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Chapter III
Black Site


Northern Kubal, Afghanistan
Canyon Road
1248 Hours

Three Days Before Running Sloth's Rescue

"TAKE SOME FUCKING COVER!"

The ground shook as an explosion tore apart the mountain side. Running Sloth was thrown to the ground from the shockwave, rocks and sand covering his body. Only minutes before, the Mujahideen had begun their ambush, unaware of the Soviets actual troop strength. His vision blurry, Running Sloth watched as the battle became one sided. Rebel soldiers were being torn limb from limb as if they were being run through a meat grinder by the sheer force of the Soviet's firepower. A tank would fire on their position, the explosion turning their bodies into a cloud of red dirt while others would be brought down by the resulting shrapnel. The screams of men dying filled the intel agents ear. Standing up, he fired a controlled burst from his automatic weapon, though the dust of the battlefield had made it difficult to identify the enemy. This was not at all how the mission was supposed to go…

Another tank shell landed nearby, sending Running Sloth into the air before he hit the ground hard. His body was hot with pain, but he managed to drag himself behind a rock with what little energy he had left. Laying next to him was a Mujahideen soldier. Running Sloth covered his mouth as he looked over the disfigured corpse. The man's skin was a pale white; half of his head had been blown open, and his brain marrow visible; his spinal cord rested on the ground as he had been torn in two. Running Sloth turned away and closed his eyes, with the sound of bullets whizzing by, deafening his right ear. That was when he felt the pain; when he felt a bullet tear through his right shoulder.

"FUCK!… Shit!"

Running Sloth grabbed his shoulder as he clenched his teeth. The pain was nothing he had ever felt before, nor could anything prepare him for it. Trying to avoid blacking out, he listened to the sounds of the battle, now muffled behind the throbbing in his head. The Mujahideen had already begun to retreat, their ambush a failure. Though the Soviets did not pursue, they continued to fire into the retreating Rebels, turning their bodies into swiss cheese. Running Sloth closed his eyes and hoped the enemy would not look for survivors.

His prayers would not be answered, though, a hard boot kicking him awake. The sun was high in the sky, blinding Running Sloth when he looked up at the silhouetted figure standing above him. The man spoke a few words in Russian that Running Sloth did not understand. He must have been calling for someone, though, as another man soon joined him. Details were still blurry to him, but just by looking at his silhouette, Running Sloth could determine this man as the detachment's commander. His very presence commanded respect and discipline, as he was much larger in stature than the others around him. The man sported a mohawk, the silhouetted design unmistakable by Running Sloth. He knew who was standing over him.

The two Soviet soldiers exchanged a few words, again to Running Sloths confusion. The conversation went sour fast, however, as the man with the mohawk pulled a pistol on the other and shot a round into his chest. Running Sloth could feel the splatter of blood hit his face as the man crashed to the ground. Pointing his gun towards his comrades, the mohawked man cried out a string of sentences. In response, Running Sloth watched as two more Soviets ran to their position. He was still blinded by the sun when he felt rough hands grab his arms and legs, lifting him into the air. What the Soviets had said, Running Sloth could not be sure, but their actions told him everything he needed to know… he was going to die.

(-)

Devil Dog
En Route to Afghanistan
1630 Hours

Snake's iDroid chimed to life, the holographic display opening up as Kaz's voice began playing in his ear.

"Boss, after months of searching, we finally have a lead on the Soviet commander… Shotmaker. You remember Running Sloth? The man you rescued a few days ago? As you might recall, we put him into contact with a group of Mujahideen Rebel fighters after they contracted us."

"What's the Rebels interest? Killing one commander won't end the war." Snake's own voice come over the recording.

"True… how the Rebels tell it, this guy is a real sadistic bastard. He oversees all the POWs that come through the region. Though, if the stories about him are true, those unlucky sons of bitches end up as subjects of research rather than prisoners. Apparently, he's opened up his own little black site here in Afghanistan. Until now, we just didn't know where to find it."

"What changed?" Snake's voice again.

"Before we lost contact, our intel agent figured out how he moves prisoners throughout the region. He picks POWs up in trucks and transports them to his black site. If we can trail one… it might lead us right to him."

There was pause in Kaz's recording, as if a thought had crossed his mind.

"Boss, you only have one objective… locate and eliminate Shotmaker, however, there is a very good possibility that you will encounter POWs in the black site; what you do with them, is up to you."

