Chapter One: Hero Without a Cause
"Heroes are remembered,
But legends never die."
Legends come into the world one of two ways: either they are born, or they are made. For those who are born, there is a feeling of greatness to them, an aura, a quality that makes them seem more than human, more than mortal. They tend to be natural leaders, paragons of what people look up to. For those who are made, well. . .
A man had once become a legend, thrust into the spotlight, a soldier doing his job and then recognized as a hero. Media, medals, praise, all of it, a nation had turned him from a man into something else. It had been a burden, and a pain, a part of him that never really fit.
But it was still a part of him. And three years ago, he had learned that it was all a sham, false, nothing more than a move in a game played in the shadows by men who answered only to themselves. A man defined by his actions had learned that they were engineered. A man with no definition, a soldier with no army, a hero without a cause.
What the hell. It never had been Solid Snake's style to allow others to dictate any part or parcel of his life, not off the battlefield anyway. The wonderful thing about karma is that it always managed to bite just the right person in the ass at the sweetest possible time. And even if karma weren't up for the job, Snake felt sure he could step in.
After all, he thought wryly, slowly twirling the small optical disk nestled comfortably in his right hand, he had one hell of a set of incisors.
"Snake!" called a female voice from the pilot's seat of the Heuy. "Three minutes to drop. I advise you be ready by the time I am. We're probably going to only get one shot at this. Too bad you don't have time to shave."
"At least I cut my hair," Snake said, running a hand through his brown head. She had her quirks, but Chris Jenner had a nagging habit of being right, and this time was no exception. Stealth cloaking or not, only a single pass could be marked up as an anomaly. After that, someone was going to check out the disturbance, probably with a heat-seeking missile or two.
"And not a minute too soon. Sorry, but mullets don't suit you." "Thanks. Now tell me," he said, slipping the disk back into one of the many pockets in his sneaking suit, "if I'm not parachuting and we can't land, what exactly is this thing on my back? Is it part of the insertion method?"
He could not, of course, be sure, but he thought he saw her smile reflected in the chopper's viewport. "Oh," Jenner said with a slight laugh in her voice, "you'll like this. The cord on your back isn't a parachute. It's a bungie."
"A what?"
"It's connected to winch that's run by the chopper's flight computer, and I jury-rigged it to control a winch. What it does is set the altitude, speed, and the taughtness at which the thing unravels."
"Considering it's a bungie, it's gonna have to unravel pretty fast," Snake cut in. "You'd be surprised. This is more pressure-sensitive than anything on the market. Anyway, using a timer, it calculates when exactly to drop you, and gives you a signal when you need to cut the cord. You have a retractable stiletto in your wrist for that. The upshot of using a bungie is that it'll slow your fall so the landing will be softer than if you were using a parachute." She pulled off her headset, keeping the mic on and tossing her blonde hair. "The catch is, you won't be landing on the roof."
Snake narrowed his eyes. "I know you're going to explain that."
She turned, and this time he was sure that she smiled. "Look at your gloves."
Snake made a close examination of the black semi-kev that wrapped itself around his hand, noting for the first time the irregular texture on the palm and fingers.
"That's a new titanium alloy; three-quarter millimeter hooks curving down. Not much good on a date, but it'll cling to glass if you need to. You cut the rope, then grab the side of the building."
"You have got to be kidding me." Snake's gravelly voice rarely, if ever, registered any sort of surprise. It was a testament to the woman that he let something so human show to her.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Not today Snake. Don't worry, the computer will do most of the work; you just have to cut the cord. Now, once on the wall, you need to check out the guards' positions. Your customary radar will come in handy, but these guys are good. Their helmet mics pick up any sort of noise and come with nightvision. If they see or hear anything funny, they'll sound the alarm, and it's all over. Assault rifles and grenades, each one of them."
"What have I got in the way of equipment?"
Chris's mouth curled up in a half-smile. "Ah, now that's the good news. I loaded you up, the works: a pair of nightvision/thermal hybrids - those were especially hard to get -, chaff and frag grenades, your favorite 9mm handgun-cum-silencer, and a partridge in a pear tree. Oh, I also managed to get a few Door-Makers."
"C4? That'll fun to try to keep quiet." Snake chewed on the inside of his lip, rummaging through the cache of weapons and equipment to his right, pocketing and holstering them all. "Where did you get these wonderful toys anyway?"
Chris shrugged. "Mercenaries mainly. Called in a few favors, pushed a few buttons - "
"Campbell involved in any of this?" Snake cut her off.
