𝙎𝙉𝘼𝙆𝙀.
@recessivehero.bsky.social
9 followers 13 following 35 posts
𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯. An independent portrayal of Solid Snake. Writer 25+
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beyond the lampposts.

But as he pulled out his scope, he saw something else moving. Clad in black, only the sharp contrast of red hair giving her away in the darkness.
a ghost.

And it was the nature of others to act likewise.

He'd crawled his way under a cargo truck, the olive drab fatigues scratching against the concrete as he saw the hangar just a few hundred yards away.

It was under the cover of night, and the twinkling stars above provided the only light
@natasharomanoffbw.bsky.social

Solo infiltration, words that were meaningless once you've done it as much as Snake had.

Such things become second nature, and nature is never something you question. Just act according to.

It was his nature to hide and crawl, to move past others unnoticed like
one last page before closing the paper and setting it down. The last trails of smoke trailing up past his sunglasses as the cigarette just the butt now.

"Who are you?"
in the ashtray, and the final lit one of the pack dangled lit in his mouth as he flipped through the same newspaper he'd read through several times now. At least he more or less understood Turkish.

He knew she was standing there in front of him long before she stopped still.

He flipped through
@comeswithblades.bsky.social

Snake had been waiting at that cafe for two hours now, and his nerves were shot. He knew working independently to rid the world of WMD's wasn't going to be easy, but even his stint in the CIA had less downtime, and uncertainty.

A number of crumpled cigarettes sat
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Like for an interaction.
𝙇𝙖𝙗𝙪𝙗𝙪?

La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo???
𝙋𝙪𝙛𝙛. 𝙋𝙪𝙛𝙛.

Turkish smokes were cheap, Snake couldn't complain about that.

He was in civilian clothes, a thin linen shirt that clung loosely around a white tee. He'd been lounging around the same cafe for over an hour now, awaiting further
easy way.

So, he merely sat back, tilted his head against the chair, and watched as another smoke cloud left his cigarette and dissipated into the wind.

"Mhm...this tastes like 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙥."

He should've rolled his own.
intel from Otacon about when to meet their contact. The man who was to take them far away the capital and to a place where no government wanted him to be.

That was his life now. A global pariah. A terrorist to some. Philanthropy was not the easy choice to take, but Snake never did anything the
𝙋𝙪𝙛𝙛. 𝙋𝙪𝙛𝙛.

Turkish smokes were cheap, Snake couldn't complain about that.

He was in civilian clothes, a thin linen shirt that clung loosely around a white tee. He'd been lounging around the same cafe for over an hour now, awaiting further
𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.
"It's a good gun, maybe a little heavy for a rookie like you, though."
𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨.

Below are a collection of little one-off solo writings I've done to show different parts of Snake's psyche and life.

They're more for me than anyone else, but I thought it'd be nice to keep them organized and easily sharable.
𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.
𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵.