Disclaimer: See the Foreword
Author's Babble: Hmm…it's been nearly three weeks. Midterms are creeping up, and they're gonna kick my ass. At least Christmas break. Hurrah. Not much to say, actually. Oh well. Onwards…
Metal Gear: Bloody Hands
Written by Tempest Dynasty
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Chapter 4: The Other Side
Through bleary eyes, a dull throbbing pain pulsing through her entire body, and a nasty headache, Maggie "Eden Puma" Thompson cursed the man named Roy Campbell—it was his idea to send a new recruit such as her into such hostile territory.
Once she had infiltrated and dropped down into Metal Gear REX's old home, she was ambushed by at least thirty Genome soldiers, and immediately taken prisoner. Codec was cut-off because of communication jamming set up by inside and outside forces, and it was believed Maggie didn't need support from headquarters.
How wrong they were.
But as the soldiers marched her from the holding facility to Revolver Ocelot's old torture chamber, she was given a view of what life was like here. Left and right were the injured, the sick, and the ones slowly losing their insanity. One of the Next Generation Special Forces units was kind enough to explain to the prisoner what exactly happened since Solid Snake's intrusion and departure.
When Psycho Mantis' mind-influencing powers waned, it was as if the soldiers were waking from a dream. A dream they remembered clearly, a dream during which it seemed like they were puppets, watching through the eyes of their body, but not controlling their movements. No one outside understood what the average Genome soldier knew, so they all believed that the NGSF revolted alongside the old FOX-HOUND, and thus, were all labeled as terrorists.
After Snake's mission, no one came to help the soldiers, no one appeared with extra food, water, and medical supplies. Together, they scrounged around the base for the necessities. For an entire year, they did so. VR training slowed the process in which soldiers slowly became insane, but several men did snap. Sadly, to protect themselves, the uncontrollable ones were executed. A quarter of the entire force had gone mad; all but one were killed. The survivor was sealed away by a layer of concrete in the armory, accessible only by a block of plastic explosive.
Food and water was rationed, the stocks only having so much. For such a large force, there was just enough for one year's worth of rationed consumption. Officers and NCOs were treated the same as grunts: everyone got equal shares, screw the ranks. However, the year has passed, and food was much more scarce. Soldiers began to turn on each other, stealing and even killing other members for their share. Everything was gradually crumbling into anarchy, as the instinct to survive overrode the soldiers' will and discipline.
Not only food, but also the lack of sexual relief was unbearable. The few female soldiers of the NGSF were practically enslaved into being sex toys, given extra rations in return for favors. At one point, it was almost seven males per female, and each male wanted complete satisfaction.
The introduction of an armed FOX-HOUND agent, Maggie, only increased the already high levels of tension and frustration. When they finally reached the torture chamber, she was immediately strapped to the table, her Skull Suit ripped in half, and her body molested by lust-filled soldiers. Fortunately, it had not evolved into intercourse; they used drugs to keep her compliant, her body fondled, but not raped. The use of the electric torture current satisfied her guards' frustration. This continued for two days, but she let it happen.
Why? Why would she allow this torture and embarrassment to continue for so long?
Because she felt sorry for them. Not pity, but rather, sympathy. They had suffered through much, and it mostly not their fault.
Psycho Mantis and his powerful abilities entered the minds of the Next Generation Special Forces. There, he planted seeds of discord and rebellion, giving unbelievably strong suggestions to revolt. The victims could do nothing, as Mantis was far too powerful for their gene-enhanced psyches. They were slaves to the corrupt FOX-HOUND, and were released when Mantis died. Despite their innocence, they were forsaken.
At least, she could do something. The girl was part of the U.S. military, and thus, the government: the people that had abandoned these men and women. The least she could do was be the scapegoat. She allowed this, because her heart said so. The pain, the humiliation, was nothing compared to what these abandoned soldiers went through. Her body, mind, soul, offered to these men and women; she had cried when she saw the desolation, when she was told of how they tried to survive, and those who didn't. So she let it happen.
