Metal Gear Solid V: Chronicles of Outer Heaven (MGS/Valkyria Chronicles)

Everything was right in the world.

Grass was green, familiar and slightly below. On second thought, not everything was all right in the world. Headache announced it's existence in force. Yes, you woke up because something tugged you painfully by the belt. Where's the ground? Ground is close, but so far away. Hands can't hit anything. What is going on? There's a horned man with eye patch nearby. Is that?

There's a flop, like a canvas being whipped straight. The... tug, the pressure, hits you in the gut like a punch and you scream, in surprise, in pain. Your hat... You lost your hat. YOUR HAT! You scream in protest and in fear, for Earth is getting farther and farther, like perverse reversion of parachute drop. There's no parachute, if your belt breaks, you fall and die! You never seen your deployment area from such height. Your screams are lost in the wind, and then you puke. It just makes everything worse. You are out of breath and you can't scream no more.

You rise, like a mad Wizard of Emerald City on his hot air balloon, except you have no control over your flight at all. Maybe if you get hold of whatever is holding you by the belt, you can straighten up and stop flopping like a demented cat toy on a sting? No, better not to risk it, if you accidentally disconnect the... whatever, way down would be way faster and with definite end, instead of your current, unknown fate. Afghanistan is beautiful from here. You can see your base, mountains, all the roads... How high are you right now?

You cry. You didn't want this. You was conscripted! Your duty your fatherland... You just got broken down in training and send here, in those merciless mountains with murderous mujaheddin and their weird faith. What the hell is wrong with them? What future brings you? Once, you got plans - be a machinist, make machines. Yes, everyone got dreams, like cosmonaut and doctor and and and... Then school was over, then you started to learn your profession in polytechnic, then conscription came and you lost the sight of the future, you just wanted it over. Then you just wanted to survive and go home. Now? What now? What this all was for?

It started to get cold, breathing started being... hard, not enough. When you reach higher altitude, you are going to die, for the air is to thin there, you remember that from your school program. Whoever and whatever did this to you, he just decided to kill you in cruel, uncertain way? You cry in despair now.

Time passes and you calm down a bit. You are convinced that there's no future and you would either spend eternity being uncomfortably suspended between heaven and earth, or fly too high and die or fall down and die. Everything is far away enough that you can't see small features, but maybe traces rivers, of roads and canyons. It's like humans got very little purchase on this weird mountainous land. There were no orders, no great cities, just sky, mountains and your ankles. This could bring a man to think about life and reach deep philosophical ideas, and you started to remember all the little embarrassing things from your service, training, school, childhood. You would never apologize to your grandma, you would never see your cat again, will your mom cry when she gets a message that you are missing in action? This can situation can change person's entire outlook, but you want to pee.

You want to pee very much. You can't. You hold it in to prevent pissing in your pants. Your hands are heavy and alien and hard to control, and even if you can reach up, force them to unbutton your fly and do the deed, what would be result? Pissing into your own face? That's... No. Better hold until you can't any more and then soil your pants. Are there soiled now? You are not sure, but you hope that your initial ascent haven't caused an accident beyond puking.

You laugh on absurdity of all. You are freezing and trying to stuff your ice-cold hands inside your uniform. You are shivering from the cold and your legs are like two icicles in the boots and your head is swimming – is that lack of oxygen or just too much blood down your head? You don't know. You want to pee. You cry some more in despair.

There's a faint thumping sound somewhere. You frantically look around and behind, until you see dark speck in the air, rapidly closing. A helicopter! A rescue! You are not sure what to feel, honestly. Well, at least you will live and your future will better than to be a prisoner of mujaheddin.

There's a slight crash above and a lurch and warm hands reel you in. You never was so happy. You cry in relief until you snot. Someone in the plane gives you a mug full of liquid. It's cold, but you are surprisingly thirsty. Is that a vodka? After second and third gulp you decide that it's too smooth to be a vodka. Medical alcohol? That's better and just what you need right now. Uniforms of the soldiers on the helicopter are weird and unfamiliar, but they are Russians, and you are too happy to be suspicious.

They secure your body sitting to one of the benches and you see that on opposite bench is your sergeant. Is he sleeping? Was he also suddenly put into the air? You have questions, many questions, but alcohol, warmth and stress of the fultoning together act to knock you out rapidly. There are no dreams.

You wake up on surprisingly comfortable bench in the prison cell. There's a toiler near you, and that's exactly what you need right now. Happily, there's a sink, too, so you can wash your hands. You are wearing... Not uniform that started the day on you, but it's still some kind of uniform. Surprisingly comfortable. There's someone sleeping on the upper bench. Sergeant?

Before you can get to him, door opened, letting gray-haired man in. He called you by name, said he is KGB and ordered you to follow him.

Everything was wrong in the world.