Chapter 5





Ten Years After Snake's Disappearance

From the diaries of Hal Emmerich-

"It's been ten years . . . Ten long years, since that day, the day that Solid Snake disappeared. For ten years I waited, ten years I wasted, hoping for his return. Never accepting, never believing that which had happened. His legend, his legacy, all but forgotten. Nobody thought it was possible. Nobody was ready for it, for Solid Snake, in our hearts was invincible. The identity of the foe that bested him inside Arsenal remains secret and his body remains to be found.

Our hope died that day along with Solid Snake. Those of us who knew the secret of the Patriots were powerless to stop it. That young man, Jack he was called, came that night. He claimed that his fiancée, Rose, had a vision. It was as if that day was meant to come. Philanthropy is now just another dead organization opposing an enemy far greater than its ability to handle. And I, a weakling at most, can do nothing ease the suffering of my peers and myself. I have lost many loved ones in my journey through life. First Sniper Wolf, then Emma, then Solid Snake . . . The list goes on and on . . . When will all the death end? Why is fate so cruel?! Sometimes I have to ask myself: 'Is it all worth it?'

The Patriots "Campaign Against Terror" goes well; like every other project they undertake. The war moves to the Middle East and China as the terrorist organizations migrate. To the public, the government is protecting them from possible danger. To us, they are establishing rule on helpless Third World countries. Now we must live underground, away from the public. They have labeled us as "terrorists" and hunt us down like dogs.

I look back on these ten years and I see how little we have accomplished. And I see how much mankind has prospered. The forming of the European Federation, the technological advances, and the miracles in human cloning. Could the Patriots be for mankind's good after all? No. Of course not. How can I even think of that? So much has happened and there is so much to write, but there is little time and I better get going. I will record these events for the good of mankind, hoping that someday, someone will come across it and read our story, fell or pain, and remember these days.

The Patriots are not an enemy to be fought with a sword. Nor are they an enemy to be defeated with a pen. Whenever something big washes up-like Arsenal Gear, they turn it around and use it to their favor. It is as if they control luck itself.

Why did I have to discover this secret? Why do I have to live in this constant world of fear? Knowledge is power, but mine is my curse. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I lived under the Patriots' blanket of lies. Without knowledge of their existence, without this suffering. Sometimes I still wish that I had died that day at Shadow Moses along with Wolf . . ."

Otacon put the pen down. A tear fell from his eyes and onto the sheet of paper he was writing on. Unknowingly, he had started to cry. Desperately, he tried to wipe it off, but it was too late. The ink had already smeared. The light bulb hanging from the ceiling was flickering, a constant reminder of the conditions Philanthropy had to go through. The underground bunker didn't bother Otacon as much a he though it would. They would constantly move around to remain one step ahead of the Patriots, one step ahead of enslavement by a shadow government and the deprivation of the basic human rights . . .

His thoughts were interrupted when a man appeared at the door to his room. He was young, no older than sixteen.

"Hey! Hal, whacha doing there? You better pack. We're leaving in about an hour. Just thought you might wanna know."

'So young, yet he must bear this burden, too, just like me . . ." This thought gave him strength. 'I will keep on living and fighting, but not for Snake or myself. But for the children . . . For the future of mankind!'

Otacon sighed and stood up, gathering his paper and placing them neatly in his briefcase. 'The world may not recognize you as who you are, but it will acknowledge you for what you do . . .' Otacon thought as he left his room.

'I hope I do the right things . . .'