Disclaimer: See the Foreword. Additionally, KOF are owned by SNK. Ranma ½ and all its affiliates are owned by Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Video. Michael Hansen belongs to Grey Wolf4.
Author's Babble: I seriously need to stop taking so much time in getting stuff out. Sorry guys, I have no excuse. As a result of this extended period of time, this chapter is the longest I have written yet. There will be one more chapter after this, so the end is coming soon. Not much action this chapter, folks. Sorry. Well, go ahead, read, and review.
Metal Gear: Bloody Hands
Written by Tempest Dynasty
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Chapter 9: Furlough
December 1st, 2006, three months after Shadow Moses…
Garland Durev leaned back into his lounge chair and sighed. Ever since he returned from Shadow Moses, everything had been really slow. Not one job offer popped up, not one contact called in, but at least his bank account was still filled. Despite the large amounts of cash he brought in, he would rarely use it on himself. The martial artist side of him favored minimalism, thus his Spartan-like home, and low monthly bills. Instead, the money was kept in a bank account slowly accumulating interest. For mercenary, he was good as fired from his job, since no one wanted to utilize his skills. Everything had been going down hill for him, ever since that damned reporter and her "journalistic duty to reveal to the public." It was all bad luck and coincidence; Garland was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The report had riled up many other mercenaries, exposing several of them, and causing many more to lose their contacts. Fortunately, none blamed Garland for the article, and instead turned their anger against that one stubborn, obnoxious, and thoroughly annoying reporter.
She was fired from her job a while ago. After all, no one had any use for a blind, mute, and deaf (the deaf part was slightly difficult, but several days constantly listening to a machinegun go off next to your head fixed it pretty well) individual that was paralyzed from the waist down. Many people (and mercenaries) soon learned NOT to piss off Pablo "Peacemaker" Morales.
It was pretty hell-like to get back home from Alaska too. Not only did he look suspicious with his combat suit, but also he had left all his travel things back at his hotel, like his passport. Garland grimaced as he remembered the not-so-smooth trek home.
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After zip-lining down the Osprey, he hit the ground with a wet thump. Recent heavy rains had saturated the soil with muddy water, and made landing rather messy. The extreme steepness of the slope did not help in sitting still either. He rolled down the mud-slick, rock-filled, tree-laden slope for nearly a hundred yards, finally stopping by crashing bodily into a large tree.
"Ghaah!" he gasped, the air in his lungs knocked out. For several moments he sat there, catching his breath and resting from his fall. Fresh wounds from sharp rocks dotted his face and neck, oozing blood slowly. After a while he stood and took in his surroundings: lush forests, thick with vegetation and life, blue skies with small puffs of clouds dotting it, and tall mountains with scraps of snow and ice in certain spots. A small road lined the side of the mountain, a simple double-lane paved road that seemed to have had little use. Down below in the valley, a narrow but violent river surged with milky gray-green water.
"Skagway River…" he muttered, looking over the valley. Most likely he was along a route for tourists, and that road would be used for bus or van-based tours. Wonderful, a risk in being sighted by the locals AND tourists… Well… this may be beneficial. He still had a small rucksack with extensions that could unfold into something akin to a hiking backpack. If he could just hail a tour group down, he could pose as a hiker, feign exhaustion, and hitch a ride back. His rifle and handgun could be stuffed into the rucksack, as well as his gauntlets. After getting into town… Bah. He would figure it out as he went along.
Throwing everything suspicious into the sack and sealing it tightly, he set out on the road, heading down the path that he hoped was to town.
A few hours later, he hit the Canadian/Alaskan borders, thus he realized that it was the wrong way, and immediately turned around. Unfortunately for Garland, a nearby sign said that Skagway was approximately 22 miles away, over steep mountains, difficult climbs, and the occasional mountain goat. Sighing in exasperation and his bad luck, he placed one foot in front of the other, and hiked.
Not one vehicle appeared.
When he finally reached the town, he was suddenly reminded that the most common way of traversing between Alaskan territories was by boat or seaplane. There were no seaplanes around, and Garland lacked the knowledge to be a decent sailor. The only way to move was either to hike (Hell no.) or hitch a ride on a boat. Since majority of the boats were privately owned, he would have to wait for some sort of opportunity, like a cruise ship or something…
Ha! Just when he thought his luck was down, a cruise ship was already docked, and according to a nearby sign, it would be disembarking in several hours. This would be the perfect ride, if he could only get onboard. It had certain levels of security, so simply walking in would not work. The gangplank was made of metal, but rather noisy. Climbing up would be difficult, as well as highly visible and stupid. So would be stealing a uniform, since the mercenary looked much different from majority of the crew, and no card would come near to matching him. What to do… what to do…
Heh. Looks like a James Bond maneuver is going to be needed.
Not fancy gadgets, not overly flashy gunfights, not a big kung-fu battle in which the hero miraculously wins, but good old-fashioned sneaking.
A quick fidget with a lock, a bit of rearranging, and soon he was hiding away in a food restock box, snacking on the smoked salmon stored within. After much snacking, much relaxing, and a light jab to knock a guard out, Garland was walking around the cruise ship like any other passenger.
He still had his wallet, with several bills in case of emergencies. Seeing that this was such an emergency, Garland was quick to spend the $100 in clothing. After all, it would be rather shady to be walking around with a bullet-ridden combat suit, metal reinforced gloves, and web gear. Napping by day, walking around by night, Garland seemed to be the average night owl/vampire, yet completely normal on the ship. Although the thought of relaxing and taking advantage of the ship's services was very tempting, he had to resist and return home. The buffet breakfast, lunch, and dinner, however, was free game.
But on the third day after his "infiltration," of all the things that could have happened, of all the possible events that could have occurred, and of all the people that could have been on the ship, a large group of terrorists posing as tourists suddenly rushed the theater hall to take over the entire damn ship with one go, take every man, woman, and child hostage, and demand stupid things. The ship was rerouted to some God-forsaken island (if it was going be anywhere near the Fox Archipelago, Garland would have snapped right there and then), and passengers were locked in their staterooms. Of course, Garland was not the apathetic type. He would not leave the people to suffer, especially if it was messing up his ride back home. So with a deep breath, a quick change of clothes, and a cock of the gun, he was ready to bring the entire damn ship back into the control of friendly forces.
