Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Metal Gear character or the Metal Gear franchise. They belong to Hideo Kojima, Yoji Shinkawa, Kojima Productions and Konami studios.
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Author Notes: This fic is something I had in mind for a while. I noticed that there are very few stories about Philanthropy, so I decided to create this one.
But I want to be as clear as possible: this is not a fic about the exploits of Philanthropy, where they destroy Metal Gears, fight baddies and finally get into trouble in the Tanker Incident. This takes place before that, when Solid Snake and Hal Emmerich founded the organization.
This story is character driven, and its main focus will be the relationship between the characters and how they evolve. There will be plenty of action too, of course, but that's not truly the point of this. I'm just fascinated at the transition the characters from Metal Gear Solid undergo before reaching Sons of Liberty. This is my take on that period.
I haven't written anything in years, due to an extremely severe case of writer's block. One day, a year and a half ago, my girlfriend advised me to simply write, about anything at all. And I did. It was a long and sometimes painful process, but here I am. This story has several chapters written already, and I'm producing more every day. Now that the ball's going, I feel great. So, if you read this far, thanks a lot for listening to my ranting, and I really hope you'll like this. It's the best I can do as of now.
Don't forget to leave a review, guys! As fellow writers, you know authors thrive on reviews!
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Devil Boss
Metal Gear Solid - The Philanthropists
Episode 1: The Survivors
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September, 2005
Republic of Bashtur, Africa
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The base was on full alert, and every last soul inside was out to get the intruder. And Solid Snake was trapped inside, being shot at. He hadn't done this in months, and it showed. He had gotten rusty, and it had cost him dearly.
All the exits were sealed. Hal Emmerich cried out through the codec, urging Snake to get out of there. Both men's lives were at stake. It seemed their quest would be short lived, just as they had both feared.
The soldiers spotted Snake again, after he tried to hide in a small room. Not good. Maybe he would really die this time. Maybe this was it. He almost welcomed it. Such a death was a better fate than passing away in some disgusting alley in Seattle, dead drunk and trying to ignore the ghosts of his past and the disappointed face of Meryl Silverburgh as their relationship failed.
Snake made it to an elevator. The enemy soldiers quickly cut all exits. They were relentless. The spy had destroyed their Metal Gear. He had to pay.
Solid Snake was trapped. The only thing he didn't know was whether the lift was his cage, or his mind and soul were.
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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X The Survivors X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
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Three weeks earlier
August, 2005
Chicago, Illinois, USA
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The heavy drops of the downpour clicked over the rooftops and the soaked streets, falling from looming dark clouds that hung tiredly over the city of Chicago, in a cold front that didn't truly belong to August. Loud, heavy and repetitive, the drum of the drops set the whole scene; a cold breeze struck occasionally, making the entire visage look even more miserable.
The man exhaled tiredly, rubbing his chest to fight the intrusive cold. His oilcloth was soaking, dripping with a thin sound that couldn't be heard amidst the rain. He was tired of watching the house across the street; all too much of that had been done during the day, all too much hesitating, too much second-guessing himself. And he was cold. He wanted to end this. Much meditation had led to this point, and he wasn't about to run away now that he had made up his mind. It was, after all, a step in the right direction, or so he supposed.
Treading lightly, careful not to slip, mindful to avoid the small lakes in the dark street formed by the constant raining, he made up his way to the tiny, non-remarkable house, a small home that didn't particularly stand out among its equally forgettable companions, other houses that seemed as grey as the sky above them in the dank night. The man walked on, not making a sound, turning his face away when a car passed through, his face darkened by the hood he was wearing, appearing no more than another of the countless hobos that lived in the streets. He didn't even register that the car had splashed him as it passed by; so wet he already was.
The man's worn out boots made their first sound as he stepped upon the sidewalk. He stood very still for a moment, as if hesitating, carefully sensing his surroundings. Then, shaking his head, he came to the front door of the house, his objective.
