its back. Standing before him, no longer cloaked by the endless aisles of white cubicles was Jack.
"Come on," he said, reaching out his hand to help Otacon over the existing desktop of the cubicle he had destroyed. Otacon put out his own hand and took Jack's lifting himself onto the desk and then jumping down to the stiff-carpeted floor. They continued over several desks until Otacon saw an operating computer, the only one out of a box on the fourth floor, hooked into a hub at the base of the cubicle. Otacon's face lit up with glee and he took a seat in the wheeled chair that was there.
"Good job, Jack," Otacon said as he put down his hands to the keyboard, immediately entering the Hardline server installed on the computer. Microsoft's Windows had been discontinued in 2007 after Microsoft was tried for fraud and misappropriation of their technological advances. In plain words, they were ejected on terms of embezzlement. Specifically, a program entitled Find Fast, loaded on Windows, was investigated and proved to be a data indexer, which recorded any and all information regarding the owner of the computer, along with all other technical `things' on the computer. This program worked as Microsoft's `Patriot Program' as some in Philanthropy called it, for reasons quite obvious I am sure.
Nonetheless, Otacon booted up the Hardline server and watched as several windows appeared on the screen, their contents of the control sort. As the computer had not yet been booted up, seeing as all of Hell's Outpost was overrun before the construction had been assessed, Otacon was required to set all of the system's parameters. Hardline had become well known for its customizing features, giving the owner almost full control over any and all specifics regarding the system's operating server.
Jack was obviously bored out of his mind, watching as Otacon sifted through windows and windows of customizable parameters and data sorters, but he could do nothing but blame himself. He had been the one who insisted on staying with Otacon, and at the moment their work seemed to be going rather slowly. Still, Otacon was indulged in the process and was enjoying it more than anything since joining Philanthropy. The only thing he wished was for things to be simpler. He didn't need guns or action, but just peaceful living, but ever since his involvement in the Metal Gear Rex project, he knew he would never get out of the trade.
"Okay," he said out of the blue. "It's up and running. Give it a second to load and we can get to work on the Codec tricks." Jack looked this way and that and found a chair to sit upon, seeing as their work may take a while longer than he hoped, and falling asleep while standing could result in some major injuries. Wheeling it over to the desk, he sat down. Hardline's logo appeared on the screen and with it was a short tune, like the introduction to Windows, before Otacon was ready to go. "All right, we're set. Now...we just have to figure out a method for bouncing this signal off your colleague's."
Jack looked at him. "It would be nice if we didn't have to worry about it at all," he said, sighing, but Otacon ignored him, realizing that nothing he would say in the coming moments would be supportive or helpful. Jack was a shooter, not a mathematician.
"Obviously, this computer wont be equipped with nanomachines feedback capabilities...at least naturally. Seeing as this site had no nanomachines functions or management systems, there would be no need for something like that. So, what we have to do is get online." Otacon said, initiating Netscape, the most popular ISP to date.
"What will getting online do to help?" Jack questioned, and Otacon who wished not to ignore him as he had been doing, answered politely.
"Philanth...," Otacon corrected himself. "CODE has an international server that I use to monitor Snake on his missions. I can use the features built into the server to link with our satallelite and in turn imitate the transmission's frequency. It's really pretty simple." Jack looked at him, dumbfounded and decided the best thing to do was nod his head and go along with it.
"Gotcha!" Otacon exclaimed as his server's .com appeared on the screen before him. Clicking through the menus and interactive windows that were enabled using a new programming language available, known as Pedro, he found the login page. "Access to the sat's (satellite's) control systems is granted after inputting a 12-digit pass-code and a valid username. Look away," he said and Jack turned in his chair, peering about the cubicle area. He waited, whistling a short tune "Raindrops keep falling on my head," and then turned back when Otacon approved.
"You see, I need to input a nano-ID, carried in the nanomachines, in order to focus on a single person. Their ID is identical to their Codec frequency, making it a shorter process. What was the frequency?" Jack looked back into his memory, trying to pull it forth like a bunny rabbit from a hat.
"143...point 29," he said, and Otacon quickly entered the nano-ID. He received a `positioning' notice, and the two waited in silence for the ID to be approved. When a message blinked on the screen, asking for confirmation, Otacon re-entered his pass-code, and the sat's direction was insured.
"There we go, that satellite is positioned on your friend. Now, if I can access the Pedro code...I can send a signal to their frequency that will then rend it useless, putting it under our control. Then..." Otacon paused as he brought up the code of the control page, and fiddled around for a few moments before continuing. "Then we enter my nano-ID...and...voila! It's done." The computer confirmed the position and the execution as Otacon turned to Jack, a smile on his face. "I'm good for something," he said.
"Give it a try. Contact frequency...143.80," Jack said, and Otacon set frequency to 14380, waiting silently for something to reply. Seconds passed, then minutes before a voice finally returned.
"Sorry," the man said. "I had to get in another room. What is it, Naomi?" Otacon sat their, dumbstruck and at awe.
"What...did you say?" he asked, and in return there was a quick and fearful reply.
"Naomi?! Where's Naomi?"
"Naomi...Hunter?" Otacon asked, still unable to complete a sentence were he to make the attempt. "This...this is a friend...of Jack's. Naomi Hunter?"
"You're no friend!" the man cried, but then Jack yelled back.
"Keith! It's Jack!" Just barely, the man could hear Jack in the background, and he immediately slowed his breathing, relieved but not yet convinced that Otacon was a friend.
"Yes," Keith replied, "Naomi Hunter. Why?! Why do you want to know?" Otacon didn't return any conversation. Naomi Hunter, the medical expert of the Shadow Moses incident, and the mastermind behind the FOX-DIE operation staged as a means of killing off the hostages and eliminating need for further caution. Last Otacon had heard was she had been spending time with service, and was still being somewhat confined, and watched by the government...or the Patriots rather. She was part of People's Will? How?
Snake made his way into the hall of the third floor, the elevator doors sliding closed behind him, their shiny metal screeching as he slowly stepped toward the hostage room, its door only feet away. Someone important was supposed to be there. One of the People's Will operatives was there, and the architect of Hell's Outpost, but hat could he be used for? There were four levels...Snake had seen them all. There wasn't any need for an architect.
Stepping through the doorway, his eyes immediately caught sight of the bare spot where Turret once lay...before he rose with a knife to take his and Jack's lives. There was very little blood still staining the cold floor, and as he took notice of it he couldn't help but remember the blood that stained the roof of the building, still. The blood of Farrel, who he had not even known...still it stayed with him even after he tried to shake it out of his head.
Continuing forward, he looked around the room, seeing the frightened, wide eyes of the hostages all around him. "I'm back," ha said and as soon as his mouth opened there were various screams from their mouths, muffled by anything from socks to handkerchiefs. As he stalked into the mass of them, he looked this way and that trying to spot the black suits he had seen the deliverers come in. As his eyes scanned the room, they caught something in the corner, somewhat hidden in the shadows.
His pace quickening, he hurried toward the form and when he was standing over it, he could tell it was a woman. She wore the black clothing, though, and there was blood on her jacket, probably from the delivery boy they had murdered on the helipad when Snake arrived. She was not shaking, looking through the holes in her black ski mask. He could tell...she was someone she had far from forgotten. She was familiar. Her eyes...quickly he pulled the ski mask from her head and stopped. Her face...was all too familiar...