It's been a while, but I decided to update. Actually I've been trying to update for a while, however what I wish and what happens are two different things. I meant to post the next chapter of Fall from grace. Unfortunately I only have two pages so far. Yet, this one started screaming at me again, so here I am. Although this one doesn't seem to be as popular as my other two stories it is indeed my favorite. Not because of its plot, but because of its sequel, which I am writing simultaneously.

The end of this chapter is a little lame - - at least in my opinion. I'll just see what you think.

Chapter Two: Infiltration

April 29, 2009

Water splashed and rolled against the metal jutting out from its dark depths. The moonlight was fading and the morning would be coming soon. Soft light reflected off the surface of the waves into a pair of pensive blue eyes. In the glow of the pre-dawn hours they looked almost as obscure as the waters below, but as the sun rose they would freeze, and like the heart that beat within his chest they would become ice.

But bathed in the silence of this sunrise, the man known as Revolver Ocelot took a few minutes to allow the façade of stone to crumble in exchange for an expression of sweet nostalgia. An onlooker probably wouldn't have been able to recognize it, nor would the Russian marksman ever have admitted it. He was not the type of man to look into his past. He was a man of the present, with grand dreams of the future. Yet…

Yet, there was a piece of his past that was not yet complete. Despite his ability to shut off all personal motives and emotions that missing piece was something that had troubled him for a very long time. As his eyelashes slowly swept down, hiding the two resolute crystals of blue, his mind tumbled back in time toward his youth.

It was then that one of the biggest mysteries of his life had fallen into his world. Most of the how's and why's still went unanswered, but one fact was certain: it had been a great time of change not only for him, but for the entire planet. The changes were small and unseen, and even now many refused to see their importance, but they were the seeds that had created this present whilst so many others had been possible.

He didn't know if that enigmatic appearance forty-five years ago had been one of those seeds, but if it was he was going to find out whether it had been planted on purpose and why. He had a feeling the events of his past were no coincidence. However, the ones who would know the truth were also the ones he couldn't ask. If THEY knew what he knew then they would yank him out of there so fast his head would still be spinning a week later.

But they didn't know what he knew, and he planned to keep it that way.

Even the Patriots were unaware of his true motives on this assignment. Yes, Arsenal and Solidus were a big deal, but they weren't the real reason for Ocelot's being there. In fact, Shalashaska had chosen missions carefully so that he specifically would be here on this day. He had let them believe the whole time it was their idea to put him in charge of these dealings. Even they had misjudged his great manipulation skills, unaware they were doing just that which he wanted them to do.

Today, an old friend would be returning to his side - - whether she was aware of it or not.

XXX

Mireya was on a beach in the middle of a troupe of very pretty males. One was fetching her strawberry daiquiris, one was in charge of her suntan lotion, there were two manning those big leaf fans (twins), and the other one… well, the other one had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen in her life. His manual labor could wait for a starry-sky scene. Her third daiquiri had just arrived when a harsh ringing sound invaded the peaceful sun-soaked sands. The sound continued until her whole head was twitching. Then…

She opened her eyes to reveal not a beach, but her stylish New York flat. Though nice it didn't have quite the same zing as a beach full of attractive gentlemen. "I hate dreams. Such teases…" She muttered as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She leaned her head in her hands and inhaled the cold morning air as she tried to figure out what the ringing had been.

Probably the phone, she deduced, seeing the thin silver object laying on the couch where her head had been. No wonder why she had a headache. The ringtone had been set on the highest setting. She sighed and stood, then walked over to the open doors leading onto the balcony high above the busy streets. She could hear the vague sounds of the city below. A cacophony of voices, traffic, and wind rose up, up, up into the heavens. The sun was rising over the horizon, and pinks and oranges splashed across the sky like paint on an artist canvas.

She leaned over the sturdy railing and gazed down. Years before she would have been seized by an almost overwhelming case of vertigo, but today looking upon the sights she felt nothing but the deepest contentment. This was her life. This was her city. She wasn't sure if she was even American, but New York was her home - - not that she bought into Nationalizing one's self; she was a child of Earth, plain and simple. She wasn't necessarily proud of her planet, or the people in it, but one thing could always be counted on: the diversity and excitement that was the lifeblood of the Big Apple.

