Fan Fiction ❯ Metal Gear Solid: Sovereignty ❯ Peacemaker ( Chapter 6 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Linkin Snake 
Solid Snake, barely escaping a horde of sentries, enters a vast snow field. Immediately, he finds himself in more trouble with... Revolver Ocelot?
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 155 | Status: Completed
Solid Snake, barely escaping a horde of sentries, enters a vast snow field. Immediately, he finds himself in more trouble with... Revolver Ocelot?
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 155 | Status: Completed
Chapter 6: Peacemaker
Snake, displaying his inhuman speed and reflexes, sent the top-half of his body spinning
backward as three .45 Colt bullets went whizzing past the legend. The operative looked back up
to searched for Ocelot, but he was nowhere to be found. Snake removed the Universal Self-
Loading Pistol from it's holster, and readied himself into a military stance.
The trained soldier's eyes moved back and forth as he sauntered across the field, searching for
the old nemesis. Suddenly, the mysterious cowboy appeared to Snake's left. Just as the image
entered his vision, Snake pulled the trigger, but the figure soon disappeared behind a nearby
boulder, escaping the speeding bullet.
"Show yourself, Ocelot!" Snake shouted, searching for the Patriot spy.
A flash of color against the white background of snow caught Snake's attention from the corner
of his eye, but the image was gone as fast as it came. Snake slowly continued, listening intently
for signs of life.
"Snake!"
The agent spun, USP raised, finger on the trigger.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the cowboy raised his hands, and his face was revealed. "Don't shoot."
The clothes were the same, from the spurred boots to the Single Action Armies, but the distinct
difference was the cowboy hat, something Ocelot never adorned. A five o'clock shadow was
apparent. His brown eyes stared right back at Snake, the cowboy not easily intimidated even with
the barrel of a USP aimed straight at him. The stranger's long, brown hair, tied in a ponytail,
made it obvious this was no more than an Ocelot impersonator.
"Who the hell are you?" Snake questioned.
Without an answer the man walked to a nearby boulder, all the while Snake trained his pistol on
him, in an effort to get comfortable the man leaned against the rock. He proceeded to remove a
lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "Want one?" the cowboy asked, while
putting out the pack of mini-cigars toward Snake.
"No thanks." Snake answered
"Suit yourself."
The cowboy lit the cancer stick in his mouth, and placed the lighter and cigarettes back into his
pocket. Snake was more than perplexed by the man's either blatant stupidity or just lack of
caring. The man deeply inhaled on the stick, sending a combination of harmful chemicals into his
body. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his index and middle finger,
"man, that is good!"
"It was you, wasn't it?"
"What do ya mean?" the cowboy inquired.
"In the hangar, that was you. Not Ocelot."
"The hangar? I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was out here all along, lookin' for you. As to do with
Ocelot, as far as I know it's pretty unlikely he'd be wanderin' around these parts.
"Now, you asked me who I am. Is that right?" the cowboy stated in the drawl of an old western.
He received no answer from Snake, other than the trained barrel of the USP. "Alrighty, I s'pose
you ain't the talking type. How about I give ya a little history lesson."
The man removed one of his two revolvers from it's holster at his side. He examined it closely,
and at the same time taking another swig of the cigarette. "In 1873 Smith & Wesson introduced
the Colt Single Army, and ever since then it's been in production. In the Western America, it was
the gun of the 1800s. In 1989, I was introduced to the love of my life. This one right here," the
man twirled the gun between his fingers, "is the calvary model with a .45 Colt chamber. A great
man once said that this is the greatest handgun ever made. Six bullets. . . more than enough,"
Snake mouthed the next few words, remembering them distinctly from the fight with Ocelot
years ago, "to kill anything that moves."
"Your obsessed with Revolver Ocelot," Snake concluded.
"Hmph. He's a fine man and a wizard with the revolver, but it's the gun I fell in love with. The
cocking of the hammer, the thought of only six bullets in the chamber, the adrenaline that pumps
through your body when you reload, placing each bullet carefully into it's own little resting place.
It doesn't get any better than that," the stranger said with a large grin.
"Ya know what your problem is. You talk too much. What's stopping me from shooting you
right now? You're obviously not a grunt, so you must be New Dominus."
