Disclaimer: I do not own the Metal Gear franchise, nor any of its characters.  I am making no money on this project, and if I was I would still deny it.

A/N: Enjoy.

Snake turned from his task of locking the door and saw he was in a metal hallway. On his left, the hallway turned in front, and to his right the hall turned behind him. He didn't see or hear any threats from either direction, so he walked to the left, his rubber-soled shoes making little to no noise on the metal floor.

He peeked around the corner and saw a closed door, without a sentry. Snake walked to the door and put his gloved hands on the wheel, quickly turning it.

The wheel came off the door and into his hands.

Snake gasped in surprise and quickly looked around, as if expecting someone to yell at him and demand repairs. He stuck the wheel back into the door and turned it halfway. When he took his hands away, it stayed.

Well, he thought, so much for the easy way.

Snake backtracked to the hallway, past the door he had come in through. When he reached the corner, he cautiously peeked his head around, looking for any signs of life. Canisters, firmly belted down to prevent them from coming free when the ship moved, lined one side of the hall, in a recessed part of the wall. Other than that, there were no distinguishing features, no signs of life. Snake quickly and quietly ran from one end of the short hall to the other.

The hall turned once again, but there were still no signs of life. Two doors were on the left-hand side of the hall. When he stepped near one, it opened automatically. Snake stuck his M9 into the room and did a quick sweep, but there was no one inside. He stepped inside and let the door close behind him automatically.

There were three rows of lockers in the room, two against the left and right walls and one in the middle, between them. Snake holstered his pistol and walked to one of the lockers along the left-hand wall, the one farthest from the automatic door. He opened it and his eyes widened in surprise. Taped to the inside of the locker was a picture of a Japanese model wearing a black bikini, her chest thrust out in front of her, displaying an excess amount of cleavage. Snake stared at the picture for a few moments before snapping back to reality, shaking his head to clear his mind. He tried to look inside the locker, to see if there were any items of interest, but his gaze kept straying towards the picture. Quickly, he closed the locker and walked away from it.

He checked each locker, disappointed to find only a few clips of M9 ammunition, which he stashed away in a few of the pouches on his chest and belt. He closed the final locker – which also contained a picture of a Japanese model that he promptly ignored – and frowned. He had hoped to find a new weapon, something that would come in handy should the going get tough. His M9 would be of little use in a firefight unless he could get a shot to his enemies' heads each time, which would be pretty difficult: these terrorists were pros and wouldn't be sticking out their heads unnecessarily.

Snake drew his M9 again and stepped towards the automatic door. The door slid open, revealing a dull metal hall without any features. He crept out of the locker room and peeked around the corner.

More canisters lined the right side of the hall, as well as a small fire extinguisher. Right beside the extinguisher, was a man wearing the camouflage battle uniform of the terrorists stood, yawning through his balaclava. Snake pointed his M9 at the back of the sleepy soldier's head, the laser pointer indicating where Snake's aim was. Snake pulled the trigger and a small dart flew out of the pistol's suppressor, whistling through the air and striking the terrorist's head. The dart's momentum caused a plunger within to depress and let the contents mix with the man's bloodstream. He was asleep before he even realized what had happened.

Now Snake was faced with a problem. What to do with the body? He couldn't leave the man and allow another terrorist to stumble over him, putting the tanker on full alert. Snake holstered his M9 and approached the sleeping soldier, who was snoring softly. He stared at the soldier – who was sleeping on his face – for a long moment before an idea finally hit him.

~*~

Snake closed the locker door and grinned, hearing the terrorist's snores echo from within the confines of the locker. Necessity is the mother of invention, he thought to himself, leaving the locker room and heading down the hall. Every so often, he stopped and listened for any sounds of pursuit, the crackle of static and a voice on the sleeping soldier's radio…anything.

Nothing.

Snake reached the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. His keen hearing had already told him no one was waiting, but seeing was believing and he didn't believe everything he heard. What if there was another intruder, like himself, waiting around the corner?

That'll be the day, Snake thought, turning the corner and looking at a bulkhead. He tried the wheel, but found it was locked tight. When two operatives sneak into the same location.

