☮ 12 ; video
WHUMP.
[That's the first sound you're greeted with when Big Boss's NV switches on. The camera is on, but the feed only records blackness, leading one to believe that the lens is pressed up against something dark or the device is malfunctioning altogether.
Despite this, the audio is coming in perfectly and there's a lot to be heard in the first five or so minutes of recording -- gasping, strained wheezing, the impact of flesh hitting flesh, something that sounds like a chair falling over. It's easy to imagine what it might be if your mind is in the gutter--
--until that very same chair hits what must be a wall and breaks with a resounding, nasty CRACK and the NV flips over on its side revealing that the lens was just pressed up against something that kept it from recording the rest of the room. The camera is at an odd sideways angle but the image it captures is poignant enough: Big Boss, lip swollen and bleeding, is standing over the remains of the chair along with what looks like a broken table as Snake, nose bleeding similarly, is half crouched several feet before him, panting.
The feed cuts out again when Big Boss's boot hits the camera, sending the image into static right as he darts to pick up one very large, jagged fragment of the chair to throw at Snake, who lunges at him.]
[About twenty minutes later, another videofeed from the same NV starts up. This time it shows Big Boss, sitting, pressing a pack of ice against a cheek. He looks kinda battered - but also relaxed; those who fight for a living and relieve stress like that will that know the expression and feeling. On closer inspection, the laceration his bottom lip suffered seems somewhat older. His gaze is focused on something behind the camera, then it drops and he sighs, wearily. The camera is shaking subtly even as he talks.]
Up until a few years ago, I regularly worked with war orphans and child soldiers. Most prominently in civil wars, like in Mozambique or Angola during the 60s and 70s. I always thought there was something inherently wrong about sending children to war, or forcing them to live a life in solitude by taking away their family, so that they would sooner or later have to resort to taking up arms as well; just so that they'd have a chance to defend themselves and what they had left, if anything at all. For some that road might be paved with the desire for revenge, too.
[He looks up briefly before he continues.]
That's how war works. You only lose; you never really gain anything in the process, unless you're after material wealth. I thought it was my responsibility as a soldier to reduce the losses as much as I could, and even if I was never entirely successful with that, I tried to at least give something back - not replace, because family and friends can never be replaced, but at least a chance to live a normal life. Took them off the battlefield, escorted them to orphanages and government sponsored rehabilitation facilities, saw to it that they'd be reintegrated into society. And could look forward to a better life. Well, that was the idea...but I don't think good will alone and empty promises can really make so much a difference that the person you care for doesn't continue being remembered by others as what they were before, and that they won't start automatically associating themselves with what they've grown up with. It all becomes part of you. I've met some people here who are like that; defined by what others wanted them to be. Raised them to be. Made them into something or someone else, and took the choice from them. Freedom to be your own person isn't a right that's granted to you when you are born. It's something you have to fight for. You can fight for it your whole life and still never get it.
[Thoughtful pause. He grimaces a little as he rubs the pack of ice against his swollen cheek.]
Some things are beyond one's control. I hate that. And I hate how this city is shaping me.
[Someone in the background asks Better?, but BB shakes his head, Not really, and the last thing you see is his calloused hand as he reaches over to turn the NV off.]
((ooc: tl;dr BB just found out what Para-Medic does to his favorite orphan in the future and flipped a table. Quite literally.))
[That's the first sound you're greeted with when Big Boss's NV switches on. The camera is on, but the feed only records blackness, leading one to believe that the lens is pressed up against something dark or the device is malfunctioning altogether.
Despite this, the audio is coming in perfectly and there's a lot to be heard in the first five or so minutes of recording -- gasping, strained wheezing, the impact of flesh hitting flesh, something that sounds like a chair falling over. It's easy to imagine what it might be if your mind is in the gutter--
--until that very same chair hits what must be a wall and breaks with a resounding, nasty CRACK and the NV flips over on its side revealing that the lens was just pressed up against something that kept it from recording the rest of the room. The camera is at an odd sideways angle but the image it captures is poignant enough: Big Boss, lip swollen and bleeding, is standing over the remains of the chair along with what looks like a broken table as Snake, nose bleeding similarly, is half crouched several feet before him, panting.
The feed cuts out again when Big Boss's boot hits the camera, sending the image into static right as he darts to pick up one very large, jagged fragment of the chair to throw at Snake, who lunges at him.]
[About twenty minutes later, another videofeed from the same NV starts up. This time it shows Big Boss, sitting, pressing a pack of ice against a cheek. He looks kinda battered - but also relaxed; those who fight for a living and relieve stress like that will that know the expression and feeling. On closer inspection, the laceration his bottom lip suffered seems somewhat older. His gaze is focused on something behind the camera, then it drops and he sighs, wearily. The camera is shaking subtly even as he talks.]
Up until a few years ago, I regularly worked with war orphans and child soldiers. Most prominently in civil wars, like in Mozambique or Angola during the 60s and 70s. I always thought there was something inherently wrong about sending children to war, or forcing them to live a life in solitude by taking away their family, so that they would sooner or later have to resort to taking up arms as well; just so that they'd have a chance to defend themselves and what they had left, if anything at all. For some that road might be paved with the desire for revenge, too.
[He looks up briefly before he continues.]
That's how war works. You only lose; you never really gain anything in the process, unless you're after material wealth. I thought it was my responsibility as a soldier to reduce the losses as much as I could, and even if I was never entirely successful with that, I tried to at least give something back - not replace, because family and friends can never be replaced, but at least a chance to live a normal life. Took them off the battlefield, escorted them to orphanages and government sponsored rehabilitation facilities, saw to it that they'd be reintegrated into society. And could look forward to a better life. Well, that was the idea...but I don't think good will alone and empty promises can really make so much a difference that the person you care for doesn't continue being remembered by others as what they were before, and that they won't start automatically associating themselves with what they've grown up with. It all becomes part of you. I've met some people here who are like that; defined by what others wanted them to be. Raised them to be. Made them into something or someone else, and took the choice from them. Freedom to be your own person isn't a right that's granted to you when you are born. It's something you have to fight for. You can fight for it your whole life and still never get it.
[Thoughtful pause. He grimaces a little as he rubs the pack of ice against his swollen cheek.]
Some things are beyond one's control. I hate that. And I hate how this city is shaping me.
[Someone in the background asks Better?, but BB shakes his head, Not really, and the last thing you see is his calloused hand as he reaches over to turn the NV off.]
((ooc: tl;dr BB just found out what Para-Medic does to his favorite orphan in the future and flipped a table. Quite literally.))