"We both know you wouldn't do that," the man removed the cigarette from his mouth and tossed
it to the snow-capped field in front of him. He put out his right foot, stepping on the cigarette,
and removed himself from the boulder he leaned on, "it's just not honorable."
Snake still trained the USP on his target, even throughout the revolver history lesson, which he
thought was nothing more than a distraction designed to fool Snake into dropping his guard.
The cowboy stood five meters away from the protagonist and continued, "To shoot a man with
his guard down, not even I would stoop that low. If you're wonderin' before every duel I always
smoke a single cigarette, a good luck trick I picked up a few years back.
"Duel?"
"Of course. How else would we decide this? Ten paces, turn and shoot. One of us survives. It's
that simple." The cowboy paused waiting for an answer from Snake, but received none. "Well,
come on now. It's the only way we do this fair and square. If I wanted to get off a cheap shot on
ya, I woulda killed ya by now."
Still not feeling the man was trustworthy, but confident in his gun-wielding skills, Snake lowered
his pistol, and answered, "alright."
_________
The sharp edge of a katana blade sliced through the Russian sentry's abdomen. Two separate
pieces, once one person, flew off in different directions, a seemingly endless supply of gore
splattered the area in front of the amethyst ninja. Any normal man would cringe at the horrific
sight, but he stood solemn, unphased by the gruesome scene. Ever since the lieutenant first put on
the exoskeleton, he felt as though his entire psyche changed. Killing so indiscriminately was not
an attribute of Scott Miller, but at the moment, it was not something he could fight.
The pool of dying organs smothered in blood seeped into the snow, making it distinguishable in
the plain of white. Meaning Scott Miller would have to leave the crime scene immediately. One
sentry was child's play, an army of them might pose a challenge.
To the cyborg's left was a cargo truck, one that was passed by Solid Snake under an hour ago, in
front of him was the cargo building he would use to gain entrance into inner workings of the
facility. The ninja sheathed his bloody sword, and moved toward the nearby building.
In a flash of purple, Miller, stood in front of the backdoor of the cargo edifice. He turned the
knob and walked through the entranceway. To his front was the flight of stairs heading
downward, to his left was the awakening body of a Russian sentry.
"Oh, man, my head. Who the fuck was that guy?"
The sentry, massaging his balaclava-covered head, rose from the floor. He picked up his AN-94,
turned and unknowingly walked into the plated chest Scott Miller.
"What the–?" the sentry eyes widened in fear staring at the towering cyborg.
The guard began to fire, but was stopped when a amethyst hand simply covered and crushed the
barrel. The Russian looked at his damaged gun, and stumbled back in fear toward the stairwell.
For every one of the sentry's moves backward, Miller stepped forward, increasing the Russian's
anxiety. The sentry was forced to stop when his back foot reached the top of the stairs.
"Please, don't!" the man whimpered.
Scott Miller placed his hand over the eyes and scalp of the sentry.
The sentry pleaded, "What're you– please– I'm begging–"
Before the Russian could finish his sentence, Miller, had snapped the man's head backward
beyond the limits of human contortion, in effect injuring his neck and spine, leading to his death.
The cyborg tossed the body aside and continued down the steps.
___________
Scott Miller stepped through the unlocked door leading into the warehouse-like cargo area. The
initial scene took him by surprise. An innumerable amount of broken boxes broken into
miniature pieces, littered the floor, along with piles of ammunition and medical supplies. The
object in the center of the room was the one that caught the soldier's eye.
A group of sentries were attempting to slide a rather large, lifeless body onto a gurney set at
ground level.
"C'mon, 1,2,3, pull!" a sentry shouted
The Russians, laboriously, got the bloodied body onto the gurney. A few of them found
themselves covered the dead man's blood. "Hurry up and get ‘em outta here," the same sentry
demanded. All, but one of the sentries got into the elevator with the body, and headed for the first
floor. The remaining sentry stood in front of the elevator doors, AK -47 in hand.
Miller, crouching, moved through the rows of boxes, those broken and unbroken. The amethyst
ninja hid behind a container, thinking of his move. He took a step to his left, accidentally kicking
a box of ammunition, causing enough noise to gain the sentry's attention.
