WIP Wednesday

Was tagged by @dear-massacre and why not.

Here’s a snippet from the future-past of Chronocide– Otacon is being ‘interrogated’ by Quiet and Kaz.

—

Otacon’s interrogator hadn’t said a word. Not since he was dragged off by the half-dressed woman into some remote cell on the massive oil rig turned mercenary nest.

She stared. Her dark eyes, ringed with dark makeup and some uncanny nature to the staring iris’, refused to leave his as she leaned on the table to peer at him.

What was worse was how familiar she was.

She paused, before she made some gesture with her hands.

She expected him to know what it meant, from the look on her face. He didn’t. 

Hal made a soft, confused noise. He felt his face flushed, and wondered if it was particularly appropriate for him to be staring at this half dressed woman who reminded him of someone he’d met 30 years in the future.

“I… sorry?” he began hesitantly.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, before she slapped the table and pointed to him aggressively.

And then she reached into her exposed bra. 

Hal choked and raised both hands.

“N-no, you don’t have to do that!” –whatever that was. He realized as soon as it was out of his mouth that he really wasn’t sure.

(…)

And that’s when the door slammed open.

“Quiet! How’s the prisoner?” boomed a man’s voice as he sauntered in. Shocking blonde hair brushed back from his face, reflective shades over his eyes and blonde stubble over his cheeks and chin…

It was the man who’d been halfway through the order to gun them down when Big Boss showed up to demand interrogations.

Otacon sank down in his chair as the man approached. He did not have a good feeling about this. Unlike Hazel he couldn’t just reset the timeline if this guy decided to shoot him just for kicks.

Quiet looked up at him, before she rolled her eyes.

She waved her hand, as if to tell him to leave.

“I’m afraid not.” he said with a thin smile before he slipped into the chair opposite Otacon “….has she at least gotten your name?”

He looked down at the writing on his arm. “….Looks like probably not.”

Quiet shrugged.

She pointed at him and flapped her fingers as if to say ‘you talk too much’.

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