Disclaimer: I don't own Metal Gear Solid (or anything Metal Gear for that matter,) and I don't own Max Steel. My profit from this is an exact figure of zero dollars.
Metal Gears, Nanoprobes, and a Word from our Sponsor
Epilogue
by Alhazred
madarab20@hotmail.com
http://www.rockettownonline.com/~alhazred
It was good to be back.
The warning alarm, the strange feeling of the chair lowering slowly through the force of the rings' magnetic fields, and the small breeze those same rings created as they spun around...Josh figured there must've been a lot more of that wind near the rings, but he didn't care. It was nice being in the center of it all.
And it got even better when he felt that familiar rush of Transphasic energy hit him like a drug. It wasn't the same with Berto's portable; quantity was everything.
But the best part was having a real, honest-to-God full charge. After a year of close shaves fighting Psycho, losing his cloak at the most inopportune times and passing out over really high drops, it felt damn good to have a full tank once again.
"Thanks, Doc!" he called out as soon as the rings quieted down. Dr. Yevshenko waved down to him from the control room before she turned and left, probably to tell his father the generator was fully operational before going about her business. Evidentially, she had been thrilled to be back as well.
Funny how there was a shortage in field agents, though. Jeff had called back anyone who would come the very day the FBI apologized and told him the cease & desist order was illegal and therefore, null and void. Marshak was back, Rachel was not. She was glad with the marketing job Jeff had given her for corporate N-Tek; better pay, better hours, and less danger of bodily harm. Josh couldn't really blame her.
He noticed one of the new agents walking along in one of the corridors after he left; a small man with short, blond hair. In fact, Josh only knew he was new because he didn't know him.
Said guy stopped him when they met halfway through the corridor, however. "Excuse me...can you point me to the Nanotech lab?"
Yep, defiantly new, Josh thought. He pointed in the direction he'd just come from. "Yeah, down there and take a left at the generator. Can't miss it."
"Hey thanks," he answered, idly putting a hand to the back of his head as if he expected to find something.
"You just come on?" Josh asked, for the sake of conversation.
"Uh-huh. Got a call from Snake at 5am three days ago...name's Jack."
"Josh." They shook hands, but Josh was curious. "You know Snake?"
"Yeah, we went through some crap," Jack answered, patting the back of his head again. It seemed to be a nervous habit. "Guy's a saint when he wants to be. I'm getting married soon, and we're expecting…I don't wanna find out how hard it is to support a family with a dead-end job, it's kinda rough when this is all you know how to do."
"Tell me about it," Josh thought back to the day that he'd decided to drop out of college. Marshak had been right, talking him out of being Max 24-7...but Snake was right at the same time, any other job just didn't seem worthwhile. Fighting was the only thing I was good at... "I'll see ya around."
Jack nodded and walked off, yet again patting the back of his head. On a whim, Josh let his hearing magnify and he clearly heard Jack mutter, "I can't believe he made me cut it... he didn't cut his..."
Deciding he didn't want to know, Josh walked along. His father wanted him to meet the new Director of Operations, something he would've done anyway. A knock on the door to Rachel's old office garnered nothing, so he opened the door and walked in. And then he fought to keep from passing out on the floor. "Oh. My. God."
There wasn't anyone in the room, and there were still a couple of cardboard boxes lying around, but Josh didn't notice that. His eyes were glued to the name on the desk; it read "Solid Snake."
"Close, Kid," Snake chuckled, rising out from underneath one of the cardboard boxes. "Did I fool ya? I don't want to get out of practice."
Rather then answering "no, of course not, your heartbeat was echoing in there," Josh just stared at him, slack-jawed.
Snake tossed the box away and walked over as Josh gawked. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to nano-boy. Wakey wakey."
"You...when...how?" Josh blinked.
"I asked him."
He turned to see his father walk in. Jeff wasn't doing a very good job of hiding the amusement on his face, either. "Hey, I needed someone. Snake here was more then happy when I gave him our kill records."
Josh was even more confused now. It wasn't that he thought Snake needed to kill people like a drug, but... "You...care about that?"
"No," Snake answered. "But I'm sick of working for people who do the whole infallible military thing. Wetworks is so nineties. Besides, I need some way of passing on my legacy, and I'd rather not pull the shit my brothers tried. Oh, yeah, this makes me your new boss, and I couldn't resist that."
Making sure Snake saw his eyes role, Josh squeaked, "Oh, I couldn't resist that..."
