NOTE: All Codec talk will have [ and ] in place of " and". Normal speech
will, of course, use "and"
Chapter One: Demands
It was raining, water rushing down through the canyons of steel and glass to smash into the gray streets below, onto the thousands, millions of people scurrying about through those canyons like so many ants. One ant, an olive poncho obscuring all but his military-style boots and lower face, flicked away a cigarette as it died. "Damn things are too short," he muttered. "I need to find something that lasts longer."
[Those things are going to kill you, you know.]
"Don't preach," Solid Snake said. "We've gone over this time and again over the past four years."
[Whatever. How does downtown look?]
"The damage was pretty extensive," Snake said. "Worse than in 2001. At least a dozen large buildings went down, and more were damaged."
[We know what happened there, Snake. How does downtown look today?]
"It was over a year ago, Otacon," Snake said. "They cleaned it up pretty quickly. Everything's been repaired. Lucky it was a Sunday back then, although it was over twelve thousand killed."
['The worst act of terrorism in U.S. history,'] Otacon said, quoting President Matthews. [I suppose he doesn't know about Shadow Moses.]
"I expect he does," Snake retorted. "You think that the Patriots would let anyone know what really happened there?"
[Of course not,] Otacon said. [Well, anything… different?]
"What do you mean?" Snake asked.
[I meant anything suspicious.] Otacon sounded chagrined.
"No," Snake said. "Nothing that looks like it might house one of the Patriots' little 'projects.'"
[All right,] Otacon said. [Come back home.]
"See you soon," Snake said. Reaching for another cigarette, he cursed as he realized the pack was empty. "Gotta get a refill," he muttered.
[A refill? Snake.]
"Don't knock if it you haven't tried it."
[I have.]
Snake laughed and hailed a cab. The spotter sitting in the Empire State Building nodded. "He's cut communication with Emmerich," he said softly into his radio.
"Copy that." The voice on the other end was gruff, but kind. "Keep him under observation."
"Of course, Colonel," the spotter said. He gestured to one of his partners, who nodded and left the room.
Soon, Solid Snake, the spotter thought. Soon, we'll have you back right where we want you.
* * *
"Home" was a run-down apartment in a seedy part of New Jersey just across the bay from Manhattan. Snake and Otacon were the only white person on the street, but the clearly visible outline of his SOCOM in a pocket of his poncho kept most people away. Once he had reason to pull the FAMAS out of his large pack, it meant someone was going to die.
That had happened only once. The kid had taken one look at the assault rifle, glanced down at the cheap semiautomatic handgun in his hand, then dropped it and ran like hell. Snake had given everyone else on the street a look that said, "so what? We all know you have this and worse in your little gangs. Now move along." Everyone had moved along.
He'd been lucky that time. He, not to mention Otacon, didn't want everyone else in their neighborhood gunning for them, and also weren't particularly tickled at the thought that the police would be investigating their names and backgrounds (fake, of course).
"Hey, Lula," Snake said to the aged black woman who owned the building he lived in. "How was your day, Jason?" she answered, a little bit warily. Snake knew she thought that he and Otacon were gay, and the thought made him laugh. Even if I was… Otacon?
He unlocked the door to the apartment and kicked it open. The contrast between the interior and exterior was apparent. The floorboards were covered with a rug, the walls were clean, and the furniture wasn't ruined. The most striking change, though, was the dozens of computers and equipment in the room. Wires were everywhere. Snake sighed. "You aren't overhauling the system again, are you?" he asked.
A muffled voice came from somewhere back in one of the two bedrooms. "You know we have to do it every week or they'll catch on to where we are," Otacon said.
"I also know that if you keep hacking money out of Bill Gates' main bank account someone will find out sooner or later," Snake replied. "Please," Otacon said. "You know I'm too good for that."
"I remember that little tune, from five years ago," Snake said. "'Oh please, I'm too good for that. Now, Snake, you have to get those photos of the new Metal Gear…'" Otacon appeared in the living room, an indignant look on his face.
"Now you know that's different," he said. "That was the Patriots. This is Bill Gates."
"You never know…" Snake said. "I wouldn't be surprised if the two are one and the same." Otacon laughed. "The place is clear, right?" Snake said. They had found bugs in other apartments they'd rented, and had been forced to pack up and leave as soon as they found them.
"It's clear," Otacon said. "And, as I was saying, its ridiculous to think that Bill Gates is a member of the Patriots."
"It was also ridiculous to think that we could find out who the Patriots really are," Snake said.
"I thought we agreed that those names were fake," Otacon said.
"One of our biggest contributors?" Snake said. "Information specifically to be filtered out by GW?"
"Just another cover-up. The information that they died over a hundred years ago has to be fake."
