in the quiet loop.

by lieutenantbatshit

Summary:

After reading a news report framing Solid Snake and Dr. Hal Emmerich as terrorists behind the tanker incident, you uncover a hidden message embedded in a classified government briefing. Otacon reached out, asking for help locating Liquid Snake’s body. Despite the risks to your career and life, you agree to aid them, using your position within the U.S. government to devise a covert plan.

Chapter 1: prologue

The rustle of newsprint was the only sound in the room, save for the ticking clock mounted crookedly above the kitchen arch. You sat cross-legged on the couch, coffee cooling in your mug, untouched. You barely noticed the dull clink of your spoon in the ceramic mug, stirring for no reason at all. The ink smudged faintly onto your thumb where the headlines screamed in bold black:

TERROR ON THE HUDSON: Oil Tanker Destroyed in Alleged Attack by Solid Snake and Dr. Hal Emmerich

Your thumb hesitated on the paper's edge. The grainy stills from the surveillance photo showed a man with a bandana, recognizing him as the Solid Snake. 

The name settled into the silence like a stone in water. You shook your head. It couldn't be him - the man who people whispered about in black sites and briefing rooms. The same man who dismantled Metal Gear REX, who vanished after Shadow Moses like smoke from a spent round.

Not especially with Dr. Hal Emmerich in the newspaper now labelled as a terrorist. You blinked slowly, the name pulling memories from the back of your mind like a chain.

Hal was brilliant, awkward, and occasionally clumsy in conversation. You worked with him for three years in ArmsTech's mid-level R&D wing. You handled systems integration, and he handled the designs mostly for the AIs and targeting logic of next-gen weaponry. It didn't take long before he started confiding in you about the side project that everyone whispered about but never said aloud: Metal Gear REX.

He used to talk about Metal Gear like it was a marvel of engineering. He referred it as bipedal tanks with modular weapons, stealth cloaks, and railguns. It was the future of warfare without casualties. You argued that it sounded more like the future of selective mass murder. You saw past the blueprints and buzzwords. You felt the lie thrumming under every classified test. The truth was in the silences between project briefings, in the way department heads refused to meet your eye when you asked what REX was actually for.

You remembered how his eyes would light up when he talked about bipedal design theories and nuclear deterrents, voice rising as he nerded out over the stabilizing gyros. You'd laugh, poke fun at the "robot apocalypse", and throw in some half-joking line about military-industrial conspiracies.

"Careful," you said with a smirk. "Keep talking like that, Hal, and we'll end up on some shadow government's kill list."

It stopped being funny the day you read the confidential internal memo. The schematics were unmistakable. REX wasn't theoretical anymore. You confronted him the next day, inside the server room.

"You told me it was just deterrent theory," you hissed under your breath, data drive clutched in your palm.

"It was supposed to be..." Hal said, looking broken and guilty. "I didn't know they were building it behind closed doors. I swear."

Even then, something in you believed him. But you didn't stay long after that. When a quiet opportunity came from the NSA, you left ArmsTech behind. You never thought you'd see Hal again.

And now... there he was. His name splashed across the newspaper, labeled a terrorist with a legendary hero. The man who once cried when he found out his tech could kiss had blown up a goddamn oil tanker with Solid Snake.

You didn't need a briefing to know the truth. You didn't care what the networks were calling him now. You've read the real reports with the ones sealed behind clearance levels with more redactions than words. You'd read enough to know the government had spent years trying to bury his trail while borrowing his playbook. 

They will never be terrorists.

Something about this was wrong. If the government was calling Snake and Hal "terrorists", that meant the truth was buried somewhere under all the noise.

You swiped your badge at the glass door and heard the sharp click of the maglock disengaging. The security scanner blinked green. The noise of D.C. evaporated, swallowed by recycled air and reinforced walls. You were back in your hive, back in the web of secrets.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly as you stepped into your office. You sat in front of your terminal, back straight, and badge clipped just below your throat. A manila folder, stamped with a LEVEL 5 CLASSIFIED label, waited in your chair like a quiet threat. You sat slowly, opened it, and read. Then, you leaned back in your chair, heart ticking a little faster now.

It had their names, Snake and Hal. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore. The same intelligence community that once ghosted Snake out of every formal database now had him down as a full-blown domestic threat. Even Hal was listed as a strategic asset gone rogue. You flipped page after page of satellite captures, damage assessments, and false-positive witness reports. The narrative was neat, like someone had been writing it long before the tanker even hit water.

The fallout from the morning's headlines had reached your office in less than two hours. Internal alerts, escalations from Homeland Security, and digital surveillance tasking. Everyone was looking for ghosts now. Snake and Hal were not just listed as terrorists, but as strategic priority threats.

You were about to close the folder when a strange glint on the bottom of page 7 caught your eye. A single Unicode character that had the wrong size, wrong font, buried in the footer like a ghost in the code. You blinked, knowing it wasn't agency formatting. It didn't even match the briefing's encoding style.

You minimized the debriefing, opened a diagnostic console, and isolated the hex data embedded in the document. No mention of the glyph in the visible content layer, but there was something embedded in the metadata string. It was encrypted deliberately. Your fingers flew across the keys, decrypting the first layer, then the second.

Then, a text string in plaintext showed, lines stitched together like they were barely holding back panic.

I know you're reading this. We're alive, but not for long if this doesn't work.

I need a favor, and I know how much I'm asking.

We need to make the world believe that Snake is dead. 

We need Liquid's body.

There's no time to explain everything. The number below is encoded. 

Please, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't critical.

Below was a single line of code. At first glance, it seemed meaningless. Until your analyst brain began rearranging the sequence. Coordinates? No. The syntax was wrong. You filtered the numbers through an old cipher that Hal used to joke about. And alas, your decryption yielded a ten-digit number.

You stared at it. Your hand hovered over your desk phone, hesitating. This wasn't standard protocol. Hell, it wasn't even inside agency channels anymore. But your gut, the same instinct that had told you to walk away from REX years ago, was screaming again.

Hal was reaching out.

You reached into your drawer and pulled out your secure mobile. A black, scuffed thing you hadn't used in years. You inserted the backup SIM, entered the routing key, and dialed. The line clicked almost immediately.

"You got the code," Hal's voice came through. 

"Wasn't hard," you murmured. "Your ciphers still suck."

A faint, dry chuckle came from the other line. "Yeah, well... didn't have time to be clever."

You leaned against your seat. "Tell me what the hell's going on, Hal."

"The tanker was us. But it wasn't supposed to sink. RAY was real. It was there, and someone else blew it all to hell."

You exhaled sharply. "You were tracking RAY?"

"We got a tip. We thought it was transport data straight from the Pentagon."

"And Solid Snake?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"They're hunting him," Hal said. "We're flagged on every list from Interpol to NSA. He can't move. We're trying to stay ahead, but we need him dead on record."

You closed your eyes. "You're going to fake his death."

"We have a body," Hal said. "It's... what's left of Liquid. We can pass it off as Snake, if we get it into the right channels. If someone on the inside can help us push the narrative."

Your stomach turned. "You're asking me to forge a death certificate for the most wanted man on the planet using the body of his dead brother."

"I wouldn't ask if there was any other way."

You pressed your fingers to your forehead. The weight of the risk unfurled like smoke in your lungs. Your job, your clearance, and your life. All of it hung in the balance for a favor.

"You're asking me to pull strings that could snap around my neck," you said. "So tell me, Hal. What's in it for me?"

"I can't give you safety," he admitted. "But what I can give you is the truth."

That stopped you cold.

"The truth about RAY. About the Patriots. About Shadow Moses. About everything we were never supposed to survive. I know you've seen the gaps in the intel. I know you're not blind. You walked away from ArmsTech for a reason."

Your voice dropped. "You have no idea what I'm risking."

"I do," Hal said. "That's why I asked you."

You could feel the familiar ache of memories rising. His voice in the old lab, his wide-eyed trust, and the quiet companionship that had meant more than you admitted. There had been a time you would've done anything for him. You weren't sure that time had ever really ended.

You breathed in slowly. "Fine."

"...You'll help?"

"I'll see what I can move. Names. Timelines. I'll scrub the chatter and reroute the body to a secure morgue under an alias. We'll need dental records, DNA, and paperwork to match. You get me that, and I'll plant the rest."

There was a long pause on the other end. You imagined Hal in a safehouse somewhere, hunched over a satellite rig, probably surrounded by empty coffee cups and discarded hardware.

"Thank you," he said.

"Don't thank me yet," you muttered. "If this goes sideways, I go down for treason. They'll erase me faster than Snake ever got buried."

"I won't let that happen."

You almost smiled. "Still the idealist."

"No," Hal said quietly. "Still your friend."

The decision settled like steel in your chest. You ended the call and sat there for a long moment, staring at the wall, heart pounding like a silent countdown.

It had begun.

Notes:

I feel like this was kind of a long one for a prologue. 😂 I had so much fun outlining this story! I've always thought about writing a Metal Gear Solid fanfic but found it too complex before with all the long cutscenes and storyline.

Chapter 2: a perfect kinda risk.

By nightfall, the building emptied like a deflated lung. Most of your colleagues had packed up hours ago, still reeling from the tanker incident. Some called it eco-terrorism, and others muttered conspiracy under their breath while sipping stale breakroom coffee. You kept your head down, played the part. 

You scheduled a late-night systems check, issuing yourself a temporary clearance for Level 3 Bio-Storage access. No one questioned it. They trusted your badge, your clean record, and your skill in not drawing attention.

By 11:47 p.m., you were the only one left on the floor. The halls were silent. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, and the low hum of the government servers beneath your feet thrummed like a second heart. You keyed in the access code at the back corridor panel and heard the bolt unlock with a mechanical hiss. 

Inside the morgue database annex, the lights flickered to life. Everything you'd asked Hal for had arrived. Under a pseudonym and masked requisition code, the remains sat preserved in one of the temperature-controlled drawers. Dental records matched Snake's. 

The body was real, and it was Liquid.

The falsified path from international waters to an anonymous morgue to a fabricated military ID was now archived under a sealed digital trail. Your hands hovered above the digital terminal, logging the final entry under false credentials. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest, not just the betrayal of protocol, but the enormity of what you were about to do.

You took a breath and slipped the encrypted drive into your jacket. Then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was from Hal, coming from an encrypted line, telling you their precise location to meet with you. You stared at the screen, heart kicking once against your ribs. You keyed the terminal shut, flicked off the overhead light, and walked out of the annex like you'd just run a routine diagnostic.

By the time you reached the elevator, you weren't a government analyst anymore.

---

The parking lot was half-lit and half-forgotten.

You pulled into a far corner of the lot, windows down just enough to hear the thrum of cicadas and the distant whine of trucks on the interstate. The motel stood like it was held together by duct tape and half-hearted upkeep. Its peeling beige walls were soaked in years of smoke and secrets. A flickering vacancy sign buzzed overhead, casting shadows across the lot like broken code.

You approached with deliberate steps, eyes scanning out of habit. There were no watchers, no cars too clean, and no lights where there shouldn't be. You knocked once, then twice.

The door opened before the third knock landed.

Hal's hair was longer than you remembered. It was darker under the motel's jaundiced light. He looked tired, stretched thin, but he smiled the moment he saw you. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed, like you were both back in the ArmsTech lab, bickering over neural load distribution and who forgot to unplug the coffee pot again.

"You came," he said softly. 

"I said I would," you replied, stepping inside.

The door closed behind you. The air smelled like dust and copper. The room was small, with the bed unmade and curtains drawn. On the chipped desk sat a worn-out laptop surrounded by scattered printouts, flash drives, and a thermos that probably hadn't held anything drinkable for hours. The weak glow of the desk lamp barely reached the corners of the room.

In the far corner, sitting calmly in a chair by the window, was him.

Solid Snake.

He was wearing civilian clothes with jeans, a dark henley, and a gray coat too light for the cold creeping in. His hair was tied back, a few strands falling loose against his cheek. He wasn't wearing a bandana.

But even without the uniform, he was unmistakable.

He looked up at you with eyes that had seen more war than peace. You swallowed the reflex to say it aloud - the legendary hero - and instead nodded, professional.

"I'm the one who's been burning their reputation to clean your mess," you said simply.

Something in his eyes flickered. "I figured you'd be taller," he said.

That earned a small scoff from you. "I figured you'd be less alive."

His mouth twitched, barely a smile, but you caught it.

You looked at Hal. "We don't have long. I've stalled the logs and rerouted the camera feeds. You've got twelve minutes inside the clean zone. Once I lift the block, that area goes dark. That's your window."

Hal nodded. "That's enough. We've got what we need."

You stepped forward, dropping a sealed envelope on the desk. Inside had falsified IDs, access override chips, and the tagged morgue location under a fabricated asset trace.

"I can't scrub the building entirely," you continued, eyes locked on Snake now. "If something goes south, you're on your own. I won't be able to pull you out."

Snake didn't flinch. "Wouldn't expect you to."

That voice was like gravel dragged over dry steel. It settled into your bones like secondhand smoke. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until he stood. He crossed the room slowly, every step deliberate, as if measuring you.

He stopped in front of you, only a foot of space between you. Up close, he looked even more dangerous without armor. Like danger was something he was, not something he wore. His gaze was steady, unblinking, quietly curious.

"You know the risks," he said. "And you're still helping us."

You met his eyes. "Don't mistake it for loyalty."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured. "But... it matters."

"Once you get what you need," you said, stepping back slightly. "Disappear. The name, the legend. Bury it all deep. It's the only way this works."

"Burying things is what I'm good at."

You turned to Hal. "I'll trigger the window at 3. You'll have eyes off, access open. After that, go dark."

You gave him a look that was more feeling than words. He gave a nod. You didn't say how tired he looked, or how this felt like the last time you might see either of them. The both of them packed, ready to go out as you opened the door, the cool night air hitting your skin like a slap.

"Twelve minutes," you reminded them, not looking back.

---

The security checkpoint recognized your badge with a dull chime. You held the door open with one hand, the other loosely gripping a clipboard, just enough theater to keep your nerves from showing. The two men behind you followed in silence, dressed in contractor coveralls, enough to be forgettable.

Hal walked hunched, head slightly bowed, eyes flicking across the dim hallway like he was counting shadows. Snake walked like he owned the floor. You led them through the back entrance, the night-shift guards had already rotated out, thanks to a schedule manipulation you filed two days ago. Then, you reached the first biometric scanner, pressing your thumb to the pad and leaning in as the eye scanner traced your pupils.

A beep came, granting you access. You slid the clipboard to Snake without looking at him. "You're my tech. He's your assistant. Don't talk unless someone talks first."

Snake took it from you, brushing your fingers in the exchange. "Copy that," he murmured.

The three of you stepped into the morgue corridor, lights above flickering with tired fluorescence. The camera dome above the sealed vault door clicked as it moved, then stopped. A quick override you executed on your phone cut the feed. A manual timestamp scrambling would follow. You'd already written the lines of code.

Hal pulled his hood slightly over his face, carrying the field kit he brought in under the guise of software diagnostics. Inside was the biometric falsification gear, tools, ID tags, and a flash drive containing Liquid's death certificate, assigned to the one man the world was about to mourn.

"Drawer forty-six," you said, punching in the code. "It's been rerouted to us under the alias I uploaded this morning. You've got eight minutes."

Hal moved fast, sliding on nitrile gloves, cracking open the casing, confirming the body, and running his preliminary match. Snake, meanwhile, stayed silent. He lingered near you, standing with arms crossed, eyes scanning not the body but you. Not in suspicion, but in study. Like he was trying to read something he didn't speak fluently anymore.

"Didn't peg you for the cloak-and-dagger type," he said finally.

You glanced at him. "You're lucky I was."

You tilted your head toward the camera.

"I wiped the logs coming in. I'll wipe them again when you're out. Your window closes in seven minutes. So if you're going to disappear, do it clean."

"We're set. DNA swap uploaded. Tag ID reads 'David'. Tooth fragment embedded."

You nodded. "Wrap it."

He sealed the drawer, with the body now registered as Solid Snake. On paper, in government records, in the black sites where truth was always the first casualty, it was now Solid Snake.

You nodded, already opening the access panel beneath the drawer. You pressed the hidden latch and pulled open a secondary compartment in the wall. A metal door slid open. Beyond it was a narrow hallway with exposed pipes and rust-stained tiles. It smelled like bleach and metal. The old service tunnel that once connected the morgue to a secondary incinerator drop.

"Take the tunnel," you ordered. "It will lead you out to the waste exit on the far lot."

Snake was already moving, rolling out the body bag with precision, his gloved hands efficient and quiet. Together, he and Hal lifted the body into the bag. The zipper slid closed with finality. You watched as the legend of Solid Snake disappeared into cheap vinyl and silence.

Hal adjusted the straps, glancing at you. "We'll wait for you at the exit."

You nodded. "I just need to finish scrubbing the logs. I left a live feed running on one of the trace servers. Need to kill it before ops sweep the system."

Snake paused in the doorway, one hand on the body bag, the other bracing against the frame. He looked back, and you met his eyes. He didn't say anything at first, but the weight in his gaze held you still. Like he saw the calculus happening behind your eyes. The burn of adrenaline, the betrayal of everything you swore to uphold, and the ache of standing in a place you'd never return to the same.

"Don't take too long."

It wasn't a warning. It wasn't even a concern.

You nodded once. "I won't."

Hal gave you one last look and turned away. Snake followed, guiding the bag down the tunnel, disappearing into the dark with quiet footfalls. The door sealed behind them. You were alone again, standing in a cold morgue filled with ghosts, about to erase one more life from the record.

You turned back to the terminal as the final data wipe waited. The final keystroke echoed louder than it should've. All evidence that they had ever stepped foot in this facility were gone.

You logged out, removed the glove from your left hand, and pressed your palm flat against the biometric override. The lights in the morgue flickered once as you moved fast, exiting through the same maintenance wing you entered from. Your steps were light, but not hurried. 

By the time you pushed open the side door and stepped into the cool, dead air of early morning, the sky was still hours from light. The lot was still empty, as if there were no signs of what you'd just done. You disappeared into your car like smoke, turned the ignition, and drove.

---

The door creaked open before you could knock. Hal stood there with his glasses askew and his hair a mess. He looked like he hadn't stopped shaking since the morgue. He stepped aside quickly to let you in.

The room was the same. The body bag was done, probably stashed in whatever transport rig they'd arranged off-site. What remained were scattered files and a half-open laptop blinking with a command console still mid-upload.

Hal ran a hand through his hair. "I don't even know what to say."

You gave a tired shrug, closing the door behind you. "Start with a thank you."

"I mean it," he said. "This... what you just did. I don't know how we would repay you for it."

"You don't," you said simply, dropping your bag onto the chair. "That wasn't the deal."

"It wasn't even a deal," he muttered. "You just... helped."

You looked over at him. "I know what it's like to believe in something and not be able to walk away from it."

Before he could answer, a gravel voice cut in from behind.

"You just helped us rob a government facility."

Snake stood by the curtained window now, arms crossed, jacket unzipped. He watched you with the same calm he wore in the morgue, like none of this rattled him. Like your entire life wasn't now papered with treason.

Snake tilted his head. "On record, that makes you a terrorist," he stepped closer, but not too close. "You sure you know what you've signed up for?"

"I'm not stupid."

"Didn't say you were."

You met his eyes. "I did this because I wanted to," you said quietly. "You don't have to treat me like a civilian who stumbled into the deep end. I know exactly what I did."

The silence that followed was short, but charged. Hal, sensing the shift in tone, quietly excused himself. He mumbled something about finishing the transfer and disappearing into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him.

You turned your back to Snake slightly, staring at your reflection in the black mirror of the motel TV. "I'm happy to help."

He exhaled slowly behind you. "You shouldn't be."

You glanced over your shoulder. "Maybe not, but I am."

After what seemed like hours, you decided to go home. Hal went back to his laptop, typing something. You grabbed your bag, slinging the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The adrenaline had long burned off, but your nerves hadn't settled.

Your car sat beneath the same crooked lamp from earlier, paint kissed by the dew. The world was still quiet. You turned the corner of the walkway, expecting to walk alone.

But Snake was already there.

He leaned against the motel's brick wall like he'd been waiting the whole time. One foot crossed over the other, arms folded, and the edge of his jacket catching the wind.

"Just making sure the woman who wiped a federal server for me doesn't get shot in a parking lot."

You chuckled. "How thoughtful."

Snake pushed off the wall and walked beside you, quiet steps in the dark, boots soft on cracked concrete. He didn't say much, but you felt the weight of his presence. When you reached your car, you stopped just short of opening the door, and he did too.

Under the dull yellow glow, his eyes caught yours again. "You sure you're gonna be okay?" He asked.

You tilted your head slightly. "Is that concern?"

"Paranoia," he corrected, dry. "But I'll let you call it what you want."

You looked at him for a long second. There was something about being here, under this flickering light, at this hour with him, that felt suspended.

"You'll vanish after this, don't you?" you asked.

Snake thinned his lips and nodded once. "People like me don't get long goodbyes."

Your throat tightened slightly, but you covered it with a breath. "Then I guess this is goodnight."

"Thanks."

The way he said it wasn't casual. It was something pressed between teeth, like a word that carried more weight than it was built for. 

You gave him a faint, tired smile. "Stay dead, Snake."

He smirked just a little. Then, he turned and walked back toward the motel, disappearing into the shadows just like he'd come. You got into your car, locked the door, and didn't exhale until the engine turned.

Chapter 3: behind you.

The coffee in your hand was lukewarm. You hadn't slept. Your eyes felt like sandpaper, and as you stepped into the department bullpen, a dozen heads turned subtly.

The walls were painted that special brand of beige reserved for institutions that didn’t want you to feel comfortable or color. A panel of three officers sat across the table, which had your supervisor, the department's systems chief, and someone from internal security whose badge you didn't recognize. Your supervisor leaned forward, tone all polished concern.

“We’re not accusing you of anything,” she said smoothly, “but your login credentials were the last ones used before a string of data packets were erased from the morgue archive. The logs were incomplete.”

You didn’t blink. “I scheduled a diagnostic systems check,” you said evenly. “Protocol after any flagged national threat. The tanker incident triggered a cascade in our load balance records. I cleaned them up.”

“Did you pull any offsite backups?”

“Negative,” you replied. “Didn’t need to. The corrupted threads didn’t reach long-term storage. I rerouted them to an internal loop and recompiled.”

The systems chief squinted. “You didn’t file a follow-up report.”

You tilted your head. “I was going to. Then I walked in this morning and found out I’d been flagged instead.”

The room went quiet for a breath. Then the security officer spoke. “Do you have anything to add regarding the blank spots in the camera feed timestamped during your session?”

You narrowed your eyes. “The cameras glitched?”

“The cameras never glitch.”

You met his gaze evenly. “Then maybe someone should look into that. If they were offline while I was in the building… who else might’ve walked through?”

You walked out of the room, your expression bored, but your nerves were enough to tell you that you almost got caught. You went back to your office, sat down, and closed your eyes for two seconds. You inhaled slowly.

From now on, you were going to be watched. Restricted observation meant limited access. You wouldn't know who was listening or how close they were. Any wrong move now, and it would all come undone. 

The routine audit never ended. For weeks, your office felt like an aquarium with mirrored screen filters, random spot-checks, and surprise escort to the bathroom. You answered every question, produced every log... and still, the noose kept tightening. You felt it today when a junior analyst stopped at your desk, cheeks pink with adrenaline.

"Hey, uh... your cleanup script from the night of the tanker incident had line-four-seven calls a deprecated subroutine. Nobody uses that anymore." His smile was apologetic, but his eyes screamed as if he caught you.

You kept yours calm. "Legacy tool. It still works."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but policy says we document any variance. I already flagged it to SecOps." He walked off, oblivious to the slow explosion he'd just lit.

Your pulse kicked. SecOps meant a deep dive, packet-level forensics. They'd tear through the phantom directory you'd built, and the ghost in it would vanish. It could even lead straight to Snake and Hal.

You grabbed your encrypted burner from your bag, stepped into the copy room, and dialed the satellite bounce. 

Hal answered, voice hushed and hurried. "You okay?"

"Not for long. Audit team found a hair I missed."

Behind him, you heard that husky tone you'd learned to read like weather.

"They're not trying to arrest you," Snake said. "They're tracking you to get to us."

You closed your eyes, throat tight. "How fast can you move?"

"If you can burn your ID trail inside six hours, we can disappear before they triangulate the bounce points."

You ground your teeth. "Understood."

"You sure you're ready to stop being a civilian for good?" Snake asked.

Your chest hollowed at the question. You stared at the photocopier's glowing interface, felt the chill of air conditioning prickle your arms. Everything you knew about your job, your safety, and the life you curated like a closed file was about to go up in smoke.

"Wait for it."

You frowned, dragging yourself away from your thoughts. "What?"

The line crackled as if the audio shifted. In the hallway outside the copy room, the wall-mounted TV was broadcasting the national news. You unlocked the door and stepped out, phone still pressed to your ear.

"The body, now confirmed by multiple federal sources, has been identified as that of Solid Snake - the alleged eco-terrorist linked to the recent oil tanker explosion off the coast of Manhattan. His death brings an end to what many consider one of the most controversial legacies in modern military history."

The photos flashed. It was blurred, but still official-looking, and you knew what you were looking at.

It was Liquid branded as Solid Snake. The lie had gone public. On your phone, Hal's voice returned to the call.

"Now you're clear. At least, officially. Your file just got buried under a dead man's shadow."

The news kept rolling, showing archive footage of Snake from his FOXHOUND days. You stood there, watching it.

"Welcome to the other side," Snake said over the line.

The call ended. You stood alone in the corridor, the copy room door swinging gently behind you.

---

You clocked out like it was any other Thursday. Your badge beeped over the scanner with a dry chirp. You stepped through the glass turnstile, nodded at the tired night-shift guard, and felt the automatic doors part for you like they always did.

The air outside hit sharply. It was cooler than you expected. The kind of evening that promised rain but never delivered. A dull wind pressed against your blazer. You tugged your bag higher on your shoulder and headed for the curb. You weren't thinking about the four dark SUVs idling on the side street.

Not until the first one surged forward and blocked the driveway exit.

"Federal agent! Hands where I can see them!"

The words cut through the air like a firecracker. You froze mid-step, blinked, and slowly turned your head. 

They were everywhere. 

Police officers emerged from cars, badge lanyards swinging in the wind. Tactical teams followed with black fatigues, visors down, and weapons low but visible. Even the ones not pointing their rifles at you wore that tight-lipped, clenched-jaw tension of people convinced they were doing the right thing.

One of them stepped forward, a man with sharp eyes and a clipboard, flanked by two agents in navy windbreakers. 

"Y/N," he said crisply. "You are under arrest for violation of the Espionage Act, unauthorized access to classified materials, and conspiracy to commit treason against the United States government."

You stood still. Your heart was slamming against your ribs, but you didn't move. 

"You are required by law to comply. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney-"

You raised your hands slowly, keeping your voice steady. "There's been a mistake."

"Don't," he cut in. "Don't play innocent. We know about the override. We've got half a dozen analysts combing your session history, and the loop you left behind isn't as clever as you thought."

You didn't reply. A second agent moved, taking your arm like you were already gone. You felt your bag slide off your shoulder as someone else grabbed it. Another read your ID off the clipped badge still hanging from your lanyard. They pulled your wrists behind your bag, feeling the cold steel bit deliberately.

They were going to drag you through every closed-door hearing they could schedule, press you in front of a committee, and squeeze everything you knew about Snake and Hal, and paint you as a willing accomplice in a terrorist cover-up. The cuffs cut cold against your wrists as they guided you toward the waiting van. With one hand on your arm, the other hovering over their sidearm, the agent's grip was firm but unhurried. You weren't resisting. You were, in their eyes, already folded. A trophy waiting to be filed.

Then, a sound rippled through the air. It was high-pitched and deafening. An alarm, but not from the agency building. It was from across the street in a nearby office tower, like a fire system breach with sirens wailing. The noise sliced through the air, shrill and unexpected. Every head turned instinctively.

Then, gunfire came close. Two shots, then three. Another agent fell back, his leg hit. Shouts echoed over comms. The entire escort perimeter collapsed into noise, ducking, drawing weapons, and scrambling for cover.

You didn't wait.

You twisted your shoulder forward, ducking under the agent's grip, and sprinted low behind the parked van. Your breath punched out of your chest with every step, heart pounding, and your hands still cuffed.

"Hey! SHE'S RUNNING-!"

But their lines were broken. The radio burst into static and shouting. They were scrambling for a threat they couldn't see, and you were no longer their priority target. You kept moving from one alley over, then two. Tires screeched behind you. In your peripheral vision, through the chaos of panicked agents and jerking weapons, you caught a figure in one of the helicopters.

He wore a civilian jacket and faded jeans. A sniper rifle slung across his shoulder, already raised to his cheek. Beneath the shadow of his cap, his expression was calm, focused, and lethal.

Solid Snake.

You didn't need more than a second. He didn't wane, but he looked right at you and nodded.

Another shot cracked. A second agent went down mid-sprint. You tore across the lot, ducking behind vehicles, every step carried by instinct and adrenaline. Behind you, more shots rang out, clearing a path one body at a time. Then, you heard the thundering beat of a helicopter's blades.

You turned a corner and saw it descending hard, with black frame cutting through the dusk like a blade. Dust whipped in spirals as the headlights from the street tried to pierce through the chaos but couldn't reach you. The side door slid open mid-hover.

"Go!" Hal's voice, over the headset, panicked but steady, crackled from inside.

You pushed harder, feeling your lungs burn, wrists still cuffed behind your back, but you didn't slow. you reached the landing gear, jumped, and felt arms grab you, yanking you up into the cabin. Inside, Snake pulled the door shut just as rounds started cracking off the asphalt below. 

The chopper lurched skyward hard, fast, and gone. You collapsed onto the floor, gasping, vision swimming. The cuffs still rattled behind you, digging into your skin. Snake knelt beside you, calm as ever.

"Hold still," he slipped a thin pick from his belt, worked it into the cuffs, and popped them open. 

You flexed your hands, your wrists screaming from tension, but you were free. The world outside was a blur of clouds and low dusk light, but inside the chopper, everything had gone still. The adrenaline was tapering off. You sat slumped against the cabin wall, blood-slicked fingers pressed tight to your upper arm.

Only now did you feel the stinging burn, the heat, and the ache that pulsed with your heartbeat. You peeled your palm back. Your fingers came away red.

"Shit."

Snake crossed the small space between you, wordlessly opening one of the side compartments. He rifled through a minimal med kit with field dressings, coagulant gel, a pressure bandage, tape, and the kind of painkiller you had to earn in battle. Hal said something over the intercom, but it was just noise now. Snake knelt beside you, one knee down, and one hand reaching toward you.

"...You good with me doing this?" He asked, voice low.

You gave a breathy half-laugh. "You just pulled me out of a black-site arrest. I think we're past the consent part."

He huffed, barely a smile, then gently tugged the fabric of your sleeve upward. You winced as the round grazed through the outer bicep. It wasn't deep, but enough to tear flesh and leave a bloody welt that pulsed hot with every heartbeat. Snake didn't say anything and just set the med kit open beside you, tore a small packet between his teeth, and soaked a gauze pad in saline.

"This is gonna hurt," he murmured, voice quieter now.

He dabbed at the wound with steady, gloved hands. It stung like hell. You bit down on a sharp breath but didn't flinch. His head was bent over your arm, brows drawn together in concentration, his jaw tight. The last of the orange sunlight caught in the edges of his hair, casting gold along the lines of his face.

He wrapped the bandage with quick, clean precision. Military efficient, but not rushed. The kind of care someone takes when they're ot sure how to say they're worried. His fingers pressed the edge of the wrap into place, then your eyes met his. His hands lingered at the edge of the wrap, just a little longer than needed.

The chopper shuddered slightly as it hit a patch of turbulence, but neither of you moved.

"Thanks," you swallowed.

He pulled his hands away slowly, sat back, and let the silence breathe. You could hear the low hum of Hal adjusting course again. It would be another safehouse, another edge-of-the-map place where the law couldn't follow.

But Snake was still looking at you. You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn't feel like a tool or an asset.

---

You followed Snake and Hal down a weedy path into a crumbling single-story structure, like it used to be a summer lakehouse. Now, it was just an empty drywall, covered windows, and dust-thick air. It was a military cot, a couch with a torn seam, and a generator humming outside.

The door slammed shut behind you, and the adrenaline was finally gone. Hal kicked a chair aside, dragging his bag across the floor.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most of the places we land in aren't much. It's usually just one step ahead of the next manhunt."

You leaned against the wooden paneling. "I've stayed in worse."

He gave you a sheepish smile. "You sure about that?"

You shrugged. "I worked for the government. Trust me, at least this place doesn't smell like bleach and denial."

Hal laughed, kind of relieved. Snake, on the other hand, was already unpacking his gear. You watched him for a second, noting how his shoulders never really relaxed. He hadn't spoken since you landed.

