Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction ❯ Grenades ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Event Horizon 
Non Anime: Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.28.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 273 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Drama / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.28.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 273 | Status: Completed
Thursday 3:55 AM
Officially, it was 5 months and 3 days since their last operation. And the previous mission was only a simple recon to photograph personnel files that were too old and obscure to have been scanned into a permeable database. Child's play. Snake's hands were trembling as he donned the suit. It was from excitement - yes, that's what it was. Thoughts were running through his head at light speed. Are we ready? Have we thought through all possibilities? Is the equipment working? Have I been out of practice too long? Have I kept myself in peak condition? Is that a tremor in my heartbeat, or just... the excitement?
Hal knew full well that it was fear racing through his own veins. He held no pretenses of pride and knew he couldn't trick himself into believing everything was fine. It was still pitch black when they loaded their arsenal into the abused, fourth-hand Subaru. The engine turned over and they wordlessly pulled onto the road.
Miles passed in silence. Snake rolled down his window and lit up. The cool air was soothing and the nicotine did much to bring his heartbeat back to normal levels. A Metal Gear. Could it be possible? They would find out soon. The GPS suctioned to the windshield beeped softly and sprang to life. They had arrived at the entry and hopefully extraction point, 2 miles away from N38. Hal pulled the car onto a mounded dirt road that served as access to an adjoining field, still fallow and abandoned in the early spring. No one would be coming out here. No one would suspect a beaten up car, pulled halfway into the field. There wasn't another soul in sight and the blackness of the pre-dawn sky spread all around them. As he killed the engine, Snake took one last long drag and flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window. Final checks.
"Snake, do you copy?" Hal's voice rang in echo through the silent air and through the bones in his ears.
"Copy." Codec functioning. His fingers ran over the knife at the small of his back, the tiny but powerful EMP at his side. He took a deep breath, opened the door and disappeared into the blackness.
Hal was left all alone in the car and he swiftly began to set up his two laptops and satellite antenna, keeping busy to stop the worry from consuming him. He prayed to whomever was listening that his intel was right. Or maybe he should be praying that it was wrong? He was torn up inside, half of him hoping there was a Metal Gear and that Snake could masterfully destroy it. The other half of him was hoping it would be nothing but an empty, cavernous silo. But then... what if if was empty? Did that mean they were being set up? Did that mean that somehow, someone knew they were there? Maybe someone and their numberless mass of hired goons were back at the apartment now, ransacking the encrypted hard drives and their paltry belongings waiting in ambush for the two men to return. Maybe- Hal forced himself to take a gigantic breath through his mouth, pushing it slowly out his nostrils. No, he was just being paranoid.
But then... If there was a Metal Gear here, the numberless hired goons would be too and Snake... No, no, this is what Snake did best, what he was made and trained for. What he lived for. Hal pushed his glasses back up his nose, more out of habit than necessity. The laptops finished booting. The homemade antenna finished its lazy arc and locked onto a stray unsuspecting communications satellite. Time to go to work.
***
5:08 AM
The tall perimeter fence loomed in front of Snake's eyes. He had been so, so careful crossing those scant two miles, watching and inching forward, waiting for some trap to spring around him. Caution was never a bad thing.
The very edges of the sky had turned a dusky gray color but the sun was still far beneath the horizon. As promised, the ground around him was wet with dew and puddles of snowmelt. The water must have been doing its job at scrambling the scenery and Snake with it into an utter gibberish of reflected microwaves because the complex was still deathly silent. There was no motion and Snake too lay prone and still, not hardly daring to breathe. In front of him stood the fence with the promised poles and sensors on each corner. Inside that were two squat structures he expected were the air hatches and between them lay a massive flat concrete ramp with a small but discernible break through the bottom center. Hatch doors.
On the periphery of his vision, on the pole to his left, he saw a small blinking red light. Son of a bitch. There was something here. There was something... An ironic calm followed by adrenaline filled his arteries with purpose. Yes, there was something here. Something that required electricity. Something that could be infiltrated.
Something he could destroy.
Snake's pupils focused on the fence, no more than 10 yards in front of him. He crept forward using only his toes and his fingertips to propel his body until his nose nearly touched the razor and chain-link structure. Sloth-like, he reached to the sheath at his back and pulled out the one weapon he could afford to bring. The non-metallic Grivory knife had two edges, one smooth and one serrated. At the hilt was a set of ceramic pincers which he used to slowly and soundlessly cut through the bottom of the fence. His movements were calculated and tediously slow. It felt as if the sun was moving faster in its task than he was, as if the lazy clouds above were jet aircraft leaving him in the wake of their velocity. Sweat beaded on his forehead in the chill air. At long last, his effort was rewarded and a Snake-sized panel of wire opened. He replaced the blade and slithered through.
Toes and fingertips. The air vent was his next checkpoint. His breathing was shallow and efficiently timed. His whole being was focused, on edge, tight and wound like a spring to react at the smallest sign of movement. However, the facility continued to slumber. As soon as he was close enough to the vent that its form eclipsed the looming ramp hatch structure, he rose to his haunches, saturated ground squishing softly under his feet. Sure he was now out of sight of whatever cameras there were, Snake moved swiftly, covering the remaining distance and flattening himself against the reinforced concrete structure. He took the liberty to inhale sharply through his nostrils, feeding fuel to his greedy synapses. Buckled to his side was a small rectangular box. His hands worked quickly to open the protective cover, revealing Hal's deadly creation. A smirk quirked his lips as he peeled the protective film away from the back to reveal sticky adhesive. He positioned it inside the vent, as far in as his thick arm would allow, securing it firmly. Hal was always predictably careful to make his creations easy to use, but this really took the cake. Snake's finger pressed the red button labeled PUSH, withdrew his hand, and crouched next to the concrete, shielding the codec in his skull and the nanomachines in his blood. He started counting to 10: 1, 2, 3, 4- The device emitted a small but audible zap, mission accomplished.
Now that he was safe from whatever possible sensors lined the air shaft, he reached again for the knife, preparing to tear the mesh grid that covered two thirds of the opening to pieces. But the small hairs on the back of his neck would not let him begin. They stood straight on end, quivering. The sound of soft muddy squishes invaded his ears and constricted his pupils. Footsteps.
He flattened himself against the cement again, knife out, gripped tightly. Snake stared straight ahead, there was no cover here. He could only rely on his peripheral vision and his quick reflexes to tell him from which way his assailants approached. Squish. Left? Squish. Right?
A faint movement, no more than a few photons of betraying light breached his vision. Left. Two. He crouched, slipping deftly to the right, to get around the corner of the vent, to maintain his slim element of surprise. They were masked, with dark goggles, OD flak jackets and fatigues. They gripped a pair of M4s with keen intent. Military? No, there was no insignia present. But they certainly weren't amateurs. Their boots were laced with precision, sidearms glossy and well maintained, electronics at their ears and eyes feeding them environment data. But not Snake. They hadn't spotted him yet.
They drew closer, closer to the corner and instinct and experience blurred together into one clear attack. He slid from his hiding place like water, executing a roundhouse to the face of the taller one while his torso spun around and the smooth edge of his blade sliced cleanly through the trachea of the other. Before he could hit the ground, Snake was upon the first, wrapping his hands around his face and twisting, snapping, so that the tendons and nerves burst in sickening splendor. He knelt by the shorter one, just barely alive, mouth gaping open with breaths that would never come. Blood spattered out with each throb of his doomed heart, and Snake was careful to avoid the stain as he sunk his blade into the unwounded side of his throat, bestowing him a short and merciful death. He wiped the knife clean on the jacket of the now still body, reaching with his other hand to remove the electronics from his face. He peered at it, trying to decipher whose trained soldiers were stationed at this supposedly abandoned facility. Could it really be the Patriots? But his musings were utterly pointless. He'd leave the forensics to Otacon, later. The more pressing issue was how he could have set off any sort of alarm during his approach. He'd been so certain of his path and his slow movements. He and Hal had been so careful in their preparations, they'd thought of everything. Right? But it wasn't a routine patrol, that he was sure of. The safeties on each of their assault rifles were clearly off. A patrol wouldn't be walking around with live weapons, fingers itching for a target. What alarm had he triggered?
