Obligatory A/N and Disclaimer:
I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. In fact, I'm still financially dependent on my parents. My only source of income is peddling calendars seasonally at Waldenbooks to buy CDs and video games, so suing me would be a useless venture. Plus, as I understand, lawyers aren't cheap and legal fees would probably just leave you a couple hundred dollars in the hole.
By the way, this is just peppered with inaccuracies and everyone's stuck in an Out Of Character warp. Now, I must admit to having read the ongoing "The Daily Lives of Snake and Otacon" saga, and it gave me quite a few giggles. I started writing this before I even knew there was a ff.net, though, so please don't flame me claiming I plagiarized those authors' wonderful work. I would appreciate a review or two, though.
Once Upon a Time, In the Land of White Trash...
Chapter One
"Damnit, out of beer again!" Snake muttered. He kicked at a stack of old pizza boxes, sending them across the floor.
Otacon was curled up in a nest of filthy laundry with an equally dirty magazine. Snake had been interested in his porno collection until he found out they were all anime-style - they weren't even real women. Otacon pushed his glasses up his nose. "Go get some, then."
"Bah." Snake scratched at his unshaven face.
"I'll pay," Otacon offered. He knew Snake was dead broke - hence their current and likely permanent residence in a doublewide tin can with someone named Bubba living next door.
Snake perked up. "Really?"
"But you can't go out dressed like that."
Snake had his favorite bandana on, but was clad in nothing else but a pair of plaid boxers and a white undershirt. "Oh, yeah. Sneaking suit is at the cleaners again. DAMN!"
Snake punched the nearest wall. The cheap metal wrenched, buckled outward, leaving a nasty looking dent in the living room wall. "Damn!" Snake exclaimed again.
Otacon rolled his eyes. "If only your fans could see you now."
"Hey. Don't talk shit about me - who's the one supporting this family?" Snake crossed his arms.
"Ah, yes. Part-time night shift at 7-11. Our financial situation is rock-solid."
"Better than seasonal at Best Buy."
"I TOLD you, I'm looking at Suncoast next."
"We're such losers," Snake said dejectedly. He pulled his bandana down over his eyes and fell into one of the peculiarly smelling chairs they had stolen from a neighbor.
Otacon glanced at the pizza boxes, Big Mac wrappers, and empty beer cans. Through the window, he saw their snowmobile up on cinderblocks. "Yup."
* * *
"Y'want EasyMac or Spagettios?" Snake yelled from the breakfast nook.
"Chef Boyardee products again, Snake?" Otacon was laying flat on his back on the couch with his magazine over his eyes.
"When it's my turn to cook -"
"When it's your turn to cook, we eat whatever the microwave can puke out in under seven minutes. Why don't we ever go out to eat?"
Snake rolled his eyes and reached for the Spagettios. Damn, he loved Skettios!
"Well, dear," he said in a falsetto woman voice, "Maybe for our anniversary. Will you buy me that skimpy little lace thing we saw at Victoria's Secret?"
"I just want us to get some real food for a change."
"Denny's is open 24 hours a day."
"How about that French place?"
"No way," Snake said as he dumped the contents of two cans into a saucepan. "Last time I let you take me someplace French, I got felt up by the waiter."
"First of all," Otacon began. "It was Italian. And second, you were the one who was drunk and making eyes at him. Crouching and knocking on walls to get his attention - I almost died of embarrassment."
Snake made a face to himself. Drunk, my ass. He could chug two six-packs on an empty stomach and still snowmobile through the fancy-pants ski resort yelling obscenities with the best of them.
Just then, a voice wafted in the screen door. "Mmm, I smell Skettios!"
Snake cringed. "Raiden," he grumbled under his breath. He glanced over, saw Otacon grimace too.
The door burst open and there was Raiden, long blonde hair done up in liberty spikes. He was wearing a fashionably stained Linkin Park T-shirt and cut-off jeans. "Hey, Snake! Hey Otacon! Rose kicked me out again. Can I hang out with you?"
Avoiding the subject, Otacon asked, "So... Raiden. How're the kids?"
Raiden gave him a blank look. He looked over at Snake. Snake was holding up two fingers, wiggling them in his direction. What...? Oh, yeah! "Yeah! I've got two kids!" Raiden said, grinning more because he was happy to have remembered than that he was actually fond of his children. "Dawson's almost two, he's got this funny habit of stealing my cigarettes..."
"I got `im hooked," Snake said proudly, like a good mentor should. Otacon shuddered.