"I don't know…" Snake said. "I've seen odder things in my time."
"…Gray Fox?" Otacon said.
"Yep."
The conversation was interrupted by a loud tone emitting from one of the computers. Otacon ran over to it. "What the—" he sat down on the floor and began rapidly typing and clicking away, his face dimly illuminated from the gentle glow of the monitor.
"What is it?" Snake asked.
"A message…"
"From who?"
"I… I don't know." Otacon sounded perplexed, something Snake had never seen him when he was in front of a computer. "What's the info?" Snake asked, exasperated. "We aren't as naïve as we were back at the Tanker, Otacon. Nothing could happen this time."
"The message says…" Otacon hesitated.
"What? Comon, Hal."
Otacon looked at Snake, fear in his eyes. "The message says that a terrorist group has taken over a secret research facility below New York City. About three hundred feet directly below the Empire State Building. If their demands aren't met… they have a nuke, Snake."
Solid Snake laughed. "You believe it, Otacon?" he said. "And they're going to blow up New York, right?"
"Look." Otacon got up and dragged Snake over to the computer. "This is a live feed, being transmitted to somewhere in southern Manhattan."
The screen was dark. "I know you can hear me… 'Patriots.'"
The voice was full of hatred and loathing. Snake stiffened. He'd heard it before. "Ocelot," he muttered. "Or maybe its Liquid."
A light snapped on on the screen, illuminating it. In the middle of the image stood Revolver Ocelot.
Behind him was a nuclear weapon. Snake took it all in in moments. Warnings in Russian were all over the thing. "It's real," Snake said, feeling weary.
"We are in your little secret research facility," another voice said. Snake stiffened. That was Liquid. But Ocelot wasn't talking. "I believe you call it… the Devil's Attic?"
"What do you want?"
Snake heard Otacon gasp. "Campbell? Why would he be involved in this?" Snake muttered.
"You thought you had Big Boss' body all along," Liquid said, his voice light. "What fools you were."
"What do you mean?" Campbell said, his voice strained.
"You'll find out soon enough," Liquid said. "We want Octopus' body, the FOXDIE vaccine—I know you have it, Colonel Campbell—and the newest Metal Gear."
"There are no new Metal Gears," Campbell said.
"Maybe none being built by the Patriots," Liquid replied, "but I think the newest Chinese version would do nicely."
"And why would you think the Chinese would give you their newest Metal Gear?" Campbell said. "And you know what, Liquid, this whole 'give us what we want or we blow up New York,' is getting rather old."
"But I'm not going to blow up New York."
"Then what?"
"I think a fitting target would be… Chernoton, Russia?"
"Chernoton? Shadow Moses happened four years ago, Liquid. You lost. Give it up."
"Snake is listening, Colonel. Even as we speak."
"What!?"
"Its true. And you don't know that this is the only nuke I possess. You know what to do."
"I'm retired, Liquid. What can I do?"
"Contact your little puppeteers. You know who they are."
"The… Patriots?"
"Correct. Oh, and Snake, we'll be seeing you soon."
Snake grabbed the microphone hooked up to the computer. "Can they hear me?" he whispered to Otacon. When Hal nodded, he said, "I'm looking forward to it, brother. Cut the connection, Otacon." Hal pulled the plug out of the computer, and the screen went blank.
Snake turned. "Call Nastasha," he said. "That… special line she gave you for emergencies. Tell her to get on the line with her Spetznaz contact. I want all the information he has on 'Devil's Attic.'"
"Are you going in, Snake?" Otacon sounded worried. "Of course I am," Snake said, already donning his poncho. "I'm heading up the Empire State Building. Find me a way into the "Devil's Attic" when I get there. I need your help on this one. 'Philanthropy, right?'"
"Yeah." Otacon got up and shook Snake's hand. "All right, buddy." As Snake put the anti-metal detector rubber around his FAMAS, SOCOM, and M9, Otacon said, "be careful, Snake. This looks to be another Shadow Moses…"
"I know." Snake donned his sneaking suit and poncho. "You're even using the one from Shadow Moses," Otacon said.
"If I had the one from Outer Heaven, I'd use that here, but it's gone," Snake said. "I'm finishing this here and now."
"What about the Patriots?"
"They can rot, for all I care." The gruffness in Snake's voice was back. "Aren't you getting a little old for this, Snake?" Otacon said.
Snake laughed. "I'm only somewhere around 34, you know," he said. "I was around 15 and a half in the Gulf War. I figured that out, thanks to Mei Ling. Its only that FOXDIE is starting to work. Slowly," he said at Otacon's distressed look.