Despite nagging thoughts, Snake was fairly certain that his position hadn't been relayed. He didn't want to take any further chances, so he dragged the bodies to the far side of the air vent and began sawing with determination at the metal mesh that barred his entry. He cut away three sides and bent the panel down, peering into the blackness below. There was no bottom visible in the soft gray light. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders, sheathed the knife, and unclipped the rope spool at his waist. He tied one end of the braided wire to the concrete pillar and gripped the other in his hand, wiggling inside. The rope would give away his position when the bodies were found but with any luck he would be in, done, and back out well before that ever happened. It was worth the gamble, especially depending on how far down this shaft the first entry point lay. He slowly let the rope slide through his gloved fingers, his feet walking down the walls, the light disappearing overhead. 30 minutes, and the sun would breach the horizon. 10 minutes, and they would get suspicious that the two men whose bodies were cooling on the ground hadn't returned. 10 minutes. The seconds ticked off audibly in his head. He prayed to god that he would be back out by then, that the codec was still working, and that Hal would be ready to drive like hell.
The opening was now just a dim point of light above him. Was he 50 feet down? 70? He knew the silos were about 150 feet deep, so sooner or later he should reach an opening into the ventilation system. Unless this wasn't really an air vent, but an exhaust tunnel? The thought was chilling even though Snake knew that there couldn't possibly be a missile still housed here. His heels finally brushed the lip of another mesh grid. Bingo. He braced himself against the sides of the shaft and used one hand to loop the rope around the harness on his suit, tying it with certain precision. Now that both his hands were free, he took a cursory glance through the screen. It offered a dim fluorescent glow that illuminated the metal sides of the air system, but little else. He silently sawed the screen and crawled through. Snake had to release the rope before he could pull his legs into the perpendicular shaft. He secured the line to the bent mesh, preserving his only escape route.
Snake began to crawl through the vent towards the dim source of light. There were no sounds around him save his own shallow breathing and the whisper slide of sneaking suit on galvanized aluminum. The fluorescent light grew stronger and outlined an angled ceiling cover. He peered through it into a fairly standard government room, walls painted bland beige, desk and chair painfully utilitarian. The room was blessedly empty and he slid the vent open, dropping soundlessly onto the desk below, and shut the vent in his wake. He stepped down to the floor and his eyes quickly discovered several computers, a cabinet, and an abandoned cell phone. Which presently began to ring. Snake dove for the cabinet without thought, pulling himself inside and sealing it shut just as the door cracked open. He was starved for sight, but picked up each crisp word.
"Bennet. ... Yes. ... Yes, I'm painfully aware of that. ... Are you fucking kidding me? ... Goddamn it, he could be anywhere by now." So much for his 10 minutes. "Well, maybe we can turn your incompetence to our advantage, maybe we can finally move to phase 3. ... That's not my job, that's yours. ... Just fucking find him or I swear to god, I'll use you instead!" Snake gleaned four things from that conversation. One, the bodies were found. Two, if they checked on them that quickly, these people really meant business. Three, this man Bennet was either the leader or someone of stature. Even the tone of his voice exuded power and unmistakeable derision. Four, there was severe trouble of some type in store for him if he was found. Oh, and don't forget his escape route was now irreparably compromised. He moved his fingers to the hilt of his knife, tensing his muscles to dive out and capture this Bennet, but his ears picked up the sound of another set of footsteps. "Tosoh, come with me, we need to secure the lab." A deep grunt of affirmation. The two men exited the room, door slamming roughly behind them.
Holy shit. He needed to move fast. If this was a Metal Gear, they were going to lock it down so he couldn't get at it to disable it. If it wasn't, he needed to find out what type of hornet's nest he'd walked into and then get the hell out with all deliberate speed. He cracked the door of the cabinet open, not really expecting anyone to be in the room, but not willing to make a rookie mistake. There was no one there, so he pressed his ear to the door, listening for footfalls in the hallway. Clip clip clip clip. What sounded like a pair of shiny army boots walked away from his room, turning down a mystery corridor. He cracked the door to the room open, peering into the nondescript beige hallway. No one to the left. The polished cement floor glistened and gave him a perfect reflected view of his blind right side. No one there either. He took a deep breath, knife in hand, and stepped out into the hallway.
Hal, meanwhile, was nearly wringing his fingers out of their sockets with worry. It was 6:19 and 32 seconds which mean that in precisely 16 minutes and 28 seconds, the sun would crest over the horizon. 27 seconds. 26 seconds.
The last glimpse he'd had of Snake was through the orbiting eye of his hijacked geostationary satellite. He saw the crouched figure on the ground dispatch the two men on patrol with frightening speed. Then he was gone, slipped into the complex and disappeared. The screen in front of him had been as empty as the dim, pre-dawn landscape surrounding him. He tore his eyes from the clock on his laptop and pinched the bridge of his nose roughly. At every crackle of static over the com, his fingers involuntarily reached for the keys in the ignition. Every 15 seconds, his eyes would pop up to stare out of the windshield, scanning fruitlessly for crouched figures, friend or foe. Hal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, he couldn't keep thinking like this or he'd give himself a heart attack if Snake really did show up. WHEN he showed up. Not IF, WHEN. Stupid brain.
He tried to think logically. It was only about twenty minutes since he'd last seen him on-screen. Snake was inside right now. But if it was just an empty shell, as he was secretly hoping, he would have contacted him on the codec. The line lay dead and empty save the phantom random crackles that were slowly driving him mad. Had he been right? Was there something nefarious growing inside that silo? Was someone building a Metal Gear out here in the the middle of godforsaken nowhere?
A terrible thought occurred to him and raced through his limbs, making him tremble, making his eyes close for the merest of moments. What if...? What if something had happened? They were going to maintain radio silence until Snake had neutralized the situation or... or Snake needed his help enough to betray his presence. If he was silent still, that could only mean one of two things. Either Snake was hard at work and things were progressing well enough or... Or he'd been silenced.
If- if that happened, how long would Hal wait? How long would he sit here, worrying? The sun would rise, doubtless. It may even be mid-morning. Noon? Sunset? Would he wait all the next night as well? A sharp pain stabbed through his heart. God, he would. He would wait for days, until... Maybe until his own weak body gave out? Would he just sit here and die, waiting for him to return? He shuddered. What kind of thinking was that? Was he trying to worry himself gray?
But... But it was true. Hal had never thought about it before, but he knew without a second thought that if he really had to, he would wait for Snake to return until his heart stopped. Until his body rotted. He chastized himself for being so melodramatic, but... Hal tried to think about the plausable outcomes. If he left, at whatever point, he would never be able to forgive himself. Would never be able to stifle the 'what ifs'. They depended so completely on one another that it was anathema to think that without contact from Snake he would eventually just leave. There was absolutely no way. He would sit here, stoic, ready at a moment's notice, until Snake came back. Oh, and he had been so miserable to him lately... Working without relief on the suit and on the EMP, he'd snapped at him more times than Hal wanted to count. God, why couldn't he shrug the stress aside and just be pleasant to him? Was that so much to ask? They were supposed to be partners, but when it really came down to it, Hal under pressure could be a miserable SOB.
He didn't really believe in god, but he said a silent prayer to the skies, promising to buy Snake a carton of cigarettes and silently endure the smoke from all 200 if it just meant he'd return, whole.
12 minutes, 40 seconds.
39, 38...
***
6:23 AM
Snake had made it past the third and second inner blast doors. Now there was only the first in front of him and one very angry solider, a grimace on his face that could turn a gorgon to stone. The veins in his forehead throbbed from surprise and rage, and his unholstered weapon rose on a steady and deadly path to Snake's chest. He ducked, rolling, flipping his legs around to capture the other's, dropping him onto his back with a thick thud. A silenced M9 he'd procured from the guard two hallways down kissed the prone man's temple. The projectile found the tender spot on his skull and ricocheted in myriad directions inside his face, turning all the soft tissue to consistent mush with barely a sound. He dragged the now harmless body against the wall so the door was unhindered. This was it. The Metal Gear would lay behind this door. His hand gripped the screw latch and spun it quickly. The echo of the hinges scattered against the walls and through the putrid air that occupied the vast space. Snake opened the door violently, deliberately to catch the occupants off guard. Success. There were four men inside, faces painted with shock.
