Social Phobia
folder
+M through R › Metal Gear
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,033
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+M through R › Metal Gear
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,033
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Metal Gear Solid and all associated characters are property of Kojima Productions, not the author. The author makes no money from this fiction.
Social Phobia
Social Phobia
"Hell Is Other People" - Satre
His orders were simple, inscribed on a scrap of paper, resting in his pocket. Written there in black ink were his objectives: bread, milk, eggs. His uniform was not his sneaking suit but rather a pair of black jeans and a red t-shirt. It barely mattered to Solid Snake as he left Philanthropy's HQ on a mission to procure items from the corner store.
His eyes were wide open, surveying every detail, focusing on the location, only glancing at people for the purposes of threat analysis.
Eyes on the prize, Snake. Don't pay attention to anything that isn't a threat.
They weren't a threat, really. They were just normal people, living their lives in a state of perpetual obliviousness, doing normal things. But Solid Snake didn't stay alive by making broad assumptions about the inherent goodness of most people. His gaze scanned the crowd intensely, looking for any sign of threat. A woman walking her dogs on a leash; Snake immediately thought of Campbell holding his leash, deceiving, manipulating him. He saw a well-built man walking down the street; Snake remembered the Genome Soldiers. His eyes moved to a man with long blond hair standing in a trenchcoat... no, there was no one there.
Dammit Snake, keep cool, it's only a fucking pickup at the corner store.
His steps were swift, deliberate, precise. A scalpel through the crowd, face towards the goal yet glance constantly scanning away from it, monitoring for any sign of danger. Every step was progress, the objective drawing nearer. He passed a street preacher, ranting on about the moral degeneration of whatever.
"You must turn away from sin and accept God as your master!"
If I hear anyone say "you must" ever again...
He proceeded further down the sidewalk, feet pounding on the pavement, finally reaching the store. Inside, it was a well-practiced routine, picking up the items with a minimum of delay, and confronting the clerk with already-counted exact change. She was a cute young woman, barely out of high school, scarlet hair and green eyes hidden behind somewhat thick glasses.
"I'm sorry Sir, but the milk price increased by ten cents yesterday."
Snake grumbled in response, pulling out his wallet smoothly, flicking an additional ten cents across the counter.
Every second longer this takes is another unnecessary second of exposure.
He left, objective secured and en route to the extraction point. Stalking through the crowd again, focussing on the nearby building that was Philanthropy HQ. Passing the insane preacher again, hearing his ranting had increased in pitch and fervor, going on about the need to surrender oneself to a higher power.
Tried that once, didn't work out. Doubt your version's any better.
His feet thudded on the sidewalk, the thuds seeming to get more urgent, his breathing slowly increasing in rapidness until he reached the door.
The door slammed shut, Snake closing the multiple locks almost enthusiastically, each bolt isolating him from the outside. Only then did he snap out of soldier mode, leaning back against the wall, breathing in deeply, eyes closed for a brief second. Relief.
"Hal, I'm back."
"Oh! Hey, Dave. Sorry, was distracted..." Hal replied from behind a monstrous multi-monitor workstation that served as Philanthropy's master computer.
Dave took the items to the kitchen and put them away, all the time keeping his eyes on Hal.
He's not the only one that isn't comfortable around many people.
"Hal, want to take a break?"
"Ah, sure Dave!" Hal came over to the couch, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey in his arms.
Several minutes later, whiskey glasses in hand, both of them had their other arm around each other's shoulders.
I like this closeness.
THE END
"Hell Is Other People" - Satre
His orders were simple, inscribed on a scrap of paper, resting in his pocket. Written there in black ink were his objectives: bread, milk, eggs. His uniform was not his sneaking suit but rather a pair of black jeans and a red t-shirt. It barely mattered to Solid Snake as he left Philanthropy's HQ on a mission to procure items from the corner store.
His eyes were wide open, surveying every detail, focusing on the location, only glancing at people for the purposes of threat analysis.
Eyes on the prize, Snake. Don't pay attention to anything that isn't a threat.
They weren't a threat, really. They were just normal people, living their lives in a state of perpetual obliviousness, doing normal things. But Solid Snake didn't stay alive by making broad assumptions about the inherent goodness of most people. His gaze scanned the crowd intensely, looking for any sign of threat. A woman walking her dogs on a leash; Snake immediately thought of Campbell holding his leash, deceiving, manipulating him. He saw a well-built man walking down the street; Snake remembered the Genome Soldiers. His eyes moved to a man with long blond hair standing in a trenchcoat... no, there was no one there.
Dammit Snake, keep cool, it's only a fucking pickup at the corner store.
His steps were swift, deliberate, precise. A scalpel through the crowd, face towards the goal yet glance constantly scanning away from it, monitoring for any sign of danger. Every step was progress, the objective drawing nearer. He passed a street preacher, ranting on about the moral degeneration of whatever.
"You must turn away from sin and accept God as your master!"
If I hear anyone say "you must" ever again...
He proceeded further down the sidewalk, feet pounding on the pavement, finally reaching the store. Inside, it was a well-practiced routine, picking up the items with a minimum of delay, and confronting the clerk with already-counted exact change. She was a cute young woman, barely out of high school, scarlet hair and green eyes hidden behind somewhat thick glasses.
"I'm sorry Sir, but the milk price increased by ten cents yesterday."
Snake grumbled in response, pulling out his wallet smoothly, flicking an additional ten cents across the counter.
Every second longer this takes is another unnecessary second of exposure.
He left, objective secured and en route to the extraction point. Stalking through the crowd again, focussing on the nearby building that was Philanthropy HQ. Passing the insane preacher again, hearing his ranting had increased in pitch and fervor, going on about the need to surrender oneself to a higher power.
Tried that once, didn't work out. Doubt your version's any better.
His feet thudded on the sidewalk, the thuds seeming to get more urgent, his breathing slowly increasing in rapidness until he reached the door.
The door slammed shut, Snake closing the multiple locks almost enthusiastically, each bolt isolating him from the outside. Only then did he snap out of soldier mode, leaning back against the wall, breathing in deeply, eyes closed for a brief second. Relief.
"Hal, I'm back."
"Oh! Hey, Dave. Sorry, was distracted..." Hal replied from behind a monstrous multi-monitor workstation that served as Philanthropy's master computer.
Dave took the items to the kitchen and put them away, all the time keeping his eyes on Hal.
He's not the only one that isn't comfortable around many people.
"Hal, want to take a break?"
"Ah, sure Dave!" Hal came over to the couch, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey in his arms.
Several minutes later, whiskey glasses in hand, both of them had their other arm around each other's shoulders.
I like this closeness.
THE END