Around the next corner, there was an automatic door, which yielded to him. He stepped through it and drew his M9, pointing it ahead of him cautiously. He found himself in another small hallway, which turned to a flight of descending stairs. To Snake's left, there was a doorway. Snake pressed himself against the wall and peeked around the corner.

A crew lounge was just beyond the corner, which was being patrolled by a pacing terrorist and another tapping his foot while sitting on an ascending staircase. Snake watched the one terrorist pace back and forth, back and forth, without any signs of wanting to go elsewhere. The other terrorist stared at the floor, tapping his foot, his AKS-74u resting on his lap. Snake sighed and turned back to the featureless hall before him.

Okay, he thought. Not an easy task, but I've faced worse. One guard on the stairs I need to get to, the other walking back and forth like an impatient man waiting for someone. I've faced worse. Snake sighed again and leaned against the wall and tried to come up with a solution to the problem at hand.

As he thought, his hand strayed to one of the pouches at his belt, opening it and pulling out the pack of Marlboros within. He pulled one of the cigarettes out with his lips and replaced the pack to his pouch, pulling out his lighter. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting himself relax.

His Codec beeped in his inner ear, startling him, nearly making him drop his cigarette. He tapped the activation switch on his neck, looking down at the LCD screen on his wrist. Otacon's image appeared and he looked cross, his gaze narrowed on Snake. Snake arched an eyebrow, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Snake, are you smoking?" Otacon asked. "You really should quit." Snake opened his mouth to retort, but Otacon continued. "First of all, it turn you into an instant target in the dark. As for your health, I won't even go there. Remember what Naomi said about lung cancer rates? Everyone knows it a dangerous substance."

Snake removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked at the glowing tip, flicking the ashes from it. "So's war and I've been doing that all my life," he said casually.

"Well," Otacon said, "you can screw up your own body if you like, but think about other people, okay?"

Snake smiled and placed the cigarette on his lips again, inhaling slowly. "This is the kind that has almost no second-hand smoke," he said, blowing the smoke out his nostrils. Almost, he thought. "It won't bother anyone."

"Oh really? Didn't I see you toss the butt off the bridge? Littering, polluting…"

Snake's eyes shifted back and forth, like he had been caught in a lie. He opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but the only sound that came out was, "Umm…"

Otacon smiled as if he had proven his point. "You have a long way to go, my friend." His image disappeared from the screen and Snake dropped his hand, looking at his cigarette. He growled and tossed the smoke on the floor, stepping on it and grinding it under his heel. He still had a craving for a smoke, but he had come prepared for such an occasion. He reached into the pouch containing his cigarettes and pulled out a foil-wrapped piece of gum. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like mint.

Snake looked around the corner once more, hoping to see the pacing guard somewhere else, but no such luck. He sighed once again and drew his M9, waiting for the pacing guard to turn around. When he did turn, Snake aimed the pistol's laser sight on the back of the guard's head, waiting for the moment to strike. When the guard was beyond the field of vision of his partner, Snake pulled back on the trigger, hearing the satisfying ffphew as the tranquilizer left the chamber. The guard fell to his knees and then on his face, soundlessly much to Snake's relief.

Snake quietly stepped into the clean, brightly-lit hall and stalked towards the guard tapping his foot, sitting on the stairs. Snake tried to stay behind the guard's field of view and seemed to succeed; the terrorist took no note of him, so intent was his study of the floor in front of him.

Sloppy, Snake thought, taking another cautious step towards the unsuspecting guard.

Snake reached the stairs' railing, slightly behind the terrorist. The guard was sitting right in the middle of the staircase, lost in his own little world, tapping his foot continuously. The tapping was beginning to grate on Snake's nerves. Cautiously, Snake placed his foot on the first stair, directly beside the guard.

The guard took no notice of Snake whatsoever.

Snake took another step, slowly climbing the staircase. After three or four steps, he was behind the guard, who was still tapping his foot. Snake grinned.

I've still got it, he thought, deciding to leave the guard alone. He climbed the rest of the staircase, which branched into two, leading right and left, both ending with closed doors. On impulse, Snake chose the left staircase. The door opened automatically for him.