"Well, I believe congratulations are in order?" A blonde, dressed in a smart but plain navy suit, regarded him coolly, quickly replacing the surprise with condescension. Bennet. Next to him was a tall, broad, well muscled man, probably of Pacific Islander ethnicity. Tosoh? Two others, Caucasian, less intimidating physically but not to be underestimated, carried M4s slung across their shoulders. Their arms trembled in anticipation as Snake glared at them down the barrel of his gun, almost daring them to move the rifles to their hands.
"And you are?" It didn't need to be said, but he desperately needed to find out something more than their names. Who were they working for, what were their aims? It had to be done before bloody gun violence ensued. Kill them all and let God sort them out? Not such a good idea if you needed leads to find your next infiltration site. He was several unbridgeable deviations more intelligent than Rambo. But that foul stink in the air was getting to him. Where was it coming from?!
"I believe that's my line." The blonde's smirk turned into a scowl and Tosoh crossed his arms over his chest threateningly. "Who the hell are you?" Snake would not be out-maneuvered. He forced a cold laugh through his lips.
"That is absolutely none of your concern. Right now, I'm the one with the gun. You will answer my questions or I won't hesitate to dispose of you. It's simple, you're either useful or you're not." His eyes burned into Bennet's pupils as he watched the other three men obliquely for any sign of movement. His ears twitched, trying to pickup the sound of anyone advancing from behind. Nothing. For now. "What are you working on and who are you working for? Quick answers, I get bored and trigger-happy easily." The gun did not waver in his hands.
Bennet's piercing laugh ran through the gigantic hollow space.
"Who am I working for? I have no master, yet I work for everyone. What am I working on? You could say I'm a philanthropist, I'm working on the Greater Good." Snake could tell those last words were capitalized in Bennet's mind. Deluded psychopath? Government covert ops? Brainwashed Patriot pawn? He was starting to lean towards the first versus the third and definitely away from the second. If this was an arm of the Patriots, they wouldn't need to ask who Snake was. Government was already ruled out. These guys did not have the look of government agents, and certainly not the aura.
Not to mention the overwhelming absence of anything in the great empty space above. There was no missile, no Metal Gear. Behind the four increasingly petulant men, was a machine or a computer roughly the size of a minivan, attached with great power cables to a generator that matched the bulk of a semi truck. Psychopath.
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how that pile of junk will affect the Greater Good?" He saw a worrisome and victorious glint in the man's eyes.
"You don't know, do you? You really don't know. That is just lovely. We have a nameless mercenary attacking our humble abode and he doesn't even know why he's here." His arms were outstretched and he turned in a circle languorously, imploring invisible spectators to gawk at the hapless soldier. "Who sent you, really? Who would care so little for your life or your impressively obvious skills that they wouldn't tell you why?" He closed his eyes carelessly and laughed demonically, betting that Snake wouldn't take that chance to blow his brains out. "I'll tell you why, but not because I'm bragging. No, I'll tell you so that you have the chance to know and appreciate your role before..." His twisted smirk reappeared. "Well, before this all plays out." He clasped his hands behind his back, unmindful of the deadly weapon trained on his cerebrum, or the index finger waiting for an excuse to act. "I suppose the whys shouldn't concern you, only the hows, so I'll be brief. I plan to wipe this planet clean of all the defiling bipedal primates who do nothing but kill themselves, each other, and the world around them. Humans are a disgusting and vile species, and this 'pile of junk' will give the world a clean slate to start from." He caressed the machine lovingly. "This brilliant little creation has found the precise wavelength that your brain operates on, whether it's engaged in sleep, or watching television," he scoffed, "or bludgeoning your neighbor to death. All humankind vibrates on the same frequency. We take that frequency, and play it back, in discordance." He clapped his hands for effect. "Splat. Little pieces of Jane and Johnny's brains all over the place."
Snake's face tightened. He suddenly knew with exact precision what that smell was. Forget psychopath, this piece of work thought he was God. And God did not lose to one lightly armed man, regardless of his combat skill. As if they were communicating telepathically, Tosoh took some unspoken cue to launch forward, reaching for Snake's gun. The angle of the M9's barrel changed to intercept the large man's path and he fired three quick rounds into his chest, staining his shirt brilliant red. But the force of the 9mm rounds were not enough to stop his trajectory, moving with the fearsome momentum of his large body, driven by fervor. Snake dove out of the way as the man's outstretched arms reached fruitlessly and fell to the ground, coughing up a mixture of blood and powdered bone. The two nameless men did not miss their chance, swinging rifles to their hands with clear determination, clicking off the safeties, and opening fire. Snake had the chance to dodge the first two of the three-round bursts. One was a wild shot, one he was just lucky. By the time their fingers returned to squeeze off another set, he was already diving behind the generator. Bennet's screams pierced the air.
"You fucking fools, stop shooting!" One more rapid chorus of bullets split the air and embedded themselves into the metal monstrosity. "Goddamn it!" He couldn't see what was happening, but the sounds of a gun being wrenched out of incompetent hands followed. "Where the hell did you learn to shoot? He wasn't but 8 feet in front of you. Fucking imbecile!" Shots rang out and a body thudded to the floor. Just two left now. As soon as the thought had passed through his mind, it was trampled by another. Snake came to the sharp realization that the putrid smell was emanating from behind the generator. ...Where he was currently crouched.
Terrifyingly decapitated bodies littered the cement floor in front of him. Lower jaws clung to the necks of their owners but everything above was evaporated. Dried blood and molding brain matter spattered on the floors and walls without discrimination. The pale flesh of a dozen unfortunate souls was cast about as if garbage. Snake gritted his teeth. Was this part of the 'Phase 3' Bennet was talking about earlier? Once they caught him, did they intend to use him as a test subject? Rage condensed in his mind. The missing people. This was proof they had not fled south to sip Mojitos on the sunny Gulf coast, they had been abducted by this maniac to test his unholy machine. Rage clouded his vision. The school teacher was here, somewhere, just another part of the gore. If the machine that Bennet spoke of hadn't been created, if it was just a figment of his demented dreams, Snake could have escaped this place and not worried about the blonde or his deluded goons. But now... Now he had proof that what they created was real and his full intention to use it was painted on the walls. This was no better than a Metal Gear, albeit less mobile. Perhaps this group was not as well funded as the US and Russian governments, and certainly not the Patriots, but the intention was the same. Power. Death. He would bring that superior bastard to his knees and incinerate this hell hole. For the victims lying undignified on the concrete, and for their future victims. His ears picked up the slight shuffle of feet approaching from his left. He wafted silently, on air, to the right and past the brutalized bodies, around the corner of the generator, so that he would be behind them.
"Surprise, asshole." The quiet whisper slid into his ears a tenth of a second before gunfire followed and blistering pain erupted in his arm. His grip on the handgun faltered for a second before he ducked, twisting, back behind the generator. How had he missed that? He was so in tune with the approaching figure from the left that he'd forgotten about Bennet on the right. It was a dear and frivolous mistake.
The figure on the left came into view and usurped Bennet's importance in this desperate game of survival. His clasped hands moved fluidly to aim at the man's head and two rounds exited the silencer with deadly accuracy. New blood joined dried on the wall behind and the man crumpled to the concrete. A short, smothered footstep from behind drifted to Snake's ears just before the butt of Bennet's gun cracked across his temple. He intended to take him alive, that was apparent. But it was just another of Bennet's mistakes.
"Fuck." Snake's vision spilled into blackness, followed by a unmerciful wave of pain. Despite it, he was steady on his feet, whirling and smashing his pistol into the blonde's temple with reflex precision. The world quickly reformed around him. Bennet's undulating body fell against the generator but Snake was immediately upon him. The whole bulk of his upper body propelled his fist into the sociopath's face, blood coating his knuckles. His limp body dropped to the floor. Snake had half a second to spin around, hands gripping the pistol, drawing a precise bead between the eyebrows of Tosoh, back on his feet. A surprised gasp, a quiet click, the slide closed with a snap, and his body met the ground with a liquid thud. Done.
