Chapter 1: Debriefing
Solid Snake, in a suit, walks towards a gravestone. Looking at the stone, Snake gives a salute to the grave. Suddenly, flashes of his father, Big Boss, appear in his mind. Much like Snake, he is saluting to another grave. Who he is saluting to, he can not say. Leafs suddenly started blowing around the air, and Snake turned to see the cause.
A KA-60 Katsaka was making it's landing behind him. The door opened, and Dr. Hal Emmerich, or Otacon as he is called, exit's the helicopter. Wearing a white coat with a turtleneck underneath, Otacon's expression seems grim.
"Otacon," Snake said. "Even the dead have ears."
"Snake," Otacon said. "We have to go. You've got a old friend waiting for you." Adjusting his glasses, he and Snake walk towards the Katsaka.
As he walked to the waiting helicopter, Snake's features are visible. The man was visibly aging, with wrinkled skin and a tired look. He asked, "Otacon…the test results…"
Stopping in his tracks, Otacon turns around. "Proteome analysis was positive. But the mRNA analysis turned up negative." Looking at the disheartened Snake, he continued. "The wrinkled skin, the hardened arteries... Your early aging symptoms look like classic Werner's syndrome. But none of the tests were able to pinpoint the cause."
"So?"
"Well... Judging by how rapidly the aging has progressed, I'd say... "
Continuing his walk to the Katsaka, Snake examines his hand. Once, he had felt strong, superior to all else. But now, Snake was weakening, his body getting ever weaker. "A year at best, right?"
His head hung in defeat, Otacon admitted, "Yeah."
A moment of silence hung over the two men. For nine years, they had traveled around the world, destroying the nuclear menaces known as Metal Gear. Snake had defeated mechanized machines with hardened armor and machine guns, but was now his body was succumbing to old age. A white pedal lands in Snake's hand, and he crushes it.
"Snake…let's try another doctor."
"It won't make any difference. I'm not an ordinary man to begin with. Not to mention FOXDIE." Flashes of Kenneth Baker, president of Arms-Tech, and Liquid Snake, his brother flashed through his mind. FOXDIE, a virus that was injected into him as part of his mission nine years ago. Because of it, several members of FOXHOUND and the Arms-Tech president died.
"You're right. But we don't know where Naomi is."
"Naomi…" Naomi Hunter, the one who injected FOXDIE into him, but for revenge. Revenge for crippling her foster brother, Frank Jaeger. Walking inside the helicopter, he finds a pleasant surprise. Colonel Roy Campbell, his former commanding officer in FOXHOUND, was waiting. Wearing a brown suit, he greets Snake with a handshake, and help the old solider into his seat.
"Ah Snake," Campbell said.
"Colonel!" Snake exclaimed. "Good to see you."
Taking his seat, Otacon closes the door. He motions to the pilots to take off, and fly away from the cemetery.
"Well,…I'm not a colonel anymore, Snake."
"I figured the only place I'd ever see you dressed like that would be at your daughter's wedding. What are you doing these days?"
"I'm working for an organization under the UN Security Council... ...The analysis and assessment staff of the PMC Oversight and Inspection Committee."
"I remember the resolution being passed a few years ago."
Looking away, his demeanor turns grim. It's as if a dark cloud is hovering over Campbell's head. "Snake... I came across some information in my work. We've found him... In the Middle East."
Snake stares at Campbell for a long time. Everything was quiet, minus the sound of the Katsaka's rotors. It was Otacon who broke the silence.
"Liquid's made his move," Otacon said. "We found him."
Flashes of Liquid flow into Snake's mind. A product of the Les Infants Terribles project, Liquid Snake was given the inferior genes. Big Boss called him weak, saying he will never measure up to Solid Snake. This resentment lead to his death at Shadow Moses, and his rebirth in the U.S.S. Missouri.
"I'll explain along the way," Campbell said. "We've got to stop him. ...Now...Before it's too late." Looking at Snake, he explained, "He's preparing to unleash his insurrection. Liquid is lying in wait in a Middle Eastern war zone. Track him down."
In the Nomad, Philanthropy's base, a little girl was in a kitchen. Cooking several eggs, Sunny Emmerich decided to leave the top open.
"Only two eggs today?" Sunny asked. "Solidus must have taken the day off. " Humming a song, Sunny debated whether or not to add salt to the eggs.
In the interior of the Nomad, Snake was took his seat. Otacon and Campbell soon followed. Litting up a cigarette, Snake listened as Campbell explained the situation.
"The Manhattan incident triggered a serious public backlash," he said. "Now the US has to think twice before intervening militarily in other countries' affairs. This has fueled a push towards military privatization, with PMCs at the heart of that movement."
"PMCs," Snake said. "Private Military Companies."