"Who's there?"
The sentry raised his Kalashnikov, and crept toward the sound origin. "Whoever you are, show
yourself!"
Miller crouched behind the container, slowly unsheathing his katana. The sentry entered the
ninja's vision, and a second later, Miller had cocked his arm and flung the sword with incredible
strength and aim, toward the sentry.. The Russian turned his head just in time to see the
sharpened point of a blade just before it entered his cortex, and exited through the back of his
skull. Following the sword, a spout of gore rushed through the exit wound.
The sentry's limp body landed with a thud, his assault rifle clattered to the linoleum. The body
fell into the stark, red puddle. Scott walked past the body, picked up his sword, and continued to
the elevator.
Forty-five seconds later, the cyborg found himself in the first floor corridor leading out of the
elevator. The agent turned his head from side to side wary of the sentries carrying Trammel's
body, luckily they were nowhere to be found. The door directly across from him looked the most
promising, so he chose that as his next objective.
When the soldier reached the door it buzzed along with the shining red light, signaling that it
wouldn't open without the proper credentials. Miller, not wanting to search for a card key took a
more aggressive approach. He cocked a fist and sent a ferocious punch through the electronic
panel on the wall, disabling the electronic lock. After a few more of the genetically enhanced jabs
(strength increased even more through the exoskeleton), the cyborg was able to break down the
door. Gaining entrance to the hangar.
___________
Solid Snake and the enigmatic cowboy stood, back-to-back, in the fashion of an old west duel.
Although, reluctant to take part in the duel, Snake hadn't much choice, as he was eager to
continue his mission. The terrorists had Metal Gear, which meant they had the capability to
launch another nuke. Which meant millions of lives gone in an instant.
The cowboy explained, "Ten paces, turn and shoot, it's that simple."
"I'm aware of the rules," Snake replied.
"Just making sure. And one more thing. In my haste to begin, I forget to introduce myself. Of
course my ‘real' name is John, but they call me Peacemaker," he reached his hand around his
body, jestering for a handshake. Snake didn't comply.
"Peacemaker?" the operative asked.
"The nickname of the Single Action Army, and also the fact that I have a near perfect kill rate,
but that's irrelevant now. I've never faced a legend."
"Do you mind if we start anytime soon?" Snake responded, slightly agitated.
"Oh, of course, I s'pose I'm just the talkative type."
The two began their ten paces. Each of their right hands itching for their respective sidearms.
In Snake's thoughts, the true intentions of Peacemaker came under suspicion. He was a very
over-confident person, no one is his position would be that incompetent as to let his guard down
in front of the Solid Snake. His demeanor and personality certainly wasn't that of a cold-blooded
killer, but it wasn't the first time Snake meet someone like him. A person to whom death was
nothing more than a game to be played over and over, until you came out on the losing end.
Five.
Snake reached the fifth step when he thought over his chances of survival. He had the distinct
advantage. Him having the semiautomatic pistol, and his enemy carrying an old-style revolver.
But how well of a shot was Peacemaker? He seemed to emulate Ocelot, but did he have similar
skill to the Patriot spy? Snake was soon to find out.
Ten.
As soon as the front of Snake's left boot stepped foot in the melting snow, he grabbed the USP
from it's holster, turned and fired a single shot. To Snake's dismay, the bullet ended up in the
hangar outer wall; Peacemaker was no where to be found.
"Gotcha."
Snake turned his head to the left to find John, a few meters away, holding up the SAA. It's barrel
staring down the protagonist. Peacemaker manipulated the hammer with his thumb and pulled
the trigger. The last thing Snake saw was the flash of the gunpowder, followed by the inevitable
bullet. Then his vision went black.
A stream of blood sprayed out from the bullet wound as Snake's body went limp and fell to the
ground. John walked over to Snake's motionless body. He holstered the revolver, li,t and began
smoking another cigarette. Blood seeped from the bullet wound in Snake's cranium.
"Hmph. Hope he's not dead." Peacemaker backed up as the Snake's body went through a series
of convulsions.
"Sir!"