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Hal Emmerich, Ph. D. That was his name. He was also known as Otacon, both by his friends - none as of now - and in the net. He was one of the world's leading experts in engineering, and a true pioneer in the field of robotic applied sciences. His work had redefined the world, had made change on a scale to be compared to the Manhattan Project, had marked him in history as a man that had made a significant difference in science, politics and warfare.
What a legacy to have! He often wished he were just another faceless man, another worker at any random office, a schoolteacher, anything that was far away from the field he had chosen, safely far from the guilt that haunted him day and night. For he, Hal Emmerich, had been the creator of Metal Gear REX, a ruinous weapon that could spell doomsday any other day, bringing the death of countless of innocents with just the touch of one button. The thought never left his mind.
Currently, Hal Emmerich was sighing with exhaustion, rubbing his sore eyes beneath their glasses, determined to finish this bothersome load of work before calling it a day. Setting up a working firewall for that big law firm wasn't particularly hard for a man of his skill and talent, but it certainly took time, as the empty coffee mugs next to his computer showed. The screen was the only thing shedding light in the room, a small living room belonging to the tiny house he had rented merely a month ago, after coming from visiting relatives in England feeling lonelier than ever. The room had no life aside from the screens of his computers, all turned off now except the one he was using; the couch was old and tough, the chairs creaked crankily, the kitchen was empty and the sink was filled with dirty dishes.
Otacon yawned, staring out to the ceiling above, trying hard to find a reason to stay awake. The clock above his fridge, that old thing that belonged to the owner of the house, kept ticking with a constant beat that almost lulled him to sleep. Outside, the rain echoed the drum, so distant and repetitive, so imprecise...
Toc! Toc! Toc!
Otacon jumped in his seat, startled. Had he dozed off and heard something - an augmented reply of the clock's ticking - in his sleep? Or had there really been someone knocking on his door, so late in the night, or rather, the early hours of morning of the next day? He looked at the front door with concern. It was late, he wasn't on the best part of town, and Chicago wasn't without its fair share of crime. What should he do?
Toc! Toc! Toc!
The second set of powerful knocking dispelled any and all comforting thoughts of having merely dozed off and dreamt the first one. Otacon stood up slowly - not without some numbness, as he had been sitting for the past four hours - and approached the door carefully. It was one thirty in the morning. No rational man would knock at this time. And yet, here he was, and outside there was someone knocking, persistently calling for him. Standing next to the door, Otacon wished more than ever to have a peephole in it. But he wasn't that lucky.
Toc! Toc! Toc!
"Who... who's there?" Otacon asked with a shaky voice.
"Open up," a gruff voice came from the other side.
Hearing someone reply made Otacon's skin crawl. It made the situation so much more real, more dangerous. The voice was hoarse, and threatening, and edgy, and Otacon didn't know why - and it would take him many nights to find out - but he opened the door before he realized what he was doing.
The door was open and Hal Emmerich let out a gasp. For in front of him was a man that looked like he had been living in the harshest wilderness for months. His face was rough and haggard, his eyes - piercing bright blue - were muddled and lost in a haunted expression, his cheeks were hollow, he had a messy untamed beard whose strands reached down to his chest and his hair, even beneath a dirty hood, was a mess. The man was wearing the kind of clothes Otacon had seen in so many homeless people, a mere oilcloth and ragged jacket underneath, and pants whose color he couldn't recognize.
But none of that was what had truly surprised Hal Emmerich. The real shock was that he knew who the man was.
"Solid Snake!"
It was him. Otacon was sure of it. He would recognize that face anywhere. Consumed as he looked, Solid Snake still had the same sharp features, the same high cheekbones, the same furrowed brow and square jaw. And even though his eyes seemed tired, they still had that same expression, of alert and experience beyond their years. The last time Otacon had seen the man was on Shadow Moses Island, next to the corpse of Sniper Wolf, a woman Otacon had come to love. A woman Solid Snake had killed.
