Shadow Moses: Into Darkness
Chapter One: Infiltration
The island fortress of Shadow Moses loomed ahead of the man known simply as 'Solid Snake'.
It took a moment for him to take in the sight of the place. He had some well-traveled memories of his heroics upon the island's soil, some of which less than happy. Fox-Hound's resurfacing, their hostile takeover of what turned out to be a civilian-operated nuclear disposal facility... and the unexpected development of a new Metal Gear within it. It had all seemed surreal to him when first he had gone about his mission, but now that feeling was replaced by a cold demeanor and a calm resignation.
It had been almost a year since that fateful mission, and Shadow Moses looked as imposing as ever. Somehow, it had managed to avoid destruction at the hands of a crazed Jim Houseman. Snake had scoffed when he returned for debriefing. The place had deserved to go down - even if that meant he was going to go with it. But now, the place looked dead and empty, no longer filled by the mass ranks of genetically-enhanced supersoldiers.
Snake knew differently about the soldiers, though; he wouldn't have been sent down here for nothing. Otacon had repeatedly told him that his intelligence was top-notch, and Snake was almost sure that his single friend wouldn't allow himself to be misled - not this time. Even after two failed Metal Gear searches, Snake had a sneaking suspicion that this was the mission that would prove to be something. Someone had come back, and something must have caught that someone's attention.
Snake peered down the ridge at the enclosed helipad. It was just as he remembered it. It was a large area, dominated mostly by the landing pad in the center of it. An elevator shaft led from the lower dock area to the helipad, the two separated by a chain-link fence and a cargo container. A building surrounded the pad, with two tall spotlight towers keeping watch over the entire place. The lights were dead, long since cold and black. A large bay door underneath the towers seemed to be the only way in, alongside a smaller personnel entrance. Of course, Snake could always choose the way he had found the first time around.
The operative finally finished staring at the building long enough to make some progress toward the place. He walked silently, keeping a close eye on his surroundings as he passed them by. He couldn't afford to be seen just yet; he needed nothing to hinder his entrance... everything after that was a matter of professional choice. When he arrived at the large fence hemming in the helipad, he halted and took another look around. Seeing nothing, Snake smirked. Then, with a grunt, he scaled the fence.
On the other side, he kneeled and tapped a transmitter in his ear.
"Otacon, I'm at the insertion point," he reported.
"Excellent, Snake. No problems?" asked Otacon. Hal Emmerich. He had been on the island when the first fiasco had all started. He had been the original designer for the latest ARMStech weapon. Metal Gear REX. He had seen almost the whole island during his time there. If anyone was better suited with the layout of the facilities of the island, Snake probably wouldn't be able find them.
"Not yet, at least. It seems strange, though... I mean, that there's nobody out here. No guards, no spotters, nobody. Even the spotlights are dead. You're sure that your intel's good?" Snake couldn't help but ask the question. Though Hal had kept a close eye on Snake - having been on two other operations since the first time around Shadow Moses - Snake felt as though he needed to irk the man on occasion. Besides, he already knew that the intel was fine. The briefing was enough to show that. Heat signatures everywhere, beyond the first building.
"Yes, Snake, for the third time now," Hal replied with a frustrated tone. Snake smirked. Hal hadn't even changed in the first whole year with the operative; he was still the same arrogant and prideful scientist-slash-computer whiz. "Now, I'm sure I don't need to reacquaint you with the sneaking suit-"
"Damn thing's always been too tight."
"Right, but it's for your own good." Snake remembered those words as being the ones Naomi had told him on first infiltration. He cringed at the memory. That woman still hadn't found a way to take the Foxdie virus out of him, after having taken multiple tests when he got back. "The rubber will keep you warm in the cold and cool in the heat. It's also slightly bulletproof, but don't expect to be able to take a shotgun to the gut at close-range."
The metallic blue neoprene sneaking suit was one of the only remnants Snake had from his first time in Shadow Moses. He had grown oddly fond of the thing.
"It's not like I would plan that in the first place..." Snake groaned.