The place smelled like old wood and dead air. The couch dipped like it would collapse under better people long ago. All of it didn't matter as long as you were still breathing. The three of you scattered through the house in silence, each dealing with the aftermath in your own quiet way.

Hal unpacked tools and powered the backup generator. You washed your face in the yellowed sink and checked your bandage. Snake disappeared somewhere, probably smoking a cigarette. It was only later, when the house had quieted and Hal had retreated into a corner with his laptop and headphones, that you noticed the back door was cracked open. 

Snake sat on the porch steps, one boot resting on the lower rung, arms draped loosely across his knees. You were correct when a cigarette burned between his fingers, its orange glow the only warm light in the dusk. He didn't turn as you approached. You stepped out and let the screen door clatter shut behind you. It was the only sound for a long moment aside from the chirp of crickets and the low hum of a nearby power line.

"You always disappear after a mission?" You asked gently.

He didn't look at you, keeping his gaze ahead. "Sometimes."

You eased down beside him on the top step, careful of your arm. The air was cool now, sharp and dry. The cigarette smoke curled lazily upward, carried by a breeze that didn't quite reach the trees.

"You okay?" You asked.

He let the smoke linger in his lungs before answering. "I'm alive."

You watched the faint trail of it twist into the dark. "That's not what I asked."

Snake's jaw shifted. His eyes stayed forward, scanning the treeline like he expected movement. "I don't do okay," he said, finally. "I do alive or dead. That's it."

Your throat tightened. He didn't say it bitterly, didn't even say it like it was tragic. You studied his profile. There was a faint cut on his brow, and the stubble that shadowed his jaw. There was something in the way he sat, his shoulders hunched and eyes distant, that told you he didn't know how to be still, even now.

"You came back for me," you said. "I was cuffed. They could've thrown me into a hole and told the world I had a heart attack. But you came back."

He flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette. "You don't have to stay."

Your chest tensed. "I'm not going anywhere."

He took a drag from the cigarette. "That wasn't a suggestion."

You turned your head, watching him. "So this is your version of small talk?"

Snake huffed, but it wasn't a laugh. More like a tired exhale of someone used to burning bridges before anyone could cross them. "You helped us rob a federal facility. You're probably already flagged as missing or dead. You can't go back."

You didn't flinch. "I know."

"No, you don't," his voice was sharper now. "You think this is just another black op. Another secret mission. But this? What we’re doing… this isn’t sanctioned. This isn’t noble. There’s no country backing us. No medals. No extraction team if things go south.”

You felt the tension coil in your stomach, but you didn't back down. "Then what is it?"

He didn’t answer right away. He flicked the cigarette over the railing and watched it fall, ember spinning. "It's running and hiding. Staring down a weapons system no one want to admit exists. It’s burning your name off every network you ever touched and hoping no one you care about gets caught in the crossfire."

You swallowed, throat tight. He still didn't look at you.

“It’s nights like this with shitty motels, no sleep, your ribs sore from the body armor you wore for eighteen hours. It’s watching your back every second. Watching your friends fall off the map one by one.”

You let it all sink in. The stars were out now, barely. Just flecks between clouds. Finally, he glanced at you.

"This life eats people alive," he said, softer now. "And you're not built for it."

You narrowed your eyes. "You think I'm weak?"

"No," his voice was flat and final. "I think you still believe there's a way back."

You didn't answer because he was right. Somewhere, some part of you had hoped this was temporary. That if you pulled enough strings or buried the right evidence, you could clean your record. Crawl back to the world you came from. But hearing it now, from him, it was like a switch being thrown.

You looked out toward the trees, letting the quiet settle again.

"You forgot one part," you murmured.

"What?"

“That sometimes, it’s not about surviving it. It’s about deciding who you’re willing to stand with.”

You looked at him now. You weren't seeing Snake as the soldier and the legendary hero. Now, he's just a man who sat beside you. You wanted to reach out, say or do something. But he turned away before you could, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. 

"I should check the perimeter," he muttered as he stood. He paused at the top step and let out a breath.

Then, without looking back, he spoke again.

"You should get some sleep while you still can."

Chapter 4: got this.

2 years later...

It didn't happen all at once. 

Your old life didn't vanish in a single headline or gunshot. It unraveled slowly, like thread pulled from the seams. A name erased here, and a database wiped there. A camera feed that suddenly cut to static the moment it should've caught your face.

Now, two years in, you barely remember the version of you who used to wake up in a climate-controlled apartment, whose name was printed on agency lanyards, who had a favorite cafe three blocks from the office. That person had soft hands. You thought Metal Gear was a distant threat, not a hydra you'd have to hunt across continents with only two men and a satellite modern to your name.

Now, comfort was relative. The bed was a lopsided cot in a converted storage room of a safehouse that used to be a laundromat. The springs dug into your back every time you shifted, and the ceiling leaked when it rained. Sometimes you fell asleep to the low hum of Hal's laptop and the soft metallic click of Snake cleaning his rifle in the dark.

The three-course meals became vacuum-sealed MREs and energy bars with expiration dates you didn't want to read. You started rationing your caffeine, learned how to hotwire a backup generator, and memorized at least six aliases with matching passports. Authentic ramen turned into instant noodles eaten cold on a plastic crate in front of a flickering monitor.

You stopped flinching at gunfire. They relocated you under several fake names. You were the handler now, who's in charge of shuffling the three of you across maps like fugitives with a purpose. No location lasted more than a few weeks. The moment Snake even sensed surveillance, you'd pack the laptops, wipe the drives, and disappear before sunrise. You worked best when you were mobile.

Sometimes, you and Hal worked side by side on twin laptops in dimly lit rooms, trading whispers and flagged IP trails, pulling satellite pings and intercepted chatter about Metal Gear variants. Sleepless nights blurred into each other, illuminated only by the hum of blue light and the weight of what you were chasing. You learned to track warlords in code, to see nuclear whispers in gaps in chatter, and to read the shape of a lie before it reached the news.

Snake was always there, just not always near. He slept closest to the exits, kept his duffel packed, and smoked in silence outside every safehouse door like the sky might answer him. He rarely said more than needed, and rarely let his guard down long enough to be anything but mission-ready. There was something unspoken between you, always had been. 

You felt it in the glances held too long, the moments you brushed past each other in tight quarters, and the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you wouldn't notice.

But nothing ever crossed that line. So instead, you let it live in the silence.

You repressed what curled inside your chest whenever he comes back from a smoke, swallowing the ache when he smoked alone instead of saying goodnight.

The nights were the hardest. You shared the room with Snake most nights. There were too many safehouses with only one lock that worked. Too many rented rooms where two exits were safer than one. Too many nights where you both knew sleep would be shallow, and better spent in reach of each other's voice.

The beds were never much. Sometimes, a mattress on the floor or two sleeping bags unrolled side by side. You never faced each other when you laid down, but you always knew he was there, feeling the soft shift of weight when he turned. The occasional heavy exhale from the mission before.

He never snored, but sometimes, he spoke. Not to you, though. You'd stir from a half-dream to hear his voice. Sometimes it was Meryl's name, Liquid, and even Gray Fox. You didn't speak when he did it. You never shook him, never reached out. He'd mutter, then go quiet. Sometimes his hand would twitch near the trigger of a gun that wasn't there, or he'd inhale like he was bracing for impact.

And you... you would just watch the ceiling. You wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone, but Snake didn't do comfort. He never asked for help, and you didn't push where you weren't invited. So you listened, night after night. Then in the morning, you would never bring it up.

---

You sat hunched over a dimly lit laptop in a room that used to be a pantry, the walls lined with peeling floral wallpaper and empty power sockets. Hal sat to your right, half-asleep with his glasses slightly crooked, scrolling through encrypted traffic with a coffee cup long gone cold. The only sound was the whir of outdated fans and the occasional rustle of paper as you cross-referenced old project codenames with fragmented chatter.

You should've been asleep, but you knew better by now. You leaned closer to the screen, fingers flying as a chain of keywords finally pinged. Something in a buried offshore security feed.

Codename: Arsenal

Location: Big Shell Offshore Facility

Activity: High-frequency deployment

Your pulse quickened. Buried in the metadata was a manifest that was half-redacted and half-corrupted, but the words that remained were enough to tie the noose around your breath. Something along Metal Gear RAY under active reconstruction, the Sons of Liberty, and a global strike mobility through an environmental front.

You sat up straight, the weight of it hitting you instantly. You turned to Hal.

"Hal," you said, voice low but sharp enough to slice through his fog of fatigue.

He blinked, startled out of whatever half-nap he'd fallen into. "Huh-yeah? What is it?"

You angled your laptop toward him, eyes locked. "Wake Snake."

He looked at the screen, then looked at you. Then he pushed back his chair and stood without a word. You turned back to the feed, watching a low-resolution satellite image of the Big Shell flicker under outdated encryption. A cluster of hexagonal platforms, floating like a mechanical bloom in the water that was clean on the surface, but rotten underneath. 

The hairs on your arms stood up. The floorboards groaned behind you, knowing Snake was awake now. He stood in the doorway watching you and Hal from under his tousled hair, eyes sharp despite the hour. He hadn't even pulled on his vest yet. Just jeans and a dark shirt, one hand rubbing the edge of a burn scar on his wrist like it was a habit.

"You said there was something," he said, voice low.

You nodded and turned the laptop slightly toward him. 

Hal stepped forward. "It's worse than we thought."

Snake's eyes scanned the display, the footage, and the schematic. The overhead view of Big Shell was innocuous on the surface. It seemed like an environmental clean-up facility and was government-sanctioned.

Snake squinted. "Metal Gear RAY?"

"Under reconstruction," you confirmed. "At least two units. Possibly more. Based on modular parts recovered from the wreckage of the tanker."

Snake leaned in, jaw tightening. You didn't miss how his gaze hovered just slightly longer on the words, "Sons of Liberty". Hal clicked through a few layers of data, bringing up a schematic that looked almost marketable. It had sleek renderings, clean labels, and sanitized engineering.

"They're dressing it up like a mobile deterrent platform," he muttered bitterly. "Same PR angle as Shadow Moses with clean energy, minimal footprint, and public transparency."

Snake gave a dry, humorless huff. "Funny. I don't remember clean energy carrying warheads."

Hal's fingers flew across the keys, decrypting deeper. "It's the same story, just with a new face. Whoever's behind the Sons of Liberty such as remnants of GRU, rogue elements, and maybe even mercenaries, they've got backing. Real funding and infrastructure."

Snake folded his arms. "Who's pulling the strings?"

"We don't know yet," you said. "But whoever they are, they're not amateurs."

Hal's screen blinked, where another manifest was decrypted. "Wait..." he whispered, eyes narrowing. "This... this is a SEAL training rotation."

Snake glanced over as Hal tapped the file.

"Navy SEALs. Task Force 23. Scheduled for a joint readiness deployment near the New York Bay, three clicks from the Big Shell. Date matches the last uptick in encrypted comms from the site," he turned to Snake, more energized now. "We have a window. If we can intercept the SEALs before they deploy, or slip in parallel with them, we could bypass perimeter defenses. Pose as a reinforcement. It's a stretch, but-"

"-but it's a hell of a better plan than trying to swim in from Jersey," Snake muttered.

You watched the two of them, an old rhythm kicking back into place. Hal's eyes darted, his brain already a mile down the infiltration scenario. 

"Emma's there."

That made Snake pause, and your brows pulled together. "Emma...?"

Hal nodded slowly. "Emma Emmerich. She's my sister. Last I heard, she was transferred under Shell 1's infrastructure contract as a civilian systems architect. Environmental AI, structural backend... but if this is Metal Gear, they're not keeping her around for climate control."

Snake looked at him. "You think she's alive?"

Hal hesitated. "I don't know, but I'm not leaving her behind. Not this time."

The silence that followed was thick. He didn't say it, but you knew it haunted him. It started with Shadow Moses, and everyone they lost. The guilt in his voice wasn't theoretical. It was a scar. 

Snake stepped back from the screen. His shoulders rolled once, slow, like a man already accepting the weight of what was coming. 

"We go in."

Your heart knocked once against your ribs. "You're sure?" you asked.

He nodded. "Find the leak. Destroy the weapon. And if we can..." he looked at Hal. "Get your sister out."

And just like that, the three of you were in it. Chasing another ghost, another Metal Gear, and another war that wasn't supposed to exist.

Hal worked like a man possessed, stringing together comms equipment, satellite routers, and surveillance taps into a rusted-out van parked behind a derelict construction site a few miles from the coast. He moved with purpose, but tension pulled at every line in his face. The cover was simple and forgettable, to act as a hazardous material cleanup crew on standby inside the facility. It was enough to buy Snake a window.

You would handle overwatch, and Hal would manage the mission routing and comms traffic. You stood in the narrow back compartment of the van, knees nearly touching his as you went over the checklist one last time.

Snake was already half-suited as he stood near the rear doors, framed by the gray pre-dawn light bleeding in through a cracked seam in the metal. The woven polymer of his sneaking suit caught the dim glow like steel that was tight across his frame, reinforced at the joints, and panel-lined with matter plating that flexed with his movement.

He was quiet as always, buckling his belt in place and securing the suppressor to his side holster with a clipped, practiced motion. Each movement was efficient, stripped of hesitation. You held the checklist in your hand and skimmed it for the third time, then glanced up at him.

"ID badge... secure," you said, checking the lanyard and flipping the card to scan the barcode. "Suppressor fits tight. Frequency-locked earpiece already tested. Codec encryption's been refreshed."

You stepped closer, eyes flicking over the equipment more than the man. Still, you couldn't help but trace the curve of his jaw as he adjusted his glove strap, tightening the velcro with a single tug.

"Backup mag?" You asked.

"Right booth."

Your gaze paused at his throat, where the suit's collar sat slightly uneven. Without thinking, you reached out and straightened it, just a subtle adjustment, barely a touch. But it earned you a glance from under his brow.

"You always this thorough?" He asked, not moving.

"Only with people I'd rather not see shot in the head," you muttered, eyes dropping back to the checklist.

He exhaled through his nose, something between a scoff and a breath he didn't want to call a laugh. You handed him the forged ID badge. He took it without a word, clipped it onto his chest strap, and gave the tether a firm tug to test the anchor.

"You're good," you finally said, voice a little quieter now. "No holes in your setup. You're solid."

There was a long beat where he didn't move, and you looked up as he stared out the window of the van. Then he turned to his pack, grabbed his bandana, and tied it into place with the familiar, silent efficiency of a man who had done it a thousand times before. It fluttered slightly as he stepped toward the van doors.

You followed, pausing just before he pulled the latch. "We'll be in the van, watching your six. If anything goes off-script-"

"I know what to do."

He didn't say goodbye, didn't even linger. But as the door creaked, he stopped just once, hand on the frame.

"Thanks... for making sure I walk in whole."

Then he stepped out into the cold, gray light of morning as he disappeared into the mist like a man who'd never been there at all. You didn't follow. You just stood in the silence he left behind, the hum of Hal's laptop still pulsing behind you, faint and clinical. 

You pressed a hand to the metal wall beside the door, cool to touch that made you ground in the present. Then, you looked out into the fog as Snake vanished into the distance into another false name, another war, and another way not of his making.

You wondered how many times a person can save the world... before they forget who they're saving it for.

---

The van rattled hard as it rolled off the flatbed carrier and onto the steel platform inside Strut I's maintenance dock. You and Hal barely exchanged a glance as the guard outside waved the delivery crew through, uninterested in paperwork that looked pre-approved and time-stamped from a "Department of Environmental Restoration".The forged credentials had passed inspection without a hitch.

Inside the van, the air was tight with heat and electromagnetic feedback. The mounted satellite dish on the roof had been configured mid-transit, disguised as a weather array. The interior, though cramped and battered from the road, now pulsed with a low hum with the transceivers synced, routers live, and black screens blooming into surveillance feeds one by one.

You wiped your palms on your pant leg and slid into the passenger seat turned mobile workstation. Hal sat beside you, already wired in, his glasses reflecting green code that scrolled faster than your eyes could track.

"Strut I's internal power is fluctuating," he muttered. "It should buy us a few minutes before any trace scans reach our node."

You tapped into the backdoor entry point you burned hours prepping. "I'm in. Visuals syncing now."

The camera feeds from Shell 1 and 2 came online with fragmented angles, grainy surveillance from catwalks, corridors, and decontamination bays. Your screen flickered once, then locked.

"Snake, you're on grid," you whispered into the comm. "Visual confirmed. Shell 1 perimeter is compromised but stable. No alerts."

"Copy," Snake's voice came, low and clipped. "Moving into SEAL formation. Alpha Squad."

You watched through a ceiling-mounted camera as Snake slipped into formation among SEAL Team 10's Alpha Squad, helmet snug, visor down, and movements measured. Hal filtered comms data through a spectral filter beside you.

"They bought it," he said under his breath. "The real Alpha lead was marked MIA an hour ago. Snake's filling the gap."

"Perfect window," you murmured.

Then your feed twitched. Someone new entered the frame, not in the squad, and definitely not in the manifest. You leaned forward.

"Who the hell...?"

A second figure who was slimmer, younger, and clad in an unfamiliar dive gear, slipped just behind Snake as the squad moved through the decontamination lock. He held his weapon wrong and moved like someone still thinking through his training.

Hal blinked. "That's not one of Alpha."

You confirmed with a quick side scan. He had no designation and no matching ID.

Hal flagged the unknown operative's trace. "New agent?"

"Unannounced. Maybe uninvited," you watched the feed again. "He's running solo. Probably thinks he's not. Keep eyes on him, but we stay focused on Snake."

And just like that, two ghosts haunted the Big Shell. Yet only one of them knew it wasn't just another mission.

The overhead feed shifted slightly as Snake peeled from the squad, breaking formation during a sharp turn. The rest of SEAL Team 10 continued down the south corridor, clearing the room in a textbook sweep pattern. Snake didn't follow as he moved with precision, but nothing suspicious enough to draw attention. His uniform stayed crisp, his helmet low. You watched from the comms van as he took a sharp detour near a utility bay, slipping past a flickering sensor gate.

"He's clear," Otacon confirmed. "No alerts."

Snake paused once, hand brushing the wall near a rusted access point. A vent nearby hissed steam into the air, distorting the camera feed just slightly.

"Beginning solo recon," Snake said through the codec. "SEALs are moving into initial sweep. I'm diverting to secondary intel zones."

"Copy that," you responded. "We've got your signal locked."

Hal spoke up next. "You've got five unmarked rooms east of your position. Access codes haven't changed in the last twenty-four hours. If the schematics are real, one of them's acting as a server bugger for encrypted traffic."

"That's where I'm headed."

Snake's shadow twisted across the wall as he advanced deeper into the corridor. The lighting down here was dimmer, like the facility had never finished being built. Exposed cables ran through the open ceiling. Dripping pipes echoed like distant footsteps. The Big Shell had the look of a high-tech shell, but underneath, it was rotting.

He disappeared off the hallway feed and onto a stairwell camera that barely lit his silhouette. You tightened your grip on the headset.

"You're clear to proceed," you said. "No surveillance on the lower struts. We'll reroute the signal spikes."

"Understood," Snake replied. "Going dark for a few minutes. Don't get lonely without me."

The line clicked quiet. You stared at the screen, his feed dropping to standby as the signal icon pulsed softly. 

Hal leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "And now we wait."

You didn't speak. Because even while Snake moved ahead, deeper into the unknown, you already knew the real mission hadn't started yet.

Chapter 5: who dares, wins?

The overhead camera feed from Shell 1 flickered once, then stabilized. You leaned in, squinting at the grainy image rendered in grayscale. You furrowed your brows, seeing bodies everywhere. The four SEALs that were members of the same Alpha team Snake had slipped into, now sprawled across the floor in unnatural, crumpled heaps. Their throats were torn open, eyes wide. 

"Jesus..." Hal's voice dropped. He was already running image recognition. You saw the algorithm lock onto a blurred figure moving through the steam and motionless bodies. Then the ID flashed, confirming the subject to be Vamp, a Dead Cell operative.

"Confirmed vampire cosplay?" You muttered grimly, fingers flying across the keys.

Hal didn't laugh. "This isn't a joke. His file said he was killed two years ago."

You stared at the screen as the feed rotated, tracking movement into the far wing of the Strut B server room. Vamp moved like liquid steel, inhumanly fast, his blade glinting under cold light, the smear of someone else's blood still wet on his chin. His form was lithe, almost elegant, every movement a whisper of violence. 

And up ahead, alone, was the man you saw earlier who walked into the Big Shell like he didn't know what he had just walked through.

Snake's signal spiked. You switched to a different feed just as he burst through the maintenance access on the server room's side. The camera caught the confrontation in brutal, flickering detail. Raiden backed away, his breath panicked, pistol out but shaking. Vamp closed in, savoring it. He was about to strike, but then, Snake intervened.

"Get down!"

Snake, now with an M4 rifle, cautiously enters the room. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows as he moved like a shadow. But Vamp was too fast, ducking under the round and slashing Snake across the arm.

"Snake-!" you breathed, watching helplessly.

He crawled across the floor, nursing his arm, but Vamp lifted him up by the neck with one hand. He shoved him against the wall easily, as if studying him with detached curiosity. You saw the other man grab Snake's rifle, aiming at Vamp, but he hadn't fired yet. Snake's boots scraped metal, arms pinned, one bloodied and trembling. Vamp leaned in, smiling, knife pressing to Snake's throat.

"You smell like-!" Vamp exclaimed as he tilted his head. He jerked away from Snake, who was now crumpled to the floor. 

Snake rolled across the floor, grunting. Then he turned his face to the other man. "Shoot him! What are you waiting for?"

The man with a skullsuit fired Snake's rifle at Vamp, who now pirouetted again. He hissed as he left, flickering out of reach with unnatural speed, disappearing into the steam like smoke into the cracks. The silence returned, but only broken by Snake's harsh breathing and the sting of blood dripping down his forearm.

The camera zoomed in on Raiden approaching Snake slowly, the rifle aimed at him. Snake held out a hand, enough to stop him.

"Hold on," Snake said, voice gravel-low and steady. "I'm not an enemy. Calm down."

The room stank of copper and smoke, with blood mist hanging in the recycled air like a chemical haze. Pools of SEAL blood seeped between cables on the grated floor. The hum of nearby terminals was the only thing still alive in that room, apart from the two men staring at each other down.

From the van, you leaned forward toward the screen, jaw tight. Hal said nothing beside you, only typing quietly to keep the comms stable. The man with a skullsuit didn't flinch, but you could see the hesitation forming in his eyes. Snake didn't step forward, simply reaching toward a compartment on his harness and retrieved a compact pressure bandage. Blood dripped off his fingertips as he unrolled it with practiced ease.

"My name is S..." Snake hesitated, but not enough for the other man to notice. "Pliskin. Iroquois Pliskin. Lieutenant Junior Grade."

You blinked as you heard the alias drop. Pliskin. Snake pulled up his balaclava with one hand, revealing his face. The man continued to stare him down, asking further questions. 

You sat back in the van chair, exhaling. Hal began re-establishing a secure voice channel on Snake's codec.

"He pulled it off," Hal said under his breath. "Barely."

"Barely's still a win," you said, though your heart was still hammering in your chest. You watched as Snake and the man stood across from each other, like an old legend wrapped in a lie, and a rookie still looking for the truth. 

The man finally lowered the rifle reluctantly. His stance shifted from aggressive to alert, and Snake, ever the soldier, watching his every move. Then the man tilted his head slightly, his eyes unfocusing for a brief moment, as if listening to something only he could hear. His lips almost imperceptibly, mouthing back a quiet response, but there was no earpiece, not even an external comm link. 

"The kid's got nanomachines," Snake muttered over the codec.

You and Hal locked eyes. You reached for the nearest diagnostic trace, typing fast, pulling the man's heat signature and profile from Snake's cam overlay.

"Shit," you murmured. "He does."

Hal was already back in the system logs. "He's not on any publicized SEAL manifest. Not under DOD, not JSOC. He just... showed up."

The moment passed, and the man moved with his weapon held tight again, still unaware of how deeply Snake was dissecting him. But then, something shifted on your monitor, seeing Snake's vitals spike. 

"Wait," you said aloud, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Hal, he's-"

On the feed, Snake slowed. His weight staggered slightly to one side, his boot scraping hard against the floor's grated surface. He leaned against the same staircase. Hal tapped into the vitals more deeply, running a localized scan off the biometric tag still synced through Snake's stealth suit. 

"BP's dropping. Pulse is inconsistent," Hal frowned, squinting at a telemetry readout. "He's compensating through adrenaline, but it won't last."

Snake straightened again, visibly brushing the man off when the younger operative glanced his way. You saw the subtle tensing of Snake's jaw. You didn't need Hal to tell you the signs on how the weight shifted wrong on his right foot, the tightness in his jaw, and the slight tremor in the fingers of his injured hand. 

You reached for your secure channel and tapped directly into his codec frequency. "You're limping," you said. "Talk to me."

"I've had worse," Snake muttered on the other end.

"That wasn't an answer."

He didn't respond immediately. The video feed showed him shifting his stance, as if to prove a point. He leaned against the wall, but then a moment later, he tried to straighten again and faltered. He hissed, just under his breath.

"Snake, sit down," you ordered, firmer now. "That's not a suggestion."

He obeyed this time, reluctantly, lowering himself against the stairs again. He exhaled slowly, hiding the pain in the sound. He slid to the floor, careful not to jolt his injured arm. You could almost see the resistance in every inch of his body.

"Do you ever not work yourself to death?"

"You sound like Otacon."

You smirked to yourself, tension easing just a hair. "He's less attractive when he says it."

The words were out before you could stop them. There was a beat of silence, then slowly, Hal turned his head to look at you. He raised his eyebrows, lips twitching at the edges. He didn't say anything, but the look was loud enough. Your face burned as the weight of your words registered.

"You think I'm attractive?" Snake's voice came through again. This time it was dry, but teasing in a way you rarely ever heard from him.

You opened your mouth, but didn't speak. The heat in your chest climbed up your throat. 

"Is that why you're watching me that closely?" He added, his voice dipping lower, the faintest smirk behind the static. 

You swallowed as you replied. "Someone has to."

The codec clicked softly, cutting off the line. But you were certain that just before it went dead, you heard the faintest chuckle from him. You looked at the camera feed, seeing something even rarer from Solid Snake. 

A smile.

Hal leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, giving you a knowing look now. He didn't need to say a word.

"Shut up," you muttered under your breath.

---

The equipment hummed softly under the low whir of cooling fans. The surveillance feed flickered with muted video, cameras now tracking routine movement across the Big Shell. Snake had gone dark for a moment with no gunfire, no comms chatter, and no biometric spikes.

You leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes close for a second. The adrenaline was finally waning, replaced by the heaviness of exhaustion and the slow ache in your chest. Hal's fingers stopped clacking on his keyboard.

"You okay?" He asked gently, as if he wasn't sure whether to break the silence.

You opened your eyes and gave him a half-smile. "Define okay."

He offered a small laugh and swiveled in his chair to face you fully. His expression, usually lit up by a dozen screens, was different now. Less of a technician, and more of a friend.

"You've held it together better than most people would. Especially being thrown into... well, this."

You nodded slowly, staring at the screens. "I think I stopped feeling normal the second I agreed to help you steal a corpse."

That got a snort out of him. But then, his face settled again, more thoughtful. "It's not just the mission though, is it?" 

You didn't answer right away.

Hal looked down at his hands, then laced them together over his lap. "I'm not gonna pretend I understand everything going on in Snake's head," he said quietly. "But I've known him long enough to see the patterns. He's always been good at keeping people at arm's length."

You glanced at him, sensing there was more behind that. 

"There was someone before. Back in Shadow Moses. She was... important to him. They fought side by side. She saw him, and I think that scared the hell out of him."

"He didn't let her stay, did he?" You asked softly.

Hal shook his head. "He never let himself believe he could. Snake... he's got this idea that his life doesn't allow room for things like that."

You exhaled, resting your hand on the edge of the console. "And yet he flirts like it's second nature."

That made Hal smile, more amused now. "Oh, yeah. That part's real. He flirts when he's cornered. It's like a reflex."

"So, all the lines..."

"Distraction. Defense mechanism. Makes him feel like he's in control. But Snake?" He tilted his head. "He doesn’t let people in. Not really. I’ve never seen him open up. Not once.”

You didn't say anything, but your silence was louder than anything. Hal's voice dropped, almost conspiratorial now.

"Except maybe... just maybe, a little... with you."

The silence in the surveillance van lingered for a few more seconds after Hal's words, both of you letting them sink in. You stared at the screen where Snake’s dot blinked idly on the facility’s schematic that was static, steady, deep in the belly of the Big Shell. You thought about the way his voice had dipped earlier. That chuckle and that damn smirk you could practically hear.

"He's heading for Strut C," you murmured, already switching camera feeds and routing satellite audio overlays. "That's where the bomb disposal expert was reportedly stationed, right?"

Hal nodded, fingers gliding over his keyboard. "Peter Stillman. Former instructor at Indian Head. A consultant for the NYPD bomb squad."

You focused on the camera feed just as Snake pushed through a side corridor, his gait steadier now with tension controlled, blood loss mitigated, but not forgotten. The door to the dining hall slid open, revealing two figures already inside. It was the same man with the skullsuit again, standing alert, and pistol at ease. Across from him, an older man in a bomb vest leaned heavily on a high-tech cane, his posture precise even with the limp.

Peter Stillman.

Snake gave a faint nod, his voice neutral but steady as he held out his hand. "My name is Pliskin. Lieutenant Junior Grade. Honored to meet you, sir."

Hal leaned closer to your terminal, reading over Stillman's biometric data and pulled up the blueprint overlay. "This guy's legit," he murmured. "He taught half the EOD techs on the East Coast. If anyone can keep Snake from blowing up, it’s him.”

Stillman turned, limping over to a hard case and unlocking it. Inside were two handheld sensor units and a pair of metallic coolant sprays. There, you heard that the man in a skullsuit's name was Raiden.

“These’ll help you find and freeze the bombs temporarily,” he said, handing them off one to Raiden, one to Snake. “They’ll stall the detonation sequence, but not disable it. Think of it like throwing ice on a ticking clock.”

You watched on your feed as Snake tested the spray, a fine mist hissing into the air. 

“These are the real deal,” you said to Hal, adjusting the signal strength for audio clarity. “They're officially in the thick of it now.”

You exhaled, your gaze locked on the screen as Snake holstered the coolant spray and clipped the sensor to his belt.

“Let’s just make sure he doesn’t go it alone.”

Peter Stillman's instructions wrapped up with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd spent decades teaching rookies how not to get themselves blown to pieces. The dining hall had become a makeshift classroom filled with talk of C4 triggers, load-bearing structures, and Fatman's twisted signature as a bomb artisan. Raiden absorbed everything with furrowed brows and wide eyes. Snake, by contrast, accepted the coolant spray and sensor with a brief nod, already adjusting them with practiced fingers.

Snake shifted his gear back into place, gave a casual two-finger salute, and turned to leave. But before the door slid shut behind him, he threw a glance over his shoulder.

"Who dares, wins," he said with that faint gravel-drenched grin. "Semper fi."

Then he was gone, his boots echoing down the corridor. In the surveillance van, you and Hal stared at the screen in matching, momentary disbelief. Then both of you cracked up, the laughter coming as much from stress relief as genuine amusement.

"He just used SAS and Marine mottos like they were interchangeable," Hal chuckled, shaking his head. "Snake, seriously."

"I've played enough Call of Duty to know that's not how it works," you muttered through a grin, still watching his dot move on the map.

You smirked as you scrolled through Snake's GPS feed. You clicked the comms channel again, leaning closer to the mic. 

"Next time, try getting your military cliches straight. It's 'the only easy day was yesterday'."

There was silence, enough for you and Hal to share one last chuckle. Then Snake's voice filtered through the codec, quiet and low, just amused enough to make you imagine the corner of his mouth twitching. 

"Yeah? Doesn't make today any easier."

You paused, your smile lingering for longer than you intended. Even in a death trap wired by a madman, Snake still had time to be an accidental comedian. You sat back in your seat, exhaling slowly. The light from your monitors danced across your face in quiet pulses. Snake's dot on the map moved again, a steady line toward the next target.

In the quiet hum of the van, the laughter faded, replaced by the quiet rhythm of typing and soft radio static. Hal leaned forward, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Okay, Snake. First bomb's been logged in Strut D, first floor, utility corridor. I'm sending you a route that will let you bypass most of the security doors."

You watched the schematics shift in real time, a thread of red overlay mapping a path like blood through a maze.

“Copy that,” Snake replied, voice even.

Hal continued, eyes flicking from sensor data to live feed. “Second signature's coming from Strut E—behind the filtration tanks. You'll need to crawl under some ductwork to reach it. Watch for coolant line leaks.”

