MGS: Resurrection (2/2)

[what_we_dream]

Title: Resurrection (2/2)
Series: MGS
Pairing: none
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Direct sequel to Useful, same universe as Grave Reflections 

Summary: The Tanker sank, and it took Solid Snake down with it. Except, it didn't. With half of America in arms against Solid Snake, Philanthropy takes the only measure it can...

 

The northernmost building was dedicated to offices, they soon found. Snake considered torching it, but decided against drawing unnecessary attention. Depending on the nature of the storage, Liquid's abduction might not be noticed for some months, and the success of their mission depended – as always – on secrecy.

They slipped past the north-west building's entrance camera with no more trouble than the others. The inside was dark, but Snake's flashlight revealed a foyer running the width of the building, with two doors across from the entrance at equal distance to each other and the walls. The foyer was just big enough, Snake estimated grimly, to manoeuvre a gurney in. Like the other two buildings, the silence was thick and put him on edge.

Snake didn't bother trying to guess which door might be the right one; he headed immediately for the right. Time was wearing down. The door, not surprisingly, was locked. Otacon flipped the cover off the lock and clicked his little box next to it. Nothing happened. Another click. The red light continued to shine mockingly.

What's wrong?

It's a different lock, I'll have to recalibrate the signal. It'll take a minute. Another quiet click, and he reappeared beside the soldier all at once, Snake only just managing not to startle.

What the hell're you doing?

The electric field generated by the stealth camo will interfere with the initial readings, answered the engineer without looking up. He was already pulling out his little pack of tools, and began immediately to poke at the insides of his creation. Snake stood still, fading into the background darkness, and watched the engineer's steady hands. He had recovered quickly after the mild horrors of the main building, voice already steady as they checked through the offices. Snake didn't want to be impressed by someone who flinched and gagged at empty rooms, but Otacon's work as mission advisor and analyst had always been good and, for a first mission, he wasn't doing badly. Snake could count associates who had stood up to him on missions on one hand, and as such it was hard not to be impressed by that.

There was a metallic click, and Otacon's device lit up. He pressed a button and the light on the lock changed from red to green with a light ping. He turned to Snake and smiled, tucking the tools away. Before the soldier could admonish him, he had flicked the camo back on, disappearing into thin air. Snake reached out and opened the door.

The room beyond was cold and dry, with the almost dusty smell of refrigeration. The flashlight showed it to be a narrow room with tall metal cabinets on both sides. There were long doors set into each cabinet, two rows, four columns high on each side. Unlike the typical mortuary, whose inhabitants were stored with their feet at the door and their heads against the internal wall, these stored the corpses sideways in shallower drawers, presumably to use the space more efficiently. Each door was labelled with a laminated paper slipped into a metal holder. Glancing at the first on his left, Snake read:

# 0356

# 0357

There was a warmth at his shoulder, which suggested Otacon was standing next to him.

God, there could be 64 bodies in this room alone! hissed Otacon, doing the math quickly. 64 bodies, with the possibility of at least 64 more in the other, and none of them recorded by name. They would have to check all of them individually. Snake groaned, and dug out a second flashlight, holding it out.

Here. Start over there, he gestured to the right, and then paused. Can you do this?

I only saw him a couple of times, but it's just you with a blond mullet, right?

That's not what I meant-

I'll manage, replied the engineer flatly, and cut the channel. Snake turned to the drawer before him.

He found quickly that not all the drawers were occupied. Thankfully, both top ones were completely empty, and several had only one corpse in the wide double berth. Even allowing for the sometimes extreme changes which death brought, and almost any amount of post-mortem operations, none of the corpses bore much resemblance to Liquid and most were easily eliminated. He had begun his examinations hoping that the corpses had died of some extreme trauma, but it became clear as he went on that the incisions, amputations and augmentations were common to all the bodies and as such a result of whatever desecration was being performed here. He set his teeth and finished his row with a stony heart.

Otacon, on the other side, was proceeding slower than him, although after the first several drawers the deep choking gasps had stopped. Snake finished while he still had two left to go, pausing to wait for him before continuing to the next room. He stopped, however, at the second to last drawer. Snake, I think… I think this might be him. But, he didn't lose an arm, did he?

