(Oh, right. I had a fanfic going, huh. Forgot about that. Last
installment.)
The big day at long last. She recalled panic when her water broke, which quickly turned to determination to get to the nearest medical facility. Dave had hastily obliged, throwing on a shirt and half-carrying her out to the street, where a cab was quickly flagged down. The driver was good enough not to demand any payment.
Then there were the walls. White walls, white halls, white lights all around. She was looking up at a plaster ceiling with long, bright lights in it, being rushed down the seemingly-endless corridor on some sort of gurney. At her side was a quickly-assembled team of what she assumed were doctors, nurses, and one Solid Snake. The array of voices coming at her from all sides was difficult to distinguish over the splitting abdominal pain, but she seemed to make out a few expected comments along the lines of "Take deep breaths" and "Try to relax" alongside the ever-cliched "Everything's going to be just fine." Dave said nothing.
A hectic enough hour or two as it was, the three involved in the actual birth process were far worse. The painkillers helped a great deal, as expected, but nonetheless the event was excruciating at best. The woman did as she was told, taking deep breaths and the like, "pushing" when instructed to do so, and other such tasks she thought were only useful on television.
All the while, Dave simply held her hand lightly, silent; possibly hopeful.
It was at the end of the two-hour-and-fifty-minutes of labor that it all occurred. The baby girl came out, head first and facing up as should be, kicking and flailing its tiny limbs about. And yet, save the hum of all the doctors and nurses speaking at once, things were oddly silent. It was perhaps after about a second after this that she realized something was terribly wrong, as did the team of medical practitioners.
The child was moving, but not crying. Abnormal. A quick check revealed that it was breathing, but scarcely. Erratically. Desperately. Its heart was pumping, skipping, failing; halted altogether.
The thing's limbs came to a gradual halt in synchrony with the dying muscle within its newborn chest, finally falling down into listless peace within the hands of a doctor. Dead, without a shadow of a doubt. She knew it, Snake knew it, all within the room knew it.
Meryl stammered out only one syllable, "F-Fox-" Before Snake's own icy, but otherwise saddened tone cut in. "Die . . ."
And that's when she could hear it. Somewhere off in the distance, somewhere within the farthest pits of her mind, Liquid Snake was laughing.
The big day at long last. She recalled panic when her water broke, which quickly turned to determination to get to the nearest medical facility. Dave had hastily obliged, throwing on a shirt and half-carrying her out to the street, where a cab was quickly flagged down. The driver was good enough not to demand any payment.
Then there were the walls. White walls, white halls, white lights all around. She was looking up at a plaster ceiling with long, bright lights in it, being rushed down the seemingly-endless corridor on some sort of gurney. At her side was a quickly-assembled team of what she assumed were doctors, nurses, and one Solid Snake. The array of voices coming at her from all sides was difficult to distinguish over the splitting abdominal pain, but she seemed to make out a few expected comments along the lines of "Take deep breaths" and "Try to relax" alongside the ever-cliched "Everything's going to be just fine." Dave said nothing.
A hectic enough hour or two as it was, the three involved in the actual birth process were far worse. The painkillers helped a great deal, as expected, but nonetheless the event was excruciating at best. The woman did as she was told, taking deep breaths and the like, "pushing" when instructed to do so, and other such tasks she thought were only useful on television.
All the while, Dave simply held her hand lightly, silent; possibly hopeful.
It was at the end of the two-hour-and-fifty-minutes of labor that it all occurred. The baby girl came out, head first and facing up as should be, kicking and flailing its tiny limbs about. And yet, save the hum of all the doctors and nurses speaking at once, things were oddly silent. It was perhaps after about a second after this that she realized something was terribly wrong, as did the team of medical practitioners.
The child was moving, but not crying. Abnormal. A quick check revealed that it was breathing, but scarcely. Erratically. Desperately. Its heart was pumping, skipping, failing; halted altogether.
The thing's limbs came to a gradual halt in synchrony with the dying muscle within its newborn chest, finally falling down into listless peace within the hands of a doctor. Dead, without a shadow of a doubt. She knew it, Snake knew it, all within the room knew it.
Meryl stammered out only one syllable, "F-Fox-" Before Snake's own icy, but otherwise saddened tone cut in. "Die . . ."
And that's when she could hear it. Somewhere off in the distance, somewhere within the farthest pits of her mind, Liquid Snake was laughing.