However he would have never predicted that five others were on a mission slightly similar to his…
Turning a corner quickly, whipping his SIG P228 out in front of him, he readied himself for a firefight. Instead he found himself face to face with four familiar individuals, the most familiar was a tall, lean man in a dark green military uniform, a green beret, and an eyepatch over his right eye. His associates included a man with a green vest, green pants, and a red bandana covering his head; another man wearing a dark blue outfit, a black baseball cap, and opaque sunglasses; a young woman with amazing blue hair, and a short green uniform, showing off a lot of skin; then there was one last man, dressed in a similar uniform as the first guy, but without a beret, a gray-blue color instead of military green, and a scoped Colt Anaconda chambered in .44 magnum hung by his hip. The rest were unarmed except the their fists.
"Huh? Heidern?" the mercenary was both confused and surprised.
"Haha, Garland Durev! What are you doing here?" the one-eyed assassin was equally surprised.
"I could say the same to you. I got stuck in between this damn hostage situation, and I was going to clear it up."
"I see. You against approximately fifty heavily armed terrorists, a possible bomb, and many hostages? Sounds like the typical job for a mercenary like you."
"Yeah well, I'm not being paid for this. This is all charity work. Besides, I'm not a rescue type, I'm an assaulter/assassin."
"Of course. Ah, forgive me. Allow me to introduce my friends and partners. This is Ralf Jones," he indicated the bandanna wearing fellow, who waved. "That is Clark Steele," Heidern pointed at the man with the black sunglasses and cap. "And this is my daughter, Leona," he gestured towards the blue-haired woman, who nodded back.
"I see you have a new guy on your team," Garland looked over the next person.
"Yes, he is a student of mine. His name is Michael Hansen, an excellent stratagist," the black haired man nodded, gray eyes focused at the job at hand.
"This is Garland Durev, also known in the mercenary circles as 'Bloody Hands.' He is a formidable martial artist, easily among the best in the world. He's up there with Bogard and his friends, even Kusanagi," Heidern in turn introduced Garland.
"Nice to meet you all, Team Ikari" he shook hands with each member. "But enough pleasantries. I want to clean out this ship and get back home."
"We were approaching Whittier, until the terrorists took over. It's a distance from Anchorage."
"That's fine. My hotel is in Anchorage. I can leave from the airport there."
"Very well. Good luck in your mission. We're off to finish ours."
"Take care,
Heidern. Next we meet we'll spar, alright?"
"Sounds good."
They split off from there. Garland met them several more times, usually to take out a particularly troublesome sentry. Thankfully, their missions never conflicted, and soon it ended with many enemy corpses thrown into the sea, and no friendlies killed. Everything was going smoothly, until one particular family became hysterical and demanded that they be evacuated. Despite the fact that there were no hostiles left, they still demanded to get on a particular lifeboat and head to mainland, with Garland as an escort. Boat A11, a vessel seemed rather… strange.
"What the hell. What is armor plating doing on a lifeboat?!" the mercenary demanded when he examined the boat.
"Protection," replied one of the family members.
"Is that a turbocharged engine? With a boosters?"
"To get away as fast as possible."
"From what, may I ask?"
"Rabid whales, crazy people, insane otters, things like that"
"Right."
As the boat was lowered, more startling facts were revealed.
"Okay, it's not just one machine-gun. It's a quad-machine-gun set: four Browning .50 cal M2HB machine-guns. An M240 light machine-gun too? This isn't a lifeboat, it's a freaking heavy gunboat with more firepower than this entire cruise ship's occupants combined! Who the hell puts a gunboat on a luxury cruise ship!?"
"We like to be prepared," spoke up the father of the family.
"Paranoid shameless rich snobs…" Garland muttered under his breath. Regardless of the stupidity of the act, he agreed to be the gunner of the boat, given his military background. An actual sailor was brought as the driver, and the rest of the family would relax in fully-stocked leather interior titanium alloy exterior with enough ammunition for a frigging war. They would enjoy wine and fine meals while he and the sailor fellow got stuck with World War Two style K rations (emergency rations consisting of crackers, fruit juice powder, candy, and a small tin can with some sort of stew). Oh well, at least he got a free ride to Anchorage, and a "fat" tip.
"Fat" indeed, he and the sailor got $10 each for their hard work. At least there was a little fun during the trip. After chatting with the driver over cans of stew, they agreed on a little joke. In the middle of the night, they carried it out. Screaming bloody murder and whatnot, the man behind the wheel accelerated the little gunboat to a high speed and moving the boat in wild zigzags and crazy curves, hollering about rabid seals, or something silly like that. While the boat zipped around the water, Garland loaded the quad-machine-gun set and fired sustained bursts into the sky and random directions. When the family tried to investigate the trouble, a convenient tight turn would throw them back into the cabin and shake them like a bad martini. After a good thirty minutes, they finally relaxed and resumed regular cruise. Despite the paltry tip, it was more fun than either of the men had in a while.
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Once in Anchorage, Garland managed to catch a flight home (this time in First Class) and return to his apartment. From there, he stayed home, trained, slept, trained, ate, trained and waited for another job. For three months nothing came for him, which brought him to this point.
December, an extremely cold month in Seattle-II. Unlike other post-Second Impact areas, the state of Washington was relatively untouched in terms of climate. Tokyo-II and then Tokyo-III were stuck in perpetual spring-summer, while the college he went to in Germany was trapped in a fall-winter mix. In Washington, the seasons were merely pushed into extremes: summer would be swelteringly hot; fall would be very windy and chilly; winter became near artic; spring soaked the ground with constant showers and humidly warm. Fortunately, Garland was a cold-weather person, and preferred the winter and fall over summer and spring. However during December, Garland was rarely home. This reason for this is that he often grabbed a flight to Germany and visited one of his closest friends, Asuka Langley Sohryu. Her birthday was just around the corner (December 4), and he had the perfect gift for her.
