♕lightning s t r i k e s t w i c e.
raiden. soldier of judgement. cyborg ninja designed to destroy and kill efficiently. justice is his troubled cause.
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indie raiden RP account. please read this first.
“I understand,” she answered, tone pleasantly neutral to avoid provoking anxiety in their son. The boy had accrued a remarkably detailed mental archive of his mother’s emotions and their corresponding verbal indicators during his nine years of existence, until even subtle fluctuations in her voice could place him on alert. One of the few talents he hadn’tinherited from his father.
“Dad, Dad, what are you gonna make us for lunch?” Blissfully unperturbed, John tugged on one of his father’s hands with a little bounce in the direction of the kitchen, leaving the remaining hand free for Rose to claim.
“Looks like your son misses his father’s cooking as much as I do,” she laughed, slipping her hand into the beckoning vacancy between her husband’s fingers.
The thought of such serious discussion left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the perceived possibilities hadn't helped to alleviate his worries. But Raiden soon felt the pressure of his son's hand fall upon him, a steady grip on his fingers accompanied by the warmest of grins on his face. ...Maybe he should save it for later. And when Rose's laugh came shortly after--a charming sound he was sure he wouldn't grow tired off--that 'maybe' changed to a concrete 'should'.
Walking into the kitchen, John made his way to sit at the dining table, and the two adults were left to discuss things alone. Well, that was what Rose expected, and, unfortunately enough, what Raiden had ultimately decided against. But she'd notice it. Nothing that happened to her husband slipped by her.
Opening the fridge, Raiden moved to take out some vegetables before asking, "well, seeing as how I'm playing personal chef today, is there anything you want?" Oh, his display of joyful comfort was near perfect even under Rose's eyes. But she was trained in detecting things as thoroughly as he'd been trained to eliminate threats--preferably in a bloody mess. "How about you, Rose?"
((is it cool with you if non-rp blogs follow you? because i really love your blog and the way you roleplay! c:))
♔ Oh, sure!! I don’t mind at all if non-rp blogs follow me. This is essentially a writing blog, and if you like how I’m threading up my replies—by the way, I’m both equally flattered and thankful for that!—you can click that follow button with no complaints from my end.I can’t promise that I’ll follow back, but please do not take offense. I like to see only writing on my dash, though if you’re an MGS fan, I sure could make an exception. : )))
“Raiden, huh…?” A pause. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an alias… Someone of such importance shouldn’t be taking risks when it comes to addressing who they truly are, of course.” It was an assumption, but not an instance she minded. A smart decision, if her hypothesis was correct.
Maverick…—a familiar name, but not significantly well-known in her perspective Crimson brows stitched together, painted lips parting to question further, but the harsh sounds of violence that broke out within the vicinity of the building halted all thoughts of deciphering further, grey hues flickering with a mixture of both fear and confusion. What in the world was… Whatever it was, whomever it’d been, this area was no longer safe. The workers…—what would happen to the safety of the workers, damnit—! Grey irises darted back at the light-haired male, offering a quick nod in response. Wasting time wouldn’t be wise.
Fingers reached for the miniature hard-disk that rested on the table, tucking it away securely into her pocket. “It’s either the long flight of stairs down the fire exit, or an alternate plan you might have. We’re on the uppermost floor, but if this threat is as lethal as you claim… Arriving at their destination will be of no problem.”
Shrill cries erupted from the lower floors, pleas and prayers sung in the chords of anarchy. Raiden grimaced at the heart wrenching sound, but as he parted his lips to reassure--
"Save the ammo! They're up here!" Damn. Behind the two lied a cell of four men, guns raised and trained. Gritting his teeth, Raiden growled a heated "change of plans" before reaching out to grab her hand, his grip persistent and urgent before they were sent forward.
And forward, and forward, until-- Was that a window? Were they jumping out of the window? But this was hardly the first floor, and surely he didn't expect her to-- "Trust me on this one, and hang on!" Figures. Forcing her arms forward, Fey's arms found their way around his waist before the inevitable sound of shattering glass cracked the tension of silence. The singeing heat of bullets frantically followed down their quick descent, the sound of erupting gunshots hardly stopping even as Raiden's heels smacked into the concrete below.