Sometimes she wished she could walk its streets as a normal person, not this twisted outsider that she had grown into. Many times, while staring down on the people below her, she had been gripped by the feeling that she had to be one of the loneliest, one of the most tainted human beings to ever live. Of course, she had to be exaggerating in her head, because assuming she was that bad off was more than a little arrogant.

Suddenly the polyphonic jingling of "Stairway to Heaven" broke through her thoughts. Whoever was calling her earlier was trying once more. She turned away from her beloved city and headed back inside to answer, wondering what could be so important to attempt to wake her at this hour.

"Hello? Mireya Jameson speaking."

"Reya! Why do you always answer like that, it's a cell phone of course you're going to be speaking." It was Heather Roman, one of her neighbors that lived a couple floors down. She could afford to live in this high-rise, but didn't own a car and refused to hire a maid.

Mireya had become not only a transportation source for the young woman, but a cleaning assistant. She didn't mind. Most of the time she shied away from normal person contact unless doing her job, but listening to Heather's head-in-the-clouds ramblings helped her relax sometimes.

"Are you watching the news?" Heather demanded, her excited voice sending shards of pain through her right eardrum. Mireya switched her phone to the left side of her head.

"I was asleep," the assassin replied simply.

"So that's a no?"

"That's a no." Mireya confirmed. "What's going on?"

"Its on every channel!" Heather cried. That didn't answer Shadow's question. Sensing her frustration, Heather finally spit it out. "Big Shell, you know that decontamination facility they put up a couple years ago?"

"You mean the one they had to build because of that tanker accident?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"Some terrorists or something have taken control of it - - and they've got hostages. They've even managed to get a hold of the president and are threatening to launch a nuclear weapon!"

Now, Mireya couldn't give a flip about the condition of their president, but the mention of a nuclear weapon was disturbing. She didn't really care for people, but she didn't care very much for fallout, either. "What are they doing about it?"

"The guys in charge aren't saying much. I get the feeling civilians like us aren't even supposed to know about it, but somehow the information got leaked to the public shortly after the takeover and now every major reporter is on the scene, well, as close to the scene as they can be."

Shadow slid into her computer chair and slid the mouse across the pad. In seconds the screensaver had vacated the monitor and was replaced by a blinking little box. Mail. Mireya groaned and clicked on it.

Big Shell. Two words. They were only two words, but they couldn't have been more clear. Her target would be there, and so should she.

"Um, Heather, can I talk to you some other time. I've got to go out."

"Yeah sure. I'll talk to you later." Heather sounded confused, and probably would ask many questions about it later, but Mireya didn't have time for explanations right then.

"Bye." Mireya flicked the phone shut. After the short clack sound there was a moment of silence that made the apartment seem as solemn and lonely as a morgue. She rubbed her temples for an instant in an attempt to push back the aching in her skull. She hadn't expected time to pass so quickly. It was only yesterday to her when she received her new assignment and already it was the big day.

It wasn't just time that was eating away at the young assassin. There was a great deal of wrongness hanging over this mission. Since deciding to accept it a heavy weight had drifted down upon her. Shadow had yet to figure this feeling out, which in turn was making her even more uneasy. She couldn't afford to be anything but calm and focused on this job. She had concluded that shortly after finishing the information that had been given to her. It seemed that the man she was to get rid of was one of considerable talent, and importance.

Revolver Ocelot. She'd heard that name before. After a few days of racking her brain, trying to pinpoint the source of the familiarity she had given up. Not only did this man seem to be elusive in life, but also in memory.

A tiny purring broke the twenty-one year old from her thoughts. When she directed her dark blue eyes to the floor she found her seven year old tom-cat gazing back at her in an inquisitive manner. He was a beautiful Siamese, with the bluest crystalline eyes and shiniest fur she had ever seen. When Shadow found herself in a difficult situation the thought of her cat was one of the two things that kept her going.

Unlike Mireya, her mother had hated cats for as long as she could remember. She had said that they were sneaky and devilish. Despite this hatred it was in fact Natalie Jameson that had named this poor little stray when it had turned up at their old apartment-house door. She had claimed the name seemed to fit the feline, "especially because of the eyes."

With a smile Shadow bent and scooped the cat up in her arms, cradling it against her chest. She sighed in contentment as the soft fur brushed her cheek. The purring cat calmed her nerves and allowed her to forget what she was about to do, if at least for a few minutes. Suddenly she spoke, "I'm not coming back to you this time, am I, Adam?"

