Chapter Twenty-Five: A Perfect Mesh
"Fire!" a Ranger's voice called, its origin moving into a doorway opposite Formal and the FACtion troops. Still separated by the street, Formal's eyes immediately grappled onto the fairly slim tube rested upon the Ranger's shoulder, and when the smoke hissed about the area a burning rocket propelled forward to break the wet of heat and swim through the humid air. But as the Ranger's face grew bright, five shimmering objects spun forth, erecting a wall of air before the coffee house as the FACtion soldiers ducked – Formal holding his arms out straight as if reinforcing his barrier.
And then the steel-clad rocket tore itself apart in a mesh of red and yellow, its body breaking against the firmness of Formal's defense. He shuddered and stumbled slightly as the smoke and fire curled around the edges of his wall and licked at the pavement sending a scolding wash of warm rubble at him and his comrades.
Quickly, the smoke shrouded the area, pushing heavy against the coffee house windows as Formal sought an untainted breath in the midst of an airfield of gray and black poison. The flames still scorched the road as well as the barrier that remained floating in the air, and the battlefield became quiet despite the coughing and choking that served as the only assurance of survival amid the cloud.
And with his hands he felt the street, searching vainly for guidance until he came upon something familiarly bulky. Its shell smooth and sleek, he opened his eyes only slightly as he lifted the object and curled it in his arms. Cuddled in his chest was a gun. Frost's sniper rifle.
"Frost," he stated unbelievingly. The rifle falling absentmindedly from his grasp, it clattered on the pavement and the cloud began to part, the Ranger fire returning. In a fit of rage, his heart racing, he turned and grabbed the collar of a wounded FACtion soldiers' uniform and sent four knives before him – creating a step.
Beginning upward, four more knives made the outline of another step, and then those of the first step rearranged themselves ahead of him to form yet another. The process continued seamlessly as he raced upward, the knives darting this way and that in a frenzied misdirection, as if confused. To his right, the wall that had guarded him from the Ranger rocket floated alongside; never letting the Ranger fire that had immediately been redirected at him, graze his clammy skin.
"Reload the Gustav!" he heard one of the Rangers cry, and with an angry jerk, he sent three glimmering knives through another Ranger's chest – the one that held the Gustav tightly in his arms. Then, ignoring the knives that remained deep within the man's body, the stairs continued to build upon themselves until he could see Snake's head drifting over the concrete lip of the roof.
Sending the accompanying FACtion soldier through the air to the roof surface, he took a defiant step atop the lip and all remaining knives flew into his now opened jacket. Snake's head whipped first to the soldier who laid nearly unconscious next to him, and then up to the figure balanced on the edge of the rooftop. Seeing the silhouette hanging menacingly in the sun's bright orange glare, he pulled forth his Hammerli and aimed it in the vague direction of Formal whose eyes had fallen over Frost's cold body.
He did not bother to button his suit jacket, nor did he hold out his knives as bargaining chips, but watched without feeling or sight…with numbness and question. So many questions coursed through his mind…so many questions, and then: "You?"
Snake cocked his head slightly, not moving the Hammerli from its target. Formal removed his shades and slipped them into his pocket while taking a step down from the lip of the roof. Snake watched him oddly. "You did this?" There was more. The voice…it was not coming from the soldier beside Snake, nor was it coming from Frost…but from Formal. The words had been spoken in an entirely foreign tone, but one that he had somehow always known.
"You speak," Snake stated in something of surprise and awe. Formal discarded the remark and took another step, Snake forcing his Hammerli on him with a fiercer grip of the trigger.
"Did you kill her?! Tell me, now!" Formal bolted forward, his face filled with rage, and Snake fired. Not once…or twice, or even three times…he fired every available round at his disposal, and only inches from Frost, there were four holes in his suit – those having been deflected – and one in either shoulder where blood was trickling from deep within.
He had stopped there, still standing, but his legs crumpling beneath him. His face was frozen in shock, and his heart was still with pain – both from Frost's death and his newborn wounds…his only wounds. Then he collapsed on the floor, falling beside Frost and only feet from Snake. Tilting his head to the right, he looked at Snake in sadness and then over to Frost in regret.
"You…didn't kill her," Formal breathed, slightly choking. Snake watched him, unsure of whether he was to answer or not. But Formal continued. "I…loved her. I…I do love her." He choked lightly, and then turned his head up to the sky, his eyes beginning to swell with tears. He bit his lip and exhaled before continuing.