Snake changed the iDroid's display to show what little notes of intel they had acquired. Diamond Dogs had never taken a clear photograph of Shotmaker, though Snake could recognize his distinguishable mohawk. The second photo was a map of the Northern Kubal region. Several of the outposts had been circled with timestamps written to the side. Running Sloth had identified these as the times Shotmaker's trucks made pickups. Satisfied, Snake stood up and faced his crew.

Wire sat in his usual position, monitoring radio chatter. Doc sat across from his Boss, looking over a collection of documents. Wrench stood at the equipment rack, ensuring the missions gear was in working order. Lastly, Wasp watched the clouds roll by as he manned Devil Dogs door mounted machine gun.

"Listen up…"

With resonance in his voice, Snakes command turned the heads of his crew towards him.

"The target is Shotmaker. If the intel we received is correct, a detachment of his men will be making a prisoner pick-up at Wakh Sind Barracks around 2100 hours. Trailing them is our best bet at finding the black site, and the man himself."

Snakes crew remained silent as he spoke.

"This is a complete stealth operation, one mistake and Shotmaker will vanish again. We take him down… and the Mujahideen will be one step closer to ending their war with the Soviets. Questions?"

The crew remained silent. Snake nodded in their direction as he sat back down, his crew returning to their duties.


1845 Hours

The dark of night had set in when Devil Dog entered the skies of Northern Kubal. The cabin was still, but the crew could feel the tension of the pending mission. Snake had exchanged his regular fatigues for a pitch black sneaking suit, though he was not a fan of how tightly it gripped his body. Wrench approached, caring a large backpack, helping fasten it to her Boss' back before handing him a helmet. Grateful, Snake nodded to the women as she stepped away from him. Turning towards the rear of the helicopter, Snake fastened the helmet onto his head; it was a comfortably tight fit. Doc stood to his right, his hand over the ramp release switch.

"Let's do it."

Doc nodded in response and pulled the switch. The cabin lit up a deep red as the siren sounded, signaling the ramps pending open position. The hydraulics hissed as they began pushing, depressurizing the still air of the cabin. It was not long until the ramp had opened fully, allowing Snake a clear view of the passing countryside below.

Snake only waited for a second, before taking a deep breath and breaking for the exit. There was no fear, no second thought, and no question of what could go wrong as he jumped at the ramps edge; adrenaline coursing through his veins. The helmet dulled the sound of the wind as he plummeted towards the earth, though Snake could feel the pressure of it against his body. Time seemed to slow down as Snake approached the ground, though he knew it had only been seconds. He closed his eye and tensed his muscles as he pulled the release cord.

The patch of grass was soft where he landed; a cool breeze broke the hill tops and blew the blades in a synchronized dance. Taking his helmet off, Snake listened to the sounds of the Afghan night. Everything was quite, except for the whistle of the wind and the cry of wolves that echoed through the mountains. Slowly, Snake released the harness to his parachute, letting it fall silently to the soft ground.

"Devil Dog, this is 'Boss'." Snake spoke with hushed words. "I am on the ground; activating my IR beacon. Can you confirm visual contact?"

Taking his hand off his radio, Snake reached to the left side of his belt, pressing the button on a little black box firmly. Only a second passed before Wire's voice cracked in his ear.

"Roger that 'Boss', locked on your position."

Looking around, Snake thought about his next move. Not far from him, he noticed a blue flower standing erect and alone amongst the ocean of green grass. It was not the flower, though, that had caught his attention, but the insect that had made it home. Standing atop the blue petals, a small butterfly gathered what nectar the flower could provide. Its wings were pale and void of color, unlike the beautiful flower it had landed on. As he watched it, Snake wondered what had brought it to this lone flower. His thought cut short, however, by the whistle of a breeze rushing through the valley. The grass, thin enough to withstand the push of air, parted ways as it blew through. The flower, though, its stem tall and brittle, could not move aside. Snake watched as it broke and collapsed to the ground. The butterfly made no attempt to flee, one of its wings having revealed itself to be torn and broken. The flower and the butterfly disappeared into the waves of grass, leaving Snake alone once again. Wolves continued to howl in the distance.

Wakh Sind Barracks was the only source of light that pierced the night sky. Careful to avoid the spotlights surrounding the outpost, Snake perched himself on the opposite cliffside. A road ran between him and the outpost, peppered with checkpoints and gun encampments. The outpost itself was built into the cliffside, with metal walls holding the rocks into place while acting as protective barriers. Scanning the cliffside, Snake searched for a place of entry. With luck, he noticed a crack that traveled up the otherwise unscalable rocks. Reaching its summit would allow him the opportunity to sneak around the rear of the base. Having made his decision, Snake put his scope away.