Mireya had always believed cats had uncanny abilities, especially to sense things. The Egyptians worshiped them as gods, and even had more than a few cat-deities such as Bast and Ailuros. To underscore this belief, Adam raised his clear blue eyes and meowed. It was the most mournful sound Shadow had ever heard.

XXX

Shadow kept all of her equipment in the closest inside the first hallway leading to her bedroom. Most of it was contained in three duffle bags, but some of it - - the more normal pieces - - was hung up in the back or leaned against the wall. Without a word she went to it and flung open the doors, peering at the black bags only a second before yanking out the one she needed and pulling it out onto the floor. Inside metal clanked against metal, giving away the jumbled weaponry that was enclosed.

She zipped it open and started digging through the contents. A few days before she had compiled a mental list of all the weapons she deemed necessary for this particular job. That list included two curved daggers, small but deadly; her case of poisons and tranquilizers; and a set of throwing knives. She checked the blades for sharpness and the case of poisons for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing was out of place.

She set them aside, not even bothering to worry about the feline; Adam knew better than to go poking his nose around her things. Sometimes he seemed more human than animal, but then again she knew a lot of people that seemed more animal than human so it didn't surprise her much. There wasn't a lot of gap between humans and the animal kingdom to start with and when one didn't try to act their species that gap decreased even more.

The second bag she pulled from her closet held her favorite "hunting" outfit. When she wasn't ridding the earth of scum husbands and business rivals she did more upscale jobs, the kind that involved the employ of a great deal of stealth and skill. You not only had to have the talents, but the right gear. Form and function came together in her ensemble. Her black pants were tight-fitting to avoid catching on something, and her curve-extenuating black halter top was designed the same way.

Around her waist she clasped a worn leather belt, on which hung a pack over her right hip. She placed the poisons in the case along with a few other items she thought might come in handy (bandages, etc.) and stuck her throwing knives in the elastic slots around the front.

Knowing she couldn't full well go traipsing around Manhattan in full-out assassin garb she pulled a loose pair of jeans on over her pants and slipped on a denim jacket over her top, zipping it up to just above where the glimmering knives lay still but deadly. She laced her boots, such a dark brown that they almost seemed black, then put her daggers in makeshift sheaths she had installed inside them.

Happy with this arrangement she went about completing the outfit. Most of the rest of it was just superstition or sentiment. Around her neck she clasped what she had begun to believe was her lucky charm, a pendant with the Chinese symbol for the Dragon. In Chinese astrology her sign was the Dragon, a wise and powerful creature of myth and legend. Despite the seeming supernaturalism in her gifts Shadow wasn't the type to believe in such things, but she had found her Zodiac personality to be frighteningly accurate.

Next, came the dog tags that had once belonged to her mother. She held them close to her heart a moment, closing her eyes as she remembered the older woman's struggle. Her death had been violent and unexpected. Mireya unfortunately had witnessed the murder, an assassination. As her mother lay dying she entrusted both those tags and the duty of vengeance upon her. One day she'd find the ones responsible, but like always, today wasn't going to be one of those days. She placed them securely around her neck, then turned to look about her apartment.

It had been a nice place to live, in fact it had been a sanctuary in the middle of a world full of turmoil. She still felt that heavy feeling welling up inside. Although she knew it was most likely paranoia she was sensing, she couldn't ignore the dark numbness spreading through her mind. Just in case she'd leave a note for Heather in her box downstairs. If something did happen to her, then Shadow knew that Adam would be taken care of. He didn't deserve to be a victim of her bloody lifestyle.

After checking everything once more she departed, the clicking of the closing door stating a finality the assassin didn't even want to consider.

XXX

Reporters everywhere. Shadow hated reporters. In her opinion they were even lower than lawyers, and most lawyers were merely pond scum. All they did was suck the life out of respectable persons, leeching off tragedy and sorrow. It made her sick. She was a murderer, she wasn't too high to deny it, but she didn't make those she targeted suffer. She was surrounded by dozens of them and other overexcited idiots looking to be part of this groundbreaking story. They reminded her of a pack of rabid dogs, scrambling and fighting for that one last scrumptious piece of meat on an already picked over bone. She wished she could wipe the ignorance off all their clamoring faces with one clean swipe across the throat; however, until she could figure out a plan to reach Big Shell she was stuck here among them.

