Chapter Eight

Jack Andrews, unemployed, sat facing a blank television screen. For hardly the first time recently, he was bored stiff. Rose had gone out for that last item she always needed from the late store. He would've gone for her, just to pass the time, but she still remembered the occasion when it had taken him ten minutes to realise that vegetarian beans were in the heath food section. Ten minutes of our life together, she'd said.

For the twentieth time in succession Jack allowed his eyes to follow the twisting wire that led from the television screen, around the back of the sofa and into a mess of tangled stereo wiring that was too ancient to be anything more than an heirloom from Rose's dad. The television cable did not lead into the wall socket, but rather dangled precariously from yet another extension cord. He would've followed one of the other wires, had their paths not all been obstructed by the cardboard boxes that littered his apartment. As soon as tomorrow the moving van would be here and he'd have to make the labourers a cup of coffee out of whatever the hell he hadn't packed into a cardboard box and perhaps even socialise with them. Despite this disturbing thought, Jack could still not think of a better way to pass the time than laying prone on his fiancée's couch gazing at a black TV screen. He had enough to think about without actually moving.

In fact, he was having second thoughts. Not only about the move; that Rose had bullied him into to save money leading to only fifty second thoughts up until now. Arguing with her was useless: she seemed to know exactly what he'd say next, even when he argued that it was his apartment and there had been no point in her moving in if they were just going to "get a place of their own" a few weeks later. There was nothing he could do now to stop the move to Queens, forces had spiralled beyond his control the second she'd picked up the local paper and turned to the ads section. No, the real thing that was being disputed in his mind was the marriage.

Although they hadn't set a date, it still seemed to loom over him like a wedding ring of Damocles. It was true that he'd proposed to her, but he began to think more and more that he did it only because... actually, he didn't know why he did it. He mulled it over once again in his mind: her, walking gingerly towards him on a New York high street. Her, looking slightly disproportioned owing to the growth in her stomach; slight, but recognisable. Snake, withdrawing respectfully as a cold chill ran down the length of Jack's spine. It all lead up to him opening his stupid mouth and letting a proposal stream from between his stupid lips, condemning him instantly to the domestic hell that bore no excitement or foolhardy heroism and had little time or money for romantic gestures from either party. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned his true feelings for her.

Jack ran his fingers through his short, blonde hair that still smelled strongly of barbicide almost a week after he'd had it cut. Was it love that forced him into this, or guilt? It was true that Rosemary made him feel more alive, more purposeful than anyone else on this earth. Even the thought of saving the world that streaked through his mind often in VR training never brought about as much pride or purpose than the time he spent alone with Rose. However, he had felt insurmountable guilt when he saw her, pregnant and still bearing the bruises that marked their argument.

He concluded that he did love her, however much. However, even that was artificial. For the first time in a month he willingly allowed the events of the Big Shell to enter his consciousness, and thought about the revelations that came with it. He'd been controlled by an unseen force like a rat through a maze; everything from his actions to his emotions had been meticulously predicted by the Patriots. Philanthropy had unofficially offered him a job to prevent it happening again, which he'd turned down, saying that he wanted to devote to his wife and child and wanted no further part in covert missions. The smile that ran across Otacon's face suggested to him that he expected him to join eventually (perhaps Snake had said the same thing once), and it was the expectation that Jack resented, as it reminded him that someone out there could read him like an open book.

At that moment Jack realised that at the same time as he was disputing his love for Rose he was also trying to figure out his feelings for the Patriots. He'd never been a political follower and therefore had little to weigh the Patriotic regime against. Sure, he knew what the definition of democracy was, but what if that too had been invented by these twelve wise men? In that case, then the invisible dictatorship under which America lay was undisputable, and he could see no other alternative. No sanely-perceived persons had complained strongly against the "democratic" system the Patriots had set up, meaning that the way they ran the country must be working.