"My life was hell before…the only thing I found…all that I found that was the slightest bit comforting…was you, Frost." Snake set his Hammerli beside him, and the FACtion soldier watched. "The diamond…in the rough. The reason…I joined FACtion was for you. I kept things from you, and…I'm sorry for that. And…I'm sorry I never got to say…goodbye." Formal's eyes began to close.
"No," Snake interjected. Formal looked absently at him. "I didn't kill her," he assured him, and a light smile broke as his lips spread wider.
"I…knew you hadn't," Formal smiled. "You couldn't save her…but…you stayed with her. I wasn't here for her…I never was." Snake shook his head.
"Wrong," he said. "Maybe she didn't see it, but you were always there. I'm no counselor, and I haven't had much experience with love," he paused, remembering Meryl, "but I know enough." Formal lightly touched Snake's arm and then let it slide over Frost's hand.
"Thank you," he sighed, and a noise began to grow off in the direction he had come from. Squinting his eyes, and standing, a mass of soldiers were marching through the street – guns in hand. Looking at them more closely, he saw that they came from the warehouse.
"Ocelot," he breathed, and there was a light chuckle from where Formal lay. Snake turned back to him and crouched at his side again.
"That man," Formal began, "is a fool…a wretched, disgusting, evil fool. He will die today. You will kill him." Snake discarded the remark as Formal had done before, and turned his worries back to the marching soldiers. They were coming closer, and the battle between the Rangers and FACtion soldiers was cooling down, the Rangers advancing across the street.
"Snake!" a familiar voice called from behind. Turning to its origin, Snake saw three figures beside the ladder. Fox, Jack, and Otacon – who had spoken.
Snake hurried over to them, and Otacon greeted him with a hug while Jack's eyes had fallen over Formal who was looking in the opposite direction.
"You killed him?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.
"He's holding on," he replied. "What's next?"
"Ocelot's sentries from the warehouse are moving up the street," Otacon answered. "I managed to decipher some of the records from the Compilation," he gestured to the laptop under his arm. "They're heading for World Trade Center Tower 1 as soon as they have the FACtion threat neutralized."
"So the enemy is playing tag-team?" Snake joked and Otacon shrugged.
"FACtion could be wiped out in a few more minutes, and we cant afford a second's loss," Otacon answered. "I contacted the UN, and they managed to salvage a transport. We'll have a chopper in here in minutes to move us to Tower One."
Snake nodded, and looked back at Formal. He hesitated, and then said: "Do we have room for an extra passenger?" Jack and Otacon both realized who he was referring to, and both were in protest while Jack was the only one to voice his opposition.
"We're playing tag-team too?" he questioned angrily, and Formal turned his head to them. Snake took the comment hard. "I'm not in control of things here, but I never knew you to trade sides," he said with slight sarcasm regarding the events that had conspired at the Big Shell.
"He could live," Snake assured them. "I'm not one to sympathize with the enemy, but –"
Suddenly, there was an uproar of gunshots, and as Snake hurried to the lip of the roof, looking over the street, he saw Ocelot's sentries nearly there, and less than ten FACtion soldiers standing. At that same instant, the sound of a helicopter was growing increasingly loud and Snake spotted one weaving through the skyscrapers.
"Without his weapons!" Ocelot yelled – at Jack's displeasure – to Snake. He nodded in return, and quickly went to Formal's side, and kneeling beside him.
"We're getting you out of here," Snake said, and Formal looked at him woozily. Quickly pulling off his jacket, letting the white shirt beneath it stay, Snake threw the jacket aside and checked to make sure there was not a single knife in Formal's possession. "Good," he said, and then the helicopter was upon them, hovering above.
A rope ladder fell down from the chopper's open door as there was an uncomforting rise in gunfire below. "They're here," Snake proclaimed, realizing Ocelot's sentries had arrived.
"Snake!" Otacon yelled from the bottom of the ladder, Jack almost inside. Snake nodded, and Otacon started upward. "You're gonna have to help me, here. Try and stand up," Snake told Formal.
He was unresponsive as Snake lifted his body off the roof, trying to stand him upright. Seeing that he could not stand alone, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and began to pull him upward. The sounds of the chopper and the urgency of the situation below made them all tense, and Fox at this point had disappeared onto the streets – once again leaving Snake's team to fight with his own.
"Gotcha," Snake said, but just then there was a terrible shriek followed by a jolting explosion and a wave of metal, concrete, and wood as the front of the coffee house took the impact of a rocket.