It was a tremendous fall, the force trailing up the muscle in his legs before reaching Fey's body. A quaking impact. But they hardly any time to recover, and without second's reprieve, Raiden continued moving before rounding about a corner, the sound of rushing soldiers desperately searching their fleeting targets. Catching his breath, Raiden settled the girl back down, his harsh grip relaxing to a more gentle touch. "Hey, are you alright? Did you get hurt? The guys shot a whole lot back there-- You're a huge priority right now. You know that, right?"
“Don’t act so coy.” The Ripper grinned that skeletal Cheshire Cat grin.
The dreamscape always changed, its features and inhabitants merely props for him to play with. The only constant seemed to be the unearthly crimson glow of the evening sun. It always made his eyes look demonic, but he supposed that was fitting.
Tonight they were in a lonely grass field, the endless stretch of green interrupted by a single dirt road. A vaguely acrid scent pervaded the air. Gunpowder. Maybe blood.
Jack paced as he spoke, the dusty ground crunching under his weight. His gruesome form glinted in the dusky light, all spikes and bones.
“You know why,” he murmured. “I’m sure you’re happier pretending I’m some estranged alter-ego. Happier thinking you’ve got two distinct personalities living in your head. Content to believe you’re some stand-up guy when you’re at home.”
He paced up to the other man, close enough for him to smell the bloodstains speckling his body. “But I am you.”
The form was familiar yet different all the same; he wore his skin and wore his face, a sharp, cunning smile edging those lips. It did well to captivate, but Raiden knew better than to call this beast by any name. And why? Why was that? Because it was a monster. It sought for sweet escape, to tear those claws through thin flesh and to come crawling back out into the light of day. All it wanted was air to fill its lungs again. All it wanted was a chance.
But Raiden was in no rush to appease its desires.
"You aren't me," he seethed in response, voice faint as their distance shortened. Raiden couldn't give him an ounce of satisfaction, not while he still ruled over them both. "What I do is help others. It's never been about me, and it never will. I had my chance. Now, I'm here to give others the same thing." Oh, how sweet of him. Such a noble prince, the savior of humanity. Honestly, he should be crowed at this point, no? "But you?" A scoff nearly left his lips, and perhaps it had by the smallest margins. "No. Everything has always been about you. I'm not a monster. I'm-- I'm everything you're not. I made sure of it, and you should know that." But why such effort to suppress him? It was pointless.
“Victory is not something that you think. It’s something you know!” He spins his blade once more, turning his torso so that the bright red blade moves in a diagonal to cleave his opponent’s torso in two after performing a swift parry. “They all thought about their victories, wondering how. I know my victories. I feel them deeper than anything I’ve ever known.”
Reflecting back to his childhood, victory was everything in practice. The fighting style based around violence, around the murdering blade. Your only goal was violence towards victory—nothing less, nothing more. This is what drove his strength—his confidence in his knowledge. There aren’t many who battle that have this trait, and end up with a terrible fate of death.
The samurai knows such fates, and disregards them in full until death comes. Then, one is to accept it, for it is something that cannot change. He nearly died in those badlands—wasting away under the hot sun. Heart beating slower and slower.
The blade ignites with fire once again. Like the first time they fought.
An opponent who basked in the glories of invulnerability, defeat a concept so foreign he couldn't spare it much thought. Sam had sculpted himself into a fierce warrior, and his skill backed his will to fight.
Still, going against Raiden, a man whose body was so severely grafted, so heavily augmented , Samuel remained unnervingly impressive. But, in the end, he was only a loose end. "You're right." Crack! "You are different from the others." And Raiden couldn't let such unfinished business go.
Another wave of strikes and parries burned the distance between the two, atmosphere singed with heat. "They had a reason to fight, and after they lost, they stayed down." Unlike Sam, their purpose had reached its inevitable apex, their cause crumbling apart into nothing but unrealized possibilities. But their goal wasn't shared by Sam. Why was that? "But not you. Desperado's gone, you're still fighting, and I'm still here. This is all about revenge, huh? With all your victory bullshit, I'd say you never had to do this before. Feels different, doesn't it?" A shame, too-- Raiden had no intentions of letting them end on a different note, even if Sam were to sleep on it for the rest of his life.
Vamp only watched as the cyborg charged towards him. It would be the same as it was before - he’d avoid several of Raiden’s attacks, they’d fight for what seemed like forever, and then he’d fall back, presumably dead. As the distance closed between them, Vamp immediately sidestepped the attack, as he’d done all those times before.