He started walking out the door. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder. "See ya later, Otacon," he said, and then he was gone. "See ya, Snake," Hal whispered. Then he sat down in front a different computer and got to work. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter One: Demands
It was raining, water rushing down through the canyons of steel and glass to smash into the gray streets below, onto the thousands, millions of people scurrying about through those canyons like so many ants. One ant, an olive poncho obscuring all but his military-style boots and lower face, flicked away a cigarette as it died. "Damn things are too short," he muttered. "I need to find something that lasts longer."
[Those things are going to kill you, you know.]
"Don't preach," Solid Snake said. "We've gone over this time and again over the past four years."
[Whatever. How does downtown look?]
"The damage was pretty extensive," Snake said. "Worse than in 2001. At least a dozen large buildings went down, and more were damaged."
[We know what happened there, Snake. How does downtown look today?]
"It was over a year ago, Otacon," Snake said. "They cleaned it up pretty quickly. Everything's been repaired. Lucky it was a Sunday back then, although it was over twelve thousand killed."
['The worst act of terrorism in U.S. history,'] Otacon said, quoting President Matthews. [I suppose he doesn't know about Shadow Moses.]
"I expect he does," Snake retorted. "You think that the Patriots would let anyone know what really happened there?"
[Of course not,] Otacon said. [Well, anything… different?]
"What do you mean?" Snake asked.
[I meant anything suspicious.] Otacon sounded chagrined.
"No," Snake said. "Nothing that looks like it might house one of the Patriots' little 'projects.'"
[All right,] Otacon said. [Come back home.]
"See you soon," Snake said. Reaching for another cigarette, he cursed as he realized the pack was empty. "Gotta get a refill," he muttered.
[A refill? Snake.]
"Don't knock if it you haven't tried it."
[I have.]
Snake laughed and hailed a cab. The spotter sitting in the Empire State Building nodded. "He's cut communication with Emmerich," he said softly into his radio.
"Copy that." The voice on the other end was gruff, but kind. "Keep him under observation."
"Of course, Colonel," the spotter said. He gestured to one of his partners, who nodded and left the room.
Soon, Solid Snake, the spotter thought. Soon, we'll have you back right where we want you.
* * *
"Home" was a run-down apartment in a seedy part of New Jersey just across the bay from Manhattan. Snake and Otacon were the only white person on the street, but the clearly visible outline of his SOCOM in a pocket of his poncho kept most people away. Once he had reason to pull the FAMAS out of his large pack, it meant someone was going to die.
That had happened only once. The kid had taken one look at the assault rifle, glanced down at the cheap semiautomatic handgun in his hand, then dropped it and ran like hell. Snake had given everyone else on the street a look that said, "so what? We all know you have this and worse in your little gangs. Now move along." Everyone had moved along.
He'd been lucky that time. He, not to mention Otacon, didn't want everyone else in their neighborhood gunning for them, and also weren't particularly tickled at the thought that the police would be investigating their names and backgrounds (fake, of course).
"Hey, Lula," Snake said to the aged black woman who owned the building he lived in. "How was your day, Jason?" she answered, a little bit warily. Snake knew she thought that he and Otacon were gay, and the thought made him laugh. Even if I was… Otacon?
He unlocked the door to the apartment and kicked it open. The contrast between the interior and exterior was apparent. The floorboards were covered with a rug, the walls were clean, and the furniture wasn't ruined. The most striking change, though, was the dozens of computers and equipment in the room. Wires were everywhere. Snake sighed. "You aren't overhauling the system again, are you?" he asked.
A muffled voice came from somewhere back in one of the two bedrooms. "You know we have to do it every week or they'll catch on to where we are," Otacon said.
"I also know that if you keep hacking money out of Bill Gates' main bank account someone will find out sooner or later," Snake replied. "Please," Otacon said. "You know I'm too good for that."
"I remember that little tune, from five years ago," Snake said. "'Oh please, I'm too good for that. Now, Snake, you have to get those photos of the new Metal Gear…'" Otacon appeared in the living room, an indignant look on his face.
"Now you know that's different," he said. "That was the Patriots. This is Bill Gates."
"You never know…" Snake said. "I wouldn't be surprised if the two are one and the same." Otacon laughed. "The place is clear, right?" Snake said. They had found bugs in other apartments they'd rented, and had been forced to pack up and leave as soon as they found them.
"It's clear," Otacon said. "And, as I was saying, its ridiculous to think that Bill Gates is a member of the Patriots."
"It was also ridiculous to think that we could find out who the Patriots really are," Snake said.
"I thought we agreed that those names were fake," Otacon said.
"One of our biggest contributors?" Snake said. "Information specifically to be filtered out by GW?"
"Just another cover-up. The information that they died over a hundred years ago has to be fake."
"I don't know…" Snake said. "I've seen odder things in my time."
