damned_institute | NIGHTSHIFT 43: M1

Snake landed on his right with a roar of pain, his legs arching against the floor as spasms of agony rolled up and down his side.

No! he screamed internally, I can't let myself be useless again!

Panting, he rocked onto his left shoulder, and did his best to roll himself to his feet.

A futile effort, considering Big Boss was down and next to him within a second. If he'd been smart, Snake would have rolled to the side and out of the way; like this, it was easy to pin him by sitting on his legs. And exert some more pressure on his broken arm and shoulder, which should keep him down. His left fist was sent flying into Snake's face, aiming for his nose.

"I see you still can't stay away from me," Big Boss spoke, just a hint of strain in his voice, but he wasn't gasping for air. "Those two years you spent looking for us must have been hell." He calmly, precisely punched Snake in the stomach, and then reached for the collar of his shirt. It was faster like this, and would save them both time by not having to fight with the sling, too, or any of his arms.

"I know what you did during your stay with the CIA, Snake. Why you really came to Zanzibar -- not because you had no other choice. Same reason why you came here tonight." From the corner of his eye, he noticed a small package slip out from Snake's waist, and something else roll onto the floor. Hm?

Snake rolled with Big Boss's blow, minimising the damage to his nose, but it was bad enough - the halves of the recent break were sent askew again, and his head burst with white stars. His body curled into a C as Big Boss struck his stomach, and he took the opening to fight - clawing with his left hand, lunging in with his head to bite at Big Boss's face. But he was overpowered easily, and there was nothing at all he could do.

"You - know what I did in the CIA?" he gasped, swallowing blood. "Funny how you - only mention that once you've got me pinned down, huh?"

He laughed. It was all bravado, an attempt to distract him from what had fallen to the floor, but it was too late. He followed Big Boss's gaze to the can of hairspray, the matchbook folded around it. Terror spiked up in his chest, and he felt sweat immediately prickle all over his torso, damp underneath his tightening shirt.

"Funny how easy you are to pin down. This place isn't good for you."

Big Boss saw through Snake's poor attempt at distracting him, and merely pressed him back down onto the floor with his weight, kicked the can out of reach for both of them, and ripped his shirt open from top to bottom in one fluid movement -- tearing right through the smiling face they all wore. All of his movements were much more coordinated now, seeing as the drug had finished coursing through his body. He committed the exact timespan to memory.

While Big Boss was busy preparing the strips of cloth as makeshift restraints, he noticed a couple of old scars on Snake's chest, even in the darkness. He didn't outright have to see them, he knew they were there, and he knew that it was him who was responsible for them. For various reasons, he'd always considered scars to be something very intimate; very telling if you knew the story behind them.

He just snorted, somewhat amused, lifted himself a bit and grabbed Snake's intact arm to drag him over to the bedstead, which was nearby. With his right shoulder and wrist broken, that arm shouldn't be too much trouble, so Big Boss settled for the left one, and began to firmly tie it to one of the bars.

"I got a network of contacts -- informants and spies," he explained, placidly, "I always knew where you were, and what you were doing. Kept tabs on you, day and night. I knew you would be sent to Zanzibar months before the fact, and that you would accept the mission. I was waiting."

He finished up with a tight knot.

"Some sort of -- twisted obsession; not unlike a jealous, heartbroken lover. Do you like the thought, that I was watching you?"

Of course he already knew the answer to that, so it was more of a rhetoric question, and Snake would lie as soon as he opened his mouth. Big Boss placed one of his metallic hands on Snake's chest, dug a finger into the skin, and dragged it down, drawing blood.

"You wanted to defect so badly; but they wouldn't let you, and you couldn't let yourself, because you'd hate yourself even more for it than you already do now; for not changing sides when you still had the chance. Isn't that right..."

Snake gritted his teeth at the pain of cool metal digging through warm flesh. Determined not to let his emotions get the better of him, he calmed his body and mind down until he could hardly even feel the pain in his broken right arm any more.

He spoke.

"I thought it was supposed to be more fun than this being tied half-naked to someone's bed," he said, casually. His body was wracked with so much pain it felt almost numb, and he pushed it down, refusing to give Big Boss the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. "We should have worked out a safeword first."

He barely finished forcing out the last word before a cough stuck and caught in his throat, and he hacked uselessly at Big Boss's face, his tightening right arm sending bolts of agony down his side.