Jeff just chuckled. "Josh, if you don't mind, I need to see my new subordinate alone for a minute."
With a shrug, Josh walked out. Jefferson closed the door once he was gone, handing Snake the papers in his hand.
"Why do I not like that tone of voice," Snake thought aloud, sitting in his rather plush chair and kicking his feet up onto his desk. The cheeriness in his demeanor left more and more as he looked through the information, until, finally, he was downright pissed. "God-fucking-damnit."
"I'm sorry," was Jeff's response.
Feeling his blood pressure rise, Snake tossed it all into the nearby trashcan. "And he was in Manhattan. Me n'Otacon were practically on top of that address!"
"Yeah, that's how it always is," Jeff sighed, stepping over to the windows behind Snake. It reminded him of a few memories. "I was on assignment about a mile away when Josh's father was killed."
"Do me a favor," Snake spun in his chair, "don't tell Jack. He has enough trauma."
"Don't tell him, what?" Jefferson raised an eyebrow and looked shrewd.
Smiling, Snake answered, "my thoughts exactly."
Rubbing his temples, Snake decided he didn't want to think about it anymore. He never liked thinking about his failures like this, actually, especially when the cost was so high. Why couldn't legends be perfect?
The half-crumpled papers in his trash peaked out at anyone who would look in that direction. A few words in particular were important, such as the name of Olga's son... and the cause of death. "Kid wasn't even three... and he died of neglect. How do you neglect someone in foster care?"
"Sign of the times," Jeff answered, "which says something about the times. I just try to change it harder."
"Damn straight," Snake chuckled. "Dread was right, you know. About all of us... 'born to die, die to live.'"
"Yeah, even in death he pisses us off," Jeff sighed. "I like to think, 'suicide is painless,' myself."
Snake tried to remember the rest...and when he did, he started singing. "Through early morning fog I see...visions of the things to be..."
Jeff joined in. "The pains that are withheld for me...I realize and I can see, that suicide is painless..."
"And I can take or leave it if I please..."
Horribly off-key, they drawled on like a pair of drunks for the entire song.
---
"You've been fixing this thing all month," Kat remarked. Berto didn't look up.
In actuality, he really couldn't look up. He had shoved himself underneath the main control console in Metal Gear RAY's cockpit to fine-tune the new wiring, and considering how much space the cockpit had in the first place, this was a tight fit. "I know."
"Berto."
Hearing in her voice that she wasn't going to deal with bullshit, he reached up and yanked himself into the pilot's seat. Kat couldn't help but laugh at him as she sat on the cockpit's threshold, spots of black covering his face and glasses, even more soaked into his T-shirt.
"I never pictured you as a grease monkey," she said.
"Yeah, well, when you want it done right," he tossed a rag at her face, but she just caught it.
"Do you know how much cream I put on my face in the morning?"
He ventured a guess. "None?"
"You're right," she said, tossing the rag over her shoulder.
"What the hell are you throwing up there?!"
Peering over the edge of the platform Kat had climbed up to, Berto saw Snake yanking said rag off his face.
"Hey Doc," Snake went on, "how's it going so far?"
"Almost done," Berto waved back down. "Just some tests to go through and Marine logos to scrape off."
"Great, keep it up, Doc," Snake walked away.
Seeing the man had made Kat notice something; Berto was still wearing Snake's gun. "How're you feeling?"
"Okay," he looked back at RAY's controls, fiddling with the interface, not really doing anything.
"You know Berto," she started, "I know what's it's like to not be particularly happy about something in the past. It's just not a month ago for me."
"Heh, easy for you to say," he answered. "You could choose to leave. You did."
"Maybe," she raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not. Ask me how I know L'Étranger."
That caught Berto's attention, the question he'd forgotten to ask all this time. He turned to her, awaiting the answer.
"Once upon a time, our dear freelancer led a street gang I happened to be a part of. I don't even know how he got where he is today, and I doubt I want to," she scratched her head. "He's not even French, the accent's fake."
"You're kidding!" Berto chuckled.
"I most certainly am not. I'd tell you his real name and how shitty he was in bed, but you'd fall off this thing laughing."
At that, he stopped and just looked at her again. "Oh..."
"God, don't pity me Berto. I told ya I did some bad stuff then. Besides, he's not worth it," she grinned. "Really shitty."
"I'm going to tell him he has size issues the next time he tries to throttle me," Berto declared.
