Disclaimer: See the Foreword
Author's Babble: Man, I'm just cranking this stuff out… I have Thanksgiving break to thank for that. I hope everyone had a tasty turkey day, and a relaxing long weekend. Today's episode continues from the previous chapter, and shows a bit insight on Garland's character. Also, don't trust everything someone tells you. More often then not, you're gonna get screwed in the end. Thank you to those who reviewed, I hope that my writing continues to please your tastes. Enjoy.
Metal Gear: Bloody Hands
Written by Tempest Dynasty
Chapter 3: Insanity
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As if awakened by the death throes of the two soldiers, the young woman opened her eyes. The entire scene had occurred to her left, and as she looked around the room to regain her bearings, blue-green eyes saw the carnage.
A soldier, half of his body visible past the table, lay dead with a look of shock in his eyes. A second soldier was on the ground as well, his chest caved in. And standing between the corpses was the only one standing; garbed in form fitting blue, black, and gray Neoprene, Goretex, and other materials, only the head was uncovered.
Through her groggy and haze filled vision, she could make out a short crop of black hair hair, combed forward, but only that; everything else was a blur. Her tongue felt dry, grating like sandpaper in her mouth. She desperately wanted to say something, to get free, to get back home, but the only sound from her mouth was a slurred moan.
A groan, higher pitched than an average male's, came from behind him. Whipping around with his pistol ready and drawing a bead on the woman's head, Durev slowly approached her.
Still out of it, eh? Stay that way. Durev mentally whispered, and took a knee to examine a nearby box. The contents included: the remains to her Skull Suit, tactical drop-leg holster, a standard Spec. Op. issued H&K Mk. 23 SOCOM pistol, suppressed, several clips of ammunition, rations, first aid kit, binoculars, and oddly enough, a rare Calico submachine-gun, suppressed, with a collapsible stock and two extra 50 round magazines.
Heh. A souvenir… can't find these nowadays.
Calico submachine-guns were extremely rare on post-Second Impact Earth, because only few were made. Distinctive to 9mm Calicos were the 50-round and 100-round magazines that attached to the top, and spent casings were spat out downwards. It had a unique design, compact and moderately light, but it was not popular in the military circles. As the makers of Calicos, Calico Light Weapon Systems, fell into obscurity, their weapons fell into the hands of the highest payer. Now more of a collector's item, these firearms were given high prices for their rareness. Such a weapon was sitting before Durev: a Calico M960 that showed little use, but excellent maintenance. The girl most likely brought this weapon not because of its lightness or accuracy, but for the shitload of bullets the damn thing could spit out. Usually not one to crave material possessions, such a high-capacity weapon would be beneficial to his mission, as well as look good on his weapon rack.
As he reached for the weapon, his eyes took a notice of an insignia inside the neck cuff of the Skull Suit top. A red fox's shoulders and head with a combat knife clenched in its mouth, its eyes staring forward, and a diamond framing it.
FOX-HOUND.
So this girl's FOX-HOUND? Must be new or really inexperienced; rarely do soldiers of this quality get captured. But wasn't it dissolved after the Shadow Moses Incident? Must be a new team, under new leadership and whatever. A chain necklace with dogtags jingled as he lifted the suit out for inspection. Upon scrutinizing the tags, he discovered three pieces of information: her name, Maggie Thompson, born in 1984, from America.
The girl moaned again, this time, more clearly and understandable. Garland stood and faced her, throwing a sheet over her naked top as he spoke to her.
"Good morning, Miss Thompson," his wristwatch stated 2:20 AM. "How are you feeling?"
"Mmrph… aauhh…" was her response.
"I see the drugs are still bothering you. Allow my to introduce myself: I am Garland Durev. I know you are from FOX-HOUND, and I believe your mission is not different from my own. However, seeing as you are rather incapacitated right now, I will leave you here and continue on my mission, is that alright with you?"
"Myuuu…"
He blinked. And blinked again. Did he just hear her right?
"Maaugh…"
Right. Must have hallucinated or something. She did not just "myuh" like a certain hot-springs turtle.
