Jump 155: Metal Gear Rising

Jump 155: Metal Gear Rising

Location: Pakistan, 2018
Age: 62
Identity: Politician
Drawbacks: [+100] Massive Ham

[Free]      Augmented Warrior
[Free]      Rules Of Nature
[600/1100]  Heir To The Patriots
[Free]      NANOMACHINES, SON
[Free]      I'm Making The Mother Of All Omelettes Here, Jack!
[700/1100]  Job Creators, Jack!
[900/1100]  It's All About The Spin
[900/1400]  Item Stipend (+300)
[Free]      Standard High-Frequency Weapon (Import: Service Weapon)
[1200/1400] Private Corporation (Expanded)
[Free]      Corporate Skinning
[Free]      Durable Suits
[1200/2400] Cybernetics Stipend (+1000)
[Free]      Cybernetic Hardware Import: Nanosuit
[2400/2400] Nanomachine Heart

It's not so much the issue of the local military-industrial complex that complicates the situation, in this world. The Patriots were taken care of some time back, but the aftereffects refused to be completely shaken. Mercenaries are apparently a major thing and seem to exist in tandem with technological disparity. Larger and more developed countries have bigger groups, but even smaller nations hire private military contractors for assorted purposes; see also Raiden getting absolutely bodied while the American President is in Pakistan for a meeting with the country's prime minister.

It's not too complicated to change this, though the trick is to set up the dominoes to fall at the right time, more than anything. Doable, though the timeline is tighter than one might have preferred, but... well, when one can arrange to have footage of a certain mercenary group - I'm sorry, of a certain PMC - staging a full-scale invasion of a country that most people had never heard of and killing its leader... well, that gets the networks talking.

The time to release all of that, though, is on the heels of a certain cyborg storming World Marshall in Denver. That changes the tune from the talking heads; instead of a terrorist attacking a corporation, it's retaliation for what seemed to be a targeted assassination. While Raiden is zipping to Mexico at the end of May, EXALT is helping lobbyists craft bills designed to slowly choke out and kill off lobbyists. Fighting pocket wars is one thing, but killing political figures outright is quite another; it just goes to show that a monopoly on force should belong to the State, not to corporations.

Meanwhile, the President takes a flight to Pakistan for another brief meeting with their leadership, only to find that there's a situation at a nearby military base. Ordinarily of course, the Secret Service would evacuate their leader, but this is no ordinary situation - this is after all a world that has substituted common sense for mass-produced Metal Gears, and this time America's leader has not only a perfect sense of timing and the ability to be none the worse for the wear after a fall from 30,000 feet, but in fact has the power of God and anime on his side.

After all, one does not expect the President to more or less fall right out of the sky and make a three point landing after bouncing off a senator, ending up between him and a cyborg ninja barely a breath after the ninja's dramatic moment. And immediately launch into giving the both of them a bombastic speech, before engaging them BOTH in violence. Because... let's face it, you know this world. Are you any more surprised the President is, himself, even more unhinged than the others? Sure, he's got EXALT working behind the scenes, but this is a world where you don't just have everyone hamming it up, you have them cooking an entire freaking holiday dinner.

>"...and besides, this isn't my sword."
And thus, entered the President, via dynamic entry; "RRRRRAIDEN!"
>"Who the hell are you?"
"That's PRESIDENT Who The Hell Are You, son!"
>"What."
"He may have done wrong! He may indeed want to defeat me in the election! But he's still an American citizen! And I simply cannot stand idly by and let you kill an American citizen- no! Assassinate an American senator!"
>"WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE, MICHAEL?!"
"Saving your bacon, Steven! Your nanomachines are like your politics! Weak, and with a low approval rating!"
>"What are you, nuts?! Armstrong leveled this entire military base with a Metal Gear!"
"So?"
>"What do you mean, 'so'?!"
"That's pretty normal. President Sears did that in New York, after all, you were even there for that."
>"I... what?!"
"On the other hand, five minutes ago, I signed an executive order authorizing the arrest of all employees of the World Marshall corporation and Desperado Enforcement LLC on just about every felony on the books."
>"YOU WHAT?!"
"Shut up, Armstrong. Raiden! By the powers vested in me by THESE GREAT STATES OF AMERICA, I hereby deputize you as a United States Marshal!"
>"HOW DARE YOU!"
"Oh no it looks like Senator Armstrong is resisting arrest so I guess he can't be saved after all what a shame. Especially without anyone around to tell the media how tone deaf that was. Raiden? I believe you have a job to do. Let 'er rip."
>"With... pleasure."