"I know, but it might happen. Just be careful," Hal chided. "Okay, your mission objectives are to gain some more information about this new group and then get out. We don't want to overstay our welcome. The only thing we really need to know is if they have something... unwanted."
"Right. Metal Gear." Snake found himself oddly sure that there was indeed a walking nuclear battle tank somewhere on the island.
Silence reigned the CODEC for a short moment before Hal continued. "After you find what you can, get out immediately. We can launch another mission if there is a Metal Gear on the island, but if you're caught, then there's no chance of that happening. Just be careful," he repeated.
"Roger. I'll call back in if anything comes up. Snake out."
Snake rose to his feet and looked over the facility again. Sighing, he began to make his way toward the building.
'Here we go again,' he thought as he walked.
The expansive heliport was the only thing between Snake and the building, but that fact hadn't kept Snake from taking his binoculars out and checking twice over. Cold, desolate, and empty concrete lay in wait between him and the building. Replacing the scope on his belt, he began to finally move out. He walked toward the building in a determined pace, keeping his eyes locked on the personnel entrance in case someone had decided to come out for a smoke.
The two spotlight towers rose high, rivaling the building's height, and at the top were accompanied by a ledge-like walkway built into the side of the concrete structure, alongside a staircase leading up to it. That walkway was where Snake was headed.
The ledge led nowhere in particular, coming to a dead end at the right side, but there were two ventilation shaft openings inside small alcoves. Snake knew that these ducts led inside, to the tank hangar on the first floor. From there, Snake wasn't sure where he would need to go, but he knew that he would need to find some guards to interrogate. Maybe find out if they knew about a large bipedal tank being reconstructed somewhere below the facility. Snake sighed. That was highly unlikely. At the best, he figured these guards to be mere grunts - weekend mercenaries. Anything but the Next-Gen Specials he had faced last time.
As Snake made his way to the staircase, a thin snowfall began to come down. It was then that he truly started to mind the cold. He had learned long ago how to tune such things out, but that had been augmented by anti-freezing peptides that Otacon had been fortunate enough to pilfer from Naomi before she went to do whatever she had to. At least the mousy fellow could do something other than hack and whine about Snake's seemingly-reckless actions. Through the snow, Snake had visions bringing him back to a year prior, of his first time through the area. The spotlights and the lights coming from the buildings to his left had lent ample lighting to the cause, but now, all was dark, all bulbs being either dead or taken out. The Alaskan, star-filled night was a darkness to reckon, but he had seen it before. His eyes were well-adjusted, and prepared to spot out any detail, large or small.
Snake looked briefly over to the storerooms at his right. Those were probably empty; the government had come in and taken everything after REX. He was just hoping that they hadn't taken everything; he was completely naked besides his smokes, his scopes, and his suit. He groaned as he remembered Otacon's short briefing.
--
Snake sat in a small, uncomfortable blue plastic chair, the kind that was better suited to schoolchildren instead of a black-ops mercenary. In front of him sat Hal, in a more comfortable leather swiveling computer chair. Snake had lit up a cigarette, simply waiting for Hal to start.
"You know, those'll kill you," the geek had said. Snake merely scoffed.
"If nothing else has yet, then this won't."
"Whatever. Don't come to me complaining when you find that you've got cancer or something," Hal said, scoffing right back.
A laptop was resting on Hal's legs, open and illuminating his midsection. Turning the computer around, he began. "Our next target is Shadow Moses." The screen showed a map of the facility.
Snake hadn't liked that one bit. "What do you mean?" he roared.
"I mean that there might be another Metal Gear there." Snake eyed him dangerously. "No. I didn't have a single thing to do with it this time; I'm done with all that, I told you!"
"I know that it wasn't you. You've been too busy misleading me with all of these 'other' Metal Gears. I want to know what makes you so sure that there's one here this time. What if this is another one of those phantom Gears?"
"Because," Hal started, turning the computer around again and fuddling with it. Once again revolving it, Snake beheld a thermal image of the island. Specks of red were everywhere, where there shouldn't have been any anymore. "Plenty of heat signatures..." he pointed to a large dark spot roughly where the underground hangar was, "and one massive cold spot."
