:::Disclaimer: The Metal Slug series and its characters are all owned by SNK.:::
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12:09
Marco takes a stroll toward the alleyway, with a little memorial around a street pole right in front of it. Around him, buildings are being repaired; the urban warfare here a couple years back was quite nasty.
In an attempt to make things less suspicious, he's wearing a plumber's outfit, with a fake name tag, a bag of tools and all. The only setback he has with the outfit is the size of the overalls. They're riding up past his socks, which are also pulled all the way up.
Somebody walks by him as he pulls his hat down a bit for a 'hello.' He thought that the person would've noticed who he is, but his disguise is still a success. He takes a left turn into the alleyway, as his path ends behind the building, leading to the back door.
There's a dumpster nearby along the way, but he's smelled worse before. Compared to those hundreds of men that were killed, those trash bags smell like some type of decent cologne. Right now he was able to take some time off from military duty. The perfect opportunity for the conversation he's having with close comrades.
His feet accidentally end up in a puddle of cold water just as he was making a turn around the corner towards the back of the building. He stops for a brief moment, and sighs frustratingly.
At the door, he then knocks it a few times.
"Yo. You said there was some black sludge in your sink's pipe?" Marco asks in an attempt to play it off.
A few locks can be heard unlocked one-by-one; one in particular had a number input system.
The door is opened, but the knob slides forward, dropping onto the ground. Marco looks at it for a second.
"'Ey Marco. Sorry about the knob. Y'know your shoes are wet, right?" The dark face in the shadows asks the fake plumber.
"It's alright, Trevor."
Trevor opens up the door, allowing him to come inside. Marco grabs the fallen knob, closes the door and places it back into the hole.
"You're still using that jet black hair dye?," Marco questions as he puts down the toolbox.
"Nah, man. Thanks to you, I feel more free. The grey hair doesn't mean I'm aging."
"I appreciate that you're taking my advise into account." Marco takes off his cap, then the band in his hair, letting his blonde hair loose.
"Follow me through this hallway. Oh, and Marco, take caution. You-know-who's pissed off because you're 5 minutes late. And don't say 'we've got all the time in the world,' because I know you're gonna say that."
"Then it's time for me to update my catchphrases."
Trevor leads his buddy within the dusty hallway, which leads to a room with a dim orange light bulb hanging over a table. The whole gang of off-duty soldiers look at the famed Major and the private as Trevor pulls out a chair for Marco and then the two sit down.
Eri gives Marco a stern glare; Marco gives his apathetic glare right back at her.
"Alright everybody; it's time to continue to talk about the organization we're all involved with—"
"—The Regular Army. Sorry," Fio interrupts Tarma.
"...Thanks, I guess." Tarma clears his throat.
"Anyways, does anybody have anything to say about the Regular Army?"
"For the past few years, I say screw 'em," Eri answers. "Command keeps blaming intelligence despite the fact they don't even listen. They never listen until it's too late."
"And for some reason, were still forced to stay within the Army. They keep giving the Peregrine Falcons too much credit." Fio adds.
"That's ridiculous. Really?" Marco asks.
"Okay, you guys are given a butt-load of awards just because you led your squad to victory during the First Modern War, and it's the same thing that happened with the second one." Eri answers back.
"You ever notice that they were ranking people to levels that they shouldn't deserve to be in?"
"Oh, you mean like you, us?" Eri asks.
"Exactly. I think I don't deserve to be Sergeant, really. I think Natalie Cook should've been the one to have the privilege."
"Many should've been given promotions for what they've done during the Second Modern War."
"After reflection upon what command had done, they've been making some dumb decisions."
"I'd thought you'd know by now," Tarma tells Marco.
"Now I do. Hatred blinded me all this time. I became insane because Morden became insane. He didn't have anything against me personally, but he had something personal with the Regular Army all along. I feel much calmer after you were talking with me, Fio."
Fio smiles.
"I appreciate it."
"Hey Marco, you said you've dug through the Regular Army's database files and found something, right?" Tarma asks Marco while tapping a toothpick on the table.
"Mm-hmm. I guess that Morden wasn't a heartless fiend all along. Everybody has some type of motive in mind while doing something. I discovered that he had a son, who was 22 years old, that just got out of college in New York. He had a girlfriend and the two went to Central Park to spend some time with one another. Before you know it, an enemy air raid happens out of nowhere. They had their own, bastardized planes based off of the Army's. The Regular Army's top officers commanded a pilot to bomb the area. Intel told them that all of the civilians weren't out yet. They were shied away. The bombs fell. Morden discovers this and then defects from the Regular Army, along with most of his soldiers that looked up to him. Morden became insane and started taking over territories."
"Yeah, I remembered when I saved the president from him. That was the point were people nicknamed him the 'Reborn Devil' because of the shape of his shadow," Tarma adds to the story.
"He's been trying to take down the Regular Army ever since because of what happened to his son. We may be doing the world a favor, but that doesn't mean that the organization we're serving under isn't hiding anything."
"Now that I think about it, are you saying that we were the bad guys this whole time?," Eri asks sarcastically.
"Pretty much. It's quite the revelation, huh," Marco answers in a similar manner.