She frowned, then shook her head, the blonde locks shifting along the frame of her face. "No, I haven't heard from him for nearly as long as I haven't heard from you." she looked at him a little closer, her sapphire eyes searching him. "Why, has he contacted you?"
"No. Sorry about the 'long time, no see' bit. There were a few things I had to find out for and about myself. Alone."
"Right. Like the mystery man we're about to go 'recruit.' " Jenner puckered her lips in a mock pout. "Does that mean he's more important to you than I am?"
Snake's lips stretched over his teeth in what passed for him as a smile. "That's right. To the planet, for the matter of that. He's the only guy in the known world, military, civilian, merc, or otherwise with the credentials to crack the code on the Project Babel disk."
The blonde pilot sighed melodramatically. "Leave it to Augustine Eugabon to create the hardest code imaginable on a departure gift." She turned back to the pasti-cast viewport, sunglasses once again affixed upon her slender face. "Do you think he meant to give it to us all along and left the puzzle on purpose?"
The ex-operative shrugged. "Wouldn't put much past him." He removed the clip from the SOCOM, examining the rounds. "Honestly, am I the only one in the world who uses combat loads any more?"
"Combat what?"
Snake placed an extra bullet in the gun's chamber, then shoved in the full clip. "A round in the pipe, plus a full clip. It basically gives you an extra shot. Saved my ass more than once in Outer Heaven." He holstered the gun, allowing a small sigh of relief at feeling the firearm's familiar weight and pressure against his ribs. Next, he turned to the goggles. Small, neat, probably efficient, and they fit him like a glove.
"Those mercs must have owed some pretty heavy favors," Snake commented, switching the modes on the goggles.
"Long story. So, you ready or what?"
"When am I not?"
"David," Chris said, all hints of joviality and wry humor gone, "you'd better take care of yourself. Odds are that you're expected, and you haven't gotten any younger since Outer Heaven."
"Worried, are we?" But Snake's voice had gone serious as well. "I'll come back in on piece, and so will Emmerich. Just make sure you're there to pick us up."
"Right." She turned back to the view shield, all business again. "The sewer lets you out four city blocks from the building, assuming you get through. Opens right into a handy little back alley. There's a fire escape to the roof. Any questions, you know my number."
"I'll make sure to call then."
"Very funny. Just promise to come back alive."
Snake blew Chris a kiss. "Promise."
"Good. Now, prep. Countdown from thirty seconds begins. . . now."
"Heroes are remembered,
But legends never die."
Legends come into the world one of two ways: either they are born, or they are made. For those who are born, there is a feeling of greatness to them, an aura, a quality that makes them seem more than human, more than mortal. They tend to be natural leaders, paragons of what people look up to. For those who are made, well. . .
A man had once become a legend, thrust into the spotlight, a soldier doing his job and then recognized as a hero. Media, medals, praise, all of it, a nation had turned him from a man into something else. It had been a burden, and a pain, a part of him that never really fit.
But it was still a part of him. And three years ago, he had learned that it was all a sham, false, nothing more than a move in a game played in the shadows by men who answered only to themselves. A man defined by his actions had learned that they were engineered. A man with no definition, a soldier with no army, a hero without a cause.
What the hell. It never had been Solid Snake's style to allow others to dictate any part or parcel of his life, not off the battlefield anyway. The wonderful thing about karma is that it always managed to bite just the right person in the ass at the sweetest possible time. And even if karma weren't up for the job, Snake felt sure he could step in.
After all, he thought wryly, slowly twirling the small optical disk nestled comfortably in his right hand, he had one hell of a set of incisors.
"Snake!" called a female voice from the pilot's seat of the Heuy. "Three minutes to drop. I advise you be ready by the time I am. We're probably going to only get one shot at this. Too bad you don't have time to shave."
"At least I cut my hair," Snake said, running a hand through his brown head. She had her quirks, but Chris Jenner had a nagging habit of being right, and this time was no exception. Stealth cloaking or not, only a single pass could be marked up as an anomaly. After that, someone was going to check out the disturbance, probably with a heat-seeking missile or two.
"And not a minute too soon. Sorry, but mullets don't suit you." "Thanks. Now tell me," he said, slipping the disk back into one of the many pockets in his sneaking suit, "if I'm not parachuting and we can't land, what exactly is this thing on my back? Is it part of the insertion method?"
He could not, of course, be sure, but he thought he saw her smile reflected in the chopper's viewport. "Oh," Jenner said with a slight laugh in her voice, "you'll like this. The cord on your back isn't a parachute. It's a bungie."
"A what?"
"It's connected to winch that's run by the chopper's flight computer, and I jury-rigged it to control a winch. What it does is set the altitude, speed, and the taughtness at which the thing unravels."