What he hadn’t expected, of course, was that Raiden would actually hit him. But he came close to it, surprisingly enough. As he pulled away, Vamp flung several knives at the cyborg, hoping that they would strike him.
Illusive, quick on his feet and near untouchable; he was a man who continued to surprise, even from well beyond the grave, with each daring step. The dead hardly shook him, but Vamp wasn't dead.
Raiden kicked his leg forward, the handle of one of Vamp's knives slotting itself into the gap of his heels. And, without a second's reprieve, he tossed the blade back toward its owner, those serrated edges aiming to cut and shred skin. He shouldn't be here after Shadow Moses. Immediately, the cyborg moved forward to slam his shoulder right into the enemy, their bodies moving with the backward momentum. One step, two step, three step-- Both stopped only when Vamp's back met with the cold surface of alley walls, the force enough to draw an audible thump. Glaring up, Raiden hissed, "this is why you came back all this way?" The sword in his hand rested near the Vamp's hip, steel trailing skin. "For some rematch? This is your definition of unfinished business?"
Her cold, vacant eyes were constantly wavering off—exploring the scenery. Skies were cloaked heavily with cumulus clouds and wisps of teal green. The barren heavens reflected off of all of the metal and titanium laden flesh. She walked a few paces to the right and sliced through concrete with knife-like stiletto heels. The air was windless, but a chilled draft emanated from her presence.
His attention followed her without thought, that light blue tracking each and every movement she dared take. She was nothing but a wandering stranger, an identity whose morality remained shrouded in uncertainty. Clearly, his caution was to be expected. She must've understood that.
When the sound of her heels bled into the silence of the city, he eventually answered, "it's Raiden".
It was evident that Ada had no reason to leave, but seeing as she was in no rush, it shouldn't concern him, right? Mhm. He wished. "Wish I could say I heard of you before, Ada, but to be honest, the only thing I know is that you're giving me an impression. Only I don't even know if it's supposed to be bad or good." Pray it be the former; if the answer was anything else, their 'quaint' conversation would end on a horrible note. "And you're not doing anything to answer that question."
Silence. War—the very mention of a topic she despised halted all immediate thoughts regarding this male, grey hues visibly narrowing into a far more serious gaze, lips pressed, and jaw tightened. Perceptive nature had allowed her to sense the unbalanced aura that lingered in the air, almost hinting that some unknown situation awaited in the near future, though…war? Out of all things, something as lethal as war? Straight to the point, this man—there really was no reason beating behind the bush. Fingers lifted, tugging to straighten the collar of her dress shirt before she pivoted on her stiletto and walked over to the window, arms folding over her chest, hues setting upon this man’s translucent reflection upon the glass material.
“Don’t think time for other insignificant tasks surpasses something as serious as what it is you’re about to share with me—I’m listening. Though…—it’d be nice knowing who it is I’m talking to.”
She was right. Between the business of the common day and that of the prevention of war, there simply lied no argument; the reason why he was here outweighed everything else without difficulty. Still, to throw such overwhelming weight atop of her could almost label itself as cruel punishment; it was all so very sudden, and with the world growing painfully deaf to the cries of terrorism, such burdens would only grow. Fey, it would seem, would remain caught in the middle of an unstable world.
Brows drawn, the cyborg before her delivered a calm, "Raiden." With a turn of his head, he added, "I work for Maverick--a security group. Look, I'll explain if either of us had the time, but--"
Crash! A booming sound erupted through the building, the echoes of the collision rocking the ground in violent bursts. Dammit. Were they here already? But this was all so soon-- "Forget it," Raiden gritted out with a faint hiss, the expression on his face worn with the look of annoyance. "Are you coming? Because we have to go. Now. "
The fire was rising. This battle started to escalate as soon as the next block came into place. Samuel delivers a swift kick up into Raiden’s side, which lacks the power to really hurt, but enough to get him off balance. The next attack was a little fancy, but it still went with perfect execution—his arm crackles with energy as the blade ignites in a glorious display of pyrotechnics.
The heat is intense, and shifting constantly as Sam spins the blade in a hard two-turn rotation—once to knock the blade defending his opponent out of the way, and then twice to try and get in a quick slash to the torso.
“You better show me a good time, Blondie!”