Then that man came, the person in black, gray, and blue. He woke her from her drug-induced sleep, and spoke.
His voice was deep, soft, and strangely soothing. Listening to the man talk calmed her ragged nerves, even though she had no clue who this man was.
Is he one of the enemy? No, how could he, after killing those two guards. But…he could be one of the insane ones…?
Maybe he was FOX-HOUND as well, sent to help her? Can't be—he didn't know who she was. He'd at least know the identity of another FOX-HOUND agent working in the same place.
Who was this guy, Garland Durev? And what did he want?
Moments had passed, after she was repositioned and her shackles removed, and she was able to lurch off of the table. Her hands groped wildly, sluggish and slow to respond due to the drugs still present in her systems. Roaming hands found a medical tray, laden with various syringes and even pills. Though her vision remained blurred, she was able to make out the drug names on the vials.
Then she realized something. She didn't know anything about medicine; all these chemicals meant nothing to her mind. Her mind was a soldier's, damn it, not a scientist's!
What to do, what to do? Can't go around drugged up like this, and picking an injection at random could result in worsening her condition or even death!
She was getting frantic, crazed in her search for a counteragent to whatever was in her blood system. What could she use to fix her… what the hell?
A vial, with a large yellow post-it note attached to it, caught her eye. Upon this note were big black letters, CURE.
Naturally, she assumed that it was the antidote to her problems, and immediately injected it into herself. Then, she started thinking about other possibilities.
It could have been a hoax, killing her rather than curing. Oh no, what if it was? She would die because of a blunder on her part, and there would be no way to save her. She could hear the laughter of the dead men next to her now, taunting and jeering at her stupidity. She was going to die, and it was because she didn't think.
Think.
Someone once said the human mind was one of the greatest and most dangerous things in the world. Nuclear weapons are nothing compared to the brain. Why? Because nukes are created by human minds; they sit in huge silos, doing nothing but face the sky. Human minds sit at a control station, a button away from launching the weapon. Human minds tell the finger to push the big red button; otherwise, the missile does nothing. Like the saying: "guns don't kill people, people kill people." It's the decision by the wielder that causes the gun to fire.
Then they say that guns help in killing someone.
So do iron pipes, knives, bricks, planks of wood, spoons, a nail-clipper (somehow), a bottle of wine, twine, the human hand, the list goes on.
And each of these "weapons" does nothing, until the mind tells the body to.
If you think, it may save your life. Thinking opens your mind and body to the world, letting you see things at a different perspective. Thinking creates battle strategies that allowed small armies to win over a larger opposing force. Thinking stops you from doing stupid things.
To not think is to not live.
Maggie made that mistake when she stuck herself with that needle, and injected that clear liquid into her vein, and now she was going to die.
………
……
…
.
Nothing's happening. Was she dead yet? No… she wasn't dead. Rather, her vision was slowly clearing, and that nausea was fading away.
What do you know; it really was the cure! She worried about all that crap for nothing.
God, did she feel stupid.
But now was not the time for berating herself. The FOX-HOUND agent had to finish her mission, then get the hell out of here.
First, some new clothes. The Skull Suit was in tatters, and the brunette needed to find something to cover herself up. Those dead guys looked about her size…
Offering a prayer to both, she took the clothes that had the least amount of stains: the man that had his chest caved in. A smile spread across her face when she found a level six card on his body—now she could get around a lot better. The Battle Dress Uniform was a bit small, but she filled it out rather well. She ransacked the little box with her stuff, happy that her Calico was not taken away, and was still fully loaded, and staggered down the hall, still fighting off the aftereffects of the drugs.
