Chapter Twenty-Four: Like the First Frost of Winter
"Good job, Formal," Dante said, his lips thin and stretched by a gleaming smile as the sound of a chopper weighed overhead. Grasping a radio in his right hand he raised it to his ear and cleared his throat. "All units stand by," he announced as a door opened. Cocking his head to the left, the room he sat within seemed to finally take form having been blocked from his mind. "Suited up, Colonel?"
From the bathroom of the coffee house came the Colonel, his bloodied clothes in his left hand and a newer set of army apparel on his body. There was a rough grimace on his face and it became readily apparent as several FACtion guards aimed their AK's and M4's at him that he was returning to duty against his own will. "Hmph…let's get on with it." Dante grinned – pleased by the Colonel's disgust of the situation – and handed the Colonel the radio.
He stared Dante heavily in the eyes and showed his displeasure before snatching the radio from his outstretched hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he forced down the button on its side with his thumb and hesitated. His lips only slightly parted, no noises escaped him. His eyes narrowed on Dante who glowered back at him and then they scrolled left to Formal…and right to Frost. Hearing the chopper's groan come louder he looked through the glass wall to his left and then to the waitresses who were held under four assault rifles behind the service counter.
'No way out,' he thought, and when he had closed his eyes Dante waited…he watched. There was a dreadful sigh, "Bring her down." With Dante's glowing smile the Colonel loosened his grip on the radio and the button clicked out of its stressed position before he promptly turned it over to Dante with a foul expression about his face – like he was trying to get rid of some stale after-taste.
And then, led by the soldiers, the entire population of the coffee house – Dante, Frost, Formal, the Colonel, the waitresses, two or three coffee- lovers, and several FACtion soldiers – moved onto the sidewalk. Looking into the sky, Dante caught notice of the large lack form hovering in the sun's massive spotlight.
A Kamov KA-27 "Helix" – its model prior made famous by the Soviet Union for mere transportation, later armed with homing torpedoes used against enemy submarines – hovered like a villain in itself, but as FACtion soldiers swarmed the street, their weapons aimed into the sky and one of them shouting orders to the Helix via megaphone, its threat was falsely dismissed.
"Surround it!" Dante cried, and the soldiers quickly assembled a new formation, forming a neat circle around he landing site as the wind intensified and the noise began to wash out all other distractions. Through Dante's yelling and hollering all that could be truly understood – and only somewhat at this point – were his abnormal hand movements and gestures.
The Colonel stood behind them all, his heart a mixture of anger and joy. Otacon's perspective had changed everything. He had gone from a firm believer of FACtion's conduct to a traitor, but he still possessed a flame that yearned for its fuel – the Patriot's destruction – and that was all coming to him in that moment. With the Six Points abandoned by the Patriot in the streets of Manhattan there would be no hope of fulfilling whatever Ocelot was planning.
And then the chopper landed. The rotors began to slow and the noise began to dim, allowing the voices of the tense soldiers to rise above it and cry their orders to the inhabitants of the chopper. Their weapons gripped tightly in their hands they watched the helicopter as its rotors had come to a complete stop, and at that time their eyes whipped back to Dante in search of assertion. And with his smile…that smile of deep satisfaction, they felt that things were going right. Freedom was on the horizon, and they were going to meet it. And with his smile, they smiled. Their hearts filled to the brim with joy, they heard Dante's voice call out, "Move…take them."
The soldiers looked to each other and quickly stepped to the door of the helicopter, their hands beginning to shake faintly. And then, the crowd stunned by anticipation, one man stepped forward and with a quick jerk of his arm the door slid aside.
And then there was a crack that left them all silent. And the man took one graceful step back, his hand leaving the handle of the door and moving slowly up from his stomach to his chest. The entire street was frozen, looking for some sort of explanation, waiting for something to deny the fact that was before them. And then he felt it…the warmth of his own body, his own blood.