His voice is filled with poison. He’s really going to try in this battle—and he will succeed. It’s too perfect for him to die here. End of the attack, the blade suddenly extinguishes, leaving the blade glowing with left overheat.
Failure was the fuel that set his spirit ablaze, the embers of his determination a frightening display of his desire for revenge. Samuel alone caused this, and he alone would be the one to end it.
You better show me a good time! He would. "I'm not the same man from before."
No. Anything but that. Raiden hated the past, and damned if he'd let anything from history repeat itself. With a harsh swing, he managed a biting, "you guys taught me that!" Another block, another strike.
"But mostly you," Raiden seethed viciously. "This whole way... Everything that's happened up to now was because of you. It's all the reason I need to end this." All of them beside his desire to destroy Sam. It was a selfish wish--that, he could not deny--one he'd dreamt about since he'd left him battered and broken in their first fight. The loss haunted him, teased him and beckoned; this rematch was unavoidable. "I've gotten rid of everyone before you," Raiden continued fiercely before crashing his sword down atop of Sam's own. The heat in their battle singed at the nerves. "What makes you think, this time around, things won't change? Still confident even knowing that?"
His feet carried him backwards as they approached him, a wordless exchange finding solace in the way their eyes met, the way their breaths refused to leave aching lungs. Here, there would be no room for speech; here, actions spoke louder than words ever could.
And the reason for this was quite simple: no human language could properly capture what it was their thoughts fabricated.
No language in existence had the suitable words.
"What do you want?" Raiden's expression had asked, his pale lips nearly moving to mimic a response. It gathered no voice, but the imagined thought of it was soft and cautious, a sound that was so painfully Raiden.
He never accepted happiness willingly. After all the tragedies he'd been forced to endure, something innocent felt foreign. Suspicious. There were always strings attached to things that looked too good to be true, and Raiden, overtime, had learned to avoid such offers.
Avoid them like plagues.
But that stripped him of so much, and after all his years of solitary torture, it appeared to be doing more harm than good.
Looking around, he'd surrounded himself in the comforts of nothing, in the pleasure of absence and in the warmth of isolation.
They must have been the first person that'd dared approach him in his small, little world. At least, the first in a while.
"I don't have time for this."
But Raiden's wrist was caught in their grasp, and his hesitant departure was halted by that mere action alone. "Make time."
With a simple pull, the man was drawn closer until the heat in their bodies brushed against the others skin. It was a gentle warmth that trailed against them, a subtle feeling that ebbed and flowed as naturally as anything ever had.
Raiden looked down to their hand, those quiet blues drowned in the haze of confusion.
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
He was brought closer until their chests touched, and Raiden's expression had, at once, become unreadable.
And silent had he continued to stay even as their lips touched, the warmth underneath their skin burning the cold below his own. His breathing halted by the smallest of seconds as they pressed closer, the absence of breath made up for in the beating of hearts.
Fingers trailed up his shirt, those touches running up the bones of his ribs.
"Mhm-"
His lungs found air again and he cautiously returned the favour.
The two urged on until Raiden's back met the wall, a silent thud interrupting the spell of heavy breaths and desperate kisses.
It was all but a small spark, a little flame that had grown higher and higher overtime. It'd erupted in full swing by the time Raiden had chosen to do anything about it, but now caught in their grasp, he'd been made a prisoner of their burning affection, of their touches that scorched and their lips that soothed.
So he'd stay the night if he'd had to; they wouldn't dare say no to him.
Because this was the feel of something human, and after years of talking with ghosts of his pasts and phantoms of what could have been, the breath of reality was nothing but welcomed.
He had nothing, a shell of a man who'd wrapped himself in illusions of happiness. But with the demons of his past following him, he supposes it would have never worked out for him anyway; happiness was a luxury meant for those who deserved it. He didn't.
With his back against cold steel, Raiden's eyes willed themselves to shut. Recovery was slow, and trapped in solitude with nothing but the hums of computers, he found time to think. So he did.
Opening his eyes once more, the reality he'd built himself collapsed into the phantoms of dreams. In his world, he was alone with not a soul to run to, but here, here, he had someone. Perhaps it was a monster he'd do anything to forget, but Raiden saw the man despite all his protests. He never got what he wanted, but Jack loved to give.
"You again," he said with distaste, body weak in semblance to that in reality. "I've been trying so hard to ignore you-- Looks like we can't let go. I wonder why that is." Despite the answer being so clear.