And that, as they say, was that. Raiden proceeded to beat the absolute tar out of Armstrong before stabbing him through the cybernetic heart, and all the nonsense. And after that, the denouement; the President shakes Raiden's hand and grants him a complete pardon, the ninja a bit shellshocked. Told that all of Armstrong's bluster was a farce, because of course it was. And that the world was irreparably broken. Not simply eyeball-deep with trouble, but in truth, imminently doomed in a literal sense.

Raiden stared at the President for a long moment, then asked, "If the world is broken, then what was the point of all of that? If we're all doomed... why bother? What was I fighting for?"
Michael Valentine reached into his suit jacket, extracting a cigarette and lighting it. "I couldn't tell you, son, no one can tell you why you fought except yourself. Looked to me like Armstrong had been trying to kill you, and you happened to kill him first. Uncovered a ton of crimes he'd committed, including assassination and outright treason, to the point that the media's going to applaud me taking executive action and the Attorney General is chomping at the bit. Frankly, Armstrong effectively killed himself - he just didn't realize it yet."
With a shake of his head, Raiden looked down at the sheathed sword. Jetstream Sam's. He laughed, despite everything. "Nice bit of wordcraft with the deputization, the pardon. I know you're going to throw me in some deep, dark hole if anyone ever found me back in the US."
There was a long pause, then a laugh in answer. "All right. The truth then."
Raiden perked up, hand on his sword, ready.
"I'm not going to bullshit you, son," Valentine continued, pausing to take a drag on his cigarette. "Why should I beat around the bush? All of this... none of it matters. Pakistan? Fück 'em. Their government exists because we allow it, and they would end if we demanded it. They're not the only one, either. Frankly, the world has bigger problems than one vigilante that went legit. You can write your own meal ticket - you took care of Armstrong when I was fully ready to personally execute him."
A blink. Then two. "You?"
"Jack... you know, better than anyone, not to judge someone based on their appearance." Another exhale of smoke. "You barely scratched the surface of the programs that existed, and there were more programs that benefitted from super soldiers than Fox-Hound. But no, none of that matters. You know why?"
"I expect you'll tell me."

The politician gave a crooked grin. "The truth: We are fücked. I am not saying that lightly. The economy's fücked. The environment's fücked. The system's fücked. No one can stop flailing around uselessly at one another. A global war wouldn't stop it."
"What..?"
An arm swept out across the still-burning wreckage strewn over the battlefield. "Behold, the future of humanity! Nothing but blood and metal... dust and scrap. I have spent my entire time in office struggling against this, and nothing I can do within the system can reform it fast enough to save humanity. It's poisoned itself, and it collectively decided the solution was more poison!" And to highlight that very point, Valentine took another drag of his cigarette, before dropping the cherry on the ground and crushing it with its heel.
"Again... if we're doomed, what is the point?" Raiden asked, finally taking his hand away from his sheath, crossing his arms. "Why continue with the farce that nothing is wrong?"
"You want to see eight billion people panic in the streets?" came the retort. "Would you deny a dying man, his body riddled with cancer and his veins filled with plastics, the right to enjoy his last days? No, there's no need to tell the public. Those that understood would panic those that didn't, it wouldn't be pretty, and it wouldn't make enough of a difference anyway. There are precisely two days forward."
"And those are?"
"Either someone conquers the world and puts it under an iron fist, hoping enough resources exist to fix the problems and get humanity off this rock... or someone goes back to prevent it from happening in the first place."
"Time travel?"
"Precisely. The only way the world could get off its reckless course, without humanity as a whole choosing to excise the infection of greed, to stop polluting and exploiting the environment... to have a massive die-off... is time travel. Anything else simply prolongs the inevitable."