You adjusted the signal booster beside you, stabilizing the audio on Snake’s end as he moved. The van jostled slightly beneath you, which was still docked, still hidden within the armored chassis of the support carrier now welded into Big Shell’s Strut I. The disguise held, at least for now. You were just the cleanup crew on standby.

Then another codec channel opened, crisp and weighted with age and fatigue.

"Pliskin, this is Peter."

You and Hal both leaned in. He gave you a slight nod, a permission to listen in.

“Go ahead,” Snake said.

“There’s something bothering me. I’ve been checking our sensor patterns. Most of the C4’s lining supports in Shell 1—but nothing’s come up in Shell 2.”

“You think it’s a blind spot?” Snake asked.

Stillman hesitated. You could almost hear the grimace in his voice.

“Fatman’s smarter than this. If he wanted to create a total collapse, he wouldn’t have stopped at one Shell. But our sensors, even the coolant mapping, they’re coming up blank in Shell 2.”

“So you want me to check it out,” Snake concluded.

“Exactly. Take it as a precaution. If there’s something there, it’s not something our current gear can detect. And if there’s nothing…” Stillman trailed off for a moment. “Then maybe I’ll sleep a little easier tonight.”

Snake’s voice remained flat, but determined. “Understood. I’ll head that way after the sweep.”

Hal exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fatman might be hiding something worse than we thought.”

You looked back at Snake’s blinking icon, still moving and unwavering, deeper into the metal belly of the Shell.

“Guess he’s going to find out the hard way.”

The signal from Snake's transponder dipped lower into the facility, far below where the standard schematics gave up. Hal had to stitch together old infrastructure maps just to keep track. Your eyes narrowed as the blinking dot slowed in Strut H, lower level, past the original wastewater filtration access.

Snake’s boots echoed softly in the feed, the metal groaning beneath him as he slipped through a tight corridor, flashlight cutting a thin, white path through the dark. Water dripped steadily. Every corner looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Shell went live.

Then, he stopped. 

A light fell across rows of stacked crates, unmarked, each one faintly marked with explosive-grade warning seals. Their locks were rusted but secure. Some were bolted shut, while the others were cracked slightly open, revealing faintly shimmering plastic-bonded bricks of high-yield C4, their surfaces matte, pristine... and completely scentless.

Stillman's codec pinged active.

“I found it. Cache of C4, vapor-sealed. No scent. No residue. And… no signature. No cologne.”

Stillman's breath caught on the other end. “That’s… impossible. That was his ego. He always left a trace.”

“Not this time,” Snake replied grimly.

Back in the van, you rubbed the side of your neck, suddenly cold.

"I don’t like this,” you muttered. “If Fatman’s learned to hide his bombs from Stillman’s own tech, then he’s not just trying to cause destruction. He’s playing us. One step ahead.”

Hal looked at you, nodding slowly. “It means he knew Stillman would be here. Knew what sensors we’d bring. Maybe even expected someone like Snake to be deployed.”

Your voice dropped. “This isn’t just terrorism. This is precision sabotage.”

You watched the monitor as Snake moved closer, inspecting the explosives without touching them. He counted them, then scanned for tripwires, but found none. Snake stood among the crates for another moment, motionless. He didn’t speak, but the tilt of his head said enough. He was starting to see the bigger shape beneath the surface, the real outline of what this mission had become.

Then, Snake's voice crackled through the codec, rough but steady.

"Otacon. Y/N. It's time."

Hal straightened in his seat. “Copy that. We’re moving in. We’ll rendezvous at Strut H’s west maintenance lift. Plan is to hijack one of the Kasatkas and rescue the hostages once the sweep’s done.”

“Make it fast,” Snake said. “The patrols around Struts G and H have been handled. No reinforcements. You’ll have a clean path… for now.”

Your fingers moved quickly, closing out the live feeds and encrypting the last transmission logs. You shut the lid of your laptop with a soft click, slipping it into your weathered backpack and strapping it tight against your shoulders.

Beside you, Otacon reached into the equipment case and handed you your suppressed M9. The grip was cool in your palm, too familiar now for something that used to feel alien in your civilian hands.

“Let’s go,” you said, voice quiet but certain.

You cracked the van’s rear door just enough to slide out, the stale sea air hitting your face like a slap. Otacon followed close behind, securing the van before falling into step beside you. 

The dock between Struts I and H creaked beneath your boots, rust flaking from the welded joints that held it all together. The steel walkway was damp, half-flooded from leaking coolant lines and rainwater. But Snake had been right. There were no guards, no motion sensors. He had cleared the path himself.

Your eyes scanned toward the distance, toward the looming silhouette of Strut H, its industrial lights flickering through the thick morning mist. The metal giant felt quiet now, and yet everything inside your chest braced for the storm to come.

You touched your codec briefly, contacting Snake. "We're en route," you said. "ETA five minutes."

"Copy. I'll be waiting."

You didn’t know why, but something about the way he said it lodged itself under your skin and stayed there, even as you pressed forward into the underbelly of a facility no one was ever meant to walk out of.

---

The dull buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you and Hal packed up the last of your gear inside the stripped-down locker room of Strut I. You had just finished rerouting the access panel for the Kasatka helicpter bay and were gathering your things. Hal's laptop slung over his shoulder, and your M9 holstered on your thigh.

You had just crossed the halfway mark when Snake's voice came in, sharp and firm through your codec.

"This is Pliskin. I've located the last C4."

Then Stillman's voice cut in on the channel, strained and high with urgency. "Is that it?!"

"I'm about to freeze it. Then-"

You slowed your pace as Hal froze mid-step. Something felt... wrong. The silence in Stillman's pause wasn't relief.

"Wait-!"

But it was too late. Snake discharged the coolant onto the charge, and the sensors screamed to life. Alarms flared on Hal's screen. A heat spike and a tremor on the seismic relay. Then every signal around Shell 2 lit up red.

Snake's voice returned, his voice barely a breath. "What's going on?!"

"The detonator just woke up. It's counting down!" Stillman answered, his voice barely a breath. "The big ones were rigged to be activated when all the baby C4s went offline."

The realization hit like a snap. You swore under your breath, whipping your head as you tried to find the exit. Hal's laptop chimed again.

"He's moving fast. Shell 2. HI connecting bridge," Hal said.

"What?" You leaned over Hal's shoulder. On the GPS overlay, a single blip blinked red where it rushed toward the bridge toward Shell 2 like a man with fire at his heels. You activated your own codec line immediately.

"Snake! Stop! You're heading straight into the blast radius. You have no idea what's waiting for you on the other side."

Hal's jaw tightened, eyes flicking between maps, trying to predict the trajectory.

"He's not listening..." he muttered.

You stared at the screen, heart climbing in your throat. Then, the codec crackled again and Stillman's voice returned.

"Raiden, Pliskin, listen carefully," Stillman's voice sounded tired. "I fell for it."

"Fell for what?" Snake asked.

"The bombs are a proximity trigger. A microwave with a 7-foot range. It's not a technique I taught him. Neither was that multi-bomb booby trap. Looks like he's surpassed me as far as explosives technique goes. As for the rest-"

"Pete, get the hell out of there!" Snake urged.

"There's less than thirty seconds left. It's too late," Stillman replied.

You finally found the exit as the steel door to the Strut I catwalk groaned as you shoved it open, meeting you with a blinding sun and the distant roar of water. The heat rose from the metal grating beneath your boots. You and Hal both froze just at the lip of the HI connecting bridge. Shell 2 loomed in the distance, and there he was.

You spotted Snake, whose blur of movement against the glare, running full speed along the far edge of the bridge, approaching Shell 2.

"Snake!" You shouted, bolting forward a few steps. "Stop!"

Your voice caught in the wind. He didn't turn, and didn't even flinch. He just ran head down, shoulders tense, his gear rattling.

Then, a roar split the sky.

The blast came from within Shell 2's core, an upward surge of pressure and fire that flared orange and white against the sun's dying light. The shockwave rolled outward like a tsunami of noise and dust. The far end of the HI bridge shuddered.

Snake flung from his feet like a ragdoll. His body hit the deck hard, rolling once before coming to a stop, limp, on the upper incline of the bridge. Smoke swallowed the far walkway. Your breath caught in your chest.

"Snake!" You shouted, already moving.

Hal tried to reach for you, but you shrugged him off, sprinting across the length of the connecting bridge. Every step rattled beneath you, some panels warped or smoldering, heat still bleeding from the blast's edge. The smoke burned your lungs as you pushed forward. You dropped to your knees beside Snake. 

"Come on, stay with me," you breathed, grabbing his arm, shaking him slightly.

He groaned, low and unconscious. You didn't waste another second as you hooked your arms under his, dragging him back toward the midline of the bridge, muscles burning, and boots scraping against the metal. Somewhere behind you, Hal was on the move too, scanning for alternate routes and safe paths.

But all you could hear was your own heartbeat, loud and ragged, and the sound of Snake breathing in staggered, unconscious pulls. Then, you and Hal dragged Snake across the remaining length of the HI connecting bridge, his boots scraping heavily against the scorched deck. Your legs ached, your arms burned, but you didn't stop

The only safe haven now was Strut H's underlevel access, just beyond the western platform. As you reached the outer hatch, Hal struggled to hold Snake's weight while you pried the door open. He was still semi-conscious, groaning with every jolt. 

You slipped inside, seeing two Russian mercenaries who were alert from the explosion, standing at the far end of the corridor. You glanced at Hal, who ducked behind a pillar, supporting Snake's limp form. Your heart pounded, but you didn't have time.

You slipped forward, footsteps silent over metal, hugging the shadows. As one of the guards turned his head, you struck your M9 and aimed at his head, knocking him to sleep. The second turned and you did the same, closing the gap and swept his legs with a silent pivot, knocking the wind from his lungs with your forearm as he hit the floor. His weapon skittered across the hall.

You returned for Hal, and together, you moved Snake into a small maintenance alcove. The walls hummed with the low vibrations of emergency power routing. The light flickered above you, casting Snake's face in flashes of gold and shadow.

He groaned as you laid him down, his head resting on a bundled tarp.

"Otacon, med kit," you said, already pulling the strap of Snake's vest loose.

You carefully peeled back the torn sleeve of his undershirt. The laceration along his arm was deep. You cleaned it swiftly, your hands steady despite the storm inside you. Blood smeared across your fingers as you wrapped the gauze tightly around his bicep. 

His eyes fluttered once. You held your breath. You hesitated, your fingers still resting lightly over the wrap. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

"You idiot..." you swallowed. 

You leaned in closer, brushing a piece of his hair from his face, still damp with sweat, and ash streaked against his jawline. You let your fingertips linger for a second too long. 

"The next time you try to get yourself killed," you smiled faintly. "I'll be right behind you, okay?"

You traced your fingers lightly along the back of his bandaged hand, squeezing it just once. For a heartbeat, he didn't stir. 

But you could've sworn that the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely, but like the ghost of a smirk he hadn't worn in years.

Chapter 6: loose ends

The flickering light overhead cast faint ripples across the exposed steel and his skin. His breathing was shallow but steady now, the edge of unconsciousness slowly giving way. You knelt beside him, knees pressed to the cold floor, your fingers working gently over the gauze wrapped around his arm. A sharp intake of breath broke the silence as your head snapped up, eyes locking with his.

He was finally awake. His blue eyes, half-lidded from pain and exhaustion, flicked to yours beneath a furrowed brow. He looked disoriented at first. Then, his gaze dropped briefly to your hands still resting on his forearms, then back up.

There was something in his expression in a way that was raw and unguarded. It made your chest tighten in ways you weren’t prepared for. The glance stretched into something else, like a pull between you both, barely contained. Time didn’t stop, but the air between you felt weighted and thick, like gravity had shifted.

He didn’t try to move, didn’t push you away. He just laid there, silent, eyes locked on yours like he wasn’t sure if you were real. You should’ve said something right away. Something tactical like what the next move was. That the Kasatka was still within reach, that the blast radius didn’t take out the core of Shell 2, and that Hal was checking nearby terminals.

The way his eyes lingered on yours like they were searching for something. Your hand remained gently pressed to his forearm, where his pulse had just begun to pick up again.

“Don’t do that again,” your voice was soft, almost casual. But it cut through the static in the room like a fault line.

For a beat, he said nothing. His eyes searched yours. You expected deflection, or maybe a snide remark. You couldn’t help the way your voice wavered slightly at the end. The silence was full enough to press in around you, thick and uncertain. You exhaled slowly and said nothing more, brushing your thumb lightly across the edge of the gauze, just once, then let your hand fall away,

He still didn’t speak. But when he blinked, the lines around his eyes softened. Then, Hal’s voice called from down the hall breaking the moment. You both turned away too quickly. But the tension remained, quiet and waiting, like a line pulled tight between two people who weren’t ready to name what was there.

Hal’s hurried footsteps grew louder as he rounded the corner, breathless but relieved to find Snake conscious and you close by.

“You’re alive,” he exhaled, almost a laugh of disbelief.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Snake rasped, rising slowly with your help. He winced as he steadied his weight on one foot.

“We need to get to higher ground,” you said, already shouldering your bag. “There’s another port up top.”

Hal glanced between you both, then nodded quickly. “Strut H has a helipad. If we’re lucky, there might be a Kasatka still docked.”

You didn’t wait as the three of you began moving with Hal ahead with his laptop tucked under one arm, and Snake leading the way with uneven steps, following them behind. The stairwell groaned under your weight. As you climbed, you could hear distant sirens still echoing from Shell 2. The door to the rooftop was jammed at first, but with Snake’s shoulder behind it, it creaked open, revealing a blinding slice of the afternoon light.

The sky had cleared completely, blue stretching into forever, framed by the hard edges of oil-slick steel. Wind rushed across the open space, carrying the sharp scent of the ocean and the lingering sting of cordite. And there, parked near the far end of the helipad with rotors still locked down and glinting in the sun, was a Kasatka helicopter.

Hal whistled low under his breath. “Bingo,” he rushed ahead, already pulling wires and adapters from his satchel. “I’ll see if it’s flight-ready. These models are all networked into the Big Shell system. I should be able to override the access protocols manually.”

You followed, covering him with your M9 as he worked. Snake trailed a few feet behind and peeled away toward the small weapons locker adjacent to the helipad’s equipment tower. He scanned the contents quickly before grabbing a shoulder rig and hoisting a crate of stinger missiles into his arms.

Hal cursed under his breath as he bypassed a firewall. “Almost there. Keep watch.”

The helipad felt too exposed. There were no gunfire and enemies, just wind and pressure and the sick anticipation of what came next. You scanned the perimeter, your eyes fitting from the service crane to the ocean’s distant shimmer. Snake took up position near the Kasatka’s flank, eyes narrowed behind his bandana.

Hal climbed into the pilot’s seat, powering the system on as the cockpit lights flickered to life. You helped Snake into the back and climbed in beside him, closing the side hatch with a hard click just as the whir of the Kasatka’s rotors grew louder, slicing through the salt-wet air above the helipad.

Snake immediately brought a hand to his ear, activating his codec. You could hear the faint, static-laced transmission as he called in.

“Raiden, I found us a ride,” Snake said. “One of the enemy’s Kasatkas.”

Raiden’s voice crackled back through the channel. “Is it in good shape?”

“Full tank. I’m heading for Shell 1 now,” Snake muttered into the codec. “What about that Harrier?”

“It’s not on the heliport here.”

“Good. I’ll set this one down there then.”

 “Understood,” Raiden replied. Then he added, almost hesitantly. “Pliskin, there are hostages in Shell 1. There’s a few short of thirty. One dead, and several wounded.”

Snake’s jaw tightened. He looked back at you, then at the limited space inside the chopper. “The Kasatka’s cargo area will hold thirteen max.”

“Can you fly a Kasatka?”

Snake looked out the open deck, then to Hal, who was adjusting the main control panel up front. “I have a pilot who’s flown the civilian model, the KA-62, in VR. There’s not a whole lot of difference between the military KA-60 and the civilian model.”

Hal looked over his shoulder and gave a lopsided grin. “Cleared for takeoff.”

Snake glanced at Hal, who was now strapping himself into the pilot’s seat, and then toward you, meeting your gaze for a brief but pointed beat. “Raiden, let me introduce to my team. Otacon and Y/N.”

Hal spoke up. “Hey, Raiden. Nice to meet you.”

You cleared your throat before speaking. “Hey. It’s Y/N.”

The words had barely left your mouth when the metallic screech of a sliding door opened behind you. You turned, seeing a squad of Gurlukovich mercenaries storm the helipad from the side gantry, weapons raised. Their M4s and sidearms are in a close-range ready.

“Get down!” Snake shouted as he lunged instinctively to draw his weapon, but you were faster. In a split second, your hand darted to his side and pulled a pistol from the holster clipped just inside his vest. Your fingers wrapped around the weight of the SOCOM .45.

Before the first mercenary could take aim, you fired. Snake rose from the barrel as more them charged, shouting orders in Russian, their figures slicing through the sunlight like shadows with steel. You rolled low across the floor, coming up just behind Snake and taking aim again. The recoil was sharp, but your grip was steady.

Snake moved to cover you, his rifle in hand, but it was clear you were already holding your ground. The last mercenary fell with a pained grunt, the echo of gunfire finally fading into the wind. Breathing hard, you stood back upright, handing the still-warm pistol back to Snake without a word. His fingers closed over it slowly, gaze lingering on you again, but he said nothing.

Hal broke the moment, glancing back from the cockpit, instructing something. The rotors screamed overhead now, slicing the blue sky wide open as the Kasatka began to lift. In the quiet rush before takeoff, you sat beside Snake, your heart still thudding from the fight, your breath tangled in his silence.

The Kasatka lifted into the sky, slicing through the coastal air with a sharp gust. Wind slammed against the side as Hal guided the helicopter over the skeletal curve of Big Shell’s infrastructure, rising above the metallic sprawl of platforms and connecting bridges below. You leaned slightly to look out the side hatch, the sunlight pouring through the clouds, catching on the gleam of the ocean.

Beneath you, the Shell 1-2 connecting bridge stretched out like a narrow thread over the dark waters. You spotted Raiden moving quickly yet cautiously across the bridge. The blinking lights that had lined the handrails were now dark. He’d taken out the Semtex sensors. Snake noticed it too, through the open side of the Kasatka. He raised his hand, just slightly, offering a small wave.

 Raiden paused mid-stride, glanced up, and gave a subtle nod back before resuming his approach toward Shell 2.

“Kid’s doing fine,” Snake murmured beside you.

You watched a moment longer when movement caught your eye just near Strut G. Your narrowed your gaze at the entrance, where a figure stood cloaked in a long coat. Their face was obscured, head dipped, and hidden beneath a dark hood or collar. The fabric of the coat whipped in the coastal breeze, but the figure remained eerily still. You leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening on the edge of the seat.

“Otacon,” you called out, not taking your eyes off the figure. “Slow down for a second.”

“What is it?” He asked, glancing at the radar.

“There’s someone on the ground. Strut G.”

Snake moved beside you, squinting out the open hatch. He saw it too, his jaw now tightened ever so slightly. Your eyes locked on the figure by the Strut G entrance, unease twisting in your chest.

Without another word, you shifted to the onboard console. Your fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the nearest external feed with the security camera just outside the entrance. The grainy image blinked to life as the man stepped forward into view, still cloaked, but now his voice came through. His face was partially obscured beneath the collar and shadow of his coat, but enough of it showed.

“I’m the boss to surpass Big Boss himself… Solid Snake.”

The words hit the cabin like a bullet. Snake froze behind you as you glanced back. He didn’t move, but the shift in his posture said everything. His shoulders had gone tense, jaw tight, eyes narrowed into a hardened glare.

“Solidus…” he muttered under his breath, almost like a curse.

Hal looked up from the flight panel. “What did he just say?”

“Otacon,” Snake barked suddenly. “Turn us around now. Back to Strut G.”

Snake stood beside you, leaning forward as if his presence alone could cut through the monitor.

“No!” He barked, loud enough for the two men on the bridge to hear. “That is not Solid Snake!”

You heard the name before, spoken in whispers, buried in files that only Hal and Snake dared decrypt. He wasn’t just some shadow. He was Solidus Snake, the forgotten third. The one who vanished, only to surface now in the eye of the storm.

The Kasatka circled tightly as Hal brought it around Strut G. Below, Solidus was already moving, making his way toward the edge of the connecting bridge, as if he were waiting. Snake’s jaw tensed as he grabbed his M4 rifle, shouldering it as he took aim. Down below, as if he could feel the crosshairs brushing across him, the man in the trench coat finally stopped.

He looked up and then smiled. He tore the coat free, revealing the octopus-like tendrils of exoskeleton that hissed to life, clamping down around his waist and shoulders in an instant. The glint of his face, older and sharper, yet unmistakably Snake-like, shimmered in the midday sun. You knew that face.

George Sears. The 43^rd President of the United States.

“No way…” you whispered. “It can’t be.”

Your heart skipped as it clicked. He wasn’t just a political phantom, and not just a former president. He’s a Snake – another one.

“What a pleasant surprise, brother,” Solidus called up, voice amplified, tinged with cruel amusement.

Snake stepped forward, tension radiating from his frame. “Save it. You’re no brother of mine.”

Solidus cocked his head slightly. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten me, Snake.”

You instinctively moved closer to Snake’s side, watching the exchange like a match pressed to dry tinder. Solidus turned his eyes on you now, sharp and intelligent, like he was scanning every thought behind your gaze.

“And there you are,” he said. “The traitor to the United States government herself.”

Your breath hitched. Snake shifted his stance slightly, protective in a way that didn’t need to spoken. But your eyes stayed on Solidus, remembering shaking his hand once. You had no idea back then that behind the presidency was a man bred to be a weapon.

He chuckled darkly from the bridge. “Funny, isn’t it? You thought disappearing would keep your record sealed. But you weren’t the only one looking for freedom from the Patriots’ leash.”

Snake’s grip tightened around his rifle. His tone dropped to something rougher, more protective. “Leave her out of this.”

Solidus turned his back with theatrical flair, speaking over his shoulder. “Then you’d better catch me, brother. Before she ends up paying for your sins.”

Snake leaned further out of the chopper and fired a burst from his M4. With a yell, Solidus activated his accelerator and sped away. The M4 rounds that Snake fired strike the access door instead. He aimed the M4 at Solidus again, but Solidus deflected the bullets with his elbow shield.

Solidus let out a dark laugh. “I’m a whole different game from Liquid!”

Solidus looked at Snake and activated his powered suit, letting out a yell as his suit started to swell rapidly. Snake then aimed a grenade launcher attached to the bottom of the M4, firing the grenade at Solidus, who snapped his steel collar shut and gets into a battle stance.

“That the best you can do, Snake?!”

Snake took an aim once again and fired the grenade launcher as Solidus jumped off the bridge just as the explosion took place. Snake stared down at the point where Solidus vanished.

Then suddenly, a Harrier 2 appeared from the blow in a rapid climb, with Solidus already standing on it. The Kasatka did a hard turn as Solidus deactivated his suit’s powered mode, and dropped into the tandem cockpit. The Harrier fired a missile at the chopper. The Kasatka hovered over the connecting bridge.  

Below, Raiden stood near the center of the bridge, his head tilted upward, wary, trying to make sense of everything that just unraveled. A missile streaked down the bridge with a screeching trail of smoke and fire. Raiden dove just in time, the explosion sending concrete shrapnel scattering in every direction.

Hal banked hard as you steadied yourself, bracing the mounted case of Stinger launchers that Snake had loaded earlier. He handed you one without a word, his own already slung into position.

“Otacon, hover above the northwest pillar,” Snake ordered. “We’ll provide cover from above.”

The chopper hovered just behind the blast radius while Snake opened the side hatch again, taking aim. You stood behind him, launching your own counter-fire as the Harrier made another aggressive pass. The battle erupted in full chaos. Raiden sprinted along the damaged bridge, firing what he could from the ground. Snake launched two missiles, with one grazing the Harrier’s right wing. You timed your shots to force the jet to veer off course, breaking its line of attack.

“Nice hit!” Hal called from the cockpit, voice sharp with tension.

The Harrier responded with a barrage of missiles and machine gun fire, raking the side of the bridge and sending smoke and flame in every direction. You leaned back into the cockpit and grabbed another missile, reloading with precise motion despite the shaking aircraft.

You ducked behind a steel support as bullets sparked around you. Snake stepped into position, locking onto the Harrier’s heat signature through the Stinger’s tracking system. He fired once, then twice. Explosions erupted along the Harrier’s wings, but it remained airbone, its pilot still defiant.  You crawled your way back into the Kasatka while Snake and Raiden kept the harrier busy.

Then you spotted a sniper rifle, a PGS1, long-range and in pristine condition. You grabbed it and slung it over your shoulder. You moved to the Kasatka’s hatch, bracing the rifle against the frame, wind whipping your hair and coat. Your breath settled as the crosshairs settled over the Harrier’s cockpit, catching a glimpse of Solidus behind the reinforced glass.

You exhaled, slow and steady, then pulled the trigger. The sound cracked through the chaos like a whip as the round hit the Harrier, not the cockpit, but just enough to fracture a side panel, and grazed Solidus’s left eye. You saw him jerk violently in his seat.

The Harrier collided with the Strut G section of the connecting bridge. Completely out of control, the Harrier went into a freefall. But just as the plane was about to slam into the ocean, the water heaved upward like something was alive, rippled in unnatural waves.

You and Snake instinctively took a step back as the surface split open, and from beneath the waves, a giant steel form surged upward, water cascading off its plated armor in sheets.

The Metal Gear RAY.

The war machine’s mechanical jaws clamped around the Harrier like a beast protecting its own. Its massive arms lifted the damaged jet with unsettling precision, shielding it from certain destruction. The Harrier groaned under its weight, barely hanging together but was saved.

RAY’s eyes flashed, scanning the perimeter before sinking slowly beneath the water again, disappearing with the Harrier like a serpent vanishing beneath the waves. Your breath caught as the image burned into your mind. Below, Riaden dangled form the ledge of the bridge, his body barely holding on after the impact of the explosion. His grip looked tenuous, then with a strained groan, he pulled himself up, collapsing momentarily on the steel surface.

“He’s okay,” Snake noted.

Above, the wind kicked up again as the Kasatka’s rotors resumed their beat. Hal’s voice came over comms, tight but controlled. “I’m getting us out of range. Hang on!”

The Kasatka banked hard to the right, slicing through the air as the last wisps of smoke curled into the sky. You held onto the side grip near the hatch, watching Raiden get to his feet, catching his breath.

“Otacon, put us down in the port at Strut E. We regroup and rethink everything,” Snake ordered.

The helicopter lowered steadily, sweeping over the Shell structure. From above, the full scale of Big Shell seemed even more fractured now. The parts of the complex blackened from fire, riddled with broken supports and shattered glass. The Kasatka touched down in the narrow landing pad beside Strut E as its metal groaned under its weight.

The moment the landing skids locked in, Snake reached for the latch. “Come on,” he said, glancing back at you. “This isn’t over.”

You stepped out beside him into the cold, salty air, both of you now aware that a new predator had entered the game.

---

The Kasatka’s rotors spun to a halt with a final mechanical whine, blades ticking as they slowed. You, Snake, and Hal stepped out onto the Strut E heliport, the salty wind brushing against your face, thick with smoke and the metallic scent of battle. The platform creaked beneath your boots as the three of you made your way toward the access corridor.

Hal adjusted his glasses, his eyes scanning the area for threats, while Snake kept his rifle close, every sense alert. His gaze lingered on the sky where Metal Gear RAY had disappeared minutes,

But before any of you could take another step, a woman’s voice rang out from the upper walkway. You barely had time to turn before a figure leapt down from above with practiced grace, landing with a thud that echoed off the walls.

“That’s far enough.”

Olga Gurlukovich.

Her blonde hair was tied back, eyes hard and sharp as cut steel. She pointed her sidearm squarely at Snake, unmoved by the wind that tugged at her coat.

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here, Snake.”

Snake’s hands didn’t rise. He stood firm, but you caught the subtle twitch in his fingers. “Olga,” he said slowly.

“You killed my father.”

“That wasn’t me,” he replied.

“Liar.”

In a flash, she moved. Before either Snake or Hal could react, she was already behind you, one arm around your neck, the barrel of her pistol pressed firmly against your temple. Your breath hitched, every muscle freezing.

“Drop your weapon!” Olga barked at Snake.

Hal stepped forward, but froze as she snapped the safety off. Snake’s face didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked to you, still reined in behind his battle-hardened composure.

“Let her go,” he said, voice calm, but cold.

“No. You took my father. Maybe I’ll take something from you,” she glanced down at you, then added with bitter venom. “Or does she mean nothing to you either?”

You clenched your teeth, eyes locked on Snake. He didn’t answer her bait.

“You think this is justice?” He asked instead. “You’re being played, Olga.”

“Shut up!” she snapped. You felt her grip falter, only slightly, but enough.

“I didn’t kill Sergei,” Snake said, his voice flat but firm. “It was Ocelot.”

Olga’s eyes flared. “Don’t you dare throw that name out to save yourself.”

“It’s the truth. I was there. Your father thought he was striking a deal with the Patriots, but Ocelot was already in their pocket.”

“Don’t give me that-!” She pressed the gun harder against you. Snake’s eyes narrowed, fists clenching.

“Ocelot was never on your father’s side. Sergei tried to negotiate a deal for your future, and they shut him down. Ocelot pulled the trigger.”

Olga’s grip on you trembled. “You’re no different from the others…” she muttered. “Still lying to protect your secrets.”

“No,” Snake said. “I’m here to stop what they started. You can either help us or be used by them again.”

She hesitated, the storm in her eyes gradually cooling. A long beat passed before Olga released you, stumbling forward as her arm let go. Snake caught your shoulder, steadying you. She took a step back, gun still in hand but no longer aimed. You rubbed the side of your neck where her arm held you firm moments ago, still catching your breath.

Finally, she turned away, her voice low. “Follow me,” she said. “I know a place. You’ll be safe there. For now.”

She led the three of you down the catwalks and into a tucked-away maintenance chamber below Shell 1’s radar dome. It was old, dusty, and lined with forgotten crates and half-working terminals, but well-hidden. A temporary shelter, unseen by enemy patrols and security cameras.

Snake looked at you, his voice quiet but rough. “You okay?”

You nodded, heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “Yeah. Just… hope I don’t get held hostage again today.”

“The Gurlukovich remnants won’t be stationed near Shell 1 anymore,” Olga explained as she locked the door behind you. “They’ll be on board Arsenal in a few hours. This place will be clear of troops.”

Hal powered on a dusty terminal while Snake leaned against a wall, arms crossed.

“So what’s your move, Olga?” Snake asked, his tone direct.

Olga hesitated before answering, her voice quieter. “We both want the same thing. To have access to Arsenal Gear.”

Snake narrowed his eye. “To stop it?”

“To expose the Patriots,” Olga replied. “There’s a disc inside Arsenal. It holds the identities of the Wisemen’s Committee. You want to destroy the system, and I want my child back. That disc is the key to both.”

You exchanged a glance with Hal, the pieces slowly aligning.

“Raiden is our ticket in,” Snake said.

Olga nodded. “He’s being used… but so are we all. Still, he’s our only way through the security protocols.”

Hal looked up. “We’ll use Raiden to move through Arsenal undetected.”

“Keep him alive,” Olga added sharply. “My child’s life depends on it.”

She looked straight at you when she said it, her expression solemn, maternal, even desperate beneath the surface. There was a long pause before Snake finally pushed off the wall, stepping forward.

“Then we move when the Arsenal transfer begins.”

Olga nodded and opened the door halfway. “I’ll send a signal when it’s time. Until then, stay low. You won’t get another window like this.”

As she vanished back into the corridors of Shell 1, Snake looked at you, then at Hal. “Everything rides on what happens next.”

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “Then let’s make sure we don’t screw it up.”

The room fell into a tense stillness after Olga disappeared down the maintenance corridor, her boots echoing briefly before silence reclaimed the hidden space in Shell 1. You sat on an overturned crate, arms crossed, trying to absorb the whirlwind of truths – Arsenal Gear, the Wisemen’s Committee, Raiden’s role, and Olga’s child. Hal was typing something on his remote console while Snake leaned silently by the door, tension lingering in the furrow of his brow.

Suddenly, Snake’s codec beeped to life.

“What’s your status, Raiden?”

“Snake… the President…” Raiden’s voice came through, low and shaken. “He’s been assassinated.”

Your heart dropped. You turned to face Snake just as his eye narrowed sharply.

“What?!”

“There’s nothing I could do…”

Snake’s jaw clenched. You stepped closer, catching the change in his posture. “What about the nuclear code sequence?”

“He died before his vital ID could be reconfirmed.”

Snake’s eye shifted toward Hal, who stopped typing altogether. “Then the enemy’s lost their nuclear strike capability.”

“But, that Ocelot guy obviously killed the President on purpose.”

“Why?”

“It doesn't make any sense. They had to know that they couldn't launch the nuke if they killed the President.”

“Maybe there's a way to launch without reconfirming the vital ID?” Hal asked, fixing his glasses.