Big Boss's answer consisted of a guttural laugh. At least Snake opted to ignore what he had said rather than try and come up with a half-assed reply he would pick apart anyway.

"I think we're past that," he replied in the same tone, "I know how much you can take. Provided you're still the man that faced me in Zanzibar. I'm not so sure." He mercilessly dug his finger deeper into the flesh, which took little effort thanks to the metal's sharp edges. There was no guesswork involved in order to tell how Snake was dealing with the pain, seeing how Big Boss had taught him most of those techniques -- torture resistance was something every good FOXHOUND agent had to learn. And how to function on the battlefield with half of your bones broken, of course.

Try to numb out the pain, concentrate on those parts that weren't hurting. But by acting like this didn't affect him, he was just asking for more. How very predictable.

"There's a certain beauty to it," Big Boss mused, and pulled back his finger, eyeing for a moment, "Took me some time to see it. A friend of mine liked to describe it as a form of art, but...I'm a little more practical when it comes to these things. I think I'll make an exception for you."

And with that, he ran a hand through Snake's hair -- almost gently for a moment -- before tugging harshly at it, forcing his head back and exposing most of his neck. His other hand was at it immediately, an artificial, sharp nail scratching over the already sore skin. Their encounter in the morning was still fresh in his mind.

"How long can you hold you breath again? I forgot."

Snake, his mouth opened naturally from having his hair pulled back, had sucked in only a small lungful of air before Big Boss's fist closed around his throat. He felt his throat constrict, and forced himself to remain calm, even as his vision began to fuzz black around the edges, to fight his instinct to gasp for air, even as his face began to heat up with panic, to resist.

His heart's pounding rose to a sickeningly fast breakbeat, and he felt his muscles begin to slacken. Big Boss's metal fingertips dug into his scalp, and he felt warm blood bloom under his hair. Probably his way of telling me to get a haircut, he found himself thinking, in his half-conscious state.

Minutes passed, and Big Boss's relentless grasp didn't seem to loosen up anytime soon; instead he exerted more pressure, until the skin around his fingers was changing color. Just a bit more -- or a single jerk to the side -- and he'd be rid of Snake forever.

It was too easy, and by extension, not satisfying at all. Same thing that he had already realized in the cafeteria, and if Snake had paid attention, he would be aware of this too, but Big Boss didn't expect much of him. So he continued to fool him into believing that he was going to die like this a little longer, just because he could. His thumb deliberately dug into Snake's throat, dangerously close to the carotid artery.

"Pathetic."

And then he let go.

Snake almost gagged on the air as Big Boss released him, windpipe whistling from the compression. His eyes felt puffy, and although he had no way of telling, he assumed they were bloodshot horribly.

"Three days without smoking," he croaked, his voice a wheezing old man's as he sucked in all the air he could get. "Better at holding my breath already."

He slumped back against the bed, too asphyxiated to even put up a show of resistance any more. His head fell on its side, and he noticed the knot tying his left hand had just enough give that he could -

The trouble was doing it without noticing.

Very slowly, he curled his left hand into a fist. His forefinger pushed down on his thumb knuckle until his flesh went white. He tightened his fingers' grip on his thumb painfully, tensing the bones, waiting for the pop -

His thumb joint dislocated with a loud crack of agony, and he gritted his teeth, letting his slackened hand slip out of the bond and straight at Big Boss's left eye with his forefinger and middle finger, dead set on gouging it out.

Right, no smokes. He knew he had missed something, and that something had been a nicotine rush. Doubtful that they'd let him have his cigars here, one more reason to distract himself with other things --

Just barely, he'd wanted to say, but then he took notice of what Snake was up to, and he almost reacted the fraction of a second too late. Should've seen that coming, of course he wouldn't shy away from disabling himself even more if it only meant that he could get one over Big Boss.

All right, an eye for an eye. Big Boss could only afford to dodge by leaning to the side, because otherwise he would've given Snake way too much room which he could use to his advantage if he reacted fast enough. Like this, all that Snake's fingers found were his dead eye, and while it stung remarkably, it barely even registered as real pain for him.

His own hand closed around Snake's fingers, crushing them, pulling them away from his face.