'Snake! What was she fighting for? And what am I fighting for? What are you fighting for!?'
'If we make it through this, I'll tell you.'
All those thoughts flashed through Otacon's mind in an instant, and during that instant all he and Solid Snake did was to stare at each other, measuring the other man up.
It was Snake that broke the silence "Otacon," he said looking up with a sigh, with that low growl that made his voice impossible to mistake "Are you going to let me inside?" he fixed the scientist with his eyes. A cold breeze stormed by, making the rain drops splash Otacon for a moment.
"I-I..." Otacon stuttered for a moment. He pushed his glasses up "O-Of course. Come in."
Snake didn't make him repeat himself. He strode in, walking past the engineer, taking in his surroundings, absently looking around. Behind him, Otacon closed the door. The downpour outside became distant again.
Otacon oddly didn't feel threatened anymore. This man, who was one of the deadliest alive, who had killed the woman he loved, and who had tracked him down - Otacon truly didn't know how - for reasons Hal ignored, was the closest thing he had to a friend.
"So this is your place, huh," Snake mused, nodding "It resembles what I had imagined. But I thought you'd have better taste for furniture," he seemed amused, and tired.
Otacon had never seen him act this way. Gone was the man that took on unfathomable odds without raising an eyebrow, who did impossible things without loosing his cool, who appeared to be a stronghold of confidence and professionalism; now, he looked uncertain, defeated. The clothes he wore weren't the sign of that. It was him that gave off that impression "Snake... what are you doing here?" Otacon had to ask, trying to understand. This whole situation was bizarre.
Snake blinked and didn't answer outright. He looked down, then to the side, then up, and then finally back to Otacon "I've been trying to contact you through the codec," he said, not really answering the question "But all I get when I call you is static. I don't know if it's my codec that's broken, or yours."
"Well..." Otacon hesitated and decided to play along "Have you tried calling someone else? You also have Campbell's frequency, and Meryl's, right? Did you call either of them?"
"...No."
Otacon realized now he had said the wrong words "Well, perhaps we can try to fix it," he offered as a way to ease things up "I could take a look at it, if you want."
Snake hummed positively and remained silent. Otacon didn't know how to continue the conversation. The clock's ticking suddenly became louder to him.
"Mind if I grab something from your fridge?" Snake asked brusquely. Not listening to Otacon's affirmative reply, he opened the fridge and grabbed a can of soda. Otacon couldn't help but wonder when it had last been that Snake had eaten something. Beneath the bulky oilcloth, a thin figure could be seen.
"Have a seat..." Otacon said, grabbing two chairs and setting them in the dining room. He didn't sit down.
Snake stood by the chair, absently caressing it "Do you remember our last talk? When was it?"
"About four months ago, I think?" Otacon answered, puzzled. Then his composure broke, and he blurted out "Snake, where have you been all this time? What have you been doing!? Last time we talked, you were in Alaska, in your own home!"
Snake sat down, sighing. He got out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in his jacket and lit one up "I've been travelling ever since," he said, taking a drag and blowing out the smoke "All the way to Seattle. Once I learned you were here, I came over."
"Travelling...? Surely you don't mean on foot!?" Otacon gasped as realization dawned on him. Snake didn't deny the point, and Otacon's stupefaction magnified tenfold "Are you insane!? You could have died!"
Snake looked at him square in the eye.
"Oh my..." Otacon looked down, looked away, grasping his nose, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden "Oh my..."
"Otacon," Snake snapped, sounding like his old self for the first time "Last time we talked, we had both heard rumors about Ocelot spreading the blueprints of Metal Gear. Have you got any word about it ever since?"
"Wha...? Errr, yes," Otacon replied, pushing his glasses up "Yes, I did hear some things. But what does that have to do with you? Why leave your house in
Alaska? Have you been living like a homeless all this time?"