Now it was just Bennet left. Incapacitated on the ground, the lucky recipient of Snake's undivided attention and unbridled rage. He lashed out in quick percussion with both fists, one merely gloved, one grasping the pistol. Blows which fell like thundering rain beat the blonde body on the floor, conscious but powerless. The throbbing at the base of Snake's head mixed with the horror of the decapitated bodies and the sweet revel of the violence he was dispensing. He could feel the victims' fear, their dread, and knew that each pulse of his own heart had the potential to make this madman pay dearly. His knuckles and the butt of his gun were slowly coated in blood. Small viscous gurgles - pleas? - leaked from the sides of Bennet's mouth, followed by rivulets of deep red liquid. Snake could barely see through his rage and through the slow imperceptible spread of black across his eyes. Finally, he felt the body beneath him yield, dead, and forced his fists to cease. Breath swarmed into his lungs. The victims were vindicated. The evil had been defeated.
But Snake's victory would be short lived. From behind, through the hatch door and up the metal stairs, a half dozen men descended, weapons at the ready. He sprang for the opened door, flattening himself against the wall, protected from sight by the door's metal bulk. While their shocked stares darted to the newly dead on the right, Snake slipped with the grace of a whisper to the left. As their heads turned inevitably away and to the left, Snake danced to the right. He was behind them, through the door, and softly up the stairs.
His breaths came in gasps now, the unending stairway curled above his vision like he was ascending from hell. Was he far enough away from the bottom, the nerve center of the base, to risk using the codec? He knew with panicked certainty that his muscles showed the shadow of fatigue. His vision was worsening and his throbbing head meant he was not thinking crisply, not reacting fast enough. He had to get out of there and he needed Otacon's help. Would he survive, running for two miles when the land was so flat you could almost see the curve of the earth? When the whole base was just waiting for a glimpse of him, when he would have no cover to dodge a sharpshooter's aim and when his brain was on fire? He stopped on a landing, palms on the wall, working to still his breath and his heart and just listen for a moment. Was there anyone coming? He could hear the hollow clank of metal beneath him, echoing up from fathoms below. How much further? The light was so dim before that he could barely see. Now, through the black haze of screaming nerve endings, he was as good as blind. Adrenaline pushed him forward, up the stairs, three at a time, until he ran smack into a closed metal door. Fuck?! He couldn't even see three feet in front of him. But yes, yes, was this finally it? Had he reached the surface? He holstered the gun and put both hands to work twisting open the screw latch, prying it open but keeping his body safely behind the metal protection. Light streamed in, but it wasn't sunrise, it was rows of fluorescent tubes. Close, he had to be close. Unholstered, he brought the gun up to eye level. Ever mindful of the angry metal noises below, he walked silently but swiftly. The corridor was brightly lit with doors on both sides, some open and laden with potential danger, some closed. At the end was another heavy blast door, one which he prayed would lead outside. The sound of crunching came from Snake's right and he spun without needing to think, finger squeezing off two rounds that embedded themselves soundlessly in the throat of a man sitting behind a desk. He stared at Snake with large eyes, color spilling and saturating his shirt a brilliant red. No time for thought, no time for sympathy. Could he have bypassed the door without being caught? Perhaps. But instinct gave you only one option. The man slumped to the ground and Snake glided towards the blast door. Once more, he holstered his gun, twisted open the door, and peered out, muzzle first. A concrete ramp, and a large grate that covered it, and beyond that - sunlight.
"Otacon, are you there?" His voice held a touch of fear in it. It was small but present and there was a near insurmountable probability that Hal would notice. He wished he could have masked it. He was injured in a way where he couldn't simply field dress it and carry on, and he needed Hal undistracted and thinking clearly so they could both get out of there alive. Instantly, the engineer's voice cut through the silence.
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" He was breathless with fear as well, but that wasn't unexpected.
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit. Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." His voice had returned to its normal, gruff, in control, and always cool and unaffected tenor.
"I'm on my way. Be there in two minutes." Silence faded back in and Snake let out a faint grunt, the throbbing in his head had turned to flashes of electricity. He leaned against the wall, gun pointed at the door he'd just come through, daring anyone to be bold or stupid enough to chase him onto the ramp.
***
Hal's eyes bore into the clock on the computer resting on his lap. The sun had not yet risen, but piercing rays of light, harbingers of the brilliant red orb, spelled their doom as they blasted out over the rim of the horizon. The blood raced through his body, his thumbs idly picking at the seat covers. 6:36. A sliver of the sun would emerge in just a few precious minutes. It would be fully risen just past the hour. At that point, they were both as good as dead. Where was he? Hal itched to flip on the codec and whisper over the air, just to see if he was okay. Like whispering would do any good. He could scream at the top of his lungs if he wanted, but the indistinguishable signal would be a red flag for anyone smart and dangerous enough to be scanning for it. His eyes were wide with fear, his brain holding a steady shrieking note to keep from imagining all the possibilities. 6:38. Where the hell was he?!
"Otacon, are you there?" And there it was, the small and simple signal that meant Snake was indeed still alive. His breath caught painfully as he was twisted, simultaneously rejoicing and panicking. There was no way to disguise it, Snake was in pain and had been running. Not caught, but definitely running, trying to escape.
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" The words spilled from his lips, hands already running on instinct, closing and stowing laptops, removing and unplugging equipment, sliding back into the driver's seat and bringing the car to life.
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit." The fear and pain in Snake's voice were suddenly gone. "Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." Quick exit. Not good. Not good at all. Even if his voice no longer betrayed the situation, Hal understood clearly what was about to happen. Before putting the car in gear, Hal reached over the back of the seat and pulled a bulletproof vest out from the mess of wires and peripherals. There was something at N38. There was something that Snake was running from, worse, something that was chasing him. Could the little Subaru outrun a Metal Gear? Could it outrun army vehicles driven by viciously enraged soldiers? He was damn sure going to try.
"I'm on my way. Hal popped the clutch and the mud flew. "Be there in two minutes." Less, if he could help it.
***
Snake waited on the concrete ramp, the time between each breath growing longer, the seconds ticking by slower. A black shroud was wrapping around his mind and closing off his connection with consciousness in warm, welcoming tugs. Would it be a simple blow to the back of his head that would do him in? After all the knife blades and bullets his flesh had absorbed? It would only be too easy to succumb. As hard as he fought, inevitably his eyelids would close and he would slump to the ground, pistol falling from his limp grip. Death, either by wound or enemy, would be upon him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his one connection with the world. But they were failing him. The blackness which had crept into the corners of his vision was glazing over the center of his sight. The pounding of his blood morphed from sparks of pain into a dulling throb as his mind tried to compensate and the beginnings of shock set in. The door on the world was closing. He couldn't hear the muffled sound of a car approaching above or the staccato of feet in the corridor below which he'd just crossed through. It was only when the group of pursuing soldiers slammed open the outer door that Snake knew it was time to run, time to find higher ground. Three rounds clicked out of the barrel of his M9, two bodies fell. Snake's third shot found its home in the wall while the last solider opened fire. One bullet out of the swarm arced towards Snake with prophetic aim. The bullet entered his right bicep and tumbled, tearing his flesh further open. It exited bearing blood and musculature onto the brown grass at his feet. Yet the pain was nothing but a profaning fly buzzing at his ear. He was running, and Otacon and the Subaru were in front of him.
He could see his partner crouch down, making as small a target as possible. The soldiers behind him were merely muted noise, their gunshots as fleeting and unimportant as raindrops on a window. He could see the animated fear in Otacon's eyes as he approached, opening the rear driver-side door and diving into the relative safety of the vinyl seats. He felt more than heard the transmission grasp at first gear. The back tires spun and gripped in a split second and then it was nothing but pavement and random shouts mixed with angry gunfire behind them, becoming ever faded and distant. And then Otacon was shouting too, but his words were nothing but a familiar murmur. A wave of serenity overtook him, his limbs were filled with a mixture of safety and deep exhaustion. Snake's eyes closed and the world went finally black.
