Hello. As you may know, I submitted this story once already a very long time ago. I have since refined my skills as a writer and felt that I had really found something and had an elaborate plot planned and I just couldn't give up on it. Here is the completely rewritten first chapter of my story. I live for reviews, really. I love them. Please review this story whenever possible.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Metal Gear beyond copies of Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes and Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance.
Chapter 1
Wraith's gaze rested on the shaded black window of the transport plane as she listened to the unfaltering roar of the engines. She couldn't see through it. She wasn't supposed to. She took a deep breath, tilted her head back, closed her icy sapphire eyes. This was going to be big; she knew it. She thought she should get some sleep, who knows when those government guys would send her off. She started to dose, it was a skill she had developed, and she could better psychologically prep herself for a mission this way. It wasn't really sleep, more of a form of meditation. She slowed her breathing, and began shutting down various parts of her body. Now it was only she, and her mind. She heard the door to the cabin open, she heard the hard precise steps of a military man approach her, but she did nothing, continued her medisleeping, but calculated his every action and position with her finely tuned ears. She could tell he was tall, but thin, probably the quick type.
"Attention operative Wraith," the man said, his voice not particularly deep but still possessing a type of strength. Maybe it was experience, or wisdom, or pain. Wraith read eyes, she could know exactly how to communicate with, interrogate, or even kill someone with only a few seconds of eye contact.
"Yes Sir," Wraith responded. Her medisleep ended immediately; power quickly surging throughout her body and awakening her numbed limbs. Her hand shot up to above her brow in salute and she took to her feet.
"I'm Colonel George Sherman," the man said, extending a large hand. Wraith took it. His grip was all right, but nothing impressive.
"I will be the commanding officer in your following mission. You will report to me by Codec. My frequency is 355.61."
"Understood. Will you be briefing me on the situation now Sir?"
"Yes," Sherman said, revealing a thick beige folder, "have a seat, this may take a while." He noticed that Wraith spoke with a heavy Russian accent, this was no surprise, considering who she was. George had always liked strong women, and Wraith was the epitome. She was athletic, almost startlingly so, and he was sure that she could kill him in a matter of seconds. She did, however, maintain a very feminine form, her smooth muscular build complemented by wide hips and well-sized breasts. He stopped for a moment, faltered, as he admired her. Her military professionalism was unmistakable, and the dark shaved stubble of hair that shadowed her scalp and coldly piercing eyes demonstrated it beautifully. Wraith noticed the missed beat. George immediately concealed his arousal and took the airplane seat next to Wraith. He lowered both of their tray tables and gingerly placed the folder so that it bridged between them. CLASSIFIED was stamped across the front in deep red letters.
"Here's the deal," George said, lifting the folder to reveal a large photograph of a tropical island. The beach was black igneous sand, and it rimmed a long forest of deep green trees. There was an inactive volcano in the center, and it was from its eruptions that the island had originated. At the base of the volcano, the trees broke to reveal a large installation. It was surrounded in watchtowers and a large fence with barbed wire lining. A large control tower extended up from the side of the volcano and an airstrip cut a grey line into the trees.
"This is the upper portion of the United States military installation Black Dawn-" George began.
"Upper portion?"
"Yes," George said, pushing aside the photograph to reveal a blueprint paper, "this is the lower portion, it is submerged."
Wraith eyed the blueprint. From the island extended a network of lines labeled "transport tubes" down to a huge blob like structure with a jumble or rooms and a single huge room that occupied about a third of the structure. It was simply dubbed "Hanger".
"Here's the situation Wraith, plain and simple. Terrorists overtook the installation by unknown means. We're estimating roughly 150 men. They are heavily armed and militarily trained. They have presented no demands. The attack is believed to be by the somewhat legendary "Children of Zarathustra", a group of elite nano-altered mercenaries led by a fanatical maniac. The real problem is that the installation is armed with a prototype stealth bomber in the hanger area of the upper portion that is carrying a nuclear bomb. They have threatened to use it against either New York or DC if military action is taken against them. The terrorists appear to be trying to access the lower portion of the base and enter the submerged hanger, where a nuclear-armed walking tank Metal Gear is being housed. Now, we have decently effective methods of disarming the bomber, however, there is still significant risk that they will still pull it off if we full-scale assault. That's where you come in. You are going to infiltrate by stealth and disarm the terrorists. You will be entering by the completely undetectable Phantom. It's a type of medium-range piloted bomb dropped from one of our planes. You'll land on the beach and have to hoof it through the forest and use the security card we've modified to allow you into all sectors to enter the base, it is our base after all."