"And, uh... the other one..." he looked at Snake for help again.
"Begins with an S..." Snake coached.
"Sh... Shakira?"
"There ya go," Snake congratulated him.
"Yeah. That's it. Shakira's going on three months. I tell you, they keep Rose- er, US - busy. Shakira's great, for a baby. I mean, she screams all night and during TRL..."
Snake turned back from the stove to bat his eyes at Otacon. "Why does WE have children, honey?" he asked, using his teasing girly voice again.
Otacon blushed and glared at the same time. "I dropped that, like, half an hour ago, Snake."
Snake snickered and went back to stirring the Spagettios. Raiden pushed aside some laundry and sat down on the floor, and turned on the Playstation Otacon had modified to play PS2 games. He had a suggestion that was about as smart as he was. "You could adopt kids. You know, if you're into that."
"Snake's too busy for children. He spends most of his days in a drunken haze."
"Do not."
"'My Own Worst Enemy', by LIT - that's his personal anthem," Otacon continued. He began singing. Badly. "... please tell me why-y-y... my car is in the front yard ... and I'm sleeping with my clothes on..."
Snake flipped him off. Raiden laughed, and Otacon blushed furiously.
Suddenly, Snake dropped to one knee and put a hand to the side of his neck. Raiden and Otacon waited with baited breath while Snake listened, making surprised facial expressions and nodding at regular intervals. It looked like a matter of dire import, so Otacon and Raiden turned on their own Codecs/nanomachines to listen in.
"... and for only 99 cents a minute after that! By switching your long-distance service to Sprint-"
"No thanks, we don't want any," Otacon interrupted quickly. The three turned off their Codecs and nanomachines.
"Darn telemarketers!" Otacon exclaimed.
"I don't know, it sounded like a pretty good deal to me," Raiden said. Snake nodded.
"There should be laws against people so stupid reproducing," Otacon muttered.
Someone knocked on the trailer's screen door. "Hey," said a voice Raiden and Snake recognized instantly. It was that strong, smooth, deep voice that had spent many nights whispering in their ears... over the Codec, perverts. "Smells like something's burnin'." Colonel Campbell said, swinging the door open and entering the living room.
A big blue exclamation point flashed over Snake's head as he jumped up and whirled toward the stove. The Skettios!
"Campbell... uh... sir," Raiden said, rightfully confused. "Now. Are you the REAL Campbell, or are you Mr. GW-AI-cyber-Campbell?"
"I'm the AI's representation of Colonel Campbell. But, thanks to this nifty doohickey that works just like Holo-Doc's on Voyager, I can take physical form. And even manipulate matter. Like so!"
AI Campbell kicked Raiden in the place the President had grabbed. "As you can see, I am here to provide a little perverse slapstick. Also, I'll be providing you with a purpose, otherwise this'll turn into an episode of Seinfeld. I'm here to introduce the key element of any plot: the conflict!"
"Oh, goody, a mission!" Otacon said, clapping excitedly.
"Geek," Raiden gasped from the floor.
"Geek," Snake sneered. "Damnit, the Skettios are ruined!"
"What's the mission, CG Colonel?" Snake asked, lighting up a cigarette. He puffed away as Otacon turned green. "New Metal Gear prototype hijacked by a group of emotionally warped, mentally unstable, genetically engineered band of uber-soldiers-turned-terrorists?" He guessed, feeling pretty damn confident.
"No."
"Oh. `Cause I could handle that."
"No, you gentlemen will be facing a far more lethal adversary. I doubt all of you will come back alive. You might wanna arrange who gets your..." He looked around in disgust, pretty convincing for a computer-generated person. "...stuff."
"Sounds serious," Otacon rasped through the air filtration mask he strapped to his face whenever Snake decided he needed a smoke.
"Your mission... should you choose to accept it..." Snake, Otacon, and Raiden leaned toward him eagerly, faces tense, eyes gleaming. They were psyched for whatever the Colonel was going to throw at them.
AI Campbell paused dramatically. "... is to collect ALL of the Metal Gear Solid 2 action figures!"
Snake, Raiden, and Otacon's shoulders slumped. That was it?
"And, there's the little subplot about fitting all the figurines into a panel in a supercomputer to launch a nuke, but you needn't be concerned with that right now. Time for a cutscene! Five-minute bathroom break. Due to complaints, Kojima made it mandatory."
The screen blackened and a green clock began counting down.
When they returned, AI Campbell ushered them onto the couch, doled out MilkDuds and popcorn, and turned on the TV, which initiated the FMV.
