Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom's Phantom
Chapter 1 - Questions & Answers
Night had fallen over the Seychelles, bathing a massive offshore platform and its occupants in darkness and silence. The only exception was a vast warehouse that was used for the storage of the supplies necessary for prolonged living in a location that was miles from civilisation. Two men, both blonde, but one possessed a thin moustache and wore a long, stereotypical cowboy duster coat and spurs on his boots, while the other was lacking an arm and wore a beret with an army issue dress uniform were keenly watching a third male that was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists.
He was an unremarkable man, brunette with a slight stubble forming and muscular tone fitting of an individual who kept in shape, but didn't focus on it. His body was also covered in various bruises and cuts of varying sizes, indicative of him sustaining prolonged torture. He was unresponsive, but the laboured yet regular breathing that was being performed indicated to the two witnesses that he was still alive.
"Not much to look at, is he?" The cowboy remarked quietly in a Russian accent, while circling round the lifeless male before addressing his colleague. "What do you make of him, Miller?"
"Took the words out of my mouth, Ocelot." Miller replied indifferently. "Clearly a soldier, but not in the infantry. After all, he was recovered from a military hospital with Snake. Possibly in a more academic or administrative position."
Miller paused and pinched the bridge of his nose in thought before continuing.
"By the way, how is Snake?"
"Hard to say." Ocelot said quietly with a hint of concern. "He had only just regained consciousness from a nine year coma. The medical staff are clueless as to whether he'll even live, let alone wake up."
Miller let his words process before sniffing derisively.
"Well, this one's had enough time to rest. Wake him up."
Ocelot nodded before approaching their naked guest and gently cupping his left cheek for a brief moment. Suddenly, Ocelot raised his left hand and slapped the guest soundly. The response was immediate as the once unconscious brunette woke up with a loud gasp, followed by a pitiful whine as his mind was greeted by the complaints of his many wounds, ranging from the rope burn irritating his wrists to the cuts that had been inflicted on him by a whip. His eyes opened slowly, his sight blurry but capable of recognising who had struck him.
"Rise and shine." Ocelot teased acidly, his hand still caressing the unharmed cheek. "How was your nap?"
"Bliss." He replied hoarsely, the amount of screaming he had provided during his beatings had caused him to lose his voice somewhat. "Care to come back later?"
Ocelot's indifferent expression melted into a happy grin as he began to laugh heartily at their guest's quip, even going so far as to give him a round of applause. Miller, on the other hand, was unimpressed.
"Very good! Clearly, you are British through and through." Ocelot deduced. "Only a true Briton would continue to act in such a manner, even after being so violently beaten."
As quickly as the laughter had begun, it vanished as Ocelot held his captive in place and punched him in the stomach, eliciting an audible wheeze as all the air was removed from the naked man's lungs.
"But enough of the niceties, we shall start from the beginning. Who are you?"
Winded and light headed, he didn't respond as he struggled to breathe in enough oxygen to regain the ability to speak. Recognising this, Ocelot did not punish him, but crossed his arms and let the prisoner recover.
"J-Jonathan." He gasped. "Jonathan Hyde, British Army."
Miller sighed in exasperation, while Ocelot raised an eyebrow.
"Is he seriously sticking to that?" Miller retorted angrily, taking the few steps necessary for him to stand beside the Russian cowboy and glare at Jonathan. "You and I both saw him with Snake. He's clearly lying!"
Ocelot raised his hand, causing Miller to fall silent with an irritated grunt.
"Saw them together, yes. Him relatively unharmed while The Boss was practically dead, yes." He responded bluntly. "But we did not see this man harm him. So, let's give him a chance. Tell us what happened, Jonathan."
"It's nothing but a dislocated shoulder, Jonathan." The nurse explained to him. Jonathan had been admitted to Dhekelia SBA Memoral Hospital, a military hospital that was part of the British Sovereign Base Area of Dhekelia. Present as a member of the formation that was assigned to staff the military installation there, it was a relatively cushy and quiet existence, the monotony of regular army life broken up by relaxing in the Mediterranean sun. However, an attempt at impressing his fellow squaddies by attempting to jump from a tree into a local lake had ended in misery. He'd lost his nerve and tried to grab a tree branch to prevent his fall, but had dislocated his arm and fell into the water anyway. After his colleagues had enjoyed a good laugh, they finally noticed he was injured and had him rushed to the medic.
