Author's Note: Hi guys! 'Tis I, Crimson! Who has played Revengeance? I have yet to finish the game, but I do like to entertain the thought that became the foundation of this fanfic. And no, I do not hate Rose. In fact, I adore her with as much adoration as Raiden has for her. Also, I would like to thank the two cups of coffee that helped me with this. They kept me productive. …And sleep-deprived.

Disclaimer: I own Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance if my name is Hideo Kojima. Sadly, I go by Crimson-Hybrid, so no, I own nothing but this fanfic and my VAIO. Konami and Platinum Games also have a say in the ownership.

Strangers We Remain

Cut from the same cloth, you and I.

At first, he thought of it as some silly notion; he was not a murderer—a slaughterer— and that he used his blade to protect the weak. But when the darkest demons that dwelled inside him finally broke out as Jack the Ripper, all he could think about was that Mistral was right.

And she was probably the only one who could, and will, understand him.

Raiden's stomach churned the smallest fraction when he remembered how his rage fueled him—no, fueled Jack—to cut a man in half with just barely enough rationality to register the child that would inevitably be struck down with his victim. Sure, he had asked George if the boy was ready to die, but if he had fully given in to his anger, then he would have swung his sword without even uttering a word.

But no, a small voice in the back of his mind said, you love the feeling of flesh ripping apart underneath your blade. Man, woman, child, it doesn't matter, as long as blood is spilled and the walls and floors turn crimson with each deafening scream for mercy.

"That's… that's not true." He tried reasoning with himself, but his mirror image stared back at him from the broken window with a vicious red eye and a hellish grin. He was all alone in that dilapidated warehouse, slumped against a wall, but he felt as if a dozen eyes were on him, judging him for his crimes.

Don't deny it Jack, the reflection sneered, you know that Mistral bitch was right when she said you two were the same. Now, don't you regret it that you've butchered the only person who understands you? Why, even that half-assed human Rubik's cube Monsoon thought we'd lost it.

We.

Raiden's brows furrowed and his metallic jaw clenched. He hated that word when it came from this man's mouth. His mouth. But he hated this personified nightmare more when it took his earlier thoughts about the Algerian-French woman and rubbed it in his face, mocking him, making him feel like he would never be understood by anyone else. And maybe this demon was right.

A hoarse, humorless laughter.

The cyborg raised his head and once again came face to face with his own visage, dusky cerulean eyes clashing with vibrant crimson. Jack the Ripper smirked at him and his broken state.

Of course I'm fucking right. You think Rose would understand you? You think John would be happily telling his friends 'my dad is a cold-blooded killer, isn't that cool?'? The fiend screeched, high-pitched voice a horrid, unfitting parody of his son. Think again, Jack. Those two are better off dea—

"Enough!"

The sound of shattering glass echoed in the expanse of the lifeless building, Raiden's labored breaths bouncing off the walls as he slumped back on the wall, fist still firmly clenched. Lies, lies, all of it, lies.

"What do we have here?"

A familiar voice. Female. She had been the first one to call him by his moniker; the first in a long while.

Mind games and bullshit.

She was dead. He would know—he was the one who drenched her with liquid nitrogen and shattered her body in a thousand rigid pieces. Raiden's fingers dug into the sides of his head, palms pressing against his sound receptors in a futile attempt to shut out the noise. He was positive that he had gone crazier; Jack the Ripper being inside him already made him crazy by default.

She laughed, neither hostile nor even mocking, simply one filled with amusement, her tone still laced with that slightly sensual edge. The grim points of her heels clicked on the stone floor as she approached him, blue eyes skimming over platinum blonde hair and cobalt, steel frame. Hunched over and curled up like a frightened child? He certainly looked pitiful. She shook her head at him in silent mirth and sympathy, scarlet locks tumbling over half of her face.

The crisp clacks stopped beside the only other person in the room.

Raiden refused to look up at the illusion, his eyes boring holes on the cracked floor as he willed it to go away. But she didn't, and it made him slip lower into his self-induced insanity.

"Poor, poor Jack," she cooed, stooping to run her fingers through his hair. Raiden forced his eye shut. "I see Monsoon has finally made you confront your inner turmoil." She pulled away from silver tresses and reached lower, grasping his chin between her fingers and turning his head violently towards her. It made Raiden's eye open abruptly, and he was faced by the image of one of his victims—Mistral.

