Disclaimer: I don't own Metal Gear Solid (or anything Metal Gear for that matter,) and I don't own Max Steel. My profit from this is an exact figure of zero dollars.

A word of warning, this chapter contains rather blatant torture. It's standard Ocelot fair, so it's not a bloodbath in any sense, but iffin you don't like such a thing anyway, don't complain if you go ahead and read it.

Metal Gears, Nanoprobes, and a Word from our Sponsor

Chapter VI
 by Alhazred
madarab20@hotmail.com
http://www.rockettownonline.com/~alhazred

Just once I'd like to go on a rampage without any interference! Is that too much to ask? -Psycho

"Why can't there just be a button that says 'on?'" Snake rapped his fingers on the sides of his head. He'd plugged the portable generator into Max's Biolink easy enough, and now he found himself staring at the thing like it was from Mars.

"Just hit the red one," Kat called back. Snake could've sworn he's heard a chuckle come from her. Snake did so, watching the green glow work it's way up the cord. He understood the T-Juice graphs about as much as the buttons, so he left it at that, propped Josh up so he wouldn't go sliding out the side, and joined Kat in the cockpit.

"Should I just leave him like that?" he asked.

"Yep, he'll be fine," Kat answered. "Damn lucky you both got out of there. What'd Smiley and the other weirdoes want?"

"Dunno," Snake sighed, putting a hand to his head and cracking his neck so hard that Kat was surprised he didn't break it in two. "Doesn't make sense. None of those second hand Metal Gears are as good as Otacon's original, and that doesn't hold a candle to the one Ocelot stole four years ago. I'd guess Vamp's been a Patriot all along too, but I dunno where they dug up your buddy."

Kat rolled her eyes. "They probably waved money in his suspected locations. Yep, that was always Dread's problem, inspiring too many lackeys with money instead of ideals."

A light bulb turning on over his head, Snake answered, "Money, huh? So we can look for recent transfers of very large sums of money, probably from a Swiss account, with no immediately discernable destination. Hey, Otacon!"

"No Response" flashed across his vision after the Codec rang a few times. "Otacon? Otacon, pick up damnit!"

He and Kat traded a glance, both of their faces saying "no response is never a good thing." She touched the 'on' button on her headset. "Berto, come in."

Nothing.

"I don't like this," Kat intoned.

"Fly faster."

They turned to see Josh standing behind them, one hand on Kat's seat for support as he blinked the fatigue out of his eyes.

---

Solitude was the best setting for making scientific discovery, Berto knew. At the moment, there was no one around, and no one around meant there was no one to tell him how stupid and risky the idea he was about to follow through with was.

After all, from a purely scientific standpoint, it was interesting to note that Josh had been alone when he took on Psycho and ended up being the greatest accident in history.

Of course, had he not been so engrossed in what he was about to do or alone, he probably would've noticed his comm. transmission lines were being jammed.

With that on his mind, he plucked the vial of Max Probes from his centrifuge and shoved it into an injection gun. After setting the dosage, he crossed his fingers, leaned down and pressed it against the cast around his ankle. Fortunately, Dr. Yevshenko had been a closet Star Trek fan and designed her tools after those convenient Hypospray things.

One press of a button and the hiss of medication passing through his skin later, and it had been done.

For a moment, nothing happened. At least, nothing felt like it was happening. But then again, Berto had never experienced having tiny machines work their way around his body. If he'd done everything right, these would only work their way into the bone and mend it immediately, slowly dying off afterward to be cannon fodder for his immune system.

He was about to stand up and test it, figuring it was perfectly normal for the transfer to go smoothly. But then he felt something; it hurt, so much that he didn't even yell before his jaw clamped shut and he almost bit his tongue off, his throat trying desperately to scream through his teeth.

A mouthpiece might be a good idea in the future, he decided. Assuming this was a normal reaction. He realized it was probably the nanoprobes setting off his nerves as they did their thing, oblivious to other bodily functions.

After a minute or so, the pain subsided, and Berto realized he'd actually fallen out of his chair. His glasses had tumbled away from his face, but those were easily received before he stood up.

"I just stood up unsupported," he blinked, looking down and tapping his foot to the floor.

It didn't hurt.

So he stomped on it, and it still didn't hurt.