"Err… I'll take that as a yes. I'll shift this table to a more comfortable position, and turn down those lights," Durev spoke softly as he went over the controls, taking care not to touch the dial labeled "voltage" and the big glowing red button. Once the table had adjusted to a horizontal position, and the lights dimmed, he released the locks on her wrist and ankles.
"Miss Thompson, I am going to leave you here now, and I will return soon to check up on you. See you later," with that, he left the room, banishing the thought of stealing from his mind.
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Down the elevator he went, and on the second floor, a large room, with nine smaller rooms dotted in a grid pattern. With his Lv. 6 card, he would have access to all of the weapon storage rooms, but choosing the weapons would be a concern. Although proficient in most small arms, he preferred his pistol, knife, and fists, but a good rifle, shotgun, or even heavy explosive would do well to assist in his survival. There were four guards patrolling the room, in paths that often intersected, as well as wearing heavy armor. Another difficult task. Sneaking down a hallway, he was surprised when the floor clicked from beneath him.
Stifling a shout, he dove forward, avoiding the trapdoor the lead to God-knows-where. He rolled into the dive, stopping just short of the wall. His danger sense going nuts, he dove forward again, tackling a surprised guard that had come to inspect the trap. As they fell to the ground, Garland wrapped his arm around the guard's head, and twisted violently. A soft crack indicated that his neck snapped, and as the guard's body went limp, the corpse was thrown down the pit trap. More footsteps indicated the arrival of more soldiers, so the mercenary ducked into the closest armory room.
Unlike the previous infiltrators, Durev did not have the luxury of a Soliton radar, and had to move based on his intuition and gut instinct…
Wait for it…
Wait…
NOW!
Darting out of the room, he grabbed the guard that had just stepped away from the door. He took advantage of his surprise attack, grabbing the guard and smashing his face into the wall. The hand cocked back and slammed the head again, crushing the skull and snapping the neck. Garland activated another one of the trapdoors, and shoved the body down the chute. Returning to the room he hid in, further examination of the contents brought about the discovery of various rifles. Normally, Garland would ignore such discoveries, because assault rifles caused too much noise and were too clunky to carry around. However, in a place such as Shadow Moses, a larger weapon would be nice. Skipping the 5.56mm rifles, he approached the larger, more powerful 7.62x51mm weapons: FN FALs, H&K G3s, and US-made M14 rifles. He took a G3A3 with a small 4x ACOG scope, reminiscent of the weapons Durev used in the Bundeswehr, the German army. Strapping the new weapon to his back, he stepped out of the room and explored the rest of the armory.
The now ransacked armory was still silent as Durev attached bits of C4 to the newly repaired walls. The two other guards were test dummies for his new rifle, and a blossoming flower that was the result of a headshot gave the weapon an A+. His load-bearing vest was chock full of ammo clips, some grenades, and even a couple claymores in a small backpack. Amazing what the armory held, even after Solid Snake's initial intrusion.
The mercenary did not believe anyone was down here, past the walls, but it would be best to explore everywhere so that his work would be thorough. The rooms were barren—not even rats scurried around. However, the room that was said to have housed the duel between Revolver Ocelot and Solid Snake was occupied, strangely.
The pillars still had black scorch marks from the C4 years before, and bullet casings from a Colt Single Action Army and an H&K Mk.23 still littered the floor. Where Kenneth Baker once stood, held captive by blocks of plastic explosives, sat a single man, his clothes torn and his hair wild. There was no evidence of the man being armed, and from the looks of things, the man was in here for a while, living off cans of tasteless rations and a canteen.
Faintly, barely understood, were mutterings coming from the dirty man.
Garland only gave the man a strange look before raising his pistol for a fast and clean kill. The man's head was within his sights, aim not trembling. He squeezed the trigger.
Suddenly, as the gun went off, the man's head ducked to the side, and in a flash he had tackled Durev to the ground. Surprised he was, that his P228 fell from his hand, and did nothing to resist the flying shoulder tackle. He regained his senses in time to see his own knife coming down on his nose, and snapped up both his hands to stop it. Trapped in a blade grasp, the knife was thrown to the side and the man thrown off; the mercenary flipped up and waited in a martial stance as the stranger stood.
"Who might you be?" Garland asked warily, giving the man the dignity to identify himself before dying.