Snake nodded. “Or maybe they've found a more effective weapon within Arsenal Gear.”

You stepped forward. “Or maybe this was their plan all along. To eliminate anyone who might still have answers.”

You slowly sat down on the edge of a crate, letting the moment settle in. Snake remained where he stood, his arms folded again, expression unreadable.

“Raiden, you’ve got to find Emma.”

You glanced up. The name stirred something in you. Hal mentioned her once, but never in detail.

“Wait a second, isn’t Emma Emmerich…?”

Hal turned away from the screen. “My sister.”

“What is she doing here?”

Hal pushed his glasses up, swallowing hard. “You got me. She's a computer whiz who specializes in neural AI and ultra-variable volume data analysis using complex logic. How she got involved in weapons development is beyond me.”

Snake chimed in, his voice calm but clipped. “Whatever her reasons, we need her in order to stop Arsenal.”

You leaned forward slightly. “If she’s anything like you, Hal… then she’s probably the smartest person in this whole mess.”

Hal offered a faint smile, touched by your words, but his eyes were clouded with worry. “Raiden, find her.”

“I’m on my way.”

The codec went silent once more.

“Any leads on where she might be held?” You asked, already preparing your gear in case you needed to move.

Hal nodded. “She’s in the Shell 2 Core. She was part of the Arsenal Gear project, most likely doing AI research… if she’s still alive.”

Chapter 7: something warm... yet cold

The gentle hum of the terminal screens pulsed in the background, casting a cold blue light on your face as you leaned against the edge of the control desk. Your fingers absently tapped the metal as Hal worked, the room filled with the sound of soft keystrokes and cooling fans.

Hal was already deep in the system, prepping the system to receive Emma’s worm cluster, fingers twitching nervously over the keyboard. His expression was tight, eyes darting lines of code rolled across the monitors. You knew this wasn’t just about the mission anymore. This was personal for him.

“I didn’t think I’d see her again. Not like this,” Hal swallowed, adjusting his glasses as he brought up another set of files. “Last I heard, she was working on AI sequencing under contract. Now, she’s creating something as advanced as a worm cluster… she must’ve been in deep.”

A photo popped up on the screen that had Emma’s personnel file. She was younger in the picture, eyes tired behind a confident smile. You leaned in a little to read the metadata, but you weren’t the only one who noticed the image. You sensed the shift in the room before you even looked up.

Snake approached quietly, his presence more felt than heard. You turned as he was standing just a few steps away, reloading his SOCOM with that same focused intensity he always carried before stepping into fire.

“You’re heading out?”

He gave a short nod without looking up. “Raiden’s bringing Emma over the oil fence. I’ll be there to help him across.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t saying anything, but his gaze lingered longer than you expected. Just a few seconds too long. It was enough to make your chest tighten, and before you could think better of it, the words were already slipping past your lips.

You leaned against the edge of the table. Your gaze flicked to Hal, then back to Snake.

“Makes sense. She’s important. Smart. Young. Someone to protect.”

There was no malice in your words, no bite. But your tone had shifted. You didn’t notice it until you caught the way Snake finally turned his eyes to you, something unreadable flickering behind them.

“You think I’m playing favorites?” Snake said quietly.

You widened your eyes, surprised. “What? No. I didn’t mean it like-“

“It’s not like that.”

He said it so simply, and it grounded something in you. Still, the air between you crackled with that awkward weight, like you’d accidentally exposed a part of yourself you didn’t mean to.

“She’s Otacon’s sister.”

You gave a faint shrug. You weren’t sure why you said what you said. It wasn’t like you were actually jealous of Emma. You just gave a nod, not quite trusting yourself to say more without it sounding defensive.

He looked at you a moment longer, then suddenly, he took a step closer, his voice quieter now. Your heart gave a subtle kick as you straightened up, lips parting like you might say something.

“She’s important to the mission. Just like you.”

You straightened up slightly, caught off guard by the way his voice dipped into something gentler. Your heart gave a soft, involuntary flutter. “I wasn’t comparing.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

There was a flicker in his tone. That rare warmth felt like it buried beneath all gravel and steel. His eyes lingered on you, unguarded for just a second.

“But don’t think I’d leave you behind.”

The words dropped between you like a soft weight. Your heart jumped, butterflies fluttering deep in your stomach before you could even begin to suppress them. He glanced toward the door again, adjusting his strap.

“I’ll call in once they’re across. Keep Otacon focused. We’ll need that worm cluster ready.”

You offered him a faint smile. He gave you a look then, like a quiet admission he wouldn’t say out loud. He paused, like there was more he wanted to say. But instead, he just held your gaze for a second longer. Then, he gave a quiet nod and slipped through the door. You stood there for a moment, staring after him.

“You jealous of my sister?” Hal muttered dryly.

You gave him a flat look. “No.”

Hal grinned. “Sure sounded like it.”

You shook your head. “Shut up and finish coding.”

He chuckled under his breath, but you could still feel the echo of Snake’s gaze on your skin. You rolled your eyes, turning away to hide your expression.

---

The soft hum of the servers filled the computer room, a constant reminder that time was ticking. Hal remained glued to the console, eyes darting across lines of code as he prepped for Emma’s worm upload.

“The back-end system’s ready,” Hal said. “She just needs to plug in the transfer key. If she times the worm cluster injection right, Arsenal’s systems will be blind.”

You nodded quietly, glancing at the timer Hal had set on the terminal. “She should’ve made it across by now.”

Then the codec on the console buzzed. Hal instantly answered. “Snake, what’s going on? Did they make it?”

“Emma’s been stabbed…”

Hal’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “What…?”

You moved in closer as your breath caught in your throat. “What do you mean stabbed? By who?!”

“It was Vamp. He got to her just as she crossed the oil fence. Raiden took him out, but…” Snake’s voice faded for a beat, thick with frustration. “She’s conscious… but the bleeding’s bad. I’m bringing her over there right now!”

“E.E…” Otacon mumbled as his hands clenched into fists, and his face had gone pale.

You reached out, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Snake, we’re ready on our end. Just bring her here. We’ll stabilize her and start the upload.”

The call cut, leaving behind an unbearable silence. Hal turned back to the console with a renewed sense of urgency, his movements now fast, but trembling.

You stood beside him, eyes flicking to the door, heart hammering in your chest as you waited for the sound of footsteps, the echo of hope stumbling through the halls with everything hanging in the balance.  

After a few minutes, the heavy sound of the bulkhead opening snapped your attention away from the screen. Snake emerged first, carrying Emma in his arms. You saw the blood immediately, the deep red staining her shirt, spreading around the wound in her abdomen. Her body was limp, breath shallow, eyes fluttering in a dazed half-awareness.

“Move,” you breathed, already clearing space on the nearby bench.

Snake placed her down gently. “She’s losing blood fast. We were ambushed. Vamp stabbed her from behind.”

You were already grabbing your medkit, fingers flying to unzip it as you dropped to your knees beside her. “Hal, get the towels. Something to keep pressure here.”

“I’ve got it,” Hal said, his voice trembling as he knelt on the other side of his sister. His hands hovered for a moment before he reached for her hand. “E.E., can you hear me?”

Emma gave a weak nod, then winced as you pressed gauze against the wound. You glanced at Snake, who hadn’t moved far. He lingered near, eyes watching Emma with grim focus.

“I need you to hold this,” you told Hal firmly, guiding his hand. “Keep steady pressure. She’s in shock. We don’t have much time.”

Footsteps echoed in the distance. Raiden appeared in the doorway, his face pale, armor scratched from whatever skirmish he had gone through.

“I’ve got it,” Raiden said, handing Snake the disc.

Without a word, Snake stepped past you, sliding the worm cluster into the computer. The terminal blinked to life with Emma’s program already running lines of code, beginning to interface with the system. A digital virus, like a modern-day FOXDIE.

Emma lay on her side, wrapped in the emergency blanket you’d draped over her. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the cold fluorescent lights. Her breathing was shallow, barely there, but her fingers moved weakly as if trying to hold on to the last thread of consciousness. Though you had done everything you could to patch the wound, administered stabilizers, her breathing remained shallow, her strength slipping by the second.

You watched from a short distance, hands still stained from patching her up. Snake stood beside the computer terminal, eyes locked on the lines of code running across the screen. While Hal never left his sister’s side as his hand clutched hers gently, knuckles white with strain.

“H…Hal?” Emma whispered, her eyelashes fluttered. Weak, trembling fingers barely curled around the fabric of Hal’s coat.

His breath hitched. “I’m here.”

He bent over her, forehead brushing her temple. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, eyes wet but focused only on her. Then the screen across the room suddenly flared with red, an error tone piercing the quiet tension. Snake’s head snapped toward the monitor.

Hal looked up, alarm overtaking the heartbreak in his expression. “An antibody agent?!”

“Damn,” Snake swore under his breath. “The connection’s been cut!”

Raiden stepped closer, brow furrowed. “Is the virus upload complete?”

Snake tapped a key, reading the frozen data stream. “I don’t think so. The count’s stopped at 90%,” his eyes flicked to Hal. “Otacon?”

Hal barely looked up. “I don’t think Emma made any mistakes.”

You turned toward him, catching the change in his tone.

“A portion of the worm cluster might’ve been altered… after the disc left Emma’s hands.”

Raiden’s brows furrowed. “By the Patriots?”

“Will the virus still work?” Snake’s tone was low and tense.

Hal didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked between Emma’s face and the frozen data, between what he feared losing and what they were fighting for. “I have no idea…”

The room went quiet, except for Emma’s faint breaths and the hum of the stalled system. You didn’t need to say anything. All of you knew the weight of what hung in that pause. The battle against the Patriots was still uncertain, and so was the fate of the girl in Hal’s arms.

Emma stirred faintly in Hal’s arms again, her fingers twitching against the sleeve of his coat. Her voice came out cracked, thin as thread.

“Hal… is… is everything alright…?”

Hal’s throat tightened. He turned his head, seeking some kind of answer from Snake, but Snake gave the smallest shake of his head. Just reassurance, the kind that spared her from worry in her last moments.

Hal swallowed hard. “Uh… it’s alright. Everything’s alright.”

Emma smiled faintly, the tension in her brows softening as she took in the words like a lullaby. “Good… At least, I… I won’t be adding… another page to our family’s dark… history…”

Hal nodded, brushing her hair gently back from her clammy forehead. “Yeah… that’s right…”

A heavy silence lingered as Emma’s breathing became shallower. You kept your distance, crouched by the nearby terminal. Snake stood beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched in quiet solemnity. Then, Raiden stepped closer to the two of you, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“What if the virus doesn’t work?” he asked.

Snake’s eyes narrowed slightly as he responded in a firm, low murmur. “Either destroy that thing… or take out Solidus and his men.”

Raiden’s expression tensed. “How do we get on board?”

Snake gave a slight exhale, looking past Raiden for a moment. “I don’t think we can… unless somebody inside gives us a hand.”

You remained silent. You already knew. That “somebody” was Raiden. No one needed to say it aloud. The weight of it was there in Snake’s voice, in Raiden’s clenched jaw, in your unwillingness to look him in the eye.

Behind you, Emma moved again. “Can I… can I ask you one last favor…?” she whispered, barely audible.

Hal leaned in. “Sure.”

Her lips parted with trembling effort. “Call me… call me… Emma.”

He blinked, stunned. “What…?”

“Please call me… Emma…”

She reached up, trying with the last of her strength to touch his cheek. Her fingers hovered… then slowly dropped, limp against her side.

Hal’s hand caught hers too late. “What’s wrong with E.E.…?” he asked, as if saying it would wake her, as if clinging to the name would keep her with him.

But her chest no longer rose. Her face was peaceful, her body still.

“Emma?” he called again, desperate. “Emma…!”

His voice broke as he pulled her closer, burying his face into her hair, grief crashing through him like a tide. His sobs echoed against the sterile walls, raw and unrestrained.

You turned away, the ache settling heavy in your chest. Snake looked to the ground, his expression unreadable but somber. Raiden exhaled a silent breath, his gaze solemn as he took a step back.

None of you spoke. There was only the sound of Hal’s tears, and the quiet, aching respect each of you paid to the sister he had just lost.

Several long minutes passed after Emma’s final breath. The stillness in the air was heavy, like the world itself had paused to grieve. Then, from the corner of the room, a small, warbled voice broke the silence.

“Hal… Hal…” The Parrot called out from the cage. “I miss you.”

Hal’s head lifted. His eyes widened slightly, glassy from tears, as he turned toward the cage where the parrot perched. The sound hit him like a wound reopened. He walked over slowly, trembling. The white sleeves of his lab coat were soaked and darkened with Emma’s blood, drying into a dull crimson. Reaching the cage with unsteady fingers, he opened the door.

The parrot cocked its head, then hopped out onto his hand, chirping quietly as it settled there. Hal looked down at the little creature that had unknowingly memorized Emma’s love for her brother in its voice. His face crumpled again. His shoulders shook as another wave of grief overcame him, tears slipping freely down his cheeks.

You stood still, watching with a lump in your throat. Even Snake bowed his head slightly. No one dared interrupt.

But before the stillness could reclaim the moment, a sharp buzz cracked over the intercom.

“Attention! Arsenal Gear is ready for launch! Evacuate the upper levels immediately!”

Hal flinched. The parrot squawked at the noise, fluttering its wings slightly but staying perched on his hand. Slowly, Hal blinked through his tears. His face hardened. He placed the parrot gently back inside the cage.

“We have to get the hostages out,” Snake said.

“We won’t be able to get everybody aboard…” Raiden said, almost in defeat.

“We’ll just have to take as many as we can.”

The intercom buzzed once more.

“We will be commencing the countdown shortly. Personnel in the upper levels, head for the evacuation area immediately.”

“Otacon, Y/N,” Snake said. “Take care of the hostages.”

Hal blinked as though shaken from a daze, then looked to Snake. “What about you guys?”

Raiden turned toward Snake, waiting for an explanation. Snake gestured toward the looming metal doors visible through the window.

“There’s our ride out of here.”

The door to Arsenal Gear stood like a monolith, humming with dormant menace.

“We’re gonna have to sink that thing if the virus doesn’t work.”

“We should be going with you,” Hal insisted.

Snake shook his head. “You’ve got your job. We’ve got ours.”

“You mean… we’d only get in your way…”

Snake stepped forward, placing firm hands on Hal’s shoulders. “Wrong. Only you and her can save those hostages. Got it?”

The weight in Snake’s voice was more than a tactical directive. It was a reassurance. A trust. Hal took a breath, managing a small nod. His shoulders squared, even if his heart still ached.

Then, he looked at both Snake and Raiden. “Listen… the two of you won’t be able to destroy that thing. Eliminate the enemy. That’s your only option.”

You stepped up beside him, quiet but solid, the tension in your chest only matched by the pace of your heartbeat. As the four of you made your way out of the computer room, the door to Arsenal looming ever larger, a part of you wanted to look back at Emma’s still form, at the cage with the quietly watching parrot. But there was no time for mourning now.

Snake turned one last time. “Otacon, Y/N… Try to get as many hostages out as you can. It’s a short flight to the shore, so don’t worry about overloading the Kamov.”

You met his eyes. “Leave it to us.”

He held your gaze a second longer than necessary. Then, without a word, he turned to Hal. Snake reached out, pulling him into a firm embrace. Brothers not by blood, but by everything they’d endured.

You knew this was it, the last moment before everything shifted, before the mission swallowed all of you whole again. You reached into your pack, fingers brushing over compartments until you found it: a small, matte-black silencer.

You stepped forward and offered it to Snake. “You’ll need this.”

He glanced down at it, then to you, and reached out to take it. But when his gloved fingers touched yours, both of you paused. Just a whisper of skin through fabric. A contact so brief and so still, it almost didn’t happen. But neither of you pulled away. The world held its breath with you.

His fingers curled around the silencer slowly, deliberately, but his eyes never left yours. The silence buzzed between you, full of everything that hadn’t been said since the mission began, since this strange closeness started to grow beneath the weight of gunfire and blood.

You reached up to adjust his earpiece. An excuse, maybe. A small task to fill the silence. Your fingers brushed against his jawline as you tucked the communicator securely in place. But you didn’t pull away immediately. Your hand lingered, brushing the edge of his cheek, your thumb resting at the corner of his face. Close enough to feel the warmth of him beneath all that armor and restraint.

And the thing is… he didn’t stop you.

He didn’t flinch. He just closed his eyes for half a second. Like maybe, if the world were quieter, if war didn’t exist, and time could just pause, he would’ve leaned into your hand and stayed there.

You swallowed hard, eyes softening. “Come back in one piece.”

His eyes opened again, sharp blue softened around the edges. He nodded once, but there was something behind it. A promise, maybe, or a wish he didn’t dare put into words. You stood there a moment longer, the silencer case still in your hand as your skin tingled from the phantom warmth of his touch.

Chapter 8: captured.

You disappeared from Snake’s depth of vision as you exhaled, slow and steady, like the moment you released a trigger. You turned toward Hal, who stood silently, his eyes red, his expression tight with grief but focused.

You approached him gently, placing a hand on his arm to anchor him back to the present. “Otacon, go to Strut E. Prep the Kasatka for evac. I’ll handle the hostages.”

He blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. “What? No, I should-“

“You’re the only one who can pilot her out of here. We need that bird ready the moment they’re across.”

Hal hesitated, jaw clenched. You could see the battle in his eyes, torn between duty and the raw ache in his chest. But then he nodded, slow and determined. “Alright. I’ll be ready.”

He started off in a run, white coat trailing, Emma’s blood still drying along the sleeves like an unshakable memory. You turned on your heel and took a breath before heading back into Shell 1, your footsteps sharp, precise. Every hallway, every turn, burned into your memory like a tactical map. You knew where the hostages were and you moved with intent, voice firm as you called out to the frightened men and women huddled in various rooms and corners.

“This way! Move quickly but stay quiet. You're getting out of here.”

All of them moved because your voice carried the kind of certainty they hadn’t felt in hours. Maybe days. One by one, you gathered them, herding them from shelter and shadows, guiding them through Shell 1’s narrowing corridors toward the connecting bridge between Shell E and F. The distant rumble of Arsenal’s systems powering up echoed behind you like a closing gate.

The EF connecting bridge loomed ahead with open air, sharp wind, and the endless stretch of sea all around. You stood at the threshold, watching the hostages move in a tight group across the steel walkway. You stood sentinel, back turned to the fire behind you, eyes scanning the sky ahead for the silhouette of the Kamov. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of sea and steel. Somewhere behind you, deep in the lower levels, a war was starting. But up here, your war was in the saving.

Then, like a shadow parting the clouds, the Kamov appeared in the distance, slicing through the air with a mechanical whir, drawing closer, Hal piloting it through the last stretch with practiced precision. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, chest tight with everything that had happened… and everything still to come.

The downdraft of its blades sent your hair whipping back, clothes flaring in the wind. You raised a hand against the gust, eyes locked on the cockpit as the chopper began to descend toward the bridge’s makeshift landing zone. Hal brought the Kasatka down gently, the skids clanging lightly against the metal grating. The doors swung open almost before it settled, and you moved fast, guiding the hostages one by one into the belly of the aircraft.

“Go! Move carefully, stay close, hold the rails!”

They obeyed, exhausted but alive, clinging to one another and to the hope of escape. You helped an injured engineer climb aboard, then ushered a trembling analyst after him. One woman paused, her eyes wide with fear.

“You’re safe now, I promise.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, and stepped inside. Only after the last civilian was aboard did you climb in yourself, closing the hatch behind you. Hal gave you a glance in the rearview mirror of the cockpit with a look of relief, of shared triumph, tinged with the grief that hadn’t yet left his eyes.

You gave him a subtle nod. “We’re all in.”

With a burst of lift, the Kamov surged back into the sky, veering sharply away from Big Shell. You turned toward the hostages, kneeling beside them as the helicopter cut through the clouds. Some were crying. Some were silent. Others were murmuring thanks beneath their breath, clinging to one another like survivors after a storm.

Then, through the side windows, a deep roar vibrated the glass. You turned just in time to witness the unimaginable: the Big Shell collapsing. Plumes of smoke erupted as Shell 2 cracked and began to tilt into the ocean. Fire bloomed along its ridges. Metal shrieked and snapped as the entire complex began to give way, structure by structure. One of the hostages gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Another cursed under his breath.

You held your breath as you watched the place crumble as every corridor, every empty room, every memory in steel and salt fell back into the sea like it had never existed.

You eased into the co-pilot’s seat, finally letting your muscles relax, but only slightly. The adrenaline hadn’t quite left your system, and your eyes kept drifting to the distant plumes of smoke where Big Shell once stood. The horizon looked hollow without it.

You glanced sideways. Hal was focused on flying, but you caught the way his gaze flicked toward you now and then.

“You’re still thinking about him,” Hal said gently. “Call him. Let him know you’re safe. We’re safe. He would want to hear it.”

You hesitated, thumb hovering over your codec. But finally, you exhaled, flipped it open, and tuned to Snake’s frequency. There was a faint click, then static, then that gravelly voice came through.

“You in one piece?”

You smiled. “Define ‘piece’. I’ve got all my limbs. A few bruises. Maybe a broken heart or two along the way.”

There was a pause. You could almost hear the small smirk in his voice. “Guess that’s more than I expected. You’ve got a habit of worrying me.”

“Didn’t know you worried, Snake. I thought you were too busy brooding and chain-smoking,” you teased lightly.

Another beat of silence. Then his voice dropped lower with more gravel, more heat.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you.”

Hal froze beside you. He didn’t say anything, but you felt the stillness in him, like a program buffering too fast for the CPU to catch up. His eyes flicked toward the windshield like they were glued there now.

You leaned back slightly, lips tugging into a smirk. “Aw, that almost sounded sweet. You get soft when I’m not around?”

“You’d be surprised how hard I can be when you’re around.”

Hal made a small choked sound, which he immediately disguised as a cough. You didn’t look at him. You were too busy biting your lip to stop the grin from spreading.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you mocked, almost innocent. “You still owe me for leaving without a proper goodbye.”

“Then stay safe for me,” you could hear his exhale over the line, the undeniable amuse present. “And come back wearing less.”

You exhaled slowly, voice dipping into something more sincere. “Come back in one piece, Snake. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Wouldn’t miss our reunion for the world,” Snake said, his voice softer now and steady.

The codec line cut. You slowly lowered your hand from the codec, still smiling to yourself. When you glanced sideways, Hal was gripping the stick a little tighter than before, his face burning with a hundred questions he was clearly not going to ask.

“…Okay, then.”

You tilted your head at him as you grinned. “Problem, Hal?”

“Nope, not at all,” Hal said quickly. “Totally fine. Flying perfectly. Great weather.”

You chuckled and leaned back in your seat, heart still thudding, warmth curling somewhere between your ribs.

---

The Kasatka hovered steadily over the designated LZ on the Manhattan Bridge. Otacon carefully brought the chopper down, its skids making contact with the concrete, just shy of the police barricades set up along the bridge. NYPD and emergency response teams were already on site, ushering civilians away and creating a perimeter.

You helped the last of them step out of the chopper, your hands firm but kind as you guided them onto solid ground. Emergency responders were already waiting, their voices calling out, blankets and medical kits ready.

Hal deactivated the rotors and joined you as the two of you stepped out into the sunlight. In the distance, smoke was beginning to rise from the far-off horizon — the Big Shell was no more. The artificial structure, and Arsenal Gear underneath it, had begun to collapse.

You turned to Hal, who was helping an older man with a bandaged arm. His glasses were fogged, his white coat rumpled, still stained with Emma’s blood, but there was a steady clarity in his eyes now.

“We did it,” you let out an exhale.

“We did,” Hal replied softly.

Once the last hostage was safely in the hands of medical personnel, the two of you boarded the Kasatka again, rising above the city skyline, flying low and quiet until you reached the designated safehouse.

The safehouse was a nondescript loft deep in Lower Manhattan, shielded by dummy lease agreements and multiple firewalls in the digital and physical sense. Dimly lit, the space had been used before with folding tables set with laptops, surveillance tapes, open dossiers.

Otacon had set up his gear near a wall already peppered with photos and schematics. His laptop screen blinked with Pentagon leaks and archived FROGS data recovered from the Big Shell’s servers. You leaned against the edge of the table, your expression sharp with focus.

“It wasn’t just about Arsenal. The whole thing was a copy of Shadow Moses.”

Hal nodded. “Same sequence. Same roles. Different names.”

He brought up side-by-side mission logs with Shadow Moses on one side, the Big Shell on the other.

“The virus. Even the betrayal by the commander. Raiden was forced into the same path as Snake. Every step was part of the Patriots’ S3 Plan.”

You studied the overlapping mission layouts, the psychological conditioning notes, the AI-driven codec calls. You crossed your arms, watching the loading bar complete on Hal’s screen as he decrypted another block of data.

“So the Patriots engineered the Big Shell incident to prove they could replicate Shadow Moses… to prove they could fabricate legends.”

Hal sat down, leaning forward, exhausted. “And Snake and Raiden? They were just variables in the simulation.”

The whir of laptops filled the safehouse, interrupted only by the sharp taps of Hal’s keyboard. You hovered near him, headset on, waiting. Then Hal tuned in his frequency, calling Snake.

“Snake! Raiden!” Hal called out.

“Otacon! Y/N! You guys all right?” Snake replied, almost breathless.

“Yeah, so are all the hostages,” Otacon answered.

“That’s good news,” you heard Raiden say.

“How’s everything on your end?” You asked.

“All right for now. But there is something,” Raiden paused, the continued. “The Colonel’s transmission was strange.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Strange? How?”

“Just… strange. No idea.”

You and Hal looked at each other before he spoke. “Interference?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is this Colonel?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met the man, actually.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, already searching. Hal answered, “I’ll dig around.”

“Thanks. I owe you guys one,” Raiden said before cutting the codec off.

You and Hal’s fingers flew over your keyboards. You watched the waveform data pulse on the screen as Hal captured the frequency pattern. You squinted your eyes as you took a good look at it.

“That’s strange…” Hal frowned. “The codec line isn’t a relay. It’s not bouncing off external towers or satellites.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He zoomed in on the data path, rechecking it again and again. “This signal’s originating from inside Arsenal Gear.”

A chill ran down your spine. “That’s not possible. The Colonel… he’s inside Arsenal?”

Hal shook his head. “No. It’s not him. There’s no physical body tied to this transmission.”

You stared at the screen, pulse rising. “Raiden’s been talking to… an AI.”

Hal pulled up a side profile that had “COLONEL ROY CAMPBELL” with metadata from military records. The Shadow Moses logs appeared beneath it.

“He’s based on a real person. Roy Campbell,” Hal explained. “He was Snake’s CO during the Shadow Moses incident.”

You took the files that had the mission logs, codec transcripts, and timelines – all leading to a pattern. “They recreated the events. Raiden’s been walking the same path as Snake. The same missions. The same betrayals. Even the same mentor…”

You stepped back, breath catching as the thought solidified in your head.

“This whole incident… it’s a mirror.”

Hal blinked at you. “You mean…”

“Shadow Moses. The S3 Plan. They weren’t trying to create a perfect soldier. They were trying to recreate the legend of Solid Snake.”

You looked down at the screen, line after line of meaningless codec chatter, corrupted voice, and falsified commands.

“They made a war…” you said, the disbelief laced in your voice. “Felt like a video game.”

The silence fell in the room. Hal’s jaw was tense, his eyes scanning the endless loops of data. The Patriots had not just manipulated information. They had simulated meaning itself, controlling perception, emotion, and decision.

“But why?” You turned to Hal, voice barely above a whisper. “Why go this far?”

Hal didn’t have the answer, and neither did you. Just the weight of realization, and the fact that Raiden down there, somewhere in Arsenal, was still being fed lines from a ghost of a man long disconnected from the truth.  You stared back at the console.

“How do we fight something that isn’t even alive?” You murmured to yourself.

Hal adjusted his glasses as he opened the Codec. The hum of machinery and screens filled the background as he called Raiden back.

“Raiden, about this Colonel of yours. I found out where he is.”

“Where?”

“Inside Arsenal.”

There was a pause, as if Raiden was taking in what had just said.

“What?!”

“We checked out all the possibilities,” you said. “But Otacon kept coming back to Arsenal. It isn’t a relay point. It’s the origin of the signal.”

“And the encryption protocol it uses is exactly the same as that of Arsenal’s AI. The so-called GW,” Hal added.

“What the hell does this mean?!”

“I think it means… you’ve been talking to an AI.”

There was a long silence on the line. You could hear Raiden’s breathing shift.

“No… No, that can’t be right. It’s impossible.”

“I ran it multiple times. Cross-checked the patterns, authentication keys, even the Codec frequency signatures. It’s not human. It’s all machine-driven logic.”

“Then what the hell am I doing here? Was any of this even real?” Raiden exclaimed in disbelief.

“You’re real, Raiden. Your choices are your own, regardless of how much they’ve tried to script them,” you managed to say, not hiding the disbelief in your tone.

“So the mission… my orders… even my identity… none of it’s mine?” Raiden asked.

Hal let out a sigh before replying. “Maybe not the start. But how you finish it, that’s on you now.”

The codec transmission with Raiden faded out, leaving the safehouse quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of keys and the hum of your laptops. Hal hunched forward in his chair, sifting through layers of data logs, while you stood back, arms crossed, mind racing. The more you uncovered about the Patriots, GW, and the eerie echoes of Shadow Moses, the more it became clear that this wasn’t just another mission.

And Snake was the center of it all.

You turned from the screen, the shadows of Arsenal’s implications heavy in your chest. He had gone in without hesitation, same as always, but this time, there was no fallback. No safety net. Not unless you made one.

You quietly stepped away from Hal, pulling up a side terminal and beginning to input a different set of coordinates. Emergency extraction. A false ID drop linked to an old European contact. You scanned through decoy routes, plotted satellite blind spots, and issued falsified clearance for a private boat set to dock at Pier 42 near Manhattan under a shell company's name.

It wasn’t much. But if Snake made it out of Arsenal in one piece, this would be the only way to get him off-grid.

Hal noticed your movement, giving you a glance. “What are you doing?”

“I’m covering Snake,” you said without looking up. “If this goes south, he’ll need a way out. A quiet one.”

He hesitated, then nodded, his eyes soft with understanding. “You always think ahead.”

You offered a small smile. “Someone has to.”

You slipped out of the safehouse with only the essentials that had encrypted codes, forged documents, and the final clearance key for the evac boat. The city was colder than before, wind carrying that sharp tang of something about to collapse. Somewhere beneath the waves, Arsenal was stirring, and you were racing against it.

The streets thinned as you neared the Hudson, the lights of the dock barely visible through the mist rolling over the water. You moved quickly but silently, mind checking every angle. You were almost there. The boat was tucked between two freighters, its engine still and waiting for your final authorization.

You reached for the comm in your jacket. But then, you heard a rustle behind. You turned instinctively, hand going to your sidearm, but it was too late.

A sharp sting hit your neck. A hiss of pressure. Your knees buckled. The last thing you saw before the world tilted was a man in civilian clothing with a small neural device tucked behind his ear like an agent. You hit the concrete with a soft thud, shadows pulling you under.

Chapter 9: sorrows.

“It’s been a long wait, Solid Snake. The root of all my sorrows.”

The clang of metal echoed through the Arsenal’s corridor. The scent of saltwater clung to everything, heavy and electric like a storm had passed through and hadn’t quite finished. Raiden was beside Snake, catching his breath from the climb.

But Snake already knew they wouldn’t be side by side for long.

Fortune stepped out from the shadows like a ghost. Dignified in paid, and steeled by vengeance. Her railgun gleamed like a coffin lid. Snake narrowed his eyes, exhaling slowly, as he raised her railgun, finger tightening on the grip.

Snake glanced at Raiden. “Go. Now.”

Raiden hesitated, then sprinted toward the ladder. Snake didn’t look back and only stepped forward.

“I don’t know what your group’s been through,” he said, tone low and steady. “But let’s get one thing clear: I didn’t kill your father.”

Fortune’s eyes narrowed, her rage sharpening like a blade. “Do you think anyone believes your lies?!”

The railgun hissed to life, and she fired. Snake ducked and rolled, then opened fire in return. His M4 roared, but the bullets covered, missed and deflected with the same damned curse. He gritted his teeth as no bullet touched her.

Fortune advanced slowly, each step purposeful. The railgun discharged again and again, sending metal shrapnel scattering around Snake as he moved. One burst struck the wall beside his face, showering sparks across his cheek. He dove, rolled, and came up behind a crate, firing again, hoping for any angle. But it was like the air bent around her. As if reality itself refused to let her be touched.

Snake’s breath was heavy, not from exertion, but frustration. He emerged from cover, trying to flank, but she was waiting. She didn’t shoot. She just stared. Then, for the first time, she lowered her weapon.

Snake didn’t trust it. True enough, she pulled a set of heavy-duty handcuffs from her belt.

