In the Middle East, We Hunt Jackals.
Characters: Liquid Snake, anyone
Setting: Entrance room
Time: Day 11, morning
Summary: Liquid arrives. He is less than amused.
Warnings: None at the moment.
The last thing Liquid remembered was falling.
There should have been steel underneath him to break his fall, or at the very least the concrete floor of the warehouse if he had actually managed to tumble all the way down the steps. But when Liquid woke, he was not on the warehouse floor; cold, smooth stone was at his back, and the air didn't have that distinct smell of motor oil and metal. Before even opening his eyes, Liquid made a quick assessment of himself: limbs intact, minor bruising, no major injuries. There was the outside chance of a concussion considering the pain in the back of his skull, but it wasn't severe enough to worry him. He seemed to be alone; there were no voices and no footsteps that he could hear.
He opened his eyes, and where there should have been the blue-grey steel beams of Shadow Moses' warehouse, there was a smooth, white ceiling with some kind of plaster decoration. Sitting up, he found himself in what could have been most accurately described as an antechamber, some kind of entrance room. The furniture was sparse, and there was only a small wooden table to one side, with a vase of flowers. Not Shadow Moses. Then where was he? And what had brought him here?
This was ruining everything. All of his meticulous planning, his glorious revolution, all of it needed him to be there. And here he was, in some damned house in God knew where, missing it. He was absent from his own bleeding revolution! Everything had been put into motion by now; he had already made his demands from the President, and Metal Gear REX was finally complete, and all they needed were the access codes from two old men. It should have been easy. But fate never did seem to smile down on Liquid. The British man scowled at no one and angrily stood, glaring around the room as though the source of all his problems was in the very walls. Of all the times to have something ridiculous happen, it had to be before his revenge. His brother would soon be on his way to Alaska; Liquid needed to be there to greet him. There was a Hind D helicopter waiting in the wings for his dear brother, stocked with a dozen missiles that had his name on them.
Liquid strode over to the heavy oak door that was obviously the exit, grabbed the handle, and gave it a tug. The door did not budge an inch, and, with an irritated grumble, the soldier pulled on it harder. He yanked until his arms strained and his muscles ached, and still it did not move. He let go with an annoyed snarl; it seemed as though he was locked in. Liquid did not like being beaten, especially not by an inanimate object.
"What the bleeding hell is going on here?"
Setting: Entrance room
Time: Day 11, morning
Summary: Liquid arrives. He is less than amused.
Warnings: None at the moment.
The last thing Liquid remembered was falling.
There should have been steel underneath him to break his fall, or at the very least the concrete floor of the warehouse if he had actually managed to tumble all the way down the steps. But when Liquid woke, he was not on the warehouse floor; cold, smooth stone was at his back, and the air didn't have that distinct smell of motor oil and metal. Before even opening his eyes, Liquid made a quick assessment of himself: limbs intact, minor bruising, no major injuries. There was the outside chance of a concussion considering the pain in the back of his skull, but it wasn't severe enough to worry him. He seemed to be alone; there were no voices and no footsteps that he could hear.
He opened his eyes, and where there should have been the blue-grey steel beams of Shadow Moses' warehouse, there was a smooth, white ceiling with some kind of plaster decoration. Sitting up, he found himself in what could have been most accurately described as an antechamber, some kind of entrance room. The furniture was sparse, and there was only a small wooden table to one side, with a vase of flowers. Not Shadow Moses. Then where was he? And what had brought him here?
This was ruining everything. All of his meticulous planning, his glorious revolution, all of it needed him to be there. And here he was, in some damned house in God knew where, missing it. He was absent from his own bleeding revolution! Everything had been put into motion by now; he had already made his demands from the President, and Metal Gear REX was finally complete, and all they needed were the access codes from two old men. It should have been easy. But fate never did seem to smile down on Liquid. The British man scowled at no one and angrily stood, glaring around the room as though the source of all his problems was in the very walls. Of all the times to have something ridiculous happen, it had to be before his revenge. His brother would soon be on his way to Alaska; Liquid needed to be there to greet him. There was a Hind D helicopter waiting in the wings for his dear brother, stocked with a dozen missiles that had his name on them.
Liquid strode over to the heavy oak door that was obviously the exit, grabbed the handle, and gave it a tug. The door did not budge an inch, and, with an irritated grumble, the soldier pulled on it harder. He yanked until his arms strained and his muscles ached, and still it did not move. He let go with an annoyed snarl; it seemed as though he was locked in. Liquid did not like being beaten, especially not by an inanimate object.
"What the bleeding hell is going on here?"