"…Gray Fox?" Otacon said.
"Yep."
The conversation was interrupted by a loud tone emitting from one of the computers. Otacon ran over to it. "What the—" he sat down on the floor and began rapidly typing and clicking away, his face dimly illuminated from the gentle glow of the monitor.
"What is it?" Snake asked.
"A message…"
"From who?"
"I… I don't know." Otacon sounded perplexed, something Snake had never seen him when he was in front of a computer. "What's the info?" Snake asked, exasperated. "We aren't as naïve as we were back at the Tanker, Otacon. Nothing could happen this time."
"The message says…" Otacon hesitated.
"What? Comon, Hal."
Otacon looked at Snake, fear in his eyes. "The message says that a terrorist group has taken over a secret research facility below New York City. About three hundred feet directly below the Empire State Building. If their demands aren't met… they have a nuke, Snake."
Solid Snake laughed. "You believe it, Otacon?" he said. "And they're going to blow up New York, right?"
"Look." Otacon got up and dragged Snake over to the computer. "This is a live feed, being transmitted to somewhere in southern Manhattan."
The screen was dark. "I know you can hear me… 'Patriots.'"
The voice was full of hatred and loathing. Snake stiffened. He'd heard it before. "Ocelot," he muttered. "Or maybe its Liquid."
A light snapped on on the screen, illuminating it. In the middle of the image stood Revolver Ocelot.
Behind him was a nuclear weapon. Snake took it all in in moments. Warnings in Russian were all over the thing. "It's real," Snake said, feeling weary.
"We are in your little secret research facility," another voice said. Snake stiffened. That was Liquid. But Ocelot wasn't talking. "I believe you call it… the Devil's Attic?"
"What do you want?"
Snake heard Otacon gasp. "Campbell? Why would he be involved in this?" Snake muttered.
"You thought you had Big Boss' body all along," Liquid said, his voice light. "What fools you were."
"What do you mean?" Campbell said, his voice strained.
"You'll find out soon enough," Liquid said. "We want Octopus' body, the FOXDIE vaccine—I know you have it, Colonel Campbell—and the newest Metal Gear."
"There are no new Metal Gears," Campbell said.
"Maybe none being built by the Patriots," Liquid replied, "but I think the newest Chinese version would do nicely."
"And why would you think the Chinese would give you their newest Metal Gear?" Campbell said. "And you know what, Liquid, this whole 'give us what we want or we blow up New York,' is getting rather old."
"But I'm not going to blow up New York."
"Then what?"
"I think a fitting target would be… Chernoton, Russia?"
"Chernoton? Shadow Moses happened four years ago, Liquid. You lost. Give it up."
"Snake is listening, Colonel. Even as we speak."
"What!?"
"Its true. And you don't know that this is the only nuke I possess. You know what to do."
"I'm retired, Liquid. What can I do?"
"Contact your little puppeteers. You know who they are."
"The… Patriots?"
"Correct. Oh, and Snake, we'll be seeing you soon."
Snake grabbed the microphone hooked up to the computer. "Can they hear me?" he whispered to Otacon. When Hal nodded, he said, "I'm looking forward to it, brother. Cut the connection, Otacon." Hal pulled the plug out of the computer, and the screen went blank.
Snake turned. "Call Nastasha," he said. "That… special line she gave you for emergencies. Tell her to get on the line with her Spetznaz contact. I want all the information he has on 'Devil's Attic.'"
"Are you going in, Snake?" Otacon sounded worried. "Of course I am," Snake said, already donning his poncho. "I'm heading up the Empire State Building. Find me a way into the "Devil's Attic" when I get there. I need your help on this one. 'Philanthropy, right?'"
"Yeah." Otacon got up and shook Snake's hand. "All right, buddy." As Snake put the anti-metal detector rubber around his FAMAS, SOCOM, and M9, Otacon said, "be careful, Snake. This looks to be another Shadow Moses…"
"I know." Snake donned his sneaking suit and poncho. "You're even using the one from Shadow Moses," Otacon said.
"If I had the one from Outer Heaven, I'd use that here, but it's gone," Snake said. "I'm finishing this here and now."
"What about the Patriots?"
"They can rot, for all I care." The gruffness in Snake's voice was back. "Aren't you getting a little old for this, Snake?" Otacon said.
Snake laughed. "I'm only somewhere around 34, you know," he said. "I was around 15 and a half in the Gulf War. I figured that out, thanks to Mei Ling. Its only that FOXDIE is starting to work. Slowly," he said at Otacon's distressed look.
He started walking out the door. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder. "See ya later, Otacon," he said, and then he was gone. "See ya, Snake," Hal whispered. Then he sat down in front a different computer and got to work. It was going to be a long day.