Peacemaker turned to find two sentries running toward him. Behind them the large doors across
the field were in the process of opening. The two guards stopped in front of the cowboy and
saluted.
Peacemaker smirked, "Enough of that shit. Take the body to Gangstein." John began walking off
in the direction of the opening doors, "Boy, will he be surprised."
Snake, displaying his inhuman speed and reflexes, sent the top-half of his body spinning
backward as three .45 Colt bullets went whizzing past the legend. The operative looked back up
to searched for Ocelot, but he was nowhere to be found. Snake removed the Universal Self-
Loading Pistol from it's holster, and readied himself into a military stance.
The trained soldier's eyes moved back and forth as he sauntered across the field, searching for
the old nemesis. Suddenly, the mysterious cowboy appeared to Snake's left. Just as the image
entered his vision, Snake pulled the trigger, but the figure soon disappeared behind a nearby
boulder, escaping the speeding bullet.
"Show yourself, Ocelot!" Snake shouted, searching for the Patriot spy.
A flash of color against the white background of snow caught Snake's attention from the corner
of his eye, but the image was gone as fast as it came. Snake slowly continued, listening intently
for signs of life.
"Snake!"
The agent spun, USP raised, finger on the trigger.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the cowboy raised his hands, and his face was revealed. "Don't shoot."
The clothes were the same, from the spurred boots to the Single Action Armies, but the distinct
difference was the cowboy hat, something Ocelot never adorned. A five o'clock shadow was
apparent. His brown eyes stared right back at Snake, the cowboy not easily intimidated even with
the barrel of a USP aimed straight at him. The stranger's long, brown hair, tied in a ponytail,
made it obvious this was no more than an Ocelot impersonator.
"Who the hell are you?" Snake questioned.
Without an answer the man walked to a nearby boulder, all the while Snake trained his pistol on
him, in an effort to get comfortable the man leaned against the rock. He proceeded to remove a
lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "Want one?" the cowboy asked, while
putting out the pack of mini-cigars toward Snake.
"No thanks." Snake answered
"Suit yourself."
The cowboy lit the cancer stick in his mouth, and placed the lighter and cigarettes back into his
pocket. Snake was more than perplexed by the man's either blatant stupidity or just lack of
caring. The man deeply inhaled on the stick, sending a combination of harmful chemicals into his
body. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his index and middle finger,
"man, that is good!"
"It was you, wasn't it?"
"What do ya mean?" the cowboy inquired.
"In the hangar, that was you. Not Ocelot."
"The hangar? I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was out here all along, lookin' for you. As to do with
Ocelot, as far as I know it's pretty unlikely he'd be wanderin' around these parts.
"Now, you asked me who I am. Is that right?" the cowboy stated in the drawl of an old western.
He received no answer from Snake, other than the trained barrel of the USP. "Alrighty, I s'pose
you ain't the talking type. How about I give ya a little history lesson."
The man removed one of his two revolvers from it's holster at his side. He examined it closely,
and at the same time taking another swig of the cigarette. "In 1873 Smith & Wesson introduced
the Colt Single Army, and ever since then it's been in production. In the Western America, it was
the gun of the 1800s. In 1989, I was introduced to the love of my life. This one right here," the
man twirled the gun between his fingers, "is the calvary model with a .45 Colt chamber. A great
man once said that this is the greatest handgun ever made. Six bullets. . . more than enough,"
Snake mouthed the next few words, remembering them distinctly from the fight with Ocelot
years ago, "to kill anything that moves."
"Your obsessed with Revolver Ocelot," Snake concluded.
"Hmph. He's a fine man and a wizard with the revolver, but it's the gun I fell in love with. The
cocking of the hammer, the thought of only six bullets in the chamber, the adrenaline that pumps
through your body when you reload, placing each bullet carefully into it's own little resting place.
It doesn't get any better than that," the stranger said with a large grin.
"Ya know what your problem is. You talk too much. What's stopping me from shooting you
right now? You're obviously not a grunt, so you must be New Dominus."
"We both know you wouldn't do that," the man removed the cigarette from his mouth and tossed
it to the snow-capped field in front of him. He put out his right foot, stepping on the cigarette,
and removed himself from the boulder he leaned on, "it's just not honorable."
