Blue Butterflies

by Solid Scorpion

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Dark, Human
Length: 5130

He was child soldier from the Phantom - a youth robbed of his innocence - a tool of war that fought without a cause. Then there was the flock of blue butterflies, in a world full of talking diminutive horses, and the biggest enemy of all, the Hate.

He was a tool in the hands of the sinful, they turned him into a demon of the Phantom, robbed him of his innocence, made him betray his own conscience. Life was hell until one day he was on his way with a mission gone wrong. He woke up, surrounded by a flock of blue butterflies, in a world full of talking diminutive horses, with their impending annihilation, and the biggest enemy of all - the Hate.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-13 17:40:03 UTC

Prologue: What Came Before

Intro

Now, I know some of you must be thinking: "Why is this author writing an intro for a fanfic? Shouldn't he just go straight ahead to the story and just let us read it?"

Well, you are not alone. I thought that I should just shut up now and let you read the damn story, and I know some of you probably would just skip this and directly go with the prologue. The thing is, I've been working on this story for quite some time, putting the pieces together and coming up with ideas. I've received a fair amount of positive comments from my friends (many of them are bronies/pegasisters, of course). One of them told me something which got me thinking, "You know, these are some pretty dense stuff. You need something to get the readers prepared, and you know what will solve this problem? An introduction!"

As I need to tell you first, this is a crossover with the Metal Gear saga, a popular video game series created by a certain genius guy named Hideo Kojima. The original idea of this fic was sparked one day when I decided to come up with some fair answers like "What really is The Boss's last will?" (Metal Gear fans, I'm sure you heard in MGS4 when Big Boss finally "knew" what "The Boss's Last Will" sort of meant, but his answer was fairly...to me at least, ambiguous and vague) I've been scraping on the edge for an actual answer by interpreting some of The Boss's famous quotes, but I finally got the hang of it after mlp came in. Somehow, they seemed to fit. As The Boss said, "A soldier's skills aren't meant to be used to hurt friends." and "people can only be enemies in relative terms." In the end, both mlp and "The Boss's Last Will" seemed to depict this pleasant utopia where people could just simply be friends with each other and be happy, which the "Metal Gear" Universe, and perhaps even OUR world, lacks.

You may choose how you want to read this fic, either reading it for fun, or taking it seriously, it's up to you. But bear this in mind, this story has A LOT of potentially disturbing and uncomfortable themes that meant serious business (not that kind of "disturbing", you know what I mean hehe, keep in mind this story did not have "sex" labeled onto it). I often find myself on the brink of rating this story M, simply because I am trying to be fairly realistic, or at least as realistic as possible. Take gore for an example, it won't be the "organ splattering, unrealistic gore" that goes on for an agonizingly long time you see in a typical M rated gorefic (when I tried reading some of these, apart from stopping myself from throwing up, I was like "gosh, can't you just die already?"), but it is still fairly harsh for a T rated fic. Of course, there will be many other serious and perhaps taboo themes that correlates to real life, like Vengeance, Greed, self-esteem, Racism, traumas, Extremism, Terrorism, bullying, Sexism, Cruelty, etc. Some of the themes weren't really that familiar to me, so I actually had to do some research on them; yes, I actually researched for the sake of a fanfic, mainly it had something to do either politics, religion, or history (in a way, I committed political suicide by writing this fic). However, above all other real life related issues, the biggest part of the theme is HATE, which particularly include those brony/pegasister haters. But the ones I'm specifically targeting are the irrational haters (those who actually find RATIONAL reasons that make sense to dislike mlp should be respected, not to mention they usually don't attack the people who like the show, I personally call them "dislikers", which are cool for me), they attack bronies/pegasisters like us via the internet, they bully us verbally (perhaps even physically) in school/real life, and do all sorts of things to spread the hatred. I found a lot of bronies/pegasisters are feeling scared, even ashamed, to admit that they like mlp. The fact is, it's nothing to be ashamed of, it's in fact something you should be proud of. You chose a pleasant belief of Love and Friendship over a thousand other harmful influences that promotes Extremism and Terrorism.

Most of these taboo themes are expressed in some of the Metal Gear games and many other works, but I realized that when you redesign some parts with ponies involved, the effect will be amplified to a virtually unimaginable degree. In short, this fic is some pretty dense stuff, so dense that I find it hard to even think about, and let alone write about. I suggest you to read this fic slowly, otherwise you would either miss some of the important real life correlations, or find yourself having a hard time.