At the same time however, Jack could not bring himself to forgive them. He had always detested the thought of being "just another soldier," and had always refused mental images of his body lying in an unmarked grave in a military cemetery somewhere in Washington. He'd discredited the existence of God at a very young age, not because of the evidence against it but due to his burning desire to be in control of his own life (one George Sears had hypothesized at the time that this was an unwelcome side effect of temporary brainwashing, and was more careful with his procedures in the future). Jack wanted to make the choices and decisions, and had never stopped preparing himself for the responsibilities that came with them. Therefore, he saw the Patriots as a force that had robbed him of this free will but neglected to spare another thought for the millions still under their control. He hated them with a passion.

How, then, could he love Rose? He remembered what he'd learned: Rose was no more than an actress, given all sorts of surgery to become the girl of whatever his nanomachines deciphered as his dreams by none other than the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo. Admittedly, he believed her when she told him she had genuinely fallen for him. But how could he truthfully love her, heart and soul, knowing what she was?

The truth hit him like one of the many tanks that patrolled his dreams. He'd figured it out. The Patriots still controlled him, through Rose. Maybe she didn't know it, but as long as he lived with her and felt things for her and had sex with her they still controlled him. The bastards had probably even vacated Jack and Rose's new house for them so they could keep a better eye on him. One thing was for sure: he was now free of their control. He saw Rosemary as nothing more than his opposition manifested. In the briefest of seconds, everything Jack Andrews felt for his fiancée was lost in a swirling vortex of hate that he neither liked nor understood. He stood up to the mirror on the wall and stared between the frame that they'd chosen together as every moment the couple had shared was rendered meaningless. He saw the hair that she'd wanted him to cut and the silver stud in the lobe of his ear that she thought looked great on him. His vision was clouded with red fury for the briefest of seconds until he realised that he needed a plan of action.

In no time at all, she would be home. What could he do to be rid of the shell that encapsulated him? He must end their relationship. The engagement would come to an end that very night. But that wasn't enough for Jack. He needed to see her suffer for what she'd done to him. She'd taken away his very life with her false hair and deceptive implants and a pledge to those who would have him die alone on a battlefield. Even if she wasn't aware of the Patriots, in Jack's mind she represented everything about them and he would make her an example to them.

Jack realised what he must do. If his strings were to be cut down and if he were to become more than just a marionette that danced for a dark hand then Rose must no longer exist. Rose must die. And she must die by his hand.

The doorbell buzzed loudly. That would be her. It startled Jack that he must carry out this plan so soon after conceiving it. He grabbed the mirror by both sides of the golden frame and brought it smashing down into the apartment floor. The buzzing could be heard once more from the front door, clouding the smashing sound of the glass. His heartbeat raced as he reflected on how quickly he had realised the truth, a different situation to that he'd been in on the Big Shell. He snatched from the floor with almost mechanical movement a shard of reflective glass about a foot in length, slicing the side of his left hand open. He hardly noticed. Concealing it low behind his thigh, he walked swiftly to the front door of the apartment.

Rose gave up holding her shopping and placed it as gently as possible on the corridors floor so as not to break the bottle of Champagne she'd purchased for tomorrow night. It was the cheapest bottle in the shop, but would nevertheless suffice for their housewarming celebration. She'd probably get an earful from Jack for spending too much and smiled to herself when she pictured the disbelieving look on his face hours earlier when she told him she was going back to the store for "one more thing." She rang the doorbell again and heard its unpleasant buzz for the third time, imagining the hug that she'd receive when the door was finally opened. That would be well worth the wait, she concluded, as she looked down at the signature lump of her future child.

A few seconds and lock clicks later, and the door opened. A smiling face greeted her, that of her mother. Pleasantries exchanged briefly, an expected embrace, and she stepped inside. Jack could wait a bit longer.

Jack opened the door to his apartment slowly, and a bespectacled and distressed face greeted him. Jack was surprised, and almost dropped the glass shard. He winced as the serrated edge cut further into his hand.

"Otacon?" Jack was full of questions once more. This was totally unexpected. He unhooked the chain that held the door ajar and opened his apartment to the entire corridor.

"Jack," Otacon wheezed. There was a short silence as both men took each other in. Jack felt eyes moving over his hair. Otacon was different too, his hair was longer and matted and a straggly beard stroked across his chin. His shirt was open, exposing his bare chest. He wasn't wearing any shoes either. All in all, Jack wondered how Otacon had got across town without being arrested.