"Barney is a dinosaur / from our imagination..."
"Oopsie-woopsie! Wrong channel," he apologized. He fiddled with the remote.
"... You will have two mission objectives. One: collect the action figures, and two: pick me up a copy of that new Enrique Iglesias CD. Rose also says you're low on milk, Raiden, and it would be great if you could stop at the Gas `n Go and pick up a gallon on your way home or something."
ON the TV, the camera panned over a huge parking lot. The frame drifted over to a hideous orange building. The voice-over continued. "You will infiltrate the new shopping complex, Big Shadow Shells, off I-34 next to Rob's Rent-It."
AI Campbell fixed them with a deadly serious stare. "There are only 328 shopping days left till Christmas, gentlemen, so you'll have to work fast."
The scene changed to a collage of still shots of men and women carrying bags and pushing shopping carts. "This is the face of your enemy. Soccer moms, Goths, rowdy groups of teens, disgruntled retail workers, the elderly and the obese - the usual rag-tag, ruthless bunch that plague local malls. They're very good at what they do - and they stand between you and your goal."
Snake, Otacon, and Raiden nodded grimly.
The pictures on the screen began to dissolve. "Well, at the risk of providing any useful information, I must stop here."
"PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY NO DOORS PRODUCTIONS" laser-texted in white over the black.
The cutscene ended. Otacon was leaning against Snake, snoring gently, Snake was trying to stealthily procure Raiden's remaining MilkDuds, and someone had spilled popcorn all over.
"Oh, before I forget - as per usual, you can't take any weapons with you. Or anything that could be construed as even remotely useful, at all. You'll have to find equipment on-site."
"Damnit!" Snake and Raiden proclaimed. That woke up Otacon, who shoved his glasses up his nose and blinked. Blink. Blink.
"And also... this trailer will self-destruct in five seconds."
Snake looked at Otacon, Otacon looked at Raiden, Raiden looked at Snake. They launched themselves off the couch and pounded out the door.
"Damn, I love screwing with the grunts," AI Campbell chuckled.
Alrighty, that's it for now. Pretty stupid, yeah? I won't force any more of this inanity on you guys, unless you leave me a review telling me to do so. I might suspect you of being a masochist, but I'd be happy to scribble more mindless blather for your enjoyment.
I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. In fact, I'm still financially dependent on my parents. My only source of income is peddling calendars seasonally at Waldenbooks to buy CDs and video games, so suing me would be a useless venture. Plus, as I understand, lawyers aren't cheap and legal fees would probably just leave you a couple hundred dollars in the hole.
By the way, this is just peppered with inaccuracies and everyone's stuck in an Out Of Character warp. Now, I must admit to having read the ongoing "The Daily Lives of Snake and Otacon" saga, and it gave me quite a few giggles. I started writing this before I even knew there was a ff.net, though, so please don't flame me claiming I plagiarized those authors' wonderful work. I would appreciate a review or two, though.
Once Upon a Time, In the Land of White Trash...
Chapter One
"Damnit, out of beer again!" Snake muttered. He kicked at a stack of old pizza boxes, sending them across the floor.
Otacon was curled up in a nest of filthy laundry with an equally dirty magazine. Snake had been interested in his porno collection until he found out they were all anime-style - they weren't even real women. Otacon pushed his glasses up his nose. "Go get some, then."
"Bah." Snake scratched at his unshaven face.
"I'll pay," Otacon offered. He knew Snake was dead broke - hence their current and likely permanent residence in a doublewide tin can with someone named Bubba living next door.
Snake perked up. "Really?"
"But you can't go out dressed like that."
Snake had his favorite bandana on, but was clad in nothing else but a pair of plaid boxers and a white undershirt. "Oh, yeah. Sneaking suit is at the cleaners again. DAMN!"
Snake punched the nearest wall. The cheap metal wrenched, buckled outward, leaving a nasty looking dent in the living room wall. "Damn!" Snake exclaimed again.
Otacon rolled his eyes. "If only your fans could see you now."
"Hey. Don't talk shit about me - who's the one supporting this family?" Snake crossed his arms.
"Ah, yes. Part-time night shift at 7-11. Our financial situation is rock-solid."
"Better than seasonal at Best Buy."
"I TOLD you, I'm looking at Suncoast next."
"We're such losers," Snake said dejectedly. He pulled his bandana down over his eyes and fell into one of the peculiarly smelling chairs they had stolen from a neighbor.