After calling a seamstress friend of his, he managed to commission a yellow light summer sundress made of a silk, satin, and cotton mix. Why a summer dress, when she lived in a place that was constantly winter? He got a strange feeling that she would be needing it someday, and it would be one of her favorites, wherever she was going to need it.
He would fly First Class to his homeland, where he would call up NERV-Germany, get in contact with Asuka, and arrange a few days off from her busy schedule. After all, she was an Evangelion pilot now, and must train as much as possible in order to get the best interaction with her EVA Unit. To get even a three-day leave from those anal-retentive bureaucrats would be a godsend, but it was rare.
A few days later, and Garland was airborne, taking a flight to Baltimore-Washington International, then connecting to a flight across the Atlantic into Hereford, England. It was during the final leg of the flights, however, that complications sprang up. Between Great Britain and Germany, as Garland sat in the comfort of First Class, sipping at a nice single malt Scotch whisky, one of the passengers became rowdy. So rowdy, in fact, that he somehow procured a sharp weapon and began to threaten people with it.
"The final
day is coming! You will all be judged! And I had a vision; I am to be your
adjudicator! Step forth and prepare to be tested!" the man screamed while
pointing his sharp little nail file (how the hell it got past security, it
would not be a mystery. They missed Garland's long knife, despite it being
hidden on his person) in random directions. The passengers and stewards were
all scared stiff, afraid of the man with a nail file for a weapon.
"Oh for the love of cheese,"
Garland mocked and walked up to the man.
"Have you come to be judged?!" he whipped to face the newcomer.
"No. I'm here to shut you up," the mercenary said as he threw a light left hook into the insane man's jaw.
Instantly his glass jaw shattered and he crumpled like a giant sack of potatoes. Ignoring the cheers of the happy crew and passengers, Garland returned to his seat. Weird crap was always happening whenever he went out, vacation or work… Never a lucky break for the mercenary.
When he finally landed, there was no one waiting for him. Despite calling in a few days prior to Asuka, there was no welcome group to greet him as he unloaded from the airplane. As he was waiting for his checked luggage, however, a voice from behind called for him.
"Are you Garland Durev?" the voice was masculine, smooth, and relaxed, and spoke German naturally.
"That's me. Do you need something?" Garland answered in his native language, his attention still focused on the baggage claim.
"Asuka couldn't make it because of some special training today, so she sent me instead."
"Oh, really. I trust her training is going well, then?"
"You could say that, but she often complains her combat instructors are lacking, especially in hand-to-hand skills. She frequently wishes that 'Master Durev' was the one teaching her rather than NERV-provided teachers."
"Heh. Sounds like her. I bet she squashes them in spars."
"You are correct, sir."
Garland finally found his bags, and turned around.
"So you know me, but I don't know you. That leaves me in an awkward position."
"Aha, well, I am Asuka's guardian…"
"Special Agent Kaji Ryoji, intelligence operative of NERV and the JSSDF. I've heard a lot about you."
"Well. And you said you didn't know me."
"I didn't, until you said you were Asuka's guardian. She has told me that she was assigned a guardian until she was of age, and his name was Kaji Ryoji. The rest of the information I already knew," Garland then switched to Japanese. "We can speak this way, if it's more comfortable for you."
Kaji responded with Spanish, "What about this?"
Garland used Mandarin Chinese, "Too easy."
Finally, the two of them spoke simultaneously in Russian, "Whatever it is, in the end it means the same."
"Hmm… so you're one of 'them,' aren't you?"
"I was for a while. Now, I think I'm out of a job. Maybe I could find one at NERV-Germany as an instructor or bodyguard."
"What was your codename, if I may ask?"
"I was 'Bloody Hands.'"
Kaji's normally relaxed and easy-going attitude froze for a brief moment, barely noticeable, then returned to its regular pose.
"My, quite amazing that I meet one of the legendary, and a good friend of Asuka's too."
"If you say so. Let's get moving, shall we?"
"Of course."
After a long drive, several hours of security processing, and the detainment of Garland's knife, he was finally granted access to the EVA training center as a special temporary instructor, for personnel and staff. His credentials were expertly forged, produced by the most professional and experienced of groups; "ShadowOps" was a special service offered by a mercenary group in which a false identity was created, and 99.5% of the time it was never questioned. For Garland, his identity was only half-lies; the truths were his experience, skill, and martial arts mastery.
Immediately after entering the physical training course, a red blur launched a Flying Dragon Kick into Garland's chest. It hit hard, sending the former mercenary soaring back into the hall. For the instructors and Kaji, it was strange to see a little girl kick the hell out of a newcomer, and for no apparent reason. It was even stranger to them when the newcomer retaliated with a shoulder ram of equal force. The red blur had solidified into a young redhead with sapphire eyes, a gleam of excitement in them; the girl rolled into the blow and flipped back up, immediately rushing into the offensive. Punch after punch, kick after kick, a near endless barrage of blows rained down upon the defending man, none getting through. With a final yell, she struck forward with a devastatingly quick and powerful punch, only to have it miss as the man dodged to the side and grabbed her arm. He retaliated with a series of quick backhands into her gut and chest, with a finishing elbow strike that sent her flying away. Not one to give up, the redhead backflipped up and rushed in with a mighty hook. Garland simply shifted to the side and let the punch soar past, forcing the girl to overextend herself. Hooking both arms under the girl's arms, he used his larger stature and strength to trap her.
"A good start, but you rushed in with that last punch, and so left yourself open. But you've gotten much faster and stronger, dear Asuka. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Master Durev!" the German girl smiled up to him.
"So these are the guys helping you train? I'm grateful. You're not slacking off," he said as he looked around the room.
"Yeah, but you're much better than they are. I prefer you over them."
"Haha, you flatter me. How have you been since the last time I visited?"
"Oh, just the same old. Tests and training, and more tests. The EVA sync tests are really annoying though, I have to…"
"Ahh… Asuka. How about we give you a chance to freshen up, while Garland meets with your trainers about you regimen?" Kaji interrupted.
"Okay, mister Kaji!" the girl dislodged herself from Garland's grip, and dashed away.