Snake stepped over sharply and glanced into the drawer, its top at knee height. There were two corpses lying stretched out on the metallic bunk. The one on the inside was a large black man covered with wide shoe-lace stitches and tattoos. The one on the outside was a well-built Caucasian with strong facial features even under the stitches and a right arm ending in a stump at the elbow. Even with the burns and wounds, it wasn't hard for Snake to identify the man; his face was the same as the one Snake saw each day in the mirror. Liquid.

It's him, he answered, gruffly. Liquid had faired no better than any of the other poor bastards in the place, although with only long incisions hastily stitched up covering a fair amount of skin and a shunt sewed in above his spleen, he hadn't faired worse, either. The arm had been explained last night, when it had seemed too ridiculous to be true. They stood for a minute staring down at his corpse, Snake's thoughts wandering between hate for the bastard and a kind of surprised melancholy at seeing himself dead, Liquid being the world's best momentum mori. Otacon stood still while breathing heavily through his nose.

Well, began the engineer eventually, what now?

Now we get out of this hell hole, answered the soldier, rousing himself. You go ahead of me and open the doors. Stay on the concrete all the way to the entrance point and then turn into the grass, no point in stumbling through it for longer than necessary.

You'll never get by the door's camera carrying a body, pointed out Otacon. You take the stealth camo, if you keep enough of him against you it'll cover him as well.

Snake paused, concern warring against logic. But this was the middle of a mission, and as he had said earlier, there wasn't time for sensibilities. Fine. Give it to me.

Otacon switched off the camo immediately, unhooking it and handing it to the soldier, who clipped it on his belt. He flicked it on, skin tingling as though covered in static as the field spread across it. Otacon moved to give him space, inching back towards the door. Snake knelt down and grabbed Liquid's good arm, hauling his corpse up off the metal pallet and onto his shoulders with a quiet grunt, and then kicking the door shut with his foot. He glanced to the side, where Liquid's legs ought to have been hanging, and saw nothing. Nodding to himself, he headed to the door where Otacon was already waiting. They crossed the foyer in silence, pausing only to turn off the flashlight, and then slipped out into the comparatively warmer night.

He could only make out the engineer's vague outline in the dark, enough to see that he was moving steadily without having to watch his doubtless awkward movements. His rubber-soled shoes padded quietly over the concrete which ran between the buildings, scuffling now and then when he glanced back over his shoulder, presumably to make sure there wasn't a corpse floating through mid-air.

They had drawn up almost even with the door of the main building, the marker for the hole in the barbed wire, when the catastrophe Snake had been subconsciously expecting all night finally broke. A guard, until now not encountered or even suggested, rounded the southern corner of the main building, shining his bright light on the pavement before him. Otacon froze, deer-like, while the invisible Snake darted instinctively out of the beam's path and into the grass.

Otacon, move! Get out of his way!

Otacon startled at the codec, stumbling to the side and into the grass. He disappeared abruptly with a quiet thud almost lost in the windy night, just as the guard swung the flashlight around to illuminate the entire path of sidewalk. Snake freed his M9 from its holster, holding it awkwardly around Liquid's cold arm, heart hammering in his chest. The guard, however, walked past the engineer without taking any notice, pausing only to check that the building doors were secure before continuing on his route like clockwork and vanishing around the corner.

Snake didn't bother to tempt fate any further and stepped forward immediately, shrugging Liquid higher onto his back. There was no sign of Otacon, presumably still lying in the long grass. Otacon, let's get the hell out of here. A shuffle of movement, but no figure appeared against the slightly lighter sky. Otacon – are you okay?

Yeah, I'm fine. Contrite and ashamed.

Good. Let's go.

Getting over the fence again was awkward, and in the end he had to drop Liquid over the top and pick him up again on the ground, ignoring Otacon's horrified squawk as the naked body appeared in mid air and dropped heavily to the muddy ground. The passage back to the truck was no easier than it had been the first time, but with their goal accomplished it seemed to pass faster and soon they were safe in the relative warmth of the back. Snake deposited his load on the floor and pulled down one of the dirty blankets from the previous night to hide it from Otacon's wide eyes.

"You're going to have to drive," was the first thing he said with his own voice again, tone gruff.