Snake had to admit, the evidence seemed solid. Even then... "What if it's just a deep layer of permafrost?"
"That could be, but we won't know until you go check it out."
Snake sighed. He was being suckered into yet another assignment that may not turn any results. But, at the same time, if there was a Metal Gear on the island, and if Snake destroyed it, it may just be that extra push that Hal needed to persuade the government that they wouldn't be wasting money on his new project. Even Snake didn't know all of the details, and he was the one that the project centered on the most! All Hal had told him was that it was something that would help eradicate Gears the world over, and that it was named 'Philanthropy'. The government had essentially scoffed at Hal's proposition of the non-profit organization, sending him a letter of 'deep regret' about not being able to spare the grant money due to budgeting problems. Snake knew that they were probably giggling and pointing at him.
Sighing, Snake finally resigned himself to the mission. "Fine. How's it going down?" he asked.
"You'll be going in through the helipad," Hal said, motioning at the image of the island, at the helipad in particular. "As you can see, there aren't any heat signatures, so it's relatively unguarded, minus the possibility of surveillance cameras." Snake observed the screen. Hal was right, not a single red dot existed. In fact, the first one he saw was within the ice field between the tank hangar and the disposal building. Maybe it would be an easy infiltration this time.
"You'll also be going in bare." At Snake's sudden glare, he said, "Sorry! We can't spare any resources. It's all going toward Philanthropy as it is! If you can get one when you're in, fine. If not, then you'll have to make do."
Snake grumbled inaudibly. He thought he had abandoned Fox-Hound standard operating procedure when he agreed to team up with Hal. On-site procurement was a bitch. Not only would he have to worry about keeping away from the guards, he would also have to worry about gaining any weapons he would need, finding them somewhere on the base. He already knew Washington had come sweeping in after the first incident, and didn't have much hope of them leaving anything for him now.
He voiced this to Hal, and he replied, "Yeah, I know. If you have to, take something from the guards. Just keep the killing to a minimum, please. I'm sure you know it, but this is a sneaking mission, and your first priority is that of stealth. We can't risk getting found out here."
Snake nodded solemnly. He knew, alright. If Philanthropy was found to be screwing with any international affairs, the hammer could potentially come down on the whole operation, and the two would most likely be placed within a maximum-security slam. Not something Snake felt like dealing with.
--
So Snake found himself in the cold of Alaska yet again. After the briefing, he had caught a plane to Anchorage, and then a short boat ride to the Fox Archipelago island chain, where he hiked the rest of the way. Now, however, he had finally made it to the staircase leading to the ledge, which would allow him access inside.
The stairs were made of a flimsy metal, covered almost completely by deep red rust. It was a likely possibility that they only remained standing by the amount of rust plating it. Snake looked slightly above them and saw an empty bracket, where once a camera had been stationed. It surprised him to see that there wasn't one, being that this section had absolutely no human surveillance. Raising an eyebrow for a second, he decided to let the fact go. He had somewhere to be right now. Snake ran up the stairs and found himself on the ledge. From the landing, he moved to the first alcove he came to. Covering the duct entrance was a chain-link covering, held in place by rusty screws - apparently cousins to the stairs.
Snake kneeled and tried the cover, pulling at it gently at first. The screws held, but only barely, having been stripped severely by Snake's prying. With more vigor, Snake yanked at the cover, and finally, the screws freed themselves from the duct and fell in a tinkling clatter. He smiled and began to lay on his stomach, preparing for a long crawl. The moment he entered the shaft, however, he had found that it was a bit of a mistake. The cramped space proved too little for his bulk, but he continued to try and bury himself inside regardless. After about a minute of attempted crawling, he came to a stop, panting and very squeezed from the torso down. He knew that trying the shafts would prove fruitless after this, and as such, he began trying to shove himself out backward.
It took him some effort to return outside, and when he finally exited the shaft, he had found himself sweating, from both exertion and the heat filtering out. Wiping the sweat away, he started looking around for a second way in. He doubted that the personnel entrance would be unlocked, and the bay door was out as well. That left one thing; calling Otacon.