"Hmm… trade secrets, I take it?" Garland asked as he watched Asuka disappear through a doorway.
"Yeah, she's really excited about you, though," the intelligence agent replied.
"I understand. Now, about her trainers?"
When Asuka returned, she discovered all her trainers on the ground, moaning and nursing fresh bruises. Among them stood Garland, still standing the clothes he came in with: boots, black slacks, a dark blue button-up, and his old black woolen overcoat that Asuka was very familiar with. After all, it was the same coat that Garland had wrapped her up in when she nearly died from hypothermia.
Garland's presentation of his gift was during a visit to a pastry shop, over cups of tea and cake. Upon opening, the German girl was ecstatic over her new piece of clothing, and immediately dragged the former mercenary into a shopping spree. Fortunately for Garland and his slowly shrinking bank account, Kaji had the foresight to supply Asuka with a NERV purchasing card with a fat amount of cash available. Soon, the two martial artists found matching shoes, jewelry, and even a make-up set, despite Garland's weak protests. Upon returning to NERV HQ, Asuka immediately dove into her training, working extra hard as if to impress her master and friend. For three weeks the process repeated itself: train, eat, train, have a bit of free time, Asuka disappears for EVA training, then a solo workout for Garland. The German girl's morale couldn't be any higher, and the NERV trainers even learned a few things.
However it would all end, because his past had caught up with the former mercenary.
Approached one day by a squad of armed soldiers, the leader of the group confronted the training group..
"Sir, I'm going to ask you to come with me," he said, nervously clutching his G36C rifle.
"Huh? What's going on?" Garland, the NERV trainers, and Asuka were all confused.
"Sir, please, just come with me. Things will be explained later."
"Alright, lead the way," the martial artist sighed and followed the grunt squad.
Several hours later, he found himself loading his meager possessions into an old style roofless jeep, similar to those used by the Americans during World War II. As he threw his rucksack in the rear of the jeep, a voice behind him spoke up.
"Asuka's pretty angry, you know," it was Kaji.
Garland sighed, "I'm very well aware of that. But this is something I had no control over. You yourself should be very familiar with that."
"Yeah, it happens a lot in the business," the eternally-unshaven man agreed. "What happened?"
"SEELE happened. No one will admit it, but I'm very sure it's them trying to screw me over," Garland replied while securing his luggage.
"The old men have it out for you?"
"Yeah. I refused a job of theirs a while ago. Now they're afraid I might ruin their plans with my 'uncontrollable factors.' They hold a mean grudge. That and the fact that I'm officially dead, so it would be at the very least strange to have the identity of a man thought dead for more than five years."
"I understand that more than you realize."
"Do me a favor, Kaji?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell her… I'm sorry that I couldn't spend Christmas or New Years with her, and that I will see her again, just not as soon as we both hope."
"I promise."
"I've always been curious… Does she still have that picture of her and a group of KSK soldiers?"
"Of course. It's one of her greatest treasures."
"Give this to her, then," the former mercenary said as he pulled out a small booklet. Upon further inspection, Kaji discovered a set of photographs, each of them with Asuka and Garland in the center. The final picture, however, was unique.
"Hmm… This one…"
"My secret," Garland admitted. "My mercenary combat uniform. If she asks, tell her about it, but leave out the scary parts."
"Very well."
"Sir, it's nearing 0400. They want you out of the facility by then," a private gently reminded the two. The private had attended several of the training sessions, as an observer and participant. During those moments of amazing martial arts and humble teachings, he had developed a respect for the man. It was a pity NERV wanted the special instructor gone because of a smudge in his records, since they would be throwing away a great asset, but people will be people, and people will be afraid.
"Ah, that's right. Sorry, James. Let's get going before they start yelling at you," Durev jumped into the passenger seat and got comfortable.
Without another word, Garland Durev left NERV-Germany, now only a collection of memories and a promise.
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February 2007, seven months after Shadow Moses.
After Germany, Garland purchased a ticket for Japan, in order to meet with several martial artists in the country. Apparently, this was also where NERV headquarters was, at Tokyo-III. He would have to avoid anything NERV related, since they (SEELE) would have most likely blacklisted him from everything that even remotely related to them. Fortunately for Garland, the people he needed to see were in Kyoto. It was a big change in climate; from Germany's eternal winter into Japan's endless summer, Garland had to switch out from his heavy coat, sweater, and slacks into a light t-shirt and jeans.
After Second Impact, much of Japan was flooded. The original Tokyo still existed as a massive underwater graveyard; Tokyo-II and then Tokyo-III were built over artificially created land. For Garland's friends, they had moved away from Tokyo and settled in historic Kyoto. Although there were damages, they were minor compared to other cities and countries. As the warrior walked down a sidewalk lined by a chain-link fence, he happened to glance up into the sky. Streaking by, a trail of dust and smoke trailing behind, was a man wearing a red Chinese-style silk shirt, black pants, slippers, and his hair was tied into a pigtail. Soon after, a second streak zipped by, this time by another man garbed a yellow shirt, black pants, and a yellow black-speckled bandana wrapped around his forehead. A third streak followed, a third man with long hair, large flowing white robes, and the thickest glasses Garland had ever seen.
Waving to them as they flew by, Garland could only smile as good memories flooded his mind.
"Yo, Ranma! Ryoga! Mousse! I'm on vacation! See you at the dojo!" Durev's Japanese had a slight accent to it, but was close enough to almost pass as natural. Oddly enough, the flying men waved back as if they were going on a walk.
Ahh, Tendo Dojo. This was the third official Tendo Dojo ever erected in Japan. The first and original dojo sank along with Tokyo and Nerima, and the second one was utterly demolished after a huge fight between several super-powered martial artists.
Still, knowing such individuals of awesome skill and incredible power gave Garland the perfect incentive to keep on training, and keep on testing his skills. Eating Kasumi's food was a big bonus too, even if it meant suffering from Akane's toxi—err, "unique gourmet dishes." Ukyo was nearby, her restaurant rather popular in the area, as well as the Nekohanten. With so much available to Durev, he decided to take a short vacation in this area, and catch up on things with Ranma and his friends. Much of the Nerima Wreaking Crew had made it out of Second Impact safely, and they all congregated here.