Now, he was stuck in a stuffy hospital ward filled with individuals who were far more injured than himself. In the beds next to him were men who were so injured that their faces were completely obscured by bandages. Jonathan had been able to hear the doctors explaining to one of them, named Ishmael, that he had been in a coma and that his friend needed plastic surgery. Regardless, he had resigned himself to being bedridden for the next few days with his arm in a sling.
"Out in a few days, light desk work and such, I assume?" He asked wryly with a raised eyebrow, eliciting a chuckle from the nurse.
"Right you are." She replied and nodded her head. "But for now, you stay in bed and don't use that arm."
Sighing heavily, Jonathan rolled his eyes and lay back down to enable the possibility of a nap, a possibility that swiftly became a reality. However, it was not to last.
Waking up, Jonathan noticed that it was dark. He had slept for longer than he had believed. Sighing, he closed his eyes once more to continue his slumber before the sound of an inhuman scream tore through the air. Jonathan sat up in surprise as he listened silently to the sound of what could only be described as a female being subjected to the fires of hell. As quickly as they began, they ended with the shattering of broken glass. Giving his eyes a swift rub to remove the sleep from his eyes, Jonathan realised that he was no longer in his usual spot next to the two bandaged men. He had been moved to another room while he slept.
He took a deep breath and exhaled before hopping out of bed and approaching the door. After waiting a few moments for any more noise to occur, he opened the door slightly to see what was occurring outside his room. Greeting his view was the sight of the back of Ishmael, dressed in a green surgical gown, quietly padding his way along the corridor towards the reception area. Behind him was the second disfigured man, dragging himself weakly across the floor with one hand, while the other had been replaced with a prosthetic claw. Jonathan cursed under his breath, having had no idea that this second man had lost his forearm, he felt guilty that he had been so silly in breaking his arm, while this man had lost his.
"This isn't going to work. We'd better take the elevator!" Ishmael hissed before disappearing down a junction, followed by his armless companion. Jonathan waited a while to see if the coast was clear, but a sudden explosion and the reappearance of the two bandaged patients as they were thrown back by the blast made him reconsider and shut the door.
"Shit." Jonathan remarked as he ran over to his window and opened it. Upon looking down at the ground below, he smiled as he noticed that below him was the slate roof of the balcony below him. He climbed out of the window and dropped down just as the sound of helicopters filled the air, followed by the appearance of one shining a searchlight over the building. Panicking, Jonathan went limp and let his body lay lifelessly on the tiles. He closed his eyes and counted his blessings as he felt the glare of the searchlight beat down on his eyes. Praying, he expected the people on board the helicopter to open fire, but instead, the light disappeared as it was moved to illuminate an area elsewhere. With a sigh of relief, Jonathan crawled to the edge of the roof and lowered himself onto the balcony of the floor below.
The balcony was connected to a doctors office. Jonathan opened the door an entered. The room was dark and the only thing he could see was the faint outline of a human sat in the office chair behind the desk.
"Hey!" Jonathan hissed urgently, but was given no response. He huffed, approached the figure and put his hand on its shoulder. His hand immediately felt wet, causing him to move it away and examine it. Squinting, he could see that his hand was now a few shades darker than its normal white.
"Blood." He deduced as he fumbled around with the contents of the desk to see if a desk lamp was present. Luckily, there was and it was switched on to reveal that Jonathan's guess was correct. The doctor who resided in the office was sat in his chair, however the hole in his forehead, the blood over his body and the expression of abject horror clearly showed he was deceased. Jonathan gasped at the sight and stumbled back, causing him to trip over the power cable of the lamp and pull it off the table. The lamp fell to the floor and shattered into pieces, accompanied by the fizzing of electricity as it died.
"Someone's in the office!" A voice called out from outside the room. The beams of flash lights then began to illuminate the window of the office door as the people Jonathan had alerted approached. Jonathan glanced round the room for a place to hide. Upon noticing a closet, he rushed inside and shut it as the door opened, followed by the dull thud of boots on the floor. Terrified, Jonathan held his breath as he listened intently to the boots as they walked away and towards him repeatedly, showing that whoever owned them was searching the office. It wasn't long before they stopped right outside of the closet. Jonathan clenched his eyes shut, he wanted to scream and flail his way out of there in an attempt to subdue whoever was outside, but knew it was a foolish move. However, the urge became too great and he pushed on the door with all his strength.
There was a cry of agony as the man outside, dressed in combat fatigues and a helmet, while armed with a silenced pistol and assault rifle. Jonathan had burst the door open at the exact moment he was about to open it, causing the door to break his nose as it crashed into his face. Jonathan trembled in panic before falling to his knees and wrapping hands round his assailants throat, turning the agonising cry into a gurgle as he began to strangle the soldier.