"I commend you for trying," grinning, he grabbed his wrist, and proceeded to bend his fingers back until a sharp crack was heard. "But you're making it way too easy for me. It's almost like you're asking for it." And he could only say that because Zanzibar had taught him that he had to be very careful with Snake, even when he -- especially when he -- was driven into a corner.

Seeing how that hand was useless now too, Big Boss released it, paying it no more attention.

"How does that feel," Big Boss scoffed, leaning in, "To have no arms? Not so pleasant, is it? Maybe we should take it a step further, and see about what we can do with your legs."

Snake's broken left hand slumped painfully back against the bed, and he screamed in pain.

Big Boss's threat was the kind of empty talk he was used to, he knew that, and Snake knew that even battered and broken he was a thousand miles from helpless, and even so he suddenly he found himself looking up at Big Boss's towering form; taking in all his majesty and all the understanding of what this man was going to do to him - how, even if he lasted the night, he'd find himself killed at the start of the next - and terror viciously clenched his organs in a grip like a fist. A damp patch spread helplessly over his groin, and it wasn't until he noticed the smell of his own urine that he realised what had happened. As if he wasn't humiliated enough -

He let out a low roar and arched forward as far as his tied, broken right arm would let him, bracing his body on his feet and driving his left elbow at Big Boss's nose.

He'd really wet his pants. That's what happened if you lost control of your body and nerves -- and of your fear. Big Boss was tempted to say something to that; it was a free pass for more spiteful commentary, but Snake interrupted his train of thought before he could finish it. Again; and this time, he didn't see it coming.

Snake's hard elbow connected with his nose, and he managed to twist around and change the angle of impact just enough to prevent the bone breaking. Pain flared up in his face, and he backed away for a bit, fingers reaching for nostrils and lips smeared with blood.

"You--" He grated, breathing heavily and shooting Snake a sinister glare that could have been taken as a death sentence.

And then he laughed, quiet at first, into his hand. It hurt like hell, his head felt light, and the pain was throbbing and numbing out with the rhythm of his quickened heartbeat.

"Ah..." He said nothing else, even though he could think of a few things -- ranging from that felt nice over do that again to I don't like your face either. Big Boss shifted away again, eye trained on Snake, his right hand searching for the can that had been dropped before.

There. He could barely read in that light, but he wasn't surprised at all that it was exactly what he had thought it was. How convenient. Not so much for Snake.

"Look what we have here. Planning to go on a date, Snake?"

Snake responded with a beaming smile, a chuckle rising in his throat. He was in so much pain, so helpless, so afraid, that he'd shot through it all, entered that realm of numb, hysterical clarity beyond expected emotion. His body battered, his windpipe still wheezing as he breathed, he said,

"Yeah, basically. Big hair's in again this year."

"Or maybe you're just stuck in the 80s. Anyway, your partner gotta be pretty lucky."

Big Boss flashed a wide grin, showing teeth. Snake's body was broken, but he considered his mental state to be one that came close to euphoria; even if he didn't want to see it. But that's just how it was: the more you were able to survive, the more you craved, just to see if you were able to cheat out of death again.

He found himself being distantly jealous of Snake's current position. The bad thing about being a warrior was that you got used to it after a while, so it didn't hurt as good as it did back in the day. Snake's punches and attacks had all been good enough, just not good enough for his standards, and weaker than before.

Inspecting the book of matches, he saw that two had already been used up. For what, he wondered, but then decided it didn't really interest him that much, not as much as the choice of weapon. Well, if it worked one time...

Placing the can in his lap, he tried to light another match, and much to his dismay, his hand was trembling too much to hit the striking surface properly. Both matchbook and matchstick slipped from his hands and fell into his lap eventually.

What the hell. Had to be the mechanics. He heaved an annoyed sigh, and tried again.

"I - " Snake started, but his crushed throat tightened and he gave a hard, phlegmy cough - "I know that look of fear. You're thinking of that battle we had. It's etched into you. It's going to be with you for the rest of your life. I know that feeling. That's how I've felt for the past half-decade. Dead to everything. And scared."

Despite the calmness of his voice, his skin was clammy with sweat, and his body shivered in its bonds. Even though his mind was clear and relaxed, his body wasn't. Too much pain and adrenaline. Exhaustion pressed on his chest, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Big Boss," he asked, "what's the reason why you didn't tell me what I was until right at the end? Was that part of your plan, too? To ensure I lived out my life on the battlefield until I died? Did you think knowing that would change me?"

