The Lamaria had come by the ship to pass out blessings like they were candy. Snake hadn't had any interest in the festival. For the most part, he'd been trying to keep his head down ever since he'd participated in helping some of the colony's slaves get an attempt at freedom. He knew what kind of trouble meddling could get them into.
Yet he didn't think much of the blessing. It seemed like little more than a tradition, not so different from making a wish when you blew out birthday candles or something else harmless like that. Of course, it had been his mistake to assume that, especially when he was usually so careful about what was done to him.
Then again, it would be hard to imagine that someone speaking a few words and waving their hands would have led to this.
That night, when the moon is out on the colony, Snake's jerked out of sleep by an excruciating pain, one that arcs his back and sends him tumbling out of his bed as he makes a terrible, raw noise. It feels as if his bones are breaking and reforming, some of them rippling under his skin as he writhes and convulses on the floor. His brain overloaded, every nerve on edge, his screams become more and more animalistic.
When it's all done, he barely resembles himself. Covered in a thick fur, his nails have become claws, his teeth hooked fangs, and there's no longer any trace of anything human. Except for Snake's mind, which desperately tries to cling on even while it's flooded with a lonely kind of fury.
He breaks out from the ship to search the colony, even though he doesn't quite know what he's searching for. He feels a deep longing, something he can't define or explain, but he knows he has to find it -- whatever "it" is.
Instead, he finds someone who certainly would never count as "pack," a person who normally shares his blood although they couldn't be more different now. Just seeing Liquid skulking around like he thinks he's being sneaky is enough to trigger that hairpin temper. "Liquid," Snake says, his voice an animal growl that goes far beyond his normal gruff tone.
If anyone would be able to recognize him right now, though, as this hulking muscled mass of fur, it would be Liquid.
B.
Yet he didn't think much of the blessing. It seemed like little more than a tradition, not so different from making a wish when you blew out birthday candles or something else harmless like that. Of course, it had been his mistake to assume that, especially when he was usually so careful about what was done to him.
Then again, it would be hard to imagine that someone speaking a few words and waving their hands would have led to this.
That night, when the moon is out on the colony, Snake's jerked out of sleep by an excruciating pain, one that arcs his back and sends him tumbling out of his bed as he makes a terrible, raw noise. It feels as if his bones are breaking and reforming, some of them rippling under his skin as he writhes and convulses on the floor. His brain overloaded, every nerve on edge, his screams become more and more animalistic.
When it's all done, he barely resembles himself. Covered in a thick fur, his nails have become claws, his teeth hooked fangs, and there's no longer any trace of anything human. Except for Snake's mind, which desperately tries to cling on even while it's flooded with a lonely kind of fury.
He breaks out from the ship to search the colony, even though he doesn't quite know what he's searching for. He feels a deep longing, something he can't define or explain, but he knows he has to find it -- whatever "it" is.
Instead, he finds someone who certainly would never count as "pack," a person who normally shares his blood although they couldn't be more different now. Just seeing Liquid skulking around like he thinks he's being sneaky is enough to trigger that hairpin temper. "Liquid," Snake says, his voice an animal growl that goes far beyond his normal gruff tone.
If anyone would be able to recognize him right now, though, as this hulking muscled mass of fur, it would be Liquid.