"Considering it's a bungie, it's gonna have to unravel pretty fast," Snake cut in. "You'd be surprised. This is more pressure-sensitive than anything on the market. Anyway, using a timer, it calculates when exactly to drop you, and gives you a signal when you need to cut the cord. You have a retractable stiletto in your wrist for that. The upshot of using a bungie is that it'll slow your fall so the landing will be softer than if you were using a parachute." She pulled off her headset, keeping the mic on and tossing her blonde hair. "The catch is, you won't be landing on the roof."
Snake narrowed his eyes. "I know you're going to explain that."
She turned, and this time he was sure that she smiled. "Look at your gloves."
Snake made a close examination of the black semi-kev that wrapped itself around his hand, noting for the first time the irregular texture on the palm and fingers.
"That's a new titanium alloy; three-quarter millimeter hooks curving down. Not much good on a date, but it'll cling to glass if you need to. You cut the rope, then grab the side of the building."
"You have got to be kidding me." Snake's gravelly voice rarely, if ever, registered any sort of surprise. It was a testament to the woman that he let something so human show to her.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Not today Snake. Don't worry, the computer will do most of the work; you just have to cut the cord. Now, once on the wall, you need to check out the guards' positions. Your customary radar will come in handy, but these guys are good. Their helmet mics pick up any sort of noise and come with nightvision. If they see or hear anything funny, they'll sound the alarm, and it's all over. Assault rifles and grenades, each one of them."
"What have I got in the way of equipment?"
Chris's mouth curled up in a half-smile. "Ah, now that's the good news. I loaded you up, the works: a pair of nightvision/thermal hybrids - those were especially hard to get -, chaff and frag grenades, your favorite 9mm handgun-cum-silencer, and a partridge in a pear tree. Oh, I also managed to get a few Door-Makers."
"C4? That'll fun to try to keep quiet." Snake chewed on the inside of his lip, rummaging through the cache of weapons and equipment to his right, pocketing and holstering them all. "Where did you get these wonderful toys anyway?"
Chris shrugged. "Mercenaries mainly. Called in a few favors, pushed a few buttons - "
"Campbell involved in any of this?" Snake cut her off.
She frowned, then shook her head, the blonde locks shifting along the frame of her face. "No, I haven't heard from him for nearly as long as I haven't heard from you." she looked at him a little closer, her sapphire eyes searching him. "Why, has he contacted you?"
"No. Sorry about the 'long time, no see' bit. There were a few things I had to find out for and about myself. Alone."
"Right. Like the mystery man we're about to go 'recruit.' " Jenner puckered her lips in a mock pout. "Does that mean he's more important to you than I am?"
Snake's lips stretched over his teeth in what passed for him as a smile. "That's right. To the planet, for the matter of that. He's the only guy in the known world, military, civilian, merc, or otherwise with the credentials to crack the code on the Project Babel disk."
The blonde pilot sighed melodramatically. "Leave it to Augustine Eugabon to create the hardest code imaginable on a departure gift." She turned back to the pasti-cast viewport, sunglasses once again affixed upon her slender face. "Do you think he meant to give it to us all along and left the puzzle on purpose?"
The ex-operative shrugged. "Wouldn't put much past him." He removed the clip from the SOCOM, examining the rounds. "Honestly, am I the only one in the world who uses combat loads any more?"
"Combat what?"
Snake placed an extra bullet in the gun's chamber, then shoved in the full clip. "A round in the pipe, plus a full clip. It basically gives you an extra shot. Saved my ass more than once in Outer Heaven." He holstered the gun, allowing a small sigh of relief at feeling the firearm's familiar weight and pressure against his ribs. Next, he turned to the goggles. Small, neat, probably efficient, and they fit him like a glove.
"Those mercs must have owed some pretty heavy favors," Snake commented, switching the modes on the goggles.
"Long story. So, you ready or what?"
"When am I not?"
"David," Chris said, all hints of joviality and wry humor gone, "you'd better take care of yourself. Odds are that you're expected, and you haven't gotten any younger since Outer Heaven."
"Worried, are we?" But Snake's voice had gone serious as well. "I'll come back in on piece, and so will Emmerich. Just make sure you're there to pick us up."
"Right." She turned back to the view shield, all business again. "The sewer lets you out four city blocks from the building, assuming you get through. Opens right into a handy little back alley. There's a fire escape to the roof. Any questions, you know my number."
"I'll make sure to call then."
"Very funny. Just promise to come back alive."
Snake blew Chris a kiss. "Promise."
"Good. Now, prep. Countdown from thirty seconds begins. . . now."