That was a switch Snake shouldn't be touching.

"Don't you lecture me about fear and what it means to be scarred for the rest of your life," Big Boss snarled through gritted teeth, just barely preventing his newly invigorated anger from breaking out. His hands were trembling again, but for another reason this time.

"And don't even pretend," he drawled, voice dangerously low, "that you know how or what I feel. You had a choice. You know nothing."

I gave you a damn choice. Tried to show you that not every mission has to end in success. But you were too proud and too stubborn to accept, that...

"The moment you reached the basement of Outer Heaven, you were dead to me. What you were before that is not important. I told you to spite you," that was only half the truth, "Everything you deny to be so fervently is actually written into your genes. My genes. It's not something you can run away from. We're the same, and yet...and yet you are so damn stupid I can't even believe it."

And then, flatly, coldly, without any hint of emotion while he tried to light the next matchstick, successfully this time: "You should burn."

(I should burn)

Carefully (overly so) holding the lit stick and the flame in his right hand, he took the can of hairspray with his left, shaking it for a bit before popping off the cap.

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/699228.html?thread=57928540)]

The door flew open and slamming against the wall as Fox entered the room. He hadn't expected to find the two of them getting along, but this was much worse than anything he had imagined. Seeing Snake lying there, injured, and knowing and seeing exactly who it was that had done that to him, Fox felt as though something suddenly snapped in his brain, and all he could think to do was stop what was happening. The brief moment of shock that had kept Fox perfectly still ended.

It was just too much. The way Big Boss was standing there, ready to burn Snake much the way Snake had burned some unfortunate zombified person last night, Fox had to take action. There was just too much anger and pain and conflicting emotions that he couldn't hope to sort out right now. He dashed at the pair, leading with his left hand, the one that gripped his sword. It was possible that he'd get burned doing this, but he couldn't let Big Boss hurt Snake anymore.

Fox tried to match Big Boss hand for hand, smashing at the hand that held the can of hair spray with the hilt of the sword and grabbing for the match and the right hand with his right.

Otacon followed closely behind him, prepared for the force with which Fox threw open the door to M10, but not for the scene that awaited them, or the one that was unfolding now as Fox launched himself at Big Boss with startling speed. He stared, frozen in the doorway (one second, two seconds), before instinct forced him to action, and his gaze panned over to the broken form on the bed. "Snake?"

He expected it to be bad, but not this bad. He really should've known better than to underestimate him. Heedless of the very real and very near danger of Fox and Big Boss, Otacon rushed past them to his friend's side. "Snake, answer me!"

Snake stared at the descending nozzle of the hairspray can, not wanting to give Big Boss the satisfaction of seeing him close his eyes. He had no doubt at all that he'd survive this. Somehow.

Damn -

But the agony never came. He jerked his head just in time to see -

"Fox!" he gasped, not entirely sure what he was seeing. He knew Fox would always choose Big Boss's ideals over his, and he held him no resentment - but here he was, going against Big Boss's will to save Snake's life. Dazed, he wondered if Fox had done the same thing, in Zanzibar, and felt a sudden surge of sickness at the thought. That feeling he'd held then was too pure to be a lie.

Then, he heard Otacon, begging his name, as if Big Boss wasn't right here in front of him, and he yelled, uselessly, "Otacon!", before his crushed throat clenched, and he broke into a fit of hopeless coughing.

Edited 2009-09-04 17:15 (UTC)

He knew what was gonna happen the moment the door flew open, and it was...

unfortunate, but as much as he hated being interrupted (always in the most inconvenient moments, too, as the past had taught him) it didn't come as a surprise, especially since he had agreed to meet up with Fox this night but forgot about it when Snake arrived first, and Big Boss didn't do anything to counter Fox's blow to his hand. He could barely feel it anyway. The match slipped from his hand on his own; his grip and aim hadn't been steady.

He rose to his feet, and took a step back, watching the scene unfold for a couple of seconds with distant interest. Snake's friends; an old and a new one coming to his aid, visibly concerned about his well-being. The thought made him sick.

Without further ado, Big Boss's hand clenched into a fist, and he punched Fox square in the face.

"You of all people should know," he growled, "when not to interfere. I've left him to you as well before."

