Chapter Twenty-One: Hell's Messenger
"We are gathered here, today, in celebration of the resurrection of the late Socrates," Ocelot spoke as Snake and Mei Ling were pushed to the walls. Around a long table were seated their closest friends: Otacon, Jack, Naomi, and another figure that was apparently that of Mimic. In the center of the table was a body, covered by a white sheet that draped over the edges of the table. Ocelot took the Perfect Cell's cage in his hand and walked over to the table, standing opposite Snake and Mei Ling, along with their friends.
"Before we begin, I would like to thank our visitors for being present on this eventful morning. It is...precisely 4:05. On such short notice, we must be thankful of their presence," Ocelot sported a menacing grin as Snake's eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. In the corner was one he had not seen before, but the voice he had: it was Desperado, a shotgun set against the wall beside him, and his sniper wall still slung over his right shoulder. He looked back at Snake and smiled, his eyes moving to Otacon. His face said `I got him, didn't I, Snake?' and it made him turn away in disgrace.
"What are we still alive for?" Jack asked, breaking a short silence. Ocelot set the octagonal cage on the tale beside the body of Socrates, and stepped around it, pacing with his hand on his chin, massaging it in thought.
"You see," he paused, "while the role you play is not as prominent as my own, every play requires and audience. You serve as my audience...an audience to a monumental accomplishment that will be presented with the help of our present science wiz." Otacon looked down at the table shamefully, and Ocelot continued. "You see the show must go on, and in order to do so, we must have someone here to watch it. Without a fair share of critics, `Philosophy and the Philosopher' will be just another high-school disaster." He waited, journeying all the way around the table, passing by Snake and Mei Ling with a terrible look of cruel satisfaction on his face. "In time," he said, his feet set firmly in the carpeted floor, and his hand now gripping the cage of the Perfect Cell, "you will come to understand, but the conclusion is not now. There is much of the exposition to be played out. Soon, my friends...very soon."
A triumphant smile on his face, Ocelot lifted the white sheet from Socrates' body, exposing his bare chest and head, and laid his hand over his breast. "Rise!" he cried, and pulled from his hip a long blade, slashed into Socrates' chest, split the skin aside, and squeezed the cage in his other hand, the bottom plate of the cage disappearing.
The Perfect Cell slowly floated downward, and as it plunged into the bloody depths of the specimen's body, the `audience' turned away with the exception of Snake and Otacon whose eyes were pasted to the image. Suddenly, a golden wave washed over them all, and the Perfect Cell shot up into the cage like a bat out of hell, the bottom plate appearing again, and closing it safely within.
Ocelot tossed it behind him, and watched closely as the wound in his chest sealed unnaturally. Then, once it had gone, and the blood that stained his body disappeared, two dark green pupils emerged from beneath the eyelids of Socrates, and his head lifted, along with his torso. He turned to his left and then to his right, seeing Ocelot there beside him.
Looking ahead, Socrates looked somewhat uneasy, but then, out of the dead silence, he spoke. "By my own creation...I have been murdered...and have risen again." His voice was whimsical, and his eyes were full of mystery. There was no shiny black in them, but an eerie green glow. He was not normal...not normal at all.
Everyone turned back to him as he spoke, and they all seemed drawn to his eyes. "Where are my brethren?" he asked coldly, and Ocelot looked at him in disappointment.
"Turret has fallen, but the three others live on. I too, am at your side," Ocelot said. Socrates looked at him in a peculiar fashion.
"What is your name? I cannot remember you," he asked.
"I am Shalashaska - Revolver Ocelot. I have returned to you, life," he answered, promptly. Ocelot had not been part of Philosophy, originally, but had only joined for this particular operation, hence Socrates' confusion.
"Call my brethren. I wish for them to see my glory returned," Socrates ordered, and Ocelot nodded in return. He faced a soldier and nodded to him as well. The soldier lifted his radio and sent a call, and within seconds, three figures had stepped into the room through a door at the other end of the room.
The first seemed to glide: Little Mary, but the other two were shady. One wore a top hat, and was dressed in a black jacket, a white undershirt, a black bow tie, and black pants with a fine crease down their sides. He carried a pair of sunglasses, and grinned a dark grin at the company. The other stepped in, and to their horror they recognized his face.
He held a small rag and was dabbing at a red substance on his chest and on his forehead. Desperado smiled at Snake when he shot from the character to Desperado. "Farrel!" Jack cried. The man was indeed Farrel, and as he stared them down, they felt a terrible knot forming in their stomachs.
