Chapter Text
Part I: Beauty and Beast
It was in the Paradise Lost Army that you met Raiden for the first time.
If you thought about it, it was quite the funny recollection actually. Having heard the rumors of a new asset in the PLA, it wasn't long before Big Mama assigned you to carry out an infiltration and rescue mission with him. Why, of course you were interested in getting to know this 'Raiden'. If EVA herself had gone out of her way to enlist his help, then he must have been a big deal— or so you'd heard. He'd been directly involved in the Manhattan incident, so that had to count for something.
It's not like you were ecstatic about meeting him, or even had the time to think about it— with the never-ending pile of paperwork waiting on your desk— and you'd barely given his dossier a look. The guy was good looking you'd give him that, short blonde hair in a crew cut, army greens, and a no-nonsense look in those blue eyes, but honestly you had too much to do to even bother reading any further. If he had some special forces experience, then than should have been enough.
Well, he wasn't anything like what you'd expected, for sure.
When you walked into the briefing room, a mug of black coffee in hand, you were baffled to find only some of your colleagues and a young woman— whom you'd never seen in your entire life— were reunited.
Raiden was nowhere to be found and, despite the praises you'd heard and good recommendations, his lack of punctuality didn't make for a good first impression.
As you took a seat, waving a unenthusiastic greeting to everyone, your eyes landed on the girl and scoured her delicate features. From the pair of sky blue eyes that reflected jaded wariness, a button nose that complimented her soft rosy lips, to the silky platinum blonde hair that perfectly framed her porcelain countenance, she was nothing short of perfect. Definitely a head turner, and it wouldn't surprise you if others at the base were chasing after her. It was hard even for you to tear your gaze away from her.
The woman took quick notice of your staring, and it was embarrassing to say the least. But you still had no idea who she was— even though she looked strangely familiar— so you tried to get a name, wondering what role she would play in the oncoming mission and what kind of specialization she possessed.
"Nice to meet you, I'm (F/N) (L/N). I believe we haven't been introduced, miss...?"
An awkward silence followed, before some muffled chuckles erupted among those present— to your confusion and her endless frustration.
What did they find so amusing? Why was she so annoyed? Did you say something wrong?
It turned out she wasn't a woman.
He was a guy, and his name was Jack.
Moreover, this was Raiden: the man who had survived throughout the nefarious machinations of the Patriots, in the Manhattan incident, slaying the one and only Solidus Snake, 43rd president of the United States.
And the first thought that had crossed your mind was something along the lines of him being the prettiest girl you'd ever seen.
The mission consisted in rescuing Olga Gurlukovich's daughter from The Patriots.
Raiden made that request, in exchange for retrieving Big Boss's body. That was his condition if EVA wished to enlist his help— which she needed since very few possessed special forces training. Given that Olga had died to save him, it was no wonder he wished to repay her sacrifice. Maybe out of obligation, guilt, or a mix of both.
It was even more heartbreaking to think that Olga was parted from her baby at birth and forced to be an agent of The Patriots. As the daughter of a former Spetsnaz GRU commander, and the leader of an army of over one thousand mercenaries— formerly Russian special forces— she became the primary target of blackmail. And The Patriots knew her weakness all too well.
Her child had been injected with life-monitoring nanomachines, linked to Raiden's vital signs. Should he die before accomplishing his mission, the nanomachines would have ended the kid's life.
She might have been a soldier, but she was a woman and mother first. Olga knew perfectly well she had betrayed her men, her brothers in arms, in the vilest of ways when she sided with The Patriots and led them to their end. There probably was a special place for her in hell, but she was left with no choice— she had to protect Raiden at all costs and ensure he succeeded or her daughter would perish.
It was all for the baby she never got to hold in her arms, the child she would never meet nor raise. And despite that, Olga was willing to sacrifice everything— even her own life— because a mother's love truly was the most beautiful yet terrifying driving force in the world.
The things people did for love.
EVA, better known as Big Mama by those in the PLA, had agreed to provide assistance. To this effect, you were one of the assets assigned to Raiden to infiltrate Area 51— a secret base in the middle of an unforgiving desert, and matter of obsession among conspiracy theorists— where Olga's child had been held captive since she was a newborn.
It wasn't easy to pull off but the mission was successful, and the little girl was safe in the arms of her savior— no longer at the mercy of The Patriots. The last thing you learned about her was that she was under the care of one of his friends, and now probably lived a normal life like any other kid.
It gave you some peace of mind, at least, and Raiden must have felt the same way. With that out of the way, he could finally focus on the task of finding Big Boss's body— a pivotal piece in EVA's plan to take down Cipher once and for all.
With this objective in mind, there hadn't been much going on between you and Raiden in terms of friendship, mainly because you'd met him only on that occasion and then he vanished without a trace. Truth be told, you didn't know his story and neither did you have the time to actually care about it. Back in the day, your life had been entirely devoted to the PLA and assisting Big Mama— who led the organization from the shadows, due to her previous ties to The Patriots.
Up until then, you had limited yourself to do what she asked in regards to Raiden without question. Being friends with him wasn't a priority nor required. He didn't look interested in any sort of camaraderie, either, so your interactions remained strictly professional and brief.
That was why you weren't very concerned about his personal affairs, until information that Raiden had been captured by The Patriots reached the PLA and Big Mama. Needless to say, you didn't receive the news very well and not because you had any particular attachment to him. Of course you felt sorry about the guy— to say that he was in deep shit was an understatement— but a more pressing issue at hand was that he disclosed sensitive data to the enemy.