Ringing the doorbell once, he straightened his shirt and waited patiently to be greeted. What met him did not surprise him.
"Hey, Panda-san! It's me, Garland! How are you doing?" the former mercenary looked silly bowing to a giant panda.
"Growf," the panda greeted in turn, awkwardly bowing as well, and gestured him in. The smell of niku-jyaga (a tasty simmered beef and potato stew) permeated the air; the quiet cooking was accompanied by a happy, melodious humming. Garland stepped into the kitchen to greet a young woman that seemed to dance around while cooking.
"Kasumi, still the same…" he said as he watched her.
"Oh my, Garland-kun? It's been a long time!" the girl was surprised and pleased at Garland's appearance.
"Yes, ma'am, it has. How has the family been doing?"
"Quite well, to tell the truth. Will you be staying for dinner?"
"And partake in your wonderful cooking? Of course! By the way, I saw the three guys taking a quick low earth orbit flight. Did they annoy the girls again?"
Kasumi Tendo giggled in response, "I'm afraid so, but they've been getting better over time. They are all getting close recently."
"Glad to
hear it," Garland agreed. "Where's the rest of the family?"
"Father and Saotome-san are
playing Shogi, as usual. Akane, Shampoo, and Ukyo are all in the dojo having
some girl time, and Nabiki is wandering around as usual."
"Ah… Nabiki… I'd better hide my wallet…"
"Too late for that, Durev," a new voice cut in.
"Bleh. I guess you want to 'show me around town,' again?"
"Heh heh… Of course. We'll be back before dinner, Kasumi!" Nabiki Tendo, a young woman with a pageboy haircut and mahogany hair grabbed Garland's hand and dragged him outside.
"Have fun!"
A few hours later, the two mercenaries returned home. Nabiki looked quite content after her shopping spree. Behind her followed Garland, his arms filled with newly bought things, and his wallet as empty as a desert. As he deposited the boxes and bags, dinner sat ready to be eaten. Once everyone had sat down, there was a simultaneous "Itadakimasu!" and everyone dug in. With Garland present, there was much merriment, drinking, and swapping of stories. Tomorrow, they would spar, train, and learn from each other, as well as relax and see the sights (without Nabiki).
A grand vacation, in Garland's humble opinion.
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April 2007, eight months after Shadow Moses.
There really wasn't much to do, other than train, eat, and train some more. His bank account was stable, with plenty of money left over from his mercenary days, it was just the sheer level of boredom of doing nothing every day. Upon returning from Japan he threw himself back into heavy training, constantly pushing his body to the limits. Combined with the memories of basic training, daily calisthenics and practice burned over a thousand calories an hour. This in turn, made him a very hungry person after training. As a result, his kitchen required restocking many times over the weeks.
Hearing his stomach growl in complaint, the warrior set out on his motorcycle to the grocery store. A Honda CBR1100XX was his ride, painted black with choice modifications to the vehicle. He was not a big fan of "tricking out" his bike, seeing it as a big waste of money, but he allowed himself to improve the comfort and performance of the XX, without doing a thing to the engine: improved suspension system, streamlined chassis, better wheels, upgraded brakes, raised handlebars, a throttle lock, and gel handgrips for comfort. There were placements for side baggage, easy snap-on-snap-off compartments that did not interfere with performance, so Garland could store things away. Although it was not idea for winter weather, it was perfect for the other times of the year.
While riding the Blackbird, he wore a modified version of his combat suit, altered for high-speed motorcycle riding. It still possessed the web gear attachments, but instead of holsters and ammo pouches, they were simply extra secure pockets. Rather than the usual gauntlets and metal reinforced boots, they were replaced by with biker gloves and Goretex combat boots. Colored black to match the CBR1100XX, the suit also maximized airflow for comfort while not messing up aerodynamics, and yet retained body heat well, removing the need for a jacket or coat. If needed, however, the suit did offered excellent ease of movement for combat. His helmet however, was the most advanced part. Utilizing miniaturized microphones and wiring, one could communicate from within the helmet to a person on the outside easily. With other features such as fiber-optic hologram views (like GPS), comfortable microcell foam padding, and air intake valves to circulate air, it effectively protected Garland's head with a Kevlar reinforced plastics, a tinted one-way polycarbonate visor, and incredible lightness.
After purchasing his groceries and storing them away, he was about to equip his helmet when a flash of red hair stopped him. Only two people he knew had hair that bold, and the one of them was stuck in Germany. It wasn't long, however, for the other person to notice Garland and approach, a guitar case slung across his back. He wore a thick woolen coat over his usual uniform of a long white button-up shirt with a black jacket over it, and red pants with a band connecting the knees together.
"Well. I haven't seen you in a while. How goes it?" Garland greeted him.
"It's been alright," the other man's voice was dark and powerful.
"Still the same. Are you here for business or pleasure?"
"A little bit of both, but mostly business."
"I understand. Your quest is neverending. At least, until you defeat him."
"I will kill him."
"I have no doubts about it. You're getting stronger with each battle, win or lose. You'll get him eventually."
"Che. It's too slow. What about you? How have you been doing?"
"I lost my job. Apparently people did not like my uncontrollable side, so they stopped hiring me."
"That's too bad. What will you do now?"
"Do as I usually do. Live and see what happens. Hey, you busy? I haven't had a good fight in a long time."
"Heh heh heh… I was waiting for that."
"Hop on. I'll give you a lift. Sorry, but no helmet."
"I'll be fine."
Once they arrived at an open lot, away from the public and prying eyes, the two of them faced each other. Immediately two auras sprang forth from the fighters, Garland's a blue hue with a reddish highlight, and the other man's a fiery purple.
"No holds barred, anything goes! First one to give up or be K.O.ed loses and has to buy dinner!" Durev grinned.
"Hahaha! Fine," the other man smiled darkly, a purple flame sparking in an open palm.