He stumbled once, falling to his knees, and then grasped his chest as his legs withdrew beneath him and his back met the cold street.
Dante looked at it like it was some sort of sick joke, but in those seconds that he saw that soldier fall, a lick of crimson blood scarring his chest, he knew that there was something wrong. And when his gaze fell over Formal in surprise, Formal was as shocked as he – his face expressing deep amazement.
"It's a trap!" one of the soldiers cried, landing on his fallen friend – a bullet in his forehead. Then, there was an outbreak of gunfire exchanging from FACtion soldiers to the copper as several troops – carrying the insignia of the Army Rangers – moved into the street, abandoning the Helix that was readying for lift-off.
"Dammit, Formal!" Dante cried. "What the hell is this?!" Dante was furious, and Formal looked back at him in awe. "Dammit, Formal! Take care of it!" With that, Dante and the Colonel were rushed inside the coffee house by four FACtion soldiers, leaving Formal and Frost to assist the remaining FACtion soldiers scattered about the street.
Seeing evidence of M4 Carbines and standard 9mm side-arms, Formal set his hand on Frost's shoulder and jerked his thumb upward toward the roof. She nodded and disappeared into the coffee house where she would proceed to the roof of the building. Turning away from her, Formal dug his hands into his suit and pulled forth several knives – spanning them out like cards.
"Damn that Ocelot," he spoke to himself, using a wounded soldier at his feet to speak. "Come and get it!" Formal cried, and with the flip of his wrist he had sent three knives spiraling through the air, the sun's dawning light catching them like glistening spires before they pelted into a Rangers' thigh. Grinning wide, the man stumbled against the pilot's side- window and with a shrieking crack, his face was replaced by a stinging bullet.
Formal had seen its trail. "Nice shot, Frost!" he cried, and with another distinct crack the pilot's temple had been mutilated…and more than that had simply melted into the walls in a wave of sticky red blood. Formal smiled again before motioning with his hands – a gesture that 'magically' removed the knives from the deceased man's leg before finding themselves in another man's chest.
"Protect the fort!" the megaphone blared as the FACtion soldiers assembled before the coffee shop, forming a wall between the Rangers that had moved into adjacent and nearby buildings, looking for better cover. Some were slowly progressing behind the chopper and other debris of the riots that had moved out of the area following the bombing of Tribeca and the Triborough Bridge.
All were finding death from both Formal and Frost, who were both racking up unbelievable kill counts. Te FACtion soldiers proved to be nothing more than amusing targets for the Rangers, and they were suffering severe casualties. Even with the presence of Formal and Frost, many of the Rangers were intelligent enough to stay out of the open street, and by this time they had taken notice to Frost and Formal, seeing them as the only apparent threats.
"Why didn't thy brief us on those two?!" one of the Rangers cried as he and another two were trekking up a flight of stairs in a building across from the coffee shop. "Damn! This is insane!" After reaching a landing, they moved through a series of dark, dank, and empty rooms in search of one clear view of the battlefield below.
"In here!" one of them yelled, and the other two came running, but just as they had entered the room and had seen their fellow Ranger setting up a Barret .50 caliber rifle in the expanse of an open window they heard the familiar explosion of a sniper rifle and he flew to the floor of the room, his Barret falling through the window and into the open street.
"Damn!" one of the Rangers exclaimed again. He heard several soldiers announcing similar obscenities through his headset and turned away from his fallen soldier. "This is Taylor!" he cried into the headset. "Three Bravo personnel, move to the chopper and retrieve the Gustav! All remaining units, provide heavy cover!" There were three prompt variations of 'affirmative' before he kneeled down beside the fallen soldier again. He put his hand to the man's forehead as if to stop the bleeding, but it was useless. "Haynes is down," he muttered into the headset, tears filling his eyes. Sniffing once and working to compose himself he stood. "And someone get that goddamn sniper!"