She searched her brain for anything that might help her actually begin her assignment. She doubted she could just call a taxi and have them take her there. Their reaction to that request would be quite humorous though. As she leaned against an old truck it hit her, straight slapped her across the face. She raised an eyebrow at the suddenness of the thought, then surveyed the area. Reporters!

Heather's words floated back to her - - "…every major reporter is on the scene, well, as close to the scene as they can be"- - and the epiphany was complete. Without further ado she grabbed up the closest pay phone and began to dial.

An Hour Later…

Develin Gracin was a young helicopter pilot Shadow had heard about a few years earlier on a different mission. She had been hired by his mother to take out his tight-wad of a father. This allowed the youth to gain the family business. The Gracins ran a helicopter-for-rent shindig called "Sky's the Limit," allowing you to hire a pilot like any New Yorker could call up a Taxi service. Of course, Develin had no idea of what had happened, and didn't even know of Shadow's existence. Yet, her knowledge of him couldn't have been remembered at a better time.

As she waited for him to arrive she thought over her story again. She was Mary James, an entrepreneur and amateur reporter for some made up newspaper. His purpose would be to take her as close to the action as possible. Shadow figured by the time he found out she wasn't exactly Lois Lane it wouldn't matter anymore. She was willing to pay him quite a bit more than the usual customer for this trip, and dollar signs usually meant immediate silence, especially if that person wouldn't gain anything by telling what he knew. It wasn't like young Mr. Gracin would ever be seeing her again anyway.

Just when her patience began to thin she saw him striding toward her. "Miss James?" She'd described herself and even went so far as to pull her hair back in a bright yellow scarf to let him know who to come to. As he made his way over she yanked it from her head and stuffed it in her pocket.

"Yes. Mr. Gracin?"

"That would be me." He was a charming kind of man with dark hair and dark eyes. He was rugged in a pretty way, if that was possible. Perhaps he was the type they got to play soldiers in movies. They had the aura, even if they didn't have the guts, and were beautiful enough for good old Hollywood.

Shadow handed him the check she had made out. Her account was much like her phone line, traceable only to a false name in another country. She hadn't been afraid to write out a check for years. In this case it was going to come in handy. "Here you go, sir."

Develin nodded. He took it, gave it a quick once-over, then stuffed it in his coat pocket. "Ready to go?"

Shadow nodded.

"I still think you're nuts." Gracin shook his head, "but its your money. Just remember, any trouble and I'm turning around. I'm not getting shot down by those damned terrorists, and I sure as hell am not going to meet my end because the good guys think I'm one of them."

"Don't worry about it." Shadow said with a small smile, "we're not going to be in danger."

"I hope you're right."

She followed behind him. I'm always right…

XXX

Gracin began his questioning much earlier than Shadow had expected. She had considered the possibility of course, but hadn't figured in his enthusiasm. "So, you must really be an amateur." He commented, his voice coming over the huge headphones stuck on her ears.

Shadow turned her head slowly to look at him. "What do you mean?" She demanded.

"You said you were an amateur reporter, but from what I've seen you've come on this trip quite unprepared. No camera, not even a notepad." For an instant he swiveled his head, settling a knowing gaze on her. "You're not a reporter, are you?"

She smirked, her eyes closing for just a moment before answering him. "How perceptive of you." She said quietly, calmly. "You're right. I'm not exactly a reporter. I am, however, looking for the scoop of a lifetime."

"What are you really doing out here…Shadow Storm?"

Mireya's eyes widened and she gawked at him in confusion. "Wha-what did you say?"

"Yeah," Develin answered, returning his eyes to the course ahead of them. "I know all about you. You're not a reporter, and your name isn't Mary James."

"And what exactly do you think you know?"

"Codename Shadow. You're twenty-one, but you look around seventeen. There's talk about you being some kind of paranormal freak - - but only you know if that's true. However, that's not the important thing about you, oh no. Even with your girl-next-door looks everything about you screams your profession. Assassin." He paused, then added, "my mother told me shortly after my father's death. When she answered the phone earlier she recognized your voice, said it had to have something to do with your job. So, who is it? He must be on Big Shell."

