[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240828/688ac5d3d40c75e034e218d1778edf8d.png[/img][/center]
[center]LOC: The Avenger, 06:20 hrs [/center]
[center]LVL: 2 [/center]
[center]WC: 864 [/center]
[center]EXP: 11/20 [/center]
[center]Interactions: OPEN [/center]
[center] Mentions: N/A [/center]


	After Falcon had shown Snake to his room, the rest of the night became a near-dreamless blur. It was impossible for him to settle into rest as he still dealt with the influx of memories, old and new, recent and distant, that circulated incessantly within the blackness of his vision. He had lived a fabricated existence for who-knows-how many months in that strange hypertechnicolor dreamscape, and he had lived [i]his[/i] existence of peaceless tragedy that finally culminated in defeat back in his universe. Yet here he was, spared from the death that he was sure would claim him following the demise of Skull Face. Miller was paranoid that there was [i]still[/i] something out there that needed to be dealt with; not simply content to have cut the head off the Hydra that was XOF and be done with it. Ocelot's penchant for vengeance wasn't as intense, but "there was still more work to be done." The Russian cowpoke had been drafting something up the day after after Skull Face had been killed, and according to him, it would be readily presented in the next week.

[i]Then came Huey.[/i]

Snake's flickering visions brought him to a table in a dimly lit room- a rickety old wooden thing big enough for a pair of two, housed within Code Talker's quarters. The old man requested a meeting with him after hearing through hushed whispers that his own tormentor was no more. The Boss was content to oblige, more out of curiosity for the visit over expecting praise for his actions. Seated across from him, Snake looked at the Native American biologist. The man had to be ancient- well past a century at best. Mottled skin, pockmarked with creases and wrinkles and liverspots that adorned his wisened features, with pearl tufts of wiry hair layering against each side of his head. His piercing white eyes gazed onto and even through the Boss, as if the man could never get a read on the Mercenary commander's soul every time he was looked at. Code Talker nodded graciously as the Boss sat down, musing out a croak in his throat as Snake fully expected him to offer his gratitude.

"You say there were three English vocal parasites." The statement was uttered out in a low grumble. The Boss wasn't expecting Code Talker to get ahold of the AAR so quickly after returning to Mother Base. Yet, he surmised, anything and everything involving 'The One That Covers' was to be given the highest priority, lest it end up like last time. Snake was quick to respond, recounting the events that had happened just a day earlier.

"According to Skull Face, yeah." Snake responded.

"Skull Face had two of the English strain with him. You burned both of them." 

"There was an oil fire- I tossed 'em in." 

"So that just leaves one. And you speculate Skull Face used it."

He didn't use it. The man was dying; pinned beneath the immolated wreckage of the destroyed Sahelanthropus Metal Gear. As Snake picked up the vial canister and tossed the tubes into the fire, Skull Face had taunted him at the absence of the third vial.

"He said it was... 'very close to me.'" Snake said. 

Code Talker's expression hardened in contemplation as the corner of his mouth deepened into a scowl. "Very close... One of your comrades, or someone ordered to kill you... Or he could have been speaking metaphorically."

"Metaphorically?"

"Close to your spirit. Close to your heart. Someone who either loves you, or despises you." At that moment, the flickering visage faded into onyx obscurity as a surge of emotions caused the man to tense in his restless state. A slow melodic tone began to accompany his thoughts; seemingly in time with his rising emotions.

[i]It was him. That bastard got ahold of it- but how? It couldn't have been Quiet... was it? Was she still out for her own revenge, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?[/i]

The chorus of notes gradually rose in volume as the noise began to fully infiltrate his head, interrupting any further attempt at inquiry as it got louder and louder. At its peak, Snake's eyes shot open, his vision dulled into a near-monochrome as the colors of his environment were faded. An irritating side-effect of the shrapnel, but he was used to it nonetheless. The room PA crackled; the clinical feminine voice reminding him of his iDroid as it issued the morning statement. The Avenger was headed to a place called the Dead Zone, and the briefing was in fourteen minutes. Taking a moment to glance around the room and surmising that whoever he'd been roomed with was awake long before he was, Snake gave himself a quick pat-down as he made his way out of the quarters. He had time to kill... and a cup of coffee before deployment wouldn't hurt.

Following the signs to the Messhall, the steadily growing aroma of various foods emitting from the nearby room released a growling pain of hunger from his abdomen. Damn, he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Blinking away his sleep, the man steeled his jaw as he stepped through the doorway.