Wraith sat quietly in the rough airplane seat. Her cold eyes rested on the pictures that George had explained. He began to doubt if she could handle this, I mean, she was young. He thought about asking if she was all right, but he didn't want to seem doubting, this was the first time he had handled anything like this and he was unsure what was normal and what wasn't.
"When do I go?" Wraith replied, eyes never leaving the photographs of the installation and the blueprint of the under base.
"Twelve hours," George said, slightly relieved, "however, there is a factor that I failed to mention before."
"Yes?"
"There is another operative, not one of ours, terrorist. He's not with the Zara's either. Here's all we have on him," George said, sliding a small paper-clipped packet of paper from the folder. Wraith pulled a small photograph of a man from the shoulders up. The man stared at Wraith with powerful eyes. There was something strange about those eyes. They made her respect him, after a single glance. She could detect his power, his intellect, his love. Love? No, couldn't be it. She checked his profile.
Alias: Solid Snake
Actual name: David Hayter
Age: 37
Nationality: American
Hair: Brown, naturally blonde
Eyes: Blue-Green
IQ: 180
Former member of FOXHOUND, he is an impossible genius and soldier. Fighting skills are unprecedented. Considered to be one of the most dangerous men in the world. Snake has played an integral part in every metal gear incident and is now believed to be the leader of an anti-metal gear terrorist group Philanthropy.
"So, what's he doing on Black Dawn?" Wraith asked, turning to George for the first time in several minutes.
"Probably trying to disarm the Metal Gear. He's probably taking advantage of the situation to catch the base off-guard. However, the Metal Gear is government property, classified, and you can imagine what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands, with it's capabilities."
"So…. what do I do about Snake?"
George paused, and looked up at her with his strong-pained eyes,
"Eliminate him."
Wraith stood completely nude. Her pale white flesh prickled with goose bumps and she immediately wished she had more than stubble covering her head. The last few hours had been hellish, an endless stream of physicals, blood tests, and briefings, all topped off with a bitter vitamin supplement dinner and a constant stream of information on the insanely dangerous mission on which she was about to embark. One more test, she had been told. This, unlike the blood and physical tests, she had never undergone. In fact, she hadn't even been aware of its existence. She stood in a large steel room completely unclothed, bars of white light slid across the silver walls from the glowing white ceiling. A voice crackled over the speakerphone,
"Operative Wraith."
"Yes Sir."
"Please stand in the center of the room, extend arms horizontally from your body and breathe slowly. Say "complete" when you have done so."
"Complete."
"Affirmative, do not move, the test will begin immediately, remain completely still."
"Yes Sir."
Wraith heard a deep humming from behind the walls. The floor shuddered beneath her in a constant vibration. She fought against the vibration to remain still. The humming intensified, becoming a roar. The air pulsed with the sound now, the vibrations extreme. Wraith felt something strange, it was her blood; it was… moving. It felt like her blood was bulging, fluctuating, vibrating along with the walls. She clenched her teeth; beads of sweat formed and slithered down her body like glistening snakes. Pain, each heartbeat a deep thump now. Her body quivered, she was having trouble remaining standing. It was then that part of the steel wall opened and a long, clicking robotic arm extended from it. It had a strange clamp mechanism toward the front that closed around the upper left shoulder, allowing her arm to protrude through the hole. It tightened around her, causing a strange pain in her shoulder blade and squashing her left breast against her ribs. Her breathing was labored now, she was beginning to panic, she tried to medisleep, to slip away, but then the clamp on her left gave her and abrupt, painful shock. Time seemed to slow for a moment, the vibrations deepened in pitch and her heartbeat slowed. There was something strange about the way it sounded though. Along with the normal thumping contraction, there was a constant, low buzz. It sounded strange, high-pitched, like feedback on a speaker.
The vibration stopped immediately, and the clamp released Wraith. She fell to her knees and waited for blood to return to its normal flow. She began to medisleep, her breathing resumed its normal rhythm and she felt her strength return to her. She got to her feet.