He was tempted to put music on and dance, but he settled for cutting the cast off as fast as possible to get to that horrible itch that had been plaguing him underneath. And good god, it felt strangely satisfying to walk around in both sneakers again.

And the best part of it was, he hadn't charged the probes to anywhere near their full power level, so even if they tried swimming off to make bones in places they shouldn't, they wouldn't get far.

Oh boy, are Max and Kat gonna kick my ass for taking this risk, Berto grinned. But it was worth it. And all he had to do to cure Snake of FOXDIE was lower the dosage and reprogram the probes to target the different perimeters.

And there was still one more thing to check, now that the probes it involved would've had sufficient time to reproduce. Berto sat back down and unlocked the drawer of his desk with the big fat "Special Projects Area" sticker on it.

Then he removed the pile of printer paper that disguised it and pulled the plank of wood out out; the best place to hide something was in plain site. Not to mention in the utterly unorganized pile of gadgets and whatnots he'd been working on lately.

So he started transferring that pile onto the desk. "Let's see, Infinity Ice, culture of Max Probes, blueprints for a Hawk, gotta build that one of these days... ah hah!"

The particular item he was looking for was an oblong thing, colored in browns with a solid handgrip down the flat sides, the N-Tek logo in the middle and a hilt on one end. It looked like the handle of a sword. And when Berto pressed that little N-Tek logo with his thumb, a swirl of green transphasic energy floated out, and the nanoprobes it supported coalesced into a perfect three-and-a-half foot long blade.

Now that was worth the effort, Berto decided. He gave the blade a rather clumsy swing, feeling that it all weighed very little, and shut it off to let the transphasic battery pack recharge itself all the way.

In actuality, he wasn't sure if Max was really a sword-person himself, but regardless, the fact that it would cut through solid metal would make it a useful tool.

Someone knocked on the door.

Leaning into the window, Berto looked to see who was there and was only moderately surprised that there was a distinct lack of human presence; Josh and Kat had had experiences with... other competitor's fans before. There was probably something nasty taped or painted on the outside of the door this very moment.

But Berto didn't really care right now, as he had a few tests to run that would make sure his little experiment had all the right results and none of the wrong ones. He sat down... and the knock came again.

It occurred to him that Otacon should've been back by now.

That thought in mind, he dumped most of his stuff back into the drawer and replaced the top, but he replaced the Max Probes in his injection gun with the Infinity Ice. The probes, the gun and the nanosword all found a nice hiding place under his belt, obscured by his sweater.

He pulled the door open, and again, no one was there. He noted there was a definite lack of graffiti on the van as well, so he closed the door and turned around.

Right into Vamp. His clothes were bloodstained, patches of his skin were mangled and raw, he had shards of glass sticking out of his face in a gentle curve outside his eye and down his cheek, but it was Vamp.

Berto's heart skipped several beats; he tried pulling the door open again, but Vamp shoved him against it, his arms coming up to the sides. "Good afternoon, Dr. Martinez... ready to take a ride?"

---

"You've seen better days, Ocelot."

"Thank you for noticing, King," the marksman scowled. Annoyed, he reached up to his face and pulled the massive bandage off of one side. The burns were nowhere near healed and the mere air touching them stung, but it itched, and pain was far preferable to itching. His right arm, scorched and bandaged almost beyond recognition, hung in a sling. But he liked that. He sincerely hoped Liquid was in pain. "But it was worth it. How's she coming along with the nanoprobes?"

"Fairly well, I'm told," King answered, pressing a button on his control. The monitor on the wall shifted. "With any luck, you'll be rid of my brother within the week."

"Hey," Psycho rolled his metal eyes, reaching for another tool in the box sitting in front of him on the floor. "You got off lucky."

Amused at his compatriot's situation, Ocelot watched as Psycho gave his damaged arm one final tweak, and flexed it around to test his repairs.

He turned when the door at the back right of the office slid open. "Vamp, care to share the secret?"

"It's not so difficult, really," Vamp grinned, plucking one last stray piece of glass from his face. The rest of his body no longer had a mark on it, even the bloodstains on his clothes were gone and there wasn't exactly a dry cleaner's nearby. "Just die."

"Easy for you to say," Ocelot gave one of his guns a spin to calm his nerves. "Did you bring 'em?"

Vamp's head tilted to the side. "Of course. What did you expect?"