Muscles twitch, memory brings forth the correct movements—the subtle adjustments of the wrists, how he twists his body to the right as he closes his eyes. Feet sliding across the earth, moving him out of the way just in time for the blade to come by.
He slams his blade down upon his opponent’s, sending the needle-like tip downwards to the ground in a glorious explosion of sparks, coupled with the pure ring of two HF Blades coming into contact. A smile claims Sam’s features once more, and lets out a laugh, followed by a very familiar taunt.
“Would you like to practice first?”
He swings, sending the blade of his sword towards Raiden’s head. The swing is so slow that it has to be on purpose—he’s playing with his prey.
"Hmph!" Had he been an average man, Raiden may have retreated in blistering pain. The sudden jerk of his arms was astounding; Sam had strength that belittled Raiden's own, he who was built to eliminate whole armies. An average man gave one of science's most terrible creations a challenge he'd been void of for years. Impressive, Sam. Truly astounding.
Jetstream's opponent raised his chin to look at him, their eyes meeting in a flare of anger. Determination. Raiden gripped his blade tighter and worked to meet Sam's power with that of his own, swords grinding as they worked to dominate in their deadly dance. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
Crack! Another well executed block prevented an abrupt ending. "No. You wanted a fight, didn't you? I'm not the same guy from before. Only one of us is getting out of here, and this time, I'm going to make sure I finish the job. Any objections?" Tch-- Even had Minuano disagreed, Raiden wouldn't let him go.
“Of course not. You’re always welcome!” Sunny waved off his words, laughing a little. “We’re just preparing for the first set of flight tests. We’re checking for any minor issues we might have missed that would affect performance. So far everything looks like its running smoothly.”
Her brows lifted up slightly at his mention of birthdays. She really didn’t expect anything. His presence alone was enough. She appreciated the gesture, though. “You really didn’t have to, you know.” Sunny responded with a soft laugh. She couldn’t lie; she was a little curious. “Hm?” The blonde looked towards the security guard as well, brown eyes taking in his quaking form. She shook her head with another laugh before giving him an affirmative.
“Sure. Let’s go up to the office.” With that said, Sunny beckoned another engineer over, directing them to take over the laptop. It had started to beep, alerting the user of an error, and the ten year old quickly told the older man what to do. He looked flustered as Sunny turned back to Raiden. “Alright, just follow me!”
She began forward without looking back, her step light, though she walked with a faint air of authority which made her look somewhat like an older person in a child’s body. There was still, of course, that childish innocence to her which hadn’t been lost despite all of her intelligence. She quickly guided them inside and up to her office. The room was fairly clean despite the mess of papers and books on top of the computer desk. “No one will listen to us in here.”
"Hey, you're the boss." It was amazing what a handful of years could do to a child, but Sunny's case was exceptional. She'd always been brimming with intelligence, knowledge that far surpassed the average and the many; she was a genius who shocked and awed.
Tracing her footsteps with not a word, the true intentions of his visit had started to seize the focus of his thoughts. She deserved to know, really. Actually, maybe no one needed to know.
"You should probably open it now," his voice finally sounded once the door clicked shut, arms moving to offer her the small box. "I've kept you waiting long enough." Nestled inside the mountain of brightly colored tissue paper--"It's not overkill, Jack," Rose had argued to a dubious husband--was a dog leash. Of course, Bladewolf would never be caught dead wearing one, but it was only symbolism.
The box was urged toward her, but it was clear that Raiden's mind wasn't focused on this. Wasn't focused on anything. He was far off, somehow out of reach despite being so close... "Actually, Sunny, you think I can tell you something?" Ah, and there it goes. It couldn't have kept it bottled up for too long; it'd just eat him alive. "It's... Sorta been bothering me." His eyes flickered to the floor beneath them. "Has been for a month now-- You know, back with Desperado."
Sam wore confidence without any shame; it curved his lips into that familiar sharp smirk, moved his muscles to draw that reddened demon blade.
It was good that he believed in his abilities. "I won't hold back." It made it all the more fun to fight.
"This is it!" So, with their showdown in place, Raiden moved forward with monstrous speed before swinging his sword forward toward Sam's chest. What a foe. To think he survived lightning twice.
"Tsk. That's none of your business. Whether she is or not, kid's a kid, and if you think you're gonna lay a hand on them, you've got another thing coming."
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