Disclaimer: 1) Metal Gear Solid and all related characters are the copyrighted property of Konami Inc and Hideo Kojima.

2) I'd just like to say before hand that I took some liberties with characters and I hope readers will keep an open mind as to the plot of my story. It's a little rough at times and contains sexual references, course language, and some violence. That being said, Enjoy.

The Sleeper Agent

by Union Operative 0282

Part 1

Oct. 9, 1964 - 35 days after the conclusion of Operation Snake Eater

Saigon, South Vietnam

The Murray Residence

Laura Murray laid in bed staring restlessly up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. It annoyed her watching the slow rotations as they did nothing to alleviate the stifling heat, but move the wet, muggy air down onto her. Drops of perspiration accumulated over her entire body. She could do little to help the cooling process. She wore a loose fitting tank top and thin linen pajama pants, and lay onto of the sheets. She dared not shed anymore clothing as she was checked on every fifteen minutes by a sentry.

Laura Murray happened to be the daughter and only child of Ambassador Matthew Murray, former senator from Maryland and current United States envoy to the South Vietnamese government. That being said the mansion in which she lived had a company of US Marines posted outside on the grounds and ten Secret Service agents patrolling the inside of the mansion.

Attacks had been coming further and further inside the South Vietnamese borders and security was becoming stifling.

The true reason for Laura's restlessness was not the heat, which she had weathered for three years already, nor the loss of privacy, so much, but the fight she had had with her father at dinner. Like many American kids, Laura was adamantly opposed to US involvement in the current conflict. She was fifteen, almost sixteen, and her political opinion was blossoming with her womanhood. The assassination of President Diem and the US's allowance of it, to a man pledged as an ally, was abhorrent to her.

There was no telling her father this. Either he swatted her opinions aside like the were a troublesome fly, or he vehemently chastised her for holding socialist ideals, casting a poor image on him, and/or exercising stupidity and naivete. She got no assistance from her mother, a woman as politically conservative as her father, and just as vocal. The only confidante she had was Phuong Ming, the old Vietnamese housekeeper. Few servants and household staff were Vietnamese, but Phuong was so old and docile, and willing to work for insufficient pay that she was allowed in and treated civilly. Laura looked on her as a grand-motherly figure and talked with her at length when not doing school work or attending government functions. Phuong Ming spoke passable English, but had started almost immediately to teach Laura Vietnamese to aid in their conversation. Laura was a quick student and spoke as good of Vietnamese as Phuong spoke of English. Soon though, she hoped to be fluent enough to talk to anyone in Vietnam at leisure.

What Laura really wished for was for her father to be replaced and for him to resume his role as Maryland senator. In this capacity she could tell herself that her father was being misled and was ignorant not evil. However, while they remained in Saigon the fruits of American imperialism lay bare for her, her father, her mother, and everyone else in country to see. Her father's hands were stained with all these offenses. The North Vietnamese were guerillas, poor villagers with ideals, the South Vietnamese were draftees thrown into the US military ranks, and told why they were fighting. All Laura could do was watch helplessly as history was written in blood and realpolitik.

As she lay there deep in though, she thought she heard a noise, but just as suddenly the sound stopped. Laura kept her ears peeled to any further sound. A moment later it happened again, but closer to her bedroom door. They were frantic footsteps. From the sound of them she knew them to be made by the shoes of the secret service agents. They again fell silent, but this time were punctuated by a large plunking sound.

Laura was a little frightened by this, but she got up anyway and tiptoed as quietly as she could to the door and opened it slowly and, she hoped, quietly. Sure enough, as she poked her head around the corner of the door frame she saw a man in a suit crumpled up on the floor, his ear piece fallen out of its place and his gun knocked out of his hand, probably by the fall. Laura didn't know what to make of this. He hadn't been shot, because only his fall was heard, and he hadn't been stabbed as there was no blood visible. He was a big man so he couldn't have been dispatched that quickly and that quietly.

Laura stood transfixed in the doorway until she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her shoulder that felt odd like jamming your funny bone. She looked down and saw a small pill shaped thing sticking out of her shoulder. As she looked up she saw a dark figure emerge from the darkness with a pistol in hand and green lights where their eyes should have been. While normally Laura would be screaming at this point, and although that's what she wanted to do, she found herself unable. The muscles of her vocal chords along with several others were nearly paralyzed. She tried taking a step backward but her knee and ankle joints were like rusty hinges. The best she could do was fall backward on her butt and weakly scoot backwards into her bedroom with barely mobile arms.

The figure walked leisurely and quite silently into the room, almost with a feline grace. As the person walked in and the moonlight from the barred windows illuminated things, the figure reached a black gloved hand up to it's peculiar eyes and lifted up what now could be seen as night vision goggles. Laura looked on helplessly as the figure entered. The intruder looked at Laura for a split second, before raising the pistol and firing a shot from the suppressed barrel into Laura's other shoulder. Another pill shaped dart hit Laura and she began to get a little light headed and her vision blurred. The figure quickly descended upon her, pulling the darts from her body and placing them in a pouch at their waist, shoving a wad of cloth (a pair of Laura's dirty underwear) into her mouth and taping it in place with regular duct tape, then tying her hands behind her back and her feet together. Finally a coarse cotton sack was placed over Laura's head and secured lightly with drawstrings. Despite the shock and the darts shot at her, the intruder was very ginger with their actions. This did nothing, however, to calm the turbulent frantics of her mind.

The last thing Laura heard before she blacked out was the figure next to her speak (into a radio, Laura realized after the staticy response) in an Asiatic language Laura was too drugged to even try to recognize. Seconds later the sound of clanking metal caught her ear and she was lifted up and handed to another person.

After that, darkness . . . .