You will certainly find some scenarios that resembled certain parts from mlp or Metal Gear. It's the "pony amplify" effect in action, you will see how the effect intensifies when I add or substitute pony related stuff into the origin. Also, by patching up the scenarios into this "giant melting pot", it will give you an unique experience. Just a reminder, I gave origin credits for their sake, so hopefully I won't be sued for plagiarism.

This fic would hopefully give most of you bronies/pegasisters, or people who believe in the peaceful, the will to fight the Hate. At the same time, I hope this could be a hard slap in the haters' face.

Without further blabbering, several warnings ahead: This fic contains strong language, realistic/semi-realistic violence, gore, potentially uncomfortable themes, and anti-brony/pegasister-hater-ism. Of course, look out for paradoxes/clashes with the origin, I altered some parts so they could go smoothly together, mainly because of the villains and new things, I had to increase those villains' intelligence quotient. So don't expect Chrysalis to look out of a window singing while Shining Armor and Cadance do the magic thingy which sends her flying into the air like Team Rocket, or Sombra going "crystal yum crystal crystal crystal" and then immediately gets destroyed.

This fic is dedicated to all bronies and pegasisters, who held onto Love and Friendship - in face of the Hate; and all the innocent souls and dreams destroyed by the sinful.

Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer

MLP:FiM and its original characters and scenarios are properties of Hasbro.

The Metal Gear Series and its original characters and scenarios are properties of Konami.

Credits for them, those damn awesome fellows.

Intro

Prologue: What Came Before

"Feet first into hell, and don't you forget it."

"Snake, you're calling me?"

I whispered as Snake muttered and grumbled alien gibberish. The old man pointed toward the oxygen mask he was wearing as he gasped for air, "Ah ah ah..." was all I could hear. Snake's face turned blue. The oxygen mask slipped off, and I quickly re-positioned the mask before Snake could turn into a darker shade of purple. Snake breathed deep and sighed in relief as he finally relaxed, and the color returned to his face.

Only 4 months since the Guns of the Patriots, and Snake was already deteriorating at an alarming rate. I felt numb, but tears were already welling up my eyes, obstructing my vision.

Only one more purpose left for him, to extinguish his father's - his brothers' sins with his death, and with it, ending the ever growing fear of his status as a biological weapon of mass destruction - FoxDie.

This, was his final mission.

The sun lazily shone a weak warming aura of light as dusk slowly approached.

The pre-mission jitters were gone, now replaced with a cold calm. There was a job to do, and I reluctantly get to work. I hauled myself up into the helicopter, another mission, just like before.

I am Cyrus, or I suppose that it is my name. In fact, I don't even have a name. This name was given to me by the Central Office of Intelligence after the draft, for the "crimes" my father committed. I slowly made my way through the rankings, and 3 years ago, I inherited a title which always made me wanted to laugh and scream at the same time, The Blue Butterfly. I stopped using that title so much 3 years ago.

I couldn't understand why they would grant any cold-blooded soldier such title, or create it in the first place, according to some trivial files in the resource bank the title was apparently in tribute of a metal gear prototype that miraculously drowned itself decades ago back in the 1970's, along with "The Boss".

She may had been vanquished twice, once by her most beloved disciple - who became the man known as Big Boss, and once for the sake of preventing all out nuclear war - revived as the metal gear known as Peace Walker, but her unfortunate disciple was even luckier - forced into a 9 year coma, roasted alive, and the FoxDie...

I snapped on the new experimental Solid Eye, the tiny black gadget chirped red into life as it found and rooted itself into its slot, buzzing an annoying hum as it established its link with the small codec COM device punched into my ear bones. I rechecked my gears, the trusty M4 custom carbine rifle, Mk.II tranq pistol, the classic combat knife, and finally, the two wicked high frequency blades, giving them each a securing pat just as the chopper slowly ascended.

NORAD detected unusual radiation activities somewhere in the North East Pacific atmosphere; they suspected nukes, and wanted me to go investigate and gather some Intel on the layout for signs of potential black sites. My given restrictive orders were to "not kill, or harm any local inhabitants."