Chapter 3
Officially, it was 5 months and 3 days since their last operation. And the previous mission was only a simple recon to photograph personnel files that were too old and obscure to have been scanned into a permeable database. Child's play. Snake's hands were trembling as he donned the suit. It was from excitement - yes, that's what it was. Thoughts were running through his head at light speed. Are we ready? Have we thought through all possibilities? Is the equipment working? Have I been out of practice too long? Have I kept myself in peak condition? Is that a tremor in my heartbeat, or just... the excitement?
Hal knew full well that it was fear racing through his own veins. He held no pretenses of pride and knew he couldn't trick himself into believing everything was fine. It was still pitch black when they loaded their arsenal into the abused, fourth-hand Subaru. The engine turned over and they wordlessly pulled onto the road.
Miles passed in silence. Snake rolled down his window and lit up. The cool air was soothing and the nicotine did much to bring his heartbeat back to normal levels. A Metal Gear. Could it be possible? They would find out soon. The GPS suctioned to the windshield beeped softly and sprang to life. They had arrived at the entry and hopefully extraction point, 2 miles away from N38. Hal pulled the car onto a mounded dirt road that served as access to an adjoining field, still fallow and abandoned in the early spring. No one would be coming out here. No one would suspect a beaten up car, pulled halfway into the field. There wasn't another soul in sight and the blackness of the pre-dawn sky spread all around them. As he killed the engine, Snake took one last long drag and flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window. Final checks.
"Snake, do you copy?" Hal's voice rang in echo through the silent air and through the bones in his ears.
"Copy." Codec functioning. His fingers ran over the knife at the small of his back, the tiny but powerful EMP at his side. He took a deep breath, opened the door and disappeared into the blackness.
Hal was left all alone in the car and he swiftly began to set up his two laptops and satellite antenna, keeping busy to stop the worry from consuming him. He prayed to whomever was listening that his intel was right. Or maybe he should be praying that it was wrong? He was torn up inside, half of him hoping there was a Metal Gear and that Snake could masterfully destroy it. The other half of him was hoping it would be nothing but an empty, cavernous silo. But then... what if if was empty? Did that mean they were being set up? Did that mean that somehow, someone knew they were there? Maybe someone and their numberless mass of hired goons were back at the apartment now, ransacking the encrypted hard drives and their paltry belongings waiting in ambush for the two men to return. Maybe- Hal forced himself to take a gigantic breath through his mouth, pushing it slowly out his nostrils. No, he was just being paranoid.
But then... If there was a Metal Gear here, the numberless hired goons would be too and Snake... No, no, this is what Snake did best, what he was made and trained for. What he lived for. Hal pushed his glasses back up his nose, more out of habit than necessity. The laptops finished booting. The homemade antenna finished its lazy arc and locked onto a stray unsuspecting communications satellite. Time to go to work.
***
5:08 AM
The tall perimeter fence loomed in front of Snake's eyes. He had been so, so careful crossing those scant two miles, watching and inching forward, waiting for some trap to spring around him. Caution was never a bad thing.
The very edges of the sky had turned a dusky gray color but the sun was still far beneath the horizon. As promised, the ground around him was wet with dew and puddles of snowmelt. The water must have been doing its job at scrambling the scenery and Snake with it into an utter gibberish of reflected microwaves because the complex was still deathly silent. There was no motion and Snake too lay prone and still, not hardly daring to breathe. In front of him stood the fence with the promised poles and sensors on each corner. Inside that were two squat structures he expected were the air hatches and between them lay a massive flat concrete ramp with a small but discernible break through the bottom center. Hatch doors.
On the periphery of his vision, on the pole to his left, he saw a small blinking red light. Son of a bitch. There was something here. There was something... An ironic calm followed by adrenaline filled his arteries with purpose. Yes, there was something here. Something that required electricity. Something that could be infiltrated.
Something he could destroy.
Snake's pupils focused on the fence, no more than 10 yards in front of him. He crept forward using only his toes and his fingertips to propel his body until his nose nearly touched the razor and chain-link structure. Sloth-like, he reached to the sheath at his back and pulled out the one weapon he could afford to bring. The non-metallic Grivory knife had two edges, one smooth and one serrated. At the hilt was a set of ceramic pincers which he used to slowly and soundlessly cut through the bottom of the fence. His movements were calculated and tediously slow. It felt as if the sun was moving faster in its task than he was, as if the lazy clouds above were jet aircraft leaving him in the wake of their velocity. Sweat beaded on his forehead in the chill air. At long last, his effort was rewarded and a Snake-sized panel of wire opened. He replaced the blade and slithered through.
Toes and fingertips. The air vent was his next checkpoint. His breathing was shallow and efficiently timed. His whole being was focused, on edge, tight and wound like a spring to react at the smallest sign of movement. However, the facility continued to slumber. As soon as he was close enough to the vent that its form eclipsed the looming ramp hatch structure, he rose to his haunches, saturated ground squishing softly under his feet. Sure he was now out of sight of whatever cameras there were, Snake moved swiftly, covering the remaining distance and flattening himself against the reinforced concrete structure. He took the liberty to inhale sharply through his nostrils, feeding fuel to his greedy synapses. Buckled to his side was a small rectangular box. His hands worked quickly to open the protective cover, revealing Hal's deadly creation. A smirk quirked his lips as he peeled the protective film away from the back to reveal sticky adhesive. He positioned it inside the vent, as far in as his thick arm would allow, securing it firmly. Hal was always predictably careful to make his creations easy to use, but this really took the cake. Snake's finger pressed the red button labeled PUSH, withdrew his hand, and crouched next to the concrete, shielding the codec in his skull and the nanomachines in his blood. He started counting to 10: 1, 2, 3, 4- The device emitted a small but audible zap, mission accomplished.
Now that he was safe from whatever possible sensors lined the air shaft, he reached again for the knife, preparing to tear the mesh grid that covered two thirds of the opening to pieces. But the small hairs on the back of his neck would not let him begin. They stood straight on end, quivering. The sound of soft muddy squishes invaded his ears and constricted his pupils. Footsteps.
He flattened himself against the cement again, knife out, gripped tightly. Snake stared straight ahead, there was no cover here. He could only rely on his peripheral vision and his quick reflexes to tell him from which way his assailants approached. Squish. Left? Squish. Right?
A faint movement, no more than a few photons of betraying light breached his vision. Left. Two. He crouched, slipping deftly to the right, to get around the corner of the vent, to maintain his slim element of surprise. They were masked, with dark goggles, OD flak jackets and fatigues. They gripped a pair of M4s with keen intent. Military? No, there was no insignia present. But they certainly weren't amateurs. Their boots were laced with precision, sidearms glossy and well maintained, electronics at their ears and eyes feeding them environment data. But not Snake. They hadn't spotted him yet.
They drew closer, closer to the corner and instinct and experience blurred together into one clear attack. He slid from his hiding place like water, executing a roundhouse to the face of the taller one while his torso spun around and the smooth edge of his blade sliced cleanly through the trachea of the other. Before he could hit the ground, Snake was upon the first, wrapping his hands around his face and twisting, snapping, so that the tendons and nerves burst in sickening splendor. He knelt by the shorter one, just barely alive, mouth gaping open with breaths that would never come. Blood spattered out with each throb of his doomed heart, and Snake was careful to avoid the stain as he sunk his blade into the unwounded side of his throat, bestowing him a short and merciful death. He wiped the knife clean on the jacket of the now still body, reaching with his other hand to remove the electronics from his face. He peered at it, trying to decipher whose trained soldiers were stationed at this supposedly abandoned facility. Could it really be the Patriots? But his musings were utterly pointless. He'd leave the forensics to Otacon, later. The more pressing issue was how he could have set off any sort of alarm during his approach. He'd been so certain of his path and his slow movements. He and Hal had been so careful in their preparations, they'd thought of everything. Right? But it wasn't a routine patrol, that he was sure of. The safeties on each of their assault rifles were clearly off. A patrol wouldn't be walking around with live weapons, fingers itching for a target. What alarm had he triggered?