That fucking idiot, you'd thought in a fit of anger when you read the report in your office. After coming so close to accomplishing the objective, he'd made a mistake and failed. If Raiden hadn't posed a risk to the PLA, maybe you would have wished he was still alive— though all things considered, he was as good as dead. However, he knew enough to be a threat and you couldn't just let him spill all those secrets, endangering years of efforts at the PLA and Matka Pluku's safety. Besides, she needed him to meet his end of the bargain and he wasn't allowed to die yet.
If The Patriots didn't kill him, you would when this was all over. Thanks to this blunder, you were all back to square one and The Legendary Soldier's body would be moved to a new location with tighter security— if it hadn't already. You would have to be damn lucky to get anywhere near it twice in a lifetime.
But you had bigger problems, and working out Raiden's current location was one of them.
It took time and resources. Months of endless frustration, on edge and fearing they would come after Big Mama any day. The woman wasn't very concerned about her own safety, unsurprisingly, but that was your job and you took it seriously in spite of her carefree attitude.
It wasn't that she didn't care, but there wasn't much that could shake her up at her elder age. Not when she'd been through worse and lived to tell the tale. However, she was worried about her children— as she affectionately called her mercenaries, the same way everyone called her Mama— and didn't want anyone to risk their lives unnecessarily because of her. As if she wasn't the one who held this entire family together.
Mama had too much to do so she couldn't die yet. She had to finish what she started and destroy the monster she'd helped create.
And you would see to it, even if it was the last thing you did.
Each day that passed, and there was no word of Raiden's whereabouts, had you seriously considering the idea of moving Mama out of that old church as soon as possible. If she hadn't been so fond of that place— for reasons you couldn't fathom— you would have done it long ago.
Where could he be? Raiden had literally disappeared from the face of the Earth. The last contact with him was moments before the enemy seized him and then communications went dark. And if what Mama had told you about The Patriots was anything to go by, it could mean two things: either he was dead, or wishing he was.
Mama blamed herself for what had happened to Raiden and was more worried about him than for her own wellbeing. In your opinion, it was utter nonsense. He was a grown man and knew what he was getting himself into from the beginning. Nobody had forced him to play any part in this, and Mama had gone to great lengths to convince him to join the PLA, to the point of sending you— one of her best operatives— to a mission nothing short of suicidal because he wanted to rescue a child.
And for what? All that hard work gone to waste because of his stupidity and unwillingness to listen. It was unfortunate that he'd been captured, and you felt sorry for him, but now you had to fix the mess he left behind.
Luckily for you, a very good friend came to the rescue. She traveled quite often all around the world, handling informants and gathering data of Cipher's activities for subsequent analysis.
While on a field mission, she'd gotten her hands on some disturbing information regarding cybernetic research carried out in Area 51.
It was like those bogus conspiracy theories on those weird websites, but the difference was that this could very well be true. You remembered the story of the perfect soldier, Gray Fox— an exceptional FOXHOUND operative and the most trusted lieutenant of Big Boss. After the downfall of Zanzibar Land, his body— blown apart by a land mine— was recovered by The Patriots. Turned into one of Dr. Clark's test subjects for the research of cybernetic enhancements and gene therapy, he was restored through surgery and grafted with a powered exoskeleton that boosted his agility and strength.
But it was a painful process of trial and error that ultimately deteriorated the minds of individuals and made them dependent on drugs to reduce their ailments. Jaeger was kept alive for four years in this deplorable state, while they conducted all manner of experiments on him like he was an object.
After some more digging, you concluded that Raiden had to be held captive in that secret military base. And while you weren't one hundred percent sure, it was the only lead you had to find him. Moreover, even if you were right, the guy could have been dead for all you knew. If that was the case, then you needed to confirm the decease.
Maybe it was better if he'd died.
Since you had previous experience infiltrating Area 51, you were the ideal candidate for the mission. You never thought you'd return after saving that child and, honestly, you weren't looking forward to it. You'd witnessed some nasty stuff back in your years as a soldier, and weren't easy to shock anymore, but Area 51 was a special kind of hell you would prefer not to tour again.
The Patriots did all sorts of abominable deeds, and human experimentation wasn't beyond them— especially if it furthered their agenda. The Selection for Societal Sanity program was proof of that, and the data they had gathered was significant— an instrument that would allow them to carry out the next phase of their plan for world domination. And that was what Mama wanted to stop.
But there was an even darker side, one Raiden had the misfortune to experience first-hand, and nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.
The Patriots did horrible things to him in that hellhole. Atrocities that destroyed him from the inside and changed him forever. When you finally located him in that torture chamber of a lab, you could barely recognize him anymore. In a moment of denial, you wanted to believe that you got the wrong guy, but the files you'd found... there was no mistake about his identity.
This was Jack.
It couldn't be...
Raiden was no longer the man you'd once known but a shadow of his former self, a plaything for others to use him as their Guinea pig. You wished it was only a bad dream, but the sight of his quartered body was all too real— a level of inhuman depravity you couldn't forget nor forgive.
If only he had died, at least it would have spared him this inferno.
Of course they wouldn't let him. Not when his body was responding favorably to the cyber enhancements. He'd been one of the most successful test subjects so far, from what you'd read— to the point they'd gone full conversion and cut him up like he was a chunk of meat. Limb by limb, piece by piece, until all all that was left were his spinal cord and his head.
Guilt was eating away at you.
