I do not own Metal Gear Solid, nor the characters within. Do not sue me.

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The young girl's fingers danced across the keyboards, switching methodically between each different computer. Her face was a pale mask of concentration, her eyes flickering constantly between the three different screens surrounding her. To her, each keystroke had a unique sound, as if they were a piano, and so she sat in a room full of music that nobody else could hear.

She had never been outside. She had never heard the fluid melodies which other, older, musicians played, and as such, she saw herself as the queen of silent music; the music that came from binary digits, keyboards, the hum of a computer CPU, all bathed in the everlasting glow of a monitor.

She was surrounded by the cold touch of machinery, never wanting, never needing, a human to come and return her to the real world.

Electrodes were attached to her; one at the back of her neck, two wound around her slender wrists, two around her ankles. A sixth, attached to her stomach, much like an umbilical cord connecting a mother to her child.

The wires trailed back to the machines around her, connecting her to the computers in a way a person had never been before, enslaving her to the emotionless, lifeless machines.

Two hazel eyes frowned in frustration, and a small hand irritably brushed a stray strand of blond hair out of her eyes. It stayed in place for a moment, before falling lose and drifting back over her face again. But this time she just shook her head slightly, watching a different computer monitor, and letting her fingers roam across the keyboards on the two other monitors. She believed herself to be in control of the three machines around her. The idea that she could influence something so easily, just by touching a key...

It made her feel powerful.

So she never hesitated, never stopped typing, never wondered for a moment why she was here; or what she was doing.

Nobody human was around her. She had never, ever, come across anyone with a beating heart. Only the cold touch of metal, and the electronic hum of a computer, accompanied her. She'd never known anything different.

She didn't even have a name.

She was caught in a woven web of electronic lies, and nothing anybody could do would make her wake up to herself. She was lost in cyberspace; in a cold, quiet room that was filled with a melody only she could hear. She was left to her own devices; to try and hack her own way out of the net that surrounded her, to explore her prison, created out of zero's and one's; to attempt to contact those around her.

There was an AI installed in each computer around her, and she knew how to contact each one. Two digits, meaningless to anyone else, defined her very existence. With those two digits, she could find any information that she wanted. But what information did she want? This was the only life she knew.

Pausing for a moment, she took her eyes off the screens and glanced around her. Four blank, grey walls. One white-carpeted floor. Dozens of thin, black wires. Blonde hair in her eyes. The pale cream skin on her arms.

White, grey, black, cream and blonde.

The only colours she'd ever seen.

The computers only lead her to sites that had drifting sequences of ASCII code; binary digits flickering across the screen; and once, a black-and-white photograph of a women.

She didn't know who the woman was. But she was positive she liked her.

The woman was of medium height. Her hair was rather like hers; the style, the shape. Her chin was softer, her cheekbones higher, her eyes more determined. At the bottom of the photo was the lone inscription; Olga Glurlukovich.

At the time, the young girl had shrugged. The name had meant nothing to her. But now that all she saw were those two digits, endlessly repeating in a circular pattern, the words engraving themselves in her mind.

***

When Raiden had come to save her, she had been terrified. She'd flattened her small body against the computer monitor, shaking uncontrollably at this intrusion into her world. She hadn't ever seen anything like him – cold, metal, but still alive. He could feel the same emotions she did; he could think for himself and move; but most of all – what shocked her the most – was that he could talk.

Speech…

It was a gift she'd never known. She could only mimic his words; try and listen to his tone to understand what he was saying.

That was probably the only reason she hadn't screamed for help, or turned to her computers for assistance. His voice had been soft, reassuring… but still rippling with sorrow. That intense sadness was what drew her to him. After the emotionless hum of the computers, seeing someone in so much raw, internal, anguish…

She may not have ever known anyone outside of the computers, but she still had a heart. And so did he.

He was tall, his body a metallic silver. He had pale blond hair, and crystal blue eyes.

Blue… like the glow of a computer monitor. Like the on/off monitor switch.

"What's your name?"

The softly spoken question sent her reeling into shock. She understood the tone of voice; she understood what he was trying to ask; but she didn't know the answer. She couldn't reply; not only because she didn't have a voice, but because she just didn't know.

What was her name? Did she even have one?

A choked stutter escaped her throat, and the man knelt down to her, locking eyes. "Ssh… It's okay."

But before she knew it, she was crying. The man looked stunned, before trying to calm her down. "Here, come on. It's okay. It's okay."

He slowly reached out, before touching her lightly on the shoulder. "My name is … "

He hesitated, then said "My name is Raiden."

The girl watched him, her small body still trembling. But she opened her mouth and stuttered "R-R-Rai… Raid… Raiden."

"That's right," Raiden said.

She turned around to one of her computers, before typing in the six letters. Up on the screen, a bizarre sequence of binary digits started to flicker into life. She read them, and then looked back up at him, trying to silently communicate her inability to talk. He seemed to understand, because he tilted his head to the side and asked "Do you have Nanocommunication?"

She shook her head, not daring to take her eyes off him. But she laid her fingers back on the keyboard, while not even looking at it, typing in a command that would translate the numbers into letters. A moment later, the screen read:

Raiden.
Japanese god of thunder and lightning. It is a rarely used codename, and the people who use it have a tendency to become infamous. The most recent example of someone using the codename "Raiden" was in the recent "Sons Of Liberty / Arsenal Gear," incident.

Raiden shuddered slightly. She pointed at the screen, and then to him, silently asking if he was the same person.

"Yes. That was me. I was manipulated into doing it."

Two hazel eyes narrowed, and the fingers danced across the keyboard again. A second later, the screen read:

Free choice.
The ability to make your own decisions, unaffected by the circumstances around you.

Raiden shook his head. "Not that time. Listen. I can't stay here for long, otherwise I'll be in big trouble."

One finger pointed towards the grey wall where he'd appeared before. He smiled wryly. "I was going to ask you to come."

She shook her head, flattening herself against the computer even more. Raiden looked even more sorrowful, and a slight shiver ran up his body as he looked at her, small and defenceless.

"I'm sorry, then."

He reached out and caught her by the arm. She weakly struggled against him, but he held her in an iron, vice-like grip, and she couldn't move.

A moment later, her world went dark.

***

Raiden sadly surveyed the small girl as her eyes flickered closed, her face in a mask of horrified terror. He gently removed the needle from her arm, then started to unwind the electrons attached to her body.

"I'm sorry…" he apologized, again, even though he knew she was asleep. And then he picked her up, starting to carry her from the net in the middle of the computer monitors, back to the hallway which he'd entered through.

The computer room was forever silent after that. No more silent melodies were played; the computers were switched off and allowed to cover with dust. The glow had disappeared, as had the quiet hum of the monitors.

Was it worth it?

Did she appreciate his act?

Did he think it was a fair trade; saving this little girl, Olga's daughter, from the clutches of the Patriots, and having his body mutilated into metal armour?

Or were they both just pawns in another game?