"Is that even possible?" Raiden asked, disbelieving.
The president shrugged, folding his hands behind his back, turning away to look at the battlefield once more. Looking at Armstrong's corpse for just a moment, then shaking his head. "With our current technology? No."
Angry and more than a little bit distraught, the cyborg exclaimed, "Then what was all of that about?!"
"The world's fücked. Make your peace, Jack. But I'm going to be doing my level best to unfück it and, just maybe, make time travel happen. There are certain notes - allegedly, a Samuel Beckett did it. Except there are no records of anyone by that name, nor the organization he worked for existing. So there might be a path."
"What if there's not? What then?"
The president turned around, pointing at Raiden. "I'm going to take that eventuality into account. Because, as I said, there are two paths forward. And I'm going to take them both."
"You mean..."
A solemn nod. "Let me paint you a picture. Tomorrow, at eleven AM Eastern time, the United States will enter a state of martial law. Our investigation will kick over stones across the globe. Those who are not with us are with the terrorists. Favors will be traded. Technologies that the world at large has not seen. By the end of my term there will be a framework in place, and within six months an election for a global president. I will win, of course."
Disgusted, Raiden shook his head. "Of course."
Continuing undaunted, Valentine stated, "That gives me the opportunity to start making the world a better place. We've got the technology, but not aimed in the right direction. Nanites to clean microplastics and pollution. Genome editing to fix birth defects. The tools to allow people to connect across the world. Clean energy production. But the price is a firm guiding hand."

"It's a quick trip from there to being a despot, you know. You'd practically be there already."
A humorless smile crossed the President's face. "I know. Would you believe... I never got into this wanting power? The pursuit of power only came when I realized that others abuse it, and with it I could make things better for those I knew. Then I realized the scope of suffering in the universe, and sought to ease it. Now? I'll take power long enough to fix things... and then surrender it. Remove the mechanisms that allowed it at all. No despots, no world emperors. Just... retire."
"And carve yourself a convenient legacy in history," came the retort. "I should cut you down where you stand."
Valentine snapped, "I don't give a wooden nickel about my legacy! You look at the world, you see black and white, and I've confirmed where I am in your eyes! I look at the world..." His voice calmed, grew solemn. "I see a sick, sick world. And I want to save it. Even if I have to save it from itself. And when the time comes to go back to undo it... there's only one person I can trust. If you want something done right... well."
The sound of an unsheathing sword was the answer. "You're more deluded than Armstrong. What IS it with you politicians?"
"Jack, you poor soul," the President said softly. "When you look at me, what do you see?"
"A lunatic and a dead man," came a snarled answer.
From thin air, he plucked a weapon - it initially looked like some sort of handheld revolver, but in a fraction of a second it shifted in Valentine's hand, no longer even a firearm but... a high frequency blade, one that looked identical to Raiden's were it matte black instead of crimson. "No, Jack. I am quite possibly the only sane man in a world hellbent on suicide. And I will drag it, kicking and screaming, into a better tomorrow."

And so after Raiden was completely beaten senseless by an old man in a suit and found himself face-down on the pavement, the old man threw something that landed right in front of his face, clinking as it came to a stop. An arm shaking, Raiden reached out and held it up, squinting at it.

A five-pointed silver star, with the words 'UNITED STATES MARSHAL' emblazoned upon it.

"In any event, Raiden, what I said stands. You remain a deputy marshal. Your crimes, if any, are hereby pardoned." The President turned, light gleaming off his flawless sunglasses momentarily, before he began walking off. To where, Raiden could not say. And as his voice faded into the distance, the politician said, "Go forth and dispense justice to this broken world. But never forget... there is a difference between justice and vengeance."