All this time you'd complained about the inconveniences he'd caused to everyone, but never stopped to consider that he'd already paid for his mistakes dearly. And if he survived, he would have to live with the consequences of his actions everyday.
It angered and appalled you to see what The Patriots had done to him. As you carried Raiden to safety, or what was left of him anyways, his barely conscious form (drugged and exhausted from the constant agony of his tortured existence) struggled weakly in your arms— fearing you would hurt him like many others had done.
"It's okay, Jack. We're going home. It's over. They can't hurt you anymore."
Too bad words alone were not enough.
What he'd gone through was hell and it would take him a long time to recover from that awful experience. It was hard not to think you could have prevented all this, if you'd found him sooner. It was even worse when you had to recall the details to pour them on your report. The thought alone was enough to make your blood boil and turn your stomach.
Why did you start caring so much?
Why did you suddenly feel connected to this man?
You had little interest in him before, true, but the more you focused on writing that report, as objectively as possible, you became interested in knowing about his past. Mug after mug of coffee, and endless hours in front of the computer screen, you had wondered about what led him to join the PLA, what had caught Mama's attention to recruit him in her ranks. It couldn't just have been his special forces formation, no matter how unique and useful his skills were.
You knew Mama better than that. She wouldn't drag the average patriotic Joe, serving Uncle Sam, into PLA business considering what was at stake.
And so you found yourself going through his dossier again, taking in every detail with unwavering attention.
What you learned didn't give you any more comfort.
He'd been a child soldier during the first Liberian civil war. From what you gathered, it seemed like he was barely six years old when he grabbed his first AK. However, he had a preference for bladed weapons and his terrifying skills earned him the nickname of Jack the Ripper, due to his high victim count.
His disturbing past wasn't something you would judge. Everyone at the PLA had a story to tell. Even you weren't the exception, as ashamed as you felt about the awful things you did.
But Raiden... He was perhaps the one you could relate to the most. And seeing him in that state brought back many painful memories that you had tried to bury and forget. Besides, from the moment you were entrusted with the mission of rescuing him, he became your responsibility. It was only natural that you would come to care for him, over time, and remain by his side to see him through everything.
You and the team did your best to stabilize Raiden, in preparation for the journey to the other side of the world— where a Russian doctor by the name of Drago Pettrovich Madnar would look after him. Thankfully you'd been provided all the necessary material for the task, and a medic tended to him in the meantime.
After what felt like an eternity, you finally landed at the base and traveled by land to Dr. Madnar's underground lab. As a medical cyberneticist and robotics engineer, he was the most qualified to take charge in Raiden's recovery. Unlike the sons of bitches back at Area 51, he was a good man and you trusted him to do right. Big Mama trusted him, and that was saying something— considering his past as the creator and developer of metal gear armament.
He'd made mistakes, that was true, but in all honesty you weren't the most qualified person to pass judgment on him— considering how rough he had it. Besides, after the Zanzibar Land disturbance, he'd realized the error in his ways and repented. Now he wanted nothing more than a peaceful life in the company of his daughter and grandkids. With a little help from Mama, he'd gone into hiding in Eastern Europe and though he still continued his research in robotics— ever passionate about his work— it could be said that no one would be commissioning any metal gears any time soon.
From him, at least, but it still was a huge relief.
You stayed in his underground lab for some time, to keep an eye on Raiden's progress. It was hard to tell whether he would make it in his deplorable state but, against the odds, he survived.
No doubt he was a strong man, stronger than others gave him credit for— stronger than he thought, even. Still, there was no denying that those terrible events had scarred him for life. You weren't sure if he would become a functional human being again, or how long it would take him to regain his senses. Dr. Madnar could do an amazing job in the cybernetic department, but Raiden's mental state was a whole different story.
And it was in shambles.
Raiden was in a nightmare even when he was awake. For the most part he was sedated, to ensure proper rest, and received glucose-based nutrients in his bloodstream— already cleared from nanomachines. But the times Raiden came to, he was clearly terrified and in pain.
Helping him would not be easy, but that was to be expected. The Patriots had really done a number on him and you felt sick to the stomach at the thought of Raiden being experimented on as if he were an animal.
If there was something you didn't regret, it was dispatching the personnel at the base. Those so-called scientists— more like evil minds— were nothing but monsters and deserved to die. That way they would hurt no one else, at least.
What they did to that baby was inhumane, too. Depriving her from a happy childhood, the right to a family and an identity, was unforgivable.
You shuddered to think what would have happened to the poor girl if she'd remained captive.
As the days passed, it became evident that Raiden was unable to control his emotional outbursts, could barely express proper language, and seemed less than interested in the world around him— unless some event triggered traumatic memories. Considering that he was stuck in a lab, it was difficult keeping those to a minimum. Other than the moments of deep distress and anxiety, in which he became hysterical with fear, he was an empty shell— silent and immobile in a surgical table, surrounded by life-monitoring machines.
Somewhere in his mind, consciously or not, he was trying to assimilate what had happened to him. It was the first step of many to picking up the pieces of his mind, and the most painful perhaps.
For now, he had to learn how to live again and you would give him time to deal with the negative emotions that lingered. The disgust, the pain and hatred would not disappear overnight and invalidating his feelings would not help. Raiden needed the time to mourn for what he'd lost and adjust.
It was something you understood all too well, maybe better than others would expect.
When he looked at his body— an artificial frame, not his own anymore— you could see yourself all those years ago. You remembered the repugnance at how dirty and used you felt, how others robbed you of your dreams and future.