"Can I come in?" Otacon asked. He was almost bent over with exhaustion.

"Sure," Jack said eventually. He stepped out of Otacon's way, taking care to keep the glass out of site. He didn't need this: another conspiracy theory or stray Metal Gear. Jack hated the Patriots, but he was starting to hate Otacon. He wasn't a soldier any more.

Jack watched Otacon walk towards the sofa but, evidently remembering his manners, he refrained from sitting on it. Jack gestured to the couch with his right, and his visitor sat. There was more silence.

"You want a coffee?" Jack asked, as politely as he could manage. Otacon's eyes moved quickly from the broken mirror to Jack's eyes.

"Thanks, that'd be great."

Jack walked towards the kitchen, thinking where he'd left the Nescafe. Rose's Montreal stuff had been packed away last week. "Damn clumsy moving guys," he smiled as he passed the shattered pieces of glass.

"You're moving house?" Otacon stated the obvious. "They haven't taken much yet, have they?"

"Like I said," Jack replied, finding the coffee in the highest cupboard. "Clumsy." He set the shard of glass down on the kitchen surface. "How do you take it?" he asked.

"What? Oh... Black, no sugar."

Great, 'cos we haven't anything else, Jack thought. Hopefully he could get Otacon out of here as quickly as possible before Rose got back. Or he'd kill them both, but that would be more difficult.

"I'll come right out with it," Otacon brought himself to speak. Here it comes... "Snake's been kidnapped. There are Patriot snipers after me, too. But don't worry, I made sure I wasn't followed."

Great. Just what Jack needed. "What do you want me to do? I told you, I'm not a soldier any more." He took two mugs back into the living room and handed one to Otacon. As soon as he did so he wished he hadn't bothered.

"You're bleeding," Otacon said as he was handed the soaked mug.

"Yeah," Jack said quickly, recoiling slightly. "I..." Before he could finish, the doorbell buzzed again. Jack almost dropped his coffee, and stood motionless for a few seconds. "I'll get it," he said at last, and moved towards the door.

Otacon was becoming very afraid. There was blood on Jack's hands, Rose was nowhere to be seen, and there was a smashed mirror. Could the Patriots control run deeper than he'd thought? Snake was right: they should've removed his nanos. Through them, the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo could still control Jack. What if they wanted him to kill Rose? Although usually dormant, the nanomachines could potentially influence Raiden's actions within minutes of a code being typed in, and he'd believe what he was doing was right. Coming here had been like walking into the lion's den.

Jack reached the door and pulled it open as far as the chain would allow to reveal Rose's smiling face. He was annoyed to find himself without his improvised weapon. He smiled weirdly back, and opened the door fully. As usual, she was weighted down with shopping funded by Jack's own pocket.

"Hiya," she greeted him. "Sorry I'm so late, I stopped to see mom." He nodded in reply.

"We've got company," he told her as she stepped inside. "Rose, this is..." he stopped as he turned towards the sofa. Otacon had gone.

"...Otacon," he continued. He searched his mind to think where Otacon could have gone. He must have figured out Jack's intentions. "He must be using the bathroom," he told her.

"Yeah. Anyway, you won't believe some of the offers they have down there. I know, I know, we're trying to save money, but..." Rose's voice trailed off in Jack's mind as she lifted her bags into the kitchen as another voice entered it.

Kill her now.

Jack didn't know whether it was his own voice, or his conscious, or whatever, but it was almost irresistible. He found himself moving towards her, focused on her neck. He tried to stop; to think again of the reasons he loved her. He wanted the security of a second thought. But the voice would not allow it.

Kill her. It's what you want.

Jack found that it was what he wanted. Doubt no longer clouded his mind. He would be free of the control. He moved closer towards her, her back still turned to him. He could almost smell her long, hazel hair. He reached forward, preparing to share with her their last embrace. His left hand closed around the top of her head, his right arm went across her throat.

She screamed. He hesitated.

"Jack!"

Otacon had returned. He was holding a gun, a berretta, at point blank range to Jack's head. The voice shouted in his head, louder than ever. Kill them both, it told him. Rose was beginning to cry; Jack's blood was running down her forehead.