“You’re coming with me,” she said coldly. “You’ll face your judgment… in front of him.”

The clang of boots against metal filled the hollow corridors of Arsenal Gear. The railgun pressed against his back like a silent threat, and Fortune’s presence lingered at his shoulder, as if vengeance had already been served the moment she’d slapped the cuffs on his wrists.

The cuffs were cold and stiff against his skin, their weight less physical than symbolic. Still, he kept his footing, gaze trained on the ladder ahead as they climbed to the upper level. A dull alarm sounded in the distance, muffled by the thick armor plating of the facility.

Everything was in motion now, and Snake couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that something was off. Not about Fortune. Not about the RAYs.

About you.

Then, just as he stepped off the final rung, Otacon’s voice burst through his codec, uncharacteristically frantic. “Snake! Snake! Have you heard from her?”

Snake froze, heart lurching before he could stop it. “No. Why?”

“She’s gone,” the words came from Hal, so frightening, enough to send Snake a chill down his spine. “I’ve tried every line. Every frequency. Nothing. She was supposed to rendezvous with the evac boat near the docks an hour ago. She never made it.”

Snake’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean she never made it?” He hissed under his breath, shifting slightly as Fortune guided him forward at gunpoint. “You were supposed to monitor everything.”

“I-I was tracking the exfil route. She went dark just outside the drop zone. I doubled back through the surveillance grid. There’s nothing. One minute she’s pinging near Battery Park, then the next minute, she’s off the grid completely. Like she vanished.”

Snake’s eyes narrowed. “You lost her?”

“I didn’t lose her, Snake! She’s not even on the satellite anymore!”

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. “She wouldn’t go dark unless she had to,” Snake muttered. “Unless something, or someone, cut her off.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Snake clenched his jaw, flexing his wrists against the cuffs. Fortune shot him a curious glance but said nothing, guiding him toward the blast doors at the end of the catwalk. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not here. Not now. But the static hum in his ear and the absence of your voice left a knot in his chest that only grew tighter with every step.

“Keep trying to trace her last known coordinates,” he murmured. “And Otacon, if anything happens to her…”

“I know.”

The codec clicked off. Snake looked straight ahead, forcing his breathing to steady. One foot in front of the other. But inside, everything was starting to shake.

Where the hell are you?

The blast doors rumbled open with a mechanical groan, a rush of recycled air flooding in like a final exhale from a dying beast. Fortune nudged Snake forward.

The space beyond was vast with Arsenal Gear’s massive hangar, lined with skeletal remains of what once stood as mechanical gods. Metal Gear RAY units, dozens of them, now slumped in defeat. Crumpled metal. Sparking joints. Armor peeled back like broken ribs. Destroyed.

Snake blinked, stunned. "What the hell…?"

His boots echoed against the steel floor as he stepped inside, cuffed hands hanging useless in front of him. Every RAY was down. Every single one. But that wasn’t what made him stop dead in his tracks.

It was the sight just ahead, atop a twisted platform of collapsed metal.

Solidus was there, and in his grasp was Raiden, hoisted effortlessly by the throat. The younger man’s legs kicked weakly as Solidus tightened his grip, snarling something Snake couldn’t make out through the ringing in his ears. The entire hangar throbbed with heat, ozone, and ruin. Sparks rained from above like artificial stars.

Snake’s breath caught. Everything was spiraling and unraveling faster than he could process. He looked around at the carnage. The mission. The AI. Arsenal. You. All of it felt like a simulation gone off-script, like the world was collapsing under the weight of lies, betrayal, and ghosts.

He took a step forward, heart pounding, eyes flickering between Raiden’s limp form and Solidus’s towering stance. His exoskeleton hissed as his fingers clenched tighter around Raiden’s throat. The younger man’s boots scraped uselessly against the metal, struggling for breath.

Fortune stepped forward, calm but edged with disdain. “What do you hope to hear? You know he doesn’t know anything.”

“It’s not him I want the answers from,” Solidus replied, too calmly.

“What do you mean?” Fortune asked.

“That’s not your business.”

“Oh really?” She narrowed your eyes. “It so happens I have some business of my own to attend to

She turned, long coat swaying as she moved to leave, only to be halted by Solidus’ sharp voice.

“Planning to hijack Arsenal?” Solidus smirked. “You were going to screw me over, weren’t you?”

Fortune paused. “…Who talked? Ocelot?”

“Not exactly. I was the one who used Ocelot to suggest the idea to you in the first place.”

“What…?”

“I was planning to give you Arsenal to begin with.”

“…Why the uncharacteristic generosity?”

Their words clashed like steel on steel, but Snake barely heard them anymore. He stood there, still handcuffed, jaw tight, pulse hammering at his temple. His eyes flicked to Raiden, but his thoughts had drifted far from the battlefield.

Where are you…?

That question looped like static in his head. Otacon’s frantic, guilt-ridden voice still echoed in his ears. He couldn’t shake the chill that followed.

You wouldn’t have just walked away. Not like that. Not without a word. Not after everything.

But the silence… it hurt.

His gut twisted with unease. Either you had made the choice to disappear, quietly slipping away from the wreckage of his life and the chaos his name carried...

He clenched his fists against the cuffs. Arsenal’s deck trembled beneath his boots, but it was nothing compared to the dread rising in his chest. Snake’s thoughts were still adrift in the quiet storm of your absence when a low, mocking laugh pierced the tension.

It was from Ocelot. Snake’s eyes snapped to him. The handcuffed weight on his wrists suddenly felt heavier as Ocelot continued laughing, as if something Solidus said had been the punchline of a private joke.

“What exactly do you find so funny?" Fortune asked coldly.

Ocelot, now striding forward with that familiar gait, too casual for someone standing in the middle of a power struggle, raised his hand in mock amusement. “Charades usually are humorous. I wouldn't have minded watching some more of it, but we’re running a little short on time."

Solidus stepped forward, his exoskeleton humming low with tension. “What are you talking about?”

“Everything you’ve done here has been scripted. A little exercise set up by us,” Ocelot said, his words delivered with a finality.

“Exercise?!” Solidus exclaimed in disbelief.

“The S3 Plan,” Ocelot glanced at Snake, a glint in his eye. “Solid Snake Simulation.”

Snake froze, a cold ripple coursed down his spine. Inside him, something cracked. His mind reeled back, not by will, but by force, images firing off like old film reels left looping too long in the dark.

It did feel like he was back in Shadow Moses with the cool wind across his face. The snow kicked up with every step as the soft whirring of the elevator descending into the nuclear storage building.

He remembered Meryl’s bloodied arm trembling in his hand. Gray Fox screamed behind his mask, standing between REX and certain death. Otacon’s trembling voice saying goodbye at the hangar door. Naomi’s words over the codec. Campbell’s lies. The Genome soldiers. The betrayal. Liquid’s face… his own face… staring back at him. Mocking him atop Metal Gear REX as it burned.

He buried those memories. Or at least, tucked them away under steel and silence. Now, they were being pulled out like files from a drawer rearranged and replayed. All of it… a part of someone’s plan.

He clenched his jaw, trying to hold on to the now. But the cold of Alaska hadn’t left him. The smell of blood and gun oil still lingered like ghosts on his skin.

“So this whole thing…” Snake’s voice came low and bitter. “…was just a remake.”

Ocelot’s smirk widened, like a conductor preparing his final movement. “The Big Shell Incident, the terrorists, Dead Cell, Arsenal Gear - every element was carefully curated. A perfect reconstruction of Shadow Moses… all for one purpose.”

He turned to Solidus.

“You played your part admirably, Mr. President. Just as we needed. A man betrayed by his country, wielding power, pushing our test subject, the boy, to the edge.”

Solidus growled through clenched teeth. “A puppet…?”

“The Patriots pulled every string,” Ocelot looked at Snake next. “Shadow Moses created you. The world needed to know if another legend could be manufactured… from nothing.”

Snake narrowed his eyes. “You used him.”

“He was the perfect test subject. Moldable. Trainable. Isolated. Every variable mimicked from your own path: the VR missions, the betrayal, the illusion of choice. Everything was planned…” Ocelot’s smile faltered just for moment, the glint in his eye dimmed. “Except for two things.”

The tension in the room changed.

“One: the real Solid Snake’s unexpected involvement. You were never meant to be here, Snake. The Patriots expected you to remain in the shadows. An outdated variable. They underestimated your persistence… your legend.”

Snake felt Fortune’s gaze shift toward him, quiet but calculating.

“And two…” He stepped forward, voice dropping lower, almost admiring. “Her.”

Snake’s heart skipped.

“Your rogue partner. The government thought they had her in their pocket until she walked away with intel no one authorized her to touch. Until she started helping you dismantle Metal Gear data cells across the globe. Until she crossed a line.”

Ocelot’s voice curled with venomous respect.

“She wasn’t part of the simulation. She was a crack in the foundation. The Patriots didn’t predict her emotional tether to you, and certainly didn’t expect her to disappear into Manhattan during your insertion… arranging your exfil… forging IDs, sabotaging the escape routes.”

Snake’s hands clenched behind the cuffs.

“She didn’t vanish, Snake. She was taken.”

The world around Snake slowed. His breath hitched. Ocelot looked him dead in the eye, savoring every second of his silence.

“She was too close to the flame. And unlike you, she didn’t have the privilege of knowing who her real enemy was. She got too close to the Patriots, and they always collect their debts.”

It felt like a bullet had been fired through Snake’s chest. His jaw locked, straining against the scream inside his throat. Fortune looked toward Snake, unreadable. For a moment, her expression flickered with doubt, perhaps, or pity.

But Snake didn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t need her pity.

His thoughts spiraled, tangled in the truth he hadn’t wanted to believe. It wasn’t just Raiden being manipulated. It wasn’t just the mission. Everything, even your presence in this operation, had been swallowed by the Patriots’ web.

Ocelot’s boots clicked against the steel floor as he began to circle.

“The Patriots left very little to chance. Every player, every piece on the board… even those you thought were free.” He stopped just short of Snake, head tilted. “Do you think this was ever just about Arsenal? About Solidus? About you?”

He laughed again, low and mocking.

“Three prisoners. Three variables to keep Raiden obedient. Olga’s child. Raiden’s beloved Rose. And…” His gaze locked with Snake’s. “…the woman who betrayed her country to stand by you.”

Snake’s shoulders tensed, breath still. Ocelot didn’t look away.

“They’re all alive. For now. But the Patriots don’t keep hostages. They keep leverage. And if Raiden fails his mission, they’re as good as dead.”

Snake’s jaw tightened, wrists still bound in the cuffs as his mind reeled. You were in the same situation. Used as a pawn in a war you never asked for. Held somewhere because you meant something. Because he meant something to you.

The steel walls of Arsenal felt colder than ever.

---

You floated somewhere between consciousness and sleep, if it could even be called that.

There was no waking up, not really. No movement. Just the gnawing awareness of stillness, like your mind was adrift in a body that wouldn’t answer anymore. Somewhere, you could see yourself.

Laid flat on a cold bed of surgical steel, too pristine to be comforting. Pale light pulsed from overhead fluorescents. The sterile hum of machinery whispered in the corners of your awareness. You were there… and you weren’t. It was like watching a stranger in your skin.

A translucent mask covered your mouth. Thin cables curled across your scalp, monitoring brainwaves. More wires ran down your neck, arms, and chest—tethering you like a puppet whose strings weren’t being pulled, just monitored. Vital signs blinked slowly on a nearby monitor, the rhythm of your body still fighting to live, even if your mind felt like it was sinking.

From beyond the glass, you could sense figures watching silently, hidden behind mirrored panels, their presence pressing against the walls like a weight you couldn’t name. Patriots? Machines? Both?

Your memory slipped like oil through fingers. You remembered heading toward the evac boat. The docks. The forged identity in your pocket. Snake’s plan to disappear.

Now, all you could do was exist in this in-between, trapped in your own body. Snake didn’t know. Hal didn’t know. No one had found you. You were a ghost inside a shell, helpless and waiting for a rescue that might never come. But even here, you felt the fight in your veins.

Ahead, there was a figure that was tall, gaunt, and motionless. He stood with his back to you, cloaked in faded combat gear that looked decades old. A long coat. Pale skin. Hollow eyes that stared off into nothing.

“Who…” you hesitated, but continued anyway. “…are you?”

The man turned his head slightly. Just enough for you to see the red streak running from his eye like blood that never stopped bleeding.

“I am The Sorrow.”

The name rang empty in your ears. “Where am I? Am I dead?”

He looked at you then, not with sympathy, but a kind of mourning. A man who had already grieved you before you even understood why.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

You swallowed. The fog beneath your feet curled like smoke. “Then why am I here?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes seemed to drift through you, as if seeing something far beyond your physical form.

“He’s still fighting.”

That made your heart jolt. “Who?”

“David.”

You took a step closer. “Is he… okay?”

The Sorrow didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. “He carries the dead with him.” A pause. “Just like the rest of us.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked past you slowly, as if floating. And as he did, you caught a whisper of voices in the distance with gunfire, screams, and heavy boots on wet steel. There came Shadow Moses, then the Big Shell.

It was all bleeding together.

“What is this place?” you called, suddenly uneasy. “Why are you showing me this?”

He didn’t turn back. “You’re connected now. To him. To the cycle.”

“I don’t understand.”

He stopped once more, gaze still locked on a horizon you couldn’t see. “You will.”

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Your limbs froze. Your chest ached. The bed returned beneath you like a cruel reminder. You were still in the Patriots’ grip. Still trapped in that body. But now, your mind buzzed with questions. With fear.

And with one steady thought above all: Snake is still fighting.

And you had to live long enough to find him again.

Chapter 10: fallen.

The world was coming undone. He had seen too much death.

Snake stood frozen for a moment in chaos, the cold hum of Arsenal Gear vibrating beneath his feet. Everything moved too fast, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the spot where Olga had fallen. Her body crumpled to the floor beside Raiden’s restrained form, her face stilled in the briefest flicker of maternal resolve.

She never got to see her child again. A quiet, brutal kind of grief settled over Snake like ash.

Snake stepped forward instinctively, eyes narrowing toward the man responsible, but before he could reach him, Fortune moved. Her railgun crackled as she stood between Snake, Raiden, and Solidus. Even Ocelot paused, his usual smugness replaced with a flash of uncertainty.

As if it were fate’s cruel joke, proving herself to be Lady Luck, she collapsed.

The floor buckled under Snake’s boots as Arsenal Gear roared to life with systems failing, sirens blaring, and steel groaning with inertia. In the midst of Fortune’s quiet betrayal and Solidus’s boiling confusion, Snake’s ears caught a sudden, unsettling sound.

There was laughter, low at first. Then manic. It came from Ocelot, but this wasn’t his voice anymore.

Snake turned just in time to see Ocelot’s posture change. His stance was more feral now, more theatrical, like someone wearing a new skin for the first time. His right arm, now Liquid’s arm, tensed unnaturally, fingers curling like claws before relaxing.

“Brothers…”

The voice hit Snake like ice water down his spine. Ocelot’s head tilted back, grinning wildly as Liquid’s voice rang through him.

“It's been a long time, hasn't it?”

Liquid Ocelot turned toward the console and initiated the override. The hatch behind him began to open, revealing the massive figure of Metal Gear RAY waiting in the launch bay.

“Time for the final act.” He leapt into the RAY’s cockpit with a sickening laugh. “Let’s see how far this snake can swim.”

The launch engaged as steam hissed, and Metal Gear RAY plummeted into the ocean with a thunderous splash. Snake gritted his teeth as he broke the handcuffs of him, slipping through the hatch just before it sealed, racing down the maintenance corridor. There was no time to think.

He dove into the water seconds later, chasing after RAY’s dive trail. It was hopeless, but he had to try. Salt water blinded him, pressure dragging him under. He swam deeper, teeth clenched, lungs burning, until he caught a glimpse of its metallic hull disappearing into the abyss.

Snake pulled the small magnetic tracker from his belt. He slapped it against the armor, then everything was water and silence and weight. His body couldn’t keep up. His muscles ached, vision darkened, and the cold took hold.

A bright light broke through the dark above. A boat with a  familiar voice shouting, “Snake! Hold on!”

Snake barely opened his eyes before Otacon pulled him up from the water, soaking and shivering but alive. The boat, the one you had started securing before everything fell apart, was roaring at full speed.

Otacon gripped the wheel with one hand and Snake’s arm with the other, yelling over the storm. “Arsenal’s on the move! We’ve got to get clear!”

Snake coughed seawater, catching his breath. “He’s… gone. Liquid’s in control.”

Otacon’s jaw tightened. “And her?”

Snake didn’t have time to answer when the sudden force of water, pressure, and Arsenal’s own momentum dragged him and Otacon down. For a moment, the world became weightless. Snake managed to steady the boat, just in time to see Arsenal pushing forward like a godless beast beneath the skyline.

A sickening crunch of metal stone as Arsenal slammed into the base of Federal Hall. The foundation of history cracked beneath the weight of engineered war. Smoke and dust bloomed into the air like mushroom clouds, choking the city in silence and disbelief. The archways shattered, walls broken apart. A part of the dome crumbled on impact.

Snake drifted in the water, stunned, watching as the monument to American democracy was eaten by the very machine built to defend it.

“Jesus…” he muttered, voice hoarse, lips numb from the cold.

He didn’t feel the pain in his shoulder until he tried to move it. He groaned, catching himself on a floating chunk of debris, blinking the river from his lashes.  Otacon exited the boat, taking a look at the now crumbled Federal Hall.

Outside, the statue of George Washington at the front of Federal Hall stood untouched, arms raised in welcome, as the wreckage of Arsenal Gear settled behind him, choking in smoke and iron. As if America’s foundation cracked beneath the weight of what it had become.

The roar of distant sirens echoed across the river. Smoke from Arsenal’s impact still curlef into the sky like fingers clawing at the past. Snake sat hunched over the wall, soaked and silent. Otacon was running scams on frequencies, intercepted signals, and any trace you might’ve left. He pulled satellite data, schematics from the Big Shell ruins, even old Patriot routing relays.

Otacon frowned, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve gone through everything multiple times. No heat signatures, no transmission bursts, not even a ping.”

They both fell quiet, the only sound being the hum of engines and the flickering screen. Then, the codec rang, as Snake instinctively reached for his ear. He frowned when he saw the frequency was wrong.

The voice slithered in, smooth and synthetic, laced with that uncanny precision he knew too well.

“You’re searching for something you’ve already lost, Snake,” the AI colonel said coldly.

Snake’s eyes narrowed. “You.”

“You were always so tenacious.”

Snake growled. “Where is she?”

A pause, long enough to crawl under his skin.

“Where she is… depends entirely on Raiden now. As does the fate of Olga Gurlukovich’s child and Rosemary. All three are bound to the same outcome.”

Snake’s jaw clenched. “What outcome?”

“Victory over Solidus. Or death.”

A cold spike ran down Snake’s spine. Otacon looked at him, eyes wide.

“We wanted to see what kind of soldier could emerge from the simulation. Raiden must finish it. Or the assets... will be liquidated.”

Just like that, the codec cut off. No trail. No trace. Not even a digital shadow. Snake stood still as the wind bit through his soaked gear. His fists trembled, not from cold, but from helplessness.

Otacon turned to him, voice small. “Now what?”

Snake exhaled, slow. Eyes on the chaos at the top of Federal Hall, on the wreckage of war and lies.

“We wait…” he said, defeated.

And in that moment, the strongest soldier alive could do nothing but hope.

---

Otacon’s fingers danced across the keyboard, eyes locked to the flickering server logs he managed to extract from one of the corrupted Patriot backdoors. The data was fragmented, like bone shards after an explosion, but something was starting to take shape.

Snake stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the glow of the screen paint Otacon’s tired face in blue.

“…I found something,” Otacon said, voice low.

Snake stepped closer.

“After the Big Shell was compromised, there was a cleanup protocol. Internal sweep. I managed to decrypt some of the server calls issued within Arsenal Gear, just before the crash.”

A terminal buzzed with a burst of static, then displayed broken lines of code, glitched names, redacted locations.

Otacon pointed. “Look here. ‘Companion Subject Retained Post-Raid.’ No ID. But there's a time-stamp. Matches exactly when she disappeared.”

Snake’s eye narrowed.

Otacon scrolled down. “And here: ‘Secondary Biological Asset. Status: Child. Protection Level: 7.’”

Snake stiffened. “That’s Olga’s kid.”

Otacon nodded. “They didn’t just keep them. They assigned massive security to the child. Level 7 is reserved for ultra-black operations—ciphered even from top Patriot AI layers.”

“…And her?” Snake asked.

“Still labeled as a companion to the simulation’s control variables. It’s vague on purpose. But it proves they still have her.”

Snake exhaled, slow and bitter. “And Rosemary?”

Otacon hesitated. He hit a few more keys, filtered through more noise. Nothing.

“…That’s the strange part. There’s no mention of Rosemary. Not in any of the logs. Not even a redacted file. It’s like she was never entered into the system.”

Snake furrowed his brow. “They said she was taken.”

“I know. The AI confirmed it. But Snake, even the Patriots don’t just forget a capture log. If there’s no data trail, it could mean…” He trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“Either she’s dead,” Snake finished for him, “or she was never really a prisoner to begin with.”

Snake looked out over the dark water. Distant police lights danced across the skyline. Arsenal’s wreckage loomed in the distance like a carcass that still breathed secrets. Then, they moved through the crowd, unassuming among the thousands trying to make sense of it all.

But then, a familiar face.

Otacon stopped. “Snake, look.”

Across the street, among dazed onlookers and rescue workers, stood Rosemary who was alive, intact, and with no restraints. Not even a sign of trauma. Just… watching.

Snake didn’t hesitate. He broke from the sidewalk, weaving through bodies, his voice sharper than the cold air. “Rose!”

She turned, startled.  “Snake!”

“Where is she?” he asked, firm, stepping into her space. “Where is she?!”

Otacon caught up, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Answer me,” Snake said, lower now but no less intense.

Rose’s expression wavered. “She’s… alive,” she said softly. “You have to believe that.”

“That’s not good enough,” Snake snapped. “We saw the files. You were captured. Same as her, same as the child. You’re the only one we found.”

“I was,” she admitted, looking down. “But after Raiden defeated Solidus… after the mission parameters were complete… they let me go.”

“Why?” Otacon asked. “Why just you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. All I was told… was that Jack’s success meant our lives would be spared. Mine, hers… and the child’s.”

Snake’s jaw clenched. “Then where is she?”

Rose’s voice broke slightly. “I don’t know. I woke up in an empty apartment. Everything was… reset. My clothes. My phone. The door unlocked. No guards. Just a message on the mirror: ‘You are free.’”

Otacon frowned. “But she wasn’t with you?”

Rose shook her head. “No, and I don’t think I was meant to see her again.”

Snake turned away, cursing under his breath. The noise of the city seemed to close in around them, swallowing any hope in static.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Otacon muttered. “If they spared her, why hide her? Why erase the trail?”

Just as Snake turned his eyes to the smoke curling over Federal Hall, a voice broke through the murmur of the crowd. He looked over his shoulder. Otacon’s gaze followed.

Rosemary called out, stepping slightly forward. “Jack!”

Raiden stood a few paces behind them. His hair clung damply to his forehead, his face pale with fatigue and disbelief, but he moved, drawn toward the voice. Toward her.

“Rose?” he breathed, the word fragile, almost inaudible.

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him. Raiden stood frozen for a heartbeat, then clutched her tightly, like she’d vanish again if he loosened his grip. Snake and Otacon quietly gave them space.

“I thought they’d—” Raiden choked.

“They let me go,” she said softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Because of you. You saved me.”

Raiden looked to Snake, then Otacon. Both men now watched him carefully. He swallowed.

“But not everyone,” Snake said, his voice calm but carrying weight.

Otacon nodded. “They’re still out there. Her… and Olga’s child. Somewhere in the system.”

Raiden’s brows furrowed. “They told me… if I finished my mission, they’d let them go.”

Snake stepped forward. “They lied. Or they changed the rules. Doesn’t matter which.”

Otacon tapped his phone, already running traces, his expression grim. Snake narrowed his eye toward the skyline, where shadows of broken metal loomed above the city. Amid the wreckage of conspiracy, ghosts of war, and the blinding Manhattan dusk, the four of them stood, bound now by more than mission or circumstance.

Chapter 11: don't die on me.

The mission was clear, but the leads were few.

The Patriots had buried everything under layers of encrypted firewalls and dead-end trails, scattered across the fractured remnants of Arsenal Gear’s data core. Otacon worked relentlessly, fingers flying across keys on his laptop. Raiden scanned every thread of military intel he could access, reaching out to old channels.

And Snake… Snake sat by the corner near the window, the city lights glimmering like stars, trying to breathe through smog. He lit a cigarette, but he didn’t smoke it. He leaned back, one arm bracing against the rusted rail of the window, the other holding the cigarette limply between his fingers.

Somewhere out there, you were alive. He had to believe that, but your absence gnawed at him, carving a space that his pragmatism couldn’t fill.

He remembered the little things first. The way you always hummed “Fly Me To The Moon” when you worked. Off-key, sometimes slow and dreamy, sometimes swinging your hips like you were dancing alone in a space you only understood. You claimed it calmed you down. Snake had once teased you about it, and you told him the moon was the only place untouched by war.

Then there were the mornings you shared with Otacon. You’d barge in the room blasting K-pop through your comm unit just to get on Otacon’s nerves. Otacon would groan and dramatically threaten to defect to another timeline where only Japanese pop existed, while you playfully swore you’d convert him by the end of the week.

Snake would smirk quietly every time. It was annoying, but in a way that softened the hard edges of their world.

Then his memory wandered further, unbidden to that one incident – the changing room. He had opened the door without knocking. He didn’t expect to see you halfway into a shirt, your bare back to him, skin warm and golden under fluorescent light, hair a mess from just waking up.

You turned sharply, surprised, but not ashamed. Snake, on the other hand, stood frozen.

“Snake,” you said flatly. “You’re still staring.”

He backed out so quickly that he tripped on the doorframe, muttering a string of apologies that felt pitiful even as he said them. He locked himself in the bathroom a full hour after that, trying to convince himself he hadn’t seen the curve of your spine or the glimpse of skin above your waistband. That he definitely hadn’t like it.

But it didn’t stop there.

Over time, you made him feel things. He noticed your laugh before your words. The curve of your lips when you teased him. The subtle way you’d bump his shoulder when walking past, just to make him acknowledge you. How you never treated him like a weapon.

And sometimes, during the long nights patrolling together, when it was just the two of you under the stars, speaking in whispers, he’d catch himself staring. Letting his mind wander, wondering what it would be like to touch your face, how you’d look undressed. But not just naked – vulnerable.

He never acted on it. Not just because of the mission, or the chaos that surrounded them, but because he didn’t think he deserved you. Not with blood on his hands, not with death trailing his footsteps like a shadow.

But now, with you missing, it hurt worse in places he thought had gone numb. Snake exhaled slowly, and the cigarette burned out against the window.

“Snake,” Otacon called softly from the cabin, breaking the silence. “I found something.”

Snake rose and walked back inside without a word. Otacon hunched over the terminal, eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. Lines of corrupted data flickered on the screen with an avalanche of junk code, misdirects, and dead ends. But something in the patterns caught Otacon’s attention.

There was a hidden file, buried in a mirrored data fragment tagged with defunct black-budget intel codes. He decrypted it manually, then he froze.

“Jackpot,” Otacon whispered.

Snake stepped beside him, casting a shadow over the screen. He leaned in from the other side, brows furrowed. “What is that?” Snake asked.

Otacon clicked to open the text string. It was heavily redacted, but enough remained to piece it together. It had the companion subjects named after you and Olga’s child with their facility locations, with a note at the bottom as high-risk.

Raiden came from the other side, his jaw clenching. “That’s… that’s them. That’s where they took them.”

Otacon nodded slowly. “They’re being held in Area 51. Probably deep underground. Somewhere even the U.S. government isn’t aware of. Maybe it’s a Patriot-internal designation.”

Snake said nothing for a beat, taking the words in. Then he spoke, “How long ‘til we get there?”

“I can rig a jet to take us near Nevada,” Otacon replied. “We’ll have to go dark he moment we enter restricted airspace. No drones. No transmissions. We’ll be flying blind.”

“That’s nothing new,” Snake muttered.

Raiden looked between them, voice low. “Why Area 51? Why keep them there?”

“Off-grid. Deep underground. Sealed,” Otacon said. “If the Patriots wanted to keep a child and someone like her off the map forever… that’s exactly where they’d go. There's no jurisdiction. No oversight.”

“And we still don’t know why they spared Rosemary,” Snake added, glancing at Raiden.

Raiden hesitated. “Whatever it is… they wanted us to find her. But not them.”

Snake looked toward the window, the city lights fading behind them as the sea opened ahead.

“Now what?” Otacon quietly asked.

“We go ghost,” Snake replied. “We infiltrate. Get them out.”

“And if they’ve turned the whole facility into a trap?” Otacon asked.

“Then we spring it.”

Later, aboard the modified stealth jet, Snake sat near the rear compartment, checking his gear. Raiden calibrated his blade’s edge silently. Otacon adjusted the radar systems to mask their presence.

Snake pulled out a small audio recorder from his vest, an iPod that he had kept hidden during missions when he needed to decrease his stress. It had only one file on it – your favorite song.

“Fly me to the moon… and let me play among the stars…”

He closed his eyes and listened, letting it remind him what he was fighting for.

---

The desert wind kicked up against the facility’s edge, swirling dust into ghostly tendrils. Three figures moved through the shadows with Raiden cloaked in active camouflage, Otacon navigating with a stolen access panel, and Snake in his trademark’s sneaking suit, with a suppressed SOCOM.

“We’ve got less than ten minutes before their satellite grid picks us up again,” Otacon whispered.

Snake crouched beside him, checking the biometric scanner he wore on his wrist. They entered through a side hatch sealed with retinal lock. Otacon used an optical replica to bypass it, one of DARPA’s own, stolen and repurposed.

Then, the door slid open. Inside was silence and steel. They burst into the chamber with Raiden flanking and Otacon killing power from the control terminal. Then he walked inside a room, finally seeing you.

You lay motionless atop a cold, steel bed. The room around you was silent but alive with hums. Thick cables snaked from the base of your skull, your temples, the curves of your spine, into machines that pulsed with slow blue light. You were sedated heavily, but your mind was being mined… and projected.

Suddenly, the looped footage on the monitors froze. An AI’s voice filtered through the speakers. “Unauthorized entry. Companion subject compromised. Synthesis halted. Commencing purge.”

Snake immediately ran to your side as the alarms flared. “Stay with me,” he whispered, pulling the cables off your arms up until the back of your neck. Your face was pale, but your lips moved barely.

Otacon scrambled behind a console. “They were projecting her memories. Jesus, Snake… she was thinking about you.”

Snake didn’t respond right away. He leaned closer to your face. His hand gently cupped your cheek. “I’m here now,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It’s over.”

The red emergency lights pulsed like a dying heartbeat overhead, throwing long shadows over the sterile floors and walls as the facility's systems began to collapse. Electric static clung to the air as the digital screams of a dying AI echoed the room, too late to stop what had already begun: you being taken back.

Snake didn’t hesitate. With one last tug, he ripped the final wire from your collarbone, flinching as you flinched. Your body shuddered, your skin pale and cold as metal, yet alive.

“You’re okay,” Snake muttered, almost to himself.

His hands were careful and gentle as he slipped one arm under your legs and the other behind your back, lifting you into his arms like you were something both fragile and vital. You didn't stir. Your head lolled against his chest.

“Hold on,” he whispered against your temple, his breath warm as it caught in your hair. “You hear me? Hold on.”

He took off down the corridor, every step calculated yet urgent. He turned down a narrow shaft door already wedged open from Raiden’s earlier infiltration. Halfway through the shaft, he saw Raiden, cloaked in grit and sweat, his blonde hair falling in loose strands over his face. In his arms: a sleeping child wrapped in a gray thermal cloak. Olga’s daughter.

Raiden looked up as Snake emerged, the two locking eyes in a second of silent understanding.

“She’s safe,” Raiden said hoarsely, nodding down at the girl.

Snake’s grip on you tightened. “So is she. Let’s move.”

A utility door blasted open as the sound of screeching halt of tires echoes. Otacon, wide-eyed behind the wheel of a beat-up white van, began to shout. “Come on! They’re deploying aerials!”

Snake rushed forward. Raiden followed. The two leapt into the back of the van, ducking just as the blast door began to whine back down, locking out the Patriot facility behind them.

The interior was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of Otacon’s mobile terminal. The desert wind howled outside. Raiden gently placed Olga’s child in the backseat cradle they'd jerry-rigged for the operation. While Snake didn’t let you go.

You lay cradled on his lap, your body slack from sedation, your head resting against his chest. The rise and fall of his breath was the only anchor in your drifting world. He stared at you, a deep furrow in his brow. His gloved hand brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, lingering there.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he said, barely audible over the engine hum. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, as if willing you to speak.

He bent forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours, your skin still cool but warming.

“You’ve always been the loud one,” he murmured with a faint breath of a smile. “The one who sang when everything was quiet. Who never stopped poking fun at me, even when I threatened to throw you out of the chopper.”

Otacon glanced back through the mirror but said nothing.

“I wasn’t supposed to care. I’ve been through too much, lost too many people. You know that,” Snake’s voice cracked ever so slightly, rare and raw. “But you got to me. You got to me, and I don’t know how you did it.”

He drew you closer, pressing a firm, steady kiss to your forehead as his lips lingered longer than he intended, not caring who saw.

“Don’t die on me,” he whispered. “You hear me? Don’t you dare die on me.”

---

A sharp gasp tore from your lungs as you shot upright, heart racing as the cold sheen of sweat clung to your skin. Your chest heaved, your breath ragged. Everything around you was dim walls, the flicker of a lamp in the corner, and the stiff cotton sheets that looked unfamiliar.

You could still feel the echo of sedation in your veins, the phantom sting of cold electrodes across your temples. You blinked rapidly, chest tightening.

Not again. Please, not again.

“Hey,” a voice cut through. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

You turned sharply toward the voice, vision still adjusting. Then you saw Snake, sitting by the bed. His hair fell messily over his eyes, strands curling slightly from the sweat and heat. He looked like hell with dark circles under his eyes, stubble thick around his jaw, and a posture slouched like he hadn’t left that chair in hours, maybe days. But there was no mistaking the raw relief on his face as your gaze met his.

“…You’re awake,” he breathed, like he was convincing himself. “Finally.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You couldn’t form words yet.  Your hand trembled as it rose slightly off the bed, reaching out. He met you halfway, curling his fingers around yours, firm and grounding. You felt the warmth of his skin, the calluses of a soldier’s life.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, voice rough. “But you’re here. You’re okay.”

You opened your mouth again, voice cracking. “Where…?”

“Safehouse. We’re off-grid,” he answered quickly. “Otacon’s working on wiping any trace of our location. Raiden’s upstairs. You’re safe.”

Your chest slowly stopped heaving. Snake exhaled through his nose, then leaned in. Closer. His hand never let go of yours.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured.

Before you could reply and process how his presence was the only thing tethering you to the present, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It wasn’t rushed or reflexive. He lingered there, warm lips against your skin, breathing you in like he needed to remind himself you were alive.

When he pulled back, his forehead still rested against yours.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered again. “I’ve got you.”

The silence that followed was soft and fragile, but no longer frightening. Snake remained by your side, your fingers still gently laced with his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles with care, like you were made of glass and he didn’t want to risk shattering what little peace you had.

You sank slowly back into the mattress, the pillow now warm against your back. The panic had faded into something slower. You could feel your own heartbeat again, not just the echo of fear, but your actual heartbeat.

Snake reached toward the nightstand and picked up a metal canteen. He unscrewed the cap, held it out, then you took. The water was cool, enough to hydrate yourself. He leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning your face like he was still trying to determine if this was real.

“What happened to Arsenal…?” you asked, voice faint. “Everything… all of it.”

Snake shifted slightly. For a moment, his expression didn’t change, but his eyes clouded over, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“Arsenal Gear broke surface under the Manhattan Bridge and crashed straight into Federal Hall,” Snake took in a breath, then continued. “Solidus is gone. Raiden took him down.”

You stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to imagine the chaos. The weight of it all. The war beneath the world, invisible to the people walking the streets above.

“And the Patriots?” you asked.

Snake let out a breath, a tired, better exhale. “You were under deep sedation. I had to… unplug everything. Get you out of that place fast. We didn’t know what state you’d wake up in.” He paused before continuing. “But they’re still out there. We hit a wall again. The data’s corrupted, scattered. But Otacon found some fragments.”

“Fragments?” you raised an eyebrow.

He looked at you again. “One of those pieces led us to you.”

Your throat tightened. You turned your head slowly toward him, and in the faint glow of the bedside lamp, you saw the raw truth in his eyes.

“I saw some of it,” you murmured. “While I was under. I think… they were watching my memories. Like footage.”

He didn’t speak at first. Just reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. “I saw them too,” he said quietly.  

You stiffened slightly. But he didn’t look away. If anything, he leaned a little closer.

“I didn’t know you thought of me like that.”

You tried to reply, but he gently placed two fingers beneath your chin, just enough to tilt your face toward his.

“I wish I’d known sooner,” he added, almost a whisper. “Or maybe I always did. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

You let your hand rest against his, curling around his wrist. His skin was rough, warm, familiar.

“I wanted to tell you,” you said, barely audible. “I just… thought I’d have time.”

Snake gave the faintest smile. “So did I.”

Then he leaned in again, his forehead resting lightly against yours like a quiet promise. One that was wordless but unshakable.

Chapter 12: fragments of something.

Notes:

18+ content ahead. Read at your own risk.

There was knock. A gentle, almost hesitant one.

Snake straightened slightly but didn’t leave your side. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, letting in soft hallway light as Otacon stepped through, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose from what looked like an all-nighter’s worth of stress and coffee.

“We heard talking,” he said quietly. “She’s awake?”

“I’m awake,” you said with a tired smile, pushing yourself up against the pillows a little more. Snake instinctively helped you adjust.

Otacon smiled back. There was relief in his eyes, unmistakable, like a weight had finally lifted from his chest. “Thank god.”

Raiden followed in behind him, arms full, but not with gear. A baby. A tiny, sleepy bundle swaddled in a pale blanket with wisps of soft light hair peeking out, her cheeks plump and rosy.

You blinked, staring for a moment. “…Is that…”

Raiden nodded and moved closer to your bedside. “Olga’s daughter.”

You couldn’t help it as your heart pulled in your chest. The last time you'd seen Olga, she'd sworn to protect the child with her life. You reached out, fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket gently. “She’s beautiful.”

The baby squirmed slightly, then let out a soft coo. Her wide, glimmering eyes locking onto Raiden as if recognizing the person who’d kept her safe.

“What’s her name?” you asked.

Raiden and Otacon glanced at each other, visibly pausing.

“We… don’t know yet,” Raiden admitted, a bit sheepish. “There wasn’t exactly a birth certificate. We figured Olga would’ve wanted to name her, but…”

His voice trailed off. The silence was heavy for a second. Then the baby let out another tiny noise. A high-pitched little laugh, her eyes still locked on Raiden’s face. She reached a hand toward him, grasping at the air with tiny fingers. It made him smile faintly, despite everything.

And in that moment, something about her expression clicked into place in your mind. The way she radiated hope, even in the middle of everything. A future not yet written.

You looked at her. Then looked up at Raiden, Otacon, and Snake. “…Sunny,” you said softly. “We’ll call her Sunny.”

The room stilled for a moment, in something like quiet reverence.

Otacon blinked, and then smiled. “Sunny…”

Raiden looked down at her again, whispering it under his breath as she curled one tiny hand around the fabric of his coat. “Yeah. That fits.”

“She’s the light in all this darkness,” you said, watching her. “She deserves that name.”

Snake hadn’t said anything, but when you looked at him, there was the faintest trace of softness in his expression, something deeper than words.

“Sunny it is,” he murmured.

---

Later that evening, after Otacon and Raiden had stepped out with Sunny, the room grew still again, except for the faint hum of machinery and the occasional cooing from the baby down the hall. The hush was calming, a rarity after everything you'd lived through.

You felt the mattress shift slightly as Snake settled back into the chair beside your bed. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached over and gently checked the edge of the blanket pulled around your legs subtly, almost instinctively, like he’d done it a dozen times over the past few days.

“You’re warmer now,” he murmured. “Color’s back in your face.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his brows knit together in quiet concentration, like he still wasn’t fully convinced you were safe.

“You’ve been watching over me this whole time?” you asked softly.

He nodded once, without hesitation. “Didn’t leave.”

Your throat tightened, emotion catching you off guard. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes,” he said. Then looked at you. “I did.”

There was something different in his tone, not the gruff commander, not the war-worn soldier, but something quieter. He was gentler. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. You reached out slowly, your hand finding his. He gave your hand a squeeze, then looked up at you again.

“I’ve been trying to do right by you since then,” he said. “Campbell pulled some strings, quietly. We’ve been vindicated. You, me, and Otacon are officially cleared. The data was… manipulated. Buried. We’re ghosts now.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You sighed. “That’s how the Patriots operate.”

“Yeah.” He looked down again, then back to you. “But it means you’re free.”

The words didn’t sink in right away. After so long in the dark, after being hunted and strung up as a traitor, the very idea felt foreign yet comforting.

“What about you?” you asked, voice softer. “What happens now?”

Snake’s silence lingered for a few seconds before he leaned in a little closer. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you behind again.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know what this world’s going to look like tomorrow,” he went on. “But if there’s even a shot at building something outside of all the missions, war, and shadows… I want to try.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment at your touch, and when he opened them again, he leaned in slowly and pressed his forehead against yours.

You slowly pulled back, chuckling softly as you fixed yourself a bit, and he let you. Then an idea came to your mind.

“You used to say some interesting things over the Codec,” you said, teasing. “Especially when you thought no one else was listening.

Snake blinked slowly. “What exactly did I say?”

You gave him a look, soft and knowing. You didn’t need to say it as the memory passed unspoken, but it was all over your face. The tension tightened between you like a tripwire.

“Oh,” he muttered, realization dawning. He shook his head and laughed dryly, like he couldn’t believe you remembered. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, inching closer across the bed. “I wasn’t the one saying things like I’d be surprised how hard you can be when I’m around.”

His face ticked something between embarrassment and something far darker. You saw his jaw clenched. His hand gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles pale. He stared at you like you were unreal, like maybe he hadn’t let himself want you until now.

He leaned forward, meeting your lips slowly. His mouth was rough, tasting like smoke and something sweet underneath. When his hand came to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, it was needy.

The sheets shifted under your weight as you pulled him closer. The chair scraped softly against the floor, his knee pressing into the mattress. There were no words now, with just the quiet urgency of finally having something you both thought was lost forever. When he laid you back, his movements were gentle, but his mouth wasn’t.

“Y/N…” he whispered, almost a moan inside your mouth.

That was all it took to undo you.

Snake watched as you moved towards him, your eyes never leaving his with the promise of pleasure written all over your face. You straddled him, body pressing against his as the heat between you was palpable. He quickly lifted your oversized shirt, sliding down your shorts revealing your underwear, which he slid off as well.

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered.

“I’m going to ride your face, Snake.”

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as you positioned your pussy near his face. His hands found your face, pulling you closer as he squeezed your legs. Then his tongue began to explore as you ground your pussy against his face. He was relentless, his tongue darting and swirling as he tasted you.

Your breath hitched as he found your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive nub with expert precision. You rocked your hips, riding his face with abandon as he continued to pleasure you. His hands moved to her ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as he continued to devour you.

Your body trembled with the onset of your orgasm. You pulled away, your breath coming in short with sharp gasps as you looked down at him. His face was slick with your juices, eyes dark with desire. You reached for the black bandana that lay discarded on the bed, your fingers deftly tying it around his wrists.

Snake was bound and at your mercy. You straddled him once more, your pussy hovering just above his hard cock. You teased him, fingers tracing the length of his shaft before you lowered yourself onto him. He groaned, his hips bucking as you took him in inch by inch.

You began to ride him, your hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. He strained against his bonds, his need for you overwhelming. You continued to bounce on top of him, feeling his cock twitch as he moaned, a little louder now.

“Fuck…” Snake moaned, his eyes closed with pleasure. “Y/N… you feel so good.”

You rocked his world more, your hands on his chest for support. His arm tensed as he tried to break off from the bandana, but you held it in place. Then he came with a groan, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. You continued to ride him, your own orgasm building as you chased your release. You threw your head back, body shaking as you came with a cry.

You laid on his chest for awhile, feeling his heart beat fast. As if you almost forgot, you untied him, your fingers tracing the red marks on his wrist. Snake looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snake grabbed the blanket near your side, pulling it up for both of you. Your breath was still uneven, skin still humming with the memory of his touch, of the way he held you like you’d disappear again if he let go for even a second. You moved to lie by his side, guiding you as his arms remained curled around your waist, his bare chest rising and falling slowly. You could feel the warmth of his breath.

You stared at the ceiling, voice soft and hoarse. “I thought… I thought I wouldn’t come back.”

His arm tightened around you instinctively.

“I thought I’d die in there,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. “And you’d never know what you meant to me.”

Snake exhaled slowly, the kind that felt like it carried years of grief. His expression cracked as the steel in his eyes softened, like something ancient inside him finally gave way. His hand came up, brushing your cheek with aching tenderness.

“I never let myself want this,” he murmured. “Not with you. Not with anyone. I thought it would make me weak.”

You looked at him, heart open and bare. “Did it?”

Snake shook his head slowly. “No. But losing you almost did.”

The quiet between you and Snake lingered, full of fragile warmth and the unsaid. His fingers traced the curve of your back beneath the sheets, slow and reverent, like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. You rested your forehead against his, eyes drifting shut, lips curved into a faint smile.

Then suddenly, the door creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of light with hesitant footsteps.

“Hey, Snake. Raiden just left. He–“ Hal’s voice stopped dead.

You and Snake barely had a second to register it before Hal froze in the doorway, blinking at sight of you. Your eyes met his across the room, wide with the realization of what he’d just walked into. The blanket was tugged haphazardly up to your shoulders, but the implication was clear, and the look on Snake’s face wasn’t helping. He didn’t even bother moving his arm that was still wrapped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He just raised a brow, like he was too damn tired to be embarrassed.

Hal’s face went a shade of red you hadn’t seen before.

“Oh. Oh my god. I knew I was hearing something earlier,” he muttered. “I had my headphones on and thought it was coming from the outside.”

He slapped a hand to his forehead, turning around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Otacon,” Snake called, deadpanned from the bed. “Shut the door.”

“Right. Okay,” he replied, immediately spinning on his heel. “No. I didn’t see anything. Raiden went home. Took Sunny with him. Great. That’s great. I’m leaving now.”

He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he backed out, already halfway down the hallway, still muttering low curses under his breath. The door clicked shut again.

You laughed softly and muffled into Snake’s chest, your face flushed more from the absurdity than embarrassment.

“Well… I guess he knows now,” you murmured against his skin.

Snake groaned into your hair. “He’s never gonna let me live this down.”

The silence settled again, but this time it was safe, shared. You lay there tangled in each other, both of you carrying the scars of war, of loss, of loneliness. But for once, neither of you had to carry it alone.

And in the hush between heartbeats, you knew this wasn’t just the end of a mission.

It was the beginning of something neither of you thought you’d be allowed to have.

---

The morning air in Arlington was quiet, crisp, and reverent. Rows upon rows of white headstones stretched across the green, each one a story, a memory, and a name that once held breath.

You walked slowly through the grass, a bouquet of pale lilies cradled in your arms. Snake kept a respectful distance behind you, his steps deliberately softened against the earth. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, just a mellow orange glow on the horizon, casting long shadows of the gravestones ahead.

 You found the one. Your family name carved neatly into two adjacent stones, one weathered by time, the other newer but no less meaningful. You knelt quietly and laid the lilies between them, brushing a few fallen leaves away.

“Hi, mom and dad,” you whispered.

Snake stood back at first, arms crossed, head lightly bowed. You stayed quiet for a while, letting the moment fill itself, like a silence you didn’t need to break. Then you spoke again, softer this time, voice edged with warmth.

“Dad passed when I was still in university. A sudden heart attack. I still remember the call… I remember not knowing how to cry right away.”

Snake looked over, his face unreadable, but his presence grounded you like an anchor.

You smiled faintly. “My mom held on for a long time. I used to joke she’d outlive me at this rate. She liked that one.”

You reached up to trace your fingers lightly along her name.

“She missed him every day,” you said, a small laugh in your throat. “Always told me she still talked to him. That she could feel him in the sun on her face, or in the way the birds showed up every morning. She wasn’t afraid to go, even in the end.”

You turned to Snake finally, eyes glistening but not broken.

“They were the kind of love that was quiet and steady. Not perfect, but real. I guess I’ve always hoped I’d find something like that.”

He held your gaze, something fragile and deep caught behind his weathered expression. Then he walked toward you slowly and knelt beside you in silence, one gloved hand settling over yours on your knee.

“They’d be proud of you,” he said quietly. “Both of them.”

You looked down at his hand, then up again. “I hope so. I think… I just needed them to know I’m okay. That I made it. That I’m not alone.”

Snake glanced at the headstones, then back to you. “You’re not.”

The moment sat heavy and gentle between you, like the wind threading through the trees. For once, there was no war, no mission. Just a memory with the quiet grace of being allowed to mourn with someone who understood the weight of ghosts.

You leaned gently against Snake in silence, your gaze still fixed on the headstones in front of you. The wind picked up gently, rustling the leaves in the trees nearby.

Then he cleared his throat. You blinked and turned to him, a little startled. Snake shifted his weight and moved to kneel on both knees, straightening his posture. The leather of his gloves creaked slightly as he reached out, palm open and fingers firm. He held the gesture forward toward the headstone.

“Hi, I’m Snake,” he said gruffly, voice low but steady. “David, actually… if we’re being proper.”

Your eyes widened as you watched, a soft laugh almost escaping your lips.

“I, uh… I’ve been in your daughter’s life for a while now. Long enough to know she’s strong, smarter than she lets on… and braver than most people I’ve ever met.”

His tone stayed grounded and calm, but you caught the way his jaw tightened just slightly.

“I wasn’t always the best man to have around. Still ain’t, probably,” he added, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. “But I’m trying. Because she’s worth that.”

You swallowed, heart catching in your throat.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he muttered, letting out a breath like he was almost embarrassed. “But… I just wanted to say thanks. For raising someone who didn’t give up on the world. Or on people like me.”

He gave a subtle nod to both stones, his hand falling back to his knee. You were stunned, staring at him. His back straightened, his gaze respectful, and eyes softer than usual under the shadows of his face. Still every bit the solider, but just for this moment, he wasn’t just Snake.

He was David.

You smiled. “They would’ve liked you.”

He smirked faintly, still not looking your way. “That’s generous of you.”

“No,” you said. “Really. My mom would've made you tea and lectured you about your smoking. My dad would've asked if you had any war stories.”

Snake chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like good people.”

“They were.”

You stayed there for a while longer, fingers still entwined with his, watching the petals of flowers sway gently in the breeze. When you finally rose to your feet together, Snake gave one last glance at the headstone, then turned toward the rows of graves behind you.

“There’s… someone else I need to see,” he murmured, almost like it hurt to admit.

You looked up at him as his eyes had dimmed slightly. The two of you walked together, your steps slow through the sun-dappled grass. After a few turns, you arrived at a small, unadorned plot. No grand statue, no elaborate tribute. Just a humble, flat headstone marked with a name that made your breath catch in your throat, seeing the “Big Boss” title.

“Big Boss…” Snake said, not looking away from the grave. “He was my father.”

You turned to him sharply, your voice escaping in a whisper of disbelief. “He’s your father? As in… the Big Boss? The greatest warrior of the 20^th century?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “That one.”

Your jaw slackened, still stunned. You’d heard legends about Big Boss as a war hero, defector, symbol, even a myth. But this was something else entirely. You looked at Snake again, seeing him in a different light. Not the soldier, but the son.

“You never told me,” you said softly.

Snake exhaled through his nose, like he’d been expecting you to say that. “Didn’t seem important. Not anymore.”

You took a step closer. “But it is, isn’t it? To you.”

He hesitated. “Yeah. It is.”

You both stood in front of the grave, side by side. Snake’s posture was straighter, more rigid than it had been with your parents. He didn’t reach out, didn’t speak, just stared at the name like it had the answers he’d never found.

“I hated him for a long time,” he finally said. “Then I tried to understand him. Now? I’m just trying not to become him.”

You reached for his hand again. This time, held it with both of his.

“He wasn’t just a legend,” Snake added, voice quieter now. “He was real. Flawed. Human. Maybe more than any of us ever gave him credit for.”

“And you’re his son,” you murmured. “But you’re you, Snake. Not him.”

The wind whispered between the trees as the sun lowered just slightly on the horizon. You stood there with him, the weight of history around you, and the comfort of something warmer anchoring you both.

The breeze shifted, and with it came the low, rhythmic thrum of rotor blades cutting through the stillness above. You glanced skyward, shielding your eyes from the light. A black dot grew larger against the cloud-streaked blue.

Snake’s eyes tracked it too, his hand still warm around yours. “That’s our ride.”

You gave your parents’ and Big Boss’s graves one final look before turning, but something caught the corner of your eye ahead Big Boss’s grave, just beyond the neat row of headtones. It was another grave, but the inscription carved the stone made your breath hitch.

“A Patriot Who Saved The World”

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It wasn’t a grave you recognized. But you froze, seeing a flash.

A sudden image in your mind appeared where you, standing straight and solemn, making a crisp salute in front of that very same grave.  The air felt heavy, like the weight of hundreds of memories pressing down on your chest. But you couldn’t recall when it had happened, or why.

“Hey,” Snake’s voice pulled you gently back. “You okay?”

You blinked the vision away and nodded, though your steps were slower now. “Yeah… just thought I saw something.”

As the helicopter landed nearby, its wind scattering leaves and petals across the grass, Snake placed a steadying hand on the small of your back. The thumping blades beat in your chest like a second heart as you approached.

He climbed in first and turned, offering his hand to help you up. Your fingers brushed his, and that’s when it hit you.

Another memory flashed sharp, like a jolt down your spine. You saw yourself not in uniform, but lying down a field of white petals. The light was strange, dreamlike. A gun was pointed at your head. The man holding it had a blurred face, yet familiar. His hand trembled as your mouth moved but you couldn’t hear the words.

Your knees buckled, just slightly.

Snake caught you before you could fall. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your heart was pounding. “I-nothing. Just dizzy.”

You forced a smile, brushing it off. Snake didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. He helped you into the chopper, never taking his hand off yours until you were both seated. As the bird lifted into the air, the world below shrank, but your mind didn’t.

The memories still lingered like shadows, just out of reach. You stared out the open door, the wind tugging at your hair, and tried to piece it all together.

Who was that grave really for?

Why did it feel like your past was catching up to you before you even remembered living it?

Snake glanced at you, his eyes watching you more than the sky. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you lied. “Just tired.”

But in your chest, the truth hummed like a second rotor. Something was missing, but you couldn’t find out what.

Chapter 13: sunny.

The hum of the Nomad’s systems was almost comforting now. It soared quietly through golden skies, a massive silhouette against the fading sun. Hal had finally done it after years of sketches, trial runs, and prototype failures. He finally completed the self-sustaining mobile base, one that could stay off the grid, invisible to the eyes of the patriots.

Inside, the repurposed gunship no longer felt like a cold military shell. Hal spent months customizing the interior, transforming it into something livable. The upper deck, once used for tactical storage, now served as their kitchen. It was scattered with mismatched supplies including military-grade rations, neatly stacked food packs, and a surprisingly warm touch of Sunny’s things.

Books, most of them science or children’s literature, were tucked into crates alongside colored pencils and a few well-worn plush toys. Her handmade solar system mobile gently swayed with each shift in attitude, casting soft shadows over the space.

The scent of canned coffee and iron never quite left the air, but it was offset by the faint lavender oil that Hal insisted on diffusing near the events. Down below, where the tech and operational core remained where the mission briefings would be held. It was here they kept the secure comms, the makeshift medical station, a couch enough to fit two people, an armory out of Sunny’s reach, and a chopper.

It wasn’t home in a traditional sense, but the hum of the engines lulled them into a fragile peace, it became something close enough. It wasn’t spacious, but it was home. At least for you, Snake, Hal, and Sunny.

Sunny Emmerich.

You still remembered the day Raiden left her with Hal. It haunted the three of you a year ago. No goodbyes, no farewells. Just a note, folded into fourths, left on the console next to her formula. He was gone before any of you could stop him. The grief sat heavy that week. Not just for Jack, but for Sunny. Though she was too young to understand, could sense something missing.

But Sunny was resilient. In time, she became the very heartbeat of the Nomad. You passed by the common room and peeked in. Hal sat cross-legged on the floor, his glasses fogged from laughter. Sunny, now almost three, giggled while stacking toy cubes on his head like a human tower.

“I’m gonna make you a robot helmet, Uncle Hal!” She declared with utmost seriousness.

“Oh no, not again,” Hal mock groaned. “Last time it made me malfunction.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth in your heart. Across the hall, Snake stood leaning against a bulkhead, arms crossed, watching the two of them. His hair had a tint of gray hair in some parts, kind of like a highlight. He didn’t seem to mind it at first, but you knew something was wrong. For someone who’s approaching his 40s, it wasn’t normal that he was aging a bit fast.

“She’s growing up fast,” he said softly, as you walked over to join him.

“She gets that from you two.”

His lips twitched into that rare, small smirk. You leaned your head gently on his shoulder, and for a while, you both stood in silence, watching Hal flail as Sunny tried to “install” a power  core, a cereal box, on his back.

“She asks about him sometimes,” you murmured. “And her mother.”

Snake nodded. “We’ll tell her someday. Just… not yet.”

“She’s safe here, but this isn’t much of a life for a child, is it?”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But it’s the only life that’ll keep her alive.”

You swallowed that truth, bitter but necessary. You looked back at her, seeing her light hair with curious eyes, building little machines out of cardboard, and felt a flicker of something fragile but unshakable.

---

You were fixing up the wires near the terminal when you caught a flicker of pale against the warm lighting overhead. Snake had just passed by behind you, silent as usual, but something made you turn.

A streak of silver threaded through the back of his hair like ash bleeding into earth. It wasn’t just a strand or two either. The white was spreading subtly, but unmistakably. Almost like highlights, if it hadn’t looked so tired.

“You’ve got more white in your hair,” you said, lightly, as if it was a joke. You didn’t want to sound alarmed.

Snake paused, a half-empty cup of instant coffee in his hand. He didn’t look at you right away. “Do I?” He muttered.

You stepped closer, watching him in profile. The harsh metal walls of the Nomad contrasted the softness of his age, or whatever it was that was making him age. The streaks weren’t just at the back anymore. Even at his temples, the silver crept in like smoke through the cracks.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s like… someone dumped frost over your head while you weren’t looking.”

He snorted softly at that, finally glancing at you with a crooked half-smile. “Maybe Otacon left the hatch open too long.”

But the humor faded just as quickly.

“For someone almost pushing forty…” you began carefully.

“I know,” he cut in.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the hum of the Nomad’s engines and Sunny’s voice in the distance, quietly humming to herself above deck.

“I’ve been a soldier my whole life,” Snake said, staring down at his reflection in the steel counter. “War doesn’t just scar you. It burns through you. Maybe this is just... the bill coming due.”

You looked at him closely at the tired lines beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders never seemed to fully relax anymore. It wasn’t just stress. You knew it. But he always deflected, always wore his weariness like another layer of armor.

“But what if it’s more than that?” you asked quietly.

He turned to you then. Not annoyed, just… resigned. “Then I deal with it,” he said simply. “We’ve all got something broken in us. I’m just lucky mine’s showing on the outside.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you reached up gently, fingers brushing a strand of white at his temple before tucking it behind his ear. His eyes softened at your touch, just for a second. Then he walked away, pulling out a cigarette and proceeded at the upper deck.

You stayed below in the dim hum of the Nomad’s lower interior, lingering near the workstations. Your eyes weren’t really on the screens anymore. They kept drifting to that streak of white you’d seen earlier, now etched in your memory.

You found Hal in his usual place, hunched over a monitor, tweaking code with a focused intensity. The glow from the screen lit his glasses in blue.

“Hal?” you called softly.

He looked up immediately, blinking like you pulled him out of a dream. “You need something?”

You hesitated. “Just… wanted to ask you something about Snake.”

He stilled, then leaned back in his chair, attention sharpening. “What about him?”

You pulled up a nearby stool, lowering your voice instinctively. “Have you noticed… anything? Physically? He’s graying fast. More than just stress.”

Hal sighed, gaze dropping to his hands. “I pointed it out to him,” he said, voice low. “He didn’t want to take tests, but there’s something happening definitely.”

Your heart sank. “It’s worse than we thought, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “He’s aging faster than normal. It’s not natural, not for a man his age.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. Snake never let on how deep the rot went. He joked. He smirked. But you saw the weight dragging behind his every movement now.

 Then, small footsteps padded down the grated stairs above. Sunny was barefoot, her long shirt hanging over leggings, hair a wild halo around her round, curious face. In her hands, she clutched something small and folded.

“I made this,” she said shyly, approaching you. “It’s for you.”

You crouched down instinctively, smiling as you held out your hand. She placed the paper gently in your palm. It was an origami swan, neat and delicate.

“It’s beautiful, Sunny,” you said, tracing the wings perfectly. “Thank you.”

She beamed. “I wanted to make something for my mother… but she’s not here. So I made it for you instead.”

The words struck like a knife she didn’t even know she was holding. Your breath caught in your chest.

Sunny continued, voice soft an unguarded. “You always listen to me. You help me cook. You fix my wires when I mess up. That’s what a mom does, right?”

You felt the subtle quake beneath your ribs. The ache of what Olga never got to see. The ache of what Sunny would never fully remember, and the warmth of being loved, so gently, by a child who saw more than she ever said.

You blinked fast and pulled her into a hug, small arms wrapping around your neck. “I’m sorry, Sunny. I’m not her,” you whispered against her hair.

“I know,” she said. “But I still love you.”

You held her tighter. For a moment, in the dim glow of the Nomad, the weight of what was lost softened under the quiet beauty of what was still being made.

---

Later that evening, you found Sunny curled up near the window of the Nomad, watching the filtered light of the lower orbit lamps glimmer faintly through the reinforced glass. She had the origami on her lap, fiddling with its wings absentmindedly. You joined her in silence, settling down beside her.

She looked up. “You’re sad.”

You smiled gently. “Just thinking.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, “Was my real mom nice?”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “She was brave, Sunny. So brave it hurts just thinking about it. She fought to keep you safe.”

Sunny’s eyes softened. “Did she love me?”

You cupped her cheek lightly. “With every heartbeat. If she could see you now… she would be proud.”

There was something healing in the way Sunny leaned into you then, like she needed to hear that. Like part of her had been waiting. You hugged her close, quietly, letting the ache settle into something warm.

Later, when she headed to Hal’s workstation, eager to show him a new coding tick she picked up, she left the origami on your desk. You sat there quietly for a few minutes, fingers resting on the paper wings. It was then that you felt a gaze from across.

You looked up, seeing Snake standing in the hallway, arms folded loosely across his chest. His face softened when your eyes met his.

You tilted your head and called out. “What are you staring at, soldier?”

He gave a half-smirk, a rare one, and walked over, the dull thud of his boots echoing in the narrow space. “You and her. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

You shrugged, smiling up at him. “Then don’t stand like a ghost. Come here.”

He obeyed, settling beside you on the edge of the desk, close enough that your legs brushed. His gaze drifted to the crane between your fingers. “She made that for you?” he asked.

You nodded. “She said… she sees me like a mother.”

Snake blinked slowly, eyes distant. “You’d be a good one.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just traced the crease of the origami with your thumb. Hal’s voice called Sunny softly toward the screen. She obeyed, lighting up with excitement at the idea of “seeing the outside world” through satellite footage and recorded landscapes.

You and Snake remained seated, watching her quietly. After a long moment, you spoke.  “I wonder if I’d ever be a mother in the next lifetime.”

Snake stiffened slightly. “…I’ve thought about that, too,” he admitted, voice low. “And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

He still didn’t meet your eyes. “I can’t… give you that. A normal life. A family. I can’t reproduce. Wasn’t built that way. Doesn’t matter how much I want to.”

You reached out, gently placing your hand over his. “I can’t, either.”

His head turned toward you, eyes searching.

You smiled softly, though it trembled just slightly. “My hormones, years ago, they told me it would be hard. Complicated. Not impossible, but not likely. It used to bother me, but not anymore.”

Snake frowned. “Still… if you ever wanted that kind of future…”

“I’d still choose you,” you interrupted, firm and full of heart. “In every lifetime, whether you’re a clone or not. Even if we had to live on a ship like this forever. Even if the world never gives us quiet.”

He looked at you then, fully. A flicker of emotion passed over his face with guilt, gratitude, and something aching and deep.

You leaned into his shoulder. “You think love only matters if it ends in a perfect picture. But this? You, me, Sunny, Hal… This is enough for me. More than enough.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand turning under yours to lace your fingers together. “You always say things like that,” he muttered, voice gruff but quiet. “Makes me feel like I can still be human.”

You squeezed his hand. “You are.”

Snake leaned his forehead to yours, staying like that for a long, long time. His hand wrapped in yours, the closeness bringing stillness.

Then, like a crack in glass, something broke. The warmth of his breath on your skin gave way to the shriek of shrapnel. The dry scent of the Nomad turned to blood and gunpowder. The lighting shifted, harsh and flickering.