Kneeling, Snake punched in Otacon's frequency to the CODEC's screen, and waited for his friend to pick up.
"Snake? Something wrong?" he asked.
"Yeah, I can't make it into the ventilation system. I need an alternate entry point," Snake replied. He swore he heard Otacon snickering after he had said it.
After a brief moment of silence, Otacon returned and said, "Okay. Go back down the stairs, and turn to the right -"
"If you're talking about the door or the other ventilation shaft, it's not going to work," Snake assured.
"Well, if you'd let me continue," Otacon said, frustrated. "I was about to say that there's a trapdoor in the storeroom closest to the hangar. That leads into a small underground passage that goes all the way into a room inside. It's a little bit on the low side, but there's no crawling involved."
Snake looked through the bars of the railing at the dark and empty room. He considered it for a moment, and said, "Alright, thanks."
He severed the connection and began to make his way down to the room. As soon as he had reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed that the snow started to come down more heavily, adding to the already-copious amount on the ground. As Snake walked across it, it cruched softly beneath his boots, leaving behind small imprints. He would have been worried about them if there were guards here. As it was, he simply left them there.
Snake entered the storeroom Otacon had told him about and dropped to the ground, searching for the trapdoor with his hands. He wasn't worried about there being a surveillance camera. It was simply too dark for anything to be made out clearly. Besides, he didn't hear the customary whirring, which would normally alert him to a camera's presence. After a moment's searching, he found the door. It's edges rose about an inch from the floor, each side of it being almost a foot-and-a-half wide. Wondering why he didn't see this the last time he was here, he decided that it was probably since there was quite a few boxes stacked atop of it then.
On top of the trapdoor was a small handle to lift it by. Standing up over the door, Snake took the handle and hefted upwards. The metal covering was heavy, weighing almost a hundred pounds. As soon as it was open, Snake tried to peer down into the passageway. It was lit by small stick lights all the way through, showing the rough rock surfaces, and it extended a fair bit into the hangar - at least forty yards by Snake's judgment.
Hopping down into the passage, Snake began to jog through it. It had only taken about a minute before he reached the opposite side, and the trapdoor in. He lifted it slowly at first, making sure not to attract any attention had it been there. After surveying the small room with his small amount of clearance, he then allowed the door to fully open and hoisted himself inside. The room was nearly empty; the walls were a battleship gray color, with a small horizontal stripe of a darker tone running across the middle. There were a few metal racks set up against the wall in front of Snake, empty besides two small ammunition boxes. To his left was a portable folding table, surrounded by matching chairs. Checking the walls for cameras, Snake found nothing. He sighed, relieved.
Snake closed the trapdoor behind him and kneeled, tapping the transmitter in his ear. As soon as Hal picked up, he said, "Otacon, I'm in. The route was good."
"Great work, Snake," Hal replied.
"What's next?"
"Find someone with knowledge of Metal Gear and interrogate them. I doubt that any of the guards will know anything about it, so you might have to go a ways into the facility."
"Yeah, I kind of figured on that." Snake looked around himself briefly. "Where am I, exactly? I don't remember this room."
"You're in the guards' break area in the tank hangar. But, the hangar's abandoned. You don't have to worry about anyone going in there."
'So that explains the table and chairs,' Snake thought. "Alright, I'm moving out. I'll report when I find something."
Rising from his kneel, Snake looked behind him. The door was painted the same grey scheme as the walls around him, but with a large number '4' added. Snake had been through this before. Personal Area Network - or PAN - access. It was quickly becoming the widest-used security measure the world over. And to think, the technology was actually rather new on his first Shadow Moses infiltration.
Snake sighed, thanking Hal for reserving the keycards Snake had accrued the last time. He had given Snake the level seven card again, giving him access to the entire facility. Hal had made sure that no one scrambled the PAN frequencies yet, measuring those with the keycards' frequencies. Snake knew that if the terrorists were a smart bunch, they'd have already scrambled them. 'Oh well, less work for me. At least there's no stupid fetching to do,' he thought.
Slipping the keycard from its pouch on the front of his suit, the door opened automatically for him. The DARPA chief had already explained the process. The salts in his body would interact with the card to unlock the electromagnetic keeping the door shut. 'Simple science,' Snake thought sarcastically.
