is this the real life

There's a kind of laugh that keeps threatening to surface inside Solidus Snake. It's divine, and it's maddening - he can't help but think of Fat Man. Disliked, disgraced, and disgusting as he was- but at least Fat Man got to die laughing.

There's nothing funny about anything here. The irony itself is so bitter as to be ridiculous.

"My boy, I know the Patriots in a way you could never imagine. Despite everything they've done to you, you have barely - barely scratched the surface of what they are."

Solidus was doing his best to remain dignified and upright, but the facade wasn't going to last the hour. It wasn't Jack's problem, though - Jack had a mission, and Solidus had nothing to lose.

"I don't know specifics about the girl, but the Patriots don't like to change a formula that works."

He envisions killing her again. It's regrettable, but he can't imagine that the Patriots were going to let her live much longer than he did. She made her choice, and she chose the child, and Raiden, over herself.

That wasn't something Solidus could do.

"They would have taken her to a 'charm school', most likely in America. So she'll grow up with an American accent. She'll be subjected to VR training - like you, except she'll never know anything else.

Raiden doesn't think he needs to understand every nuance of the Patriots to do some kind of damage. Even if they take him down, he's not dying without hurting them, too.

He heaves a sigh at Solidus' answer. Not what he was looking for. Not the right answer--at least not according to his intel. And his intel isn't usually wrong.

"Looks like you're out of answers for me," Raiden says. "She's somewhere in this facility." He pauses, his expression impassive.

Raiden looks over the weathered face and allows himself to remember. It's hard to think of his childhood. The memories are confused and messy. But he does remember something, clear, the first thing he remembered when it came back to him after Solidus had busted down the wall.

"I warned you about this." It's not a great start, but it's the only way he knows, and it's not the end. "Raiden, you can't get tangled up in your head over whether or not someone's pulling your strings. No matter what you do, in this line of work, you'll end up playing into someone's hands, and ruining someone else's day. You can't avoid it. You've got to accept it, and stop asking yourself if what you're doing is part of someone else's agenda. Instead, you need to focus on whether or not it's right for you."

He shifts, pressing a thumb to his brow in thought. "--listen. You're right. Most people don't go through what you've gone through. But everybody is influenced by other people. It's impossible to go your whole life without the people around you rubbing off on you. And you don't want to. If you try it, you'll shut yourself off from all the good along with the bad. Believe me, I know."

"Tch," he sucks his teeth at the start of it, at the continuation, but he doesn't dismiss Snake. It's not that the soldier's words are wrong-- his advice is sound. Jack shuts his eyes and sighs. How can he explain that this feeling of unreality has been there longer than the Big Shell? That he's always felt like he's being watched, and now he knows that it's because he was. How can you know yourself when everything and everyone was curated for you? How can he pick out the real things, the real people, the people outside of their influence?

"That's the problem," Jack says, finally, after a long silence. He hangs his head, leaning forward. He peers over at the other man through his bangs. "I don't know what's right for me. I don't even know who that is. I'd never even really gotten close to anyone until Rose. Not the family that raised me. I didn't really have any friends. I felt wrong. Everything was wrong and now..."

Jack heaves a sigh.

Draw the squad I drew like months ago TToTT

I saw this image and just knew I had to draw them

Bonus:

That's half of an entire day, and that's not counting landing, offloading, or the Patriots waiting on the other end of this thing that are going to want to poke and prod and search and talk.

Aren't you happy?

Solidus wasn't ignorant of how the Patriots operated. They divided before they conquered, and the idea that he might be met with a Patriot agent that would separate Jack from him just made him feel morose and bitter. This could be a trap. Maybe he was going to deliver this child into the maw of the monster that made him. Maybe they'd kill him and take the boy in his place.

He didn't mind that as much as he resented going through another indignity. They were letting him keep Jack, and he had to stay aware of that. The Patriots considered this a favor, and they would want favors in return. He didn't have forever.

"Here. I wanted to give you this later, but you seem like you could use it now."

Out of his bag, he produces a device - an American kid might turn up their nose at last year's amusements, but for a child in Jack's position, a handheld game console like this one was out of the question. Video games were a distant dream from a foreign land.

Clumsily, Jack turns the device around in his hands, searching for the power button and only finding it by chance. It powers up, some cartridge already having been inserted in the back. Jack looks back up at Solidus with a dubious expression.

"Um... how do I play?" Mostly a rhetorical question.

He looked back down at the pixel bits on the screen, frowning as he clicked the buttons. It didn't seem all that hard, but... this was very different from his usual time wasters. He'd played all sorts of physical games-- tag, hide and seek, wrestling when things got really boring. He'd learned to play cards and dominos. Jacks and pick up sticks. Sometimes it was things like... steal from the officer and see if you can get away with it. Not this weird little screen displaying a tiny little figure that was maybe a person. He figured out how to get to the first level and then proceeded to kill Mario three times.

The flight from Liberia to Washington is nothing short of an agonizingly long fifteen hours. It's on a nice, sturdy little aircraft, piloted by a Patriot agent whose life is undoubtedly in jeopardy if some very important assets arrive damaged in any way.

There's even a flight attendant. She looks like she's been cut from an advertisement for first class seating, and she keeps offering Jack little amenities like soda, pretzels, and cookies. Are you excited to see America? Is this your first time flying? Can I get you a blanket to sleep with?

Outside, rain clouds cover everything below and there's nothing to see but gray. Outside, there's no war-torn battlefront, no single person or structure that doesn't breach the clouds, no Liberia, and no civil war.

Solidus has already made it very clear that they won't be allowed back and that Jack's comrades could take care of themselves. Best not to get too attached.

He hasn't decided what he's going to make clear about the Patriots.

"You should try to sleep, Jack."

He presses one of the dim cabin lights on, not off.

A soft glow. Enough for the poor kid to sleep by.

Once the gray blankness becomes too monotonous, he finds the interior of the plane... restricting. Too restricting. He has to sit in this chair for-- how long had Solidus said? The anxiety creeps back in. He twists in his seat, glancing at Solidus, then at the front and back of the plane as if it will somehow become more than what it is. He tries to think of it as a mission. It's a mission to sit here and stay still or else.

Or else the plane is going to fall out of the sky and they all die.

Each time the flight attendant asks him another question or if he wants something, he glances at Solidus. He needs the cue. Needs to know if he's supposed to take it, if he's not. The soda, the snacks, those are special. Those are finite items, only given to the best soldiers on the frontlines and he's always the best. But even he only gets a treat once in a while. It's not freely given. Nothing in life is free.

She keeps asking, though, and Jack feels like he's supposed to know. There's a look she gives him when she asks him another question that he can't figure out how to answer. His tongue feels stuck in his mouth. Outside of his men and Solidus' people, Jack doesn't know how to talk to other people. Especially not civilians. So, he eventually just takes more pretzels.

He kind of wishes Dwe could have come with them.