This was one of the few things the COI was good at, "assuring" fellow citizens that they have "zero tolerance for collateral damage", when in reality they didn't give a damn. Another thing good old COI does best, apart from ensuring people in the know keep their mouths shut - or else pack them off some place where there's no one to listen, was giving out stupid, ridiculous, pointless missions when they couldn't come up with enough materials to impress the public. Especially since the war economy structure got totally screwed up after the fall of Sons of the Patriots. With SOP out of the picture, and the world back into tearing itself apart, they figured that they needed something to keep their propaganda machines humming along, and that was probably where this "mission" came in.

No.7 Gage and No.9 Felicia - the only other surviving "Phantom Children" besides me, were no where to be seen, so I figured that it was gonna be solo, simple as that.

I looked out from the open hatch as the helicopter took off, into the horizon as the land disappeared - replaced by the ocean. The wind was cool and swift, the bandanna flowed perfectly with it. For a moment The Blue Butterfly crossed my mind - the title, and the ridiculousness. The title, given to me after countless bloodshed, ironically meant for Love.

"I hereby present this title, The Blue Butterfly, the symbol of our peaceful heart of Love, to a demon, a child soldier, a lost soul."

I pictured The Chief Secretary Officer spitting those words out like all the other daily lies he'd given out with his pals in the COI to the public while sitting in their cushy little offices smoking cigars; it boded well. I peeked one last look towards the setting sun, and withdrew myself as the hatch closed.

This is a world gone wrong, but sometimes, I wished I could make it right...

Someday.

Someday...

They were quiet for much of the trip back to the head quarters, after the final wrap-up for the wedding.

Otacon remembered the dire warnings about FoxDie, but all Snake merely said was, "There's still work to be done."

He wondered about him - he seemed so withdrawn, almost ill. But when the gold broke through the clouds and patches of orange once again appeared on the sky, he saw the old gleam back in his dark eyes.

They returned to the base. The Nomad was barely recognizable; though back to its impeccable fashion, it was flooded with marines. Mei Ling was almost apologetic when she greeted them.

"Meryl wants to see you, Snake," she said, "and be reassured, Campbell knows of your return and has provided you with an insurance conduct. But the COI is pretty adamant that you shouldn't remain here long."

Snake and Otacon exchanged a look. They had been fighting the Hate for a while, ever since the first time they met in Shadow Moses. They fought on with no complaints at all. Indeed, they seemed to welcome it.

With Meryl, Snake was sure that they will establish a firm base, with a government's tacit agreement and unofficial protection. The work had already started in eliminating any last trace of Metal Gear related terrorism in the states; and thanks to Cyrus and all the other "Phantom Children" - now leaderless, following the death of Abu Shabab after the 2012 operation in Syria, the tide changed. Now that the COI had no use of them anymore; it's time to cut off.

As for the rest of Al'-Shahul, their influence in the Middle East broke. But Snake knew that the volcano was dormant, not extinct. His troubled thoughts turned to the rest of the Earth. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the world would be back into the vicious cycle - tearing itself into pieces once again.

Hate is everywhere - could there possibly be someplace where Hate is not the driving force of nature? Haven? Where is the Haven? Home?

Home! Snake's mind raced through a thousand "home," what could he call home? America? Alaska? His work? But he had no real home, and he knew in heart that FoxDie had marked the end of a page in his life. He had done what he could, and he had achieved peace - for the time being - bringing the war economy into a recession. Couldn't he afford to spend a little time on himself? His days were growing dangerously short, he knew, but there might be still enough of them for one last harvest. If he dared to take the risk.

"So, any plans?" Otacon said.

He sighed, "Go back to Alaska, my work here is done. You?"

"Well, don't have a plan here, stick with whatever you got."

"I need to have time for to think for myself, at last."

"And of yourself perhaps."

"Perhaps that too," Snake said, "but the fight is endless, the Hate is always there."

"Isn't that a part of life?"

He smiled, "Perhaps, and perhaps this is not my fight anymore."

"That doesn't sound like you," Otacon said, "one day, you will tell me what really happened in the cemetery."

"One day."

"How about now?"

Snake looked at him, "I will tell you this. I realized that the progress of mankind toward the utopia of Love and Friendship will always be a journey - there will never be an end. Just like life, the end is always the interruption of that journey. There's no conclusion. There's always unfinished business."

"Then live what you can, while you can."