You weren’t on the Nomad anymore.

You were on the battlefield in screams with bullets slicing the air. Your vision blurred, your knees buckling. You looked down, seeing a swollen belly. Your own cries joined the cacophony, not from fear, but pain. The kind that split you from the inside out.

You couldn’t scream loud enough as someone held you down. Someone else held a scalpel as your body writhed. The blade carved you open with no anesthesia. Blood soaked your fatigues. You saw the incision, long and grotesque, serpentine from your chest to your stomach. A crude, stitched-up S.

Snake-like.

Your breath caught. You could see your own entrails. You were being cut open alive. Someone was pulled from you. You weren’t sure if it was a child, or a shadow. The vision twisted as the scream echoed, either yours or someone else’s, you couldn’t tell.

“Hey… hey, I’ve got you!” Snake’s voice came, grounding and real.

Your whole body pitched forward, and strong arms caught you before you collapsed. His hands were already steadying you, gripping your shoulders, worry etched deep across hi face. His brows drew in, mouth parted like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or hold you tighter.

His touch, too warm and grounding, terrified you in that moment. Your nerves still screamed from what they’d seen.

“Don’t-!” you gasped, pulling away as your hands pushed against his chest before you could stop yourself.

His breath caught, seeing the flicker of pain on his face. Your own heart twisted in regret the second you realized what you’d done. He immediately let go, stepping back caught off guard. “Okay…?”

You blinked hard as the Nomad came back into shape. Hal and Sunny turned sharply toward the commotion. Your hand clutched your stomach instinctively, like your skin clamming up as the phantom pain lingered. You held your breath, hands trembling, your back hitting the armrest of the couch as you tried to ground yourself in reality. Snake stood nearby, uncertain.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly, guilt rising in your throat. “I just… I felt dizzy. I panicked.”

He gave a slight nod, but didn’t come closer. “You sure?”

You opened your mouth in an attempt to explain, to lie, or to tell him it was just stress. But the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to say what you’d seen.

Instead, you gave a small, strained smile. “I think I just need a minute.”

Snake’s jaw twitched, but he gave you space. “Alright,” he said again, voice low. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

He moved toward the ladder, but not before you caught that look in his eyes again. As soon as he was gone, you folded in on yourself with hands over your face. Your skin still buzzed from where the blade had touched you, in a place that shouldn’t even exist.

Chapter 14: the test.

Snake leaned against the steel frame of the ladder, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at Otacon hunched over the console. The soft clack of keys echoed, a constant rhythm beneath silence between them.

“She’s not sleeping well,” Snake said, staring into space.

Otacon didn’t look up. “You said she’s been sleeping more.”

Snake exhaled through his node, adjusting his weight. “Yeah, but it’s not the restful kind. Not when she wakes up gasping or doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. She gets these dizzy spells, snaps at stuff out of nowhere, then acts like nothing happened.”

Otacon paused. The typing stopped. He turned slightly, glasses glinting under the overhead light. “You’re worried.”

“I’m not blind, Otacon.”

Otacon sighed, swiveling fully in his chair now. “Nightmares? Flashbacks?”

Snake shook his head slowly. “She won’t talk about it. It’s like she’s seeing things.”

“PTSD?” Otacon offered.

“I thought about that,” Snake’s brows furrowed. “But it doesn’t line up. She’s not flinching at loud sounds or avoiding triggers. It’s… something else.”

Otacon was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke carefully. “Have you considered… pregnancy?”

Snake blinked, then snorted, low and dry. “You’re kidding, right?”

Otacon raised a brow. “Not exactly.”

“You do remember who I am, don’t you?” Snake’s mouth tugged upward in a crooked smirk.

“Just hear me out,” Otacon said, hands raised. “Cloning doesn’t always mean sterility, Snake. Especially not with the modifications made to your genome. You’re not a standard genome soldier. You’re a deviation from Big Boss.”

Snake grunted. “And that went well.”

“I’m serious. FOXDIE. Accelerated aging. Gene therapy. Nanomachine interfaces. The DNA structure might be unstable, but it also means unpredictable interactions. Hormonal responses from you, exposure to environmental mutagens, the way your cells replicate under stress…”

Snake waved a hand. “Okay, okay. So what? You think I somehow broke science and gave her a miracle pregnancy?”

Otacon turned and opened a narrow drawer under the control panel, revealing a slim white package tucked beside spare cable coils and sterilized gloves.

Snake stared. “Is that a—”

“Yeah.”

“…Why the hell do you even have that?”

Otacon shrugged, almost sheepishly. “Nomad’s supposed to be prepped for anything. That includes basic med supplies. I didn’t expect we’d need it, but... I also didn’t expect you would be sleeping next to someone who might collapse from unexplained symptoms.”

Snake rolled his eyes. “What, did you stock condoms next to the rations too?”

“There’s a box behind the canned peaches.”

Snake only shook his head in response.

Otacon cracked a grin, but his voice sobered. “Look, I’m not saying it’s likely. I just think it’s worth ruling out before we start assuming it’s memory suppression or trauma.”

Snake exhaled through his nose again, but his eyes lingered on the test. He felt the old ache in his chest, from the fear of hope. “I shouldn’t even be capable, Otacon,” he said, voice quieter now. “That kind of future is not for someone like me.”

“You said the same thing about love once,” Otacon said gently. “Didn’t stop you then.”

Snake smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. For a second, they just stood there. Then Snake finally pushed off from the doorway and stepped forward.

“Alright,” he muttered, snatching the test from the drawer with two fingers like it might bite. “But if this thing turns out positive, you owe me a shot of whiskey. Top shelf.”

“I’ll give you the whole bottle,” Otacon promised.

Snake gave a dry chuckle. “You better, ‘cause I might be the first war-torn science experiment to knock someone up by accident while dying of accelerated cellular decay.”

Otacon smiled faintly, but said nothing as Snake turned. In truth, Snake wasn’t sure if he was hoping for a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’

But either way, he knew something was changing. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or ready for it.

---

There was something strange in the air aboard the Nomad.

Snake had been pacing again. Not the usual kind where he’d polish his gear or mutter through tactical simulations under his breath. This was different. He’d walk to the cockpit, stand here for a minute too long, then drift back to the central passage, only to return ten minutes later like he forgot something and was trying to remember what.

Twice, you’d caught him staring at Hal across the room with a look that had warning and a plea. Like they were sharing a secret that Snake didn’t know how to carry.  While Hal had been weirdly chatty.

“So… how are you feeling lately?” He asked, mid-way through a data log you weren’t really listening to.

“Fine,” you replied, brow raised. “Bit tired. You know, the usual.”

“Any headaches? Nausea? Cravings for strange food combinations? Like… pickles and peanut butter?”

You gave him a look. “…Is that a new nanomachine symptom I should be worried about?”

Hal cleared his throat. “Just covering all bases.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, Snake walked in again, the third time in an hour. He froze when he saw the two of you talking, and your gaze flicked between them, catching that exchange again.

Snake gave Otacon a small shake of his head, barely perceptible.

You turned to Snake, arms crossed. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

He blinked, caught. “What?”

“You’ve been pacing like a caged animal and Hal’s been playing twenty questions like he’s hosting a game show. Either you two are hiding something or I’m slowly losing my mind.”

Snake rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not losing your mind.”

You tilted your head. “So you are hiding something?”

He looked cornered. You could almost see the excuses forming behind his eyes like a tactical retreat or total shutdown. But instead, he surprised you by sighing, heavy and quiet.

“Can we talk?”

That got your attention. You nodded and followed him to the couch. Then Snake pulled something from his back pocket and just… held it. He didn’t hand it to you and just stared at it in his palm like it was something fragile.

“Snake?” you asked softly. “What is that?”

He glanced at you, then back at the box he held. “A pregnancy test,” he finally muttered.

You blinked. “…Why?”

“You’ve been… acting different. Dizzy. Tired. Sleeping more. Mood swings,” he said, voice low and steady. “Otacon through we should rule it out.”

You stared him. “And you?”

Snake huffled out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I told him it was impossible. That I’m not exactly the poster boy for fatherhood. Genetically engineered. I wasn’t… made to make things.”

“But you still asked him,” you said gently.

He looked down again. “He made a point.”

You reached for the test, but he pulled it slightly back, hesitating.

Your eyes softened. “Snake.”

He didn’t look at you. “If it’s positive… what does that mean for you? For us? You’re already carrying too much.”

Your chest tightened at that. Still, you stepped forward, wrapping your hand gently over his where he clutched the box.

“I get to decide what’s too much,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and in them, you saw every unspoken fear, every inch of guilt that hadn’t been shed since the war turned him into a weapon.

You took the test from his hand.

---

You stared at your reflection in the small mirror in the bathroom. It didn’t look like you, not really. The bags under your eyes had deepened. Your face looked softer, but not in a comforting way. You’d been sleeping more, yes, but waking up more tired. And the dreams, if they were dreams, were beginning to bleed into your days like ink through paper.

You ran a hand along your abdomen, as if you could feel the phantom line there, still fresh and splitting you open.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Snake. Not yet. Even you didn’t understand what you were seeing. There was no timeline, no logic to the fragments flashing in your head. Like it was just gut-wrenching fear and pain. You’d considered PTSD, yes, but… it didn’t quite feel like that. You’d seen too much to mistake it. This was something else.

You felt you needed a confirmation of something before you could tell him. A foothold and a thread of truth to anchor these waking visions.

You leaned against the sink and stared at the pregnancy test lying down on it. You waited for thirty minutes to confirm it. You’d told yourself it was a precaution, nothing more. Science was on your side. Snake couldn’t father children. You… weren’t exactly ideal for motherhood either. Your hormones weren’t hospitable enough to bear a child. You were a jigsaw puzzle held together by muscle memory and adrenaline.

But your heart had fluttered anyway, traitorous and aching, when he handed you that box.

You finally flipped the test over, seeing one line.

Negative.

You didn’t move for a long moment. No gasp. No tears. Just silence. A part of you felt a flicker of relief. You weren’t ready. But another part still haunted you, by Sunny calling you her mother.

You placed the test gently to your hand and exhaled slowly. The metal door of the bathroom creaked slightly as it slid open. You stepped out slowly, seeing Snake standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the wall, the other clenched into a fist at his side.

He looked up the moment he heard you. You saw the flicker of something fragile in his eyes. Hope, maybe, or something adjacent. But he masked it quickly, schooling his expression back into that hardened soldier’s calm. Still, it was there in the lines of his face that he had been waiting.

Hal stood further down the corridor, pretending to read data on one of the terminals. You could tell he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He was just there, in case you needed something, or couldn’t say it aloud. You stepped closer to Snake, heart thrumming in your chest like it couldn’t decide how to feel.

He didn’t say anything and just watched you. You held out the test to him, facedown in your palm.

“It’s negative,” you said softly.

He blinked. There was no visible relief, no visible disappointment either, but his shoulders lowered. Not in defeat, but in quiet acceptance. Like some imaginary weight had finally landed.

“Ah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

You gave a weak laugh. “We both kind of saw that coming.”

“Still…” He hesitated, taking the test from your hand with more care than necessary. “Wasn’t expecting to feel anything about it.”

You looked at him then. The creases beneath his eyes had deepened, not from age but from carrying too much. You remembered his earlier joke about not being normal. About being unable to give you a future like that.

He wasn’t just worried about the possibility. He was grieving the impossibility.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been seeing things… remembering things that don’t feel like mine. I thought, if it was positive, maybe that would explain everything. But it’s not that simple.”

His eyes narrowed in concern, and you reached out, touching his sleeve gently before he could start asking questions.

“Not now,” you told him. “I just… needed to know.”

He nodded once. Slowly. Respecting your boundary, even if it left him restless. The rest of the evening unfolded in a hush, like the air itself knew not to disturb you.

After dinner, you and Snake ended up in your makeshift bed. No words were spoken as you both lay on the thin mattress pushed against the wall. He stayed close, his arm draped loosely around your waist, your back to his chest. You felt safe in the silence. He said nothing about the test. You didn’t bring up the flickering memories. You both let the stillness speak for itself.

Your eyes grew heavy, and your muscles softened as sleep pulled you under like a slow tide. Then suddenly, again, the world changed.

The warmth of Snake’s body disappeared. Your boots squelched against wet earth as dense jungle loomed around you. The air was thick, humid, and heavy with the stench of iron and cordite. You raised your gun with your hands trembling, heart thudding. Ahead of you stood a man, his outline familiar, but wrong somehow.

His face came into view through the fog. You recognized him as The Sorrow. He didn’t move and just stood there, hands at his sides.

“The spirit of the warrior,” he said softly, solemnly, as if he were giving a blessing, or a warning. “…will always be with you.”

Then his head tilted slightly. His left lens shattered, splintering like glass under a bullet’s kiss. His eyes wept blood.

You gasped, stumbling back. But the word shifted again.

Now you were somewhere brighter, eerily quiet, bathed in light filtered through a canopy above. White petals drifted through the air like falling snow. And there, lying amidst them, was her.

The Boss.

Her eyes were closed, her body still as though waiting for you. Your hand shook violently as you raised your gun again, unable to stop yourself. But your finger moved as she opened her eyes, just before the crack of a gunshot pierced through the air.

Your body jolted upright with cold sweat soaked through your shirt as you gasped for air.

Snake grunted, surprised by your sudden movement but held you on your shoulders, steadying you. “Hey, hey… calm down.”

You blinked rapidly, heart racing, your breaths ragged and broken. Your fists were clenched tight around the sheets, and your body trembled under his touch.

“Same dream again?” He asked, voice softer. But there was something different in his tone this time.

You hesitated, wiping a hand down your damp face. “Not the same… I saw him. The Sorrow. Then…” you trailed off, struggling to find words that didn’t sound insane. “The Boss.”

His entire body tensed behind you.

“The Boss?” He repeated.

You nodded slowly.

Snake leaned back a little, looking at you with a heaviness in his gaze. “That’s not a name people usually dream about. Especially not like this.”

He didn’t speak right away. You could tell he was choosing his words carefully, like he always did when something unnerved him.

“She was branded a traitor,” he finally said. “A defector to the Soviet Union during the Cold War. History books say she led a mission on U.S. soil. Nuclear fallout. Betrayal. The whole world knows her as the woman who turned her back on America.”

He exhaled through his nose. You glanced at him, heart pounding in your chest.

Snake was staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “For you to be dreaming of her,  not just as some historical figure, but like you knew her... That’s not just coincidence.”

Your throat felt tight.

“I’m starting to think something’s wrong,” he said lowly. “This isn’t just stress. Or flashbacks.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to reassure him, but he cut you off with a glance. Not sharp, but raw.

“I need to know what’s going on with you,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “Because if it’s connected to them, then it’s something bigger than any of us thought.”

You could feel the weight in his words. This wasn’t just a concern. It was fear, not of you, but for you.

And Snake, for all his calm, had seen enough war to recognize when a storm was coming. Right now, it was in your eyes.

Chapter 15: that's it?

Notes:

18+ content ahead. Read at your own risk.

The days passed, slow and merciless. Each night blurred into the next, and so did the nightmares. They were relentless and cruel, clawing at your mind the moment your body surrendered to sleep. The names still echoed in your head when you woke, the same white petals, the same broken eyes, and the same sinking dread.

Snake was always there, ready and patient to hold you on your back or shoulder. He never asked for more than what you gave him, even when your hands trembled and you couldn’t meet his eyes. Though you couldn’t deny the weight of it growing.

One night, you decided to see something. You found yourself pulling away from him. When he reached out to you in the dark, you brushed him off. Not roughly, but with just enough force to make it clear.

“I just need some space,” you mumbled, pointing at the other bed placed near the stairs reaching the upper deck. “I’ll be sleeping there.”

Snake didn’t argue. He watched you go, sitting upright in bed like a statue carved from concern. He didn’t ask questions.

Yet for the first time in what felt like weeks, you slept peacefully. There were no visions, no whispers. No ghostly figures or sudden jolts in the dark. Just a dreamless, quiet kind of rest.

The next morning, you tried not to think too hard about it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe your body had just given up. Maybe your mind was too tired to conjure nightmares. But when it happened again the next night, and again the night after, you couldn’t deny it.

You only slept peacefully when Snake wasn’t beside you.

The realization twisted your gut in ways you didn’t know how to name. No sane person would do something, or even think of it like this. But facts didn’t lie, and sleep didn’t hide.

So you began waiting for every moment Snake would drift off. Once his breathing slowed, his face softened into something defenseless and worn, you would quietly slip away from his arms. Sometimes to the other bed, to the far corner of the Nomad, in a bed beside Sunny, curled with only a thin blanket and your own guilt. Each time, sleep came easy.

You never told him, but Snake noticed.

It wasn’t right away. He never made it obvious. But you caught the subtle shifts on how he stayed awake longer, how he kept his arm loosely draped over you, almost like he was trying to keep you tethered there. You’d hear him sigh softly when he woke alone again.  

Then the night came when he didn’t pretend to not notice. You had just slipped from his side, careful always. The floor beneath your feet was cold, but you didn’t mind. You moved toward the other bed, pulling the blanket tighter around you. Then suddenly, you heard his voice.

“…You keep leaving.”

The words came low and raspy, his voice rougher than usual. You turned, seeing him now sitting up in bed, one hand running through his hair, the other resting uselessly on the sheets where you used to be. His eyes met yours.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Snake…”

“Every night, you wait until I’m out cold. You sneak off like you’re afraid I’ll stop you,” he gave a bitter, breathly laugh. “Maybe you think I will.”

“It’s not like that,” you tried to say, but the words didn’t sound convincing.

Snake exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing faintly, as if searching your face for something he couldn’t quite reach. “I thought… maybe it was stress. Or the nightmares. I get it. God knows I’ve had my share of those.” His voice softened, but it didn’t lighten. “But then you stopped having them. Only when you weren’t near me.”

You looked away, the guilt crawling up your throat. “That’s not your fault—”

“Is it?” He cut in, quietly, but with a tired kind of sharpness. “You sleep fine when I’m not there. But next to me, you’re screaming names from a war you weren’t even part of.”

He stood slowly, movements stiff and weary.

“You think I don’t know what it feels like to hurt the people you care about just by being near them?”

Your chest tightened. “I’m not blaming you,” you said softly. “I don’t want to believe it’s you. I don’t even think it is you. But something’s happening, and I don’t understand it yet. I just… I needed to see it for myself.”

Snake stayed quiet for a beat. His jaw clenched as his hands curled into fists by his side. Then, he let out a tired scoff. “If there’s something wrong with me, something I don’t even know I’m doing, I want to know. Not just wake up to an empty bed every damn night.”

He turned back to you, but you still stared at him, heart racing with the weight of everything unspoken.

---

The days passed in uneasy silence as Snake kept his distance. Not in a loud or cruel way. But you felt it in the shift of air when he walked, in how he’d stop himself from sitting too close, how his voice never rose above what was necessary. He still spoke, moved like the reader he was, gave orders, and answered questions like nothing was wrong.

But you felt that he was somewhere else now – somewhere further away from you.

You tried not to let it sink in but keeping yourself busy. You helped Hal with systems check, cleaned Sunny’s study space while she tinkered with her newest invention made out of cardboard boxes. Even stayed in the kitchen a little longer than usual, letting the familiar smells of oil, spices, and noodles comfort you.

Sunny giggled when you helped her crack an egg too hard, splattering yolk across the counter. You laughed with her, smiling, your fingers wiping the mess into a towel as she babbled about how eggs looked like sunrise. But even in those soft moments, your eyes betrayed you.

Snake stood on the far end of the Nomad, hunched over some tools or loading gear. His back was faced to you, his posture tired. One hand braced on the table like even standing was a struggle some days. You wondered if he even noticed how often you looked.

He probably did. He always noticed everything, just not you lately. Every time your eyes met, he turned away first.

Then it started with something simple. Something stupid, really.

Sunny had outgrown half of her space, her scattered drawing pads and pens slowly creeping across the floor like vines. She didn’t like drawing anymore and was more interested in building things out cardboard. You decided to clear some space, shifting the storage crates from the main corridor of the Nomad to make a better area for her to work. You were halfway through stacking them near the back when Snake’s voice cut through.

“That doesn’t go there,” he muttered. “What are you doing?”

You glanced up. “I’m just trying to make more room. Sunny’s outgrown some of her stuff. We need to shift things around.”

“I put those crates there for a reason,” he said, arms crossed.

“Well, now they’re in the way. Sunny’s tripped over them twice. I’m just trying to help.”

Snake stepped in closer, tone sharper. “Help her by not rearranging the whole Nomad,” he snapped. “You want to help, talk to me first. Don’t just decide things on your own.”

You slammed the panel shut. “I did decide. Because nobody else was doing anything about it.”

“You don’t know the layout like I do. This isn’t just for storage, it’s a warship.”

“It’s also a home, Snake!” you shot back, the heat in your voice rising. “She’s not a soldier, she’s a kid trying to build a future on a ship weighed down by ghosts.”

“I trust you to think things through,” he snapped. “Not rush into fixing something that doesn’t need fixing.”

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t about the cabinet anymore. You both stood there, chest heaving, the tension thick between you.

“You don’t talk to me anymore,” you said sharply. “You avoid me like I’m some threat.”

He snapped back, “You started it. You were the one slipping off every damn night.”

“You don’t understand—!”

“No, I don’t!” His voice cracked. “Because you never gave me the chance.”

“I was scared, Snake!”

His face faltered.

“I was scared of what I was becoming. Of what I saw in my dreams. And every time I woke up beside you, I felt like it was getting worse.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Instead of treating me like I was part of the problem.”

“You were—!”

“STOP IT!”

The sudden voice cut through like a blade. Both of you froze as Sunny stood at the entrance, fists balled at her side, eyes wide and wet with tears.

“Just stop yelling!” she shouted again. “You’re scaring me.”

The silence after her words was heavier than before.

Hal was already moving, stepping beside her and pulling her gently back. “It’s okay, Sunny. Come on,” he murmured softly, wrapping a protective arm around her. He shot you both a sharp look as he passed. He mouthed something quietly. Then raised his hand and made a clear motion with two fingers.

The guilt settled in your throat like ash.

Snake turned away, jaw clenched, his shoulders tense beneath his worn coat. You heard the rustle of his coat as he reached into his pocket a cigarette and a lighter. He leaned against the sink near the exhaust, one hand in his coat pocket, and the other holding that worn cigarette between this fingers.

You exhaled sharply and turned, walking away. The argument left a hollow quiet in its wake, like a bomb that had one off in slow motion. He didn’t seek you out, and you didn’t look back at him either.

Hal took it upon himself to stay close to Sunny, doing his best to draw her attention away from the tension that still clung to the Nomad like smoke. She was only three. Too young to fully understand, but not too young to feel the tension. Her small face had crumpled when you and Snake raised your voices. She hadn’t cried then, but she clung to Hal’s pant leg, her eyes wide and confused.

Now, he sat with her on the floor near her play area, gently helping her piece together colored building blocks, stacking them into crooked towers that leaned too far to one side.

“There we go,” he said softly, adjusting her hand with his. “Like this, Sunny. See?”

She giggled as one of the blocks toppled and clapped her hands, completely absorbed in the moment he carefully crafted for her. He kept her busy, tinkering with one of her robot, adjusting its arm while gently explaining coding logic that probably didn’t even matter to her right now. Anything to keep her from asking questions.

The Nomad was quiet, unnervingly so, and you needed somewhere to breathe.

Your feet led you to the parked helicopter inside the Nomad near the main corridor. The door creaked open softly and closed behind you with a metallic click that sounded much too loud. The cabin was dim, only the faint green lights of the controls glowing. You didn’t turn anything on.

You sat on one of the passenger seats, arms resting loosely around your knees. The hum of the Nomad was distant here, the kind that was almost nonexistent. You didn’t know how long you sat like that, as your mind began to unravel.

Why was this happening?

Why couldn’t you understand what was happening to you?

Why did it feel like someone else’s memories were bleeding into yours, seeping in through cracks you never realized were there?

You shut your eyes tightly, heart pounding in a rhythm that no longer felt entirely on your own. You didn’t mean to push Snake away, but the nightmares stopped when you weren’t beside him. You didn’t want to believe he had anything to do with them. That was absurd. Snake wouldn’t hurt you. No sane part of you believed that. But each night, when you slipped out of his arms once he was asleep, you felt you were doing the right thing. 

You clutched your arms tighter, digging your fingers into your sleeves. You wanted to believe this was just stress, fatigue, or trauma catching up to you after everything you’d seen. But deep down, you feared it was something else.

The thought of losing control terrified you. Not because of what it would do to you, but what it could mean for them – Hal, Sunny, and Snake,

They were too close, too vulnerable if you ever became a threat. You hated yourself for even entertaining the idea. But the images, the confusion, and the dreams that didn’t feel like yours, pointed to something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

Maybe it was better to leave, to walk away before something worse happened, and to protect them from you. You closed your eyes and leaned back against the cold interior.

But if you left… would they understand? Would he understand?

---

A few hours had passed. Your eyes had grown heavy without warning, and the steady hum of the Nomad’s engines, distant and constant, lulled you into an accidental sleep. Curled up in the seat, chin resting on your arms, you drifted somewhere between dreams and fragments of memory. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out when the sudden clunk of the helicopter’s door startled you.

Your eyes shot open. The low green lighting still bathed the cabin in dim color, but the silhouette at the door was unmistakable.

Snake.

His broad figure was lit faintly from behind, his expression mostly hidden in shadow, but the tension in his posture was clear. He didn’t move at first and just stood there, holding the edge of the open door like he wasn’t sure if he should step inside or walk away.

You sat up slowly, feeling the air between you tighten as his eyes found yours. For a second, he looked like he might speak, but nothing came out. Just a quiet inhale. Then he shook his head faintly, the motion almost imperceptible, as if shaking away whatever argument he had with himself.

“Fuck it.”

Then, he stepped in, sliding the door closed behind with a soft thunk. Before you could find the words, he crossed the small space between you. His hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you close. His lips crashed onto yours, harder than before. You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair. The taste of nicotine still lingered faintly on his tongue, but you didn’t mind.

The quiet hum of the idle helicopter did nothing to drown the sound of the rustle of fabric. There was no hesitation this time, no pretense of caution. Not even an attempt to talk it through or ask what this meant. Snake’s hands moved to your shirt, ripping it open. Your bra followed suit, leaving your breasts exposed to his hungry gaze. He palmed them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp, your back arching into his touch.

Your hands moved to the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. His muscles rippled under your touch. Then to his pants, undoing them with a swift motion. His cock sprang free, hard and ready. You wrapped your hand around it, stroking it with a firm grip. Snake let out a groan, his head falling back.

You both moved to the floor of the helicopter, bodies intertwined. Snake positioned himself between your legs, his cock teasing your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. With a thrust of his hips, he was inside of you, pussy tight and wet around him.

Your movements were frantic, a dance of anger and desire. Snake’s thrusts were hard and deep, each one eliciting a gasp from you. Your nails dug into his back, leaving red marks in their wake. You met each of his thrusts with one of your own, bodies moving in sync.

Snake’s hands moved to your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts into you. Your breasts bounced with each movement, your nipples hard and erect. He leaned down, capturing one in his mouth. You let out a moan, hands moving to his hair, pulling him closer. He could feel his orgasm building, a tingle at the base of his spine. He reached between them, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in firm circles, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

You let out a cry, body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. Snake followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside of you. Your bodies remained tangled in the stillness, your chest against his, your breath syncing in aftershocks.

The air inside the helicopter was thick with the aftertaste of what had just happened. His scent still clung to you, making your stomach twist. The sweat cooled on your skin, clothes half-on and half-forgotten. His breath still lingered on your collarbone, but his weight was already gone. You stayed there, staring at the curved ceiling, blinking slowly as if the world might shift back into place if you gave it time.

Then, Snake moved quietly, almost deliberately. He untangled himself from you with a tired exhale, eyes avoiding yours the entire time. He sat on the edge of the seat, elbows resting on his knees. He hunched forward, his hand dragging down his face once in a slow, tired motion, before he reached for his clothes without a word. You pulled your clothes back on in silence, watching him.

Somehow, you hoped that maybe he’d glance back. Maybe he’d say something.

But he didn’t.

You watched him dress, piece by piece. Your throat burned. You weren’t sure if you were holding your breath or just forgotten how to breathe altogether. The way his fingers fastened in fixing himself, like this was routine, like it was nothing. He stood near the door, already dressed.

“That’s it?” Your voice cracked, and you hated it.

He paused, but still didn’t turn. “Yeah.”

The word hit harder than a bullet. You sat up slowly. “Why did you come here?”

He let out a long exhale, sharp and tired through his nose. “I needed to feel something.”

Your heart sank. “Did you?”

His eyes flicked to yours for a second. “Not the right thing.”

It felt like a slap. You held your arms, shuddering at every part of you exposed in ways he’d just touched. He didn’t wait for a reply as he opened the door, the sharp hiss of hydraulics cutting the tension in two like a blade.

Before you could say his name, he was gone. He didn’t even glance back. You stared at the door, chest caving, your fists tight like it could hold you together. There was no goodbye or an apology.

Just the sound of your heart, still breaking.

Chapter 16: beautiful goodbye.

Life aboard the Nomad moved on. Or at least, it pretended to.

The passage buzzed with subdued activity. Screens flickered with intel and communications. The engine hum felt louder than usual. Maybe because no one dared to speak unless it was necessary.

You and Snake hadn’t spoken since that night in the helicopter. Not a word, and not even a glance. Every interaction was transactional, nothing personal. Hal noticed the change, of course, but said nothing. Though his eyes lingered longer when he passed you, like he wanted to ask something he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

You didn’t give him the chance.

You poured your energy into work with the updates, systems, maintenance. You took over Hal’s lighter duties just to avoid idle time. Sunny stayed closer to Hal than usual, though you still took time to help her with her puzzles and her little drawings.

That night, long after Sunny had been tucked in and Hal retreated to his workstation, you slipped into the upper deck. Your footsteps were soft and calculated. You opened one of the storage lockers quietly and pulled out a small duffel bag. It had your clothes, medkit, rations, tools, and a silencer. You zipped it shut slowly, the sound deafening in the silence.

There was no plan yet. No destination. Just the thought that you couldn’t stay. Not when every corner felt like walking through the ruins of something you once trusted. You stared at the bag for a moment before shoving it beneath one of the side crates. Hidden, but close.

All you needed now was the right moment, and the courage to go through with it.

The lights in the upper deck were dim, just enough to guide a careful step. You patted your hands away to shake off the dust. You didn’t expect anyone to be awake. The bag you were slowly filling with essentials was tucked far from view. Then suddenly, you saw Sunny.

Tiny, barefoot, and holding her stuffed bird loosely by the wing. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and she rubbed on eye as she blinked up at you from the stairs.

“You’re still up?” she said quietly.

 “I was thirsty,” you lied gently. “You couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head. “No. I was dreaming. About the stars.”

You smiled faintly and crouched to meet her height. “What kind of stars?”

She brightened a little, pointing above with a tiny finger. “Which one is the one that always moves?”

“I think it’s the satellite,” you traced a slow line. “It’s not really a star. It just follows a path. It’s always moving, never stopping.”

“Why doesn’t it stop?” she asked.

“That’s the way it was made,” you said. “It can’t stop even if it wants to.”

Sunny was quiet for a while, as if absorbing your words. Then she spoke again, “Is that like you and Snake?”

The question pierced through you like a blade made of breath. You looked at her innocent eyes blinking up at you, full of the kind of hope only children had. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Maybe.”

Sunny tilted her head. “Did you stop being friends?”

You exhaled slowly, choosing your words with care. “Sometimes… people are very close. They’re… tied together in ways that feel big. But even if they care, even if they love, they can still hurt. They don’t always know hwo to make it better.”

Sunny frowned as she tried to process your words. “Like when I spill juice and can’t clean it all up?” she asked.

You nodded, smiling sadly. “Yeah. Like that. Even when you try, sometimes it’s still messy.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Her small fingers reached for yours, wrapping around them gently. “I still think you and Snake can clean it up.”

Your breath caught, feeling the tears slowly welling at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away before she could see. “You’re very kind, Sunny,” you whispered. “You’ve got a good heart.”

She smiled, proud and sleepy. “Snake has a good heart too. Even if he frowns a lot.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah… he does.”

Sunny shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around you before you could reply. Her embrace was clumsy but certain, all warmth and trust. You held her close, pressing your cheek to her hair. Then she pulled back a little and dug into her pocket, retrieving something small and folded. “I made you this.”

You looked down. A tiny paper star, uneven and a little wrinkled.

“It’s a lucky one,” she said. “You keep it, okay?”

You took it gently. “Thank you, Sunny,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Sunny smiled, that sleepy, proud smile of hers, before yawning into her stuffed bird’s wing. “I’m going back to bed,” she mumbled, already making her way down the stairs.