Despite nagging thoughts, Snake was fairly certain that his position hadn't been relayed. He didn't want to take any further chances, so he dragged the bodies to the far side of the air vent and began sawing with determination at the metal mesh that barred his entry. He cut away three sides and bent the panel down, peering into the blackness below. There was no bottom visible in the soft gray light. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders, sheathed the knife, and unclipped the rope spool at his waist. He tied one end of the braided wire to the concrete pillar and gripped the other in his hand, wiggling inside. The rope would give away his position when the bodies were found but with any luck he would be in, done, and back out well before that ever happened. It was worth the gamble, especially depending on how far down this shaft the first entry point lay. He slowly let the rope slide through his gloved fingers, his feet walking down the walls, the light disappearing overhead. 30 minutes, and the sun would breach the horizon. 10 minutes, and they would get suspicious that the two men whose bodies were cooling on the ground hadn't returned. 10 minutes. The seconds ticked off audibly in his head. He prayed to god that he would be back out by then, that the codec was still working, and that Hal would be ready to drive like hell.
The opening was now just a dim point of light above him. Was he 50 feet down? 70? He knew the silos were about 150 feet deep, so sooner or later he should reach an opening into the ventilation system. Unless this wasn't really an air vent, but an exhaust tunnel? The thought was chilling even though Snake knew that there couldn't possibly be a missile still housed here. His heels finally brushed the lip of another mesh grid. Bingo. He braced himself against the sides of the shaft and used one hand to loop the rope around the harness on his suit, tying it with certain precision. Now that both his hands were free, he took a cursory glance through the screen. It offered a dim fluorescent glow that illuminated the metal sides of the air system, but little else. He silently sawed the screen and crawled through. Snake had to release the rope before he could pull his legs into the perpendicular shaft. He secured the line to the bent mesh, preserving his only escape route.
Snake began to crawl through the vent towards the dim source of light. There were no sounds around him save his own shallow breathing and the whisper slide of sneaking suit on galvanized aluminum. The fluorescent light grew stronger and outlined an angled ceiling cover. He peered through it into a fairly standard government room, walls painted bland beige, desk and chair painfully utilitarian. The room was blessedly empty and he slid the vent open, dropping soundlessly onto the desk below, and shut the vent in his wake. He stepped down to the floor and his eyes quickly discovered several computers, a cabinet, and an abandoned cell phone. Which presently began to ring. Snake dove for the cabinet without thought, pulling himself inside and sealing it shut just as the door cracked open. He was starved for sight, but picked up each crisp word.
"Bennet. ... Yes. ... Yes, I'm painfully aware of that. ... Are you fucking kidding me? ... Goddamn it, he could be anywhere by now." So much for his 10 minutes. "Well, maybe we can turn your incompetence to our advantage, maybe we can finally move to phase 3. ... That's not my job, that's yours. ... Just fucking find him or I swear to god, I'll use you instead!" Snake gleaned four things from that conversation. One, the bodies were found. Two, if they checked on them that quickly, these people really meant business. Three, this man Bennet was either the leader or someone of stature. Even the tone of his voice exuded power and unmistakeable derision. Four, there was severe trouble of some type in store for him if he was found. Oh, and don't forget his escape route was now irreparably compromised. He moved his fingers to the hilt of his knife, tensing his muscles to dive out and capture this Bennet, but his ears picked up the sound of another set of footsteps. "Tosoh, come with me, we need to secure the lab." A deep grunt of affirmation. The two men exited the room, door slamming roughly behind them.
Holy shit. He needed to move fast. If this was a Metal Gear, they were going to lock it down so he couldn't get at it to disable it. If it wasn't, he needed to find out what type of hornet's nest he'd walked into and then get the hell out with all deliberate speed. He cracked the door of the cabinet open, not really expecting anyone to be in the room, but not willing to make a rookie mistake. There was no one there, so he pressed his ear to the door, listening for footfalls in the hallway. Clip clip clip clip. What sounded like a pair of shiny army boots walked away from his room, turning down a mystery corridor. He cracked the door to the room open, peering into the nondescript beige hallway. No one to the left. The polished cement floor glistened and gave him a perfect reflected view of his blind right side. No one there either. He took a deep breath, knife in hand, and stepped out into the hallway.
Hal, meanwhile, was nearly wringing his fingers out of their sockets with worry. It was 6:19 and 32 seconds which mean that in precisely 16 minutes and 28 seconds, the sun would crest over the horizon. 27 seconds. 26 seconds.
The last glimpse he'd had of Snake was through the orbiting eye of his hijacked geostationary satellite. He saw the crouched figure on the ground dispatch the two men on patrol with frightening speed. Then he was gone, slipped into the complex and disappeared. The screen in front of him had been as empty as the dim, pre-dawn landscape surrounding him. He tore his eyes from the clock on his laptop and pinched the bridge of his nose roughly. At every crackle of static over the com, his fingers involuntarily reached for the keys in the ignition. Every 15 seconds, his eyes would pop up to stare out of the windshield, scanning fruitlessly for crouched figures, friend or foe. Hal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, he couldn't keep thinking like this or he'd give himself a heart attack if Snake really did show up. WHEN he showed up. Not IF, WHEN. Stupid brain.
He tried to think logically. It was only about twenty minutes since he'd last seen him on-screen. Snake was inside right now. But if it was just an empty shell, as he was secretly hoping, he would have contacted him on the codec. The line lay dead and empty save the phantom random crackles that were slowly driving him mad. Had he been right? Was there something nefarious growing inside that silo? Was someone building a Metal Gear out here in the the middle of godforsaken nowhere?
A terrible thought occurred to him and raced through his limbs, making him tremble, making his eyes close for the merest of moments. What if...? What if something had happened? They were going to maintain radio silence until Snake had neutralized the situation or... or Snake needed his help enough to betray his presence. If he was silent still, that could only mean one of two things. Either Snake was hard at work and things were progressing well enough or... Or he'd been silenced.
If- if that happened, how long would Hal wait? How long would he sit here, worrying? The sun would rise, doubtless. It may even be mid-morning. Noon? Sunset? Would he wait all the next night as well? A sharp pain stabbed through his heart. God, he would. He would wait for days, until... Maybe until his own weak body gave out? Would he just sit here and die, waiting for him to return? He shuddered. What kind of thinking was that? Was he trying to worry himself gray?
But... But it was true. Hal had never thought about it before, but he knew without a second thought that if he really had to, he would wait for Snake to return until his heart stopped. Until his body rotted. He chastized himself for being so melodramatic, but... Hal tried to think about the plausable outcomes. If he left, at whatever point, he would never be able to forgive himself. Would never be able to stifle the 'what ifs'. They depended so completely on one another that it was anathema to think that without contact from Snake he would eventually just leave. There was absolutely no way. He would sit here, stoic, ready at a moment's notice, until Snake came back. Oh, and he had been so miserable to him lately... Working without relief on the suit and on the EMP, he'd snapped at him more times than Hal wanted to count. God, why couldn't he shrug the stress aside and just be pleasant to him? Was that so much to ask? They were supposed to be partners, but when it really came down to it, Hal under pressure could be a miserable SOB.
He didn't really believe in god, but he said a silent prayer to the skies, promising to buy Snake a carton of cigarettes and silently endure the smoke from all 200 if it just meant he'd return, whole.
12 minutes, 40 seconds.
39, 38...
***
6:23 AM
Snake had made it past the third and second inner blast doors. Now there was only the first in front of him and one very angry solider, a grimace on his face that could turn a gorgon to stone. The veins in his forehead throbbed from surprise and rage, and his unholstered weapon rose on a steady and deadly path to Snake's chest. He ducked, rolling, flipping his legs around to capture the other's, dropping him onto his back with a thick thud. A silenced M9 he'd procured from the guard two hallways down kissed the prone man's temple. The projectile found the tender spot on his skull and ricocheted in myriad directions inside his face, turning all the soft tissue to consistent mush with barely a sound. He dragged the now harmless body against the wall so the door was unhindered. This was it. The Metal Gear would lay behind this door. His hand gripped the screw latch and spun it quickly. The echo of the hinges scattered against the walls and through the putrid air that occupied the vast space. Snake opened the door violently, deliberately to catch the occupants off guard. Success. There were four men inside, faces painted with shock.