Otacon glanced at the pizza boxes, Big Mac wrappers, and empty beer cans. Through the window, he saw their snowmobile up on cinderblocks. "Yup."
* * *
"Y'want EasyMac or Spagettios?" Snake yelled from the breakfast nook.
"Chef Boyardee products again, Snake?" Otacon was laying flat on his back on the couch with his magazine over his eyes.
"When it's my turn to cook -"
"When it's your turn to cook, we eat whatever the microwave can puke out in under seven minutes. Why don't we ever go out to eat?"
Snake rolled his eyes and reached for the Spagettios. Damn, he loved Skettios!
"Well, dear," he said in a falsetto woman voice, "Maybe for our anniversary. Will you buy me that skimpy little lace thing we saw at Victoria's Secret?"
"I just want us to get some real food for a change."
"Denny's is open 24 hours a day."
"How about that French place?"
"No way," Snake said as he dumped the contents of two cans into a saucepan. "Last time I let you take me someplace French, I got felt up by the waiter."
"First of all," Otacon began. "It was Italian. And second, you were the one who was drunk and making eyes at him. Crouching and knocking on walls to get his attention - I almost died of embarrassment."
Snake made a face to himself. Drunk, my ass. He could chug two six-packs on an empty stomach and still snowmobile through the fancy-pants ski resort yelling obscenities with the best of them.
Just then, a voice wafted in the screen door. "Mmm, I smell Skettios!"
Snake cringed. "Raiden," he grumbled under his breath. He glanced over, saw Otacon grimace too.
The door burst open and there was Raiden, long blonde hair done up in liberty spikes. He was wearing a fashionably stained Linkin Park T-shirt and cut-off jeans. "Hey, Snake! Hey Otacon! Rose kicked me out again. Can I hang out with you?"
Avoiding the subject, Otacon asked, "So... Raiden. How're the kids?"
Raiden gave him a blank look. He looked over at Snake. Snake was holding up two fingers, wiggling them in his direction. What...? Oh, yeah! "Yeah! I've got two kids!" Raiden said, grinning more because he was happy to have remembered than that he was actually fond of his children. "Dawson's almost two, he's got this funny habit of stealing my cigarettes..."
"I got `im hooked," Snake said proudly, like a good mentor should. Otacon shuddered.
"And, uh... the other one..." he looked at Snake for help again.
"Begins with an S..." Snake coached.
"Sh... Shakira?"
"There ya go," Snake congratulated him.
"Yeah. That's it. Shakira's going on three months. I tell you, they keep Rose- er, US - busy. Shakira's great, for a baby. I mean, she screams all night and during TRL..."
Snake turned back from the stove to bat his eyes at Otacon. "Why does WE have children, honey?" he asked, using his teasing girly voice again.
Otacon blushed and glared at the same time. "I dropped that, like, half an hour ago, Snake."
Snake snickered and went back to stirring the Spagettios. Raiden pushed aside some laundry and sat down on the floor, and turned on the Playstation Otacon had modified to play PS2 games. He had a suggestion that was about as smart as he was. "You could adopt kids. You know, if you're into that."
"Snake's too busy for children. He spends most of his days in a drunken haze."
"Do not."
"'My Own Worst Enemy', by LIT - that's his personal anthem," Otacon continued. He began singing. Badly. "... please tell me why-y-y... my car is in the front yard ... and I'm sleeping with my clothes on..."
Snake flipped him off. Raiden laughed, and Otacon blushed furiously.
Suddenly, Snake dropped to one knee and put a hand to the side of his neck. Raiden and Otacon waited with baited breath while Snake listened, making surprised facial expressions and nodding at regular intervals. It looked like a matter of dire import, so Otacon and Raiden turned on their own Codecs/nanomachines to listen in.
"... and for only 99 cents a minute after that! By switching your long-distance service to Sprint-"
"No thanks, we don't want any," Otacon interrupted quickly. The three turned off their Codecs and nanomachines.
"Darn telemarketers!" Otacon exclaimed.
"I don't know, it sounded like a pretty good deal to me," Raiden said. Snake nodded.
"There should be laws against people so stupid reproducing," Otacon muttered.
Someone knocked on the trailer's screen door. "Hey," said a voice Raiden and Snake recognized instantly. It was that strong, smooth, deep voice that had spent many nights whispering in their ears... over the Codec, perverts. "Smells like something's burnin'." Colonel Campbell said, swinging the door open and entering the living room.
A big blue exclamation point flashed over Snake's head as he jumped up and whirled toward the stove. The Skettios!