First, ransack the armory! A 5.56x45mm rifle would do well, maybe a FA-MAS, so she could at least pass for one of the NGSF, and some explosives—you'll never know when you'll need them. While the Calico was a personal favorite of hers, 9mm was nothing compared to the power of an assault rifle. She would have to trade power and range for stealth and larger clip, but then again she could switch back and forth between the weapons as she saw fit. The commando then took the elevator to the first floor, revealing an empty tank room and faint sounds of battle. Through the door she could hear guns barking and grenades ripping the landscape apart. Cracking the gate open slightly, she peered out into the battlefield.
Blackened snow and shrapnel dotted the land, with the occasional body lying next to a spent claymore. Majority of rifle fire was directed towards a large metal box-like structure; the FOX-HOUND commando assumed that was where that Durev person was. A rifle peaked out of the box, spraying bullets into the balcony above, and saw only a head, aiming a large rifle. As the head ducked back into cover, a black-colored cylinder went flying into the air.
Thompson retreated into the safety of the tank room in time to avoid the blast. A sharp bang with a bright flash illuminated the battlefield slightly, and as she peeked out again, she saw Durev running towards the staircase. Soon, this battle would be over, and he would come through this door. Then she could figure out what he was doing here. The soldier ran to the remaining tank, crawled underneath, and waited.
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When the man finally came through the doors, he looked exhausted. His suit was ripped in places by shrapnel and bullets, a bleeding wound in the thigh, and several bullets were lodged in his vest. It was obvious he was hurting in the leg, but he did not outwardly show it. The shuffling of feet stopped in front of her, snow and mud caked boots were the only things visible. Barely any movement was felt as the man sat on the vehicle. The ripping of Velcro and a zipper was rather loud in the empty room; he was taking something out, most likely a first-aid kit for that leg wound. She barely heard the soft grunts of pain as he treated the wound, the sigh of relief as painkillers set in, and a faint chewing sound. He was eating something…
Maggie realized she was hungry, VERY hungry. A quiet burp from her stomach was thunderous to her ears, and she prayed that the mysterious soldier had not heard her.
Deafening silence hung in the air, as the man froze from the foreign sound. Moments passed as he wondered what it was, but returned to his work with a shrug. A wet object pinged off the concrete floor, a bloody rifle round extracted from his thigh. Upon this bullet a strong smelling liquid was poured on, ammonia from the scent of it. Maggie's digital watch changed several minutes before she saw the man move, heading to the elevator. His rifle from outside was missing, so she assumed that he was going back for a new gun.
Good, that'll be when she can get him.
When the girl heard the ping and hum of an elevator running, she crawled out, avoiding the blood encrusted piece of copper and lead. The ammonia had rendered the blood unusable by forensics, as the chemical broke down the proteins and neutralized the acids in the blood, rendering it impossible for forensics to examine. Left over on the tank however, was more eye-catching: a small packet of beef jerky, with only a small serving, yet tastier than any emergency ration she had in her inventory. Taking a piece of dried meat and chewing it warily, her tongue shook with delight at the teriyaki taste. She put the rest in a pocket, taking bits out to chew. But enough with that, she had to get to the armory, and find out who this guy was.
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Hiding just past the corner of the rifle armory, she checked her rifle and prepared a small block of C4. The explosive was going to be insurance, and it would be a good psychological weapon. She had no intention on actually detonating the thing, but would do so should the man show signs of hostility.
The door slid open, she sprung into action.
Slapping the block of C4 on his chest and shoving her rifle into his temple, she hissed,
"Don't move!"
"…crap" was his response.
The guy was massive, easily over six feet tall, an entire head above her five-foot-four. A lean yet muscular body of an athlete, with a hidden strength evident through the tight suit he wore. An advanced rifle was slung behind him, a pistol on his right thigh, and strange metal gloves.