"Snake!" Otacon yelled again, this time from the helicopter's hull. The roof was beginning to collapse, and Formal had fallen to his knees with the instability of the building, as well as his feeble legs. "Snake! Run!" Snake felt the roof waver in stress, its form cracking and twisting wildly. "Leave him!" Otacon wailed, but Snake couldn't.
"Stand up!" he cried, and just as he had gotten Formal onto his feet, he saw the FACtion soldier at their feet move quickly.
"For FACtion!" he screamed, and there was another wretched cry of metal. Only this time, it found something more than concrete and metal and wood. This time it found flesh.
More than six deep holes had been etched into Formal's stomach and chest, and when Snake realized what had happened, Formal coughed again sending blood onto the cracking roof. Whipping to the left, Snake saw the FACtion soldier beside Frost, his AKu-74 in hand, and Formal's jacket at his side.
With one shot, leaving the barrel of Snake's Hammerli, the FACtion soldier lay dead, and Formal stumbled onto his back. Snake kneeled beside him, seeing that he was trying to whisper, and he listened. He put his ear to Formal's lips and he listened…listened closely.
"You were there with her…and you are here with me…now." Then, with a final breath, his chest fell and his eyelids slid shut, leaving Snake with those last words, uttered not through a mask, but through its host. They had been uttered in Formal's own, pure tone, and they would never fade. They would never die.
Without speaking, Snake looked over the two – Formal and Frost – and when he came to their hands he saw them interlocked.
"Love lasts forever," Snake muttered as he stood, and after retrieving Formal's jacket and sun glasses and setting them at his side, he turned to the rope ladder, and as the roof began to give way, he grabbed the third rung and the chopper lifted away.
The wind swept past him freely, and the sun burned bright as it continued to fall through the sky, nearing the horizon and casting a beautiful setting over the city. The buildings were black jets of metal, jutting up in the foreground of a magnificent painting, and as the war raged on below, two hearts had been forged atop the distant roof. And Snake looked up to where Otacon and Jack sat, looking down at him in sorrow and comfort as friends.
And it all hung in the balance. The fighting, the love, the friendship, the beauty…it all lived on in the same moment, and together it was magnificent, together it was perfect. It was perfect.
A perfect mesh.
"Fire!" a Ranger's voice called, its origin moving into a doorway opposite Formal and the FACtion troops. Still separated by the street, Formal's eyes immediately grappled onto the fairly slim tube rested upon the Ranger's shoulder, and when the smoke hissed about the area a burning rocket propelled forward to break the wet of heat and swim through the humid air. But as the Ranger's face grew bright, five shimmering objects spun forth, erecting a wall of air before the coffee house as the FACtion soldiers ducked – Formal holding his arms out straight as if reinforcing his barrier.
And then the steel-clad rocket tore itself apart in a mesh of red and yellow, its body breaking against the firmness of Formal's defense. He shuddered and stumbled slightly as the smoke and fire curled around the edges of his wall and licked at the pavement sending a scolding wash of warm rubble at him and his comrades.
Quickly, the smoke shrouded the area, pushing heavy against the coffee house windows as Formal sought an untainted breath in the midst of an airfield of gray and black poison. The flames still scorched the road as well as the barrier that remained floating in the air, and the battlefield became quiet despite the coughing and choking that served as the only assurance of survival amid the cloud.
And with his hands he felt the street, searching vainly for guidance until he came upon something familiarly bulky. Its shell smooth and sleek, he opened his eyes only slightly as he lifted the object and curled it in his arms. Cuddled in his chest was a gun. Frost's sniper rifle.
"Frost," he stated unbelievingly. The rifle falling absentmindedly from his grasp, it clattered on the pavement and the cloud began to part, the Ranger fire returning. In a fit of rage, his heart racing, he turned and grabbed the collar of a wounded FACtion soldiers' uniform and sent four knives before him – creating a step.
Beginning upward, four more knives made the outline of another step, and then those of the first step rearranged themselves ahead of him to form yet another. The process continued seamlessly as he raced upward, the knives darting this way and that in a frenzied misdirection, as if confused. To his right, the wall that had guarded him from the Ranger rocket floated alongside; never letting the Ranger fire that had immediately been redirected at him, graze his clammy skin.
"Reload the Gustav!" he heard one of the Rangers cry, and with an angry jerk, he sent three glimmering knives through another Ranger's chest – the one that held the Gustav tightly in his arms. Then, ignoring the knives that remained deep within the man's body, the stairs continued to build upon themselves until he could see Snake's head drifting over the concrete lip of the roof.