Part 2

Time: unknown

Location: unknown

Laura awoke what felt like an instant later to the rank stench of smelling salts held under her nose by the masked figure. Her head felt as though it had been pressed overnight between to boulders, but her senses were keen as ever. She was alarmed to find herself tied to a metal stool in the center of the dank concrete room, illuminated by a single light, still gagged with her own underpants. From under the heavy metal door fresh air wafted in and Laura could smell the urbane, stagnant aromas of Cholon district. At least she knew she wasn't too far from home, spirited away to China, Burma, or Korea.

As her eyes roved around, taking in what they could of the current situation, they inevitably fell on the kidnapper. In all the darkness and confusion, Laura hadn't had a chance to get a proper look at her abductor. Looking at them in the light, she came to a remarkable realization: her captor was a woman. Laura was almost sure of it. The soldier's uniform was made up of a padded nylon fiber bodice, fit tightly with straps across the chest, sheathing two mounds that could only be a woman's breasts, and running down between the legs smoothly without the bulge common of a man. The appendages were covered in a glossy space aged material (almost like a space blanket) laced tightly together over a reddish polyester undergarment. On the right shoulder was an insignia that read in silver letters: CCCP. From the way it fit this woman, she was very fit, but feminine in build.

Her face was covered in a tight fitting balaclava that covered her entire head except for a large opening revealing both eyes and the bridge of her nose. Even had her uniform not revealed her sex, her eyes were a dead giveaway. They were a soft, subtle blue and done up elaborately with black eyeliner and mascara.

Behind the woman stood two Vietnamese soldiers, unmasked, wearing worn out guerilla fatigues, red berets, and carrying Russian issue AK-47s. Both stood guard on either side of the door, rigid like the Beef-Eaters of Britain. It was a grossly gratuitous use of force, Laura thought, being that the woman in front of her was no doubt more than equipped to handle her.

After giving Laura a few moment to regain her senses, the woman ripped off the tape from Laura's mouth and plunged her thumb and index finger, sheathed in vulcanized rubber, into her mouth and removed the panties.

"Please, Please don't kill me!" Laura began to cry fervently. The woman reached down to her thigh and brought up a suppressed M1911A1 .45 pistol.

"Shut up!" the woman commanded in a light, melodic voice, that strangely enough was American in accent. "This gun holds live ammunition, not tranq darts, and it's suppressed so no one outside will hear if I shoot you. So sit back, be quiet, answer promptly when spoken to, and maybe you will live." Laura gulped at the prospect of not surviving, turned a few shades paler, and quieted down real fast.

"Laura Agnes Murray, daughter of Ambassador Matthew and Candice Murray, age 15, height 5' 3", weight 108 lbs., blood type A negative, eye color green, hair color black, favorite color blue . . ." Laura sat silently listening to this woman relate to her accurately all of the statistics of her life, and was unnerved even more by it, "Do you know why you are here?"

"No, ma'am." Laura answered promptly, not wanting to enrage the woman.

"It has reached our ears that you, the American Ambassador's daughter, are critical of America's role in Indochina and sympathize with the Vietminh."

This wasn't exactly true. Yes, Laura was critical of the US's intervention in Vietnam, but she wasn't sure whether she approved of the politics and methods of the Vietminh per say. However, she nodded to the statement all the same.

"Because of this we arranged this interview to offer you a position in the East Asian Socialist intelligence Network. What would you say to this?"

"I don't know," Laura said timidly, "What exactly would I have to do, just pass you information on my father?"

The woman laughed melodically under her balaclava, then turned to the two Vietnamese and gave them an order in their language, with a perfect accent. The two stood at rigid attention, saluted, and exited the room.

"Our plans for you are more involved than using you as a mere informant. Our proposition is to offer you training as a covert operative in one of the most powerful organizations in the world." Laura could barely believe what she was hearing.

"You mean a spy like James Bond?" she asked, her fear replaced by curiosity.

"Not quite." the woman laughed again. "James Bond is an Imperialist and a farce. You will however, should you accept, be trained for sneaking missions, infiltration, the use of special weapons and tactics, and the art of seduction. But only if you accept."

"If I say no? Will you kill me?" Laura asked, her fear renewed.

"Not exactly. Should you turn us down I'll chloroform you and return you to your bed and that will be that. How you choose to proceed at that point will determine whether you live or die. Before I woke you, a field surgeon placed a transceiver chip beneath your collar bone. It is close enough to your vocal cords to transmit everything you say to a listening station in Phat Diem. If you tell anyone anything related to the events of this evening the transceiver will explode releasing a lethal dose of cyanide into your bloodstream. The same goes for if you accept. What will it be, Laura Murray?"

While the woman was explaining the proposition, Laura was already deep in thought considering both sides. She was completely free to do either. However, all she could think of was wearing elegant ball gowns, seducing foreign military officers, and sneaking microfilm across heavily patrolled borders. There was no way she could pass this opportunity up.

"I will do it." Laura said confidently.

"Excellent." The woman replied, obviously very pleased. "Then we will contact you in a few days via our contact in the Murray compound. Until then keep quiet about his meeting or regrettably we will terminate you."

While she said this the woman rustled around in a cabinet, giving Laura a good view of her well toned, shapely, nylon sheathed ass. When she turned around the woman had a black regulator strapped to her face over the balaclava. In her right hand she had a wad of cloth and in her left she had a bottle with a worn, yellow stained label covered in Cyrillic. Laura wanted to ask what was going on and who their contact in hr house was, but before she could the woman had poured some liquid from the bottle onto the cloth, steaming and fuming as it hit, and replaced the bottle on a table by Laura's chair. The cloth was pressed securely over Laura's mouth and nose, the fumes stinging her head, nostrils, and lungs. Slowly she lost consciousness for the second time that day and fell once again into oblivion.

To be continued . . . . . .