"Master Socrates," Farrel said, moving ahead of the others. "It is an unbelievable pleasure to see you again." The company was still in awe at his unexpected arrival, and as his lips touched Socrates' hand, they turned away in disgust.
The next two did the same, kissing his hand, and then stood (floated in Little Mary's case) beside him. Ocelot smiled at Socrates, and then turned to the company that sat appalled. "You had not expected your dear commander to show up, had you?" Ocelot gave a short chuckle and continued, stepping around the table. "A week after the Arsenal Incident, I confronted him. As the leader of the acclaimed `Philosophy,' I thought that his assistance with the operation, along with my supply of soldiers and other necessities, would make for a nice deal. We quickly formulated a background for People's Will, and hired some of the specialists who would fit our requirements."
"Requirements?" Snake questioned.
"Mimic was assigned to the mission to act as a dummy of the first body. We would use him in the trade of money and corpse. Then, Mei Ling and Naomi were added to the roster. Farrel set them on the front line because of their inexperience, crippling the functions of People's Will greatly. Then, we hired Jack, and created a clone to frame him for his actions. Lastly, Operator was put up to the job in order to take photos of the operation, but little did the rest of you know that she was not an opposition of the Patriots. Instead, she was working under me. Her assistance was one we needed to help with confirmation of People's Will's involvements. Like before...completely orchestrated." Snake wanted so badly to tear Ocelot limb from limb, but he knew that that would be impossible, seeing the number of guards in the room with him.
"What will the Hell Cell accomplish?" Snake added, and Socrates broke into the conversation with an answer of his own.
"The Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell together can decimate an entire continent. The initial blast can wipe out anything and everything in a range of nearly 600 miles radius. But, after nearly ten years, the reaction will have continued to eat, and after 100 years, all of the world's oxygen will have been depleted, and their source will then die away also. With them, we can do anything we wish. We will rule the world," he sneered. Many had thought him to be a genius, but he was mad. He was out of his mind. Somehow, he had become thirsty for power, thirsty for control. He was no scientist. Otacon was a scientist. Socrates was nothing more than a vicious dictator with the intent of saving his ass before he saved others.
He was Hell's Messenger...and his nest...Hell's Outpost.
"We are gathered here, today, in celebration of the resurrection of the late Socrates," Ocelot spoke as Snake and Mei Ling were pushed to the walls. Around a long table were seated their closest friends: Otacon, Jack, Naomi, and another figure that was apparently that of Mimic. In the center of the table was a body, covered by a white sheet that draped over the edges of the table. Ocelot took the Perfect Cell's cage in his hand and walked over to the table, standing opposite Snake and Mei Ling, along with their friends.
"Before we begin, I would like to thank our visitors for being present on this eventful morning. It is...precisely 4:05. On such short notice, we must be thankful of their presence," Ocelot sported a menacing grin as Snake's eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. In the corner was one he had not seen before, but the voice he had: it was Desperado, a shotgun set against the wall beside him, and his sniper wall still slung over his right shoulder. He looked back at Snake and smiled, his eyes moving to Otacon. His face said `I got him, didn't I, Snake?' and it made him turn away in disgrace.
"What are we still alive for?" Jack asked, breaking a short silence. Ocelot set the octagonal cage on the tale beside the body of Socrates, and stepped around it, pacing with his hand on his chin, massaging it in thought.
"You see," he paused, "while the role you play is not as prominent as my own, every play requires and audience. You serve as my audience...an audience to a monumental accomplishment that will be presented with the help of our present science wiz." Otacon looked down at the table shamefully, and Ocelot continued. "You see the show must go on, and in order to do so, we must have someone here to watch it. Without a fair share of critics, `Philosophy and the Philosopher' will be just another high-school disaster." He waited, journeying all the way around the table, passing by Snake and Mei Ling with a terrible look of cruel satisfaction on his face. "In time," he said, his feet set firmly in the carpeted floor, and his hand now gripping the cage of the Perfect Cell, "you will come to understand, but the conclusion is not now. There is much of the exposition to be played out. Soon, my friends...very soon."
A triumphant smile on his face, Ocelot lifted the white sheet from Socrates' body, exposing his bare chest and head, and laid his hand over his breast. "Rise!" he cried, and pulled from his hip a long blade, slashed into Socrates' chest, split the skin aside, and squeezed the cage in his other hand, the bottom plate of the cage disappearing.