"Shut up!" Jonathan whispered in terror. The soldier responded by grasping Jonathan's hands to try and remove them, his legs flailing wildly in an attempt to dislodge the terrified patient strangling him to death. However, Jonathan remained steadfast, continuing to repeat his order for the soldier to be quiet as his struggle began to subside, oxygen deprivation having tired him out and making him slip into unconsciousness. Jonathan let go once he stopped struggling and looked at his hands in bewilderment. He'd never been in combat or killed anyone, now he was sat astride a body that was no longer moving.
"Oh shit." He whimpered before shaking his attempted killer. "Wake up!"
No response came. Jonathan let go and looked around him. It was now eerily quiet with just him and the unconscious assassin beneath him. Biting his lower lip, Jonathan looked down again and placed his hand on the soldiers face.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered, completely clueless to the fact that he'd only made his victim lose consciousness. Jonathan sniffled as a tear rolled down his cheek. He'd never killed anyone before, his position in the army had never been one that had him put in combat. He reached out and closed the soldiers eyes, their vacant expression frightened him. Jonathan stared at his assailant quietly, processing what he had just done. Shaking his head, he growled defiantly as he unbuttoned the combat fatigues to allow him access to the unconscious soldiers chest. Jonathan placed his hand in an attempt to find a heartbeat and let out a sigh of relief when he could hear the faint sound of one.
"Thank Christ for that." He whispered to himself before buttoning the soldiers clothing again.
Jonathan glanced around and picked up the dropped pistol before standing up and heading to the door. While peeking through the window, the soldiers radio crackled into life. Through the static, the sender requested the unconscious soldier to report. Jonathan shook his head, they'll come looking for him when he won't respond. Quietly, he opened the door and padded out, his hand placing the pistol in the waistband of his hospital issue trousers tightly for comfort as he began to wander aimlessly through the halls of the hospital. Realising that he needed to get out, Jonathan took the simple approach of following the signs to the main entrance. Upon arrival, he spotted Ishmael's armless friend knelt beside the railings of the stairs leading from the first floor to the ground floor. The ground floor foyer was alive with flames and the dancing beams of flash lights from the numerous soldiers sweeping the building.
Jonathan pressed himself against the wall and watched the armless man silently. It became apparent that he was waiting for the right moment to strike or sneak past the soldiers on the floor below as he swiftly padded his away down the stairs when most of the enemy dispersed to search other areas of the hospital. Jonathan huffed in frustration as he watched the disfigured male disappear out of the front door like a ghost. Unable to replicate such a feat, Jonathan opted for entering a storage room that was close by and climb out of the window instead. Looking down, he noticed that the fall he was about to have would be broken by a bush.
"Good enough." He remarked quietly as he climbed out and let himself hang from the window sill before taking a deep breath and letting go. His descent felt like it lasted an eternity before it came to an end as he landed roughly in the bush. The foliage poked and scratched him as he struggled to crawl his way out. Upon succeeding, he lay on his stomach and watched as an ambulance pulled up outside of the hospital in front of the armless male he'd been following. He was surprised when the door opened and the faint voice of Ishmael beckoning his companion to join him emanated from the vehicle.
"Clever boy." Jonathan stated with a smile as he broke cover and made a dash for the ambulance. To his horror, the vehicle roared into life and began to drive away. Cursing under his breath, he put all his strength into sprinting towards the ambulance, allowing him one opportunity to reach out and grab hold of the rear door handles. Jumping, he barely succeeded in holding onto the handles as he landed on the running board of the ambulance. Looking behind him, Jonathan was amazed to see a man that appeared to be completely engulfed in flames emerge from the front entrance of the ruined hospital. His mouth fell open as he gazed upon the sight, a man that was on fire, but showed no signs of being harmed.
Suddenly, the man on fire exploded, causing the door Jonathan was holding onto to burst open. It swung wildly, threatening to send him flying off the ambulance and into the surrounding scenery, but he persevered, disregarding the agony that was shooting down his injured shoulder as it was wrenched and twisted by the efforts exerted to keep its owner on the ambulance. The ride became even rougher as the vehicle swerved violently. Jonathan cursed as he imagined the two men in the driver and passenger seats were attempting to dislodge him from their escape vehicle, but was proven wrong when two fire appliances roared past, sirens blaring as they made their way to the hospital that was now fully ablaze. However, as they arrived on the scene, another explosion, presumably from the man on fire, sent the lead appliance flying.