Climbing down his perch proved easy enough, though Snake now found himself in the valley that ran between the mountains; low ground that held no advantage, something Snake hoped to remedy shortly. The moon was high in the sky, and the cloudless night did not dampen the light.

Crouched, the hunter moved slowly through the valley; avoiding loose rocks and anything that could produce the smallest of sounds. The air was so still even the squeak of his sneaking suit rang loudly in his ears, though he knew this to be only the tension. A drainage tunnel provided an opportunity to cross the roadway without the risk of being caught in the spotlights, however, rain had made the mud soft and unpleasant. Snake could feel it plaster itself to his face as he crawled through. Coming out on the other end, the hunter wasted no time cleaning off, but let the mud become part of him as he continued towards the cliff.

Snake's bionic arm had always proven useful when climbing the cliffs of Afghanistan. The lack of pain he felt from it allowed him to wedge it between rocks and other objects that would otherwise cause damage to flesh and bone. The difficult task was not scaling the cliff, but ensuring that his climb did not disturb the already cracked surface. Upon reaching the top, the advantage the cliff provided was exactly what Snake had hoped for.

Following the rocky path around the base, Snake positioned himself in a spot that overlooked the complex. He was close to a flat area, appearing to have been converted into a landing pad for helicopters. Just next to that was a construction site, the skeleton of a building standing silently. Lights, Snake noted were being produced from below the first floor. Prisoners must be held below, though he knew if he did anything about it now, he would risk revealing Diamond Dogs presence. For once, the mission came first.

Beyond the landing pad and construction site was where activity was at the highest. Snake watched as Soviet soldiers moved amongst the barracks and other equipment that littered the ground. He had hoped many of the troops would have been asleep by now, though their activity did not surprise him considering the pending arrival of Shotmaker's convoy.

"Wire, I'm opening up the microphone channel. Give me simultaneous translation."

Snake pulled out his scope, waiting for a response.

"Copy that 'Boss'; setting up the channel now."

Pointing the microphone in the direction of the enemy camp, Snake searched for conversations that could provide useful intel regarding his target. The translated voice spoke to him through his earpiece, though if a little delayed.

"I fucked this bitch a few days ago…"

Snake moved his attention, the conversation of no relevance to him.

"I heard the Rebels retook Da Smasei Laman."

"No shit! Haven't they been trying that for weeks."

"Yah, apparently it holds some importance to them… hell if I know."

"Well I'm sure we'll take it back in do time."

The microphone moved between groups.

"That uh… mohawk'd man coming tonight?"

"Yah… picking up that guy trying to plant explosives the other day."

"Shit man, I almost feel bad for him, you know? After all the stories."

"What stories?"

"People talk about what goes on in that prison camp, if you can even call that. You know… I heard he even stitched up the mouth of one of the prisoners… just to keep 'em from screaming."

"Ha… wow. That's brutal. Guess that's what they get for being on the wrong side."

Snake pulled the scope away from his eye, thinking about the words that had just been translated into his ear. Brushing it off, he returned his attention to the outpost.

Slowly, the hunter scanned the area with his scope. Finally, one conversation seemed to hold relevance. It was between a group of three soviet soldiers, standing around a fire. One of them wore a green cap; appearing to be in command of the camp, his orders to the other two were what had grabbed Snake's attention.

"… they will be arriving shortly. All you have to do is load the prisoner up in the back and ride with him to the destination. Is that clear?" Snake was frustrated that he had missed the beginning of the conversation.

"Understood Captain! Though, are we only transporting the one prisoner?" One of the soldiers inquired.

"This is true, only the Rebel prisoner is leaving with you tonight. The other… is being transported to another location." Snake noticed as the commander took his eyes off of his subordinates, avoiding their gaze as he spoke the last words.

"Permission to ask why, sir."

The commanders attention snapped quickly to the man that had spoke up.

"Those types of questions are what get men killed private."

Snake pulled his scope away from his eye, looking towards the construction site, and the light that gave a ghostly haze from below. The mission must come first, he reminded himself.

The air grew heavy with moisture as clouds began to darken the night sky, blocking out the moon's light. Snake moved his eye to the clouds, watching flashes of light illuminate the sky. Despite the anticipation, rain did not come.