"Well, I believe congratulations are in order?" A blonde, dressed in a smart but plain navy suit, regarded him coolly, quickly replacing the surprise with condescension. Bennet. Next to him was a tall, broad, well muscled man, probably of Pacific Islander ethnicity. Tosoh? Two others, Caucasian, less intimidating physically but not to be underestimated, carried M4s slung across their shoulders. Their arms trembled in anticipation as Snake glared at them down the barrel of his gun, almost daring them to move the rifles to their hands.
"And you are?" It didn't need to be said, but he desperately needed to find out something more than their names. Who were they working for, what were their aims? It had to be done before bloody gun violence ensued. Kill them all and let God sort them out? Not such a good idea if you needed leads to find your next infiltration site. He was several unbridgeable deviations more intelligent than Rambo. But that foul stink in the air was getting to him. Where was it coming from?!
"I believe that's my line." The blonde's smirk turned into a scowl and Tosoh crossed his arms over his chest threateningly. "Who the hell are you?" Snake would not be out-maneuvered. He forced a cold laugh through his lips.
"That is absolutely none of your concern. Right now, I'm the one with the gun. You will answer my questions or I won't hesitate to dispose of you. It's simple, you're either useful or you're not." His eyes burned into Bennet's pupils as he watched the other three men obliquely for any sign of movement. His ears twitched, trying to pickup the sound of anyone advancing from behind. Nothing. For now. "What are you working on and who are you working for? Quick answers, I get bored and trigger-happy easily." The gun did not waver in his hands.
Bennet's piercing laugh ran through the gigantic hollow space.
"Who am I working for? I have no master, yet I work for everyone. What am I working on? You could say I'm a philanthropist, I'm working on the Greater Good." Snake could tell those last words were capitalized in Bennet's mind. Deluded psychopath? Government covert ops? Brainwashed Patriot pawn? He was starting to lean towards the first versus the third and definitely away from the second. If this was an arm of the Patriots, they wouldn't need to ask who Snake was. Government was already ruled out. These guys did not have the look of government agents, and certainly not the aura.
Not to mention the overwhelming absence of anything in the great empty space above. There was no missile, no Metal Gear. Behind the four increasingly petulant men, was a machine or a computer roughly the size of a minivan, attached with great power cables to a generator that matched the bulk of a semi truck. Psychopath.
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how that pile of junk will affect the Greater Good?" He saw a worrisome and victorious glint in the man's eyes.
"You don't know, do you? You really don't know. That is just lovely. We have a nameless mercenary attacking our humble abode and he doesn't even know why he's here." His arms were outstretched and he turned in a circle languorously, imploring invisible spectators to gawk at the hapless soldier. "Who sent you, really? Who would care so little for your life or your impressively obvious skills that they wouldn't tell you why?" He closed his eyes carelessly and laughed demonically, betting that Snake wouldn't take that chance to blow his brains out. "I'll tell you why, but not because I'm bragging. No, I'll tell you so that you have the chance to know and appreciate your role before..." His twisted smirk reappeared. "Well, before this all plays out." He clasped his hands behind his back, unmindful of the deadly weapon trained on his cerebrum, or the index finger waiting for an excuse to act. "I suppose the whys shouldn't concern you, only the hows, so I'll be brief. I plan to wipe this planet clean of all the defiling bipedal primates who do nothing but kill themselves, each other, and the world around them. Humans are a disgusting and vile species, and this 'pile of junk' will give the world a clean slate to start from." He caressed the machine lovingly. "This brilliant little creation has found the precise wavelength that your brain operates on, whether it's engaged in sleep, or watching television," he scoffed, "or bludgeoning your neighbor to death. All humankind vibrates on the same frequency. We take that frequency, and play it back, in discordance." He clapped his hands for effect. "Splat. Little pieces of Jane and Johnny's brains all over the place."
Snake's face tightened. He suddenly knew with exact precision what that smell was. Forget psychopath, this piece of work thought he was God. And God did not lose to one lightly armed man, regardless of his combat skill. As if they were communicating telepathically, Tosoh took some unspoken cue to launch forward, reaching for Snake's gun. The angle of the M9's barrel changed to intercept the large man's path and he fired three quick rounds into his chest, staining his shirt brilliant red. But the force of the 9mm rounds were not enough to stop his trajectory, moving with the fearsome momentum of his large body, driven by fervor. Snake dove out of the way as the man's outstretched arms reached fruitlessly and fell to the ground, coughing up a mixture of blood and powdered bone. The two nameless men did not miss their chance, swinging rifles to their hands with clear determination, clicking off the safeties, and opening fire. Snake had the chance to dodge the first two of the three-round bursts. One was a wild shot, one he was just lucky. By the time their fingers returned to squeeze off another set, he was already diving behind the generator. Bennet's screams pierced the air.
"You fucking fools, stop shooting!" One more rapid chorus of bullets split the air and embedded themselves into the metal monstrosity. "Goddamn it!" He couldn't see what was happening, but the sounds of a gun being wrenched out of incompetent hands followed. "Where the hell did you learn to shoot? He wasn't but 8 feet in front of you. Fucking imbecile!" Shots rang out and a body thudded to the floor. Just two left now. As soon as the thought had passed through his mind, it was trampled by another. Snake came to the sharp realization that the putrid smell was emanating from behind the generator. ...Where he was currently crouched.
Terrifyingly decapitated bodies littered the cement floor in front of him. Lower jaws clung to the necks of their owners but everything above was evaporated. Dried blood and molding brain matter spattered on the floors and walls without discrimination. The pale flesh of a dozen unfortunate souls was cast about as if garbage. Snake gritted his teeth. Was this part of the 'Phase 3' Bennet was talking about earlier? Once they caught him, did they intend to use him as a test subject? Rage condensed in his mind. The missing people. This was proof they had not fled south to sip Mojitos on the sunny Gulf coast, they had been abducted by this maniac to test his unholy machine. Rage clouded his vision. The school teacher was here, somewhere, just another part of the gore. If the machine that Bennet spoke of hadn't been created, if it was just a figment of his demented dreams, Snake could have escaped this place and not worried about the blonde or his deluded goons. But now... Now he had proof that what they created was real and his full intention to use it was painted on the walls. This was no better than a Metal Gear, albeit less mobile. Perhaps this group was not as well funded as the US and Russian governments, and certainly not the Patriots, but the intention was the same. Power. Death. He would bring that superior bastard to his knees and incinerate this hell hole. For the victims lying undignified on the concrete, and for their future victims. His ears picked up the slight shuffle of feet approaching from his left. He wafted silently, on air, to the right and past the brutalized bodies, around the corner of the generator, so that he would be behind them.
"Surprise, asshole." The quiet whisper slid into his ears a tenth of a second before gunfire followed and blistering pain erupted in his arm. His grip on the handgun faltered for a second before he ducked, twisting, back behind the generator. How had he missed that? He was so in tune with the approaching figure from the left that he'd forgotten about Bennet on the right. It was a dear and frivolous mistake.
The figure on the left came into view and usurped Bennet's importance in this desperate game of survival. His clasped hands moved fluidly to aim at the man's head and two rounds exited the silencer with deadly accuracy. New blood joined dried on the wall behind and the man crumpled to the concrete. A short, smothered footstep from behind drifted to Snake's ears just before the butt of Bennet's gun cracked across his temple. He intended to take him alive, that was apparent. But it was just another of Bennet's mistakes.
"Fuck." Snake's vision spilled into blackness, followed by a unmerciful wave of pain. Despite it, he was steady on his feet, whirling and smashing his pistol into the blonde's temple with reflex precision. The world quickly reformed around him. Bennet's undulating body fell against the generator but Snake was immediately upon him. The whole bulk of his upper body propelled his fist into the sociopath's face, blood coating his knuckles. His limp body dropped to the floor. Snake had half a second to spin around, hands gripping the pistol, drawing a precise bead between the eyebrows of Tosoh, back on his feet. A surprised gasp, a quiet click, the slide closed with a snap, and his body met the ground with a liquid thud. Done.