~*~

Snake slowly entered the bridge, his M9 held steadily in both hands, his eyes everywhere at once. A body, dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, was slumped over a set of controls in the middle of the room. Blood pooled around the control set's base and the crewmember's feet, soaking the dead man's sneakers. Another crewmember, wearing the same type of orange jumpsuit, was crumpled on the ground nearby.

Snake ignored the two bodies and went to the large rain-swept window and the main set of controls beneath. Behind the falling rain, approaching the tanker quickly, were two helicopters carrying more terrorists. Snake narrowed his eyes as he watched the choppers approach, his eyes raking over every detail on the vehicle. Finally, he nodded to himself.

"So it is the Kasatka," he murmured. "Russian choppers."

The helicopters hovered over the tanker's deck as several uniformed soldiers rappelled down, securing the area. As soldiers from one helicopter went to the deck, their comrades in the second chopper watched them with a vigilant eye. If anyone were to attack those men, they would quickly be picked apart by those above.

These guys are pros, Snake thought.

Snake shook himself out of his watchful reverie and turned to the console before him. Carefully, almost hesitantly, he tapped a few commands into the keyboard and watched the monitor nearby display the ship's intended coordinates. No sooner had the coordinates shown, did Snake's Codec chirp.

Otacon's face appeared on Snake's wrist screen, his features mildly curious. "Snake, did you find out where the ship is headed?"

Snake nodded. "I'm looking at it," he replied, glancing at the monitor. "Thirty-five degrees longitude…latitude around fifty-eight."

Otacon looked thoughtful and he tapped a few commands into a computer unseen by Snake. "More than five hundred off the coast of the Bermudas, out in the middle of the Atlantic," he said. "So, the prototype is ready for solo-testing – it's basically combat-worthy. That area is outside the Second Fleet's operational range, too. It must be a stand-alone Marine Corps project – which means this prototype Metal Gear must be designed for independent deployment, without any naval assistance."

Snake tried not to roll his eyes. This information was useful – well, not that useful – but it wasn't getting him any closer to completing his mission. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable among all these computers. Otacon had said that this ship was pretty much completely controlled by computers, so if Snake accidentally brushed against a keyboard, would he crash the tanker into New York? He shuddered.

Otacon's voice scattered his thoughts. "Anyway," he said, "Analysis can wait 'til later. Snake, you need to go down into the holds and locate the actual Metal – "

A grating sound outside the bridge broke off any more conversation, as Snake cut off the Codec and pointed his M9 at the bulkhead to the left of the way he came in. Out the window beside the bulkhead, he saw a person wearing a tank top and speaking into a radio. The person stepped behind a crate on the deck and disappeared from Snake's view.

Snake stalked to the window and looked out, but he could not see the person. Quickly, quietly, he opened the bulkhead and stepped out into the rain. Instantly, he was soaked to the skin.

He crouched low and kept his body behind a steel crate. Carefully, he peeked around the crate and saw the soldier he had spotted in the bridge. The soldier was wearing a military cap, baggy camouflage pants and a light green and white tank top, which was so soaked as to be almost translucent. Snake turned his head slightly to catch the soldier's voice over the sound of the wind and the rain. Instead, he heard the person on the other end of the radio.

"…Shalashaska has landed," the other person – a deep-voiced man with a thick Russian accent – said. "I'm on my way to the tanker holds. Report your status."

"Control room, communication and engine room are under control," the soldier said in a light, equally accented voice. "All entry and exit points to the tanker holds secured. Infrared sensors placed and operational."

"Good work," the man said. "Are the explosives in place?"

"Yes they're all planted."

Snake had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Infrared sensors and explosives? This could be bad… He continued to listen.

"Listen," the man on the radio said, "once we have what we came for, the tanker will be scuttled."

"And the vehicle's pilot?" the soldier asked.

"He's the only one who underwent the VR training. No one else can do it."

"Are you sure you can trust him?"

"Your part in the mission is complete!" the man said, ignoring her question. "You are to leave at once!" His voice sounded like that of a parent talking down to a child. That's not how a superior officer speaks to a solider, Snake mused.

"No!" the soldier replied and Snake shot up an eyebrow. "It's not over yet!"

"I can see the moon…even in this storm," the man said, continuing to ignore the soldier. "Pale as death. I have a bad feeling about this mission. You swore this to me; that you would leave the unit, once the mission was complete! Do not worry, this is a country of liberty, and justice for all."