Edited 2009-09-05 11:50 (UTC)

With the immediate threat to Snake's life gone, Fox calmed down just slightly. Enough so that the punch to his face managed to slip past his defenses because the only easy way to block would've been with his sword and Fox wasn't prepared to turn the blade against Big Boss.

He recoiled with the punch to lessen the impact, but it was still jarring. Fox could taste blood in his mouth, but didn't feel any teeth loose. "We were at war then, Boss. We're on the same side now," Fox countered. The mention of Big Boss leaving Snake to him to kill was a low blow. He had wanted to face off with Snake alone, and Big Boss had allowed him, but bringing that up wasn't fair. It had been selfish to request that, he knew, but they couldn't take back the past. He also wasn't really one to talk about not killing allies, he could remember that he'd done that too.

"And that was different. I was trying to kill him in battle, not torture him to death." This place tortured and tormented them enough as it was; Fox couldn't have watched this without getting involved even if it had been two other patients doing this. This just had the added misfortune of being personal, and on some level it hurt to see Big Boss doing this to someone. He'd been in Snake's position too often, he knew what it was like. Big Boss did too, he'd even been the one that saved Fox from this.

After wiping blood away from his mouth with the back of his free hand, Fox spared a glance out of the corner of his eye for Snake and Otacon. "Otacon, get Snake out of here. Take him to your room," Fox ordered. Even if Otacon wasn't particularly good at following orders Fox was sure he'd be obeyed this time. He couldn't look at Snake right now, not that it was a very good idea to take his eyes off Big Boss for too long even if he'd been able to stand more than a quick glance.

Snake was alive. Otacon didn't exactly relax — despite his recklessness, at least some part of his brain was aware that the most dangerous man in the world was standing not three feet away — but the knowledge was enough to clear his head and get him moving. Even before Fox had spoke, Otacon was reaching for the restraints that still bound Snake's right arm, and worked at the expertly tied knot with a calmness that only happened when he forced himself to set aside grief and fear for the job at hand. It didn't matter that he was terrified, or that Big Boss could easily slip past Fox, or that Snake was in dire need of medical attention they were hardly equipped to provide...

Just as it didn't matter whether or not Snake could walk. Otacon didn't bother to ask, only slid an arm under his shoulders and pulled him up in the bed. "Come on, on your feet, Snake." If his legs were disabled, it wasn't obvious. All Otacon could do now was trust that they could do this, and that Fox could hold back Big Boss.

Snake immediately gasped in pain as Otacon pulled him up by his shoulders with one of them broken, but he certainly didn't need encouragement to get out of there. Grunting, he stood, his legs bruised under Big Boss's large weight, but easily better feeling than everything else. Staggering, he let go of Otacon, and marched outside with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched.

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/699228.html?thread=58433372#t58433372).]

He couldn't say that he was alright with Snake leaving, Snake being taken away, but there also wasn't much else he could do. It didn't take much to figure out that Fox was fiercely displeased with the overall situation, and it made Big Boss almost feel a little patronized. It was fine if Fox chose to be Snake's friend, but that still didn't give him the right to interfere in their business. It was a private, unresolved matter, and had little to do with the war at all anymore.

It was more personal than that.

"You have your preferences and I have mine," he replied glumly, crossing his arms over his chest and focusing on a blank spot on the dark wall. He didn't feel satisfied at all, still having that soft hum in his head, his hands itching when they shouldn't; and it was the first time in a long time that he'd actually felt at all -- and in places he'd forgotten he still had. And there was a good chance most of the sensation was imaginary. Even so. "Besides, that didn't even qualify as torture for him, you should know that, too."

Fox had brought up a valid point, but his own personal vendetta had absoute priority right now. Of course that kind of behavior was stupid and reckless, but he didn't want to hear any of that. Who knew when he'd ever get a chance, again? Something always kept getting between them. It was irritating.

"...I guess it's too much to ask," Big Boss lamented, and went over to the dresser, not in the mood to argue with Fox right now, but it was probably inevitable. "Like he cared when he left you for dead in that minefield. You offer him guidance and friendship and all you get in turn is a knife in the back." Big Boss continued, even as he opened said dresser and took out a shirt, pants and underwear. "So if I were you, I wouldn't speak of being on the same side just yet. Snake's no teamplayer. He only does what's most beneficial to himself."

NIGHTSHIFT 43: M1 - M10 CORRIDOR

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