He walked through the door into the main hangar. It was just as large as he remembered; almost a half-mile long by a quarter-mile wide, and with a tall ceiling to boot. Crates were littered across the floor, as a single M1 Abrams sat solemnly near the far wall. A set of stairs was placed close to the tank, leading up to a grated-catwalk on the second level, overlooking the entire room. To his right was a bay door leading from the building. He didn't quite want to go out there yet; that was when the patrols started, and he was still without weapon. That was his first order of business, no matter what Hal said.
Next to the bay door, and a little closer to Snake, was another door, leading into one of the interior storerooms. Figuring he'd look in there for something, Snake began to work his way over there, still examining the catwalk for any sentries. He knew that the thermal imaging had shown that there weren't anything, but the day he gave up the suspicions he had would be the day he died. Suspicion and instinct had often been the only thing that had kept him alive on missions, and he wasn't about to abandon a working formula.
He reached the storeroom without incident, and he turned around to search inside.
Nothing.
The walls were bare; the crates that had once been stacked here had all been whisked away, leaving only small slivers of wood as a trace that they had been there at all. Snake cursed silently. There wasn't any use in entering the room, nothing but disappointment there.
Snake wheeled around. The next possible place would be upstairs. Two rooms up there might just possibly hold a weapon for him. And if not... if not, then there was always the second basement armory! Snake lightened up considerably at the thought, but convinced himself to check the catwalk first. Darting across the width of the room, Snake found himself at the bottom of the staircase. He glanced upward, at the wall of the landing. A bracket was where a camera had been. Something about the lack of surveillance worried Snake. Starting to climb the stairs, he took yet another look at the hangar. From his new top-down perspective, he could see if anyone was there. And as he had already ascertained, there was nobody.
Letting the fact go, Snake tried the first room. It was right next to the landing, and provided easy access. The door slid open quietly, and he walked in, prepared for anything. Except for the sight of cardboard boxes. Apparently Washington had indeed been at least a small bit lax in their accruement of the island's supplies. Though what was in the boxes was what Snake was pondering. It could have been weapons, and that was all he truly cared about. So he almost literally dove into the boxes, searching for anything that could go 'bang' and kill a soldier with well-placed aim.
After five boxes of the six that were in the room, he had still found nothing. Nothing except for produce, that is. Snake sighed. His hopes were nearly dashed, but he had one box left. One meager box.
Snake opened the box and peered inside. Bright orange carrots greeted him. He began to set the box aside when a few carrots slid from where they had been and showed a glint of dark steel. The small flash of reflected light caught Snake's eye and he immediately began feverishly clawing for it, as if he was afraid that the carrots would devour it. After forty seconds, he emerged from the cardboard confines and inspected his new prize.
The pistol he held wasn't a model he was familiar with. It definitely wasn't the SOCOM he had wielded the last time. He decided to call Hal. Maybe he could provide some insight. After all, he had the computer.
"What's up, Snake?" he asked.
"I found a handgun, but I'm gonna need some help designating it."
"I thought you were the black-ops specialist here," Hal jested, raising an eyebrow.
Snake merely grumbled and Hal began to look up the equipment lists. He immediately ruled out explosives and rifles. That left three firearms. An M9, the SOCOM, and the Desert Eagle. He gave Snake the options, who immediately disregarded the latter two. "An M9 it is, then. Looks like your standard nine-millimeter, complete with slots for laser sights or comparable equipment and silencer capability," Hal said, taking the information directly from the internet.
"Is there a silencer on the base?" Snake asked. If there was, then he needed to find it. Examining the gun further, he noticed a single clip in the weapon. Pulling it out, he inspected the ammunition count. Fourteen rounds.
"Just a sec..." Hal began. Pulling the list back up again, he examined it, while Snake checked the barrel of the M9. "Yep. It doesn't say where, though, so you're on your own on that one."
Snake scoffed. Of course he was. It was just like everything else this mission so far. He pulled a round from the barrel and replaced it to the clip. He didn't need a cocked weapon going into his holster. As an afterthought, he clicked the safety on as well.