Now it was just Bennet left. Incapacitated on the ground, the lucky recipient of Snake's undivided attention and unbridled rage. He lashed out in quick percussion with both fists, one merely gloved, one grasping the pistol. Blows which fell like thundering rain beat the blonde body on the floor, conscious but powerless. The throbbing at the base of Snake's head mixed with the horror of the decapitated bodies and the sweet revel of the violence he was dispensing. He could feel the victims' fear, their dread, and knew that each pulse of his own heart had the potential to make this madman pay dearly. His knuckles and the butt of his gun were slowly coated in blood. Small viscous gurgles - pleas? - leaked from the sides of Bennet's mouth, followed by rivulets of deep red liquid. Snake could barely see through his rage and through the slow imperceptible spread of black across his eyes. Finally, he felt the body beneath him yield, dead, and forced his fists to cease. Breath swarmed into his lungs. The victims were vindicated. The evil had been defeated.
But Snake's victory would be short lived. From behind, through the hatch door and up the metal stairs, a half dozen men descended, weapons at the ready. He sprang for the opened door, flattening himself against the wall, protected from sight by the door's metal bulk. While their shocked stares darted to the newly dead on the right, Snake slipped with the grace of a whisper to the left. As their heads turned inevitably away and to the left, Snake danced to the right. He was behind them, through the door, and softly up the stairs.
His breaths came in gasps now, the unending stairway curled above his vision like he was ascending from hell. Was he far enough away from the bottom, the nerve center of the base, to risk using the codec? He knew with panicked certainty that his muscles showed the shadow of fatigue. His vision was worsening and his throbbing head meant he was not thinking crisply, not reacting fast enough. He had to get out of there and he needed Otacon's help. Would he survive, running for two miles when the land was so flat you could almost see the curve of the earth? When the whole base was just waiting for a glimpse of him, when he would have no cover to dodge a sharpshooter's aim and when his brain was on fire? He stopped on a landing, palms on the wall, working to still his breath and his heart and just listen for a moment. Was there anyone coming? He could hear the hollow clank of metal beneath him, echoing up from fathoms below. How much further? The light was so dim before that he could barely see. Now, through the black haze of screaming nerve endings, he was as good as blind. Adrenaline pushed him forward, up the stairs, three at a time, until he ran smack into a closed metal door. Fuck?! He couldn't even see three feet in front of him. But yes, yes, was this finally it? Had he reached the surface? He holstered the gun and put both hands to work twisting open the screw latch, prying it open but keeping his body safely behind the metal protection. Light streamed in, but it wasn't sunrise, it was rows of fluorescent tubes. Close, he had to be close. Unholstered, he brought the gun up to eye level. Ever mindful of the angry metal noises below, he walked silently but swiftly. The corridor was brightly lit with doors on both sides, some open and laden with potential danger, some closed. At the end was another heavy blast door, one which he prayed would lead outside. The sound of crunching came from Snake's right and he spun without needing to think, finger squeezing off two rounds that embedded themselves soundlessly in the throat of a man sitting behind a desk. He stared at Snake with large eyes, color spilling and saturating his shirt a brilliant red. No time for thought, no time for sympathy. Could he have bypassed the door without being caught? Perhaps. But instinct gave you only one option. The man slumped to the ground and Snake glided towards the blast door. Once more, he holstered his gun, twisted open the door, and peered out, muzzle first. A concrete ramp, and a large grate that covered it, and beyond that - sunlight.
"Otacon, are you there?" His voice held a touch of fear in it. It was small but present and there was a near insurmountable probability that Hal would notice. He wished he could have masked it. He was injured in a way where he couldn't simply field dress it and carry on, and he needed Hal undistracted and thinking clearly so they could both get out of there alive. Instantly, the engineer's voice cut through the silence.
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" He was breathless with fear as well, but that wasn't unexpected.
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit. Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." His voice had returned to its normal, gruff, in control, and always cool and unaffected tenor.
"I'm on my way. Be there in two minutes." Silence faded back in and Snake let out a faint grunt, the throbbing in his head had turned to flashes of electricity. He leaned against the wall, gun pointed at the door he'd just come through, daring anyone to be bold or stupid enough to chase him onto the ramp.
***
Hal's eyes bore into the clock on the computer resting on his lap. The sun had not yet risen, but piercing rays of light, harbingers of the brilliant red orb, spelled their doom as they blasted out over the rim of the horizon. The blood raced through his body, his thumbs idly picking at the seat covers. 6:36. A sliver of the sun would emerge in just a few precious minutes. It would be fully risen just past the hour. At that point, they were both as good as dead. Where was he? Hal itched to flip on the codec and whisper over the air, just to see if he was okay. Like whispering would do any good. He could scream at the top of his lungs if he wanted, but the indistinguishable signal would be a red flag for anyone smart and dangerous enough to be scanning for it. His eyes were wide with fear, his brain holding a steady shrieking note to keep from imagining all the possibilities. 6:38. Where the hell was he?!
"Otacon, are you there?" And there it was, the small and simple signal that meant Snake was indeed still alive. His breath caught painfully as he was twisted, simultaneously rejoicing and panicking. There was no way to disguise it, Snake was in pain and had been running. Not caught, but definitely running, trying to escape.
"Snake! Thank god, where are you?" The words spilled from his lips, hands already running on instinct, closing and stowing laptops, removing and unplugging equipment, sliding back into the driver's seat and bringing the car to life.
"At the base. I'm fine, but I need a quick exit." The fear and pain in Snake's voice were suddenly gone. "Get over here A S A fucking P. I'll meet you on the highway." Quick exit. Not good. Not good at all. Even if his voice no longer betrayed the situation, Hal understood clearly what was about to happen. Before putting the car in gear, Hal reached over the back of the seat and pulled a bulletproof vest out from the mess of wires and peripherals. There was something at N38. There was something that Snake was running from, worse, something that was chasing him. Could the little Subaru outrun a Metal Gear? Could it outrun army vehicles driven by viciously enraged soldiers? He was damn sure going to try.
"I'm on my way. Hal popped the clutch and the mud flew. "Be there in two minutes." Less, if he could help it.
***
Snake waited on the concrete ramp, the time between each breath growing longer, the seconds ticking by slower. A black shroud was wrapping around his mind and closing off his connection with consciousness in warm, welcoming tugs. Would it be a simple blow to the back of his head that would do him in? After all the knife blades and bullets his flesh had absorbed? It would only be too easy to succumb. As hard as he fought, inevitably his eyelids would close and he would slump to the ground, pistol falling from his limp grip. Death, either by wound or enemy, would be upon him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his one connection with the world. But they were failing him. The blackness which had crept into the corners of his vision was glazing over the center of his sight. The pounding of his blood morphed from sparks of pain into a dulling throb as his mind tried to compensate and the beginnings of shock set in. The door on the world was closing. He couldn't hear the muffled sound of a car approaching above or the staccato of feet in the corridor below which he'd just crossed through. It was only when the group of pursuing soldiers slammed open the outer door that Snake knew it was time to run, time to find higher ground. Three rounds clicked out of the barrel of his M9, two bodies fell. Snake's third shot found its home in the wall while the last solider opened fire. One bullet out of the swarm arced towards Snake with prophetic aim. The bullet entered his right bicep and tumbled, tearing his flesh further open. It exited bearing blood and musculature onto the brown grass at his feet. Yet the pain was nothing but a profaning fly buzzing at his ear. He was running, and Otacon and the Subaru were in front of him.
He could see his partner crouch down, making as small a target as possible. The soldiers behind him were merely muted noise, their gunshots as fleeting and unimportant as raindrops on a window. He could see the animated fear in Otacon's eyes as he approached, opening the rear driver-side door and diving into the relative safety of the vinyl seats. He felt more than heard the transmission grasp at first gear. The back tires spun and gripped in a split second and then it was nothing but pavement and random shouts mixed with angry gunfire behind them, becoming ever faded and distant. And then Otacon was shouting too, but his words were nothing but a familiar murmur. A wave of serenity overtook him, his limbs were filled with a mixture of safety and deep exhaustion. Snake's eyes closed and the world went finally black.
Chapter 3