The man glared at him, wild, greasy hair, frantic eyes, and a smile that showed insanity.
"I am…I am…LIQUID SNAKE! And you…you must be Solid Snake!"
"Sorry to say this, but I look nothing like you."
"Liar! You're here to stop me! To stop Metal Gear REX and my revenge on the Patriots!"
"That was an entire year ago, buddy."
"Stop lying! Tell me, where are the Patriots?!"
"Patriots? Don't know what you're talking about."
"I told you to stop lying! You must know! What about SEELE?!"
"SEELE? German for soul? It's a belief that everyone has a—"
"SHUT UP! You know what I am talking about!"
"No, really, I don't."
"AAAGGGGGGHHHHHH! SOLID SNAKE! I WILL KILL YOU!" The man lunged at Durev, his hands twisted into fierce claws.
"Delusional fool. I can see why they locked you up here." Garland stopped the lunge with a kick to the head. He twisted, and threw another kick into the staggering man. Somehow, the mentally unstable man continued to stand. The attack continued: a jab to the head, a hook to the jaw, and a strong elbow strike impacting into the sternum. He flew back, disoriented and gasping for air.
There would be no respite.
A hand wrapped itself around the man's neck, a vice-like grip sealing his throat shut. He was lifted into the air, and then thrown bodily into a pillar. The metal and stone reinforcing the pillar cracked and bent, showing the pure force the man was hurled with.
"D…Damn you, Snake," the man staggered, trying to maintain his balance.
"I told you. I'm not Snake," an open palm strike knocked the man back into the pillar, and a flurry of kidney blows followed. The combo finished with a resounding snap as the man's spine was snapped in half, courtesy of a knee blow to the gut.
The insane man slumped to the ground, no longer able to feel or operate his limbs. He could still breath, hear, and see, however, and the last thing he saw was a black armor-plated boot.
"My name," the foot lashed out, kicking with such force that the neck snapped. "Is Garland Durev. Auf Wiedersehen."
Durev stepped over the body and out of the room, grimacing the whole way. He DID know of the Patriots and SEELE; what sort of mercenary didn't?
The Patriots, a secretive and elite group of twelve men that is thought to covertly control the United States' political system, military, and someday, free will.
SEELE, another such group of enigmatic men, only this collection had international membership.
Both groups were considered to be the secret government conspirators of legend, like the Illuminati or Majestic 12.
It was known in the mercenary circle that these two factions are warring secretly for power and control; it was the source of a good number of jobs for the more skilled of soldiers. More than once Garland was given a job by either superpower, the job information relayed by contacts such as Nikita Tupikov. Mercenaries never gave their real identity, only codenames, so as to protect themselves from angry employers. Garland himself was known as "Bloody Hands." He was pretty sure the Patriots didn't care much, but SEELE did want to slap him a couple times.
He rode the elevator to B1, to check up on the young FOX-HOUNDer. Surprise was not the only emotion he felt when he found the room empty, the box ransacked, and one of the dead soldiers nude. Apparently, the woman came about, stole a uniform, grabbed her stuff, and ran.
Oh well, one less thing to worry about. Hope she got out all right…
He took the elevator to the first floor, still empty. There were still men he needed to exterminate, and the next building probably held more. But he would have to check the helipad first, and the underground pen where Solid Snake first infiltrated Shadow Moses. Letting go a small sigh, he headed for the vents.
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Other than a couple rats and a lot of dust, getting outside wasn't that bad. His exit was on ground level, next to the tank room entrance. Oddly, there were no soldiers present. Not even the searchlights were on. Stepping cautiously through the snow, he reached the elevator without seeing a soul.
Where those guys wrong? Maybe they cleared out while I was downstairs…?
The underground entrance wasn't occupied either. Durev even fired off a couple rounds with his G3 into the air, without even a single gasp or yell for help. Confused to all hell, he took the elevator back up.
Where the hell is everyone?
Garland took a step out of the elevator, and crossed the helipad for a shortcut. Suddenly, the searchlights turned on, fixated right on the mercenary. Blinded and confused, he could only wince and cover his eyes as he heard a voice boom above him.
"So! You are the 'help' the government sent: a mercenary lapdog to exterminate the Genome soldiers? How pathetic!"