Gauntlets, for hand-to-hand fighting. This guy's a martial artist… The girl thought as she studied his body: a customized assault vest, most likely body armor as well, and a loaded tactical belt. From his layout and equipment, she could tell that he was not a sneaker, and more of a combat specialist. Circling around him to get a better look, she finally got a clear view of the man's face: chiseled, tough looking, with smudges of dirt and soot: There was stubble of day old facial hair and a rather defined jaw line. His hair was cut short, combed forward and with slight spikes. He had a look of defiance and determination, but as she stared into his eyes, she felt herself drawn towards them: grayish-blue, with a shade more cobalt blue. Within these eyes she saw the emotions running through him: anger for being stupid and lax, annoyance for getting caught, and fear. Not fear from dying, but something else…
"Hands above your head. Identify yourself!" her command was accentuated with a jerk of her rifle.
"I'm called Bloody Hands," his voice was much like the one she had heard in the torture chamber, deep and soft. However now it seemed the tone had a slight coldness to it.
"Your real name, idiot!" she had to be harsh, to keep up appearances.
"…You're that FOX-HOUND girl, Maggie Thompson, aren't you?"
"Don't change the subject, tell me who you are!"
"…Garland Durev. Mercenary."
"Thank you. What is your mission?"
"To get you people out of here."
"Don't give me that crap! You killed over forty people now!"
"Is that my kill score, now? I lost count…"
"Shut up! What's your real purpose?"
"…To kill everyone."
Maggie froze. She had expected this answer, but never expected to be said with such coldness and indifference; it was as if he did not care for the human lives he was talking away. Her grip on her rifle slacked slightly, and she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come through.
This pause was her undoing, as the mercenary blurred into motion, grabbing her rifle and ripping it from her grasp, and whipped out his pistol to press against the girl's masked cheek. The young woman raised the detonator in response.
"Kill me and you become itty bitty pieces," she taunted.
"…" His pistol came down, placed back into its holster. His arms came back up in surrender.
"Alright. You win…" the rifle was thrown a little ways off, and Maggie suddenly found herself staring into those eyes again.
"I'm right. You are that FOX-HOUND woman. How are you feeling?" He was noticeably relaxing, his arms coming down to his sides.
"Did I say you could relax?"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," the arms went back up. "What is it you want from me?"
"I…"
"You don't know, do you? You just held me up and threatened me with a block of C4, asked what my mission is and who I am, and you don't know what else you want from me. Now I'm not surprised as to how and why you were captured."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Take it as you will. What's your mission here anyways?"
"None of your concern!"
"It is if we're going to be working together or against!"
"Don't make me use this…" she held up the detonator.
"You won't have to. I have no intention in hurting you."
"What?"
"Nevermind. Did you find the beef jerky I left you?"
"What!?"
"From your shock, I'll take it as a yes. I knew you were somewhere nearby. The room you were held captive in was empty, and you don't have the proper equipment to cross that snowfield and beyond. After the battle, I heard a very faint gurgle in the tank room. You were right under me."
"But, you didn't do anything?"
"Why would I?"
"I could have been hostile!"
"But you're not, and should you prove to be, I can take you out."
"Need I remind you I have the detonator?"
"A girl as pretty as you wouldn't do such a thing."
For the umpteenth time that day, Maggie Thompson looked shocked.
Instantly, he had his arms around her, holding her close in a tight hug. With a husky yet intoxicating bass, he spoke to her,
"Now, my dear FOX-HOUND commando, if you were to press that button, you would take both of us out. I would be disappointed, as I would not be able to know more about you, Miss Thompson," his eyes bore into hers, suddenly more blue than usual. Her blue-green eyes widened in shock and fear.
The girl's knees were getting weak, a strange reaction to the mercenary's closeness. Her heart thumped faster in her chest, and her breathing became more labored. Panic and warmth filled her very being. What was wrong with her?!
"G-g-get
off!" Maggie struggled in his strong arms, trying to break free of the grapple.
"Not until I get to see your
pretty face one last time…" while keeping a strong hold, he brought his left
hand up to grasp Maggie's balaclava and pull it gently off of her. Neck length
tresses of blond-streaked brown hair tumbled from its prison, and her now
uncovered face met cold air.