"Oh, he has that too," Kat rolled her eyes. "But, yeah, that's the story. Okay, so he wasn't the best lay in town, but it still happened, and I still have to live with the fact that I slept with a sleazy wanna-be terrorist who helps other, more evil terrorists get the job done. And it sucks. But you know, eventually you realize life goes on."
"Yeah, I guess," he said.
"I thought pretty highly of him back then," she confessed, "which is probably what hurts most of all. But it's nice to know I'm not kidding myself if I care about other. Like you."
He blinked. "What about Josh?"
"Oh, I don't care about Josh like I care about you," she answered. "And something tells me Josh doesn't care about me the way you do, either."
Opening his mouth to say something, Berto suddenly found himself with Kat's finger at his lips.
"Before you ask...that time where you followed me around in knee-deep snow with a cold as all hell steel folding chair, demanding I rest? That was a pretty big hint. That and having a serious problem with blood flow to the brain at being spied on in the shower..."
"Kat!" He cried, turning an interesting shade of 'pale' mixed with 'blush.'
"Hey," she innocently shrugged, "L'Étranger was worse."
Strangely, that made him feel better. "So...you wanna catch a movie sometime or...something?"
Giving him a rather evil snicker, she wiped the grease from his lips and leaned over the open cockpit hatch. "Berto, I would love to."
Several seconds later, standing in the corner of the maintenance bay's ground floor, Otacon blink through his scope. "Was that her tongue?"
"Would you give me that!" Snake yelled, snatching the item back.
"You know," Josh admitted, adjusting his sight, "I never saw this coming."
Looking through his scope, Snake added, "someone's jealous. And Otacon, to be frank, I can't tell whose tongue is whose. Didn't Wolf teach you these things?"
"Well, she- hey!"
"I am not jealous!" Josh huffed. "I just said I didn't expect it! Can't a guy make an innocent comment?"
Taking the scope off, Snake took a second to breathe. "Not you, me. I'm jealous! I do all the flirting, he does the make-out scenes!"
"And this surprises you...why?" Josh shrugged, trying very hard not to laugh.
"I outta hit you, Kid..."
---
The mansion was a nice one, really. The lobby was particularly spacious, home to a large television and a few nice couches. Still, Psycho would've enjoyed it a lot more if he weren't confined to a wheelchair with two broken legs. He'd have to pay Snake back for that one day.
Vamp also cramped the style, piled on top of a lit Wok, frozen solid and slowly thawing out.
It was kind of funny. And then Naomi walked in, and it was even funnier, because she laughed at it aloud. "How are the legs?"
Looking down at his casts, Psycho regarded her like she was a fool. "Well, let's see. They're broken. Whaddaya think?"
She pulled a capped syringe from her pocket and tossed it into his lap. "They won't be for long. Go for it."
"Is this what I think it is?"
"Yep," she answered, pulling another and injecting herself with the substance. "We're the only two that need it, really. Vamp...well, doesn't, and John's work fine for him. Ours have the necessary alterations."
Satisfied, Psycho stretched his human arm out and injected the contents into his bloodstream. "Works for me. I'm gonna go grab food."
Before he wheeled away, he looked up the staircase when footsteps started walking down. Dread looked down at him. "You're going to eat us out of house and home, Psycho."
"Boss," Psycho answered, looking around the expansive mansion, "I couldn't eat this place if I tried. Where the hell's that kid you hired to be our gofer, anyway? I can't get upstairs without 'em."
"Johnny?" Dread tried to remember. "Oh, I sent him grocery shopping."
"Oh, food," Psycho's red eyes lit up a little more, "even better! I believe I'll consume what's left at the moment."
Rolling himself towards the kitchen, Psycho drew Naomi's attention as he left. The look of him in a squeaking wheelchair was too much. "Oh, and John?"
"Yes, 'Naomi?'"
"Why is there a gigantic Wok sitting on the floor, cooking a pile of crushed ice?"
Looking at the offending kitchen appliance plugged into the nearest outlet, Dread answered, "That's Vamp. We're thawing him out."
"Ah!" Naomi answered. "I'll give him a gift for when he wakes up..."
With that, she pulled her own face off, Mission: Impossible style... and tossed it on top of the ice. She was, however, tempted to throw it into the flame underneath.
"Five years, I've been wearing that thing for five years every other day, barring the prison term, and I'm free!"
More then a little amused, Dread smiled at her. "A well-deserved freedom, Dragonelle. You ever told me, did you really know Gray Fox?"