"This is where I belong…" the soldier murmured, sounding defeated. "…With the unit." He took out his gun and examined it, its sleek silvery metal glittering coldly in the cloud-veiled moonlight. "I have nowhere else to go!" he added, more forcibly. "Father," he said, confirming Snake's earlier suspicions, "I want to fight together."

"There is no choice to make here, Olga!" the man said, near shouting. "Need I remind you that you're carrying my grandchild?"

Snake arched both eyebrows in surprise as the soldier put both hands on his stomach. Okay… Snake thought.

"You will be on the helicopter, out of here, now!" the man said. The radio clicked loudly as he shut off his handset.

"Damn it," the soldier muttered.

Snake's sensitive ears caught the sound of a helicopter's rotors over the wind and the rain and he immediately went still, trying to veil himself in the shadows of the steel crate so the helicopter, which had a better viewpoint than the soldier, would not spot him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier named Olga wave the helicopter away. After a moment, the helicopter turned away, heading to the other side of the massive tanker.

Snake seized the opportunity and leapt out from behind the crate, his M9 pointed at the soldier's head. The laser sight touched upon Olga's ear momentarily.

"Freeze!" Snake barked. "Hands over your head!"

Slowly, the soldier put his hands over his head, turning to face Snake. The soldier had a delicate bone structure on his face. Snake finally realized that this soldier was no man.

"A woman?" he blurted out loud. I've been in the field for far too long, he thought, shaking his head minutely. "Show your face!" he said to hide his shock.

"You men," she said, her voice thick with its Russian accent, "you're all the same."

"Who are you?" Snake demanded.

Slowly, she took off her hat. "We are nomads," the woman named Olga said. "Wanderers." She let go of the cap and it floated on the wind, towards Snake. Hoping that the hat would distract Snake, Olga stepped to the side, towards a tarp-covered set of shelves, covered with tools. Snake tensed and leaned forward.

"I said don't move!" he barked. She stopped her attempt at escape and a slow smile crept over her face.

"Americans," she said in a condescending tone. "So you shoot women too?"

"I'm a nomad too," Snake replied with a completely straight face. She laughed and he looked her up and down. Yeah, he thought. She's a woman all right. His eyes suddenly stopped on a knife sheathed at her belt. "What else do you have there?" he asked, pointing at the knife. "Take the knife and toss it." He gestured to the railing with a nod of his head.

Slowly, she drew the knife and belt over to place it on the rain-swept deck in front of her. The hilt of the blade was pointed towards Snake.

"Not there," Snake told her firmly. "Toss it overboard." She hesitated. "Hold that position. Now, turn around."

She smiled faintly. "You know what you're doing," she complimented.

Suddenly, the tanker jerked violently and Snake struggled to maintain his position, but he bumped against the railing nonetheless. Olga, however, only bent over, maintaining a subtle balance. When Snake re-trained his aim on her, the rain had stopped and the clouds parted, revealing the full moon. Olga was silhouetted by the moon's pale face. She looked around at her surroundings, looking genuinely interested at the cityscape beyond the railing.

"It's stopped raining," she observed. She gestured to the cityscape. "Not too shabby, is it? New York I mean."

In a blur of movement, Olga flipped the knife around and bullet shot out from the hilt, directly towards Snake. Snake twisted to the side and felt the bullet's passing along his cheek. When he turned back to Olga, she had pulled a pistol out from the waistband of her trousers. Before Snake could get a good shot at her, she dodged behind the tarp-covered shelves. Snake cursed himself for a fool.

"And that brings our tour to its conclusion!" she said as the rain started to fall again.

Snake dodged behind the steel crate again, still cursing. When he finished, he said, "Scout knife with a surprise…you a Spetsnaz?"

She did not answer him. Instead, she said, "I think you deserve a little credit; no one's ever dodged that shot of mine! But no one gets lucky twice, either!"

"We'll see about that," Snake muttered. He spit out the piece of gum in his mouth – it had lost its flavor long ago – and concentrated on the impending fight.