Small drops of tears were already rolling down my face, I didn't care, but apparently Snake did. Barely able to raise his right hand, he held up an index finger and swayed it left and right.

A fairly universal gesture, don't.

He then sluggishly extended his arm forward towards mine, as if offering a handshake. Puzzled, I held out mine as well. In a split second he grasped my extended arm with surprising strength, and stared right into my face.

"A gift from the shadows." he said, his voice oddly muffled through the oxygen mask.

I looked at him with wide eyes, Poor crazy old man...

Snake then reached for his bandanna, the long strip of leather, and lifted it like it was made of lead. For one moment puzzle and fear overtook my entire body, but I did want to pay attention to my mentor; he's always full of surprises. Grunting in exertion, he placed the lead bandanna on my hand, and it was once again teal leather. He held onto his signature accessory with both hands, and grinned; his eyes gleaming a ghostly glow.

"Eye..." he rasped through the oxygen mask, "have...you..."

His grip loosened, and his hands slipped away from mine; the cardiograph beeped blank. I just crouched there, just like that, stupid, dumbstruck.

He's gone.

The helicopter suddenly bumped and wobbled, as if it had been struck by a missile. The seat belt tugged at my torso, preventing me from flying across the limited space of the helicopter's interior cabin.

It was already near midnight, and I didn't even have the slightest idea of where the heck was I. I looked to my left at the soldier on the pilot seat; my seat seemed to be growing increasingly warm and sweaty.

"What the hell is going on?" I said, "Something's hot?"

"Negative," the pilot replied in his ever cold and calm naval voice,"We are approaching close to target area, approximately in a good few minutes."

I disregarded the bump as an unfortunate sudden turbulence, until the radar system flashed several times before it died and winked out, sparks exploded out of the dead device as the glass shattered. The bird wobbled some more, a bit too violently this time, I thought I heard the hull creak in agony. The pilot's face set like granite.

"This is Raven 016, radar system malfunctioned, awaiting permission to abort mission!"

"Copy that, suspend investigation, return to base ASAP..." a lagging voice spilled out from the COM.

The pilot turned; the steer didn't budge. He tried again, pulling it with all his might, but the obstinate stick held.

"Shit, this bird ain't flying well," he said, "May-day! May-day!This is Raven 016, chopper steer system malfunction, could use some help from nearby ports, current apogee negative twenty degrees, estimated time of entry into danger zone one three five zero Zulu!"

COM Static.

"I repeat! May-day! May-day! This is Raven 016, chopper system master warning, requesting backup from nearby ports!"

COM Static...

Communications lost, we're toast. The middle-aged pilot cursed one more time, and took off his mikes.

"Son, I know your boss, he's one damn tough ass, an expensive one as well, and I expect you to be the same." He grunted without turning his head, "I want you to get the hell out of this damn bird before she starts going down, I'll do my best to keep the tub floating, I want you to grab that chute and jump off this chopper right now, do you understand?!"

"Are you out of your mind?!" I screamed through the increasing cacophony of the helicopter's blades, "This chopper is bound to go nuts! And there's no fucking way I'm leaving you behind, I had enough comrades lost for a life time, and I don't even know who the hell are you!"

"This is not the fucking time to argue about this kind of crap!" He yelled back, "Too bad, you're gonna have to count me in, ok?!"

I opened my mouth, loaded with curses and objections, but it closed into a mute. We don't abandon our own.

Until we have to.

"No time for that, son! Name's John, glad to know you kid, now get the fuck out of here!"

John...The name struck my innards like an invisible sledgehammer. I shook my head, held in any possible emotions that would lead to an emotional outburst, and activated the Solid Eye, the small device chirped twice into life and all sorts of squiggly lines of diagnostics ran over the display as it scanned its surroundings. Giving one last look toward the pilot, I noticed his eyes, a pair of eyes that seemed somewhat familiar, as if the eyes of a legendary hero, and for a moment, the heart warming gaze of...

"Jump!" the pilot howled, "Get up! Go, go, go!"

Snake's funeral was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

The white pedals of the dying flowers slowly brisked through my body, the soothing, depressing feeling of death.

"-and may the legendary hero of the modern time rest in peace..." the eulogist concluded.

Snake was gone, the thought wouldn't leave my mind alone, the mischievous feeling of sorrow just wouldn't let me go. I felt a sudden chill, as if someone just squeezed me squarely on the shoulder. Alerted, I spun, and saw a half transparent figure of a hooded man floating.

