Chapter One
The ringing of my RUX (Codec) unit pierced the silence through my ears. I tapped
into the Codec through nanocommunications, only to hear the voice of my old
friend, Otacon. Hal Emmerich. We joined with a group named "Philanthropy", an
organization dedicated to destroying every Metal Gear model.
"Snake, do you read me? Snake?"
"What's up?"
"Snake, what is your position?
"The connecting bridge between struts A and B."
The Big Shell. It was a large facility created to clean up the chemicals
from the tanker accident two years ago. Or that's what the Patriots want the
people to think. Me and Otacon, we knew the real deal. Right under our feet was
the newest Metal Gear model: Arsenal Gear.
"Snake, proceed to the Strut C Dining Hall. Our new contact should be
waiting there."
"Gotcha. I'm heading into Strut B now. I can hear gunfire, so it might
take a while."
"Just hurry up, okay? It won't be long before this place is at the bottom of the New York harbor."
Back to reality. I stood on the steel bridge, about 130 feet from the water below. It would be quite a fall if I were to go over the edge. I looked to the entrance of Strut B. It wasn't that far from my current position, but it was farther than I needed it to be. There were Cypher-T's around. Military scout units. These weren't the standard UAV units. These had guns mounted on a lower camera. I had to watch myself. Crouched low, unseen, I slowly inched along the rail of the bridge. The gunfire had ceased. What had happened in there? Had my teammates been slaughtered? That's right, I was part of SEAL Team 10, or so my uniform-no, disguise, had told me. It was a small front to sneak into the facility. The SEALs weren't going to be a problem. It was the Gurlukovich boys I was worried about.
Olga Gurlukovich, leader of a private Russian army, assisting the terrorists. "Dead Cell", these ones were called. Freaks, at best. Identical to FOXHOUND. The soldiers were aiding them with this raid. They would have been able to do it alone. I guess they needed pawns to keep the area clean. They weren't much of a challenge on the tanker, but now they are trucking around supressed AKS-74u's. There were plenty of them infesting the complex. It doesn't make matters better seeing as I was linked to the death of Sergei Gurlukovich, Olga's father. That's right, I was blamed for the sinking of the tanker two years ago. I'm wanted for terrorism. No worries, though. For the past two years, I've been dead.
The ringing of my RUX (Codec) unit pierced the silence through my ears. I tapped
into the Codec through nanocommunications, only to hear the voice of my old
friend, Otacon. Hal Emmerich. We joined with a group named "Philanthropy", an
organization dedicated to destroying every Metal Gear model.
"Snake, do you read me? Snake?"
"What's up?"
"Snake, what is your position?
"The connecting bridge between struts A and B."
The Big Shell. It was a large facility created to clean up the chemicals
from the tanker accident two years ago. Or that's what the Patriots want the
people to think. Me and Otacon, we knew the real deal. Right under our feet was
the newest Metal Gear model: Arsenal Gear.
"Snake, proceed to the Strut C Dining Hall. Our new contact should be
waiting there."
"Gotcha. I'm heading into Strut B now. I can hear gunfire, so it might
take a while."
"Just hurry up, okay? It won't be long before this place is at the bottom of the New York harbor."
Back to reality. I stood on the steel bridge, about 130 feet from the water below. It would be quite a fall if I were to go over the edge. I looked to the entrance of Strut B. It wasn't that far from my current position, but it was farther than I needed it to be. There were Cypher-T's around. Military scout units. These weren't the standard UAV units. These had guns mounted on a lower camera. I had to watch myself. Crouched low, unseen, I slowly inched along the rail of the bridge. The gunfire had ceased. What had happened in there? Had my teammates been slaughtered? That's right, I was part of SEAL Team 10, or so my uniform-no, disguise, had told me. It was a small front to sneak into the facility. The SEALs weren't going to be a problem. It was the Gurlukovich boys I was worried about.
Olga Gurlukovich, leader of a private Russian army, assisting the terrorists. "Dead Cell", these ones were called. Freaks, at best. Identical to FOXHOUND. The soldiers were aiding them with this raid. They would have been able to do it alone. I guess they needed pawns to keep the area clean. They weren't much of a challenge on the tanker, but now they are trucking around supressed AKS-74u's. There were plenty of them infesting the complex. It doesn't make matters better seeing as I was linked to the death of Sergei Gurlukovich, Olga's father. That's right, I was blamed for the sinking of the tanker two years ago. I'm wanted for terrorism. No worries, though. For the past two years, I've been dead.