It'd been several years after the Merlaut job, before that, he spent his time as a fixer and assassinated the CEO of Abstergo at one point. (A job where he didn't get much in the way of details) and even more years after that, he spent some of his time spent in London, and yet even more time once his temper had cooled off a little and his age started impeding his status as The Fox. (Just a little bit).
He was in his late seventies now, but with all the training, conditioning, and non-stop gunfights he was in more or less peak condition, still being able to beat down someone with his faded baton, though his movements were less flowy and an iota stiffer.
Aiden sat in an old, cushioned chair in the console room of the Bunker. An old, abandoned Blume facility, once used by him and a few other allies during the incident with Damien Brenks.
In his old age, he found it funny how when one person wrought havoc using CTos connected systems and devices, they just decided to rebrand themselves and connect [ieven more/i] things to the CTos network. Like that strange, Optik thing that had come out in (not so) recent years. While he sat he contemplated what to do as he drank from a coffee mug, the brown liquid steaming hot as it warmed his cold bones. He wasn't quite the same man he was thirty years ago.
Looking around he spotted some (likely expired) pill bottles, the same that he had used to keep his focus sharp and his wits tough during prolonged gunfights. Sure he didn't need them, but they helped. Not like he was planning on taking some anyways.
Maybe he could try one of his old digital trips?
While he would never do another playthrough of Alone, the thought of just piloting a Spider Tank, or beating his old high score on Psycadelic! was tempting. Firing up his old save data of Alien Invasion (Titled NVZN for short.) also seemed tempting, but despite this, he didn't quite want to invest all his time in simple games.
Another sip of his coffee was taken.
It wasn't like he could do much else, he was for the most part retired, not much to do as an ancient fixer, much less one with his... Notoriety. Discovering memes was confusing, a lot changes when one isn't busy exchanging full metal jacketed "Fuck you"s to each other. Well, not like he was going to put that knowledge to use.
'Remember to tend to the suppressor later' he noted, mentally reminding himself to check the baffles of the suppressor on his Spec Ops 1911. The appearance was dated, a .45 Colt that had a special, more efficient suppressor, which had eliminated the need for subsonic munitions.
Not that he didn't use them though, it made it quiet as a mouse when he did, except for the noise caused by the slide.
"Argh, fine. One last game for the road." He thought aloud, finishing his coffee as he started pulling out his phone, and then later inserting something similar to an earbud in his right ear, he selected the NVZN app and started from level one. In almost no time at all he was taking precise shots through hordes of tiny polygonal aliens with a simple blaster one moment, and then clearing out bigger ones with a shotgun the next, with him occasionally needing to run around the room to grab more ammo, or "health".
By the time level 9 arrived he felt himself panting a little, not rusty per se, just his body saying it was time to take a break.
Then again, each level was about five minutes of moving and shooting, so he'd been at it for quite a while. Powering through this level, by the time he had completed the game he was utterly drained, and slumped back down into his chair, tempted to reach for his mug of coffee (though it was already empty).
He might be just a tad sore tomorrow, it had been just a little under a year till he had properly retired from his "career", though he still occasionally dealt with back alley crime that showed up on the Activity Monitor, handy little thing cobbled together with CTos code to use GPS and stolen CTos software information to determine their location, and if a crime was in progress. A "Less Than Lethal" gun he had picked up in London made it somewhat less dangerous, for the aggressor anyways (he still had a habit of going for headshots).
He'd first doubted them, but at least they worked and were decently effective.
Now if only he remembered to use it.
After a minute of rest, he pulled his gun from his holster, unloaded it, and checked the slide before he set it on the counter to prep it for maintenance, pulling a large plastic bin that he poured chemicals into where he placed the gun (sans silencer).
As Aiden finished drying off his gun, and adding a fresh new barrel to it, his thoughts wandered to its history. Unfortunately, it was almost always about his niece. Sure, everyone else might've moved on, but he didn't get the memo. Even now when there might not be a body in the grave anymore.
Thoughts drifted about his nephew. Likely a grown man by now. Despite him being responsible for being kidnapped along with his mom, it seemed he didn't hold it against him. Or at least he never showed it. Either that or he made it up to him by showing off the Bunker. It was long enough that he was certain neither Blume nor CTos cared about him anymore.
Despite how much trouble he could cause and how much he could set them back, there would eventually come a time where he simply wouldn't be able to. He was a temporary solution, to CTos, a temporary problem.
Though likely others were doing the same too.
Maybe he should've just gone for a digital trip instead. Perhaps tomorrow? He didn't bother to check the time, but he figured it was night. Brushing a hand across his face he felt one of his cheekbones, feeling it sink in around the eyes. He really needed to get out more during the day. Sitting up he stretched and got up, bones audibly popping into place. He grabbed his gun and placed it in its holster as he went to an old mattress to rest in, back from the days when his motel hide-out was blown up.
Right as he was about to lay down, he paused mid-way as his breathing felt a little funny, and his chest seemed to have a dim ache. Ignoring it he set an alarm on his phone for ten hours, laid down on the hardly used springs, and went to sleep. He was surprised by how cushy it was compared to a fancy modern one, but besides that, he couldn't shake something, was it just him? Or was the ache in his chest starting to hurt a little?