"I really want to leave the Regular Army. I just want to lead a new life, create a garage bike shop and sell customized bikes. I'll be obliged to do it for the rest of my life," Tarma replied.
"I agree, Tarma. But I heard that intel had discovered that Morden's still planning to cause another war, but he seems to be just, if not more, angry at the Mars People. I bet all of my technology on two cents that a Third Modern War is near."
"What I was thinking of is that during the war, I try to fake my own death and be labeled as 'M.I.A.'. One of you will have to tell me that the Regular Army 'confirms' this covertly. After that, I secretly join Morden's army, and all is well and done. If any one of you guys would like to join me in this scheme, you're welcome to do so," Fio suggests.
"Judging from your appearance, you look like the usual naïve girl. But you can't judge a book by its cover." Trevor adds.
"I understand; it's the glasses, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I really don't need these glasses, but I usually feel 'naked' for some reason without them. It fits my 'outer persona' if you will."
A few of them laugh a little.
"Marco, you actually giggled," Nadia asks.
"Well, it's always a nice thing to have a change of heart. I don't want to have a grudge and permanently be a Debbie downer," Marco tells Nadia. "So is anybody willing to join the Rebel Army instead?" he asks as he raises his hand. "I know I am. I have to pay for all the aggression I had with Morden. I almost killed the poor bastard after we won the second Modern War."
Fio raises her hand, too. Nadia does the same a second later. The others don't for whatever reason.
"This is all?" Marco asks.
"I have a plan. In order to take out the Regular Army, we have to first weaken its network from the outside, and then attack it head-on on the inside. This is all part of one big coupe d'état." Trevor gives some more detail on what he'll perform when the plan is put in motion.
"I would join you, Marco, but I think it'll be best if I help you out by still being a private. I'll both leak out the information hidden from the world, and pretend that it was somebody else that's hacking into the databases. Then, I'll make it as if I'm trying to counteract the problem."
"And I guess I'm in charge of blowing stuff up once we get into the heart of the Army," Eri says.
"Marco, you know that I'm one of your closest friends, like brothers and all, but I'm unsure about this. We have a lot of relationships with other people. It just doesn't feel right. At the moment, the least I could do to save the world is to wipe out the Mars People once they return. But what if I accidentally kill one of you—." Tarma sighs as he places his hand on his forehead. Cold sweat dampens his face.
"Tarma, you're not yourself today," Nadia says.
"I'm always like this. You see, I respect Marco and Trevor—anybody who are okay with who I really am." He takes his pair of sunglasses off and takes the toothpick out of his mouth. He holds both items in front of everybody's faces. "These glasses and this toothpick are the constituents of my mask, so that I wouldn't be called a pansy 24/7. I put on this tone of aggression on my face whenever I'm around a bunch of guys. I mean, I did save the president to back me up, but that still doesn't mean that I don't have butterflies in my stomach. I really want to get out of wars altogether; seeing corpses lying around is making sicker, and sicker, and sicker. And right now, this is a tough decision for me."
"It's your choice, Tarma. It's all up to you, man," Marco reassures Tarma a bit. "How about I stay in the Peregrine Falcons Squad for a while—?"
"No, it's...it's fine. You already have a thick plan thought out, why compromise it?," he responds to his friend while putting his shades into his vest.
Fio assuages his stress by rubbing his shoulder.
"You are going to be fine. You'll live. I'm sure of it. Being optimistic will help you out in a lot of things. I am pretty disturbed by what I've seen in the outer world, but I don't let that get me down."
"Tarma…" Eri gets Tarma's attention. "Have you ever been treated like somebody thrown into the circular pile in your life?"
"Not that I know of."
"I've been through hell and back. I was an orphan, grew up to be a pretty tough kid. I was eight when I discovered a dead body in some alley. I later found out that it was own mother. My adopted mother treated me like a piece of crap, and my friends started dying around me, whether it may be suicide or not. Have you experienced any of that?" Eri emphasized every single word in her question to Tarma.
"No…"
"You gotta rise up. Rise up from the bull-crap. I motivate myself everyday. Some people get annoyed and I just want to smash their skulls into the layered walls of my bunker, but I stop myself. Because I know that the storm won't always cast its shadow upon me daily. The light's just hidden, and once the clouds diverge, the light's exposed. Even if you don't see it, you can feel it internally. Have the courage."
There's a small pause.
"So are you in, or out of Marco and Fio's plan?"
"No," Tarma says in a relaxed manner.
"Alright then. Remember what I said, Tarma Roving."
Nadia sighs. Trevor brushes his hair with his hand.
"So is the meeting over?" Trevor asks.
"I guess so," Marco answers back, while stretching out. They all rise up from their chairs after a little while, and Marco heads toward the hallway first, with the others joining suite except Eri, who turns off the dim light and exits with them.
End of Chapter 1. I remember typing up this chapter on the night before I had to hand it in, as I had trouble writing some interesting chapters for the story. This one was fun to write, as it showed the typical Metal Slug protagonists outside of the war zone, and delves into the topic of gray morality, although in an amateurish manner, haha. And I give thanks to the now-defunct Metal Slug Database website (and the Internet Archive!) for providing the stories inside the manuals!