Chapter Six: He Heard A Body Fall
"Taxi!" Snake cried, his thumb held high, and his face worn and exasperated. "Taxi!" he saw one coming in the distance, and chased it from the side of the road as it passed, Jack watching in amusement. "Dammit!" Snake threw his arms to his sides, ad turned back to Jack, pacing back and forth with his hand on his chin and his other at his side.
"Woa there, cowboy," Jack exclaimed, his hand on his hip. Snake stopped, looked up at him, and scowled, turning away again to scan the streets where so many cars passed in a furious flash. As Snake pulled forth his SOCOM, Jack stepped forward, nervous of what he planned to do with it. "America is much braver now than it was when they filmed Speed, Snake. You point that at one of them, and they might just pull out their own firearm. You wouldn't shoot, but they would." Snake turned around and faced Jack, his brain swelling with frustration.
"Taxi!" he yelled again, turning to the streets and slipping his SOCOM back into his suit. Minutes passed. Still no ride. "Dammit," he sighed, his eyes focusing on the pavement as he walked over to Jack. "You give it a try," he suggested, and Jack nodded, stepping out to the edge of the street.
"Taxi!" he yelled, and in less than a minute, there was one sitting before him. He turned, glanced at Snake, and then pulled open the door for him. "After you," he proclaimed, jokingly, and Snake walked over, taking a seat in the back of the Taxi, followed by Jack.
"Woa! I don't escort terr'ists!" the driver exclaimed, seeing Snake in the mirror that was mounted in the center of his windshield. Snake sighed, realizing why no one had stopped for him, but for Jack who had not stripped down to his infiltration gear. "I mean it! Get out!"
"See what I was saying?" Jack questioned, waiting for Snake to glare at him with the usual needle-sharp gaze that penetrated his heart, and sought through the core of his soul. There was no answer. Neither verbal nor oral.
"El Arteigo," Snake answered no one.
"Eh?! I said get out!" the driver cried, his voice accenting the overweight body that hung over the edges of his seat. Snake shook his hand.
"Yes, and I said El Arteigo. You forgot to ask us 'where to?'," Snake stated, firmly.
"No! I didn't foget nothin'! Now get your sorry asses outta my car!" There was a click emanating from Snake's belt, and Jack's eye met what he held in his hand, only when it was propped lightly against the back of the driver's seat. His SOCOM forced a lump in the seat, and the driver stopped cold like dead as soon as he felt it graze his back.
"I think you did." Snake quickly convinced him, pushing the SOCOM further into the back of the seat, and causing the driver to cringe. "El Atreigo." Snake said again, and the driver nodded hastily, sat forward in his seat, and started up the car. Pulling away from the curb, Snake's eye caught a figure exiting One New York Plaza. It wore a suit from what he could tell, a top hat, and in his hand was a briefcase. It walked menacingly down a nearby alley as the car sped off, and Snake tuned back to face the head of the car as the figure was swallowed in the shadows.
"So…uh…where ya…where ya from?" the driver asked, trying to be normal, but failing in his attempts. Stopping the car rather suddenly, Snake and Jack slipped forward in their seats, and the driver quickly apologized before turning right, in the direction of El Arteigo.
"We're not here to talk," Snake answered, bluntly. "Just get us to the restaurant." The driver nodded nervously, and continued down the street. There were cars everywhere. They passed quickly from the opposing side of the street, but it seemed that their lane was moving rather slowly.
The sun reflected off the licks of yellow paint in the absence of cars passing over them, and Snake turned away from their blinding light, shielding his eyes from the burning that consumed him. The traffic lights ahead shone brightly, still. 'Not very much of a lockdown,' he imagined, and waited, as they turned left at the next intersection. "How much further?" Snake asked, impatiently.
"Five minutes," the driver answered, speeding up just a little. Snake smirked. "Give or take a few, depending on traffic," the man finished, and Snake nodded.
"Scared?" Jack asked, but the driver remained as silent as ever. "Don't worry. We're –,"
"Not going to hurt you," Snake ended Jack's sentence. "Unless you screw with us," he concluded. The driver swallowed loud, and Jack looked at Snake like he was a maniac. Snake nudged toward him, moving in to whisper him something. "We don't want him to know we're not working with the enemy," Snake said as quietly as his voice allowed. Looking into the mirror centered in the windshield he could tell that that driver had not overheard him. His eyes remained on the road, and a sense of fear still existed in their depths. "Someone hits him up for intel, and he's pinned us at El Arteigo." Jack nodded. "Remember, this is a public situation. Leave no traces."