Sending the accompanying FACtion soldier through the air to the roof surface, he took a defiant step atop the lip and all remaining knives flew into his now opened jacket. Snake's head whipped first to the soldier who laid nearly unconscious next to him, and then up to the figure balanced on the edge of the rooftop. Seeing the silhouette hanging menacingly in the sun's bright orange glare, he pulled forth his Hammerli and aimed it in the vague direction of Formal whose eyes had fallen over Frost's cold body.
He did not bother to button his suit jacket, nor did he hold out his knives as bargaining chips, but watched without feeling or sight…with numbness and question. So many questions coursed through his mind…so many questions, and then: "You?"
Snake cocked his head slightly, not moving the Hammerli from its target. Formal removed his shades and slipped them into his pocket while taking a step down from the lip of the roof. Snake watched him oddly. "You did this?" There was more. The voice…it was not coming from the soldier beside Snake, nor was it coming from Frost…but from Formal. The words had been spoken in an entirely foreign tone, but one that he had somehow always known.
"You speak," Snake stated in something of surprise and awe. Formal discarded the remark and took another step, Snake forcing his Hammerli on him with a fiercer grip of the trigger.
"Did you kill her?! Tell me, now!" Formal bolted forward, his face filled with rage, and Snake fired. Not once…or twice, or even three times…he fired every available round at his disposal, and only inches from Frost, there were four holes in his suit – those having been deflected – and one in either shoulder where blood was trickling from deep within.
He had stopped there, still standing, but his legs crumpling beneath him. His face was frozen in shock, and his heart was still with pain – both from Frost's death and his newborn wounds…his only wounds. Then he collapsed on the floor, falling beside Frost and only feet from Snake. Tilting his head to the right, he looked at Snake in sadness and then over to Frost in regret.
"You…didn't kill her," Formal breathed, slightly choking. Snake watched him, unsure of whether he was to answer or not. But Formal continued. "I…loved her. I…I do love her." He choked lightly, and then turned his head up to the sky, his eyes beginning to swell with tears. He bit his lip and exhaled before continuing.
"My life was hell before…the only thing I found…all that I found that was the slightest bit comforting…was you, Frost." Snake set his Hammerli beside him, and the FACtion soldier watched. "The diamond…in the rough. The reason…I joined FACtion was for you. I kept things from you, and…I'm sorry for that. And…I'm sorry I never got to say…goodbye." Formal's eyes began to close.
"No," Snake interjected. Formal looked absently at him. "I didn't kill her," he assured him, and a light smile broke as his lips spread wider.
"I…knew you hadn't," Formal smiled. "You couldn't save her…but…you stayed with her. I wasn't here for her…I never was." Snake shook his head.
"Wrong," he said. "Maybe she didn't see it, but you were always there. I'm no counselor, and I haven't had much experience with love," he paused, remembering Meryl, "but I know enough." Formal lightly touched Snake's arm and then let it slide over Frost's hand.
"Thank you," he sighed, and a noise began to grow off in the direction he had come from. Squinting his eyes, and standing, a mass of soldiers were marching through the street – guns in hand. Looking at them more closely, he saw that they came from the warehouse.
"Ocelot," he breathed, and there was a light chuckle from where Formal lay. Snake turned back to him and crouched at his side again.
"That man," Formal began, "is a fool…a wretched, disgusting, evil fool. He will die today. You will kill him." Snake discarded the remark as Formal had done before, and turned his worries back to the marching soldiers. They were coming closer, and the battle between the Rangers and FACtion soldiers was cooling down, the Rangers advancing across the street.
"Snake!" a familiar voice called from behind. Turning to its origin, Snake saw three figures beside the ladder. Fox, Jack, and Otacon – who had spoken.
Snake hurried over to them, and Otacon greeted him with a hug while Jack's eyes had fallen over Formal who was looking in the opposite direction.
"You killed him?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.
"He's holding on," he replied. "What's next?"
"Ocelot's sentries from the warehouse are moving up the street," Otacon answered. "I managed to decipher some of the records from the Compilation," he gestured to the laptop under his arm. "They're heading for World Trade Center Tower 1 as soon as they have the FACtion threat neutralized."
"So the enemy is playing tag-team?" Snake joked and Otacon shrugged.