"I don't see you taking out eighteen soldiers out of thirty, by yourself," came Garland's reply.
"Thirty? Is that how many they told you we have? I'm sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but we're a hundred strong!"
A hundred?! Damn it. They sold me out!
"Haha, by the shocked look on your face, I'd say you were just betrayed by your own employer, am I right?"
"Shut up! Who are you?"
"I am Major Colin Parris, the only guy around here with more brain cells than your average Genome. I knew someone like you was coming, and so we simply waited for you to come here."
"And sacrifice eighteen of your soldiers?!"
He waved him off. "More food and water for us, and less people going insane."
"You're the insane one!"
"Whatever. Weapons up!" The clicking of dozens of rifles was the only thing heard above the howling wind.
"Damn!" The martial artist braced himself.
"FIRE!"
The barrage of gunfire erupted from the second floor; twenty soldiers and Major Parris firing FA-MAS rifles and 12-gauge combat shotguns. Gene-enhanced vision, combined with a natural combat high and an itchy trigger finger, resulted in a full-automatic but controlled storm of copper-plated lead and buckshot. The initial salvo missed completely.
The mercenary had dived to the side, avoiding what could have turned him not into Swiss cheese, but rather a large pile of cloth and mush. Thanks to his conditioning, Garland was capable of very short but extremely fast bursts of speed. Bringing his rifle to bear, he waited behind a protective barrier of metal.
"Fools! Get him!"
The only way down to the helipad was a single staircase, making it a lethal chokepoint for both sides. As a line of soldiers came running down the stairs, they were stopped with a well-thrown grenade. It was a soda can shaped object, with the words GN-WP inked into the can. As they backpedaled in fear and panic, the grenade exploded, and released a thick cloud of white phosphorus, severely burning all those who came in contact with it. The line stopped for a moment, only to be cut down by a burst of gunfire. Peeking from his protective cover, Garland released controlled bursts of 7.62mm shots into the crowd of NGSF soldiers. When they returned fire, he merely ducked back.
An enemy grenade forced the former Special Forces operative to dive from his cover, into the snow and rolling behind a large steel crate. No doubt more grenades will be used to flush the mercenary out, and with such limited space and wide-open spaces, it was going to be difficult.
His rifle came to bear, but he did not peek out. Instead, he fired blindly in the general direction of the balcony, forcing the soldiers to duck. Garland bolted from his cover during this break, diving behind the metal walls that bordered the helipad. Rifle rounds zipped by his head and dusted the ground, throwing dirt clods and snow into the air. Crouch-walking behind cover and ignoring the bullets impacting on his cover, he managed to get behind the only metal crate in front of the elevator.
Compared to 5.56mm rifles, the 7.62mm rifle had a bigger punch, higher recoil, and a smaller clip. Although it knocked down enemies with only one or two bullets, it required more frequent reloading and was generally heavier. Slapping a fresh magazine into his rifle, Garland once again peeked out to fire off a shot. He was not without his share of injuries, however. Blind-fire meant he did not know if his fire had pushed everyone down, and when he popped out for a shot, there would be some fire still coming his way. Already he had half a shell of buckshot embedded into his armor, grazes all over his body suit, and a bleeding wound in his left thigh. Grenade had thrown shrapnel that tore at Durev's clothing, cutting skin and burning flesh. Wiping away a stream of blood from his eyes, he grinned when he heard a claymore go off.
Sometimes called giant shotguns, these explosives were placed during Garland's cover runs, to slow down enemy advancement towards his position. It was effective until the claymores ran out. Now he had soldiers shooting at him from the balcony and more coming down right to him. He was running out of grenades, and there were still guys up there shooting at him.
Down to his last bunch of grenades, tactical diversionary tools often called flash-bangs, Garland was lucky he only had eight hostiles left, including Parris. Throwing it high and wide, it detonated in the air. The flash and bang produced by such a tool overloaded the senses, and while hostiles took time to recover, the engaging force would move in. While Parris and his soldiers rubbed their eyes to clear them of stars, Garland ran for the staircase, laying suppressive fire along the way.
Two more fell to his assault, their bodies dropping as they were caught in the spray of lead, leaving six to kill him.
Whoop-dee-do.