There was movement in the adjacent buildings as Rangers prepared for their rush on the chopper. Formal could easily determine that they were planning a rush, but he was preoccupied with his swift handicraft of the knife to take proper notice. Frost on the other hand saw exactly what was happening.
Through her scope – watching only a 10'x10' area – she saw surprisingly more than someone with a view of the entire street. She could see the determination in these soldiers' eyes, and their mouths chattering to each other as they waved gestures through the air, continuing a rapid progression through the buildings and to the streets. And in a moment all Ranger units had disappeared behind walls and behind debris and the scene settled.
And for a time it was almost silent. Formal watched with patience, but Frost's eyes were dancing about the battlefield like kittens with cap-nip as something shrieked onto the street a few blocks to the right.
Twisting and turning came a jeep, its top down and three figures huddled within. Frost's eyes darted to meet it, but when she had labeled it with her crosshairs there was the shifting of bodies and the shuffle of footsteps before her. Swinging back to the battlefield, every Ranger that had dropped was peaking out of a window or a doorway, providing cover for the three units that were dodging the rainfall of bullets to reach the Helix's hull.
"Not today," she smiled. Firing once, the third Ranger in line took a terrible shot to the temple and as if in slow motion he began a delicate descent to the floor of the road, smacking hard on the pavement as the two proceeding Rangers slipped into the Helix.
Leaving them for the moment, she looked back to the jeep…no one. 'Wha?' she thought, and there was an explosion of cement and gravel in her face as a bullet pierced the lip of the roof. Toppling backward, she landed on her back, quickly brushing her uniform of the dust before jerking around.
There stood Snake, a Hammerli 280 in his hands and a grimace on his face. The sudden return of gunfire hinted at the reappearance of the Rangers from the Helix's hull. Looking over her shoulder, sniper rifle still at her side, she saw one of the men fall, the other making it to cover in one of the abandoned apartment buildings across the road.
"Hmph," she grunted, Snake's face remaining stern and still.
"Formal," he addressed her. She smiled in return.
"Solid Snake," she touched her finger to her lip as if silencing him, "it is good to see you again. You wanted more?"
"More of what?" he questioned.
"More of me," she clarified. "I have missed you, Solid Snake. Can you honestly tell me that you have not missed me?"
"Put down the rifle," he commanded and she frowned slightly, beginning to take it up in her arms and cradle it like a baby. "Put it down!" he cried, and she began to sway from left to right, the rifle cuddled to her breast.
"You can't have me without her," she insisted.
"What if I don't want you?" Snake asked, triggering a playful smile from Frost.
"Then you'll just have to shoot me wont you?" she asked, and then there was a crack followed by a long, abnormal howl that etched its way through the battering winds that tossed Snake's headband around gaily. But it was not a merry scream, not a foreshadowing of living happily ever after. With that sound came something else.
"Ah!" Frost cried as the bullet broke the skin of her back and bust into her bone. Sending a wave of compulsive pain through her muscles, her blood, and her bone she collapsed on the roof her sniper rifle clattering as it tumbled over the lip of the roof to the street below.
Snake lowered his Hammerli 280 and hurried to her side, something of fright and composition painted on his full-colored skin as he knelt beside her. She was breathing fine, but blood was beginning to flow out of her back, forming a thin pool of crimson at the edges of her body. Looking beyond Snake's eyes, she saw that vast sky and smiled lightly, still disrupt with pain.
"I've never seen it so big," she whispered. Snake looked at her oddly, but sympathetically still.
"Huh?" he asked and she winced as another stab of pain ran down her spine, branching off to every part of her body. Waiting a moment, her eyes closed as she dealt with the pain internally, she looked up again with a blissful look about her.
"The sky," she said, taking a deep breath, "I never saw I so big. It's always been behind a set of crosshairs…always just a background," she managed to get out before choking slightly. Her hand grasped Snake's wrist, but this time he didn't fight it, and this time it wasn't a move to invoke passion…she was frightened.