"Go have your fun, Ocelot," King gave a wave to his back, not bothering to turn his chair around. "Frankly, I don't see it happening, but if you could get Dr. Martinez to... cooperate with Queen, it might speed up the final steps in her research. Just remember, they need to stay alive."

"Yes, yes," the old man shook his head and smiled. "I only have 'accidents' when I'm ordered to."

Psycho turned to him. "I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm not going to say the joke your sentence structure just inspired."

"I think we all appreciate it, Psycho," King chuckled.

The image on the main monitor suddenly blipped off, replaced by nothing-other then Ocelot's former 'employers.'

"You trust Ocelot?" the colonel avatar asked. "He has betrayed us, what makes you think he won't betray you?"

"Because you're the only ones I would possibly turn on him for, and you're planting suspicion yourself," Ocelot rolled his eyes. He waved to the AI and left the office.

Rosemary's image appeared. "You are no closer to breaking through to us. You will never find us, why do you fight us? You could have been with us since the beginning."

"But I didn't want to be," King laughed. As far as he was concerned, the AI was completely absurd. "Your creators were foolish. The world shouldn't be run by a machine."

"You could not do better," the Colonel came back. "You could not prove us wrong in your entire lifetime, as a human you are no better suited then us. Bias, emotion; we do not posses these barriers."

A more then audible huff came from King's throat, utter contempt in his voice. "Please. I will not sit here and debate the ethics of ruling the United States and, at some point, the world in more clandestine ways then the Illuminati could dream of. As far as I'm concerned, bias and emotion make any sane human more qualified then you."

King turned the monitor off.

"Interesting taste you have, King," Vamp stroked his goatee, looking every bit like a suave, cliché art critic for a few seconds. His eyes were studying the red and white flag that hung on the wall facing Psycho's back. There was no blue, no fifty-three stars, just a graceful serpent and the words "Sons of Liberty."

"It seemed appropriate," King chuckled. "My brother may have been foolish, but he had a talent for the dramatic. Besides, we're not entirely different. But a 'Son of Liberty' shouldn't worship the idea of true democracy like the Holy Grail."

"I'm a son of money, myself, Boss," Psycho added, tweaking his arm one last time before putting his tools away. "Kinda sucks how few realize there's so much profit in 'liberty.'"

"To each his own," King smiled.

---

Nothing actually looked out of place.

And that worried everyone. If things looked normal, it almost certainly meant something was wrong. As soon as the Kasatka landed, Josh and Snake bolted out, Kat only pausing to shut the engines off.

She had to shove them into the van, because they wouldn't fit through the doorway at the same time.

"Guys?" Josh called. He looked at Snake, Snake, in turn, tried raising Otacon on the Codec again, but he just shook his head.

"They might've just gone out for food or something," Kat spoke up.

Snake looked at her. "I assume you don't really believe we'd be that lucky."

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed. "But you never know."

"Hang on guys," Josh told them. Putting a hand to one ear, he looked around and ran back outside. Snake and Kat caught up with him just as he dropped onto the ground and reached under the van, coming up with a little saucer-shaped electronic device. It was beeping quietly.

"Yep, probably a classic signal jammer," Snake idly punched the side of the van. "And I guarantee there's a bigger one wherever they are by now."

"This isn't all I hear," Josh mumbled. Rather then stomping on the thing, he spun around and flung it like a Frisbee. It shattered in midair... and it disrupted the ninja's cloak on impact.

"I must remember you can do that in the future," the ninja tilted his head.

"You know, you seem to show up at the most convenient of times," Kat crossed her arms. "Let me guess, you know where our friends are, you know who took them, you're going to help for absolutely no reason we can see."

It wasn't a question. Snake got the distinct impression that the ninja was smiling under his helmet.

"Strange to expect handouts in this day and age," the ninja walked closer to them. "Regardless, you are correct. Your friends are on an island formerly owned by N-Tek, about seventy kilometers southwest of Del Oro Bay. That is all I can tell you."

With that, the ninja jumped off and cloaked again.

Kat thought on that information a little. "Josh, is he talking about the island I think he's talking about?"

"Yes, yes he is..."

Rolling his eyes, Snake jumped in. "Someone enlighten me?"

Less then two minutes later, they had a state map laid out on the table inside, one little island circled in red.

Kat shook her head. "Yep, that's it... that can't be accidental."