"Campbell... uh... sir," Raiden said, rightfully confused. "Now. Are you the REAL Campbell, or are you Mr. GW-AI-cyber-Campbell?"
"I'm the AI's representation of Colonel Campbell. But, thanks to this nifty doohickey that works just like Holo-Doc's on Voyager, I can take physical form. And even manipulate matter. Like so!"
AI Campbell kicked Raiden in the place the President had grabbed. "As you can see, I am here to provide a little perverse slapstick. Also, I'll be providing you with a purpose, otherwise this'll turn into an episode of Seinfeld. I'm here to introduce the key element of any plot: the conflict!"
"Oh, goody, a mission!" Otacon said, clapping excitedly.
"Geek," Raiden gasped from the floor.
"Geek," Snake sneered. "Damnit, the Skettios are ruined!"
"What's the mission, CG Colonel?" Snake asked, lighting up a cigarette. He puffed away as Otacon turned green. "New Metal Gear prototype hijacked by a group of emotionally warped, mentally unstable, genetically engineered band of uber-soldiers-turned-terrorists?" He guessed, feeling pretty damn confident.
"No."
"Oh. `Cause I could handle that."
"No, you gentlemen will be facing a far more lethal adversary. I doubt all of you will come back alive. You might wanna arrange who gets your..." He looked around in disgust, pretty convincing for a computer-generated person. "...stuff."
"Sounds serious," Otacon rasped through the air filtration mask he strapped to his face whenever Snake decided he needed a smoke.
"Your mission... should you choose to accept it..." Snake, Otacon, and Raiden leaned toward him eagerly, faces tense, eyes gleaming. They were psyched for whatever the Colonel was going to throw at them.
AI Campbell paused dramatically. "... is to collect ALL of the Metal Gear Solid 2 action figures!"
Snake, Raiden, and Otacon's shoulders slumped. That was it?
"And, there's the little subplot about fitting all the figurines into a panel in a supercomputer to launch a nuke, but you needn't be concerned with that right now. Time for a cutscene! Five-minute bathroom break. Due to complaints, Kojima made it mandatory."
The screen blackened and a green clock began counting down.
When they returned, AI Campbell ushered them onto the couch, doled out MilkDuds and popcorn, and turned on the TV, which initiated the FMV.
"Barney is a dinosaur / from our imagination..."
"Oopsie-woopsie! Wrong channel," he apologized. He fiddled with the remote.
"... You will have two mission objectives. One: collect the action figures, and two: pick me up a copy of that new Enrique Iglesias CD. Rose also says you're low on milk, Raiden, and it would be great if you could stop at the Gas `n Go and pick up a gallon on your way home or something."
ON the TV, the camera panned over a huge parking lot. The frame drifted over to a hideous orange building. The voice-over continued. "You will infiltrate the new shopping complex, Big Shadow Shells, off I-34 next to Rob's Rent-It."
AI Campbell fixed them with a deadly serious stare. "There are only 328 shopping days left till Christmas, gentlemen, so you'll have to work fast."
The scene changed to a collage of still shots of men and women carrying bags and pushing shopping carts. "This is the face of your enemy. Soccer moms, Goths, rowdy groups of teens, disgruntled retail workers, the elderly and the obese - the usual rag-tag, ruthless bunch that plague local malls. They're very good at what they do - and they stand between you and your goal."
Snake, Otacon, and Raiden nodded grimly.
The pictures on the screen began to dissolve. "Well, at the risk of providing any useful information, I must stop here."
"PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY NO DOORS PRODUCTIONS" laser-texted in white over the black.
The cutscene ended. Otacon was leaning against Snake, snoring gently, Snake was trying to stealthily procure Raiden's remaining MilkDuds, and someone had spilled popcorn all over.
"Oh, before I forget - as per usual, you can't take any weapons with you. Or anything that could be construed as even remotely useful, at all. You'll have to find equipment on-site."
"Damnit!" Snake and Raiden proclaimed. That woke up Otacon, who shoved his glasses up his nose and blinked. Blink. Blink.
"And also... this trailer will self-destruct in five seconds."
Snake looked at Otacon, Otacon looked at Raiden, Raiden looked at Snake. They launched themselves off the couch and pounded out the door.
"Damn, I love screwing with the grunts," AI Campbell chuckled.
Alrighty, that's it for now. Pretty stupid, yeah? I won't force any more of this inanity on you guys, unless you leave me a review telling me to do so. I might suspect you of being a masochist, but I'd be happy to scribble more mindless blather for your enjoyment.