And though his anger would eventually turn into resignation, you knew that he would need someone to ground him. Someone who could show him a way to go on, even when all seemed lost.
You volunteered to help in his recovery. No one else wanted to be involved with a man so mentally unstable. Nobody wished to be responsible for him.
It all started more like a one-sided friendship and it took patience and effort to establish some kind of emotional connection. For the most part, he blatantly ignored you and wasn't interested in anything of what you had to say. After what he'd gone through, it was difficult for Raiden to open up and trust others.
It was depressing to see him like that and even though you tried your best... sometimes it wasn't enough. There were memories people simply could not forget— no matter how hard they tried— and you wouldn't be able to help him to erase the pain.
Good intentions alone would not fix him.
Not even Dr. Madnar's daughter, as a psychiatrist who possessed a deeper understanding of his issues, could work miracles on him. That was why she'd asked for your help to accomplish a first approach. You'd worked with him before and were involved in dangerous situations together, despite the impersonal relationship you had. Even if you weren't the best candidate for the task, considering the absence of any emotional attachment on his part, you were the only option at hand.
Despite your efforts, it was futile to reach out when he'd shut the entire world out— built walls around his mind so no one could hurt him. It was as if he had simply stopped caring and was waiting for death to take him away.
More than once you'd considered just giving up on him, convinced that you couldn't make a difference— until you recalled that you'd been the same way, too. It was the dirty reminder of a past you'd tried to erase and deny, though you knew it could not be undone.
If you decided to abandon him to his luck, Raiden would die for sure. It would have been like deserting your comrade in battle, and you didn't know if you were prepared to live with the consequences of that choice.
Not when you could have done something to change it.
The Bosnian War wasn't your fondest memory.
No one should have to go through the nightmare of an armed struggle. Nobody should have to lose their home and loved ones. Nobody deserved to be subjected to inhuman or degrading treatment. Much any less children, of all people.
A kid should be going to school and playing with his friends, marveling at the world around him, growing healthy and happy. His place was with a family that loved him and protected him. His place was not the battlefield, forced to kill and die in the wars of adults that failed to work out their differences.
Children did not deserve to have their future stolen, their souls forever scarred by the horrors they'd seen and lived.
Like you and Raiden.
You didn't know for sure when he actually started listening to you.
Could it have been when you told him about your experiences in the Bosnian War?
It was probably the first time you touched the subject in years. Not many were willing to open up and talk about their pasts as child soldiers. To be honest, you'd never been keen on the idea either. It was too painful, to shameful. A skeleton in the closet that should never see the light of day.
The one time you'd tried to be honest about it, to share the burden of your sins, it all went downhill and you fell into a spiral of depression at the lack of understanding from others. Of course, nobody wanted to deal with someone that carried such heavy baggage. Nobody was ready to deal with someone that was broken and messed up.
You wouldn't blame people for drawing the line and walking away from a relationship that had become toxic. Deep down, you knew it was for the best. You weren't ready for commitment and doubted you'd ever be. Emotional investment wasn't something you could afford and the thought of being exposed, judged for your past, terrified you.
But if you hoped to establish an emotional connection with Raiden, you too had to open up and look at those ugly memories again.
He had gone through a similar experience in Liberia. And though after the war he was taken in by an NGO, that moved him to the US and helped him with extensive amounts of counseling— until he at least seemed to become civilized and outwardly stable— you knew better than anyone that it wouldn't be enough to erase old wounds.
You knew what it was like pretending to be someone normal and trying to fit in a society where there was no place for you. You understood the pain and loneliness of a world he couldn't share with anyone because of the fear of rejection and hatred.
Many others at the PLA had been child soldiers as well, and that was why Mama had brought them all together, so it could be argued there was nothing actually special to connect you with him. However, you were all that he had at the moment and, if you turned your back on him, you would regret it for the rest of your life.
In time he grew accustomed to having around and even became restless when you were missing. Raiden rejected the touch of other people but if you were in the room with him, he would be more cooperative.
It was as though your presence was a source of reassurance and comfort for him. This alone made your assistance invaluable. Raiden felt safe around you, probably because he knew that you were the one to get him out of that terrible place, the one who saved him.
And he trusted no one else.
It was hard work getting Raiden to talk again.
First, he lost his vocal cords after the atrocities the Patriots had done to him. Second, he needed to get used to the artificial voice box of his new body. And third, he didn't want to talk about what happened.
Of course you wouldn't force him to. It was all too soon and the memories were still fresh in his mind. Someday he would open up and tell someone about it, perhaps, but it wasn't the right moment yet.
Even so, all things considered, he was making good progress.
He did eventually recover his speech after some coaxing and coaching. And to your surprise, your name was the first thing he said in a long time.
You were so shocked, as he struggled to get the word out, that you nearly fell off your chair. He'd caught you off guard, swaying on its rear legs and reading a magazine as he watched some TV. Well, you actually did fall on your back and Raiden seemed to find the whole incident amusing— much to your annoyance. But as you groaned in pain on the floor, and threw a glare at him, the lazy curl of his lips was enough to make you forget why you were even upset.
It was the first time you saw him smile since bringing him there.
And you realized that he looked beautiful, even as pale and worn out as he was— battered from the endless battles with the demons inside his head. That tiny smile alone was enough to give you hope, and right then you knew you'd do everything in your power to keep him safe.
No one would hurt him again.
However, who were you trying to kid?
You couldn't protect him from the horrible memories that still haunted him.
