Metal Gear:
"Remembrance"
Rated: PG
By: NeoMoon
It was quiet there that, it was always quiet here. The man looked around over the barren white
wastelands, and sighed, his breath escaping in a wisp of white smoke. He looked out over it, his
eyes scanning everything, watching, waiting, he really hated the waiting the most, he never
really did like that part. He dug his hand into his parka, drawing out a hard box of cigarettes,
and lifted one to his mouth, lighting it, and waiting, the smoke from his cigarette drifting up
away from him.
A cold wind rose up around him, the cigarette was halfway burned to its butt. He stepped
forward, his boots crunching the snow under him; he welcomed the small noise that broke the
unnatural silence of this place. He walked ever forward, his eyes ever on the way ahead.
"You came."
A small hint of a small passed across his wind burned face, and he turned to look at the old man
that stood behind him, a bouquet of red roses in his hand.
"I don't think she would have liked those."
The old man smiled, and he lifted the bouquet, looking at the blood red blooms as if they were
all that mattered in the world. "They were here mother's favorite." The flowers dropped down
to the man's side, his arm limp, and for the first time since they had met he looked old. The
old man sighed. "It's been for years." His voice was low, but still he could here the old man's
voice creak. The old shock his head, and smiled, most likely thinking to himself how ridiculous
he looked. "Tell me." He said the steel and flame returning to his voice. "Why are you here?
You are a wanted man after all now, Snake,"
Snake couldn't help but smile as he pulled down the parka's hood. "I do this every year, it's on
my calendar."
The old man, the Colonial, Snake had known for so long just shock his head and stepped forward
walking by Snake, his feet creaking into the snow, leaving behind them the faintest of sounds, in
his day, Snake thought as he took pace behind the Colonial. He was the best.
Slowly they walked forward, in near silence the only sound the crunch of snow under their feet.
To Snake this was always a journey, more then it really was. Every time he came here the
distance seemed to grow longer, his legs more tired, and yet every year he came, it didn't matter
to him what was going on, to him on this day the world could be ending and he wouldn't care.
Finally the Colonial stopped, and Snake could not help to feel glad, he was starting to her hear
voice again, and with every step it got louder, demanding to know why he didn't protect her, why
he hadn't been stronger.
He stood silently, a sentry watching over all others as the Colonial Fell to his knees, and laid
the bouquet of roses on the hard packed snow at the foot of the blank marker.
Snake choked on his breath as he stared at the marker, they could only hope it was her down
there, buried under the frozen earth, but in truth it could have been anyone, anyone that he
killed. He looked around the barren waste, the burial ground of Shadow Moses, he killed so many
there, and yet it was only one taken life that tore at him.
"There was nothing you could do."
Snake snapped out of his thoughts, the Colonial stood in front of him, almost half a foot
shorter, but his blue eyes blazed with a bright fire Snake had barely ever seen in his time.
"I could have." Snake whispered.
The Colonial rested his hand on Snake's shoulder, then began to walk away. "You got an hour to
disappear, after that . . ." He let the sentence drop into the wind. Snake watched as his old
friend, and commander disappeared into the world of white.
Snake watched silently, watching, waiting, he really did hate that part. He shook his head after
a time and turned, his eyes staring down at the blank marker.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, as he dropped down to his knee, placing a hand on the marker. "I was
weak, I'm sorry."
He stood slowly, he knew he really didn't have words, he never really needed words, and he'd be
here again the next year, and the year after, until he was either dead or to old, but most likely
dead. Still though he stared at her grave, and reached into his pocket. "This is something," he
bent down tucking the old worn bandana between the roses and the marker. "Something you lent me,
it's come in really handy, thanks."
A heavy wind picked up around him, blowing fallen snow into the air, turning an already white
world even whiter. He stood, his eyes turned toward the sky. The silence was broken by the howl
of the wind, but still he could them, the sounds of helicopters, they were still far away, Snake
turned, his eyes glancing back at the marker. "Next year Merle." He whispered. "Next year,
I'll try to talk more."
He didn't listen to the demands as he ran through the frozen waste that was the Shadow Moses
burial grounds. He didn't look back at all the markers, each containing the soul of one of his
victims. He ran forward, his eyes hard, his chin set. This was what he did, this was how he
lived, and as he ran he remembered an old saying.
"Those who live by the sword." He breathed as he ran through the waste, his eyes focusing on the
rocky shores. "Die by it."
Ever forward he ran, as he had always done, forward and to the next, never remembering the faces,
never knowing the names. All but one, there was name he would never forget.