For the next couple of minutes, there was nothing but silence. The sun slipped in through the windows, swapping from Jack to Snake as the car turned left and right. Snake continued to survey the mirror mounted to the windshield, keeping a close eye on the driver who seemed to become increasingly tense as time went by. The silence. The silence was eating away at him. The rest was his mind. Playing games…making him think Snake was digging the SOCOM further into his back, while in actuality, he had returned it to his holster long ago.
"H-here we are," he swallowed. "El Arteigo. Some fine Italian food, here. I'm usually too short on money --," he had continued, but Snake lifted his hand in a sign of thanks, and pulled a card from his pocket, tossing it on the seat beside the driver as he and Jack stepped out of the car.
The driver looked down and smiled. '$10 Gift Card! Spend on ANY item at ZB- Toys!' Slipping it into his wallet, he started the car again. Snake peeked his head in the window and grinned. "They were passing them out on my ferry." He winked, and then turned away, queuing the Taxi's departure. A minute passed and the Taxi was gone, leaving Jack and Snake at the doors of El Arteigo.
"Well," Jack said, examining the intentionally cream-stained walls of the restaurant before continuing. "After you." Snake snickered and then pulled open the door, stepping inside the air-conditioned room. As Jack came in, they felt a wave of cool air, and the dim, cozy atmosphere of the restaurant could be felt, seen, smelled, heard, and tasted through the warm aroma of Italian, and the tinted windows that added to the environment. The only lights hung from above every table, and before Snake or Jack had truly adjusted to the drastic change in temperature, there was a woman standing before them: three menus under her right arm.
"Good morning," she smiled warily, her eyes being drawn to Snake's SOCOM that rested in a holster along his chest-straps. "Three?" she asked, and Snake looked around as if they were expecting more.
"Yes," a voice called from the shadows behind them. Snake turned, quickly, as a man stepped out of them. He was smiling lightly, a scruffy beard growing on his chin, and a light jean jacket slung over his shoulder. In his free hand, he held a shotgun, and when Snake's eyes fell over it, he reached for his SOCOM. The man waved him off. "Our seats?" he asked the woman, and she nervously nodded, guiding them to their table: Snake's eyes still straying from the path and seeking a better view of the man that followed behind Jack and himself.
"Here you are," the woman said, setting the menus around the table as they took their seats. The table was round, and the chairs rolled, much like the old image of Olive Garden, which had unfortunately suffered from financial mishaps, and had ended up selling the majority of it's buildings, later forfeiting the entire franchise, and leaving the Italian food industry to the amateur two-location chains. El Arteigo was not the successor of the late Olive Garden franchise, but was rapidly taking in money, and could very well begin its expansion in coming years. "Soup of the Day is Broccoli Chowder, and --," she tried, but the suspicious man that had joined them for breakfast held his hand up again: a gesture that seemed to ward her away in disgust.
"Welcome to El Arteigo," the man said, sitting back in his chair, its back giving a few inches. Snake's mouth opened, but before he could continue, the man's hand was in the air again. "I'm the agent from the UFAC. And I suppose you are Solid and Jack?" The two nodded. "Good. We need to talk."
"You see," he began, "this 'invasion' was not something we had planned for, and upon hearing your operator's decision to break away from the mission, my superiors entitled me with the responsibility of putting you back on track, and giving you a little more information to satisfy some of your thirst." Snake looked at Jack who looked back, and they both turned back to the man. "Since the discovery of the Compilation, which became evident nearly two years ago, the Universal Freedom Activists Council – or UFAC – was established to accommodate the obvious threat to our nation's 'rights.' The United States, which is my birthplace, has promised its people many things, and with the Patriot in power, each and every one of them becomes unwelcome. Canceled out…ignored.
"The mission you took part in, nearly five months ago at Hell's Outpost, was one of our most important engagements to stop the Patriots. We had sent in a double agent to retrieve any and all information that he could, during the mission, but since its conclusion, we have not managed to speak with this agent. He has gone missing, or something along those lines," he seemed to shrug off the agent's disappearance without worry, but before he could continue, Snake had interrupted his flowing speech.
"Who was that agent?" Snake asked, and the man chuckled.
"I cannot tell you that. Security reasons, of course." He said, and Jack looked at Snake wearily. Then, in the window to the man's back, Snake saw something. A man. The man he had seen sneaking into the alley, earlier. He was sprawled against the window, a look of sheer insanity stretched across his face, and his black suit pulled tightly around his shoulders, adjusting to his awkward stance. At his foot was a briefcase, and as he pushed off of the glass, his smile wide, Snake's heart stopped. Formal.
Images flashed in Snake's mind, bringing back the horrific moment. Bullets were flying, he was struggling on the floor to reach a gun, and Jack and Formal were holding an intense bout at the other end of the room. He saw Otacon shoot Farrel. He stood. He saw Formal run. He saw Jack raise his gun. He saw a bullet break lose. He saw Formal stumble… … …He heard a body fall.