For people like you, happiness was brief— a tiny sliver of light in a sea of darkness. They wanted to reach for it, but for someone who had been sinking in the shadows for too long it was difficult and mentally exhausting to fight against the chains tying their soul. So they just kept sinking further and further down, into the unending abyss, waiting for someone— something— to save them.
Or waiting for the end.
You knew that feeling all too well. You knew he felt the same way, when sadness was all you could see in his gaze.
You couldn't accompany him as often as you would have liked, since you had duties to attend to, but you tried to visit whenever it was possible. At the same time, it wasn't your intention to become an annoyance to him, so you respected his privacy and gave him space to breathe.
Still, whether you wanted it or not, he was always on your mind. You didn't exactly know what to make of it, but you blamed it on your concern for him. After what he'd gone through, you couldn't just leave him to his own devices.
You couldn't abandon him.
"Hey, thought you'd like to read this. I know sometimes it can get pretty boring in here, though I heard you started PT these days."
He needed to get accustomed to his new body, and only physical therapy would help him achieve that.
Slipping the book into his hands, you marveled at the progress he'd made, as his fingers gripped the item firmly and turned it from side to side.
"Wow, it seems you're doing great."
"I guess..." Raiden examined the cover of the book with mild interest, but his blue eyes widened ever so slightly as they swept over the title. "The Lone Samurai," he read aloud, surprised at your choice of gift. "How... how did you know?"
"Oh... you know, I figured you'd be interested since... our last mission together. I couldn't help but notice that you have a fascination for Japanese swords." Scratching your nape, you sighed, hoping to deflect the conversation elsewhere. "Um, I took a look at it, because it got me curious. Hope you don't mind."
You didn't want to go into further detail about your mission to rescue Olga's child, or even mention Area 51. Much any less tell him that you'd gone through his file again, before making a quick trip to see Madnar. It was unlikely Raiden would feel comfortable with that knowledge, but you couldn't help your curiosity. The amount of information The Patriots had gathered on him was unbelievable, from his childhood all throughout adulthood, about his psychological profile, his interests, hobbies, likes and dislikes. It was very creepy stuff.
And you felt like a manipulator for using that data to get close to him, even if it was for a good cause.
Still, you couldn't forget why you were here.
Big Mama sent her regards and you were supposed to deliver Dr. Madnar's due payment. The old man had done an outstanding job in looking after Raiden, who was recovering step by step with each passing day— though the good doctor used to say it wouldn't have been possible without your valuable collaboration. As for Mama's reasons to help the young man, he still had to keep his end of the bargain to recover Big Boss's remains and she needed him alive for that.
That was just an excuse.
You knew that Mama felt terribly guilty for what happened to Raiden. Even if he'd a mistake and got caught, it was her who sent him to the lion's den. One way or the other, she thought she was to blame for the immeasurable suffering he was put through, and the loss of his body. You still couldn't forget the horror-struck expression on her face, as you gave her a first-hand account of the orgy of evil you'd seen and what Raiden was subjected to.
She wasn't easily shaken up by horror stories. Mama had gone through a lot in her youth, as well. As a child, she'd been trained by the Philosophers to be a sleeper cell, and in later years she became a spy of the Cold War era— working as an agent for the KGB and the People's Liberation Army of China.
But despite the rough experiences she'd endured, she still possessed a strong sense of empathy and worried about the well-being of her children— the affectionate name she'd given to her mercenaries.
Raiden was no different.
And that was where you came into play.
Staring at the cover of the book, Raiden rasped something you couldn't quite understand.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"Why?" he said again.
There was this characteristic hoarse static whenever he spoke, given that his voice box had been replaced by an artificial one. Despite this, its pitch was pretty close to what he used to sound like— if a little deeper.
Dropping your backpack to the floor, you arched an eyebrow and discarded your tan cargo jacket.
"Why... what?"
He cringed, as though he didn't like the idea of having to explain himself, and perhaps a little offended that you couldn't read his mind. However, you didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was talking about so you crossed your arms and waited for him to talk.
At last, he caught the drift.
"Why go out of your way for me?" His eyes strayed to the window and the rain falling outside. It hadn't stopped for days and you doubted it would any time soon.
Now that he was feeling better, they'd decided to move him upstairs to a more comfortable environment. Being locked up in that underground lab for too long would do no good to his mental health.
"Wow, I didn't know it would bother you that much." Chuckling, you placed your hands on your hips and gave him him your best amused look. "Seriously, it's just a book and it was on sale—"
"Don't make fun of me." He cut you off, his tone edging on frustration. "You know what I mean..."
Of course he wasn't talking about the goddamn book.
"Jack..." Letting out a weary sigh, you brushed a hand against your hair.
Raiden gritted his teeth, and his brows furrowed as though he wanted to say something else but was holding back.
An awkward silence followed, and neither you nor him seemed to know what to say. But you could tell something was eating away at him when he looked down, to the book still in his grasp, and the faintest shadow of doubt appeared in his blue eyes.
"I know why you're here. I'm your responsibility, right?"
"Yes, you are," you admitted quietly, knowing there was no point in denying it.
His shoulders slumped. Almost as if he was hoping you would give him a different answer.
"Your orders are to help me recover, so I can go back to my mission as soon as possible?"
"That's correct."
"I see..." He stared off into the distance, lost in thought.
There probably couldn't have been a worse thing to tell him at that moment. That people helped him not because they cared about him. It was because he served a purpose and anything beyond that didn't matter.
That was what he thought, most likely.
Those were your orders, it was true, but it wasn't the whole story.
"Jack, I think you should know I was assigned as your commanding officer."
