Chapter 6
All was still at the camp. The sentries were weary from the night's watch; several had fallen asleep standing-up. From far away, one couldn't possibly even tell that beings lived there. Liquid was always the first to awaken. He walked out of his tent, taking in the environment around him. It was only early-morning, yet the sun had already risen and shining down upon them. Liquid was glad to be home again. Back in the Middle East were he spent many of his years fighting. Only here could he truly feel alive. The dry air, the sun baked earth, the sand in the wind . . . All brought back to him memories of his younger days. A strange pain had begun to bother him. It was probably time to get a new host for himself. Ocelot's body had out lived its purpose. For over thirteen years it had housed Liquid's mind. Now was the time to choose another.
He sighed. Ten years ago . . . Ten years since that day . . .
He had slipped into the Mediterranean without any trouble. The trek across Europe had been entertaining to say the least. RAY was, after all, designed for all terrain travel. It had taken a long time to find his old comrades again, even longer to win back their trust. Now, they were here, a full one thousand of them, living sparingly and hiding from the world. They were labeled as terrorists by the Patriots, hunted like dogs day to day. But the time was ripe for him to rise again. Pooling their resources with other terrorist organizations, they had obtained weapons of mass destruction. Now they had enough forces to challenge the Patriots themselves. No longer would they be the prey, now they would become the hunters . . .
Liquid walked back into his tent. He searched around and quickly found what he was looking for. The metal was wearied and the words were fading, but they had withstood the tests of time. Liquid held the pair of dog tags up. They had been his, from such a long time ago, the name they carried now meaningless but the memories locked inside were priceless. It had been his good luck charm when he was younger, but he had not used it for years. But now, he would call upon it once again. The future of mankind would be decided in the days to come and Liquid was not going to take chances, for this would be his last chance and his only opportunity to do what he was going to do. He brought the cold metal to his lips, breathing in its cold metallic taste.
Memories flooded into his head like a flash flood. His childhood in England, his days fighting in the Middle East, and Shadow Moses . . . Snake had been right that day . . . What good would a would of chaos and destruction be? How could he have been blind to it all? He had tried to fight off these feelings in the past, but today, he allowed them to flow through his mind. Big Boss had been a fool. He had been a fool. He wasn't fighting for himself that day, he had been fighting for Big Boss! Now he would fight for something even greater than Big Boss or his warriors' pride. He would fight for the good of mankind! A tears of anger welled up in his eyes. Liquid fought them off. It had been the first time in his life that he had ever cried. He was sure it would be the last.
Sounds of shouting and gunfire came from outside. Liquid slipped the dog tags around his neck and went outside. In the distance, he could make out a lone figure on foot; running from the scores of pursuers on horseback. The bullets splashed down all around him, yet he braved even that and kept on going. A man driven too far could do anything without fear and this one was on the brink of insanity. If he outran those chasing him, the desert would kill him. Yet if he were caught, he would face even greater punishment from his superiors. He was undoubtedly one of Alreahd's soldiers; he had a reputation for mistreating his men.
Liquid climbed onto his personal horse, Sheath. She was large and strong - well fitted for survival in the desert. Liquid dug his heels into her sides and she launched forward, towards Makir Alreahd's tent. Upon arrival, Liquid saw the deserter being dragged in, beaten and bruised. His bones may have been broken but his spirit remained strong. The men gave a quick salute to Liquid as Alreahd walked out of the tent. Alreahd was a short man with a beard almost as long as himself. At first glance one would think that he was a funny looking man, but in the desert, looks were often misleading. Alreahd was one of the fiercest warriors to be found in the Middle East and he had an ego to match. Unlike all of the other commanders, Makir did not answer to Liquid.
Makir did not say a word. He walked up to the deserter. The blow was so fast it was hard to see it. The man flew backwards, his blood seeping from a hundred wounds. He picked himself up from the sands and looked Makir in the eyes. Liquid saw the hatred burning in them. Makir only laughed. One of the soldiers handed him his AK and he took it into his hands pointing it straight at the other man's head.
"I'll end this quick for you, because you are my son. DIE!" he sreamed in Arabic.
Liquid somersaulted off his horse, drawing his saber in midair and landing between the two.
"White Devil . . . What a surprise . . ."
"You cannot kill your own son, Makir." Liquid replied quickly in perfect Arabic.
"You cannot stop me."
"There are other ways to punish him . . ."
"You have grown soft, White Devil! You no longer have the warriors' spirit in you. Stand aside! Before I kill you as well."
Thinking quickly, Liquid replied, "Your son could be useful to me. Why let a good soldier go to waste?"
Liquid had been needing a new body. And Makir's son would make the perfect Liquid Snake. He was tall, unlike his father, and reminded Liquid very much of himself in his younger days. They even shared a resemblance, however slight it may be.
Makir thought for a while. His lip twitched. That soon grew into a grin, then a smile. "Are you willing to fight me for possession of my son, then?" He whispered.
Liquid laughed, "How long have you been waiting for that opportunity, Makir? Your ambitions are no secret! Ever since the first day returned, I saw that look in your eyes! You want to kill me so you can command the troops! Well let me tell you, you are as fit for command as you are for defeating me, fool! Give me your son now and I will spare your life!"
"I think you have mistaken my friend, my comrade. You will be the one who will be begging to be spared."
Liquid raised his free hand above his head and yelled out to the soldiers, "You have all heard the man! We shall duel for his son's life! You are all witnesses!"
"Then it is agreed!" Makir threw the gun to the side and drew his sword.
Makir struck first, his sword moving like lightning. Liquid countered and stuck horizontally, but his saber met thin air. Makir rolled under the blow and appeared a Liquid's back. Liquid back flipped over Makir's trust and brought his sword down at Makir's head. But he ducked and rolled again. Liquid threw a low kick and Makir, but he saw it in time to jump backwards. The two men circled and continued this delicate dance, where seconds counted and a single mistake could cost one a life. Makir swung again and again at Liquid, forcing him to constantly defend, waiting for him to miss. Liquid saw his opportunity and swung horizontally at Makir's neck. Makir took a step back to avoid the blow but he was not quick enough. A large section of Makir's beard had been severed and fell to the ground.
"YOU DIE FOR THAT!!!!!!!"
Makir launched himself at Liquid yelling like a crazed panther. Liquid blocked and parried his opponent's strong thrusts. Makir's beard had been a symbol of his power and dignity. He would stop at nothing to get Liquid back for what he did. The cheers of the crowd that had gathered were mixed. Liquid knew the Makir's men hated their leader. He had them on his side. But in the crowd one man was cheering for Makir. His very own son, who had been beaten within an inch of his life by Makir, was still yelling out his name. Liquid was distracted for one moment and that was all Makir needed. His sword cut thought Liquid's left hand. Liquid screamed in pain as the severed limb fell to the ground but continued fighting. Makir had calmed himself down and was more careful than ever. Liquid knew that Makir was not much of an acrobat. That was Liquid's only advantage. He feigned tripping over and landed on his back. Crawling backwards to avoid Makir's blade.
"Got more than you bargained for, eh Devil?" He said as he raised his sword for the final blow.
Liquid hurled himself forward and through Makir's open legs. Makir swung his sword in a wide circle. Liquid jumped up and landed on Makir's sword. Both men stood there for a moment. Liquid jumped back and smiled. Makir looked down in shock to see Liquid's saber stabbed squarely through his heart. The bent sword fell from his heads. He stumbled towards Liquid as if wanting to strangle the life out of him.
"You bastard! This . . . cannot be . . . I . . . can't . . . die . . . yet . . ."
"Save your breath old man. After all the harm you have done, you deserve death. I came to you decades ago because you were ruthless. I left you because you were heartless. Now I kill you because are no longer fit for command!" Liquid cried out as he pulled his saber from Makir's chest.
A cry rose up from the soldiers surrounding them.
"WHITE DEVIL!!! WHITE DEVIL!!! LEAD US TO VICTORY!!!"
Liquid sheathed the bloody sword. A sudden twang of pain from what had been his left arm awoke him from all of the distraction. He walked over to Makir's son.
"Why? Why did you kill my father?!"
"He was to kill you. And besides, our soldiers are better off without him."
"You bastard! What do you want from me?"
"You? Well, now that you ask . . . I could use a new host . . . You are strong, yes, you will serve me well . . ."
"Damn you! You cannot control me! You hear!!! You may take away my body, but no one can take away my soul!!!"
"Hmmm . . . How little you know . . ." Liquid said as he motioned for several soldiers to pick the other man's body up.
He led them into the medical tent with Makir's son screaming all of the way.