"Concluded," the voice over the loudspeaker said, "please exit to your rear."
Wraith calmly obeyed. She waited by the steel door as it hissed open and exited into the preparation room. Her mind, however, was not in the cool, straightforward state it usually was, but abuzz with questions and even a hint of fear.
Wraith zipped up the back of her sneaking suit. She could feel it adhere to her flesh as it tightened around her. She waited while it connected itself into her nerve endings and began monitoring her vital signs through her nanomachines. After it was complete she flexed her muscles, watching as the suit moved along with her like skin. It coated her entire body and then stopped mid-neck. It was black, and along the entire form there were tiny grooves that were barely visible. They looked like webbing veins across the suit. They were actually its wiring, the suit itself was a kind of machine. The hands were also coated, but on the knuckles were tiny teal pads that would work like brass knuckles when attacking with a fist. The shoes of the suit were small and simple, but the bottoms were a clear white that distorted the light as it passed through. Wraith took a few steps. The white on the bottom squished, but not deflating, giving her a comfortable stride as the gel-like material contoured to her foot. It was some kind of strange, rubber- like polymer. The footsteps made no noise. Wraith tried a jog. The footfalls were barely audible; the techie guys had really outdone themselves on this piece of work.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," she said. A man in fatigues entered. He was tall, and his rippling muscles were obvious even in the loose fatigues. He had the same icy professionalism in his eyes as Wraith, but in them there was also a strange fire, anger, fury, revenge. His head was shaved under his red beret. He saluted with a wide, ebony hand and Wraith returned it.
"Captain Jon Meyers," he said, his voice was deep and he had a slight rumble to it, "I am the captain of the black ops team House of Cards, I'm here because me and my team know all there is to know about the Children of Zarathustra. My codec frequency is 381.74, when communicating with me over codec you will use my code name: Spade."
"Affirmative, will you be briefing me on them now?"
"Yes, come with me to the conference room."
The large computer monitor on the wall flicked to a photograph next to a list of specifications. It was the profile of the first member of the Zaras. He was looking straight ahead; his eyes were empty, soulless, and yellow. Dark, uneven brown stubble coated his face and his hair was short and also hacked.
Alias: Dingo Mask
Actual name: Samuel Larson
Age: 34
Nationality: Australian
Hair: Red-brown
Eyes: Yellow
IQ: unknown
Larson is an extreme nature enthusiast that spent the greater portion of his life living alone on the Australian outback. He is a survival and tracking expert, able to find any prey and live through all conceivable natural circumstances. He is also an experienced dog trainer and keeps several trained Dobermans as pets and weapons. He trusts no technology, and uses only weapons and clothing that he has made. The only exception is an enormous combat knife of unknown origin. WARNING: For reasons unknown, Larson has the ability to change the pigmentation of his skin with extreme speed and precision, rendering him completely invisible. He is able to move at walking speed and remain invisible, but over that his skin has trouble keeping up and fluctuations can be seen. He wears a strange suit that he apparently made himself. It has been witnessed by House of Cards that he stated it was made from shavings of his own skin that he wove together and that change with him.
"Ready for me to change slides?" Meyers asked.
"Yes," Wraith replied, and then added, "does he really have the ability to render himself invisible?"
"Wraith, these are the most dangerous motherfuckers in the world. This is just the beginning. My team has dealt with Dingo; he's Arimaspian, The team leader's right hand man. He'll slit your throat and feed you to his fucking dogs without a thought. Now, apparently someone up top has a lot of confidence in you, so they think you can handle them."
"You underestimate me Captain," Wraith said, "I am fully confident that I can do what it takes to complete my mission."
"Look," Meyers said, his face wrinkling, "I lost a lot of men to the Zaras, one of which was my brother, and I've been hunting them around the globe for the past two fucking years of my life. My team and I are the best of the best, and I trained those boys myself. We finally get a chance to really get them, no escape routes, no restrictions; they're on a fucking island and have a gun the head of the United States, and they bring in some cocky ruskie bitch to finally take them out. I've gone through whole teams of better men than you Wraith, and the Zara's killed all of them."
Wraith paused before answering; her icy eyes meeting his fired ones.