"So, where'd you find it?" Hal asked.
"You'll never guess."
"Try me."
A smile spread on Snake's lips and he replied, "A box of carrots."
That gave Hal reason to pause. What was a handgun doing in a box of carrots? "I guess you're right. I know I never would have thought to check there."
"Oh well," Snake said, holstering the weapon in the suit's empty holder. "I've got to get moving on. I'm going to go check downstairs in the armory."
"Alright," Hal said, beginning to cut the transmission, before he noticed two heat signatures approaching the room Snake was in. "Wait!" he called, but was too late. Snake had already signed off.
Snake felt something was wrong. He just knew it, but he couldn't see anything on his soliton radar. No dots, no cones, nothing. Putting his ear to the door, he listened. Snake heard nothing, but his intuition was flaring. Someone was outside, and waiting for him.
Looking around for anything that could get him out of the pickle - more a cursory glance than anything - he only noticed cardboard boxes full of vegetables.
Wait.
Cardboard?
Jackpot.
Moving swiftly-yet-quietly, Snake grabbed a box of lettuce and dumped the meager contents into a box of cabbage. He placed the box over his head and prepared himself, putting a hand on the PAN card and moving to the left side of the door. As soon as he pulled the piece of plastic out, the door opened, and a chorus of assault rifle firing erupted into the room. Snake, however, dropped to the ground and pulled his legs inside the box as it covered him, still keeping to the left. Almost as soon as it began, the din of the shells being fired died down and the door remained open, wisps of smoke slowly filling the room from the rifles' barrels. Two soldiers crept into the room, with rifles in hand. They swept the room with the weapons, pointing them back and forth as they looked.
Just from the way they handled themselves, Snake found that these may not have been just the weekend mercs he had expected, but rather experienced soldiers.
They wore standard terrorist faire; black balaclavas covered their faces, while gray camo kevlar shirts and pants covered the rest of them. The outfit culminated in a pair of freshly-polished black combat boots that clicked dully on the concrete floor.
Snake had a few burning questions to ask Hal when he had the chance. Like what the hell were two of the terrorists doing here now, or when did they get in? Resigning to simply snarl and hold his breath, he watched as the two sentries thoroughly examined the room. It wasn't a large room by any means, at only a few square feet, but the boxes had obscured corners. Snake couldn't blame the sentries' diligence. He continued watching the two through his box's handles, until one of them turned to his box, rifle aimed at it. As soon as the man turned to Snake's position, he had removed his face from the handle and simply listened. The boots clicked in a slow tempo, coming to a halt close enough for Snake to see them even from his further-back perspective. The soldier apparently found something interesting about an inverted box in a room full of them.
Snake sensed that the soldier was about to reach for the box before a voice called out.
"Come on. There's nobody here," said the voice.
"Roger," said the second, this one much closer to Snake.
The boots receded from Snake's view and he bent over again to peer through the handle. The guard was walking away quickly, following the apparently higher-ranking officer out of the room, allowing the door to close behind them. Snake stood, stretching his newly-sore muscles as soon as the portal shut, waiting for the two soldiers to walk far enough away for him to make a clean getaway. Ammunition conservation was of the utmost importance. He had fifteen rounds, and wanted to save all of them for a more dire situation.
Snake heard the bootsteps fall loudly on the metal grating as the two reached the point where the catwalk circled around to the other side of the hangar, going to inspect the room there as well. Keeping the box over his head and the PAN card in his hand, Snake walked out of the door, hearing the door shut behind him. He quickly ran down the stairs, trying to quietly tiptoe in order to stave away unwanted attention.
At the bottom of the stairs, he removed the cardboard box and looked around, spotting a small alcove behind him. It was nice and dark, a perfect hiding spot to break down his box and keep an eye out without making himself seen. He started compacting the corrugated cardboard deliberately, not wanting to cause a tear in the material. As soon as it was of suitable size, Snake placed it in a pack he had brought along for any miscellaneous items he'd find. Once finished stuffing it into the pack, he kneeled. He needed to know what was going on. Especially why the soliton didn't pick up the two sentries. While he was thinking of them, he checked the catwalk above the hangar. The guards hadn't noticed his rapid stair descent, sweeping the larger room across the way.