"I've always watched…just concentrating on one little thing…one little person," she took a shaking breath as her eyes began to fill with tears, the sun reflecting in the pools. "I…never took the time to look at the big picture…never admired…just killed." Like a streak of glimmering sun light, the pools broke over their edges and bore rapid-flowing rivers in her cheeks as she blinked wildly, trying to disguise her pain.
"I'm no stranger," Snake told her. Frost's eyes turned to him and he saw their cool blue pupils, almost frozen. "You can cry in front of me," he assured her, and her eyes drifted back to the clear blue ocean above them.
"I was always searching for love," she told him, "but not…not really love. All I could find was passion," she paused, sucking up the pain as her bones seemed to bend beyond their limits but staying in tact as to not let her escape the torture.
"You were looking in the wrong places," Snake told her, the gunfight below seeming as still as a lifeless corpse to the two. "You're a sniper. Snipers never look up; they always look down. But there's never anything more than gray and brown there…gray, brown, and a target." He turned away for a moment and felt her hand tighten around his wrist.
"You're leaving," she said, and he turned back to her almost stunned, but somewhat grateful she had not let him think of leaving. "Don't leave…I cant die alone," she breathed, her eyes full of sadness but also a longing for joy. "I don't want to die alone."
Snake looked into her eyes, torn between sentiment and repose. Her eyes shining like the brilliant sun itself, he covered his sadness and his compassion, as well as his passive norm and watched her.
"I don't want…don't want to be another forgotten memento…something you just throw away…or…toss in the back of a garbage truck," she confessed. "There's a place for me…isn't there?" Snake tried to sympathize with her, but thought it best not to respond.
"Please," she tried, her pupils contracting as they began to absorb the light of the sky. "Please, Solid Snake…don't let me go alone." And then, as her grip loosened around Snake's wrist, his eyes closing tight and her pupils dilating again like giant crystals, the light was pulled into them – the sky falling into darkness under a hovering cloud – and her tears…
They froze like the first frost of winter.
"Good job, Formal," Dante said, his lips thin and stretched by a gleaming smile as the sound of a chopper weighed overhead. Grasping a radio in his right hand he raised it to his ear and cleared his throat. "All units stand by," he announced as a door opened. Cocking his head to the left, the room he sat within seemed to finally take form having been blocked from his mind. "Suited up, Colonel?"
From the bathroom of the coffee house came the Colonel, his bloodied clothes in his left hand and a newer set of army apparel on his body. There was a rough grimace on his face and it became readily apparent as several FACtion guards aimed their AK's and M4's at him that he was returning to duty against his own will. "Hmph…let's get on with it." Dante grinned – pleased by the Colonel's disgust of the situation – and handed the Colonel the radio.
He stared Dante heavily in the eyes and showed his displeasure before snatching the radio from his outstretched hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he forced down the button on its side with his thumb and hesitated. His lips only slightly parted, no noises escaped him. His eyes narrowed on Dante who glowered back at him and then they scrolled left to Formal…and right to Frost. Hearing the chopper's groan come louder he looked through the glass wall to his left and then to the waitresses who were held under four assault rifles behind the service counter.
'No way out,' he thought, and when he had closed his eyes Dante waited…he watched. There was a dreadful sigh, "Bring her down." With Dante's glowing smile the Colonel loosened his grip on the radio and the button clicked out of its stressed position before he promptly turned it over to Dante with a foul expression about his face – like he was trying to get rid of some stale after-taste.
And then, led by the soldiers, the entire population of the coffee house – Dante, Frost, Formal, the Colonel, the waitresses, two or three coffee- lovers, and several FACtion soldiers – moved onto the sidewalk. Looking into the sky, Dante caught notice of the large lack form hovering in the sun's massive spotlight.