"The last thing I need, Jon, is my expert to be a revenge-crazed sociopath that wants me dead. So, if you have an issue with me or anything about how this mission is being handled, I suggest you stuff it up your ass and do your job."
Meyers was silent, he continued eye contact for another full minute before clicking to the next slide. A picture of a young Japanese woman with her hair in a bun and wide eyes appeared on the screen. Her eyes were deep, but cruel.
Alias: Kiyo
Actual Name: Dai Nakamura
Age: 26
Nationality: Japanese
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
IQ: 160
Nakamura is a master in all forms of martial arts and hand-to-hand weapons combat. DO NOT COMBAT AT CLOSE RANGE. Her favorite weapon, a katana, was smithed by an unknown source and has the ability to cut through almost all substances. She has also refined the skill of deflecting bullets with the sword, even directing them at desired targets with amazing precision. Other than the katana, she has been known to use shurikens, daggers, nunchucks, staffs, and during long range combat situations, an assortment of small, automatic firearms.
Meyers said nothing, clicking the slide shortly after Wraith had finished. A picture of a young boy with a Mohawk appeared, catching Wraith off guard. He was so young. His eyes were holes, deep, dark, and terrifying.
Alias: Lucifer
Real name: Felix Laturner
Age: 19
Nationality: German
Hair: Naturally black, often dyed different colors
Eyes: Blue
IQ: 110
Felix disappeared from his house four years ago and has only been seen since assisting The Children of Zarathustra. Felix is highly disturbed, and had spent considerable time in juvenile detention previous to his abduction for a series of arson charges. Felix is the most unstable and possibly the most dangerous member of the Children of Zarathustra. He has the unexplainable ability to create fire with thought. This is believed by some to be the telekinetic power of "Pyrokenisis". WARNING: is psychologically unstable, can and will kill anything that he sees fit.
Click
A photo of a bald black man appeared. His eyes were beady, but Wraith saw arrogance, confidence, power.
Alias: Yellow Serpent
Actual Name: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Nationality: African
Hair: None, no hair on the entire body cavity
Eyes: Green
IQ: Unknown
The most mysterious and most powerful of the Children of Zarathustra, he is of unnatural size, standing 7'11". He has absolutely no hair on his entire body, it is unknown if this is by will or natural. Covering his skin are tattoos of ancient Chinese religious symbols. He has the strange belief that he is a manifestation of God on Earth, here to bring salvation to the human race. All reports from House of Cards have shown him to be completely indestructible, unaffected by bullets, flame, shrapnel, blades, and explosives. In combat, he usually uses a large battle-axe or two weapons that could only be wielded by someone of his unfathomable strength. Examples seen in combat: Dual M4 assault rifles, Minigun, dual rocket propelled grenade launchers, dual automatic shotguns.
Click
A picture of a man with long white hair appeared, but Wraith was startled. She couldn't see his eyes. His left eye was covered with an eye patch and the shot was a side view. His face was wrinkled and aged, but strong.
Alias: Arimaspian
Actual Name: Asad Griffin
Age: 55
Nationality: Iranian/American
Hair: White
Eyes: Green-blue, only has one
IQ: 210
A tactical genius and unprecedented combatant, he is the leader of the Children of Zarathustra. He was a member of a special force of the secret service, but during which he was sent on a mission to Iran and was captured there for several months. He was retrieved and appeared to be mentally sound, even to the advanced psychological tests. However, he had been brainwashed and had become obsessed with his Persian heritage and the mythical creatures called Griffins (which, coincidentally, was the name his family had changed to when immigrating to the United States). He now believes that he is the last of a race of cycloptic people called the Arimaspian, which were frequently told about with Griffins. He believes he is also the bringer of the apocalypse and the messiah of the human race. He believes these delusions so intensely that he gouged out his left eye while in captivity. It is his combined fanatical insanity and inhuman genius that makes him the worst possible nuclear-armed enemy the United States could have. He has never had to resort to direct combat, but House of Cards has reported that he carries dual talwars, a type of Persian sword, and an assortment of handguns.
Click the screen flashed and went black.
"So, what do you think?" Meyers turned, grinning contently, "still think you got what it takes?"
Wraith paused, then answered, "definitely."