Best week ever, Snake's dead, and some hallucinations to wrap it up.

"Sad...So sad..." A voice hissed from the floating ghost figure.

My attempts of shrugging it off as a mere figment of my imagination were faltering, I felt myself slowly descending into madness. I thought the hallucinations - one of the many normal side effects of the surgery, were already gone once and for all.

"A host of sorrows..." The voice faltered, and the hooded man floated slowly into the sky and evaporated in thin air.

I cleared my eyes, blinking a good dozen times and inhaling some deep breaths.

It can't possibly get any worse than this, I thought.

"You ok Cyrus?" Otacon asked, his tone full of the usual concern.

"I'm fine..."

Otacon turned, back facing the legandary hero, and slowly started his way back. I followed, before a sudden urge to bid one last farewell yanked me around. Far away now, as it seemed, I looked for one last time at Snake, lying in eternity in the ghost of his past. I raised my hand into a crisp salute, the very same teary salute from a moment in the past.

Farewell, mentor...

The helicopter violently jerked with another sudden thrust before I could unbuckle anything. The bullet-proof glass of the Raven's front window, as tough as it seemed, smashed and shattered into countless shards for no apparent reason. Our bodies flailed around in the seats, gravity was no longer existing.

For a millisecond I caught a quick glimpse of the pilot, he was out cold, and bleeding heavily from a large gaping wound on his forehead. With my augmented reflex everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the shattering glass shards, the chirping sirens of the master warning, the capsules of pentazemin slipping from my chest pocket floating in zero gee. Then the unmistakable crack from the pilot's neck indicated him KIA.

The seat belt creaked and gave away, and I was sucked out of the failing bird and into the open space. The night sky flashed in rapid successions before my eyes as they followed the burning helicopter engulfed in bright crimson flames.

For a while panic seemed to seize my entire body. Then my training kicked in, and my mind turned cold and metallic. I forced my arms and legs open; the spread-eagle position controlled my tumble and slowed my velocity. But I was still coming in at a terminal velocity, which for a fully armed commando - I quickly calculated - 60 meters per second.

Wind gushed against my face as I struggled to keep my vision open and alert; the bandanna flickered under the strong wind. The last of clouds cleared, then I was heading straight into the ocean as it laid before my eyes. 800 meters.

Shit.

I reached for my parachute, tugged, nothing. Stuck. 600 meters. I labored one last curse, tugged again, pulled harder, the strip fell off. 400 meters. The murky water of the ocean looked solid hard. 300 meters. I didn't care, either die from the impact or from the slow process of drowning with every inch of my body fractured, zero chance of survival. 200 meters. Save me a spot, Snake. 100 meters. Flashes of white lightning sparkled on my suit, last of the hallucinations, enjoy it while I still can. 50 meters. The ripples and the distant waves. 20 meters. Closed my eyes. 0 meters...nothing. Opened my eyes, a stream of whiteness took over and abruptly swallowed my vision. For a good few seconds I was falling through endless white abyss, irritating feeling, no pain yet. Then, as the whiteness slowly faded, no longer heading toward the ocean, but toward a vast forest, dangerously but not that close to the canopy.

It was time for a "HALO" - to the extreme. A quick thought, reached for a high frequency blade, slashed a quick swipe behind, the bag split open, I saw something. Piece of shit hopefully worked.

I hate parachuting.

Sunny cried real hard today, I had no idea that she was that attached to Snake; I thought she was already fed up with Snake rejecting her eggs. Sure, she was a terrible cook, every encounter with her holding a frying pan gave me a sense of doom, like staring Death in the face. But I had to bring myself into some sympathy, not to mention her background...In almost an instant the sympathy was gone as I dropped the thought.

Do not let the emotions overtake; calm, cold, steel... I re-emphasized the mental note to myself one more time.

Back at the living quarters, I sank down on my bunk. Snake, I knew I gotten attached to him a bit. However, I know grieving shouldn't be on my To-Do list. But there was one detail that I simply couldn't drop, Snake doing all that weird hocus-pocus with that bandanna of his. I didn't get it at all.