Snake was getting irritated. "If someone doesn't tell me what's so special about this island, I'm going to become very annoyed."

"It's the island with the Shadow Moses reconstruction," Josh answered. "But... the Feds took everything, it should be long torn down."

"I guess we'll see," Snake's eyebrows went up. "This is obviously a trap of some sort."

"And, of course, the best traps are the ones you have no choice but to walk into," Kat added. "Great. Kasatka doesn't have enough fuel left to make it there, either."

"Well, I can solve that," Josh picked up his phone and dialed. "I need earplugs. Uh, nothing Dad! No... fine, fine... listen, can we borrow the Behemoth for a little while?"

---

"Uggghh... my head hurts... Kat, can I have some juice?"

"Funny you should say that." Click. "You're about to get enough 'juice' for a lifetime."

Berto's eyes shot open; he knew that voice, he'd heard it over Max's Biolink. He sat up... and found a Colt Single Action Army revolver pointed right between his eyes, the barrel just short of touching his forehead.

Revolver Ocelot stood above him. He was bruised, burned but very much alive, and Berto was particularly interested in the sling holding up his arm. "Hi?"

Ocelot's reply was gruff, throaty and not very polite. "Get up."

"Okay!" Berto chirped. He pushed the ache in his head aside, kicked a leg up, and smashed Ocelot square in that injured arm. The marksman swore, stumbled back into a computer console and clutched at it, his Colt dropping to the floor.

Berto's mind worked faster then his body. First, he would grab the gun, then he'd hit Ocelot again, and finally, he'd shoot him in the knee.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to execute this plan, as an armored hand grabbed him by the hair from behind and yanked him to his feet. Berto could feel the gun press into his skull, his ears waiting for the click of the trigger... of course. Ocelot hadn't been stupid enough to not keep a guard around.

And Ocelot yelled an actual word this time. "Wait!"

The guard did as he was told and lowered his gun. Ocelot, bending down to pick up his, strode back over. His arm was twitching, and Ocelot suddenly jammed the butt of his Colt into it, obviously hurting himself, but he seemed satisfied with the action. "You should've hit him harder."

Ocelot tilted his head toward the guard behind Berto and waved his gun to the side. Looking in that direction, Berto felt his stomach drop. He recalled this scene from In the Darkness of Shadow Moses; Revolver Ocelot's torture room, right down to the currently horizontal table. What was that saying, 'you live a thousand deaths by fearing one?'

The guard shouldered his gun and pulled Berto's sweater over his head. "Hey, getting a little personal here?!"

It was fairly humiliating, and aside from that, Berto tried not to think of what Ocelot was actually planning. Maybe he wasn't planning anything... Vamp certainly used scare tactics, why not Ocelot?

Ocelot gave the guard a look that screamed hurry up. Not wanting to test his boss' patience, the guard promptly tore Berto's undershirt off to save five seconds. The marksman stared the scientist down, a glint of sadism in his eye. "Look on the bright side, Doctor. I'm just going to enjoy your cries of agony from good old fashioned electricity, but if you give me large amounts of unneeded lip, I'll ask Vamp if he wants you."

Berto didn't much like the thought of that, but then, Vamp, for all of his weirdness, didn't seem like the type to go for the non-consensual thing. The guard, however, went for grabbing him and half-throwing, half-slamming him onto the table. The only thing he registered for a few seconds was the metal; it was cold against his back.

He didn't say anything, since there was no reason to give Ocelot any indication that it would take anything more then cursory efforts to break him.

But then, as the guard and Ocelot used his disorientation to lock his wrists and ankles under the metal restraints without resistance, he wondered if extending what Ocelot was threatening to do was really a good idea.

Very briefly, he completely forgot about that when he finally took a good look at the guard. The red and black armor, the helmet, the rifle... one of Dread's old foot soldiers. The thought that Ocelot had control of them was horrifying; it meant Dread, before checking in at Hell, probably had some connection to Ocelot all along. No wonder N-Tek never found most of his low-ranking subordinates...

"Leave us," Ocelot waved the guard away, not before slapping the button that moved the table upright, "watch the other one."

The soldier nodded and walked through one of the room's two doors; Berto could see him starting to lazily walk around the cell in the next room through the picture windows.

Deciding he had nothing to lose by asking, Berto looked at Ocelot. "Why are they working for you?"