"FACtion could be wiped out in a few more minutes, and we cant afford a second's loss," Otacon answered. "I contacted the UN, and they managed to salvage a transport. We'll have a chopper in here in minutes to move us to Tower One."
Snake nodded, and looked back at Formal. He hesitated, and then said: "Do we have room for an extra passenger?" Jack and Otacon both realized who he was referring to, and both were in protest while Jack was the only one to voice his opposition.
"We're playing tag-team too?" he questioned angrily, and Formal turned his head to them. Snake took the comment hard. "I'm not in control of things here, but I never knew you to trade sides," he said with slight sarcasm regarding the events that had conspired at the Big Shell.
"He could live," Snake assured them. "I'm not one to sympathize with the enemy, but –"
Suddenly, there was an uproar of gunshots, and as Snake hurried to the lip of the roof, looking over the street, he saw Ocelot's sentries nearly there, and less than ten FACtion soldiers standing. At that same instant, the sound of a helicopter was growing increasingly loud and Snake spotted one weaving through the skyscrapers.
"Without his weapons!" Ocelot yelled – at Jack's displeasure – to Snake. He nodded in return, and quickly went to Formal's side, and kneeling beside him.
"We're getting you out of here," Snake said, and Formal looked at him woozily. Quickly pulling off his jacket, letting the white shirt beneath it stay, Snake threw the jacket aside and checked to make sure there was not a single knife in Formal's possession. "Good," he said, and then the helicopter was upon them, hovering above.
A rope ladder fell down from the chopper's open door as there was an uncomforting rise in gunfire below. "They're here," Snake proclaimed, realizing Ocelot's sentries had arrived.
"Snake!" Otacon yelled from the bottom of the ladder, Jack almost inside. Snake nodded, and Otacon started upward. "You're gonna have to help me, here. Try and stand up," Snake told Formal.
He was unresponsive as Snake lifted his body off the roof, trying to stand him upright. Seeing that he could not stand alone, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and began to pull him upward. The sounds of the chopper and the urgency of the situation below made them all tense, and Fox at this point had disappeared onto the streets – once again leaving Snake's team to fight with his own.
"Gotcha," Snake said, but just then there was a terrible shriek followed by a jolting explosion and a wave of metal, concrete, and wood as the front of the coffee house took the impact of a rocket.
"Snake!" Otacon yelled again, this time from the helicopter's hull. The roof was beginning to collapse, and Formal had fallen to his knees with the instability of the building, as well as his feeble legs. "Snake! Run!" Snake felt the roof waver in stress, its form cracking and twisting wildly. "Leave him!" Otacon wailed, but Snake couldn't.
"Stand up!" he cried, and just as he had gotten Formal onto his feet, he saw the FACtion soldier at their feet move quickly.
"For FACtion!" he screamed, and there was another wretched cry of metal. Only this time, it found something more than concrete and metal and wood. This time it found flesh.
More than six deep holes had been etched into Formal's stomach and chest, and when Snake realized what had happened, Formal coughed again sending blood onto the cracking roof. Whipping to the left, Snake saw the FACtion soldier beside Frost, his AKu-74 in hand, and Formal's jacket at his side.
With one shot, leaving the barrel of Snake's Hammerli, the FACtion soldier lay dead, and Formal stumbled onto his back. Snake kneeled beside him, seeing that he was trying to whisper, and he listened. He put his ear to Formal's lips and he listened…listened closely.
"You were there with her…and you are here with me…now." Then, with a final breath, his chest fell and his eyelids slid shut, leaving Snake with those last words, uttered not through a mask, but through its host. They had been uttered in Formal's own, pure tone, and they would never fade. They would never die.
Without speaking, Snake looked over the two – Formal and Frost – and when he came to their hands he saw them interlocked.
"Love lasts forever," Snake muttered as he stood, and after retrieving Formal's jacket and sun glasses and setting them at his side, he turned to the rope ladder, and as the roof began to give way, he grabbed the third rung and the chopper lifted away.
The wind swept past him freely, and the sun burned bright as it continued to fall through the sky, nearing the horizon and casting a beautiful setting over the city. The buildings were black jets of metal, jutting up in the foreground of a magnificent painting, and as the war raged on below, two hearts had been forged atop the distant roof. And Snake looked up to where Otacon and Jack sat, looking down at him in sorrow and comfort as friends.
And it all hung in the balance. The fighting, the love, the friendship, the beauty…it all lived on in the same moment, and together it was magnificent, together it was perfect. It was perfect.
A perfect mesh.