"What did you hear?" Snake pressed bluntly "What do you know?"
Otacon gave up "Ocelot is selling Metal Gear REX's blueprints all over the black market," he sighed, feeling his shoulders sag "Last I heard, he's making deals with Third World governments that think a nuclear weapon will give them dominance over their neighboring countries, and against rebel factions," he rubbed his eyes "And that's not all. He's already sold them to some bigger powers, like China or India. It's... it's the dawn of a new nuclear arms race."
He took two hesitant steps away from Snake, looking to a wall, as if seeking an answer there "And it's scientists like me that are responsible for it. We are the unknowing pawns... the ones that do their dirty work for them."
"You can also do something about it," Snake said, standing close behind him. Otacon hadn't heard him come close "You have the chance to stop this. We both started this, Otacon, and we can't change that; it's our burden to carry. But maybe we can try to redeem ourselves."
"I... what?" Otacon rubbed his forehead, and his nose, shutting his eyes tightly "I... is that... is that what you've been trying to do all this time?"
Snake blew out some air and turned around quickly, looking away. Otacon found that he couldn't keep looking; he closed his eyes again, trying to get a hold of himself. Oh, how he hated Solid Snake in that very same moment; how he hated the man for coming, for being here, for asking precisely the question Otacon was very familiar deep down but dared not to ask himself.
Was there something he could do about the situation? Was there something he could do to atone for his mistakes?
"You are the man that designed Metal Gear," Snake said, still looking away "And I'm used to fighting the damned things. That alone gives us a lot of resources to do this, Otacon."
Hal Emmerich turned around as well, looking at the wall, looking away, desperate not to hear what Solid Snake was saying, pleading his senses not to pick up what was going on around him. But his ears worked as well as always, betraying him.
"We can put an end to this," Snake said "Stop this threat for good," Otacon's hands clenched "We can destroy every Metal Gear REX that's been built because of us."
Otacon lost his cool.
"No!" he snapped "I... no. It's... it's just insane. It's insane! It... It can't be done!" His voice had grown weaker with each word, until they became but whimpers.
"You didn't think so when we last talked, four months ago." Snake was having none of it.
"That was..."
"What? A fluke?" the spy growled, irritated and angry "You got carried away, and you didn't mean to? Or did you get second thoughts in between then and now?"
He just didn't seem to understand what this would mean for Otacon. Solid Snake may have lived his whole life on the line, well aware that he was on the edge of sanity, in the brink of death, be it by an enemy's hand or by the eventual loss of his willpower; but Hal Emmerich had never lived by those rules, had never known what it was to be aware deep down that every day, any day at all, could be his last. When faced with the choice, Otacon found he didn't want to live like that "You are a man that fights terrorists to save the world," he said dejectedly, beaten "Me, I'm just... Otacon, nothing but a guy that attends many otaku conventions." He stood there silently, looking at his feet.
Snake remained silent as well. Whether it was because he wanted to give Hal some space, or because he was trying to overcome his disappointment, Otacon truly didn't know.
"...I'm going to sleep," Otacon said, still looking down "You can help yourself to anything you want, and take a shower, too, and sleep on the couch if you like. And we can try to contact Mei Ling, or Nastasha, tomorrow if you like, after I fix your codec. Perhaps they'll be more useful to you than I am."
Otacon left the room with meek short steps, not once looking up. Snake remained still as a statue, following Hal's figure with his eyes until he couldn't anymore without turning around. When the door to Otacon's bedroom closed, the former spy stood there with absent eyes, staring at nowhere.
He finally sighed and sat down on the couch, closing his eyes.
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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X The Survivors X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
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Try as he might, Otacon couldn't fall asleep. That wasn't surprising considering the day's events, but a part of him had still held on to the thought that maybe he would rest his head on the pillow and forget about everything until next morning; it turned out that he wasn't that lucky.
The bed creaked as Otacon turned yet again, this time lying on his right side, trying to shut his mind up. It was impossible.