"Of course," she beamed. "Taught me everything I know. I was damned lucky he never saw me at Shadow Moses when people started throwing my alias around...he's the one who started calling me 'Naomi' in the first place, actually. And I never did give Snake FOXDIE, either... I hated him so much I wanted to see him sweat about it everyday that it didn't come."
"Yes, well, it's too bad you didn't," Dread said, "High on my list of personal wishes is Solid six feet under. I believe Liquid put it best; 'there's room for only one Snake, and one Big Boss.'"
"He'll be gone soon enough, and we won't have aged a day," Dragonelle added, looking rather proud of herself. "Just so you know, John, if you ever get yourself killed, I'm selling my fountain of youth for a fortune."
That netted a smile from him. "Hah. I plan on being around for a very long time, Dragonelle," he said, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and showing the hardened shell of nanoprobes sealing the hole in his chest as they repaired his heart. "Even if regenerating vital organs takes longer then it would for our friend, Mr. Steel."
"Complain, complain, complain," she laughed, walking by and waving a finger in his face, before sitting on the couch. "Actually, that was the one thing I couldn't crack, even with the N-Tek research. Using the Max Probes as an age inhibitor forces them to work slowly on immediate regeneration. I wonder if Dr. Martinez ever figured any of this out."
"Doubtful," Dread told her, buttoning his shirt back up. "The good doctor has ethical considerations, he wouldn't dream of using the technology for things that could be seriously...amoral. I, on the other hand, am quite content to rule the world forever."
Dragonelle planned on continuing the conversation, but a splash of water drew her attention as well as Dread's, and they looked over to the other side of the room to find Vamp sitting in the wok. He looked a bit dazed, but he was in one piece, and he promptly shook his head to clear the cobwebs, stood up, and squeezed the water out of his hair.
"That," he took his coat off, hopped into the air and hung it off a chandelier to dry, "was a new experience."
"Indeed," raising his eyebrows, Dread turned back to the stairs. "I think Jim is done with his nap..."
He left the way he came, leaving Vamp to look Dragonelle over while peeling her Naomi mask from the top of his damp head. "Finally shed the mask, eh Queen?"
"Thankfully."
Without another word, Vamp tackled her onto the rather expensive couch Psycho had contributed to the place.
"You'll ruin the leather," she gave him the most bored look she could muster, but he wasn't fooled.
"Good."
"Dragonelle, Vamp," Dread leaned over the top of the staircase, "I'm going to...yes, I think I will take Jim for a walk...before you corrupt his poor mind... and it'll be good to get out before I give the President his instructions for the next few days."
He'd looked just in time to see them necking rather passionately on the couch, and it didn't look like it was going to stop there anytime soon.
A few seconds later, Psycho rolled back in, a sandwich in one hand, a cigar between his jaws. Said cigar dropped from his mouth as soon as he caught sight of the scene. "What are you doing on my couch!"
Taking a breather from each other's mouths, Vamp and Dragonelle looked at each other, then at Psycho. It was Vamp who answered. "Asking you to join us?"
At a door that led outside, far from the lobby where the porn movie was being made, Dread could hear Psycho's ear-piercing shriek of horror. Or was that pleasure? He didn't want to know.
Little four-year-old Jim heard it to, but he didn't give it another thought. He just held onto Dread's hand as they walked out the door. And Dread thought about how Jim was walking everywhere now, the boy was getting into everything ever since he'd taken his first steps. Yes, it was defiantly time to child-proof the house.
Being a father was life's greatest experience, Dread decided. Though, he'd have to give the poor boy a last name one of these days. 'Jim McGrath' or 'Jim Gurlukovich' would draw Josh or Solid's attention the instant they saw it in any database. And the latter would make him quite the dartboard in school, as well. Maybe good old "Nathanson" would work...
Still, Dread pondered; it wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved. Solid, I told you you'd never find Olga's child.
~fin~
The ref list:
-"Suicide is Painless" is the theme song to M*A*S*H. In actuality, Snake and Jeff are too young to have seen M*A*S*H during the original run, when I'm guessing it had the most impact on people. But then, I doubt people who live wars don't really need to see war stories during one to grasp it.
I owe thanks to a lot of people for this. Princess Artemis (www.princessartemis.com) Ellen Brand (http://EllenB.freeservers.com/main.html) and others for reading, and Almasy (www.almasymarquis.com) for the idea that Naomi didn't infect Snake with FOXDIE at all.
Orwell was right