Looking at him like he'd grown three heads, Ocelot started laughing. "You forget who's asking the questions, Doctor."

Berto froze for a moment, that cackle sent chills down his spine, but he couldn't stop his mouth. Anything to delay Ocelot even a few more seconds... give his friends time for that impossible rescue. Or to stop Ocelot from asking questions about his friends that he'd drop dead before answering. "Questions? You... don't seem much like an interrogator."

"Okay, fine, torturer if you prefer," the gunslinger shrugged. "Actually, you'd better make that 'Pain Technician.' Pfft, Pain Technician, we used to be torturers, now ever since those idiots in South America unionized we're 'Pain Technicians.'"

Berto was tempted to rub his thumb and forefinger together and say "This is the smallest record in the world playing 'My Heart Cries for You,'" but he decided that wouldn't be a good idea.

"Remember what I told you about lip, Brainiac," Ocelot turned around, getting a better reach of the console with his good arm. Berto couldn't see whatever it was he was adjusting, but he could guess. "So, let's begin, shall we?"

So much for stalling, Berto thought. Shooting Ocelot the best glare he could, which, he had to admit, wasn't much, he answered, "go to Hell."

Even Ocelot had to admit it; he always enjoyed a... subject that at least tried to keep a conversation going. Snake had been of the be-silent-get-it-over-with type, but this was fun. "Oh, language, dear boy! Such a disgrace to your higher education!"

"Yeah, yeah," the scientist sneered. It hit him then: unless Max knocked the door down in five seconds, this wasn't going to be pretty. "Just get it over with. Less talk and more torture."

"Oh," Ocelot smiled, his hand hovering over that red button. "Do be careful what you wish for, Dr. Martinez."

He mashed the button with the heel of his hand.

Berto tried to bite it back, but he couldn't have totally stopped from crying out if his life depended on it, and it probably did.

Ocelot let go and shook his head. "That hurt so much more then you thought it would, didn't it?" A feral grin on his wrinkled face, he pressed his hand down again.

And this time, Berto screamed his lungs out.

Ocelot thrived on the sound. He let go and stepped to the side as if showing off the items he had displayed on the console. Berto hadn't noticed them before, and he didn't notice them just yet, either. He was too busy trying to inhale any semblance of a breath while the pain just kept throbbing more now that he'd stopped, down through his skin, through his muscles, right to the bone. It hurt everywhere, and Ocelot was just getting started.

He'd figured out why the guard had stripped him of his shirts, as well. It wasn't for the electricity, no, the entire table conducted it and it could've just as easily gone through the restraints on his wrists. But whatever bizarre metal was used to make the table was a very efficient heat conductor.

His back wasn't cold from touching the metal anymore. In fact, his skin felt like it was starting to burn.

"So, I suppose I should get to the 'interrogation' part of this sooner or later," Ocelot reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial; Berto's supply of active Max Probes. He set it down on the console, right next to the nanosword and the injection gun that was loaded with Infinity Ice.

Moving towards the table, Ocelot added, "now, I can guess what the green stuff is, but, well, it'd be an understatement to say I was very interested to know what the other two are. I wouldn't mind knowing where your portable transphasic generator is, either."

Finally getting his breath under control, Berto struggled to pull himself up against the restraints and look Ocelot in the face. "Tanto... por...... el minuto pasado ahorre..."

He spat in Ocelot's eye.

For his part, Ocelot didn't seem to mind too much. He shoved a boot under the tattered remains of Berto's T-shirt on the floor, kicked it up to his good hand, and used it as a rag to wipe his face off, but he didn't look particularly phased.

Looks can be deceiving. Berto resisted the urge to fall against the restraints again, while he kept his eyes on Ocelot, terrified of being hit by something, anything, without seeing it coming.

Ocelot's face never changed. "For the record, I was planning on going through this for about ten minutes or so, but now that you've really pissed me off I'm sure I can lose track of time."

---

Can't run from your shadow, Dr. Emmerich?

And the screaming... so far away, but so very blatant... how long had that been going on now, twenty, thirty minutes?

Otacon bolted awake. At least, he thought he did; his mouth wouldn't open and there was no light in the room, so he tried to refrain from moving all that much. A few mumbles later, he realized there was a piece of duct tape over his mouth, one he promptly ripped off.