Could he and Snake really attempt to destroy all Metal Gear REX that had been built ever since Shadow Moses? Could they really go on that crusade with any hope of success? Snake seemed to believe so. But that was foolish, impossible even in Otacon's mind. Yes, he had supported the idea a few months ago, when they last talked about the spreading of REX variations throughout the world, but everything was so different back then... Snake was in Alaska, still living with Meryl, and Hal was still reeling from the shock he'd been through during the terrorist takeover. Now, now that he was settling to a quiet life, away from such horrors, was he willing to throw that out the window and go down such a threatening path?
Besides, he was just a man! Just another faceless man, completely average...
But a certain part of his mind wouldn't let him find any respite in those words, exposing him to haunting thoughts. He wasn't just another man. Like it or not, he was different... for normal men didn't commit sins in a scale as he had. Normal men didn't create weapons of mass destruction, didn't build them so perfect that there would be no accurate way of keeping them in check. No, Hal Emmerich was far from average, far from being just a man. He was way worse.
He turned on his bed and stared across his dark room, with just barely enough light to make out the shape of his anime collectibles. The mechas that starred in Gundam Wing, Evangelion, Robotech and Gunbuster stared back, unmoving, cold under the scarce light. What used to be a source of inspiration, a source of passion for his work, now loomed void and lifeless. Damn! What an idiot he had been! How could he have been so stupid to believe that the real world was like that of his favorite series! To believe that through science, he could build something wonderful, something good for mankind... The world was too twisted a place for dreams like that.
Otacon sat up in bed and looked down, eyes tightly shut, pinching his nose hard, trying to reign in on his quickening breathing. It was because of him that a monster now roamed the world. The guilt was eating him alive; all the feelings he had managed to bury had been reawakened by Solid Snake's reappearance. But Otacon couldn't be mad at the man anymore; it wasn't Snake's fault that Otacon had been too naive to realize he was being used.
The scientist started to muse about the talk he'd had with his former ally. Did Snake really believe it was possible to stop the Metal Gear threat for good? He seemed to. But something about him felt off. The steely resolve, the overpowering will, they had appeared fickle during the night's talk, very unlike the man Otacon had first known Snake to be, who never hesitated since doing so could mean the difference between life and death for him. As far-fetched as it sounded, Solid Snake was unsure about this. And if he was unsure, what was left for Hal Emmerich, the weakling that wet his pants in the face of true danger?
Otacon kept thinking for hours. Little by little did his eyes grow tired, and he never realized when was it that he stopped reflecting about everything and fell asleep. But the wishful part of his mind that hoped sleep would make everything good again had been right about something; when Hal woke up, he had made a decision, and he almost felt confident about it.
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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X The Survivors X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
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The alarm rang loudly, insistently.
Otacon woke up feeling as if he had slept nothing. Fighting a headache, he got dressed and stood up. Yawning, the geek tried to piece together what had happened last night. Setting up that firewall sure took more time than he had imagined... Otacon rubbed his eyes and nose and stretched his arms, trying to wake himself up properly. Sighing, he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
He left the bathroom and went to his living room. Solid Snake was standing there.
Otacon gasped as everything came back to him. Last night. Snake's arrival. Snake's proposal; Otacon's refusal. And after going to bed, his decision. His resolve.
"Morning," Snake grumbled "You're an early riser." The clock marked seven o'clock.
"Y-yeah," Otacon replied "I... try to keep a healthy routine. You know, with work and all of that, I don't see many people... I need to see some daylight at least. And-"
"You talk too much," Snake dismissed him "I borrowed some of your clothes." He was wearing an old pair of Hal's jeans, a shirt and a gray hoodie; all garments fit him too tight, but they were better than the rags he had been wearing the previous night. Otacon noticed, as his mind cleared, that Snake had cut his own hair to shoulder length, enough to look somewhat presentable. As for the beard, he had trimmed it to a normal standard as well "I'll be on my way now. I'll send you some cash later today for the clothes."