"So we're stuck together, is that it?" he scoffed bitterly. "Guess you must be thrilled to work with me—"
"Actually, I was the one who made the request."
He was shocked by your confession, blue eyes snapping in your direction as he tried to comprehend what you'd said. In his mind, he was probably wondering why the hell would you want a freak like him by your side.
But of course, he was quick to find excuses.
"A cyborg would be a nice addition to your team, huh?"
Honestly, there were times you wanted to slap some sense into him.
"I don't know what kind of COs you had in the past, but I don't treat my men like tools. I care about them not only because it's my job but because in the PLA we're all family, you hear me? You are my brother in arms from now on, Jack, and as siblings we look after each other, in and outside the battlefield."
Another awkward silence followed.
Maybe this was too much for him to take in.
Maybe he needed time to think about it.
Maybe he needed a way out.
"Of course, you are free to say no if you don't want to do this anymore. Mama offers a compensation for services rendered and damages, in case you want to leave the PLA. I know it won't fix anything, but you have the option to start anew and make a life of your own if that's what you wish."
This wasn't the original plan, but the guy had been through hell and back. It was only fair that he was at least given an option to back out of the deal.
"And what the hell am I supposed to do on my own?"
"That's up to you, buddy. Enjoy your new freedom." Glancing at your wristwatch, you cleared your throat. "Anyways, I should go now. Just wanted to drop a few things for you and make sure you were doing well. If there's anything you need, just call me okay? See you later, Jack."
You were ready to walk away, but something held you back. A bit startled, you turned around to see his hand holding your wrist firmly— preventing your escape.
But what truly stopped you was his pleading gaze.
"Stay," he whispered, his voice breaking. Whether it was the static or something else, you couldn't say.
However, it was clear he didn't want you to leave.
"Alright, I'll stay right here."
Reassured by your words, he let go of your wrist.
Somehow, it warmed up your heart and you couldn't hold back a chuckle as you ruffled his short blonde hair.
It was shame that he'd lost such beautiful long hair but it had grown a lot in these past months, and the flaxen fuzz had become a thick covering of short pale tresses. It wasn't glossy nor soft anymore, and looked a bit too disheveled for your taste, but you intended to fix that.
"By the way, I could trim that hair of yours and give it a cream bath. How does that sound?"
He seemed surprised, at first, but soon the idea appealed to him and he nodded with a weak smile.
"I'd like that."
Stay.
That was his wish.
To stay in the PLA.
Where else can he go? He has no one left, no place in the world other than among soldiers with troubled pasts like him. To delude himself into thinking otherwise would only end in frustration and disappointment, so he says.
You tried to do the same once, so you know where that path leads all too well. There is nothing liberating about denying who you are and you've come to understand that killing is all you're good for— the only thing that makes you feel alive, as ironic as it sounds. As soon as you embraced that truth, you knew that there would be no escape from you.
It is true when they say the past cannot be erased or forgotten, and every night you're reminded of it.
The nightmares never leave and the insomnia is taking its toll on your body after many sunrises. Living on a diet of caffeine and pills surely could be the problem, but it's something you can hardly do without. Your job isn't precisely something that allows you to have a moment's peace. Besides, sleep has never come easily and you are used to it at this point. The truth is, you shouldn't be fazed by the horrific things you see whenever you close your eyes.
Still, even after so many years, you're still terrified.
It's hard to say for how long you've been staring at the roof of your bedroom, as the screams of horror fade from your mind. You're unable to move, eyes nervously darting back and fro, as you desperately try to get your bearings in the darkness. For a moment, you think you're back in hell— that place of torture where you were held prisoner for an eternity— but there are no sobs or wails, and the bedding feels soft under your body unlike the cold hard floor.
There's not even the smell of blood or decay, just the eerie sound of silence and the company of solitude. But the tears keep falling, and slowly you wipe them away while sitting in bed. As if that wasn't enough, your head hurts like a bitch and your throat is dry as a bone.
A quick glance to the digital watch lets you know it's late in the night, but perhaps some fresh air will do you good. After drinking a few glasses of water from the tap, and taking a tablet for the headache, you grab your jacket and leave the room.
Slowly, you make your way down the hall and to the world of crickets and distant howls of wolves in the forests. The night is quiet and peaceful, but soldiers still guard their posts (not strange given the fact you're in a military base somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains) and they nod a greeting whenever you come across them.
This is your family, as you like to call it, and your home is with them. With the Paradise Lost Army.
The PLA shares some traits with private military companies, though maybe that isn't the right term to describe its nature and purpose. Big Mama, affectionately known as Matka Pluku (mother of the regiment in Czech), allows you to take some contracts here and there to keep the funds of the organization flowing, and to ensure that her 'children' can provide for their families. Some may argue that it's not the best option to offer so freely, but it's a chance that she's given to people like you, whose only remarkable skill is that of shedding blood.
At any rate, it's a good method to gather intel and also provides a decent cover to the PLA's true activities. Although the focus is mainly put on logistics, strategic-tactical advising, as well as the supervision and training of military assets, the PLA does get involved in messy situations every now and then. However, Mama is always clear with her rules. The PLA does not fight for money, and it's not an army on hire to the best bidder— even if it accepted money in exchange for some services. The PLA was supposed to be against the war economy that the Patriots had established on a global scale, and fight to put an end to it.
Despite the irony in those actions, the end seems to justify the means. Irony is something you know very well— an incidence that you've grown accustomed to over the years, like many other things. Coming to terms with the experiences you've lived is not as easy as you would have wished, but you manage.