Snake still trained the USP on his target, even throughout the revolver history lesson, which he
thought was nothing more than a distraction designed to fool Snake into dropping his guard.
The cowboy stood five meters away from the protagonist and continued, "To shoot a man with
his guard down, not even I would stoop that low. If you're wonderin' before every duel I always
smoke a single cigarette, a good luck trick I picked up a few years back.
"Duel?"
"Of course. How else would we decide this? Ten paces, turn and shoot. One of us survives. It's
that simple." The cowboy paused waiting for an answer from Snake, but received none. "Well,
come on now. It's the only way we do this fair and square. If I wanted to get off a cheap shot on
ya, I woulda killed ya by now."
Still not feeling the man was trustworthy, but confident in his gun-wielding skills, Snake lowered
his pistol, and answered, "alright."
_________
The sharp edge of a katana blade sliced through the Russian sentry's abdomen. Two separate
pieces, once one person, flew off in different directions, a seemingly endless supply of gore
splattered the area in front of the amethyst ninja. Any normal man would cringe at the horrific
sight, but he stood solemn, unphased by the gruesome scene. Ever since the lieutenant first put on
the exoskeleton, he felt as though his entire psyche changed. Killing so indiscriminately was not
an attribute of Scott Miller, but at the moment, it was not something he could fight.
The pool of dying organs smothered in blood seeped into the snow, making it distinguishable in
the plain of white. Meaning Scott Miller would have to leave the crime scene immediately. One
sentry was child's play, an army of them might pose a challenge.
To the cyborg's left was a cargo truck, one that was passed by Solid Snake under an hour ago, in
front of him was the cargo building he would use to gain entrance into inner workings of the
facility. The ninja sheathed his bloody sword, and moved toward the nearby building.
In a flash of purple, Miller, stood in front of the backdoor of the cargo edifice. He turned the
knob and walked through the entranceway. To his front was the flight of stairs heading
downward, to his left was the awakening body of a Russian sentry.
"Oh, man, my head. Who the fuck was that guy?"
The sentry, massaging his balaclava-covered head, rose from the floor. He picked up his AN-94,
turned and unknowingly walked into the plated chest Scott Miller.
"What the–?" the sentry eyes widened in fear staring at the towering cyborg.
The guard began to fire, but was stopped when a amethyst hand simply covered and crushed the
barrel. The Russian looked at his damaged gun, and stumbled back in fear toward the stairwell.
For every one of the sentry's moves backward, Miller stepped forward, increasing the Russian's
anxiety. The sentry was forced to stop when his back foot reached the top of the stairs.
"Please, don't!" the man whimpered.
Scott Miller placed his hand over the eyes and scalp of the sentry.
The sentry pleaded, "What're you– please– I'm begging–"
Before the Russian could finish his sentence, Miller, had snapped the man's head backward
beyond the limits of human contortion, in effect injuring his neck and spine, leading to his death.
The cyborg tossed the body aside and continued down the steps.
___________
Scott Miller stepped through the unlocked door leading into the warehouse-like cargo area. The
initial scene took him by surprise. An innumerable amount of broken boxes broken into
miniature pieces, littered the floor, along with piles of ammunition and medical supplies. The
object in the center of the room was the one that caught the soldier's eye.
A group of sentries were attempting to slide a rather large, lifeless body onto a gurney set at
ground level.
"C'mon, 1,2,3, pull!" a sentry shouted
The Russians, laboriously, got the bloodied body onto the gurney. A few of them found
themselves covered the dead man's blood. "Hurry up and get ‘em outta here," the same sentry
demanded. All, but one of the sentries got into the elevator with the body, and headed for the first
floor. The remaining sentry stood in front of the elevator doors, AK -47 in hand.
Miller, crouching, moved through the rows of boxes, those broken and unbroken. The amethyst
ninja hid behind a container, thinking of his move. He took a step to his left, accidentally kicking
a box of ammunition, causing enough noise to gain the sentry's attention.
"Who's there?"
The sentry raised his Kalashnikov, and crept toward the sound origin. "Whoever you are, show
yourself!"
