Chapter Two: Setup
Taxis streamed through the streets, a yellow sea in an urban metropolis. Snake could hear the drivers shouting obscene comments at one another.
"New Yorkers" he thought to himself. Snake had always been fascinated by how irritable New Yorkers were. He had only been in this city twice, this time being the worst. But only by a hair's breadth, last time he had been accused of extreme eco-terrorism, and had been on the run ever since, something which bothered Snake.
" I finally do the right thing. I clean myself up; get out of that dank hole in Alaska, save the world. What do I have to show for it, and outstanding arrest warrant with all the US Police Departments. That's my justice."
At this, several patrol cars halted in the street. Snake did his best to conceal his face, but he knew these feeble attempts to hide himself were no better than four years ago, when he was all alone, with only the wilderness. They had found him then. They would find him again.
He ducked into a nearby alley. Slowly, he scanned the area. There were two guys behind a dumpster. Snake knew he could trust no one. He pulled the SOCOM from beside his chest, slowly raised it to eye-level. He stalked his prey. Their whisperings became louder, stating to ring in his ears. Five steps. Snake's ageing frame pressed against the dumpster. Four Steps. The figures were covering a flame. Three steps. The flame intensified. Two steps. Snake readied his aim. One step. He was at the corner of the dumpster. Ready to strike.
"FREEZE!" Snake's voice reverberated down the alley. There facing him, the two figures quickly took shape. Two smack addicts, their faces white, their eyes wide.
"Wha...wha..." One of the addicts tried to speak; yet his fried brain did not allow it. The other just sat there, a stream of urine and excrement trickling to the gutter. The flame they were concealing was for heroin. Another hit. Snake felt a pang of sympathy. He too knew the pain of self- deprecation.
"I sorry." Snake's voice drifted off, as he turned away, looking down the alleyway. The Codec began to breathe.
"Snake, what's your progress?" Otacon's voice snapped his mind back.
"I'm on my way, Otacon."
"Snake, I've got you on SATCOM, you're close to the rendez-vous point. It's just a klick away, due east."
"I'm moving, Otacon. I'll contact you when I get there."
With this, Snake turned, his hair catching the breeze, blowing into his face. It was a feeling that he enjoyed. A feeling that he had not felt in a long time, a long time since Meryl...
He realised this was not the time to be thinking of her, his face creased, holding back a tear.
"This is not the time, Snake." He said to himself,
"This is not the time Snake."
"But when is the time, huh? I've bottled this up for so long, I think I'm starting to lose her."
"Snake..." This voice was strange, different. It was Otacon.
"Snake, I think that you have to open up. I think you lost a part of yourself the day that Meryl..."
"Otacon, I've got a mission to complete. I'll speak to you later."
Snake disengaged the Codec. He knew he was right. He had lost a part of himself that day. That did not matter now. Snake's focus slowly returned to the mission, his mind back to the past.
The meeting point. He was there. Snake examined the area. The buildings were desolate, not a soul dwelled in them. He knew the only place there was to go was inside. Snake could hear a faint pitch of noise.
"Harmonic Resonance?" Snake uttered.
"Snake... be careful. The chances are, they probably know you're on your way." The codec crackled and fizzed at the receiving end, deaf to Otacon's words. Dead. "Snake. Snake. Can you hear me Snake?" Otacon's ears pricked, his eyes slowly, autonomously shifted to his left hand side. The sounds, so distant, so vague, yet so familiar. The swift crack of the chamber. The muffled crunches from a suppressor. The metallic chorus of shells hitting the ground.
A dark figure approached the van, under assault. He dodged the incoming fire. A feather in the wind, moving gracefully, yet haphazardly, but seemingly with a purpose.
Otacon looked up to the opening doors. The figure stood there, a shadow. A saviour?
Taxis streamed through the streets, a yellow sea in an urban metropolis. Snake could hear the drivers shouting obscene comments at one another.
"New Yorkers" he thought to himself. Snake had always been fascinated by how irritable New Yorkers were. He had only been in this city twice, this time being the worst. But only by a hair's breadth, last time he had been accused of extreme eco-terrorism, and had been on the run ever since, something which bothered Snake.
" I finally do the right thing. I clean myself up; get out of that dank hole in Alaska, save the world. What do I have to show for it, and outstanding arrest warrant with all the US Police Departments. That's my justice."
At this, several patrol cars halted in the street. Snake did his best to conceal his face, but he knew these feeble attempts to hide himself were no better than four years ago, when he was all alone, with only the wilderness. They had found him then. They would find him again.
He ducked into a nearby alley. Slowly, he scanned the area. There were two guys behind a dumpster. Snake knew he could trust no one. He pulled the SOCOM from beside his chest, slowly raised it to eye-level. He stalked his prey. Their whisperings became louder, stating to ring in his ears. Five steps. Snake's ageing frame pressed against the dumpster. Four Steps. The figures were covering a flame. Three steps. The flame intensified. Two steps. Snake readied his aim. One step. He was at the corner of the dumpster. Ready to strike.
"FREEZE!" Snake's voice reverberated down the alley. There facing him, the two figures quickly took shape. Two smack addicts, their faces white, their eyes wide.
"Wha...wha..." One of the addicts tried to speak; yet his fried brain did not allow it. The other just sat there, a stream of urine and excrement trickling to the gutter. The flame they were concealing was for heroin. Another hit. Snake felt a pang of sympathy. He too knew the pain of self- deprecation.
"I sorry." Snake's voice drifted off, as he turned away, looking down the alleyway. The Codec began to breathe.
"Snake, what's your progress?" Otacon's voice snapped his mind back.
"I'm on my way, Otacon."
"Snake, I've got you on SATCOM, you're close to the rendez-vous point. It's just a klick away, due east."
"I'm moving, Otacon. I'll contact you when I get there."
With this, Snake turned, his hair catching the breeze, blowing into his face. It was a feeling that he enjoyed. A feeling that he had not felt in a long time, a long time since Meryl...
He realised this was not the time to be thinking of her, his face creased, holding back a tear.
"This is not the time, Snake." He said to himself,
"This is not the time Snake."
"But when is the time, huh? I've bottled this up for so long, I think I'm starting to lose her."
"Snake..." This voice was strange, different. It was Otacon.
"Snake, I think that you have to open up. I think you lost a part of yourself the day that Meryl..."
"Otacon, I've got a mission to complete. I'll speak to you later."
Snake disengaged the Codec. He knew he was right. He had lost a part of himself that day. That did not matter now. Snake's focus slowly returned to the mission, his mind back to the past.
The meeting point. He was there. Snake examined the area. The buildings were desolate, not a soul dwelled in them. He knew the only place there was to go was inside. Snake could hear a faint pitch of noise.
"Harmonic Resonance?" Snake uttered.
"Snake... be careful. The chances are, they probably know you're on your way." The codec crackled and fizzed at the receiving end, deaf to Otacon's words. Dead. "Snake. Snake. Can you hear me Snake?" Otacon's ears pricked, his eyes slowly, autonomously shifted to his left hand side. The sounds, so distant, so vague, yet so familiar. The swift crack of the chamber. The muffled crunches from a suppressor. The metallic chorus of shells hitting the ground.
A dark figure approached the van, under assault. He dodged the incoming fire. A feather in the wind, moving gracefully, yet haphazardly, but seemingly with a purpose.
Otacon looked up to the opening doors. The figure stood there, a shadow. A saviour?