All was still at the camp. The sentries were weary from the night's watch; several had fallen asleep standing-up. From far away, one couldn't possibly even tell that beings lived there. Liquid was always the first to awaken. He walked out of his tent, taking in the environment around him. It was only early-morning, yet the sun had already risen and shining down upon them. Liquid was glad to be home again. Back in the Middle East were he spent many of his years fighting. Only here could he truly feel alive. The dry air, the sun baked earth, the sand in the wind . . . All brought back to him memories of his younger days. A strange pain had begun to bother him. It was probably time to get a new host for himself. Ocelot's body had out lived its purpose. For over thirteen years it had housed Liquid's mind. Now was the time to choose another.
He sighed. Ten years ago . . . Ten years since that day . . .
He had slipped into the Mediterranean without any trouble. The trek across Europe had been entertaining to say the least. RAY was, after all, designed for all terrain travel. It had taken a long time to find his old comrades again, even longer to win back their trust. Now, they were here, a full one thousand of them, living sparingly and hiding from the world. They were labeled as terrorists by the Patriots, hunted like dogs day to day. But the time was ripe for him to rise again. Pooling their resources with other terrorist organizations, they had obtained weapons of mass destruction. Now they had enough forces to challenge the Patriots themselves. No longer would they be the prey, now they would become the hunters . . .
Liquid walked back into his tent. He searched around and quickly found what he was looking for. The metal was wearied and the words were fading, but they had withstood the tests of time. Liquid held the pair of dog tags up. They had been his, from such a long time ago, the name they carried now meaningless but the memories locked inside were priceless. It had been his good luck charm when he was younger, but he had not used it for years. But now, he would call upon it once again. The future of mankind would be decided in the days to come and Liquid was not going to take chances, for this would be his last chance and his only opportunity to do what he was going to do. He brought the cold metal to his lips, breathing in its cold metallic taste.
Memories flooded into his head like a flash flood. His childhood in England, his days fighting in the Middle East, and Shadow Moses . . . Snake had been right that day . . . What good would a would of chaos and destruction be? How could he have been blind to it all? He had tried to fight off these feelings in the past, but today, he allowed them to flow through his mind. Big Boss had been a fool. He had been a fool. He wasn't fighting for himself that day, he had been fighting for Big Boss! Now he would fight for something even greater than Big Boss or his warriors' pride. He would fight for the good of mankind! A tears of anger welled up in his eyes. Liquid fought them off. It had been the first time in his life that he had ever cried. He was sure it would be the last.
Sounds of shouting and gunfire came from outside. Liquid slipped the dog tags around his neck and went outside. In the distance, he could make out a lone figure on foot; running from the scores of pursuers on horseback. The bullets splashed down all around him, yet he braved even that and kept on going. A man driven too far could do anything without fear and this one was on the brink of insanity. If he outran those chasing him, the desert would kill him. Yet if he were caught, he would face even greater punishment from his superiors. He was undoubtedly one of Alreahd's soldiers; he had a reputation for mistreating his men.
Liquid climbed onto his personal horse, Sheath. She was large and strong - well fitted for survival in the desert. Liquid dug his heels into her sides and she launched forward, towards Makir Alreahd's tent. Upon arrival, Liquid saw the deserter being dragged in, beaten and bruised. His bones may have been broken but his spirit remained strong. The men gave a quick salute to Liquid as Alreahd walked out of the tent. Alreahd was a short man with a beard almost as long as himself. At first glance one would think that he was a funny looking man, but in the desert, looks were often misleading. Alreahd was one of the fiercest warriors to be found in the Middle East and he had an ego to match. Unlike all of the other commanders, Makir did not answer to Liquid.
Makir did not say a word. He walked up to the deserter. The blow was so fast it was hard to see it. The man flew backwards, his blood seeping from a hundred wounds. He picked himself up from the sands and looked Makir in the eyes. Liquid saw the hatred burning in them. Makir only laughed. One of the soldiers handed him his AK and he took it into his hands pointing it straight at the other man's head.
"I'll end this quick for you, because you are my son. DIE!" he sreamed in Arabic.
Liquid somersaulted off his horse, drawing his saber in midair and landing between the two.
"White Devil . . . What a surprise . . ."
"You cannot kill your own son, Makir." Liquid replied quickly in perfect Arabic.
"You cannot stop me."