And the lack of light was due to an easily removed blindfold over his face. He didn't stand up just yet, deciding to take in his surroundings first. It was a small, square room, a room he knew all too well. He'd never actually been in the room before, but he'd seen it. Oh, had he seen it.

But he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it to the extent that his mouth formed the words, "there is no way in hell I am back on Shadow Moses."

This was the cell Snake had been kept in during the 'breaks' in Ocelot's torture session. Funny how things come full circle, last time I wouldn't help him get out, now I'm the one in.

Something was off, though; it was the cot in the corner, opposite the door. It had no bed frame. Snake's old trick of hiding under it to fool the guard wouldn't work. Not that Otacon was entirely sure he could take on a guard if he got the cell open in the first place...

Quite suddenly, Otacon realized he was sitting in the corner that the DARPA chief's corpse had been propped up in during the incident. Instantly freaked, he scurried over to the middle of the wall, not quite feeling up to the idea of major movements with the pounding in his head. Must've been some tranquilizer...

Tranquilizer... but why would Vamp bother...

It had, of course, been Vamp that had taken him. He remembered that much. First the knife had caught him in a shadow-bind, then an arm in a distinctive brown sleeve wrapped around his neck from behind.

Can't run from your shadow, Dr. Emmerich?

That's what he'd said... "Well, this sucks."

Someone banged on the door. "Shut up in there, will ya!"

Otacon ignored him, immediately trying to reach Snake on his Codec, but the signal wasn't going through.

This was getting more absurd by the minute. If that was a Genome soldier out there... Otacon stood up and got a good look out the windows.

It was worse then a Genome soldier. Otacon recognized the armor the guy was wearing, since these were the guys that had been guarding the facility Philanthropy had taken Liquid Snake's corpse from. What was their name, he couldn't remember... this particular guard almost sounded familiar, and he wasn't very vigilant, holding his helmet under one arm, a newspaper in one hand, and a sandwich in another.

That screaming came again, Otacon realized he hadn't been dreaming that. But how could it sound far away if...

It hit him like a bus. Revolver Ocelot's torture room was in the direction of his back, and it probably had some measure of sound insulation. He turned around, slowly... who could that schizo have...

"Ocelot, you sunnuva bitch!" Otacon pounded a fist on the window.

"Be quiet," the guard yelled in.

Berto didn't deserve this. Otacon had wondered if Team Steel was, frankly, old enough to understand the severity of the things they did. The business with the 'fertilizer' plant had proven him wrong. Funny how Snake had never seemed to doubt it from the beginning...

But he still didn't deserve this. Ocelot knew damn well neither of them would be any stronger then the DARPA chief. But then, Otacon figured he'd let Ocelot kill him before giving him anything, he liked to think his loyalties were higher then his threshold of pain.

Considering he'd been hearing Berto cry out while in his tranquilizer daze for at least a half-hour, he was guessing his comrade-in-computers felt the same.

---

"Well well well, so that's where they all went off to," Josh frowned, adjusting the Behemoth's course so he could get a better angle of sight. He kept one eye on the radar absorption monitor. "Kat, you should see this."

She was on the bridge in seconds, and she promptly swiped Snake's scope before he could use it himself. "DREAD Minions? You're kidding!"

"DREAD?" Snake asked. "Where have I heard that... gimmie that!"

He stole his scope back and took his own look.

"Well, now we know where they went after Dread took his last swan dive..."

"I don't believe this," Snake blinked. He looked across as much of the island as he could. The fact that it was a near perfect replica of the Shadow Moses facility creeped him out a little, but the armored soldiers had his full attention. "I've seen these guys before, broke into a facility they were guarding. Otacon never managed to really find anything on them."

"John Dread's old private army," Josh explained. "I'd say our tip-off was real, at least. I stay we stick to the separate infiltration points, though."

"Agreed," Kat and Snake chimed.

"I think this calls for different drop-off points, though," Snake added. "They've got the helipad pretty well guarded. I'm gonna put down between the tanks hanger and storage building."

"I'll stick with the communications roof," Josh answered, "best place to stash the Helifoil."

"I'll take the front entrance, then," Kat sighed. "Someone's gotta get right to that building."

Snake's eyes grew dark. "I plan on it myself. If Otacon and the Doc are where I think they are..."

His tone of voice suggested it wasn't a good idea to think about it.