You watched her go until she disappeared into the soft hum of the Nomad’s night, peeking from behind her to guide her down the stairs. Then you saw Snake’s figure, standing still, just behind the partition wall.

He didn’t mean to follow the sound of your voice, but he had. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. He just lit a cigarette quietly around the corner, the faint glow burning like a signal no one wanted to answer. Still, he said nothing.

Even as you sat alone by the stairs, the paper star held to your chest like it might stop your heart from splitting clean in two.

“Hey,” Hal’s voice cracked through your thoughts. He peeked down the stairs, waving at you. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You nodded, standing up and making your way towards his workstation. You pulled a chair beside him. Hal rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed.

“Snake… made some arrangements.”

You glanced up from the table. “For what?”

“There’s some he wants you to talk to. A counselor. Campbell recommended her,” Hal said. “Rosemary. They thought she could figure out what’s causing the nightmares.”

You stared at him, then scoffed lightly. “Of course he did.”

Hal blinked. “It’s not like-“

“No, no. It makes sense,” you leaned back in your chair, eyes cold. “First he screws me, then sends me to therapy. Classic damage control.”

“He’s not…” he sighed, but didn’t argue. “I think he just wants to help.”

You scoffed. “If he wanted to help, he could’ve started with words. Not silence. Not walking out like I was a mistake he regretted.”

Hal frowned. “If you ask me, I think he just… doesn’t know what else to do.”

Your eyes flicked away, jaw tight. “When is this session?”

“Tomorrow. But you don’t have to go if you’re not ready.”

“Oh, I’m going,” you said dryly, with a bitter smile curling on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to waste Snake’s good deed of the year.”

Behind you, down the partition wall near the stairs, was Snake standing quietly. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the moment he heard you and Hal talking, he froze. He could hear every word. Your disbelief, and the raps in your voice that sounded like it was trying not to break. He stepped into view just as you turned to walk away.

You almost bumped into him, feeling the air between you freeze. His eyes searched for your. You stared at each other, half expecting him to say something.

But then again, he didn’t.

He just stepped aside, letting you pass. You walked away without looking back. You lay beside Sunny, whose face immediately leaned on your arm as you positioned yourself comfortably, holding your hand as she slept.

You knew what tomorrow could mean. It’s an open line, already an excuse to leave. If Snake wanted space, he would get it. You curled up on the cot, staring at the wall, wondering if he’d even notice when you were gone.

If this was your last night in the Nomad, you wouldn’t say goodbye. They didn’t deserve a lie, and you didn’t trust yourself with the truth.  

---

The dull whir of the helicopter blades stirred the early morning air as you stood on the Nomad’s main corridor, the duffel bag slung casually over one shoulder. Hal was already by the ramp, preoccupied with checking his notes on the appointment details, too distracted to notice how your bag was heavier than usual. When the turned, you slid it under for the seat closest to the storage hold, tucking it behind a crate meant for medical supplies. You acted like it was nothing.

Your escape plan was set.

The moment Snake boarded, the air thickened. You glanced up instinctively, and there he was, not in his usual black long-sleeves top and military cargo pants, but in civilian clothes. A dark jacket zipped over a plain shirt, loose-fit pants, and boots more suited for walking city streets than battlegrounds. He looked strange, yet so ordinary.

But this time, older.

The lines on his face were deeper now. Not the fatigue of another mission, but something more permanent, etched by time. His jaw was set, mouth firm, eyes tired. You noticed the slight tremor in his hand when he reached for the railing.

You wanted to ask him if he was okay, but pride was a sharper blade. So you looked away. He didn’t say anything either and just took his seat across from you.

Hal, oblivious to the quiet storm between you both, settled into the cockpit. Through he intercom, he mentioned about Campbell prepping the guest room. You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on the clouds as the helicopter lifted off.

The ride was quiet. No one said a thing. The invisible wall between you and Snake was evident, built brick by brick in the aftermath of that night. Now, it stood so tall, neither of you could see over it.

You could feel Snake glancing at you once, maybe twice, but you didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to risk seeing regret… or worse, indifference. The whir of the blades was the only sound for miles, humming like the bitter echo of things unsaid. You clutched the hem of your jacket tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric as you counted the minutes.

The helicopter began its descent as Campbell’s property slowly unfolded beneath the morning light. Nestled far from the city, secluded but serene, the modest house stood surrounded by trees, its green leaves shivering in the wind. You’d been staring out the window the entire flight, your reflection faint against the glass. As the skids touched the grass and the engine powered down, you felt the familiar flutter of anxiety in your chest.

Not because of the appointment, but because of what you planned after it.

You reached down quietly, brushing your fingers against the handle of your duffel bag hidden beneath the seat. The cabin door unlatched with a metallic clunk. Hal hopped out first, his boots crunching on the gravel path as he went to greet Campbell, already waving from the porch. You stood, brushing your coat off, heart tight in your chest.

Then, Snake stood too, but his movement faltered. Just a small misstep, barely even noticeable. But the moment he stood, his knees buckled slightly beneath him. His hand missed the railing. Without thinking, you moved. Your hand caught his arm in time, steadying him.

“Whoa, careful,” you murmured, voice low, instinctive.

For a second, your faces were closer than they had been in days. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the sleeve of his jacket, the brief tremor in his muscles. His eyes locked with yours, clouded with something like need, or grief, or even guilt – you couldn’t tell. Neither of you said anything, the look between you was enough.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Campbell’s voice cut through the space between you. “Snake! Good to see you,” he said, voice kind but brisk, motioning you both down. “And you must be Y/N.”

You stepped away from Snake, letting go of his arm like it blurred. You forced a polite nod, ignoring the twist in your chest. You offered your hand to Campbell. “It’s an honor to meet you, Colonel.”

Snake followed behind you, posture stiff again, as if the moment on the helicopter never happened. Campbell accepted your hand, shaking it firmly. Then you adjusted the strap of your coat over your shoulder, and descended the steps of the aircraft, one foot ahead of the other.

The interior of Campbell’s home was simple and lived-in with books lining the shelves, family photos dusted and proudly framed on the mantle. The air was thick with polished wood and aged silence, broken only by the hum of the heater. It felt oddly warm, like a place where things settled down.

You stood near the entrance with your arms folded, gaze roaming the room while Snake lingered by the doorway. He hadn’t spoken a word since stepping out of the chopper. Hal quietly excused himself, giving some excuse about taking a call, but you both knew it was to give you space. Then Campbell crossed the room with two mugs of coffee, one in each hand. He offered you one, which you took politely.

“Well,” he said, settling into his recliner with the ease of a man who’s outlived more than just battles. “I have to admit that I didn’t expect Snake to be the first among us to find love.”

You nearly choked on your first sip, coughing quietly into your sleeve. Snake shifted beside you.

“Oh, we’re not…” you waved a hand politely, a dismissive half-smile forming on your lips. “It’s not like that.”

Campbell chuckled, eyes glancing between the two of you. “No shame in it, you know. Everyone deserves to have someone, just like me and Rose.”

You blinked. “Rose?” The words almost slipped out before you caught yourself. Your surprise must’ve flickered across your face, but you masked it quickly with a sip of coffee.

Snake, however, wasn’t as reserved. He raised a brow, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Wasn’t Rosemary engaged to Jack?”

Campbell’s smile faded just slightly. “After the Big Shell incident, Raiden disappeared. For a long time, he wouldn’t return her calls. He shut everyone out.”

You looked at Snake, whose brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

“I did what I could to help her cope,” Campbell continued, fingers wrapping around his mug. “She was devastated, then one thing led to another.”

“Right,” Snake muttered, tone a little too neutral. “Not a fan of May-December romances.”

Campbell laughed. “Neither was I. At first.”

Snake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “So she just… moved in?”

Campbell raised his brows, not a hint of shame in his smile. “Yes. Lucky me, huh?”

Snake grunted, almost disgusted. You lowered your eyes, masking the disbelief in your face.

“Rose is there inside,” Campbell added, gesturing toward the hallway with his mug. You gave a small nod, standing up slowly. You made your way towards the room where Rosemary was.

The room was quiet and carefully arranged. Two chairs faced each other across a low table with a box of tissues neatly centered. A shelf of books sat against one wall, half-psychology texts, and half-forgotten paperbacks. The curtains filtered in soft afternoon light, painting golden lines across the hardwood floor.

You didn’t expect her to be warm. But somehow, Rose wasn’t clinical or judgmental either. She greeted you with a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her notebook untouched. “How are you sleeping lately?” she asked softly.

You gave a half-laugh, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossed. “Like someone’s chasing me every time I close my eyes.

She nodded. “And what do you see?”

“Faces. War. Screaming. Sometimes blood, sometimes silence,” you hesitated. “They feel real, more real than waking up. The unsettling one was seeing The Boss.”

That got her attention. You could see the slight shift in her posture, not from suspicion, but concern.

“She’s always there,” you continued. “Sometimes it’s her voice, calling me from across a field. Sometimes she’s staring at me like I’m the one who betrayed her. I can feel the grass, the rain, the mud under my hands... It’s like I’m right back in the Cold War, even though I wasn’t even alive then.”

Rose blinked, frowning gently, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And other times,” you added, “I’m in a battlefield I don’t even recognize. Places that don’t exist. Faces I’ve never seen. Screams that sound like they’re inside my head, not around me.”

She tilted her head. “Are you able to wake yourself from them?”

You nodded. “Sometimes. But when I do… I’m still tired. Like I didn’t leave the dream behind. Like it followed me out.”

Rose rested her elbows lightly on the arms of the chair, fingers laced. “That’s beyond vivid dreaming. It’s immersive. Fragmented time, disjointed memories, the kind of neural activity that mirrors trauma, but you’re describing something more complex than textbook PTSD.”

She paused, like she was choosing her next words carefully.

“To be honest, it’s the first I’ve heard of something like yours. It’s hard to rule out something close to PTSD… but at the same time, I wouldn’t call this a traditional case. There’s a temporal quality to it, almost like your dreams are impressions from someone else’s life. Like echoes.”

You looked up at her then, something sharp and tired in your gaze. “That’s exactly what it feels like. Like I’m bleeding through someone else’s past.”

She hesitated. “When did the nightmares start?”

“After the Patriots got me.”

Rose’s face didn’t change, but you saw the way her knuckles tightened slightly around the edge of the notebook.

“I don’t know..” you sighed. “I wasn’t the same after they let me go. I was conscious, but not fully. My memories… they’re patchy. I dream of things I shouldn't know. Details about old missions, people I never met.”

“Like the Boss,” she said softly.

You nodded. “Sometimes I see their deaths. Sometimes I feel them. Like it was my own body lying there.”

Rose leaned back slightly, as if the weight of what you said settled in her bones. “There’s no established term for this kind of post-traumatic dreaming,” she said quietly. “But I believe you.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now. “I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and not know who I am anymore. That I’m just someone else’s memory walking around.”

She softened at that, sadness swimming in her eyes. “Then we’ll work together to find you again. Piece by piece.”

But even as she said it, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to find. You smiled still, but there was something far away in your eyes. That’s when you noticed it, behind Rose, near the corner of the room, was another door. Probably led to the backyard, maybe even wrapped around to the other side, near the helicopter.

You stood gently, almost quietly. “Thank you, Rose.”

She stood too, offering a kind smile as she closed her notebook. “I’m always here if you need to talk again.”

You gave her a nod. “Take care of yourself.”

She paused, something catching in her eyes. But before she could say more, you offered a quick, soft smile and turned toward the hallway. Instead of heading back to the lounge where Campbell and Snake was, you stepped toward the side door. You pressed it open, enough to feel the outside air. You slipped through, footsteps soft but swift.

The side yard led you past an empty garden patch, some rusted patio furniture. The moment you spotted the chopper still idling, unattended, your legs moved faster. You reached the bird’s undercarriage, crouched low, and pulled out your duffel bag was right where you had stashed it. You crouched and pulled it out in one motion, your fingers trembling only slightly as you slung it over your shoulder.

Then you looked back at the house, back at whatever could’ve been. You almost expected Snake to be standing there, behind the window, maybe watching. Maybe chasing after you, but there was no one.

You turned down the gravel path, nestled near the garage, and saw a dusty, military-issued motorbike. You didn’t hesitate as you dropped the duffel across the seat, threw your leg over the seat, and kick-started it with practiced ease. It roared to life beneath you like an echo of your own pulse. The tires kicked up grabel as you turned sharply onto the road, wind whipping hard against your face.

Without looking back and without waiting for anyone to stop you, you rode. The road stretched out in front of you, sun flickering through the trees like strobe lights from a life you were leaving behind. You didn’t cry. Not yet. There’d be time for that later, maybe, when the road was long and straight and silent.

But for now, you were gone. You didn’t stop riding until the trees gave way to an open high way, and the open highway gave way to the city’s edges. The world blurred past you in streaks of gray and green, a rush of wind and speed that made it easier not to think.

By the time you reached the airport, the sun had begun its descent behind the clouds, casting a pale gold over the terminal’s glass walls. You ditched the motorbike in the farthest corner of the long-term parking lot, left the keys in the ignition, and walked fast.

Inside, the sterile air hit you like a wall that was artificial, hummed with security announcements, the murmur of travels, and the click of luggage wheels. You scanned the flight board with practiced calm, looking for a destination that felt far enough.

Prague.

The name caught your eye ike an echo of something you hadn’t remembered wanting until now. A one-way ticket to wherever that it, Easter Europe maybe. You stepped up to the counter, handed over your ID, passport, and credit card.

“Seat by the window if you’ve got it,” you said, just above a whisper.

The clerk smiled politely, tapped a few keys. “You’re in luck. One last seat.”

You nodded. “Perfect.”

She handed you the ticket, and you clutched it like it meant something more than just a gate number. You didn’t check the time. You didn’t need to. All you knew was that every minute between now and boarding was borrowed, and no one knew where you were.

No one could stop you now.

As you settled into a far-off corner of the terminal, you let yourself exhale for the first time that day. The duffel sat at your feet. Your hands were still, folded over your lap. Outside the window, planes landed and left again, each one a clean slate disappearing into the clouds.

Chapter 17: the distance between us.

The lounge was quiet as Snake sat on the couch near the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room as though half-expecting you to walk in any minute. Campbell sat across from him, pacing slowly. Otacon had just arrived from his call, brushing off his coat and rubbing his hands together from the wind outside.

The door opened, but it was Rose who stepped through, a gentle smile on her face, as if the session had ended smoothly.

Snake straightened. “How is Y/N?”

Rose blinked, confused. “Y/N? She already left a few minutes ago.”

“What?” Snake’s voice dropped an octave, suddenly sharp. He stood up in an instant.

Campbell stood as Otacon’s eyes widened, all three of them processing the implications at once.  Snake didn’t wait as he stormed toward the hallway, then out toward the helipad. The wind rushed at him as he ran. The chopper still sat on the platform, but the back latch was hanging open, swaying gently in the breeze. The space beneath was empty.

His chest tightened. Otacon reached the edge behind him, checking the scene, and Campbell came up slower, more solemn. One look at the vacant cargo hold was enough.

“She’s gone,” Campbell said, his voice low.

Otacon was already pulling out his device, fingers flying. “I’ll search for traffic reports, airport departures, anything we can triangulate.”

Snake remained frozen, staring at the open ramp. His hands slowly curled into fists. He hadn’t even seen it coming. You’d sat through that whole ride with silence between you, and he had let it stay that way. This was on him. He stepped away from the chopper, pacing, growling under his breath. “Damn it.”

Then Snake did something desperate. He lowered his voice and turned away from the others, touching the side of his neck, opening a Codec frequency. The familiar whir of nanomachines engaging hummed through him, and he set the frequency manually. A shot in the dark, but it hit his gut feeling. There was no guarantee this would work. He had no idea if you had nanomachines, much less connected to a codec network.

To his surprise, it patched in.

His breath caught as a soft static buzz filled his ear. The connection was real. A low, distant echo of wheels rolling across tile, a robotic chime overhead, and a boarding announcement, muffled and indecipherable.

“Y/N!” Snake said, enough to alarm Otacon and Campbell. The shock in their faces were evident. He waited, but all he got was the rhythmic clatter of luggage wheels fading against the ambient murmur of travelers. “Where are you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, the static started to swell in a sharp rise, almost like a surge, then the connection abruptly cut. Otacon and Campbell were watching him,;the look on his face was enough. Snake’s hand slowly dropped from the side of his neck.

“She… answered?” Otacon asked quietly, almost not believing the implication.

Snake shook his head. “She didn’t say anything, but I heard something. Like she’s at the airport, then… static.”

Campbell furrowed his brows, stepping closer. “You reached her through the Codec?”

Snake nodded.

“But that’s–“ Otacon paused, then looked at him, stunned. “That means she has nanomachines.”

The three men stood in silence as that fact settled like ash.

“Since when?” Campbell asked, voice low, troubled.

“I don’t know,” Snake muttered. “She never said anything. I didn’t even think she had them.”

 Otacon’s mind was already spinning, trying to patch together a timeline. “We’ve known each other for years. She hated the idea of being tracked, connected. There’s no way she would’ve had them willingly…”

Rose emerged from the hallway, looking confused. “What’s going on?”

Snake turned toward her. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Rose blinked. “How?”

“Through another exit,” Otacon said grimly.

Rose’s expression fell, but then, she glanced between them, as if weighing whether to speak. “In our session… she mentioned the nightmares. She’s been dreaming about wars she never lived. The Boss. The Cold War. Even places she didn’t recognize. When I asked when it started…”

Otacon leaned forward. “What did she say?”

Rose hesitated, then said softly, “After she was captured by the Patriots.”

Otacon’s lips parted slightly. His eyes met Snake’s. “Does that mean—”

Campbell stepped in, his voice grave. “The Patriots must’ve injected her with the nanomachines when she was captured.”

A heavy silence followed. Snake looked away, something flickering in his eyes. Otacon picked up his tablet again, already walking toward the chopper.

“We should get back to the Nomad,” Otacon said with urgency. “I’ll trace everything with the best that I can, including today’s flights. If she’s in an airport, we can narrow it down.”

Snake followed, without a word.

Campbell stayed behind, watching them go. The wind rustled his coat as he muttered under his breath, “God help her.”

---

The hum of the Nomad’s engine was a dull backdrop as Snake and Otacon stepped back onboard, the weight of what just happened still hanging heavy over them. Neither of them spoke at first. Snake dropped into one of the metal chairs in the mission briefing area, his eyes distant, and jaw clenched,

Otacon went to work immediately, pulling files, loading sample archives, and powering up the diagnostic systems. He retrieved the small, preserved sample they had of your blood taken months ago, back when you were recovering from the Patriots. He hadn’t thought of it much then. Now, it was the key to everything.

Snake finally broke the silence. “You really think it’s the nanomachines?”

Otacon didn’t answer right away. He stared at the results as they came up on-screen with rows of code, chemical signatures, timestamps, all aligning with one another in horrifying clarity.

“They’re there,” he said quietly. “She was injected with nanomachines.”

Snake straightened. “When?”

Otacon zoomed in, narrowing the margin. His voice grew tighter. “Date of presence aligns with her time in captivity. Right after she was captured by the Patriots.”

Snake swore under his breath, rising to look at the screen with him.

Otacon ran a secondary scan, comparing neural activity samples, mapping the side effects. “It wasn’t just a tracking system. These nanomachines were doing something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re affecting her brain. Directly. These types of patterns—I’ve only seen them in experimental cognitive warfare programs. They’re implanting false memory signatures. Simulated dream sequences. Constructed fears.” Otacon looked up, troubled. “Her nightmares. The battles she dreamed about… The Boss. The Cold War. The battlefield she didn’t even recognize... They weren’t dreams. They were injections. Narratives designed to look and feel real.”

Snake stepped back, his throat dry. “Why would they do that?”

Otacon shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even the SOP system used that kind of manipulation. This is more psychological than tactical… but still incredibly advanced. They weren’t just watching her. They were… rewriting her.”

“But for what?” Snake asked.

Otacon only looked down. “I don’t even know.”

They stood there in silence, watching the data scroll by with endless lines of code, spliced memories, manufactured traumas. A manufactured mind. Snake stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over this chest, the weight of the recent revelations still sinking in.

“She never said anything,” he muttered. “But I saw it. Every night, when I was near her. The shaking. The cold sweat. Sometimes she’d whisper things in her sleep. Names. Places. Commands.”

Otacon frowned, attention pulled toward the scanner again. “That’s… strange. Those aren’t exactly bedtime stories.”

Snake stepped closer. “Here’s what I don’t get. Why did it only happen when I was nearby? Especially at night? When we were on the same floor, or in the same room—her episodes got worse.”

Otacon narrowed his eyes, tapping a few keys to bring up Snake’s biometric and nanomachine data. “Let me cross-reference something. Maybe the proximity triggered something.”

He ran a quick synchronization scan using the data they had from your nanomachine frequency readings and Snake’s own nanomachines. Several warning pings flashed across the screen.

Otacon’s eyes widened. “Oh god…”

“What?” Snake asked, his voice sharp.

Otacon turned to him. “Snake… I think your FOXDIE might be the trigger.”

Snake stared at him, not moving. “You’re saying FOXDIE caused her nightmares?”

Otacon nodded grimly. “Not directly. But think about what FOXDIE is… it’s a retrovirus engineered to target specific DNA sequences. It mutates inside your body. The virus has to constantly scan for certain gene markers in people around you.”

Snake tensed. “And?”

“And the Patriots' nanomachines inside her must have been programmed to detect FOXDIE's signal. When they sensed it, her nanomachines likely activated the memory loops. Maybe as a failsafe. Maybe as some kind of psychological warfare experiment.”

“Or conditioning,” Snake added, eyes dark.

“Exactly. FOXDIE was never just a weapon. It was a key. A trigger. Every time she was near you, especially when your vitals were at rest, like at night... her nanomachines must’ve interpreted your FOXDIE signature as a cue. It responded by flooding her neural pathways with those implanted memories.”

Snake’s fists clenched. “So I was the reason she kept suffering.”

Otacon’s expression softened. “You didn’t know, and she probably didn’t either.”

Snake stood still for a long while, his shadow cast across the console bathed in the glow of diagnostic scans and nanomachines schematics. “Why her?”

Otacon didn’t answer right away. He adjusted his glasses and stared at the data. “The patriots might’ve known who she was to you.”

Snake looked up, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“I mean it,” Otacon continued. “We don’t know how deep their surveillance went, but they watched everything. They must’ve known the moment you cared for someone.”

Snake exhaled slowly, almost like it hurt. He shifted his weight and sat heavily on the bench near the diagnostics table, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands rubbed together slowly.

“She always looked at me like I was something more than what I was,” he muttered. “Even when I was pushing her away. Even when I stopped answering. She still stayed. Always came back.”

Otacon said nothing.

Snake swallowed hard, eyes narrowing as if trying to see through some invisible fog. “The night of the helicopter. She… trusted me. And I… I turned my back. Told myself I was too tired. Too broken to deal with her. I thought maybe I was doing her a favor.” His voice broke for a moment, but he caught himself. “I didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain.”

Otacon stepped closer but didn’t interrupt.

“I thought avoiding her would protect her,” Snake said, almost to himself now. “But the Patriots… they used that. Twisted everything. Turned my presence into her prison. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

Otacon’s voice was steady. “They turned your bond into a weapon. It’s what they always do. Just like with Raiden. Just like with you.”

Snake raised his head, the weight of all those realizations pressing behind his eyes. His jaw clenched. “She ran because of me.”

Otacon stepped beside him. “She ran to survive. But I don’t think she blames you, Snake. Whatever they did to her… she’s still fighting it. That means there’s still time.”

Snake lingered over your workstation sat undisturbed, almost abandoned. The monitor was off, but a small stack of papers lay beside the keyboard, as if left in a hurt. Snake almost didn’t notice it, until he saw a single folded sheet tucked neatly beneath the edge of your mug. His name was scrawled on it in your handwriting.

Just “David”.

He hesitated before picking it up, as if a part of him didn’t want to know what it contained. But his fingers unfolded the paper anyway, rough hands brushing across ink softened by trembling hands.

I’m sorry for leaving like this.

I should’ve said goodbye, but I was scared. Not of you, but of what I’m becoming. I couldn’t risk hurting you.

You’ve always carried too much. I didn’t want to be another weight on your back.

I don’t know why my head feels like a battlefield I’ve never been on. But I know whenever you’re near, it’s like something inside me shatters. Like I’m not really myself anymore.

I hate that, because you’re the only person I ever felt safe with.

Please don’t come looking for me. Tell Otacon and Sunny that I’m sorry.

And David… thank you. For everything. Even if it was brief. You were the first place I ever called home. For once, please take care of yourself.

There was no signature, but it had a faint smudge where the ink bled, like it had been written in tears. Snake stared at the letter, his breath shallow. Otacon entered quietly from behind but stopped when he saw the paper in Snake’s hands.

“She left this?” Otacon asked, voice hushed.

Snake nodded, folding the note back with a strange, reverent precision. His jaw tightened, but said nothing. It was only when he turned away from the workstation, shoulders squared and silent resolve in his step that he finally spoke, almost to himself.

“We’re going to find her.”

---

Later that evening, the Nomad was quiet. Sunny hadn’t moved from her corner, still reading that one book that was way past her age, something about Science. The soft rustle of pages was the only sound, until Snake’s shadow stretched beside her. He leaned against the edge of the sink, almost lighting up a cigarette, when Sunny suddenly spoke.

“She’s not coming back… is she?”

Snake exhaled through his nose, slow and tired. “Not for now.”

Sunny’s shoulders slightly hunched. “Was it because of me?” she asked quietly. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to…”

Snake’s eyes softened. He knelt beside her, leveling his gaze with hers. “No, Sunny. It wasn’t because of you.”

She looked at him, like she was searching his face for the truth.

“Sometimes people go through things we can’t see,” he continued, voice low and calm. “Things get so heavy that people need space to breathe and think.   That’s all this is.”

Sunny looked down again. “But… she smiled at me just this morning.”

Snake managed a faint, worn smile. “She meant it.”

“Is she scared?”

Snake didn’t answer right away. He placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuring her. “Yeah, maybe. But that doesn’t mean she stopped caring.”

Sunny’s bottom lip quivered slightly, but she nodded. “Okay.”

She turned and hugged him without another word, arms wrapping around his neck. Snake tensed for half a second, like he always did with affection, then slowly wrapped one arm around her in return, steady and quiet.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Sunny closed her eyes against his shoulder. “You’ll find her, right?”

He just held her a little tighter and said, “We’ll see.”

After a moment, she pulled away, wiping her eyes. As Snake rose to his feet, the cigarette still on palm. As he was about to bring the lighter to the tip, a small hand snatched the cigarette out of his fingers. Snake blinked down at Sunny, now frowned up at him, holding the cigarette like it was a contraband.

“Smoking is bad for you,” she said firmly, just like she had before.

He let out a tired exhale, less from the urge to smoke. ““Some habits die hard, kid,” he muttered.

She crossed her arms. “So did the dinosaurs.”

Snake stared at her for a second, then gave a low, amused grunt. “…Right,” he said, letting it go.

Sunny pocketed the cigarette triumphantly, then glanced back at the book she was reading.

Chapter 18: epilogue

The seasons had come and gone since the day you vanished without a trace. Prague was cold this morning. A soft layer of frost clung to the edges of the tram windows as it rattled through the old streets. Cobblestones shimmered with slush from the night’s light snowfall, and the skies hung low in the kind of gray that felt more like silence than weather.

You stood by the café window near Vinohrady, a chipped porcelain cup warming your hands, steam curling toward your face. A scarf was wrapped loosely around your neck, hair shorter this time, tucked beneath a wool coat. You blended in well over the past year with enough Czech learned to get by, routines simple and untraceable.

The life you’d built here was quiet. You rented a small flat above a secondhand bookshop, worked odd hours for a digital archiving firm that paid just enough and didn’t ask too much. No one knew your real name. It’s like you’re a ghost slipping through the rhythm of the city.

Sometimes you dreamed of Snake, Otacon, and Sunny. Woke up in cold sweats, still hearing the echoes of codec static in your ear. But the nightmares were duller now. Like the signal had weakened.

Still, Prague was kind. It lets you disappear.

As you finished your coffee and watched the trams pass, you tugged your coat tighter, stepping outside with the practiced grace of someone who’d learned to keep their head down. Despite the bitter winters and peeling paint of post-Soviet apartment blocks, Prague had a pulse that comforted you. It was the in the way locals lit candles at old cemeteries, in the smell of goulash wafting out of cellar pubs, and in the quiet defiance in people’s.

But lately, even Prague had begun to feel… off.

Whispers of unrest floated in conversations, buried beneath Czech sarcasm and cigarette smoke. Something about the Paradise Lost Army, a rogue resistance group rumored to have surfaced from the rubble of discarded soldiers. Veterans without countries, ghosts without orders. Word on the street was they were organized by someone called Matka Plutku. No one knew who she was, only that she hated the Patriots and was rallying the broken under her banner.

You were walking down the edge of Žižkov, a quieter district where old buildings stood shoulder to shoulder like survivors of another war. The snow had started falling again with soft, dry flakes brushing your coat. You were halfway to your tram stop, thinking about nothing in particular, when you felt it.

A stare.

You turned subtly, trained eyes catching it instantly. A man by a battered checkpoint, standing beside a rusted armored vehicle. His gear looked newer, like the PMCs you’ve seen around. But it wasn’t what he wore – it was how he looked at you.

As if he knew you.

Your heart kicked up.  You turned down the alley, fast but not frantic, counting your exits. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he mistook you for someone else. But you didn’t like that glint in his eyes that had recognition mixed with intent. Another set of footsteps joined the first, then another.

You bolted as your boots hit the wet pavement. You sprinted into a side street, weaving through hanging laundry and bins. You tried not to think. You just moved like you hadn’t in months. You turned a corner, only to stop short.

Two more of them blocked you, raising their guns at you. One gestured with his chin. “On your knees.”

Your breath came heavy. Mind calculating your odds, and not liking the answer. You didn’t even have a weapon on you. Not one that mattered. But before you could raise your hands, gunfire rang out behind you, sharp and clean. One of the men in front of you jerked back, blood spraying against the brick wall.

“Get down!” A voice barked from behind you. 

You dropped to the ground just as bullets ripped through the alley. The air sparked with shell casings and barked orders in a language you didn’t recognize. The woman, whoever she was, had her helmet on and moved like a ghost, taking out your pursuers with lethal precision. When the last body hit the floor, you raised your head as your heart pounded, hands scraped on pavement.

The stench of gunpowder still clung to the alley as silence slowly reclaimed it, broken only by the soft crunch of boots on gravel. A sleek, matte-black motorbike was parked near your body, its engine quietly ticking in the cold air. The woman who had just saved your life stepped away from it, pulling off her gloves one by one as she approached. Her blonde hair was loosely tied back, windswept but deliberate, and she wore a fitted leather coat that moved like armor around her.

She stopped in front of you and extended a hand. “Come on,” she said, voice low and steady. “You’re safe now.”

You hesitated before taking it. Her grip was strong as she helped you to your feet with ease. She gave you a once-over, her gaze clinical but not unkind. Then with a small smirk curling on her lips, she spoke.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

Your stomach sank. “…How do you know my name?”

She raised an eyebrow, as if amused by the question more than offended. You stared, breath catching in your throat. Her face had something about her. Familiar in a way that tugged at your memory, something deep and buried, older than it should be.

Then it hit you with another flash. A woman, maybe her when she was younger, still blonde and defiant, speeding through a rain-slick jungle on a military bike. Big Boss was there, holding an RPG as the Shagohod in the distance chased them, with fire and smoke in the air. The scene was too vivid to be false.

The woman gave a slight nod, as if confirming what you just saw. Her voice softened, layered with something almost maternal. “That flash is real. Good. That means we’re not too late.”

You looked at her sharply, but she raised a hand before you could speak.

“I’ve been watching you. Not alone. Let’s just say… someone with a white jaw and a bleeding conscience pointed me in your direction.”

She kept walking, and you followed, like the air itself had begun pulling you with her. The two of you weaved through the quiet streets of Prague, boots echoing faintly on the cobblestones. As the city loomed quiet around you, she spoke again calmly, but edged with something dangerous.

“You’ve been feeling it, haven’t you? The cracks. The echoes. The memories that don’t belong to you. The feelings that come out of nowhere,” she smiled, almost sadly. “I know what it’s like to be remembered only when it’s convenient. But him… Snake isn’t like that.”

Your eyes snapped at her. “What do you mean?”

She caught the look but didn’t elaborate. The implication sat heavy in the space between you. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if measuring how much she should reveal.  

“I’ve been in this fight longer than you’ve been alive,” she said. “The name’s EVA. And if we want to stop the Patriots, you and I have work to do.”

EVA looked over her shoulder, and there was steel in her eyes now.

“This isn’t the first time the Patriots tried to manufacture love.”

Notes:

Of course, it doesn’t end here. The sequel will be coming right up soon! ☺️

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of operation: snake lover (solid snake x reader)