"Remembrance"
Rated: PG
By: NeoMoon
It was quiet there that, it was always quiet here. The man looked around over the barren white
wastelands, and sighed, his breath escaping in a wisp of white smoke. He looked out over it, his
eyes scanning everything, watching, waiting, he really hated the waiting the most, he never
really did like that part. He dug his hand into his parka, drawing out a hard box of cigarettes,
and lifted one to his mouth, lighting it, and waiting, the smoke from his cigarette drifting up
away from him.
A cold wind rose up around him, the cigarette was halfway burned to its butt. He stepped
forward, his boots crunching the snow under him; he welcomed the small noise that broke the
unnatural silence of this place. He walked ever forward, his eyes ever on the way ahead.
"You came."
A small hint of a small passed across his wind burned face, and he turned to look at the old man
that stood behind him, a bouquet of red roses in his hand.
"I don't think she would have liked those."
The old man smiled, and he lifted the bouquet, looking at the blood red blooms as if they were
all that mattered in the world. "They were here mother's favorite." The flowers dropped down
to the man's side, his arm limp, and for the first time since they had met he looked old. The
old man sighed. "It's been for years." His voice was low, but still he could here the old man's
voice creak. The old shock his head, and smiled, most likely thinking to himself how ridiculous
he looked. "Tell me." He said the steel and flame returning to his voice. "Why are you here?
You are a wanted man after all now, Snake,"
Snake couldn't help but smile as he pulled down the parka's hood. "I do this every year, it's on
my calendar."
The old man, the Colonial, Snake had known for so long just shock his head and stepped forward
walking by Snake, his feet creaking into the snow, leaving behind them the faintest of sounds, in
his day, Snake thought as he took pace behind the Colonial. He was the best.
Slowly they walked forward, in near silence the only sound the crunch of snow under their feet.
To Snake this was always a journey, more then it really was. Every time he came here the
distance seemed to grow longer, his legs more tired, and yet every year he came, it didn't matter
to him what was going on, to him on this day the world could be ending and he wouldn't care.
Finally the Colonial stopped, and Snake could not help to feel glad, he was starting to her hear
voice again, and with every step it got louder, demanding to know why he didn't protect her, why
he hadn't been stronger.
He stood silently, a sentry watching over all others as the Colonial Fell to his knees, and laid
the bouquet of roses on the hard packed snow at the foot of the blank marker.
Snake choked on his breath as he stared at the marker, they could only hope it was her down
there, buried under the frozen earth, but in truth it could have been anyone, anyone that he
killed. He looked around the barren waste, the burial ground of Shadow Moses, he killed so many
there, and yet it was only one taken life that tore at him.
"There was nothing you could do."
Snake snapped out of his thoughts, the Colonial stood in front of him, almost half a foot
shorter, but his blue eyes blazed with a bright fire Snake had barely ever seen in his time.
"I could have." Snake whispered.
The Colonial rested his hand on Snake's shoulder, then began to walk away. "You got an hour to
disappear, after that . . ." He let the sentence drop into the wind. Snake watched as his old
friend, and commander disappeared into the world of white.
Snake watched silently, watching, waiting, he really did hate that part. He shook his head after
a time and turned, his eyes staring down at the blank marker.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, as he dropped down to his knee, placing a hand on the marker. "I was
weak, I'm sorry."
He stood slowly, he knew he really didn't have words, he never really needed words, and he'd be
here again the next year, and the year after, until he was either dead or to old, but most likely
dead. Still though he stared at her grave, and reached into his pocket. "This is something," he
bent down tucking the old worn bandana between the roses and the marker. "Something you lent me,
it's come in really handy, thanks."
A heavy wind picked up around him, blowing fallen snow into the air, turning an already white
world even whiter. He stood, his eyes turned toward the sky. The silence was broken by the howl
of the wind, but still he could them, the sounds of helicopters, they were still far away, Snake
turned, his eyes glancing back at the marker. "Next year Merle." He whispered. "Next year,
I'll try to talk more."
He didn't listen to the demands as he ran through the frozen waste that was the Shadow Moses
burial grounds. He didn't look back at all the markers, each containing the soul of one of his
victims. He ran forward, his eyes hard, his chin set. This was what he did, this was how he
lived, and as he ran he remembered an old saying.
"Those who live by the sword." He breathed as he ran through the waste, his eyes focusing on the
rocky shores. "Die by it."
Ever forward he ran, as he had always done, forward and to the next, never remembering the faces,
never knowing the names. All but one, there was name he would never forget.