Twoism
Characters; Solid Snake, Big Boss
Setting/Location; Verity, north of the Training Grounds.
Date & Time; Day 4, afternoon
Warnings; Violence, language, whining, MUD WRASSELIN'.
Briefing; Snake finally has that long awaited talk with Big Boss. It doesn't go exactly as planned.
The fog that had blanketed the base all morning seemed to dissipate in the afternoon, leaving behind a thin, misty murk that hung thick in the humid air like some tangible force. Along with the dark clouds dotting the sky and the sheets of rain pouring down, it did a generous job of creating an atmospheric mood that was hardly lost on Snake -- a sort of why did I have to get out of bed for this feeling that teetered dangerously close to outright contempt for not only the bad weather, but the entire godforsaken monster infested nation that housed it.
Or it could have been from the residue of his injuries from last night. It was hard to tell. Verity had not been kind to him; three days had passed and he had already suffered a broken nose, a concussion, several hairline fractures, and a hole below his cheek courtesy of a pair of gnashing, biting teeth, not to mention the infection that came along with that. If it hadn't been for the intervention of their medic and the various others that had been at Cabin #6 that night, he had no doubt that he would be in an unimaginably worse state. If alive at all.
As undead as he felt walking through this downpour, as fatigued as he was, it did not come close to that feeling. That sick state, feverish and hazy like a dream that poured into the senses and washed everything--rational, logic, empathy, fear--away and left only primal instinct (urges) in its wake. In contrast to the nothingness it left him in when he was in its cusp, Snake could not look back on the memory of the incident without having a deep sense of revulsion and fear grip him, and it was hard to tell what it stemmed from -- the sensations that came with the infection, or what caused it in the first place.
Who caused it.
Predictably, it was the latter memory that elicited the most emotions from him. He tried not to think too much about it; not about the hiss and resentful shove that preceded the viral transmission, not about the vacant look in the eyes of the one who would move to pounce and pin him, and most certainly not about how it could have been avoided if he had acknowledged the signs (it was the 21st century, after all. zombies were pop culture staples on the level of Santa and Godzilla) and acted when he should have instead of doing things the hard way out of reluctance.
Oh, keep telling yourself that. It wasn't reluctance.
It was refusal.
Fitting that he was mentally repressing the reasoning that stemmed from that when he was already off to meet Big Boss. He knew that last night's mess was probably weighing down just as heavy on the other man, but it was obvious he was gonna deal with it in his own quiet, grudging way. As if it were a mistake one could cover up and treat like a training session screw-up.
Just like he always did. Like most of his interactions with his former-future commander, it left a sour taste of nostalgia in Snake's mouth and a faint sad feeling swimming in his chest.
Sky began to taper off into treetops. The rain made dull, static sounding pops as it came down on the leaves, coming in through the foliage but not nearly as bad as it had been out in the open. His hair was a wet mess, but like the rest of his damp appearance right now, it affected his mood very little.
Everything would start and end the same regardless.
Setting/Location; Verity, north of the Training Grounds.
Date & Time; Day 4, afternoon
Warnings; Violence, language, whining, MUD WRASSELIN'.
Briefing; Snake finally has that long awaited talk with Big Boss. It doesn't go exactly as planned.
The fog that had blanketed the base all morning seemed to dissipate in the afternoon, leaving behind a thin, misty murk that hung thick in the humid air like some tangible force. Along with the dark clouds dotting the sky and the sheets of rain pouring down, it did a generous job of creating an atmospheric mood that was hardly lost on Snake -- a sort of why did I have to get out of bed for this feeling that teetered dangerously close to outright contempt for not only the bad weather, but the entire godforsaken monster infested nation that housed it.
Or it could have been from the residue of his injuries from last night. It was hard to tell. Verity had not been kind to him; three days had passed and he had already suffered a broken nose, a concussion, several hairline fractures, and a hole below his cheek courtesy of a pair of gnashing, biting teeth, not to mention the infection that came along with that. If it hadn't been for the intervention of their medic and the various others that had been at Cabin #6 that night, he had no doubt that he would be in an unimaginably worse state. If alive at all.
As undead as he felt walking through this downpour, as fatigued as he was, it did not come close to that feeling. That sick state, feverish and hazy like a dream that poured into the senses and washed everything--rational, logic, empathy, fear--away and left only primal instinct (urges) in its wake. In contrast to the nothingness it left him in when he was in its cusp, Snake could not look back on the memory of the incident without having a deep sense of revulsion and fear grip him, and it was hard to tell what it stemmed from -- the sensations that came with the infection, or what caused it in the first place.
Who caused it.
Predictably, it was the latter memory that elicited the most emotions from him. He tried not to think too much about it; not about the hiss and resentful shove that preceded the viral transmission, not about the vacant look in the eyes of the one who would move to pounce and pin him, and most certainly not about how it could have been avoided if he had acknowledged the signs (it was the 21st century, after all. zombies were pop culture staples on the level of Santa and Godzilla) and acted when he should have instead of doing things the hard way out of reluctance.
Oh, keep telling yourself that. It wasn't reluctance.
It was refusal.
Fitting that he was mentally repressing the reasoning that stemmed from that when he was already off to meet Big Boss. He knew that last night's mess was probably weighing down just as heavy on the other man, but it was obvious he was gonna deal with it in his own quiet, grudging way. As if it were a mistake one could cover up and treat like a training session screw-up.
Just like he always did. Like most of his interactions with his former-future commander, it left a sour taste of nostalgia in Snake's mouth and a faint sad feeling swimming in his chest.
Sky began to taper off into treetops. The rain made dull, static sounding pops as it came down on the leaves, coming in through the foliage but not nearly as bad as it had been out in the open. His hair was a wet mess, but like the rest of his damp appearance right now, it affected his mood very little.
Everything would start and end the same regardless.