"Jesus Christ!" Jonathan yelled as he saw the turntable ladder flip over by the force of the blast. His thoughts on the spectacle were cut short as the ambulance swerve again to let two more fire appliances past. Jonathan shook his head and whispered a silent prayer for them, knowing that they were going to be confronting more than a fire. Looking forward, Jonathan could see the open road ahead, bathed in the night sky over Cyprus. The idyllic sight was soon crushed when another turntable ladder appeared from the sky and landed in front of the ambulance.
"You have got to be kidding me." Jonathan muttered as the ambulance attempted to swerve round the wrecked fire appliance, but instead flipped over. Jonathan's grip on the door handle failed and he was sent flying through the air while the ambulance and its occupants rolled across the landscape. As quickly as the trip into the air began, it ended as Jonathan hit the ground. The stones and dirt that made the landscape scraped against his skin, tearing it away and causing him to cry out in pain. He'd heard of the concept of gravel rash when he'd been on a posting in West Germany and their commanding officer had warned them about the dangers of motorbikes and driving carelessly on the Autobahn, but he'd never experienced agony like this as he continued to roll over the stones that tore at his fragile form.
Eventually, his journey petered out and he lay motionless on the ground. Every fibre of his being ached as he became slightly aware of the numerous grazes and cuts that he'd sustained. Sighing, Jonathan made no attempt to move, content to let his body have a brief respite from exertion after having been so ferociously beaten and bruised. After a few moments, he reached behind him to see if his pistol was still in his possession. He rolled his eyes upon finding that it was gone, he knew that it would never have been able to stay put after the ride he'd just experienced, but had checked anyway. He then looked up to see his surroundings and was surprised to see Ishmael's companion lying in the road, the wrecked ambulance close by, but Ishmael himself was nowhere to be seen.
Summoning all the strength he could muster, Jonathan dragged himself painfully towards the armless man. Every inch he pulled himself closer caused his body to complain with overwhelming agony. Everything in his body begged him to stop and just lay where he was so that they could take just a little while longer to begin the long road to repairing the damage it had sustained, but Jonathan ignored the suggestion. Eventually, after much grunting and gasping in pain, he arrived at the unconscious form of Ishmael's friend. Jonathan reached out and touched the man's forehead. He was a brunette, with a full beard and a bandage over his forehead. Also of note was the fact that one of his eyes were cloudy, suggesting that he was blind, and a huge piece of metal was protruding from his head. Too weak to care, Jonathan gently shook him in an attempt to wake him up.
"Hey!" He whispered weakly. "Wake up!"
No response came. Jonathan sighed and closed his eyes, exhaustion and the agony causing his body to take over and force him to lose consciousness. With a contented sigh, he let the darkness embrace him and let himself lay over his armless compatriot.
Miller and Ocelot listened intently as Jonathan told his tale. Once he had finished, they looked at each other. Miller looked more unimpressed and furious than ever, while Ocelot's expression had softened to a considerable degree.
"And that's everything?" Ocelot enquired. "Completely everything?"
Jonathan nodded weakly in response, while Miller turned away. The audible click of a pistols hammer being cocked echoed round the warehouse as he turned back and put a pistol to the bound Britons forehead.
"It doesn't matter now." Miller stated in an ice cold tone. "Even if you are completely innocent. I don't trust you, nor do I believe you can be trusted with keeping your mouth shut."
Ocelot looked at the pistol that was now pressed against Jonathan's forehead and raised an eyebrow.
"So, you're going to just kill an unarmed man?" Ocelot asked incredulously. "Just like that? Not even give him a chance to run or defend himself?"
Miller paused, his cold stare boring into Jonathan's soul before replying.
"Yes."
Ocelot exhaled a deep breath through his nose, processing the callous nature of what Miller had just admitted. Suddenly, his hand raised up and grasped Miller's arm in an attempt to push the pistol away from Jonathan's forehead. However, Miller pulled the trigger as the barrel of the gun was still over Jonathan's face. The explosion from the pistol echoed round the warehouse as the bullet collided with Jonathan's face, hitting the edge of his right eye socket. Blood and fragments of skull exploded into the air as Jonathan screamed in agony. His face felt like it was on fire as it was burnt by the gun's proximity to him and it felt wet as blood began to cover his face from the horrific wound that had been inflicted upon his head. He spluttered and whined as Ocelot snatched the gun away from Miller and swiftly field stripped it in front of his eyes.
"That's enough." He ordered before reaching into his duster coat to retrieve a handheld radio for the purpose of calling medical assistance.