Miller crouched behind the container, slowly unsheathing his katana. The sentry entered the
ninja's vision, and a second later, Miller had cocked his arm and flung the sword with incredible
strength and aim, toward the sentry.. The Russian turned his head just in time to see the
sharpened point of a blade just before it entered his cortex, and exited through the back of his
skull. Following the sword, a spout of gore rushed through the exit wound.
The sentry's limp body landed with a thud, his assault rifle clattered to the linoleum. The body
fell into the stark, red puddle. Scott walked past the body, picked up his sword, and continued to
the elevator.
Forty-five seconds later, the cyborg found himself in the first floor corridor leading out of the
elevator. The agent turned his head from side to side wary of the sentries carrying Trammel's
body, luckily they were nowhere to be found. The door directly across from him looked the most
promising, so he chose that as his next objective.
When the soldier reached the door it buzzed along with the shining red light, signaling that it
wouldn't open without the proper credentials. Miller, not wanting to search for a card key took a
more aggressive approach. He cocked a fist and sent a ferocious punch through the electronic
panel on the wall, disabling the electronic lock. After a few more of the genetically enhanced jabs
(strength increased even more through the exoskeleton), the cyborg was able to break down the
door. Gaining entrance to the hangar.
___________
Solid Snake and the enigmatic cowboy stood, back-to-back, in the fashion of an old west duel.
Although, reluctant to take part in the duel, Snake hadn't much choice, as he was eager to
continue his mission. The terrorists had Metal Gear, which meant they had the capability to
launch another nuke. Which meant millions of lives gone in an instant.
The cowboy explained, "Ten paces, turn and shoot, it's that simple."
"I'm aware of the rules," Snake replied.
"Just making sure. And one more thing. In my haste to begin, I forget to introduce myself. Of
course my ‘real' name is John, but they call me Peacemaker," he reached his hand around his
body, jestering for a handshake. Snake didn't comply.
"Peacemaker?" the operative asked.
"The nickname of the Single Action Army, and also the fact that I have a near perfect kill rate,
but that's irrelevant now. I've never faced a legend."
"Do you mind if we start anytime soon?" Snake responded, slightly agitated.
"Oh, of course, I s'pose I'm just the talkative type."
The two began their ten paces. Each of their right hands itching for their respective sidearms.
In Snake's thoughts, the true intentions of Peacemaker came under suspicion. He was a very
over-confident person, no one is his position would be that incompetent as to let his guard down
in front of the Solid Snake. His demeanor and personality certainly wasn't that of a cold-blooded
killer, but it wasn't the first time Snake meet someone like him. A person to whom death was
nothing more than a game to be played over and over, until you came out on the losing end.
Five.
Snake reached the fifth step when he thought over his chances of survival. He had the distinct
advantage. Him having the semiautomatic pistol, and his enemy carrying an old-style revolver.
But how well of a shot was Peacemaker? He seemed to emulate Ocelot, but did he have similar
skill to the Patriot spy? Snake was soon to find out.
Ten.
As soon as the front of Snake's left boot stepped foot in the melting snow, he grabbed the USP
from it's holster, turned and fired a single shot. To Snake's dismay, the bullet ended up in the
hangar outer wall; Peacemaker was no where to be found.
"Gotcha."
Snake turned his head to the left to find John, a few meters away, holding up the SAA. It's barrel
staring down the protagonist. Peacemaker manipulated the hammer with his thumb and pulled
the trigger. The last thing Snake saw was the flash of the gunpowder, followed by the inevitable
bullet. Then his vision went black.
A stream of blood sprayed out from the bullet wound as Snake's body went limp and fell to the
ground. John walked over to Snake's motionless body. He holstered the revolver, li,t and began
smoking another cigarette. Blood seeped from the bullet wound in Snake's cranium.
"Hmph. Hope he's not dead." Peacemaker backed up as the Snake's body went through a series
of convulsions.
"Sir!"
Peacemaker turned to find two sentries running toward him. Behind them the large doors across
the field were in the process of opening. The two guards stopped in front of the cowboy and
saluted.
Peacemaker smirked, "Enough of that shit. Take the body to Gangstein." John began walking off
in the direction of the opening doors, "Boy, will he be surprised."