"Taxi!" Snake cried, his thumb held high, and his face worn and exasperated. "Taxi!" he saw one coming in the distance, and chased it from the side of the road as it passed, Jack watching in amusement. "Dammit!" Snake threw his arms to his sides, ad turned back to Jack, pacing back and forth with his hand on his chin and his other at his side.
"Woa there, cowboy," Jack exclaimed, his hand on his hip. Snake stopped, looked up at him, and scowled, turning away again to scan the streets where so many cars passed in a furious flash. As Snake pulled forth his SOCOM, Jack stepped forward, nervous of what he planned to do with it. "America is much braver now than it was when they filmed Speed, Snake. You point that at one of them, and they might just pull out their own firearm. You wouldn't shoot, but they would." Snake turned around and faced Jack, his brain swelling with frustration.
"Taxi!" he yelled again, turning to the streets and slipping his SOCOM back into his suit. Minutes passed. Still no ride. "Dammit," he sighed, his eyes focusing on the pavement as he walked over to Jack. "You give it a try," he suggested, and Jack nodded, stepping out to the edge of the street.
"Taxi!" he yelled, and in less than a minute, there was one sitting before him. He turned, glanced at Snake, and then pulled open the door for him. "After you," he proclaimed, jokingly, and Snake walked over, taking a seat in the back of the Taxi, followed by Jack.
"Woa! I don't escort terr'ists!" the driver exclaimed, seeing Snake in the mirror that was mounted in the center of his windshield. Snake sighed, realizing why no one had stopped for him, but for Jack who had not stripped down to his infiltration gear. "I mean it! Get out!"
"See what I was saying?" Jack questioned, waiting for Snake to glare at him with the usual needle-sharp gaze that penetrated his heart, and sought through the core of his soul. There was no answer. Neither verbal nor oral.
"El Arteigo," Snake answered no one.
"Eh?! I said get out!" the driver cried, his voice accenting the overweight body that hung over the edges of his seat. Snake shook his hand.
"Yes, and I said El Arteigo. You forgot to ask us 'where to?'," Snake stated, firmly.
"No! I didn't foget nothin'! Now get your sorry asses outta my car!" There was a click emanating from Snake's belt, and Jack's eye met what he held in his hand, only when it was propped lightly against the back of the driver's seat. His SOCOM forced a lump in the seat, and the driver stopped cold like dead as soon as he felt it graze his back.
"I think you did." Snake quickly convinced him, pushing the SOCOM further into the back of the seat, and causing the driver to cringe. "El Atreigo." Snake said again, and the driver nodded hastily, sat forward in his seat, and started up the car. Pulling away from the curb, Snake's eye caught a figure exiting One New York Plaza. It wore a suit from what he could tell, a top hat, and in his hand was a briefcase. It walked menacingly down a nearby alley as the car sped off, and Snake tuned back to face the head of the car as the figure was swallowed in the shadows.
"So…uh…where ya…where ya from?" the driver asked, trying to be normal, but failing in his attempts. Stopping the car rather suddenly, Snake and Jack slipped forward in their seats, and the driver quickly apologized before turning right, in the direction of El Arteigo.
"We're not here to talk," Snake answered, bluntly. "Just get us to the restaurant." The driver nodded nervously, and continued down the street. There were cars everywhere. They passed quickly from the opposing side of the street, but it seemed that their lane was moving rather slowly.
The sun reflected off the licks of yellow paint in the absence of cars passing over them, and Snake turned away from their blinding light, shielding his eyes from the burning that consumed him. The traffic lights ahead shone brightly, still. 'Not very much of a lockdown,' he imagined, and waited, as they turned left at the next intersection. "How much further?" Snake asked, impatiently.
"Five minutes," the driver answered, speeding up just a little. Snake smirked. "Give or take a few, depending on traffic," the man finished, and Snake nodded.
"Scared?" Jack asked, but the driver remained as silent as ever. "Don't worry. We're –,"
"Not going to hurt you," Snake ended Jack's sentence. "Unless you screw with us," he concluded. The driver swallowed loud, and Jack looked at Snake like he was a maniac. Snake nudged toward him, moving in to whisper him something. "We don't want him to know we're not working with the enemy," Snake said as quietly as his voice allowed. Looking into the mirror centered in the windshield he could tell that that driver had not overheard him. His eyes remained on the road, and a sense of fear still existed in their depths. "Someone hits him up for intel, and he's pinned us at El Arteigo." Jack nodded. "Remember, this is a public situation. Leave no traces."
For the next couple of minutes, there was nothing but silence. The sun slipped in through the windows, swapping from Jack to Snake as the car turned left and right. Snake continued to survey the mirror mounted to the windshield, keeping a close eye on the driver who seemed to become increasingly tense as time went by. The silence. The silence was eating away at him. The rest was his mind. Playing games…making him think Snake was digging the SOCOM further into his back, while in actuality, he had returned it to his holster long ago.