A condescending look crossed her features when she leaned closer, but her smile remained. "It saddens me, you know?" she began, voice coated with that unique accent, "That that fool Monsoon was able to seek your true self out, yet when we fought, you had thought my ideals were laughable and undesirable." The fingers on his jaw left and soon found his cheek, caressing in a loving manner that he knew masked the intent to ridicule him. "Such a hypocrite, my dear Jack."

It made the insides of his mouth taste like bile.

Hypocrite.

Yeah, that was the word he was looking for. The word he would describe himself. And as the illusion crouched beside him and pulled his limp form in a mocking embrace, Raiden couldn't help but feel like he was an empty shell, devoid of any feeling except the contradicting sensations of guilt and bloodlust; the urge to kill that was clawing at the back of his mind like a caged beast yearning to be set free. The crack in his psyche had become a gaping fissure, and he couldn't do anything about it, not while this woman and this nightmare continued to haunt him.

His doppelganger's voice flared to life once again, ringing in his ears like distorted static.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pitiful, confused Raiden. Let me ask you this: What was the point in annihilating this woman when you ended up like her anyway? A hypocrite indeed. In a world like this—broken and crazy—only the insane are sane, and conscience is but a triviality. You can stare at nothing or feebly argue with me all day, but nothing will change. You're a murderer. Just stop with the fucking excuses and justifications already because it's making me sick.

He grunted weakly, eyes glued to the grey wall in front of him. His arms dangled on his sides, dragging on the concrete. He gave up. Jack the Ripper was right.

With a soft chuckle, Mistral cradled the man's head against her chest and spared him a glance. "Had you only came to terms with yourself much earlier, we would have agreed on a lot of things; I would've been happier to take you on, more content to die by your hand." She rocked him gently like a mother would her child, and let out a sigh.

"You can't simply break old habits, Jack."

Instead of silence like she had expected, however, Raiden's hand shot out and found her shoulder. He clung to her desperately as if his life depended on her, drowning in an imaginary sea—yet perhaps it wasn't that intangible. He was lost in an ocean of confusion; bitter, brittle, broken. She chanced upon his face and was surprised to see him gaze back with agony, regret and trepidation all dancing behind a bleak, unfocused eye that almost looked past her. The corner of her lips curled up in a small smirk and she rested her chin on the crown of his head, still holding him.

If he was being honest, Raiden didn't know what he was doing right now, nor did he know what drove him to do what he did. All he wanted at this moment was to distinguish reality from illusion, find something to anchor him to his sanity, something that would tell him that he hasn't lost all sense of self, that this person beside him does exist. He'd seen her die, and that was one of the things that chipped at his rationale. But maybe, just maybe, if she was indeed alive, he would feel less of a hypocrite, less of a murderer… Though, who was he kidding? He was knee-deep in bodies that one less corpse wouldn't make a difference.

But right now, that triviality was all he needed.

End Notes: For those who are curious, yes, MistRai(RaidenxMistral) is my crackship. . (More like MGR OTP, but yyyyeah… MGS OTP RaidenxRose still stands, of course). I don't know. I've always thought how much Mistral's death was in vain. I mean, if Raiden was going to succumb to being Jack the Ripper later on, why did he off Mistral in the first place when she had a similar point of view and reveled in manslaughter as much as he did? Because she was with Desperado?(That's a good reason, actually xD but other than that. Besides, his main target was Dolzaev.) And I know being around Jack the Ripper almost completely guarantees death, unless you can run faster than him(which I doubt), but I think Mistral would be one of the few who would understand his bloodlust because she's Ax Crazy too(And yeah, they'd probably end up killing each other while having fun). Heck, Monsoon thinks Raiden lost it. Sam seems to be excited to fight blood-hungry Jack, but I don't think he understands the feeling. He came across to me as a person who only kills because it's his job. Sundowner… eh, I have yet to get a full grasp of his personality, but I think killing is just a pastime of his, not a thing he's… 'addicted' to.

I've also applied some parts of the song/lyrics into the story; see if you can find all the allusions :D

Oh, by the way, please do avoid spoilers in your reviews! I'm at the part where I'm scaling Marshal's building, so please refrain from detailing events after that. Thanks! Crimson-Hybrid, out.