You always did.
The wind blows chilly against your face. Summer has been short-lived and winter approaches fast. Hugging the jacket closer to your body, and rubbing your hands, you start craving for a hot drink and settle on a trip to the coffee machine in the mess hall. It sounds like an awful idea, though. Maybe you should just have some quick soup and return to bed.
"What are you doing up so late?" A voice calls, as soon as you turn a corner, and you nearly jump out of your skin— hand reaching for a gun that is not strapped to your thigh.
Damn... you forgot.
Catching your breath, you stare at your unexpected companion, who returns your gaze with what you believe to be amusement. He's wearing a black trench coat, you notice, which highlights his ashy blonde hair. The turned neck covers the lower part of his face, obviously in an attempt to hide the less than subtle line tan runs across his face, where his head joins the cybernetic body.
He still doesn't feel comfortable, you know that.
Laughing under your breath, you shrug and cross the distance to him. "You're one to talk. What about you?"
"What about me? I felt like getting some fresh air." Raiden crosses his arms and you arch an eyebrow. "So what brings you here?"
"Just wanted to take a walk, I guess. Woke up with a damn headache, and I needed to distract myself. By the way, are you making a habit of scaring innocent passersby in the dead of the night?"
"You're hardly an innocent passerby, (F/N). With you around, I'd be more worried about the safety of others, actually." He chuckles, and you playfully glare at him.
"That's rude, you know." You tap your feet on the ground and click your tongue, before a smirk appears on your lips. "Is that any way to talk to a girl? You seriously need to work on those skills because you can't sweet talk a woman, even if your life depended on it."
"As if I'll ever get the chance to do it."
His mirth is gone from one second to another, and you feel the drop in his voice as he averts his gaze from you.
He's angry, you can tell by the furrow or his brow that upset look.
It's not easy getting along with him, sometimes, and those mood swings are still the norm. You can't blame him for that. Of course he would feel that way after all the crap he's been through.
Perhaps you should watch your mouth around him more often and stop trying to be funny. Still, you know better than apologizing. He's not so keen on people showing pity for him, and it wouldn't really help matters.
With sigh, you scratch your nape and attempt to lighten up the mood, although awkwardness lingers heavy in the air.
"Care to join me, then? I could use some company."
Glancing at you sideways, his blue eyes narrow. It's difficult to tell what expression he has beneath the leather that covers the lower half of his face. He says nothing as he pushes away from the wall and then walks away, ignoring you completely.
You can only surmise he wants to be alone, and you don't follow. Better leave him be for the time being.
Guess that means quick soup for me...
The idea doesn't sound too bad, honestly.
As you think about what flavor will you choose, Raiden stops and turns to you with a none too flattering look.
"Well, you coming or what?"
He nods for you to follow and, rolling your eyes, you catch up to him.
"What? You think I can read minds?"
Raiden grunts a response and soon both of you are quietly strolling in the compound, without a particular destination— not that you actually care.
Raiden walks by your side, and you notice the frown on his face as he gazes ahead. Most of the time he would wear an expression of gloomy uneasiness, be wistful and sullen. It wasn't easy for him. The memories of the horrible things that were done to him are still fresh. Even worse, he has to relive it all again every time he looks at himself in the mirror.
After recovering and growing accustomed to his cyborg body— as much as he hated it— he chose to work for the PLA again. When asked if he had any relatives he wished to contact, he said he had no place to go and no family to return to. It seems that, like you, he's all alone and the PLA is his only chance to find meaning for his life.
Ever since his joining you've been on several missions with him, with you mainly providing support— though he usually went solo. As a sniper, your job is handling observation, surveillance, detection, stalking, target acquisition and, when needed, aiding him in infiltration and reconnaissance in special operations.
He shows remarkable skills and is very dependable in the battlefield, a different person altogether when his mind is set on the mission, as though that's where he's meant to be. It's something you can't describe, but in a way you understand.
"You can't sleep, either?" He stops your train of thought, earning a startled look from you. "Nightmares again?"
Crossing your arms, you stare at the ground with a wry smile. "After so many years you'd think I got used to it. I should be, by now, but every time I close my eyes... it all keeps coming back. Do you feel that way, too?"
Raiden is silent for a moment, lost in thought.
"Yeah," he mutters quietly, though you perceive a trace of distress in his voice. "Every fucking night."
"That bad, huh?"
"Sometimes I'm scared I'll never forget, that I'll never leave it behind. I tried to live a normal life once, it didn't work. And now I am... this thing." He sounds disgusted, full of bitterness as he hides himself from you. "Whatever hope I had to start a new life is now gone. Every time people look at me I feel like a monster, an abomination."
You can't stand it, to see him in this state, desolate and hopeless.
"Jack, don't say that. You're not a monster."
"Can't you see what they've done to me?" He's growing impatient, stopping in his tracks before he gives you an irate look. Then, he yanks at the neck of his trench coat and shows you his synthetic jaw. His upper lip forms a snarl as he towers over your form, breathing heavily. "I don't expect you to understand but the least you can do for me is not lie right to my face. Do you think that telling me nothing's changed makes me feel better? I'm sorry but it doesn't cut it! I don't need cheap optimism from someone who wouldn't know what it's like to be in my shoes."
His voice is laced with bitterness and his words drip with resentment.
"Jack, that's not what—"
"Don't tell me that everything's going to be okay, because it's not going to get better!" Gritting his teeth, he steps back and walks away. "I'm tired of people feeling pity for me."