The CODEC rang once before Hal picked up.
Before the engineer could even think about speaking, Snake growled. "Why didn't the radar pick those two up?"
Hal looked confused, with a single eyebrow raised and a small frown threatening his face. "What are you talking about?" he shot back.
"Those two sentries," Snake began. "I didn't see them on the radar."
Hal's confused look only deepened. "How is that possible? I picked them up clearly on thermal imaging."
"So you knew about them?" Snake whispered in a roar. He checked up again in order to make sure that his outbursts hadn't been noticed.
"Well, I was going to let you know, but then you signed off. I didn't want to be responsible for you getting found out just for a stupid warning, because you don't know how to keep your voice down!"
Snake sneered dangerously. He didn't like the way Hal was trying that line of reasoning.
"Anyway, now that you're safe... how in the world did you escape being seen? I know you didn't kill them," Hal said, his tone switching from annoyed confusion to curiosity, seemingly instantaneously.
"I had help from a very old friend."
Hal's voice made yet another transition, this time to extreme worry. "An old friend? Who's there?"
Snake sighed. He should have known better than expecting Hal to know. "A cardboard box. That's who, Otacon."
Hal once again cooled down considerably. "Oh," was all he managed.
"What's the mission status?" Snake asked, still observing the catwalk above and across from him.
Pulling up the mission timer on his monitor, Hal checked it and copied the information into a Notepad document. "Twenty-one seventeen, in the first floor tank hangar," he said, reading off the information from the document.
"Damn ventilation shaft probably took out a good five minutes," Snake grumbled.
"You should probably get moving. Just be careful."
"Please stop telling me that. Are you the one out here with your neck on the line?" Snake asked. "If you get caught, you don't have fifteen rifles pointed at your head."
"Okay, okay. Just get going. You're coming up on twenty-two minutes," Hal said, trying to avoid the argument.
"Fine. Calling the elevator up now," Snake reported, hanging up the CODEC.
Seconds passed before the elevator arrived with a ding. Taking one last glance at the door behind which the guards had disappeared, he entered the lift. He regarded the button panel for a moment. F1 - which was already selected - B1 and B2. Trying to remember what was on B1, he pushed that button in curiosity. As he did, the memories flashed back.
That level was the first floor basement, where the prison and torture chamber lay. Snake had attempted his rescue of the DARPA chief down there, along with finding Meryl Silverburgh, Colonel Campbell's niece. His mind latched onto the memory of Meryl. He hadn't seen her for a couple of months now, having been sent out on countless wild Gear chases by Hal. She was probably one of the only women Snake knew that would willingly put up with his constant bullshit.
Shaking that thought off, Snake kicked himself. He had more important things to think of than a love interest.
The elevator dropped to the first basement and dinged again. The double doors reopened, providing Snake with a view of a hallway with the same color scheme as the guards' break room, extending twenty yards in front of him. On the left of the hall was a door that had a white '1' painted on it, while to the right was a door with a '6'.
The torture chamber. The single most hellish place on the entire island. It was a simple and unassuming place, but what lay inside was the thing that had Snake shuddering. He remembered the countless amounts of electrical currents coursing through every avenue of his body, painfully searing at his skin, while causing almost every single one of his muscles to spasm simultaneously. He had endured it all, just to keep his promise to his Colonel, that he would save Meryl. And he did, trying his damnedest to disregard the immense pain. He had eventually been freed by Hal, who had provided him with a bottle of ketchup, a ration, and a handkerchief given to him by FOX-HOUND's resident sniper.
He had paused while trying again to order his thoughts. There was no time to linger on the past. All he had was his future, and he dearly hoped that that hadn't included that insipid contraption of Ocelot's.
Walking down the hallway to the door on his left, Snake looked down to his soliton radar, also hoping that the incident the floor above him was an isolated one. He saw nothing, but to make sure, he once again called Hal.
"Otacon, is there anyone in the prison area?" he asked quietly.