"There are other ways to punish him . . ."
"You have grown soft, White Devil! You no longer have the warriors' spirit in you. Stand aside! Before I kill you as well."
Thinking quickly, Liquid replied, "Your son could be useful to me. Why let a good soldier go to waste?"
Liquid had been needing a new body. And Makir's son would make the perfect Liquid Snake. He was tall, unlike his father, and reminded Liquid very much of himself in his younger days. They even shared a resemblance, however slight it may be.
Makir thought for a while. His lip twitched. That soon grew into a grin, then a smile. "Are you willing to fight me for possession of my son, then?" He whispered.
Liquid laughed, "How long have you been waiting for that opportunity, Makir? Your ambitions are no secret! Ever since the first day returned, I saw that look in your eyes! You want to kill me so you can command the troops! Well let me tell you, you are as fit for command as you are for defeating me, fool! Give me your son now and I will spare your life!"
"I think you have mistaken my friend, my comrade. You will be the one who will be begging to be spared."
Liquid raised his free hand above his head and yelled out to the soldiers, "You have all heard the man! We shall duel for his son's life! You are all witnesses!"
"Then it is agreed!" Makir threw the gun to the side and drew his sword.
Makir struck first, his sword moving like lightning. Liquid countered and stuck horizontally, but his saber met thin air. Makir rolled under the blow and appeared a Liquid's back. Liquid back flipped over Makir's trust and brought his sword down at Makir's head. But he ducked and rolled again. Liquid threw a low kick and Makir, but he saw it in time to jump backwards. The two men circled and continued this delicate dance, where seconds counted and a single mistake could cost one a life. Makir swung again and again at Liquid, forcing him to constantly defend, waiting for him to miss. Liquid saw his opportunity and swung horizontally at Makir's neck. Makir took a step back to avoid the blow but he was not quick enough. A large section of Makir's beard had been severed and fell to the ground.
"YOU DIE FOR THAT!!!!!!!"
Makir launched himself at Liquid yelling like a crazed panther. Liquid blocked and parried his opponent's strong thrusts. Makir's beard had been a symbol of his power and dignity. He would stop at nothing to get Liquid back for what he did. The cheers of the crowd that had gathered were mixed. Liquid knew the Makir's men hated their leader. He had them on his side. But in the crowd one man was cheering for Makir. His very own son, who had been beaten within an inch of his life by Makir, was still yelling out his name. Liquid was distracted for one moment and that was all Makir needed. His sword cut thought Liquid's left hand. Liquid screamed in pain as the severed limb fell to the ground but continued fighting. Makir had calmed himself down and was more careful than ever. Liquid knew that Makir was not much of an acrobat. That was Liquid's only advantage. He feigned tripping over and landed on his back. Crawling backwards to avoid Makir's blade.
"Got more than you bargained for, eh Devil?" He said as he raised his sword for the final blow.
Liquid hurled himself forward and through Makir's open legs. Makir swung his sword in a wide circle. Liquid jumped up and landed on Makir's sword. Both men stood there for a moment. Liquid jumped back and smiled. Makir looked down in shock to see Liquid's saber stabbed squarely through his heart. The bent sword fell from his heads. He stumbled towards Liquid as if wanting to strangle the life out of him.
"You bastard! This . . . cannot be . . . I . . . can't . . . die . . . yet . . ."
"Save your breath old man. After all the harm you have done, you deserve death. I came to you decades ago because you were ruthless. I left you because you were heartless. Now I kill you because are no longer fit for command!" Liquid cried out as he pulled his saber from Makir's chest.
A cry rose up from the soldiers surrounding them.
"WHITE DEVIL!!! WHITE DEVIL!!! LEAD US TO VICTORY!!!"
Liquid sheathed the bloody sword. A sudden twang of pain from what had been his left arm awoke him from all of the distraction. He walked over to Makir's son.
"Why? Why did you kill my father?!"
"He was to kill you. And besides, our soldiers are better off without him."
"You bastard! What do you want from me?"
"You? Well, now that you ask . . . I could use a new host . . . You are strong, yes, you will serve me well . . ."
"Damn you! You cannot control me! You hear!!! You may take away my body, but no one can take away my soul!!!"
"Hmmm . . . How little you know . . ." Liquid said as he motioned for several soldiers to pick the other man's body up.
He led them into the medical tent with Makir's son screaming all of the way.