Bullets ricocheted against the steel crate soon after the loud bang of gunfire. Snake cautiously peeked around the crate, peering through the falling rain. He caught a glimpse of Olga ducking behind a crate similar to the one he hid behind. Over the sound of the whipping wind and rain, he heard her speak.

"I've been with the unit since I was born!" she proclaimed. She pulled the clip from her gun and replaced it with a fresh one. "I grew up on the battlefield. Conflict and victory were my parents! The unit is my life, my family. We've shared everything – all the bad and all the good. I have no one, nothing except the unit. Nothing else matters to me. Whoever you are, you're not stopping us!"

Grade A psychopath, Snake thought. Like so many before her. He leapt up and trained his aim on the crate Olga hid behind, waiting for her to come out. He didn't have to wait long. Olga hopped up, her gun's flashlight illuminating the area ahead of her and signaling her location like a beacon. Snake couldn't tell what kind of gun it was; the light hid any distinctive features. He pulled the M9's trigger and saw a puff of red mist bloom from Olga's arm. He ducked behind the crate before she could get a shot off.

Winged her, he thought, pulling back the slide of his M9. It clicked into place, ready to be fired again. He hoped the dart had released some of its sleeping potion into her bloodstream.

It was barely audible, but he thought he heard Olga say something over the roar of the wind and the whipping rain. It was barely audible, but he still managed to catch it.

"Take this!"

A thump to his left made him look in that direction. A flash of lightning illuminated the rain-swept deck and gave Snake enough light to see what had fallen beside him.

A grenade.

Snake leapt into action, getting to his feet, realizing there wasn't enough time, rolling forward behind another crate. He was aware of a trail of bullets smacking into the deck behind him, but his main concern was the grenade's inevitable explosion.

He just completed his forward roll when the blast knocked him down on his stomach. He lay there, stunned, for several moments, the rain slapping his skin, the wind chilling him to the bone until the sound of gunfire brought him back to his senses. There was a battle, he remembered, his thoughts coming slowly to the surface of his mind, and he was an active participant. He got to his feet and peeked over the edge of the crate that sheltered him.

Olga was there, looking over her own crate, looking for Snake. Their eyes met and, simultaneously, they rose to their feet, guns cocked and aimed at each other.

Later, Snake would curse Mother Nature for fouling his aim, but then praise her for saving his life. A strong wind pushed the entire ship over one or two degrees which was just enough to force the warriors to shift their feet to regain their balance at the same moment they pulled the triggers on their weapons. Snake's dart zipped past Olga's head and her bullet slipped between Snake's raised elbow and torso. Before she could get another shot off, Snake dove for the deck, cursing all the while.

Snake ran – or at least tried to, as he had to remain behind the waist-high shelter of the crates – to a new hiding spot as Olga cartwheeled to the safety of a man-high locker bolted down to the deck. She poked her head out to the right, looking for Snake.

Snake stood, but was not in Olga's field of view. His M9's laser sight was trained on the woman's back, right between her shoulder blades. His dart would make a lovely decoration there, he thought with a grim smile. He pulled the trigger.

Click.

He looked down at his gun in shock and surprise. He had forgotten to unlock the slide! He placed a hand on the gun to do just that when Olga turned and saw him. Her gun's flashlight pointed directly at him, blinded him, but he fell to the deck at the first bullet left the chamber. It grazed against Snake's left bicep and drew blood that stained the deck but was quickly swept away by the rain. Again, he cursed.

Time to finish this, he thought, unlocking the M9's troublesome slide. He moved back to the charred piece of the deck where the grenade had landed. He hoped Olga remained where she was. He didn't want to waste time looking for her.

Boldly, he stood, quickly sweeping his M9 back and forth. Olga must have thought Snake was in his previous location, because she craned her neck around the locker to look there. Snake didn't waste any time. He pulled back on the trigger and watched as a tiny dart protruded from Olga's back. She lurched forward in surprise, one of her hands reaching behind her to see what had happened, but by then it was too late. The chemical had entered her bloodstream and Snake watched as it began to take effect.

She turned, raised her pistol in one hand to point it at Snake, but her strength failed her. Her arm dropped and she took a shaky step backwards. She leaned heavily on the locker before her knees buckled violently and she fell, her back propped up against the cool steel bolted to the deck.

It was over.