In this world, everything could change just like that
hgfghj writing Raiden's 3rd person for AT and it... morphed into something of it's own \o__O/
The only logical reaction had been to scream.
Raiden traipsed up and down the halls, pacing while he waited for the agreed pickup. Snake was due to arrive in South America soon and he was still here. He wasn't exactly impatient by any means. (Jack was, sometimes he used to zone out in the middle of conversations if he didn't get the answer he wanted straight away.) But this was ridiculous. His annoyance must've begun to show in his expression, because even people who weren't usually wary of him had begun steering clear of him and averting their attention as they walked past.
A pained howl that echoed through the hallways of the complex. He whipped his head from side to side in a panic, looking for something. Someone. Anyone. Snake. Rose.
Idly, Raiden checked his frequencies for the umpteenth time. Snake. Otacon. Wonder if they even know anyone has these. Static. Nothing but. Of course, outside of designated areas and frequencies and other stuff he hadn't understood, nor cared to listen to, it was impossible to communicate with anyone outside the base. Impractical in an emergency. The pessemistic realistic voice in the back of his mind murmured, as if something would happen the moment he left.
But Big Mama had fifty years of experience on him. More than he knew, more than he cared to find out. Fifty years of staying alive, seeing it out until the end when your body wanted to give up and your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart, trying to bare itself of everything. The capacity to feel anything anymore. All for the mission.
That was something he could respect, understand. More than anything. More than being indebted to her for saving his life. For failing. He admired her for it, because he didn't think he could drag himself on for that long. Not for anyone.
He pulled himself up from the bed, away from the oxygen and the wires and dragged his sorry body across the room, shallow breath coming out ragged and distorted through speakers instead of vocal chords. Blood searing and running white through his veins. What did they do? Is this being saved? He could barely open his eyes, staring harshly at his reflection until the haze lifted and he could focus.
No. He was sure whatever happened, she and Paradise Lost would be fine. He just needed to complete the mission. Get it right.
The whir of propellers shook Raiden out of his daze. He looked up at his delayed ride, plainly less than impressed as the hellicopter landed and strode over. Long steps. Suddenly everything felt so much more... immediate. Soon it would be over. The world had been on fire for far too long. We won't be their puppets anymore. Amazing how time had a way of creeping like that. Some days the Manhattan Incident felt like it had only been weeks, days ago. Others, there was this bleak realisation that it had been five years and oh God, they'd had him for so long.
Most days, it felt like another lifetime. Jack felt like a whole lifetime ago.
Raiden looked to the front of the chopper at the pilot. "About time," he'd wanted to say. But that meant talking, conversation. Delay. And he just wanted to go. Finish it, finally.
Tentatively, he lifted a hand to his jaw, tracing along where flesh met metal. He remembered. Waking up in agony. Some kind of cruel mesh of feeling nothing and everything all at once. Blinding pain as his brain tried to accustom itself to the changes. Even the slightest puff of air sometimes felt like knives in his skin and he found himself waking up in a panic; panting and scared of whatever it was attacking him in his sleep. He dropped his hand to his side in shocked silence, he could remember so much and it all meant nothing. All he knew now is this was it. All the mistakes he'd made, lies he'd told to everyone, to himself. This was what it came down to.
"Let's go."
This was his salvation.
Maybe I can tweak it into a sample idk
The only logical reaction had been to scream.
Raiden traipsed up and down the halls, pacing while he waited for the agreed pickup. Snake was due to arrive in South America soon and he was still here. He wasn't exactly impatient by any means. (Jack was, sometimes he used to zone out in the middle of conversations if he didn't get the answer he wanted straight away.) But this was ridiculous. His annoyance must've begun to show in his expression, because even people who weren't usually wary of him had begun steering clear of him and averting their attention as they walked past.
A pained howl that echoed through the hallways of the complex. He whipped his head from side to side in a panic, looking for something. Someone. Anyone. Snake. Rose.
Idly, Raiden checked his frequencies for the umpteenth time. Snake. Otacon. Wonder if they even know anyone has these. Static. Nothing but. Of course, outside of designated areas and frequencies and other stuff he hadn't understood, nor cared to listen to, it was impossible to communicate with anyone outside the base. Impractical in an emergency. The pessemistic realistic voice in the back of his mind murmured, as if something would happen the moment he left.
But Big Mama had fifty years of experience on him. More than he knew, more than he cared to find out. Fifty years of staying alive, seeing it out until the end when your body wanted to give up and your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart, trying to bare itself of everything. The capacity to feel anything anymore. All for the mission.
That was something he could respect, understand. More than anything. More than being indebted to her for saving his life. For failing. He admired her for it, because he didn't think he could drag himself on for that long. Not for anyone.
He pulled himself up from the bed, away from the oxygen and the wires and dragged his sorry body across the room, shallow breath coming out ragged and distorted through speakers instead of vocal chords. Blood searing and running white through his veins. What did they do? Is this being saved? He could barely open his eyes, staring harshly at his reflection until the haze lifted and he could focus.
No. He was sure whatever happened, she and Paradise Lost would be fine. He just needed to complete the mission. Get it right.
The whir of propellers shook Raiden out of his daze. He looked up at his delayed ride, plainly less than impressed as the hellicopter landed and strode over. Long steps. Suddenly everything felt so much more... immediate. Soon it would be over. The world had been on fire for far too long. We won't be their puppets anymore. Amazing how time had a way of creeping like that. Some days the Manhattan Incident felt like it had only been weeks, days ago. Others, there was this bleak realisation that it had been five years and oh God, they'd had him for so long.
Most days, it felt like another lifetime. Jack felt like a whole lifetime ago.
Raiden looked to the front of the chopper at the pilot. "About time," he'd wanted to say. But that meant talking, conversation. Delay. And he just wanted to go. Finish it, finally.
Tentatively, he lifted a hand to his jaw, tracing along where flesh met metal. He remembered. Waking up in agony. Some kind of cruel mesh of feeling nothing and everything all at once. Blinding pain as his brain tried to accustom itself to the changes. Even the slightest puff of air sometimes felt like knives in his skin and he found himself waking up in a panic; panting and scared of whatever it was attacking him in his sleep. He dropped his hand to his side in shocked silence, he could remember so much and it all meant nothing. All he knew now is this was it. All the mistakes he'd made, lies he'd told to everyone, to himself. This was what it came down to.
"Let's go."
This was his salvation.
Maybe I can tweak it into a sample idk