As the former mercenary shifted into his usual stance: a basic Jeet Kune Do stance that offered equal levels of offense and defense, his opponent followed suit, his hands held in front of him like claws in an animalistic posture. For several moments they stared each other down, doing nothing but waiting. Suddenly, at the same time, they rushed at each other, speeding in with blows powerful enough to easily crush concrete.
"Bloodlust!" Garland shouted as he struck high.
"Ya Otome!" His opponent answered back, moving low.
A clash of Titans, two of the strongest in the world.
------------------------
November 2007, one year and two months after Shadow Moses.
Even though it was well over eight months after his fight with Iori Yagami, Garland Durev still felt the burns induced by the his opponent. The match had ended in a draw, both fighters freezing before administering a deathblow. The red-haired man had a hand grasping Garland's shoulder, ready to pull down in a powerful slash that have opened his chest like a razor, while Garland had a knife hand pressed against Iori's neck, prepared to pierce the neck and rip out the throat. They had called it a draw, so both of them had to pay for dinner.
"Damned flames. They hurt a lot more than I remember," Garland muttered as he pulled himself out of bed. His clock said 5:40, forty minutes past his usual wake up time. Allowing himself the occasional act of laziness, he had opted to sleep in for the morning. Now, he had to find some breakfast. Not wanting to cook today, he changed into his motorcycle suit and hopped onto his Blackbird.
Meanwhile, a familiar face traversed the morning rush hour of Seattle-II. Being a metropolis, rush hour was not the best time to be on the road or walking around. With an annoyed breath, Maggie Thompson cursed the early morning. Ever since returning from Shadow Moses, she had been going back and forth constantly between the lieutenant and her regular work. And then the moment she had a chance to relax, she was sent off on a mission by Colonel Campbell to meet someone. She had been debriefed and admitted assisting and utilizing the skills of a mercenary hired to kill off the soldiers. By working together, the two of them were able to complete their objectives and return home (she left out the more gruesome details).
The colonel was very interested in the mercenary, and immediately went about researching. A few weeks later, Campbell ordered Maggie to find Garland Durev and ask him to join the group. Easier said than done, trying to find one man in a large metropolis as Seattle-II was equivalent to the proverbial needle in the haystack. Regardless, she would find him. She would pose as a private detective, and ask around the city, at the martial arts joints and whatnot. Physically, he was common among the civilization. His hair was not unique, and loose clothing would cover up the defined body of his. But his eyes… those eyes were unique. It would be near impossible to tell by eyes, though, since she would have to be up close and personal. So here she was, walking down a busy street in a red turtleneck sweater, a khaki skirt, and black stockings fitting into a pair of fashionable boots. Around her neck was a white cashmere scarf; a gray woolen jack, soft leather gloves, and black earmuffs completed the ensemble.
Sighing once again, she began to cross the street, heedless of the no-crossing sign.
A black motorcycle suddenly appeared in front of her, giving only seconds for the girl to react. With a startled screech she tried to backpedal out of the way, but was unable to completely avoid it. Clenching her eyes tightly, she prepared herself for the incoming pain.
None came. Several moments passed, yet nothing came. Only the cold biting winter winds remind her that she was still there. Peeking out one eye, she saw that the motorcycle was no longer in front of her. Instead, it was off to the side, laying against a mound of snow. Several feet away was the rider, sprawled on the ground in a painful lump. In an effort to avoid collision, the rider had veered off the side, rammed into a snow mound, and was ejected from his ride.
"Oh my God, are you all right?" Maggie asked as she kneeled next to the man. He slowly sat up from his position, sunlight glinting off the opaque visor of the helmet/
"I'm fine. What about you? Did I hit you?" the rider asked, his voice clearly heard over the integrated radio.
"No, you missed me completely." That voice… very familiar…
"Good. What were you doing walking into the middle of the street like that?"
"I know, I know, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention and I just kept walking."
"It's alright, Thompson. The bike isn't messed up and I'm fine."
"How… who are you?"
"Aww, you don't recognize my voice? I'm sad," the man pulled off his helmet, revealing it to be the person she was searching for. "Better?"
"Garland?!"
"No, I'm Santa Clause."
"Shut it. So you live here?"
"In Seattle-II, yeah. My apartment is a few seconds that way," he pointed down the road he came from. "I'm heading out for some breakfast. You want to come along?"
"S-sure!"
"Awesome. There's a spare helmet in one of the side compartments, but I'm afraid they won't stop the wind…"
"I'll be fine. I'm FOX-HOUND, after all."
"Of course, mighty warrior," Garland laughed and slid the helmet on. "You know what? I got a better idea: we'll walk back to my place and get you a suit that fits you. I have a few neighbors that have motorcycles too and are relatively the same size as you."
"Very well. Lead the way."
Maggie found Garland's home to be very plain, Spartan, yet comfortable. The colors and arrangement of the place hinted at Feng Shui, making the place seem energetic yet calm, old yet fresh. While she waited in the living room with a nice cup of jasmine tea (Garland actually had multiple varieties of Asian and European teas), her host was away to borrow a biker suit. Upon his return, she discovered that the biker suit was oddly similar to her Skull Suit and fitted to her just like one, hugging her curves very well. Her helmet was similar to Garland's, with the integrated microphone, and was comfortably snug.
Moments later, the two soldiers sped away on the black XX, chatting amiably about what had happened over the year.
------------------------
Breakfast came and past, then lunch. Before dinner, however, they sat in a local park, relaxing in the cool weather. Garland had given Maggie a brief tour of the city, and she seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. It was until now that she remembered about her objective, and she had to convince Garland to join without sounding too pushy.
"Hey, Garland? You said you're as good as fired in the mercenary world…" she asked as the two of them gazed across the lake.
"Yeah, I said that. What about it?"
"Do you want to return to the battlefield?"
"Hmm…" Garland was silent for several moments. "Well, yeah. Civilian life is relaxing and all, but I feel at home in combat… Unfortunately, killing is probably the only thing I'm good at, other than martial arts and being an instructor. But… yes. I would like to return…"
Maggie took a deep breath before giving out her proposal, "Garland, I did not come here just to visit you. My superiors in FOX-HOUND want you as part of the unit, and they sent me to recruit you, so to speak…"
"…"
Garland's silence was killer on Maggie's nerves. Had she said something wrong…?