You can't hold back, can't keep the anger to yourself anymore, and you clench your fists, raising your voice while knowing all too well what his reaction will be.
"Then stop feeling sorry for yourself!"
That does it.
He makes a sharp turn and charges rushes at you, his speed faster than you anticipated. Before you know it, he's in front of you, his nose almost touching yours, and his blue eyes are burning with rage.
"What would you know about me? You have no idea what I've gone through! It wasn't you in that lab! It wasn't you they used your entire life! You know nothing, so don't pretend you care!"
As soon as he finishes saying those words he stumbles back, clutching his cheek— shock written all over his face.
"What the hell?"
You withdraw your balled fist and try to ignore the pain in your knuckles.
"You're an idiot if you think I don't care," you say quietly as he stares at you dumbfounded. "After all this time, you still don't know me." With a swift movement, you grab him by the front of his trench coat and shake him— hoping to maybe snap him out of it. "You call yourself a monster? I'll tell what a real monster is."
"Stop, I don't want to hear it," he protests, in vain, as you cling onto the leather of his clothes.
And even though you're on the verge of tears, you force yourself to continue.
"A monster forces you watch, as they torture your loved ones ones, until their screams are all you can hear day and night. Then kills them and leaves their corpses to rot, a feast for crows. A monster is a scumbag that puts a weapon in the hands of children and forces them to fight and die for causes they can barely understand, instead of protecting them. A monster hurts innocent people just because he thinks they're less than human, less than animals even. A monster takes everything you love away, hopes and dreams, until you're a soulless carcass without any reason to live."
With a painful sigh, you ease your hold on his clothes, and cast your gaze to the ground.
Unexpectedly, his hands rest on your quivering shoulders. It's as if he's trying to say that he understands, that he knows what it feels like to have your life fucked up beyond repair.
Looking at him again, you see sorrow and guilt etched on his dejected features.
"Jack, don't make the same mistake I did. It didn't get me anywhere. It only poisoned my life and filled me with regret."
He stares intently into your glassy eyes, conflicted and lost.
"I'm tired of living in the past, but I can't escape from it," he finally says, with remorse.
"It's not easy to let go. If I knew how, I'd show you the way." You back away, wiping the unshed tears from your eyes. "There are many things I can't forget, either; demons I have to deal with at night. I see them; their faces haunt me, and I feel the pain of the horrible things they did to me. I know you do, too. They hurt you every night and it's terrifying. And I'm not going to lie to you, Jack; perhaps we'll never wipe those memories that are burned in our souls. Perhaps we can't change what we are, but this time we choose our wars. This time you can choose what to fight for."
"What to kill for, you mean," he spat, unconvinced. "I've heard enough speeches about higher causes, (Y/N). You're not the first one to do it."
"Think about why you're in the PLA, Jack."
"I'm here because there's no place for me out there. I don't belong to that world," he says with bitterness. "Even if I tried, I could never fit in."
"And why is that?"
He's silent, but you go on.
"You're a child of war like me, like everyone else here. Many lost their families, and for the most part we all did things we're not proud of. But what's done is done and we can't change it."
"You think I don't know that?!" he snaps and turns away from you, as if hurt by your words. "I'm reminded of it at every turn! This is the life I'm meant to live. It's not what I chose for myself... but it's all I've got. One war or another won't make a difference."
"That's where you're wrong."
"How?"
"You still don't get it, huh?" Laughing in disbelief, you shake your head. "From the way I see it, you have two options at hand: you can either spend your life lamenting what they did to you, or you can do something about it."
"And what will you have me do? Do I search for the Blue Fairy so she can turn me into a human again?" He stares at his clawed hand with wistfulness, clenching it into a fist. "It's too late for me."
"Maybe it is for us, but there is hope for others. Don't let innocent people get hurt. Don't let another little Jack suffer the same fate. I had no one to protect me, and neither did you. As we speak, the Patriots are planning out the next conflict and pulling the strings. Will we do nothing to stop them?"
Raiden slowly turns to you, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. But before he can even reply, you hear footsteps approaching fast.
Someone must have overheard your argument and has come to investigate what the commotion was about. You're not mistaken when a young soldier shows up, stumbling on his steps when he unexpectedly comes across you and Raiden.
"Ah! Sorry, I thought I heard screaming, so I thought I'd take a look. Is... everything okay in there, ma'am?"
He eyes Raiden nervously as the latter ignores him. Not surprising. Some at the base are still not used to the sight of a full cyborg and are scared of him.
Putting on a cheeky smile, you pat the boy on the shoulder and brush the matter aside, explaining there's nothing to worry about. He's a bit doubtful but turns around and leaves, whilst you take the chance to brush a hand over your hair and heave a sigh of weariness.
"Sorry I hit you." You step closer to Raiden, placing a hand on his cheek. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away neither tries to hide from you this time. He simply lets you inspect him, and your fingers hold his jaw and brush over his nose gently. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"I'm fine. A punch can hardly hurt now. Though, maybe I needed one." As you step away to give him space, his blue gaze fixes on you and he is smiling the tiniest bit— or as much as he can. "Thanks, by the way."
"Thanks for... punching you?" You are confused at his words, and regard him with a blank stare.
"Maybe, but don't let it become a habit" He rolls up the neck of his trench coat and walks away. "Good night, ma'am."
Bidding farewell, you cross your arms and can't help the smile that appears on your lips. Raiden is surely a piece of work, but he's not a bad man.
Not everything is lost for him.