"H-here we are," he swallowed. "El Arteigo. Some fine Italian food, here. I'm usually too short on money --," he had continued, but Snake lifted his hand in a sign of thanks, and pulled a card from his pocket, tossing it on the seat beside the driver as he and Jack stepped out of the car.
The driver looked down and smiled. '$10 Gift Card! Spend on ANY item at ZB- Toys!' Slipping it into his wallet, he started the car again. Snake peeked his head in the window and grinned. "They were passing them out on my ferry." He winked, and then turned away, queuing the Taxi's departure. A minute passed and the Taxi was gone, leaving Jack and Snake at the doors of El Arteigo.
"Well," Jack said, examining the intentionally cream-stained walls of the restaurant before continuing. "After you." Snake snickered and then pulled open the door, stepping inside the air-conditioned room. As Jack came in, they felt a wave of cool air, and the dim, cozy atmosphere of the restaurant could be felt, seen, smelled, heard, and tasted through the warm aroma of Italian, and the tinted windows that added to the environment. The only lights hung from above every table, and before Snake or Jack had truly adjusted to the drastic change in temperature, there was a woman standing before them: three menus under her right arm.
"Good morning," she smiled warily, her eyes being drawn to Snake's SOCOM that rested in a holster along his chest-straps. "Three?" she asked, and Snake looked around as if they were expecting more.
"Yes," a voice called from the shadows behind them. Snake turned, quickly, as a man stepped out of them. He was smiling lightly, a scruffy beard growing on his chin, and a light jean jacket slung over his shoulder. In his free hand, he held a shotgun, and when Snake's eyes fell over it, he reached for his SOCOM. The man waved him off. "Our seats?" he asked the woman, and she nervously nodded, guiding them to their table: Snake's eyes still straying from the path and seeking a better view of the man that followed behind Jack and himself.
"Here you are," the woman said, setting the menus around the table as they took their seats. The table was round, and the chairs rolled, much like the old image of Olive Garden, which had unfortunately suffered from financial mishaps, and had ended up selling the majority of it's buildings, later forfeiting the entire franchise, and leaving the Italian food industry to the amateur two-location chains. El Arteigo was not the successor of the late Olive Garden franchise, but was rapidly taking in money, and could very well begin its expansion in coming years. "Soup of the Day is Broccoli Chowder, and --," she tried, but the suspicious man that had joined them for breakfast held his hand up again: a gesture that seemed to ward her away in disgust.
"Welcome to El Arteigo," the man said, sitting back in his chair, its back giving a few inches. Snake's mouth opened, but before he could continue, the man's hand was in the air again. "I'm the agent from the UFAC. And I suppose you are Solid and Jack?" The two nodded. "Good. We need to talk."
"You see," he began, "this 'invasion' was not something we had planned for, and upon hearing your operator's decision to break away from the mission, my superiors entitled me with the responsibility of putting you back on track, and giving you a little more information to satisfy some of your thirst." Snake looked at Jack who looked back, and they both turned back to the man. "Since the discovery of the Compilation, which became evident nearly two years ago, the Universal Freedom Activists Council – or UFAC – was established to accommodate the obvious threat to our nation's 'rights.' The United States, which is my birthplace, has promised its people many things, and with the Patriot in power, each and every one of them becomes unwelcome. Canceled out…ignored.
"The mission you took part in, nearly five months ago at Hell's Outpost, was one of our most important engagements to stop the Patriots. We had sent in a double agent to retrieve any and all information that he could, during the mission, but since its conclusion, we have not managed to speak with this agent. He has gone missing, or something along those lines," he seemed to shrug off the agent's disappearance without worry, but before he could continue, Snake had interrupted his flowing speech.
"Who was that agent?" Snake asked, and the man chuckled.
"I cannot tell you that. Security reasons, of course." He said, and Jack looked at Snake wearily. Then, in the window to the man's back, Snake saw something. A man. The man he had seen sneaking into the alley, earlier. He was sprawled against the window, a look of sheer insanity stretched across his face, and his black suit pulled tightly around his shoulders, adjusting to his awkward stance. At his foot was a briefcase, and as he pushed off of the glass, his smile wide, Snake's heart stopped. Formal.
Images flashed in Snake's mind, bringing back the horrific moment. Bullets were flying, he was struggling on the floor to reach a gun, and Jack and Formal were holding an intense bout at the other end of the room. He saw Otacon shoot Farrel. He stood. He saw Formal run. He saw Jack raise his gun. He saw a bullet break lose. He saw Formal stumble… … …He heard a body fall.