"Why should I join? What sort of benefits will I receive?"
She sighed. At least he didn't outright reject it.
"Full health coverage, retirement plan, and all the training you could possibly want. Metal Gear is still an active threat out there, as well as terrorists, so there will be a constant need for FOX-HOUND."
"Wasn't FOX-HOUND disbanded?"
"Officially it was, but Colonel Campbell as well as several high ranking officials kept its continued existence secret. Many soldiers were removed from the regular FOX-HOUND ranks and placed into conventional Special Forces; only the most trusted and best men and women were kept. Now, we're simply looking for recruits that are similar: unique, strong, and capable of keeping a secret. You pass all requirements by a huge margin."
"Hmm… what about my condition?"
"Huh?"
"You know about it. You've witnessed it yourself… I mean, you've heard it. I have the cursed blood of the Berserker, an unstoppable and uncontrollable force of ruthless destruction and death. How would people react after seeing it? I'll tell you. Terror. Absolute terror. They cannot even stand next to me knowing that such a demon resides within me…"
Suddenly, Garland found a pair of arms wrapping around him, the warmth of another person pressed against his side.
"I'm not afraid. I know that you would not hurt me, not even as the berserker."
"I… that is… uh…" for the first time in many years, Garland was left speechless. This young woman, who had known him for less that 24 hours, trusted him even with the threat of a bloody and gruesome death by his own hands.
"Shh," she silenced him. "Just accept it."
Maggie felt Garland relax, the tension bleeding out slowly. Wait, he was tense? Was he always like that, with a certain level of stress constantly bothering him?
"Thank you, Maggie," he whispered before turning his head to look at her. "Hey, you hungry? I'll show you one of the best taverns in the entire United States."
"Mmm… That sounds good."
The Mystic Shadows Tavern was a privately owned restaurant and bar, belonging to a woman with a great imagination. As the name of the building may suggest, there is a medieval tone to the place, with suits of armor, shields, swords, and other related decorations strewn about. Waitresses and waiters dressed like bar wenches and peasants served the amused guests an assortment of Irish, Scottish, English, French, and German cuisine. A wide range of imported and domestic beers, as well as a selection of fine wines and liquors made the place popular among both friends and adults. As a result of its reputation, getting a table there was rather difficult. Unless you had a special relationship with the proprietor of the establishment, like Garland did. Immediately upon entering, he and Maggie were escorted by a rather beautiful and busty blonde waitress to Garland's "usual table."
"Hey, thanks, Chantal. Could you get Sarah for me? I'd like to talk to her," Garland said as he sat down.
"Sure, hon! I'll be right back," she smiled with dazzling white teeth and disappeared off.
"So, who's this Sarah person? And how did you get a table so quickly?" Maggie was appropriately curious.
"Ah, you see, Sarah Splaine is a good friend of mine. I've known her ever since I moved here to Seattle-II. She's also the owner of this tavern."
"Technically, you own half the place, Garland," a third voice cut in.
"Saaarrraaaaaaah!" Garland drawled out while standing up and hugging the woman. "How have you been? Business doing well?"
"Haha yes, of course! Everything's been going great. You want me to get your usual?"
"No, thank you. I need to keep it low today; I have to drive, so give me water. Could you get her a…?" he looked at Maggie.
"Gin-and-tonic with a slice of lime, please."
"Wow. Can you handle it?"
"Hey, I'm no lightweight, damn it," Maggie narrowed her eyes at Garland, then faced Sarah, "What did you mean that he owns half the place?"
"I'll let Garland explain that to you while I get your drinks," the bartender/owner smiled and walked away.
Maggie looked expectedly at the former mercenary.
"Ah, well. You see, as a mercenary I naturally bring in large sums of cash as compensation and reimbursement for my services. You've seen my home, and it's not that elaborate or filled with expensive stuff. Personally, I do not find a need for so much material wealth, living with only with what I need and a few 'wants.' So my bank account is rather fat, so to speak. I met Sarah at a bar in California; after a mission I relaxed a bit in the area. Anyways, she explained to me that she actually lived in the Seattle-II area and had always wanted to open a tavern in the city, but she lacked the necessary funds to do so. The banks would not give her a loan, and she was getting pretty low. And so, to a complete stranger, I pulled out my paycheck of $30,000, placed it on the bar top, and slid it to her. All that was needed was a signature, and she could cash it."
"And I'm eternally grateful for it. This guy, after only an hour of getting to know me, gave me $30,000 to start my own business. Combined with my own funds, it was more than enough to get this place started. He even named the place!" Sarah had returned with drinks, including one for herself. "More than half this building is due to Garland's money."
Garland was given his glass of ice water. Maggie's gin-and-tonic was pretty good with that slice of lime, and Sarah's rye-and-coke was always a good choice.
"Wow, Garland, you're really nice to people," Maggie said after sipping her cocktail.
"Redemption," was all he said as he sipped his own drink.
"So, fellas, what can I get for my favorite martial artist and his girlfriend?" Sarah had a mischievous grin on her face.
Garland, who had been taking another drink, suddenly coughed as the water went down the wrong pipe. Both girls had to stifle giggles. Here was a man that was a few years older than both of them, had experienced life-or-death situations, and fought some of the scariest people on the planet, yet he got nervous and acted like a teenager when girlfriends were involved.
"Ah, well… you see… that is…" he stuttered.
"We're business associates, and he was showing me around town today," Maggie saved the day.
"Right. As you say," the grin was still plastered across her face.
"I'll get some sauerbraten with a Guinness," Garland looked over to Maggie.
"Hmm… I've never had Scottish food before. Could I have a sort of sampler dish? With a Miller light, please."
"Of course! I'll have Chantal bring it out in a moment."
"Thank you."
As the bartender/owner left with their orders, the two soldiers were left alone to their own devices.
"So… you know everyone here?" Maggie tried to break the silence.