The Perfect Cell slowly floated downward, and as it plunged into the bloody depths of the specimen's body, the `audience' turned away with the exception of Snake and Otacon whose eyes were pasted to the image. Suddenly, a golden wave washed over them all, and the Perfect Cell shot up into the cage like a bat out of hell, the bottom plate appearing again, and closing it safely within.
Ocelot tossed it behind him, and watched closely as the wound in his chest sealed unnaturally. Then, once it had gone, and the blood that stained his body disappeared, two dark green pupils emerged from beneath the eyelids of Socrates, and his head lifted, along with his torso. He turned to his left and then to his right, seeing Ocelot there beside him.
Looking ahead, Socrates looked somewhat uneasy, but then, out of the dead silence, he spoke. "By my own creation...I have been murdered...and have risen again." His voice was whimsical, and his eyes were full of mystery. There was no shiny black in them, but an eerie green glow. He was not normal...not normal at all.
Everyone turned back to him as he spoke, and they all seemed drawn to his eyes. "Where are my brethren?" he asked coldly, and Ocelot looked at him in disappointment.
"Turret has fallen, but the three others live on. I too, am at your side," Ocelot said. Socrates looked at him in a peculiar fashion.
"What is your name? I cannot remember you," he asked.
"I am Shalashaska - Revolver Ocelot. I have returned to you, life," he answered, promptly. Ocelot had not been part of Philosophy, originally, but had only joined for this particular operation, hence Socrates' confusion.
"Call my brethren. I wish for them to see my glory returned," Socrates ordered, and Ocelot nodded in return. He faced a soldier and nodded to him as well. The soldier lifted his radio and sent a call, and within seconds, three figures had stepped into the room through a door at the other end of the room.
The first seemed to glide: Little Mary, but the other two were shady. One wore a top hat, and was dressed in a black jacket, a white undershirt, a black bow tie, and black pants with a fine crease down their sides. He carried a pair of sunglasses, and grinned a dark grin at the company. The other stepped in, and to their horror they recognized his face.
He held a small rag and was dabbing at a red substance on his chest and on his forehead. Desperado smiled at Snake when he shot from the character to Desperado. "Farrel!" Jack cried. The man was indeed Farrel, and as he stared them down, they felt a terrible knot forming in their stomachs.
"Master Socrates," Farrel said, moving ahead of the others. "It is an unbelievable pleasure to see you again." The company was still in awe at his unexpected arrival, and as his lips touched Socrates' hand, they turned away in disgust.
The next two did the same, kissing his hand, and then stood (floated in Little Mary's case) beside him. Ocelot smiled at Socrates, and then turned to the company that sat appalled. "You had not expected your dear commander to show up, had you?" Ocelot gave a short chuckle and continued, stepping around the table. "A week after the Arsenal Incident, I confronted him. As the leader of the acclaimed `Philosophy,' I thought that his assistance with the operation, along with my supply of soldiers and other necessities, would make for a nice deal. We quickly formulated a background for People's Will, and hired some of the specialists who would fit our requirements."
"Requirements?" Snake questioned.
"Mimic was assigned to the mission to act as a dummy of the first body. We would use him in the trade of money and corpse. Then, Mei Ling and Naomi were added to the roster. Farrel set them on the front line because of their inexperience, crippling the functions of People's Will greatly. Then, we hired Jack, and created a clone to frame him for his actions. Lastly, Operator was put up to the job in order to take photos of the operation, but little did the rest of you know that she was not an opposition of the Patriots. Instead, she was working under me. Her assistance was one we needed to help with confirmation of People's Will's involvements. Like before...completely orchestrated." Snake wanted so badly to tear Ocelot limb from limb, but he knew that that would be impossible, seeing the number of guards in the room with him.
"What will the Hell Cell accomplish?" Snake added, and Socrates broke into the conversation with an answer of his own.
"The Hell Cell and the Perfect Cell together can decimate an entire continent. The initial blast can wipe out anything and everything in a range of nearly 600 miles radius. But, after nearly ten years, the reaction will have continued to eat, and after 100 years, all of the world's oxygen will have been depleted, and their source will then die away also. With them, we can do anything we wish. We will rule the world," he sneered. Many had thought him to be a genius, but he was mad. He was out of his mind. Somehow, he had become thirsty for power, thirsty for control. He was no scientist. Otacon was a scientist. Socrates was nothing more than a vicious dictator with the intent of saving his ass before he saved others.
He was Hell's Messenger...and his nest...Hell's Outpost.