The wait was not long until beams of light appeared around the mountain ridge. Snake watched as two jeeps followed the road through the valley, a truck driving between. The three vehicles hastily drove through outposts forward checkpoints and up toward the barracks, stopping before entering the camp. Two men jumped out of the truck and made their way towards the outposts commander. Snake pulled up his scope and pointed it in the enemies direction.

"Captain." The two soldiers gave a quick salute.

"Follow me to the detention area." The commander responded, straight to business.

Snake followed the group with his scope until they were no longer visible, disappearing into the building under construction. Looking back towards the vehicles, the hunter watched as soldiers began pulling out cigarets and walking about. Their guard was down, opening up an opportunity.

Few guards had been placed near the rear of the outpost, giving Snake room to move freely without concern. It was not until he had passed the landing pad that enemy movement became more troublesome. Careful to avoid detection, the hunter hugged the rocks as he moved towards the camps metal gate.

The truck stood in silence just beyond the fence. Concealing himself behind the wall, Snake waited until there were no eyes on it, moving towards it when the opportunity presented itself. Careful not to cause any noise, Snake crawled underneath, facing the bottom of the truck. Using a hook attached to his sneaking suit, he tethered himself the bottom. Finding a place to set his feet and hands, Snake pulled himself against the truck, becoming invisible to those that did not look for him.

Minutes passed before Snake felt the truck begin to shift with the weight of men getting on board. Two climbed into the cabin, while three loaded up in the bed; one of the men suspected to be the prisoner. Snake noticed a pair of boots standing not far from his face. He kept his eye on them as the truck began to reverse, making its way out of the outpost.

The road was rough and rocky, requiring all of his strength to keep himself underneath the truck. Snake closed his eye for a majority of the trip, protecting himself from the mud and rocks being kicked up off the damp ground.

Occasionally the truck would stop at other outposts and checkpoints, but never for more than a few minutes. Snake would watch as more prisoners were loaded into the bed with each stop. Eventually, the convoy turned off the main road, following a dirt path that became narrower as it traveled into the mountains. The sound of thunder cracked overhead as the clouds opened up, rain beginning to soak the ground.

Snake felt his weight shift as the truck came to an abrupt stop. Though he could not see what lay before, the sound of grinding gears and the creak of metal echoed through the canyon. When the truck pressed forward again, the rain disappeared, its rhythmic noise beginning to grow distant. Snakes first observation was that the muddy path had now become smooth concrete.

Remaining motionless when the truck came to a stop, the stowaway waited for the soldiers and their prisoners to disembark before moving. After crawling out from underneath the truck, and finding a hiding place behind a pair of crates a short distance from it, Snake began to take in his new surroundings.

The convoy had entered a cave system, though it appeared to have been man made. The tunnel the truck had followed was carved into a half circle, lights placed every couple of feet lit it up dimly. The room the vehicles had stopped in was much larger, better lit. Boxes and pieces of equipment littered the ground here and there. Opposite where he had found cover, was the only door in the room. The soldiers had led the prisoners through it moments before Snake had crawled out.

With the coast clear, Snake put a finger to his radio.

"Devil Dog, this is 'Boss'. How copy?"

Static was the only response he received.

"Devil Dog, this is 'Boss'. How copy?!"

No response came as Snake considered his options.

Unholstering his AM D114, Snake checked over the weapon in the usual fashion. As always, it was well maintained, though mud had darkened its silver body from the trip. Using his finger, Snake ensured no mud had clogged any of the moving parts. Next, he pulled a silencer from his belt, slowly twisting it on the barrel of his weapon.

The door was not locked, swinging open easily. The hallway that stretched out before him was dark and dimly lit; the hollow whistle of wind only added to its foreboding appearance. Holding his weapon to his chest, Snake slowly stepped into the dark; the weight of the door closing it behind him. He could feel his ears burning with anticipation, the wind and his steps being the only sound available.

At the end of the hallway was another door. Pushing through it, Snake came upon a sight he could not have expected. The room was large and just as dim as the hallway. The floor was predominately empty, except for a few tables and crates scattered about. The walls… were not really walls. Snake looked around, surrounded by steel doors tall enough to reach the ceiling. Each one was identical to the other and contained a rectangular hole in the front. Watching his back, Snake stepped towards the nearest one and peered inside. His eye flinched at what it saw, but he could not look away.