"Hmm… just about, actually. Chantal, you've met. There's Jen," he pointed at a short yet cute girl with long brown hair; "Over there is Yury, along with Bruce," the only two male waiters; "And that's Allison, A.J., Katie, Kat, and Amanda," a group of young women working on the other side of the restaurant."
"You come here pretty often, don't you?"
"I guess. They like me, and I like them."
"Ah. Well, have you put any thought into joining my organization?"
"That was a big change in topic," Garland sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Your offer is tempting, but it doesn't sound much different from my current job."
"There's job security, and you will be among other people with… unique abilities."
"Hmm. Like you and your necromancy."
"Yeah. You should fit in pretty well as a solo operative."
"But isn't FOX-HOUND for reconnaissance and stealth operations? I'm an assaulter and combat specialist, not a sneaker."
"I understand that, but you snuck through Shadow Moses pretty well. It's obvious that you have skills in it."
"Yeah, well…"
By then, their food came, and gave them a different topic to talk about. It was mostly centered around Maggie, and the mix of foods she had on her plate: colcannon (a stew-like dish made of cabbage, turnips, carrots, and potatoes), a small loaf of bannock (oat barley bread), a small Scotch Pie (meat-filled), and of course, haggis (you don't want to know). Fortunately for Maggie, no one told her the ingredients in haggis, so she was left to enjoy the meal without worrying.
After leaving a good tip for their waitress, they returned to Garland's apartment on a high-speed street rocket, a rather exhilarating ride for Garland's passenger. They settled down into the apartment, sharing a drink of Jack Daniel's.
"So you don't have a hotel yet?" Garland asked as he poured a bit of whiskey into a glass filled with ice, handing it to his guest.
"No, I haven't. I was looking for one when we bumped into each other," she accepted the glass with a nod and took a sip.
"If you want, you can crash here for the night. I can sleep on the couch."
"You sure?"
"Positive. I can't leave a lady like you outside hunting for a cheap hotel. I'll even throw in a complimentary breakfast."
"You're nice," Maggie smiled, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. The gin-and-tonic and beer she had at the restaurant was already in her blood, and the Jack Daniel's was only making it worse. "Could I have a refill?"
"Damn. You sure can put the stuff down," Garland grinned as he poured her a third glass of whiskey.
"I told you, I'm no lightweight," she huffed and drank it down.
"Hmm…" the martial artist's smirk was still etched across his face. "You know what? I'm getting tired, so I think I'll go to sleep now."
"Okay. Could you show me where your room is?"
"Of course, follow me."
As Maggie stood, however, the alcohol hit her full force, and she stumbled right into Garland. He caught her easily, the smaller woman feeling surprisingly light in his hands.
"Ahh… Sorry. It really hits me when I stand," she giggled and finished off the remnants of her drink.
"Good grief. You've had a lot to drink tonight. That gin-and-tonic, the beer, and three glasses of Jack, I'm amazed you can still speak coherently!"
"Not a lightweight, damn it," she managed to slur out before looking up to Garland's amused face. She was suddenly captured by those eyes again, those seemingly endless pools of smoky gray-blue crystal of focused will and hidden power. So lost into those orbs that she did not realize that she was staring for several minutes. Unknowingly, Garland was staring back into her own green-blue gems, but he was faster at realizing it.
"Ah! Are you all right?" he managed to stutter out. Was she that drunk?
"Hehe… you're cute," she giggled and wrapped her arms around Garland's neck. With more strength than Garland realized, she pulled down the surprised mercenary and kissed him roughly on the lips.
Yep. She's drunk. But so soft…
All of a sudden, she went limp in his arms, her own arms still wrapped around Garland's neck and her lips still pressed against his. A moment later, soft snoring was heard.
Bloody hell, she's asleep? Better put her to bed then…
That night, Durev stayed up late, relaxing with a goblet of brandy and thinking about his decision. To join FOX-HOUND, and tying himself to an organization of which his loyalties must permanently lie, or remain a mercenary and remain free, but never get a job again? He had plenty of money, more than enough to live off of until he could find a replacement job. But in the end, it would be dreadfully boring. It was unfortunate, but he needed combat. The battlefield was his home, bullet wounds a badge of office, fighting a way of life. While many soldiers would be happy never having to pick up a rifle and shoot a man, Garland could not even picture himself in the future without a gun. To the rest of the world, Garland Durev was a dead person, and he would not be able to fit in into the public as easy as he wanted…
Finishing the last of his brandy, he made a decision.
------------------------
Maggie Thompson awoke that morning with a horrendous headache. In addition to that, the morning sun seemed to glare brighter than ever before. An overwhelming sense of nausea assaulted her senses, and the urge to vomit was intense. Still, she fought down the urge with steel discipline, and pulled herself out of bed. Standing groggily, dizziness kept her from standing straight and noticing her surroundings. Where the hell was she? The FOX-HOUND commando staggered out of the room and into even more unfamiliar surroundings. The delightful smell of breakfast was really damn good though, and she felt really damn hungry. Her surprise was unexpected as she discovered an apron-wearing Garland Durev standing behind a stove sizzling with breakfast.
"Oh, hey, good morning. Breakfast will be ready soon. How do you like your eggs?" he looked at her briefly before returning to his cooking.
"Scrambled, please. Ugh… What happened last night? I don't remember much," Maggie winced as she sat down in the abnormally bright room.
Garland coughed, but pulled himself together quickly, "Ah, well you fell asleep after your third glass—"
"Third
glass? Damn it. No wonder my head hurts so much."
"Yeah, well, after you fell
asleep I carried you into bed and I crashed here in the living room," he
approached the table with two steaming plates. On her plate were two fried
eggs, three strips of bacon, and a biscuit. Garland had a similar plate, but
his eggs were sunny side up.
"I made a decision, about joining FOX-HOUND," he said as he sat down across from her.
"Oh?"
"I'm in."
Her smile was brighter and more beautiful than anything Garland had ever seen.
------------------------
A/N: One more to go, folks. Bear with me. Coming up next chapter: more cameos, a fight, and life in FOX-HOUND. And yes, I've had haggis before. It's pretty good, just as long as you forget that it's made of… well, look it up yourself.