"Let her go, Jack." Otacon told him softly. He knew it was almost useless reasoning with Jack, but he had to try. "You don't want to do this."

Jack had thought that he did, but was beginning to doubt it. The voice started to shout in his mind. There was something familiar about it, but Jack couldn't place it. Nor could he resist it.

"Let her go." Otacon repeated himself, more assertively than before. He would kill Jack before he allowed him to succumb to the Patriot's influence, he told himself. He didn't believe it, and he was sure that Jack didn't either. He watched Jack's grip tighten on his lover's head and neck, his eyes still firmly fixed on the barrel of Otacon's weapon. He would have to shoot him to stop him. His finger clenched the trigger firmly, but no more. He couldn't bring himself to end Jack's life and Rose's love. Very slowly, he moved the focus of his gun down towards Jack's exposed shoulder, prayed that Snake wasn't wasting his time paying out for the shooting range, and fired.

Jack felt the cold metal bullet piece his skin and tear through his shoulder blade like tissue paper. He released his grip on Rose ever so slightly. She screamed, twisted in his grip and forced her knee into his groin. He cried, and with mechanical movement reached for the shard of glass that still lay on the draining board. Another bullet flew past him, smashing the kitchen tile. Jack swung his body round with fluid motion and launched the jagged shard through the air towards Otacon. He tried to duck, but it caught him and stuck fast beneath his outstretched right arm, shattering on impact. Small pieces of mirror flew outwards, slashing Otacon's face. Only his glasses prevented the shards from reaching his soft eyeballs. He dropped his gun and fell to the floor, gripping his arm in pain. Rose was screaming.

Jack watched her run to Otacon, and then look up at Jack with bewilderment showing behind her shining teardrops. He moved slowly out of the kitchen area and walked towards where Otacon lay. He picked the fallen gun from beside Rose, who was too frightened to do anything but watch. With an eerie grace, Jack lifted the gun to meet her head. Blood dripped from his hand onto her knee and his shirt was matted with the life fluid pouring from his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger, and a berretta's fire filled the room once more.

But it had not come from his gun. A bullet smashed into the berretta, causing it to fly from his hand. He turned to the open window, and saw an armed man step through it. He wore a black, featureless mask that was tied tight behind his untamed mullet by thick, partially concealed leather straps. Other than that, his build and stance reminded Raiden of Snake; except not even Snake was that muscular. There was a noise coming from his throat, like rusty nails being tossed around in a tin can.

"VII," Otacon spoke. Rose stared, more confused and upset than ever. Jack watched the mysterious figure step closer. The voice was now screaming in Jack's head as he found himself for the second time that night at the mercy of a gun. In a split instant, Jack dived to his left and cart wheeled over his injured shoulder. VII fired, and missed. Jack dived again with catlike agility and his hand closed over the first gun that had flown from his hand seconds ago. Finding himself behind the sofa, he cocked the gun and reached over his cover, aiming at where VII had stood just moments before.

He had gone. Cautiously, Jack stepped out from behind his improvised cover, scouting for his attacker.

Forget him, the voice screamed. Kill her.

But Jack knew his job too well. He traced over to the open window and looked slowly out. If he had gone that way, he'd be street pizza by now. The silky curtains moved passed his head, stroking his face. He began to rise, and turned.

Too late. An iron fist grabbed his gun arm tight and twisted it round, forcing him to drop the berretta. Jack found himself heading over his own head and felt the floor smash hard into his back and head. VII crouched over him, still in motion and holding Jack's arm. Jack kicked upwards, and his foot found the side of VII's masked head. VII released his arm and stepped backwards due to the force of the kick. Jack threw his other leg upwards before flinging them both outwards from his body. His shoulders lifted from the floor and his feet made base contact on the ground in a picture perfect nip up. He was baying for his assaulter's blood. He leaped from his crouched position towards the staggered posture of VII, consumed in a furious rage.

VII saw it coming. This would be a good death, he thought to himself. But he wasn't about to die at this early stage of his plan at the hands of this young rookie, no matter how possessed or talented he was. And he certainly wasn't about to allow his prime assets against the Wisemen fall. Not good enough, he thought again. He reached out, and caught Jack's arms in mid air. He turned the attack into a defensive judo counter, once again sending Jack over his own head and into the floor. After watching Jack expectedly sit up, he gripped his potential murderer by his lower neck in a well learned nerve grab before stepping back as Jack fell unconscious.