"Wait! You're leaving?" Otacon asked, taking a step forward.
Snake was already making his way to the door. He turned his head around, staring at Hal sideways "I shouldn't have come here, Otacon. You have settled down and you don't need this in your life. It's better this way. Besides, I don't want to have to drag you around with me."
But Otacon stopped him again "You... really think we could do this?"
Snake remained still, looking away. Otacon could have sworn the silence pierced his ears.
"I think it's a lost cause. But I forgot I'm the only lost man in here. It was a mistake to ask you to do this with me, Otacon. You wanted a clean slate after Shadow Moses, right? I remember you said you wanted to study psychology. It's not a bad choice." He smiled briefly, then he checked the clock on the wall. For the faintest of moments, Otacon glimpsed a forlorn look in the other man's eyes. Snake stood there, like an old lion, veteran of one too many battles.
Then he went to the front door.
"No..." Otacon shook his head "No, it is. It is a bad choice." Snake looked at him, his face unreadable "I used to think that I could start over," Otacon went on, looking to the floor "That I could dedicate myself to a new field, and begin anew. But now... now I realize that I can't hide from the past if I want to really move on. I need to acknowledge it, and do something about it."
He gulped, feeling a lump in his throat "Truth is... ever since Shadow Moses, I've felt so guilty that sometimes I think I'm burning inside. Sometimes, I can't even sleep. And it's worsening every day. This regret is killing me."
"Regret only makes you weaker," Snake said, quoting his own philosophy "Don't regret the past, learn from it. You can still do something about this."
"I know. And it's not just for myself, either; I also need to do this, for the sake of the world."
Again there was silence.
"I'm tired of hiding," Otacon reflected "From now on, I'm going to stand on my own two feet."
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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X The Survivors X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
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Otacon handed Snake one of the mugs, filled with steaming-hot coffee.
"Just how much damage you think Ocelot's done in the past six months?" Snake said after taking a sip.
"A lot," Otacon replied "He's been selling the REX blueprints in the black market, to anyone with pockets deep enough to buy. I figure he must have amassed a fortune by now, enough to buy a decent-sized country. And not just to the superpowers, but rogue states, too."
"Ever since the collapse of the Soviet Union, nuclear arsenals built to enforce the idea of mutually assured destruction have lost their justification, and the deterrent argument has lost ground," Snake said grimly "Priority lies now with smaller weapons that can be carried by stealth bombers."
"Yes, and REX can fire a stealth nuke," Otacon noted "with its affinity for rough terrain, REX would be extremely difficult to discover and destroy. Hence, it's the perfect nuclear strike system for rogue states."
"If non-democratic countries get a hold of Metal Gear, the resulting upset in the balance of military power will lead to a massive rupture in world order."
"I'm afraid so. It will be a whole game-change."
"Which makes our mission all the more important." Snake lit up a cigarette, thoughtful.
"Yes, I agree. Considering the time and money building a Gear costs, I'd say probably none have been completed yet. If we act fast, maybe we can stop this threat now, before it's too late."
Snake nodded "Otacon," he said, fixing his eyes on the other man's "Can you help me?"
The otaku nodded back "I know I can track one of them down, but it's probably going to take some time. Which leads us to the question of what are we going to do right now. We're going to need a bigger apartment, and you're gonna have to find a job..."
Snake snorted with a smile "Otacon, I do have some money saved. Being a soldier doesn't kill your common sense, you know." Then again, he had willingly been living like a hobo for the past months "Well, not completely anyway," he added for good measure.
"Okay, that settles that, I guess," Hal scratched his head "We should try to get organized as quickly as we can, then. The faster we act, the better our odds of success."
"All I need is your brain," Snake declared, frowning "Just point me in the right direction and tell me how to destroy the damned things, and I'll do the rest."