Checking the thermal imaging, Hal replied, "One, in the restroom."
In the restroom? That sounded quite familiar. "Can you get an ID on him?"
"No, why?"
"Just wondering."
Leaving the line open, Snake took out the PAN card and his M9, making sure to take the safety off and cock the gun. He pointed the firearm through the door as it opened, revealing the prison. Two doors on the left side of the room led into the individual cells. On the right was an office and break area, complete with restroom.
Moving slowly and keeping the M9 aimed in front of him, Snake made his way to the restroom. He looked down to the soliton and saw that inside was a small, blinking red dot accompanied by an equally narrow blue cone. "Otacon, the radar's still functioning. I can see the tango," Snake reported in a whisper.
"Great. So what do you think was up with the other two?" Hal asked.
"I don't know, but I'd put my money on selective jamming. Possibly a chaff field."
"Sounds likely."
Still keeping the connection open, Snake became silent as he reached the restroom door. Placing his left ear to the cold steel, he listened.
"Damn diarrhea. Why does it always come for me? Why can't it go chasing someone else around?" a voice complained. "And why in the hell of all hells am I guarding an empty prison? It's not like anyone's gonna try and break in to a prison, and there's no one to break out!"
That was his old buddy, alright. Johnny Sasaki. One of the bumbling-est soldiers ever to set foot on a battlefield. Snake wasn't sure if he was as inept as he made himself seem, but then again, he never truly cared.
Johnny sighed. "Maybe I should just quit trying to be a mercenary. Maybe... maybe I can go do something else. Like being a fisherman! Yeah... a fisherman. They get paid loads, don't they? And they probably get the crap beat out of them a lot less..." he said. "That's what I'll do. And I wouldn't have to return to Alaska ever again!"
Snake smiled. Nothing was better than listening to the poor man complain. If there was anything he could do better than screwing something up, it was complaining. Snake decided to have pity on the poor man for now. Maybe he'd catch him later on, talk about fishing. It sounded pretty good, after all.
"Who was that? I heard a voice," Hal said, over the CODEC.
"No one important," Snake remarked, walking out of the prison. He would avoid the torture chamber, hoping that would be possible for the entirety of the mission.
"Did he see you?" Hal fretted.
"No."
Hal was hushed by the answer and Snake reached the elevator in silence. He wasn't the least bit dejected by finding nothing in the prison. He hadn't expected to anyway. Finally cutting off the CODEC transmission, he clicked the B2 button, in order to make his way down to the armory level. The doors closed quietly, coming together in the center. As the elevator began to whir in descent, Snake wondered what he would find downstairs. Maybe he would check those holes he blasted in the walls. Who knows, he may even find something in there. As the lift came to a resting stop, Snake took a peek at his soliton radar.
He saw two soldiers on patrol; one close to the elevator doors, looking at the wall to the right side, while another inspected the back half of the armory.
The double doors opened.
And Snake found himself staring face-to-balaclava with a soldier.
'Damn!' was all he could think, quickly aiming his M9 and firing two shots.
A/N: Okay, so yes, this is a reupload. I've merged my planned first chapter with the prologue I had already up, and this is what came out. Firstly, I would like to explain that this is NOT (read: NOT) a screwed-up novelization of MGS1. It is a brand-new story about what I believe happened while Snake and Otacon are trying to put Philanthropy together. It is set between MGS1 and 2 (naturally), and if you've read up to this point, you know that Snake's back in Shadow Moses. I'm hoping to base this all to the backdrop of Snake's insecurities with Otacon and vice-versa, alongside their trials in getting their anti-MG organization a grant for supplies and government recognition. So, please, tell me if I end up ignoring that. It'd be appreciated. Other than that, the plot is an original one. And I should mention that I'm doing descriptions purely by memory of Shadow Moses (which I might add is about ten years old by now), so if anything ends up wrong, blame it on Google images for lack of Shadow Moses screenshots. Then again... maybe some of my nice readers could help me out on that one... anyway. Thanks all who read this, and thanks doubly for those who review. I promise to reply to all.
So, for the first time this story, Be Happy - Python.