He was up the stairs and running at the Genomes, a flash-bang flying above and behind them, and the mercenary entering close-quarters-combat. As the flash-bang went off, two more were taken down: one with a three-shot-burst to the face, and the other with a spinning kick, slamming the man against and over the railing. His death cry was ignored as the remaining four recovered.
Jacketed lead pinged off the metal forearms of Garland's gauntlets, stopping what would have been a headshot. His response was a return burst that caught the man in the chest. Behind the dying man came another spurt of gunfire, this time impacting against the commando's protective armor. Spectra fibers tore and ruptured, but stopped the three rifle rounds from piercing. The remaining bullet in Garland's rifle popped the rifleman's head like a watermelon.
The mercenary parried a rifle melee attack, using his own rifle to stop the incoming rifle stock, and countered with his own rifle check: one, two blows across the face, and an uppercut strike staggered the enemy soldier. A fierce kick to the temple sent him over the railing, his body breaking on frozen concrete.
One of the last soldiers came in with knives, aiming for Garland's neck. Using his rifle as a shield, the martial artist stopped the knife and reversed the blade, driving it into the man's hand. Eyes wide and screeching in pain, the soldier was hurled to his doom as the mercenary flipped him over the shoulder and over the railing. The knife stayed where it was, the hand sliding through the blade easily. The cry stopped when the Genome landed on his face, his spine shattering as gravity brought it down.
As Garland turned to look at Major Parris, his blood ran cold. Aiming straight at him was a FIM-92A Stinger.
Pumpfh-whoosh! An anti-aircraft radar guided missile came streaking down the path.
Reacting on instinct, Durev dropped his rifle, grabbed the railing, and jumped over. The missile zipped by, exploding as it impacted the facility wall. As Parris moved to fire again, two bullets whizzing past his head stopped him.
Now laying on the ground, dull pain in his leg and sore all over his back, Durev double-tapped his pistol again, sending two more bullets towards the enemy Major. One bullet bounced off the metal plate of the railing, but the second impacted onto a leg, the bullet shattering bone and tearing flesh; it blew apart the Major's kneecap. Up went the Stinger, the missile flying away harmlessly, and down came the Major, now unable to support his weight on one leg.
Can't let him live… Durev reminded himself as he fished through his vest. Finding a cylinder, he thought it to be just another flash-bang—imagine his surprise and glee that the letters GN-WP were sprayed into the shell. Through the cold Alaskan air it sailed, a cloud of suffocating and burning white phosphorus exploding forth from the can.
All the Major could do was scream.
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The mercenary allowed himself a brief respite from battle, taking time to bind his wounds and chow down on some beef jerky. His thigh wound was just a flesh wound; given time, it would heal normally. The Spectra armor vest was a different matter. Because of all the hits it took, the ceramic plate and Spectra fibers would be useless in the next firefight; it would stop only a few more bullets before failing completely. The trauma plate could be replaced, however. He would only have to raid a dead soldier's flak jacket for a plate.
Standing again to restart his mission, he traveled down the elevator to the armory, to restock his supply of grenades and get a new rifle. As good and robust as the G3A3 was, he needed something with more ammunition.
Raiding the armory once more, his bandoleer was stocked with fragmentation, flash-bang, and white phosphorus grenades. His selection of a rifle was much more careful: the newest rifle to join the U.S. military, the M8 lightweight infantry rifle. Deployed in the year 2005, it was considerably lighter than the M4A1 rifle, and offered a level of customization. The rifle was based off the H&K G36, using similar internal workings and the same features as its predecessor. The hand guard could also detach and replaced with an upgraded version of the 40mm AG36 grenade launcher: the M320.
Having selected this new rifle with the grenade attachment, Garland grabbed several 40mm grenades, in both high explosive (HE) and white phosphorus (WP) flavors. He took a step out of the rifle storage room.
Garland suddenly found a block of C4 stuck on his chest and the barrel of an assault rifle shoved into his temple.
"Don't move!" a feminine voice hissed.
"…crap."
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A/N: And a third one down. Some real action, finally. Since now the break is over, I'm going to have less time free to write. I must apologize for this beforehand, because I will be updating less frequently. Thank you all for bearing with me. Until then, see you around.