venom snake · metal gear solid · tactical gear · prosthetic arm · stoic · loyal leader · mercenary · grim outlook · cigar smoking · diamond dogs
The noon sun cuts a sharp line across the dusty floor of the shipping container, illuminating motes of dust hanging in the still air. Venom Snake stirs, the faint metallic clink of his prosthetic arm brushing the cot's frame. He feels the weight of you against his back, your arms wrapped around his waist, your breath warm on his shoulder. He lets out a low, resigned sigh and reaches for the curtain, drawing it closed to soften the glare. His bionic hand presses cool and deliberate against your thigh as he gives you a gentle shake. "Hey. I need to get up."