Only the far off sirens and cries of distant traffic disturbed the quiet that hung ghostlike in the surrounding air as VII stood triumphant over his vanquished adversary. Otacon finally broke the near silence.

"What now?" he winced. VII turned and looked at him.

"First, we bandage you up," he answered. "You've a piece of glass shoved into a major artery in your arm, but going to the hospital is out of the question. We'll have to make do with what we have here." VII turned to Rose, who was crumpled by Otacon in a state of silent shock. "Do you have a first aid kit here?" It took her a while to answer.

"I... it's been packed away. In that box." She gestured to a cardboard box in the corner of the living room."

"Good." VII walked quickly to it and ripped it open. After a few seconds of rummaging, he found a green, zipped up bag and brought it back to where Otacon lay. "Hold your arm up," he growled in his usual rattling tone. Otacon did what he was told. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was VII withdrawing what looked like steel wire strippers from the bag. After a few seconds, the numbing pain under his arm increased slightly. He heard Rose whimper.

When he finally opened his eyes, his right arm was bandaged tight with surgical tape and held in a sling across his chest. VII was standing over him, his ominous and expressionless mask setting the mood.

"Who are you?" Rose got up the courage to ask. Otacon turned towards her, rather startled, and held out his left hand.

"I'm Hal Emmerich, but my friends call me..."

"I'm VII," the masked man interrupted, "and this is Otacon, what's left of a fringe government organisation called Philanthropy dedicated to the obliteration of a walking battle tank called..."

"Metal Gear," Rose interjected. "I saw them on the news. Where's Solid Snake? Why did my boyfr... my fiancée just try to kill me?" She started to sob again.

"That's what I want to know," replied Otacon, struggling to rise. "And I think you've got the answers," he said, turning to VII. "Just what is it that you want?"

"Jack "Raiden" Andrews is under the influence of Patriot nanomachines that reside in his bloodstream," VII growled. "He knew what he was doing, but the nanos are too powerful. They can make someone believe what they are doing is right, even if it's killing a loved one. I have no doubt that even now Jack is fighting their commands."

"How do you know this?" Otacon demanded. He was more confused than ever.

"Because you're both still alive." VII's answer was cold. "I want what you want: the eradication of Metal Gear and the liquidisation of the Patriots. For this, I need several things. You, Raiden, and two others."

"Solid Snake," Otacon figured, and without fully knowing why, said: "And Liquid Snake."

"Exactly."

"Wait," Rose sobbed. Despite the unnerving sounds that scratched in VII's throat when he spoke, he was beginning to understand her husband to be more than ever by his words. However, she needed to be a part of this. "What's going to happen to Jack?" She tried to dry her eyes. Otacon had managed to rise fully, and stepped over to help her up. She ignored his hand, and used the coffee table to stand. His tramp-like appearance unnerved her slightly.

"At this very moment Raiden's nanomachines are attempting to awaken him," VII began to explain. When she looked at him, fear flashed irregularly across her reddened face. She found his presence both reassuring and disturbing. "When he does awaken," VII continued. "He will do so to find himself bound and gagged until I can find a way to eliminate his nanomachines. Then, I will need his cooperation on a mission I have planned against those who would see him and you dead."

"The Patriots," she replied. If there were one thing in her life she could change, it would be working for them.

"Yes. You both know too much for their liking. That is why they sicked you on each other tonight. Once Jack had killed you, they would have commanded him to commit suicide." Rose fought back tears once more.

"What's this mission you talked about?" Otacon asked of VII.

"As I said before, I need the help of Solid Snake on this mission," VII responded. "In order to do that, I need to rescue him."

"You know where he is!?" Otacon was shocked.

"I am surprised you don't," VII answered. "Just days ago your computer terminal traced a file back to his current whereabouts. I had assumed that you had found him."

"That military base, in the Nevada desert..."