"What? Why? I mean, I don't mind, but-"

"He doesn't exactly look like he was just running around on a tanker," pointed out Snake, nodding to the blanketed heap.

"Can you fix that?"

"You don't really want to know."

Otacon looked up at the soldier's harsh tone, wincing slightly. "You're right. I guess I don't. I'm sorry I'm not more help." He looked away uncomfortably, only half-sincere.

"Don't be. The world sure as hell doesn't need more bastards like me."

"The dirty work shouldn't always fall to you."

"Maybe not, but it's too late now. You get into your rut, and there's no getting out again. Once a soldier always a soldier." He was tired, and the night had already been long, and there was still so much ahead of them.

"You're wrong. Philanthropy was about new beginnings, getting away from our old selves and finding new ones. You don't have to be Snake, and I don't have to be Hal Emmerich. We can live new lives." Otacon spoke with the same intensity he had two years ago, promising to stay behind and see to Shadow Moses' destruction. His words carried the same sense of potential, of newness Snake had seen from a snow mobile on that bright Alaskan dawn. And here he was now, squatting in a filthy truck with the corpse of a man he had hated and feared practically in his lap.

"And this is what you'd rather be? This is better?"

"I'm not a party to murder anymore. And neither are you. What we're doing is important. Even if no one else realises it. If that means doing this, and being Otacon, it's a pretty small price to pay, considering what I've caused." He canted his head slightly to the side, lips twisted into a pained smile. Snake couldn't argue with the guilt, but he didn't have to let the man wallow in it either.

"So you have to be Otacon, while I get to be Dave? You go down in the world while I go up?" Snake raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you don't really have anywhere to go but up," pointed out Otacon in a marginally lighter voice, before turning more serious eyes to Snake. "I know I'm not much good in the field. I completely froze when I saw that guard, thinking that I might have to shoot him, or that he might shoot me – I just couldn't move. But I'm committed to this, and if that means having to be in the field sometimes, I'll have to learn how to do it. Especially if it makes things easier for you."

"I don't need to be babied, Otacon," snapped Snake, unpleasantly reminded of the man's encounter with the guard, of the dangers and threats associated with taking him on missions.

"And you don't need to be spending your life destroying Metal Gears, but you chose to anyway. I think it's the least I can do," he said mildly.

"Stop trying to make me into a hero. I'm not one."

"I know that. It doesn't mean you're a villain either. Just because I like anime doesn't mean I have no grasp of reality, Snake. Life's not so black and white. Whatever you may have been in the past, you're a good man now. That's all I need to know."

"You can't absolve me."

"And you can't me," shot back Otacon in the same cold tone, before continuing more calmly. "We've both done … what we've done." If he looked more uncomfortable than usual, Snake chalked it up to post-mission adrenaline.

"And now we have to make up for it? You can't erase old deeds and write up new ones. Life's no blackboard."

"Then why are you here, Snake? Why did you join Philanthropy?" There was no malice in his voice, and that seemed strange to Snake, who was a veteran of plenty of personal conflicts but unused to ultimatums made without anger.

It didn't take any thought. Fox's words had imprinted themselves on his heart; he would remember them if he lived to be a hundred and forgot his own name. "I decided to fight for what I believe in."

"It was a good legacy," said Otacon quietly, leaving Snake to wonder again how much of the fight between himself and Rex the engineer had heard. His eyes were sincere, and held a human warmth he hadn't seen since Meryl and rarely even before. As unlikely as it seemed, the two of them had had their lots thrown in together, and even if he was crap at field work, Snake wasn't sure when he had last met a better man.

"Yes, it was," he said softly, and with that acknowledgement the tension between them drained quietly away. It had been a mess, but it hadn't been a complete snafu, and Snake had seen enough of those to know the difference. The tanker wouldn't be the end of Philanthropy. And, although it was a cause for concern, it might be a new beginning. Snake grinned, just a twitch of his lips.

"And you? Have you found what you're fighting for? I don't remember you ever telling me."

Otacon blinked self-consciously, and then smiled. "What do you think," he said, "of, 'for great justice'?"

