[004] - video, forward dated to morning
[It's early morning, an hour or so after the sirens sounded across the city and signaled the end of the Darkness. Most days, that's Snake's cue to go home and grab a bit of rest.]
[Several straight weeks of fending off monsters after dark, and canvassing the city for a certain shapeshifting serial-killer in the daylight. They were making some progress, finally, on tracking down the bounty. Snake had a way of being particularly tenacious in any circumstance, but even he could get a little exhausted after a while. At the very least, it means that he sleeps better, when he manages it. On the other hand, some days, like today, he's still restless enough to opt for a cup of coffee and a cigarette instead. So in lieu of getting some much needed shut-eye, he's sitting on the stoop outside the house he shares with Otacon and indulging in just that. It's pretty peaceful, for once. Too late for the Darkness, too early for most of the city to be out and about. A hundred pounds of dozing dog at his feet to combat the city's slowly thinning population of stray cats. When he picks up his radio to address the network the video feed finally settles on his profile, set a short distance beside him on the steps to keep his hands free.]
No use talking about the weather, I suppose.
[Referring, of course, to the last lingering reddish tinge from the not-blood-rain that had caused a stir and stained the city several days ago. He waits a moment, looks down at his cigarette, then rolls his shoulder to work out the kinks in it. Something had gotten its claws into him last night. He doesn't show much sign of being hurt, but there are a few dried bloodstains on the back of his shirt.]
They keep getting meaner, huh? The monsters. Feels that way, anyway. One of these days I'm going to need to invest in something other than a .45.
[Perfect for precision, stealth, and infiltration, but his SOCOM wasn't always as good at blowing holes in the more stubborn things brought about by the Darkness. Did the job, but it wouldn't hurt to have more stopping power. He exhales slowly before he continues, smoke rising up into the hazy grey sky. Like usual, his voice never drifts far from a low and level tone, though anyone listening closely enough would recognize a tired note in it today. There's been a lot of talk about life and death on the network, recently. Unsurprising, given the circumstances.]
...back where I come from, dying is supposed to be a one-time deal. Not really the kind of thing you walk away from.
[Not without consequences. Here, on the other hand, it seems to happen with surprising frequency. Wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it. Those who are here who are dead back home, or those who had died here, temporarily. Maybe even him, if his suspicions are right, though he doesn't remember anything about this place before waking up in the baseball field back in September.]
I guess I've learned by now not to take everything I'm supposed to know for granted.
[Sort of. Learned the hard way, anyway. A prolonged, thoughtful pause, but he didn't go into this looking to dwell on this part at all, so he moves on. He frowns out at the horizon and taps ash onto the ground before getting to the point.]
In any case, I've heard speculation that every one of those things you kill one night just comes back good as new, the next. Any concrete word on that? Wouldn't be the strangest part of all this, but I can't say I like the sound of it.
[For being such a constant part of life in the city, he doesn't know much about the monsters at all, beyond how to take them out. But if he could be killing the same dozen monsters over and over again, would they come back stronger, for the experience? Smarter? Or would it make them angrier, madder, more aggressive? It's not the most promising of possibilities in either case.]
[Several straight weeks of fending off monsters after dark, and canvassing the city for a certain shapeshifting serial-killer in the daylight. They were making some progress, finally, on tracking down the bounty. Snake had a way of being particularly tenacious in any circumstance, but even he could get a little exhausted after a while. At the very least, it means that he sleeps better, when he manages it. On the other hand, some days, like today, he's still restless enough to opt for a cup of coffee and a cigarette instead. So in lieu of getting some much needed shut-eye, he's sitting on the stoop outside the house he shares with Otacon and indulging in just that. It's pretty peaceful, for once. Too late for the Darkness, too early for most of the city to be out and about. A hundred pounds of dozing dog at his feet to combat the city's slowly thinning population of stray cats. When he picks up his radio to address the network the video feed finally settles on his profile, set a short distance beside him on the steps to keep his hands free.]
No use talking about the weather, I suppose.
[Referring, of course, to the last lingering reddish tinge from the not-blood-rain that had caused a stir and stained the city several days ago. He waits a moment, looks down at his cigarette, then rolls his shoulder to work out the kinks in it. Something had gotten its claws into him last night. He doesn't show much sign of being hurt, but there are a few dried bloodstains on the back of his shirt.]
They keep getting meaner, huh? The monsters. Feels that way, anyway. One of these days I'm going to need to invest in something other than a .45.
[Perfect for precision, stealth, and infiltration, but his SOCOM wasn't always as good at blowing holes in the more stubborn things brought about by the Darkness. Did the job, but it wouldn't hurt to have more stopping power. He exhales slowly before he continues, smoke rising up into the hazy grey sky. Like usual, his voice never drifts far from a low and level tone, though anyone listening closely enough would recognize a tired note in it today. There's been a lot of talk about life and death on the network, recently. Unsurprising, given the circumstances.]
...back where I come from, dying is supposed to be a one-time deal. Not really the kind of thing you walk away from.
[Not without consequences. Here, on the other hand, it seems to happen with surprising frequency. Wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it. Those who are here who are dead back home, or those who had died here, temporarily. Maybe even him, if his suspicions are right, though he doesn't remember anything about this place before waking up in the baseball field back in September.]
I guess I've learned by now not to take everything I'm supposed to know for granted.
[Sort of. Learned the hard way, anyway. A prolonged, thoughtful pause, but he didn't go into this looking to dwell on this part at all, so he moves on. He frowns out at the horizon and taps ash onto the ground before getting to the point.]
In any case, I've heard speculation that every one of those things you kill one night just comes back good as new, the next. Any concrete word on that? Wouldn't be the strangest part of all this, but I can't say I like the sound of it.
[For being such a constant part of life in the city, he doesn't know much about the monsters at all, beyond how to take them out. But if he could be killing the same dozen monsters over and over again, would they come back stronger, for the experience? Smarter? Or would it make them angrier, madder, more aggressive? It's not the most promising of possibilities in either case.]