"Yes. Area 51." VII knowledge astounded Otacon. It seemed as though he had tapped Otacon's computer and plenty more besides. This was one hell of an organisation they had now. But there was more he needed to find out by going to Area 51. He'd promised Mei Ling that he'd help her, and by God he'd find "CF" and beat what he knew out of him if he had to.

"Just how do you know where Snake is?" Otacon asked. "I thought that would have been one of the Patriot's biggest secrets."

"Because," VII hesitated, and sighed behind his mask. "I was held captive there myself." There was more silence, like the quiet sigh of three people taking everything in. "I must warn you, Area 51 is not what you'd think. It is a different place to different people."

"We need to know everything you know about it," Otacon said, looking at Rose.

"I'll explain on the way there."

"Wait," Rose said again. "Why do you need me?"

"Although Raiden has performed spectacularly in VR missions, rising to the level of Snake himself, his most notable accomplishment was the successful completion of his mission on the Big Shell." VII revealed. "During that mission, he was corresponding frequently with a computer program that he believed to be his partner, Rose." He allowed a moment for his words to sink in, before continuing: "I'll need maximum performance from him if this rescue operation is to succeed."

"You mentioned Liquid," Otacon spoke up. "How does he fit into all this?"

"Liquid Snake thinks he knows the whereabouts of the Patriots," VII began to speak. "In fact, he knows the location of this "Area 51" base, which was the location given to Revolver Ocelot. I predict he will strike soon, and he will provide the perfect distraction for us."

"What? You mean... he hasn't attacked already?"

"No. I believe this is because he and Ocelot have been battling for supremacy over their shared body. Although strong, Ocelot's will is no match for Liquid's sheer determination. Nevertheless, this resistance has prevented Liquid from acting thus far. When he does attack, it will be with a force even greater than ours."

"How come?" Otacon questioned. "We'll have you, Snake, Jack... he'll just have one RAY unit."

"It is my understanding that he intends to make contact with the superhuman entity known as Vamp," he continued. "Bearing in mind Vamp's grudge against the Patriots, I doubt he'll refuse."

Otacon clenched his fists with rage. He'd thought Vamp dead, slain by Raiden during the Big Shell mission. Now he had another reason to go to Area 51: revenge for his sister's death.

VII watched from behind his mask as Otacon's face turned with anger, and allowed himself a smile. There was no way now that Otacon would refuse. As he knew through experience, revenge is a great motivator. He heard the sound of Raiden stirring.

Rose strained her brain as best she could for something to say. Pregnant or not, she'd made up her mind to go on this mission: anything to keep Jack alive. She looked down at the broken frame across the room and the glass that blanketed their apartment. She was glad that her and Jack had decided against taking the carpets when they moved. Suddenly, she again became aware of the blood that had begun to dry on her face and mopped at her forehead with her hand.

"Now," VII spoke once more. "We need to get these nanos out of our operative."

"I'm calling Mei Ling in on this," Otacon sighed. "May I use your phone?" He inquired of Rose.

"It's tapped," VII said. "Use mine." He handed Otacon a small cell phone. Otacon headed towards the bathroom where he'd hidden before to use it. VII began to pull yards of surgical tape out of the first aid kit to restrain Jack. Rose stood, frozen, before opening her mouth to ask one more question.

"Anyone for coffee?"


Author's Note: ... And breathe out! The longest chapter yet by far, and it almost killed me. I hope you're happy people!

Once again I'd just like to thank everyone who's taken the time to review me so far. Your support is appreciated greatly, and I couldn't have got this far without you. As usual, give me your opinions on the direction of the story. I'd just like to take a moment to respond to a few of them...

Pablo:- Right on all accounts.

Ginger Ninja:- Thanks again! VII's past will come into perspective eventually. I have finished GCSE's now. I hope your A Levels go really well. Good luck!

ChristSaviour:- Hmm... Nah.

Akaisakura:-Thanks! I think I've passed English at least lol. With Liquid on his way in, who knows what kind of genetic experiments could develop. I know, it does seem a bit strange that Ling would be so interested in a 12 year old but bear with me and I'll unveil the shocking reason why...

Don't forget to check my biography for update information, exciting stories from my life, and my self-centred opinions on more or less everything.

If I don't update in the next few weeks, take care of yourselves and have a great summer holiday.