A Kamov KA-27 "Helix" – its model prior made famous by the Soviet Union for mere transportation, later armed with homing torpedoes used against enemy submarines – hovered like a villain in itself, but as FACtion soldiers swarmed the street, their weapons aimed into the sky and one of them shouting orders to the Helix via megaphone, its threat was falsely dismissed.
"Surround it!" Dante cried, and the soldiers quickly assembled a new formation, forming a neat circle around he landing site as the wind intensified and the noise began to wash out all other distractions. Through Dante's yelling and hollering all that could be truly understood – and only somewhat at this point – were his abnormal hand movements and gestures.
The Colonel stood behind them all, his heart a mixture of anger and joy. Otacon's perspective had changed everything. He had gone from a firm believer of FACtion's conduct to a traitor, but he still possessed a flame that yearned for its fuel – the Patriot's destruction – and that was all coming to him in that moment. With the Six Points abandoned by the Patriot in the streets of Manhattan there would be no hope of fulfilling whatever Ocelot was planning.
And then the chopper landed. The rotors began to slow and the noise began to dim, allowing the voices of the tense soldiers to rise above it and cry their orders to the inhabitants of the chopper. Their weapons gripped tightly in their hands they watched the helicopter as its rotors had come to a complete stop, and at that time their eyes whipped back to Dante in search of assertion. And with his smile…that smile of deep satisfaction, they felt that things were going right. Freedom was on the horizon, and they were going to meet it. And with his smile, they smiled. Their hearts filled to the brim with joy, they heard Dante's voice call out, "Move…take them."
The soldiers looked to each other and quickly stepped to the door of the helicopter, their hands beginning to shake faintly. And then, the crowd stunned by anticipation, one man stepped forward and with a quick jerk of his arm the door slid aside.
And then there was a crack that left them all silent. And the man took one graceful step back, his hand leaving the handle of the door and moving slowly up from his stomach to his chest. The entire street was frozen, looking for some sort of explanation, waiting for something to deny the fact that was before them. And then he felt it…the warmth of his own body, his own blood.
He stumbled once, falling to his knees, and then grasped his chest as his legs withdrew beneath him and his back met the cold street.
Dante looked at it like it was some sort of sick joke, but in those seconds that he saw that soldier fall, a lick of crimson blood scarring his chest, he knew that there was something wrong. And when his gaze fell over Formal in surprise, Formal was as shocked as he – his face expressing deep amazement.
"It's a trap!" one of the soldiers cried, landing on his fallen friend – a bullet in his forehead. Then, there was an outbreak of gunfire exchanging from FACtion soldiers to the copper as several troops – carrying the insignia of the Army Rangers – moved into the street, abandoning the Helix that was readying for lift-off.
"Dammit, Formal!" Dante cried. "What the hell is this?!" Dante was furious, and Formal looked back at him in awe. "Dammit, Formal! Take care of it!" With that, Dante and the Colonel were rushed inside the coffee house by four FACtion soldiers, leaving Formal and Frost to assist the remaining FACtion soldiers scattered about the street.
Seeing evidence of M4 Carbines and standard 9mm side-arms, Formal set his hand on Frost's shoulder and jerked his thumb upward toward the roof. She nodded and disappeared into the coffee house where she would proceed to the roof of the building. Turning away from her, Formal dug his hands into his suit and pulled forth several knives – spanning them out like cards.
"Damn that Ocelot," he spoke to himself, using a wounded soldier at his feet to speak. "Come and get it!" Formal cried, and with the flip of his wrist he had sent three knives spiraling through the air, the sun's dawning light catching them like glistening spires before they pelted into a Rangers' thigh. Grinning wide, the man stumbled against the pilot's side- window and with a shrieking crack, his face was replaced by a stinging bullet.
Formal had seen its trail. "Nice shot, Frost!" he cried, and with another distinct crack the pilot's temple had been mutilated…and more than that had simply melted into the walls in a wave of sticky red blood. Formal smiled again before motioning with his hands – a gesture that 'magically' removed the knives from the deceased man's leg before finding themselves in another man's chest.