---

Berto wasn't screaming as loudly anymore, but Ocelot didn't mind because he was certainly trying. A master torturer knew how to spot the signs of a body giving out and appreciate it just as much as those first few reactions.

Ocelot shut it off for the moment and let Berto catch his breath a little. Asking a question was pretty pointless if the subject was physically incapable of answering. "What does Snake think the S3 plan is?"

"The...what?" Berto tried to raise his head, but he couldn't find the strength. His reflexes were all that held him against the restraints whenever Ocelot pressed the magic button, the metal just supported him otherwise.

"The ignorant act, eh?" Ocelot rolled his eyes. "No one falls for that anymore."

Berto vaguely noticed Otacon in the next room after Ocelot was done shocking him this time; considering he was standing, it probably meant he hadn't had his turn in here yet, which was a good thing. Assuming they could get away from Ocelot in the first place, at least one of them could run.

But he wasn't going to be the one to get them out; that was for certain. "Please... stop..."

Ocelot hardly paid him heed. As far as he was concerned, begging was as good a sign as any that he'd broken his captive, but he'd done it so much it was just part of a natural chain of events. Maybe now, Berto wouldn't see so much value in loyalty.

"Hah. I'm not going to give you the 'you decide when it's over' crap, Doctor, but I would stop if you decided to cooperate. I'll ask again," Ocelot's hand moved back to the console. "What does Snake know about the S3?"

Berto didn't even bother answering, he clenched his jaw shut and tried to steel himself against what was coming. He thought he could feel tears on his face, but then, that could've just been perspiration.

"Ocelot."

Frowning, Ocelot looked at his radio sitting on a nearby stool. It had been Psycho's voice. Looking from Berto back to the origin of Smiley's insanity, he moved his hand down again.

"Ocelot, I know you're there you crazy old codger, you'd better not be doing more to that kid then you should be. Pick up!"

With a scoff, Ocelot stomped over, did just that, and yelled back at him. "What!"

"The boss wants ya. Actually, he wants us all. Tell Fangs if you see him, he hasn't answered yet."

"Just once," Ocelot threw the radio to the floor so hard it snapped in two, "I'd like to torture someone without any interference!" He banged on the door into the next room, signaling the guard, and promptly took out the rest of his frustration by slamming his fist down on the console. "Is that too much to ask!"

On the table, Berto felt his restraints release and slide back, but he couldn't stop himself from peeling away and thudding on the floor. The floor, however, was a decidedly more comfortable place. He voiced this with a groan.

"Put him with the other," Ocelot told the guard before he left through the door out into the hall. The guard nodded and uncouthly dragged Berto up.

The door to the cell opened. Otacon was tempted to try and charge at the guard, but he ran and caught Berto when the guard shoved him in instead.

The door closed, locked, and the soldier went back to his routine... or he tried to, but he suddenly had to run to the bathroom.

Deje Vu, Otacon thought. He looked down at Berto and jumped at the sight.

The younger man was heaving for breath, shaking uncontrollably, and obviously unable to stand on his own. His skin was cold and clammy, and it felt weird where Otacon had a hand at his back, he turned his head to see it better.

"Christ," he swallowed. Berto's shoulder blades and the backsides of his arms had second degree burns, and the rest of his back was scorched red.

"If you.... if," Berto whispered. His throat was so raw he could barely speak at all. "If you ask... how I feel..."

Otacon couldn't help but notice he actually had a smile on his face after going through that, but he leaned down to hear him better.

"I am... so... so... going to punch you..."

"Please, don't insult my intelligence," Otacon chuckled sadly. He yanked his lab coat off and wrapped Berto in it as he walked him over to the bed, not entirely sure it was a good idea as far as first aid went... but then, there wasn't much first aid he could do anyway.

Especially if... when Ocelot came back. Otacon wasn't Snake, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew neither of them would survive very long if they didn't get out before Ocelot returned with sufficient free time on his hands...

---

"Tanto... por...... el minuto pasado ahorre..." - So much... for... a last minute save...

No, the fifty-three stars thing isn't a mistake; granted, I don't think there WILL be any new states in the next decade, but who's to say?

The ref list:

-The nanosword is pretty much ripped straight from Deus Ex.

-Thank you, Julia ol' buddy ol' pal ol' chum, for letting me use that "less talk, more torture" thing. w00!

-Ocelot's "Pain Technician" ramble is from Babylon