Solid Snake's body was fished out of the Lower New York Harbour three days after the sinking of the tanker Discovery. Owing to the extreme nature of the damage inflicted by the scuttled tanker and the Harbour's stormy waters, the corpse was identified by DNA testing, which confirmed it as that of the Legendary Soldier. The funeral was closed-casket. Owing to the circumstances, it was also a cheap state-sponsored affair. The intense media interest, however, turned it into one of the most-attended events of the year.

"I always kind of hoped to be buried on a sunny day," said the man in the badly cut suit. His bright straw-blond hair had been plastered down by the rain, now running in small droplets over his glasses which were darkly tinted despite the grey sky.

"I'm glad you thought about it," answered the man standing next to him, dressed in what – judging from the legs – was probably a more acceptable suit, wrapped over with a long rain coat. The rain ran through his unruly mouse-brown hair and over his brows, dripping into bright blue eyes which were half-shut against it.

"Actually, I always figured there wouldn't be a body. But if there had been, I would have gone for a sunny day."

"Because it's less melancholy?"

"Because I hate the damn rain."

The cemetery was mostly flat, but a few gentle slopes had been left bare of graves. A significant number of watchers had gathered on these hills to watch the coffin be lowered into the muddy grave, the occasion presided over by a pastor paid for by the media in order to wring out a juicier story. The two men were standing at the crown of one of these hills, hands in pockets, ignored by the rest of the spectators.

"Hey," said the man in the unfortunate suit, while the pastor was in the middle of his recitation, nodding his head to his left. "Isn't that…?"

The second man glanced in that direction. Amid a bunch of what appeared to be college graduates, dressed in a collection of raincoats and loose sweaters, a slight Asian woman stood apart in a stylish business suit under a trim black umbrella.

"Looks like it. You didn't invite her?"

The first man snorted. "Who's being melancholy now?"

The woman, rather than watching the scene at the bottom of the hill, was looking sharply around. The man in the bad suit drew away slightly, but the other didn't move, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze drew around to them and passed them by once. As it swept back it paused, and then fixed itself on them. Her eyebrows furrowed, and then cleared, and she gave a little tilt of her head. The man in the raincoat returned it, and elbowed the other until he reluctantly followed suit. She smiled and turned to watch the coffin being lowered slowly into its final resting place. The crowd murmured among itself, the sound like the ocean in a shell.

"Well, that's about – oh, hell." The blond had turned to go and paused, half facing away from the grave. The other turned to look in that direction.

"What?"

The crowd had not yet begun to break up, presumably eager to milk the event dry, or waiting for some of the excitement which had marked the deceased's life to liven his departure from it.

The first man stood stock still, staring without moving, without breathing.

"I don't see – holy – is that-" the second turned to his companion.

"It's them alright."

Standing a ways off in the crowd, almost out of sight of the coffin itself, was a pair alone in a group of well-dressed veterans. An old man, wizened with age, dressed none the less in a colonel's dress uniform complete with decorations. And beside him, acting partially as his support, a young woman also in uniform, her red hair sticking out to the sides despite the downpour.

"You didn't tell them…?"

"Would you have?"

"Yes!" The second man answered as if it were the blatantly obvious answer. "He was your friend, and she was-"

"Yeah, was.He was my friend, and she was my lover."

"And just because it was the past, you don't think they'd care you were dead?"

"I've burnt a lot of bridges."

"This is the 21st century. We have other means of transportation. Not to mention lumber. If they're here, they must care."

The first man said nothing.

"You could go over and say something. You could even not say something, just stand there."

"Yeah, and have Roy pass out and Meryl scream blue murder."

"Somehow, I don't really think she's the screaming type."

The first man gave him a knowing look, which the second pretended not to see.

"Are you sure-"

"Just drop it."

A silence, filled with the sound of rain and the whispers of the crowd.

"I guess," said the first man out of nowhere, "that this takes care of your obligation."

"Huh?"

"I seem to recall you promising to bury me, once. Well, here we are."

"I think I could do a better job. And possibly recruit mourners who were actually, you know, mourning."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Could you?"

"There's nothing I can't do. It's in my job description."

"Good to know. Here's a chance for you to prove it: go talk to them."

"Ota-"

The second man turned, eyes sharp, no longer joking. "Really. You should go."

"There's no need-"

"You can count the number of people who care about you on one hand right now!"