"Protect the fort!" the megaphone blared as the FACtion soldiers assembled before the coffee shop, forming a wall between the Rangers that had moved into adjacent and nearby buildings, looking for better cover. Some were slowly progressing behind the chopper and other debris of the riots that had moved out of the area following the bombing of Tribeca and the Triborough Bridge.
All were finding death from both Formal and Frost, who were both racking up unbelievable kill counts. Te FACtion soldiers proved to be nothing more than amusing targets for the Rangers, and they were suffering severe casualties. Even with the presence of Formal and Frost, many of the Rangers were intelligent enough to stay out of the open street, and by this time they had taken notice to Frost and Formal, seeing them as the only apparent threats.
"Why didn't thy brief us on those two?!" one of the Rangers cried as he and another two were trekking up a flight of stairs in a building across from the coffee shop. "Damn! This is insane!" After reaching a landing, they moved through a series of dark, dank, and empty rooms in search of one clear view of the battlefield below.
"In here!" one of them yelled, and the other two came running, but just as they had entered the room and had seen their fellow Ranger setting up a Barret .50 caliber rifle in the expanse of an open window they heard the familiar explosion of a sniper rifle and he flew to the floor of the room, his Barret falling through the window and into the open street.
"Damn!" one of the Rangers exclaimed again. He heard several soldiers announcing similar obscenities through his headset and turned away from his fallen soldier. "This is Taylor!" he cried into the headset. "Three Bravo personnel, move to the chopper and retrieve the Gustav! All remaining units, provide heavy cover!" There were three prompt variations of 'affirmative' before he kneeled down beside the fallen soldier again. He put his hand to the man's forehead as if to stop the bleeding, but it was useless. "Haynes is down," he muttered into the headset, tears filling his eyes. Sniffing once and working to compose himself he stood. "And someone get that goddamn sniper!"
There was movement in the adjacent buildings as Rangers prepared for their rush on the chopper. Formal could easily determine that they were planning a rush, but he was preoccupied with his swift handicraft of the knife to take proper notice. Frost on the other hand saw exactly what was happening.
Through her scope – watching only a 10'x10' area – she saw surprisingly more than someone with a view of the entire street. She could see the determination in these soldiers' eyes, and their mouths chattering to each other as they waved gestures through the air, continuing a rapid progression through the buildings and to the streets. And in a moment all Ranger units had disappeared behind walls and behind debris and the scene settled.
And for a time it was almost silent. Formal watched with patience, but Frost's eyes were dancing about the battlefield like kittens with cap-nip as something shrieked onto the street a few blocks to the right.
Twisting and turning came a jeep, its top down and three figures huddled within. Frost's eyes darted to meet it, but when she had labeled it with her crosshairs there was the shifting of bodies and the shuffle of footsteps before her. Swinging back to the battlefield, every Ranger that had dropped was peaking out of a window or a doorway, providing cover for the three units that were dodging the rainfall of bullets to reach the Helix's hull.
"Not today," she smiled. Firing once, the third Ranger in line took a terrible shot to the temple and as if in slow motion he began a delicate descent to the floor of the road, smacking hard on the pavement as the two proceeding Rangers slipped into the Helix.
Leaving them for the moment, she looked back to the jeep…no one. 'Wha?' she thought, and there was an explosion of cement and gravel in her face as a bullet pierced the lip of the roof. Toppling backward, she landed on her back, quickly brushing her uniform of the dust before jerking around.
There stood Snake, a Hammerli 280 in his hands and a grimace on his face. The sudden return of gunfire hinted at the reappearance of the Rangers from the Helix's hull. Looking over her shoulder, sniper rifle still at her side, she saw one of the men fall, the other making it to cover in one of the abandoned apartment buildings across the road.
"Hmph," she grunted, Snake's face remaining stern and still.
"Formal," he addressed her. She smiled in return.