"Exactly." Taking a sip of water, Campbell continued. "PMCs have no basis in nations or ideologies. They are private enterprises, driven by profit. In addition to dispatching mercenaries to war zones, they secure weapons and train local soldiers. They're contractors for war itself, and business is good. Their clientele includes developed nations like the US, rebel factions looking to seize power by force... Smaller countries lacking armies of their own... Even terrorist groups."
"So how far they reach?"
"They're in the Americas, Asia, the South Pacific, Europe, Africa, the Middle East... The rise of the PMC has spawned a war by proxy, and it's spreading across the globe."
Walking down with a plate of poorly prepared eggs, Sunny held them in front of Otacon.
"They're ready," Sunny announced.
"Sorry," Otacon said. "I'm a little busy."
"The Pentagon's new battlefield control system has produced a decisive difference," Campbell explained. "Between hired guns and the PMCs of today. The system was developed by Arms-Tech Security."
"Arms-Tech?" Snake asked. "You mean AT Corp?"
Looking at Snake and Campbell, Sunny wondered if they would want her eggs. Trying to get their attention, they keep talking, ignoring her. Walking up stairs, Sunny slams the plate into a cooking table. Seeing and ashtray filled with cigarettes, she reaches for it. A lone cigarette falls out, and Sunny quickly stomps it.
"So, they've finally achieved total real-time battlefield control?" Snake asked.
"Yes. And as a result, the global presence of PMCs has grown explosively. Truth is, the rise of system-controlled PMCs has led to a dramatic decline in civilian casualties and human rights violations on the battlefield."
"A cleaner, safer battlefield," Snake grumbled. Makes for nice propaganda."
Walking back to the top of the stairs, she announces, "Snake, you were smoking again, weren't you? This is non-smoking flight!"
"It's hard to believe," Campbell said. "I know, but PMCs are beginning to overtake conventional armies in terms of scale. Nowadays it's the PMCs who serve as standard battalions. They already make up sixty percent of all combatant forces in zones of conflict."
"Sixty percent…"
"The fact is the world now depends largely on PMCs for waging its wars."
"I thought it was the U.N. that authorized the PMCs in the first place."
"The U.S. abstained from voting on that resolution. In effect, Washington was endorsing PMCs without ever revealing its true intentions. Until they got wind of the uprising, that is."
Snake placed his cigarette in an ashtray, and pulled out another. "The U.S. has exported too much military power. And now she's paying the price."
"That's exactly it." Campbell paused, trying to catch his breath. He had been talking for so long, he didn't know how much time had passed. Taking another sip of his water, the old man continued. "America has now turned war into a form of economic activity. Analysts are calling it the "war economy," in that it's picking up the slack for the downward-sloping oil market. But I, for one, don't intend to simply stand by and watch it happen. For the PMCs, market expansion entails fanning the flames of war... It means more refugees."
"War orphans…"
"Yes. Even as PMC soldiers get more specialized, they're also getting younger."
"Mercenaries spun off from state armies, unmanned weapons, child soldiers... Proxy battles in a new Cold War."
"There are hundreds, if not thousands of PMCs. The top five companies are run by a single mother company…Outer Heaven."
Snake almost dropped his cigarette when he heard that name. "Outer Heaven? You mean...!"
"Yes…Liquid. Your brother."
Flashes of Liquid possessing Revolver Ocelot flashed in Snake's mind. It happened whenever Snake was near by, and lasted only for a few minutes when he left. The last time he met Liquid, it seemed he had taken complete control over Ocelot.
"He's taken command of this immense army and is now preparing to unleash an insurrection."
"I watched him die. FOXDIE killed him."
"His will lives on - in the body of the man once known as Ocelot. He aims to fan the flames of war even higher - to create the perfect world once envisioned by Big Boss. Do you understand, Snake? Any means necessary. Just stop Liquid's insurrection. Even if it means…"
Looking at Campbell, Snake knew what his old friend was requesting. "Killing him? You want Liquid dead. Isn't that right, Colonel?"
Looking away, Campbell continued. "I'm sorry. I know... This isn't justice. It's a covert assignment - a hired hit. A wet works op targeting the head of a major multinational corporation." Pulling out a folder, Campbell laid it out on the table for Snake to see. "Your first objective is to make contact with our informants, Rat Patrol Team Zero One. They'll be expecting you."
"Friends of yours?"
"Yes. If word of this ever leaked out, it would spark a global firestorm. Snake... Will you do this for me? Will you terminate Liquid?"
Snake thought about it. Five years, that's how long he has searched for Liquid. "I'm not like the PMCs. I don't need your money." Turning to Campbell, he pulled out a cigarette. "But if you're gonna spark something, spark this."
Campbell shoot his head no.
"Fine, I'll start my own fire."