"Now, wait a minute!" Otacon protested "This is your mission just as much as it is mine. Maybe I can't pick up a gun and fight, but I'll be just as important for the cause! If you want to work with me, we'll be partners with equal say and relevance."
"You sure you can handle that pressure?"
"I've made up my mind."
Snake regarded the other man with calculating eyes. Otacon probably was still too innocent to realize what his words meant. But then again, the guy had already been through hell in Shadow Moses, and even then he had shown resolve in the face of war and death "Fine," Snake relented "We'll work as a unit, then."
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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X The Survivors X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X- X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
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Boston, Massachusetts
August 2005
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It was raining in Boston. The downpour made the skyline blurry, with grey skies mourning over grey and black buildings that towered above the streets, frenzied with the activity of midday. Sitting next to the window of her small but well-polished apartment, Nastasha Romanenko surveyed the people below.
Another cigarette went into the ashtray on top of the desk that lay next to the window. The apartment reeked of smoke. Nastasha opened the window slightly to get some fresh air in, and had to don her jacket to fight off the cold. Autumn had come early to New England.
Nastasha took yet another look around her living room and then eyed the monitor in front of her. It was pointless: the screen showed the same results she had seen barely a few minutes ago, the same information that was given to her when she tried to contact the DIA. Richard Ames, her ex-husband and the man that had helped her survive the cleanup after Shadow Moses, wasn't listed as a member of the organization. According to the DIA database, he had never worked for the unit, which was a ridiculous lie as Nastasha knew more than well enough.
Had he been punished for letting her live considering how much she knew about the incident? Had he been killed for giving her a disc containing all the information on the killer virus FOXDIE, the undeniable evidence of the government's actions throughout the crisis? The mere thought gave her Goosebumps. Nastasha lit another cigarette after noticing the coffee had gone cold in its mug.
She was being watched. The hidden cameras made some whirring noises at night, whenever they shifted their lenses to properly focus on her. Nastasha was smart enough to figure out her phone had been hacked. The landlord kept close tabs on her; Nastasha knew it because he frankly didn't try to hide it. And she had caught the man living in the apartment next to hers following her on the streets, three times last week.
Nastasha Romanenko was being watched. Nastasha Romanenko was a target. And the only reason she hadn't been killed yet was that disc she had been given, that little disc that could bring about so much chaos to the nation. The disc that spelled the truth of the Shadow Moses Incident.
However, what really bugged Nastasha was, who was it that was watching her? Who were the people behind the cameras, the people who had hired henchmen to track her every move?
Was it the Pentagon?
Or perhaps... the Patriots?
Nastasha had never heard of them before the Incident. But she hadn't forgotten Liquid Snake's words, when he promised to go after them. She hadn't forgotten her ex-husband's reply to the late terrorist, believing him foolish for trying to fight that organization. Any and all research she had done looking for The Patriots had met a dead end. They were nothing but a rumor, fleeting words whispered only in the deepest pits of the net... they were ghosts, and yet their influence seemed to be everywhere. At least, anyone who seemed to know something even remotely related to them was too afraid to talk about the issue.
And now Nastasha was a prisoner, perhaps a prisoner of that shady group. And she was powerless to resist that situation. She wasn't a soldier or an agent, and she had been found easily enough after she tried to disappear. Both fight and flight were impossible.
And so Nastasha wrote. Secretly, as carefully as she could, she wrote the happenings of the Shadow Moses Incident into a book that now amounted for more than two hundred pages and counting. Maybe she was a prisoner, but this prisoner still had some fight left in her. And maybe, one day she would get the chance to let other people learn the truth, the unofficial truth of what had happened...
In the Darkness of Shadow Moses.
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Author Notes 2: I hope you liked this one! Even though it cost me a lot to write it, I'm still rather pleased at how it turned out. Let me hear your thoughts on this chapter by leaving a review!
Thanks a lot for reading.
