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It was starting.
It was starting, and all the soldier could do was try to block out the pain.
You’d think, after hardening years of war, torture, and turmoil, David would have been completely numb to this sort of thing. Whipping, suffocation, and multiple cases of electrocution could do that for you. In fact, it was almost as if Snake expected torture on the average mission – that is, the average mission in which he’d get caught. It brought a strangely familiar feeling along with it, like the coppery taste of blood. But this wasn't a mission – it wasn't a “normal method” - and it certainly was something that, every time it happened, drove Dave absolutely mad.
Hal was watching Gurren Lagann in the living room, again.
Yes, the living room – not on his multiple laptops or desktop. The opening chords played as Dave heard that familiar shifting of limbs – Hal stood up in excitement, yet in a crouched position, looking as if he was about to jump into the TV. Dave wished he could push him.
It had all started when Snake had come to the conclusion that he couldn't let the engineer work in his cramped side room anymore – it was the only room in the old, run down rent-a-home that had an easily breakable window. It was also, coincidentally, the easiest room to break into, seeing as it was fixture that jut out from the exterior with a half collapsed roof. Dave thought the suggestion of moving Hal’s work place would brighten the normally analytic man up – at least, getting him out of that literal closet, would. But Hal had vehemently refused, at first. It wasn't easy to get him out of there – Dave practically had to sweet talk him into moving his nest of cables and keyboards to the living room area. After a while, though, Hal got used to it – said he “always worked behind a closed door.”
“I guess he’s gotten used to the living room,” Dave thought darkly.
Why Hal decided to hook his laptop up to the TV and stream anime on Saturday mornings was beyond the solider – he had at least 3 perfectly good other screens. Dave would wake up at 7am sharp, slip out of the bed room, and just beg, plead, pray to whatever gods existed that Hal wouldn't be watching something on the TV. Of course, not every morning was an “anime morning” - during these moments of rest, Dave would go out his daily business. But anime mornings were different. You had to go through the motions of an anime morning. This particular winter morning, when Dave had awoken, he didn't initially hear the TV going – and so he hopped out of bed, threw on his house shoes, stretched and yawned and went for the door and opened the door and -
Well. There he was.
And there Gurren Lagann was.
Anyways, Hal started to sing.
That was one of the worst parts. Hearing Hal sing using his broken interpretation of how to pronounce Japanese words made Dave want to explode. Not to mention he couldn’t sing in English, either. Dave could speak Japanese, himself, which was primarily why it pissed him off so much. He’d never hear the end of it from the absolute nerd, if he told him, though. David briefly questioned, whilst standing there listening to Hal’s small, breathy vocals, the authenticity that Hal was a living, breathing, adult man. This man had built weapons of mass destruction. He knew how to break into almost any electronic. If D.C. Knew of him hacking into the Pentagon multiple times, he’d probably be assassinated. And he, almost every damn Saturday, decided he’d marathon at least a season of any particular anime.
Meanwhile, Dave stood in the threshold to his room – cursing himself silently, “Oh, I should have fucking guessed.” The song went on – Hal started throwing his limbs upwards, outwards, and circularly in disjointed, over all random motions that could only be described as “dancing.” His tiny voice cracked as he pointed his fist skywards, reciting the words by heart and from the heart. The song faded into a guitar rift, and the torture device slowed to a halt. Hal’s body snapped back to it’s normal stance; with automatic movement, the otaku adjusted his glasses, sitting himself down into the sunken couch. Dave still stood at the door, convinced that if he continued clenching his jaw like he was, he’d break his teeth.
The sigh that the solider made – one of utter relief that the initial disaster was over – triggered the next one.
“David!” Hal chimed, his hearing all-too-sharp, “Good morning!! Ah, wanna watch some anime with me?”
Dave closed his door.