"Beautiful," he spoke before rolling away from the door and to the right, past the corner. As the two of them dove for cover, several rifles spat fire, sending copper plated lead down the hallway. Durev's pistol came up and sent two bullets into the face an oncoming Genome soldier, coming down from the right, while his other hand pushed the girl away from his chest.
"What the hell?" she shouted over the din of gunfire before her FA-MAS rifle was thrown into her arms.
"My apologizes for my earlier actions, Miss Thompson. I needed to get you close and out of harms way, and the only way I could without arousing suspicion was to act the way I did. Right now, we cannot argue about our mission objectives—we must fight together in order to survive!" Durev lobbed a fragmentation grenade down his side; the cries of "grenade!" were barely heard over the noise.
"So that was all an act?!" she sprayed bullets down her line-of-sight, still shocked about the man's actions.
"I apologize again, ma'am. I did not intend on leading you on like that, but I had to."
"So what now?"
"Live," Garland several claymore mines were placed in a line, one behind the other, to block off access to that path. "Alright, let's move! Cover my back and I'll get yours."
They jumped out simultaneously, like figure ice skaters in synchronized motion, diving for safety as they aimed their rifles outward and sprayed. However while Garland aimed for lethal hits, Maggie went for neutralizing shots, aiming for the groin, arms, and kneecaps. Finding cover behind the PSG-1 storage, they took time to reload, and prepare for the next assault.
"Switch sides, I'll take point and guide us to the elevator," Durev jumped out to take down a small cluster of enemy soldiers, launching a 40mm HE grenade down the path. "Move!"
The enemy could not attack the two other than from the far left and far right sides; the other paths had trapdoors and would be a danger to everyone in a drawn-out firefight. Another burst from the mercenary's rifle sent soldiers back into cover, and a flash-bang flew down the way. The diversionary tool stunned the group, rendering them blind to the oncoming incendiary explosive. The cloud of fire sent three men screaming and running away, trying desperately to put out the lethal flames.
Under a hail of hostile fire, the two soldiers reached the elevator with some injury—Garland's leg wound had started to bleed slightly due to the sudden movement, and he had taken several bullets to the gut. Amazing that his vest still protected him. Maggie had avoided any damage, majority of the fire coming from Durev's direction. In fact, she had noticed that not one bullet got past the mercenary, as if he took all the hits just to protect her.
The FOX-HOUND agent slammed the elevator call button with her free hand, keeping the other aiming down the hall. When the doors did not open immediately, she glanced at the screen above the call button.
The elevator was at top floor, and was coming down very quickly, most likely carrying enemy reinforcements.
"Durev!"
"Yes?" even in heated battle, he would still act like that?!
"Elevator's comin', with extras!"
His only response was to peek out and throw another grenade into the cluster of enemy soldiers.
BING! The elevator doors opened to reveal six soldiers armed to the teeth. A Mossburg 590 shotgun came up to fire.
Center the target.
Pull the switch.
Bang.
Che-chink!
Bang.
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A/N – Hmm… I'm not that great with cliffhangers. Expect the next chapter to take even longer to churn out. I'll be away for a while (Alaska for Christmas. Damn cold, middle of nowhere, and 23 hours of perpetual night. Hell yes.). See you guys later.
I'd have a reader's response corner, but I don't have that large a fanbase…
Oh what the hell.
holylance: Thanks for your support. Please note that the guy's last name is
Durev, not Gurev. As for your suggestion to put him someplace different next
time… well, I got another fic in the works, it stars our favorite mercenary,
but in a MUCH different setting.
Metratron: Thank you for being the first.
ShardclawKusanagi: Ahh, the famous Kusanagi Flame. Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you like my work. Now, if you could only churn out "COE" as fast I can…
crewfeind1: Is my writing really that good? I'm surprised, actually. Thanks for your review. Good luck in life.
James C. Hanson: Heh. You wrote the longest review. I sent you an email a while ago, but I'm not sure if you got it or not. Anyways, thank you for the review.
That's all…for now.