"If I go over there, I'll still only be able to count the number of people who care about me on one hand."

The second man let out an irate sigh. "Fine, just do what you want. I'm going back to the motel. Have a nice funeral." He turned and elbowed his way through the throng. Snake watched him go, until the engineer disappeared behind a group of college football players all half a head taller than him. Turned back in time to see the pastor edging away from the green carpet surrounding the grave. He was an old man, balding, with wire-rimmed glasses and a kindly face. The stereotypical pastor, probably chosen for that reason. Snake crossed his arms, and turned to watch the military group. To wait for them to leave.

The crowd dispersed slowly, bits and pieces streaming through like a river breaking a dam down one trickle at a time. Snake knew eventually the crowd would hit a critical mass, and the flood would carry away almost everyone. He waited for it, watching with a calculating eye, feeling it beginning to wash over him as people slowly accepted nothing was going to happen. And then, all at once, it struck and the flood began. People began hurrying away, no one wanting to be stuck in the traffic jam, to have to fight their way out of the parking lot, to be caught in the stampede. Snake stood like a stone in the flow of the river, buffeted but not moved, and watched as the crowd washed through the military group and pulled it away.

Pulled away all but two, who stayed stubbornly until the last stragglers had hurried away, standing side by side on a shallow slope a stone's throw from the grave. Stayed, and watched in silence.

Snake, eyes dark, let out his breath in a not-quite-sigh, and moved.

Meryl turned first, senses probably heightened by anger. He saw it flashing in her eyes as she met his, and then saw the shock drown it as she took a step backwards.

"Liquid," she hissed, and reached for his gun.

"No," said Snake quietly, and nodded to the grave. "He's down there."

Only then did Roy turn, slow and stiff as an old man, leaning heavily on his cane.

"You – you used him to fake the id? But, the tanker, you…" Meryl quashed her shock quickly, stunned expression quickly darkening. "I should have known."

"Sorry," said Snake, intending to finish with to disappoint, and not quite managing it despite her glare. Beside her, Roy's hands were shaking on the head of his cane.

"It didn't occur to you to maybe drop us a line? Send an email? Hell, if you were that opposed you could just get Otacon to do it for you. 'I'm not dead' – Only three words! 'Still alive' – Only two! Do you know –" she paused, voice coming near to cracking, and then harnessed her anger, "how long it took us to get out here? How damn long it's going to take us to get back?"

"Meryl," said Roy, quietly.

"Well, do you?" she snarled.

"Yes," he said quietly, answering the unspoken question.

Her white fist struck out quick as an adder, connected hard with his cheek. "Christ, I don't know why I bothered to come," she added, turning away as she shook her hand.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I know how much of an effort it is for you." She didn't turn back, but he could hear the slight hint of tears in her voice.

"Meryl. I am."

She didn't say anything, just waved her red knuckles at him and strode off, other arm wrapped tight around her stomach.

"I guess the two of you haven't changed," said Roy, watching her go.

"Guess not," said Snake, stiffly.

"And, I guess you're not the only one who has apologizing to do."

Snake said nothing, his own eyes turning back to his grave – Liquid's grave. "You already did," he said, after a minute. And then, "I've never been much better at listening to apologies than I am at giving them," he admitted. "It's something to work on."

He felt Roy's gaze turn to him, the old man watching him with sharp eyes. "I'm happy for you, Snake," said the colonel. Nonplussed, Snake turned to him. "This life, Philanthropy, whatever it is you're doing with yourself, it's good for you. Better than FoxHound was."

"You get that from the way I spat with Meryl?"

"FoxHound's Snake would never have come here at all, never mind apologized to her. Or me. You've changed, and I'm glad for you. You deserve it." Roy reached out to rest a hand on Snake's arm. "Take care of yourself." He gave a sharp nod, which Snake returned.

"You too. And keep an eye on that tomboy of yours."

Roy's smile was tinged with bitterness. "I'll try."

Otacon, despite his earlier statement, was leaning against the van's passenger side when Snake got back. The engineer shrugged. "All the cabs were taken. Finished?"

"Yeah." He dug in his pocket, pulled out the keys and tossed them to the engineer, who caught them in a surprised near-fumble.

"And Otacon?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."