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Maybe it was the stress of the situation. Maybe he was going insane. Otacon was having visions– one moment sitting in his office, working on REX and the next moment somewhere else, hazy and indistinct.
A figure was waiting for him– handsome and bare armed in a black leather catsuit, face hidden by a gasmask around which crimson curls fell.
He beckoned Otacon into his arms, and in each vision, Otacon obeyed. The figure raised his mask just far enough to kiss him.
Hunched over his computer, Hal swore he could feel a pair of arms around him from behind.
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