"Solid Snake," she touched her finger to her lip as if silencing him, "it is good to see you again. You wanted more?"
"More of what?" he questioned.
"More of me," she clarified. "I have missed you, Solid Snake. Can you honestly tell me that you have not missed me?"
"Put down the rifle," he commanded and she frowned slightly, beginning to take it up in her arms and cradle it like a baby. "Put it down!" he cried, and she began to sway from left to right, the rifle cuddled to her breast.
"You can't have me without her," she insisted.
"What if I don't want you?" Snake asked, triggering a playful smile from Frost.
"Then you'll just have to shoot me wont you?" she asked, and then there was a crack followed by a long, abnormal howl that etched its way through the battering winds that tossed Snake's headband around gaily. But it was not a merry scream, not a foreshadowing of living happily ever after. With that sound came something else.
"Ah!" Frost cried as the bullet broke the skin of her back and bust into her bone. Sending a wave of compulsive pain through her muscles, her blood, and her bone she collapsed on the roof her sniper rifle clattering as it tumbled over the lip of the roof to the street below.
Snake lowered his Hammerli 280 and hurried to her side, something of fright and composition painted on his full-colored skin as he knelt beside her. She was breathing fine, but blood was beginning to flow out of her back, forming a thin pool of crimson at the edges of her body. Looking beyond Snake's eyes, she saw that vast sky and smiled lightly, still disrupt with pain.
"I've never seen it so big," she whispered. Snake looked at her oddly, but sympathetically still.
"Huh?" he asked and she winced as another stab of pain ran down her spine, branching off to every part of her body. Waiting a moment, her eyes closed as she dealt with the pain internally, she looked up again with a blissful look about her.
"The sky," she said, taking a deep breath, "I never saw I so big. It's always been behind a set of crosshairs…always just a background," she managed to get out before choking slightly. Her hand grasped Snake's wrist, but this time he didn't fight it, and this time it wasn't a move to invoke passion…she was frightened.
"I've always watched…just concentrating on one little thing…one little person," she took a shaking breath as her eyes began to fill with tears, the sun reflecting in the pools. "I…never took the time to look at the big picture…never admired…just killed." Like a streak of glimmering sun light, the pools broke over their edges and bore rapid-flowing rivers in her cheeks as she blinked wildly, trying to disguise her pain.
"I'm no stranger," Snake told her. Frost's eyes turned to him and he saw their cool blue pupils, almost frozen. "You can cry in front of me," he assured her, and her eyes drifted back to the clear blue ocean above them.
"I was always searching for love," she told him, "but not…not really love. All I could find was passion," she paused, sucking up the pain as her bones seemed to bend beyond their limits but staying in tact as to not let her escape the torture.
"You were looking in the wrong places," Snake told her, the gunfight below seeming as still as a lifeless corpse to the two. "You're a sniper. Snipers never look up; they always look down. But there's never anything more than gray and brown there…gray, brown, and a target." He turned away for a moment and felt her hand tighten around his wrist.
"You're leaving," she said, and he turned back to her almost stunned, but somewhat grateful she had not let him think of leaving. "Don't leave…I cant die alone," she breathed, her eyes full of sadness but also a longing for joy. "I don't want to die alone."
Snake looked into her eyes, torn between sentiment and repose. Her eyes shining like the brilliant sun itself, he covered his sadness and his compassion, as well as his passive norm and watched her.
"I don't want…don't want to be another forgotten memento…something you just throw away…or…toss in the back of a garbage truck," she confessed. "There's a place for me…isn't there?" Snake tried to sympathize with her, but thought it best not to respond.
"Please," she tried, her pupils contracting as they began to absorb the light of the sky. "Please, Solid Snake…don't let me go alone." And then, as her grip loosened around Snake's wrist, his eyes closing tight and her pupils dilating again like giant crystals, the light was pulled into them – the sky falling into darkness under a hovering cloud – and her tears…
They froze like the first frost of winter.