Taking out Snake's bandanna, I scrutinized the thick long strip of teal leather. I found hardly anything special in particular about this old thing, Otacon always attempted to brainwash me with the legendary tales, but I had the intelligence to believe with certainty that there's no way a bandanna of any kind could be possessed by spirits.

Holding off an urge to laugh at the tales of nonsense and perhaps let out the uproar, I clamped my fist around the bandanna, I fell for Otacon's brainwashing tales after all.

I finished wrapping the strip of leather onto my forehead with a securing knot, and without warning unbearable pulses of invisible flames pumped in and throughout my entire body.

"Kept you waiting, huh?" A familiar voice spoke inside my head.

I heard things, burning, as the familiar sensation of pain consumed my body. I saw flashes of images running through my eyes, too fast to be recognized. Then everything just stopped.

I was relieved by the strong jerk on my shoulders, looked down, 10 feet away from the blanket of vicious looking thorns. Truly a mission gone wrong, the suit was designed to take some moderate damage, but at this speed, it looked painful...

I took a deep breath, exhaled deeply as I could, grabbed my knees, and tucked into a ball, bracing myself for impact.

The branches brushed against my exoskeleton, making unpleasant crunches as they snapped. Very painful... I felt a thousand tiny knives stabbing me - pain unlike any I'd experienced since the surgery.

Hold on... Hold on...

The parachute yanked upwards once more, upon reflex I dislodged the parachute with one swing of my blade - still in my hand - to prevent myself from getting stuck on the trees and becoming hang-man. One of the most stupid decisions I could ever make.

Feet first into hell, and don't you forget it.

I heard it a thousand times from the para-troop drill sergeant. Land on the feet.

Hurtling toward the ground at terrifying velocity, high frequency blade already sheathed, a good few yards from the surface, braced and - my legs would have fractured if I held on to it, they gave away almost spontaneously with the impact. My suit crumbled as it desperately attempted to absorb the damage. I tumbled as my body withstood a series of rapid-fire impacts. It felt like taking a full clip of machine gun fire at point-blank range. Seconds later I slammed to a bone-crunching halt - the closest thing I could get to the land-drop-and-roll sequence of a normal landing.

My Solid Eye malfunctioned. I could no longer see or hear anything. I stayed in that limbo state and struggled to stay conscious and alert. Moments later, the Solid Eye's display was filled with stars. I realized that the Solid Eye wasn't malfunctioning...I was.

My vision cleared, and I slowly rolled onto my hands and knees. My body was battered and bruised, burning with pain. But the pain was good - it helped to keep me alert.

With effort, I struggled to my feet. I was dizzy but remained upright; I checked my equipment, relieved that they were still strapped tightly on me as I gave them each a re-assuring pat. I turned on the Radio COM.

"Come in, HQ," I coughed, a coppery taste lingered in my mouth, "This is Phant. No.13 Cyrus, position unknown, could use some Intel on current location."

First nothing, then, I swore I heard something, it was lagging and blurry, but there was something. A voice, a female voice, better than nothing, maybe the COI folks substituted the operator - "good..nigh...Spike."

That was one option down, but I still had some left, I went onto the next best options.

/COM/ int_codec awaiting input/

Input_frequency = "178.4"

Redirecting...

Contact_name = "Felicia"

Pending...

Pending...

Pending...

Contact request "Felicia" timed out.

/COM/ int_codec awaiting input/

Input frequency = "173.8"

Redirecting...

Contact_name = "Gage"

Pending...

Pending...

Pending...

Contact request "Gage" timed out.

/COM/ in_codec awaiting input/

Input_frequency = "141.12"

Redirecting...

Contact_name = "Otaku_Convention"

Pending...

Pending...

Pending...

Contact request "Otaku_Convention" timed out.

/COM/ in_codec awaiting input/

_

Lobbing one last curse, I dismissed the codec COM software. I slowly stumbled my way through the forest, apart from the annoying crickets the whole forest was dead and silent - too silent. Something moved in the bushes, and the M4 was already off my hip and pointing dead center at the general direction of the disturbance. The heart was racing, the adrenaline pumping; I felt like I was on fire. The bush stopped crunching, perhaps it hadn't budged at all, more hallucinations.

I stopped as the irresistible urge to lower my head and catch my breath forced me down by a tree, totally exhausted.

Mission failed, MIA...

But I didn't give a damn, I could finally get some rest, rest all I want, without all that bullshit...