Inside, the cell was a concrete box, large enough to hold only one person. There was no light, and Snake's pupil grew larger as a figure came into view. He was naked, completely. His skin was void of color and frail, large lacerations marking most of his body. He was still alive though, his chest moving with each breath. His chest… it was covered in small puss filled bubbles. Snake's breath grew heavy, recognizing the early signs of the Vocal Cord parasite. The man was in a standing position, his arms above his head and metal chains tethering him to the ceiling. The stench of his feces collecting on the floor forced Snake to finally look away.

Looking around, he was finally met with the realization… behind each of the doors surrounding the room was a prisoner, alive, but no longer amongst the living. It was then that Snake felt a burning anger inside him, the fingers of his real hand gripping his weapon even tighter. After two years the Vocal Cord parasite was still a threat, and in someone else's hands.

The sound of footsteps reminded Snake that he was still in dangerous territory. Quickly taking cover in the shadows, he watched as a door swung open in the corner of the room. The first figure to appear was a Soviet soldier, who turned and spoke a few words in Russian. The second to stumble through the door was a prisoner. The figure wore a straight jacket, his arms crossing in front of his chest. A bag had been pulled over the prisoners head, preventing Snake from seeing his face. Though the figure wore pants, shoes were not present, giving Snake the only view of the prisoners pale, cracked skin. Three more guards appeared from the doorway following suit. The group had made it halfway through the room before the prisoner collapsed. Unamused the guards started shouting in Russian, one kicking the prisoner in the stomach. The only audible noise was a muffled grunt. Snake watched as one of the soldiers grabbed the prisoner by the arm and lifted him to his feet. Another used the butt of his weapon to force him forward. Holding his breath, Snake watched as the group disappeared into the hallway he, himself, had first come from.

Snake let a minute pass before stepping from the shadows. The room was silent again as he slowly made his way towards the door the soldiers had emerged from. It was much heavier than the last, with rusty hinges that pierced the still air. Snake held his breath as the sound echoed through the halls, but the stillness remained undisturbed.

The hallway was better lit than the other and was not a singular passage, splitting into two after a short distance. Readying his weapon, Snake crept down the passage, his shadow casting ghostly figures against walls.

A scream brought Snake to his knee, raising his weapon to his eye. The cry only echoed for a second, but its sound still rang in his ear. It was not a cry for help, nor fear… the tune of it was of pure agony, raw pain. His finger twitching on the trigger, Snake rose to his feet and pressed on.

The scream had come from the hallway to his right, though silence had returned to the air. Checking to his left, Snake looked down the opposite hallway. It was the same, silent and motionless. Suddenly, the high-pitched rattle of a buzzsaw broke the stillness, bringing his attention back to the other passageway. The distant noise sounded like a snarl as became muffled, the blade pushed into something rubbery. Without thinking, Snake felt his feet begin to carry him forward, taking him closer to the noise.

The room was much better lit than everywhere else, though smaller than the first. It was unorganized, medical and surgical equipment scattered about. Along one wall was a row of gurneys, bodies strapped to them. They had been mutilated, their chest cavities torn open. In the center of the room, two men stood over a similar figure. Blood drained from a laceration stretching across his chest. The blood splattered buzzsaw lay on a table next to them.

Taking cover behind a curtain when entering the room, Snake watched the men as they worked. Both had their backs to him, but Shotmaker's mohawk was recognizable. The two spoke short sentences in Russian before the man next to Shotmaker pushed his hands into the dead man's chest cavity. The sound of cracking bones filled the room as the man slowly pulled the body open. Shotmaker crossed his arms, watching the other work.

Snake continued to watch in silence, tightening his grip on his weapon. The two men worked quickly, exchanging few words. After opening the body, the man next to Shotmaker began the grizzly operation. Though his vision was obscured by their backs, Snake could see the man reaching into the cavity well-enough. Using a knife, organs began to be removed, tossed aside with little care. Snake raised his eyebrow in confusion. What were they searching for?

The operation only lasted a few minutes before the man paused, speaking Russian to Shotmaker. Relaxing his arms, the commander leaned over the mutilated corpse, looking into its chest. The words he said after had the resonance of excitement, though Snake could not focus on them; the cock of a weapon's hammer clicking behind him, close to his head…

"Ah… the legendary 'Big Boss'." A smile began to form across Shotmakers face. "I knew it was only a matter of time."