"If I told you those things, I'd have to kill you." She laughed softly to herself, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Develin didn't seem to notice and laughed with her. Then he saw the manic gleam in her ocean eyes and his laughter stopped cold. "No more questions, Gracin. This can either end the good way or the bad way. The good way is when you take my second check and turn around and go on home - - with your mouth shut."

"The bad way?"

Her cold smile answered that question.

The next few minutes were silent as Shadow checked her gear again. As her nosing pilot neared the facility Shadow hurriedly braided her hair to keep it out of the way. When she finished she took a minute to look outside. The sun had fully risen now, but it was a dim light overcast by the shade from a sky full of clouds. Later they would disappear, but in these early morning hours they hung like fog over the city and its surrounding areas. It gave the place a surreal quality, like in a dream or a movie.

"We're here." Develin interrupted her thoughts. "I'm not going any further. You can reach it from here can't you?"

Shadow didn't answer. She pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her hip-pack and raised them to her eyes. There didn't seem to be that many guards outside at this hour. Perhaps they were inside being briefed, or just being lazy. She saw wandering Cyphers, probably patrolling in the place of humans. In a way they were more accurate, always vigilant and never tiring. Yet she wouldn't worry about them; she had her methods of being undetected.

She traveled the perimeter of the facility, looking for an easy way in. After a moment she found it. A-ha. She thought. The oil fence. She thought she'd have to bribe dummy into taking her right over the place. What happened to him was no concern of hers, getting in was. Now she figured it was just as well to go in without being noticed at all. "Here's fine." She said. "Thanks for the lift."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Develin grinned.

She reached out her hand and took his. The second their skin touched her suspicions were confirmed. Inside her mind she got a flash, just a snippet of conversation, but it was enough. Develin's voice, a telephone conversation. "I've got a story for you…yeah, its worth it…how'd you like to know about a real-life assassin working the streets of New York…yeah, I got proof…"

"Yes. Pleasure." Shadow hissed, slowly pulling a small metal cylinder from her pouch.

"What are you…"

"I told you not to cross me." Shadow told him slowly, then jammed the needle into his arm. He recoiled away from her, but it was already too late. The poison was already doing its work. He fell against the chair, his eyes rolling back into his skull as his own blood betrayed him. The helicopter dipped and jerked. "You should have just taken that check." The assassin commented, then took a fluid leap from the open doorway, leaving the rolling chopper to fend for itself.

She hated lying bastards…

XXX

About an hour and a half after sunrise the first sign that destiny was once more coming full circle appeared. A helicopter. Civilian. As Revolver Ocelot watched this new event play out on one of the surveillance monitors, he was reminded of a stunt that he had once seen in one of those cheap espionage thrillers. It hadn't been the most believable film ever, in fact it had been laughable at best, but their falsely held beliefs in the true dynamics of spy work had been very amusing. At the time he had considered that stunt foolhardy and unnecessary. He still did.

"I would have thought you'd have more class than that." He said, although the person on-screen could not hear him. "No matter."

"Ocelot!" The door behind him swung open to reveal Solidus Snake.

"Yes?" The older man inquired, his eyes flickering momentarily to the ex-president before returning to the monitor.

"There was a helicopter here, and it wasn't military." Solidus informed.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know." Ocelot repeated, finally turning around to face the other man. "I've got it under control."

"You are aware that someone came out of that helicopter."

"Of course."

"What are you doing about it?"

"Nothing at the moment."

"Well, then, what are you planning on doing about it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!"

Instead of having to repeat himself once more he regarded Solidus with a weary expression. "Don't worry about it, King. I'll take care of her."

"Her? You know this intruder?"

"Yes. Her." Ocelot was already tiring of these stimulating conversations. He turned back to the monitor. She was gone, but he had a good idea of where she would be. "And don't concern yourself; she's not here about what we're doing." He paused. "She's here for me."

"For you? What is she? An old girlfriend, one of those skeletons in your closet, perhaps ?"

Solidus was kidding, of course.

Ocelot wasn't. Quietly he answered solemnly, "something like that…"

That was 2. Not much, but oh well. It'll get better. Next time Shadow has a meeting with Raiden amongst other things. She might even run into Ocelot for the first time, but I'll just have to see how things go.

Next Chapter: Not Alone