Disclamer: See the foreword. However, Lieutenant Matthew Reese and James Masterson belongs to RuneKnightPictures. He finally gets his cameo. Woo.

Author's Babble: This took way too long to get out. I'm sorry folks, but I've been really busy so far. College is evil, and is looming over the horizon. It is my wish that I at least complete this story before I leave for college. Anyways, a slightly longer chapter for everyone, with plenty of blood, death, and violence! It gets a little... supernatural, compared to the stuff I was writing before, but oh well. Read and review folks, that's all I want.

Metal Gear: Bloody Hands

Written by Tempest Dynasty

------------------------

Chapter 8: Demon Unleashed

Let the bodies hit the floor…

Shock, horror, revulsion, disgust. These and more emotions ran through the minds of the five remaining soldiers as they stared at the remains of their comrade. He had been ripped into two vertically, from head to crotch. The culprit was a dead man, but he stood there before them. The blood of their comrade covered the man they thought they had killed. Blood still oozed from the wound in his chest, but it was quickly slowing down; it was as if his heart had repaired itself

Let the bodies hit the floor…

The man that stood before them was like a reincarnated monster out for revenge. He no longer stood straight with the minimalist nature of a martial artist, nor did he have that cautious stance that allowed him to react to anything. Rather, he stood slightly slouched forward, his arms dangled loosely. His hands were twisted into claws, and his hair shadowed his eyes. The Berserker…

Let the bodies hit the floor…

"Wha… what are you?!" one of the NGSF soldiers screamed at him. His response was to chuckle softly, growing into a throaty cackle, and finally, into full-blown demonic laughter.

"Heh heh heh heh ha ha ha ha HAAA HA HA HA HA HA!" he laughed as he threw his head back. When he brought his head back down to face them, his gaze made everyone's blood run cold. Gone were the usual gray-blue eyes, replaced by the bloodiest crimson red. A warped grin adorned the face, a look that expressed the excitement and glee for the coming chaos. Sadistic and vicious described the man's aura perfectly; the Genome soldiers could feel it emanating from his person. Fear ran through their veins, as if it were natural and instinctive to fear this.

Instinct was right.

"Let the bodies it the…" a quiet murmur was barely heard over the howling winds. "FLLOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRR!!!" the murmur transformed into a scream as he suddenly blurred into action.

A rifleman did not have a chance to blink when his chest suddenly imploded, the length of the mercenary's arm plunged deeply into him. Moments later his back exploded in a frightening eruption of blood and gore. A lung, spinal column, even parts of the soldier's esophagus was visible as the claw-like hand ripped itself out. Before the man had a chance to fall to the ground, the resurrected soldier was on another.

A light uppercut launched the hapless man several feet into the air, only to be brought back down with a ridiculously strong heel drop. As the attack impacted into his stomach, his entire body caved into the blow. In the air he looked like a giant V, and as such, was driven into the ground in that V shape.

Fear had finally taken root in the psyche of one of the remaining NGSF soldiers, and gave him the ability to run away in panic. The berserker did not give him that luxury, however. With a single bound, he was on top of the runaway, his hands wrapping tightly around the enemy's head. A simple jerk removed the head easily, releasing a torrent of blood to spray forth. As he turned to face the last two Genomes, the demon threw the decapitated body away and chucked the head to one of the soldiers. By the time the man was able to catch it, his buddy had met his end with a furious overhead smash. So powerful was the blow that the man was did not simply crumple like a sack of potatoes, he was crushed as if a great weight had suddenly dropped on him.

The remaining soldier dropped the head, babbling in distress and horror. As quick as it had started, it ended with everyone but him dead; they did not just die, they were utterly destroyed. He kept stuttering as he was picked up by the head and lifted a foot into the air, his eyes glazed over with fear. That frightful look was decimated as a fist impacted mightily upon his nose, with such great force the skull was crushed like a rotten melon.

Not even pausing to check his location, the resurrected berserker mercenary stalked to the door that would lead him to more… victims.

Let them see why they call him "Bloody Hands."

------------------------

Lance Corporal Barret Wesal rued the day he volunteered for the "experimental next-generation soldier" program for Special Forces. At first, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to move up in life. The tests and gene therapy would have made him a super soldier, and he would be part of the best soldiers the world has ever seen. Instead, he's assigned to some stupid deserted island off Alaska, abandoned by his superiors, forsaken by Washington, and left to survive on his own with the rest of the Next Generation Special Forces. He was lucky the day Solid Snake decided to infiltrate the facility—he was asleep at the residential hall. But his luck quickly ran out as he was assigned near permanent stationing in the friggin' blast furnace while wearing full combat uniform.

It was hotter than hell, his uniform was soaked in sweat, and he was thirstier than an Eskimo in the Sahara.

What was with that girl they were dragging away earlier? They had at least four other men escorting her, all ready to blow her away the moment she did something wrong. Shit, people were getting paranoid…

And why did they assign him this place anyways? Wasn't it better to…

His thoughts were interrupted when the security door leading outside suddenly dented outward, as if a great force had smashed into it. Another hit blew the door clear off its frame, sending the bent metal flying into a pool of molten steel. And from the door stepped out a man he suddenly felt great fear from. Immediately his legs began to tremble, even more so as the man's horrid face turned to face him. An eyeblink later, he was inches away from him.

Stifling a scream of fear, he threw a fist forward in an attempt to ward off the demon. His fist was caught, his arm snapped in half by a quick palm strike, and a strong backfist blow sent the Lance Corporal flying. The demon still had his grip on his arm, however; with the sickening splorsch of ripping flesh and tearing tendons, his arm was ripped off from the shoulder. The soldier screamed as he plummeted over the railing and took a dive into 2750 degree Fahrenheit molten iron, his body quickly engulfed by the glowing red and yellow liquid.

With an effortless leap, the berserker cleared the ten-foot gap between the two platforms, pounced upon a man that came to investigate the screaming (he was struck with such a powerful uppercut his head and spinal cord was ripped out from his body), and continued his bloody hunt.

The next room was nothing more than a freight elevator heading deep underground, shadows consuming the tunnel dozens of feet down.

Down there. They are down there.

Unfortunately for the mercenary, the elevator was missing.

Must get to them…

He jumped. For a few moments he seemed to float there, his arms spread out like wings. Like a winged demon he disappeared into the darkness, eyes blazing red.

------------------------

"He'll come through here, I know it!"

"That's what Zundel said and you see him now? No! He's dead!"

A large group of soldiers had turned the cold box-filled warehouse into a makeshift bunker. Claymores were set up around the area, even blocks of plastic explosives had been placed down. Every man had a rifle, several grenades, and a sidearm. They seemed ready to take

"Shut up! There were only two of them then, but look at us here. Twenty men, in heavy body armor, with shotguns, rifles, and even some heavy ordnance!" a wild gleam seemed to shine in the soldier's eyes.

"Calm down, Blakslee. We need to be calm and prepared for this guy," a third soldier interrupted. "He's proven to be an incredible threat, despite being only one man. Already over sixty men have fallen to this mercenary, and we must avenge their deaths."

"Sir! We've lost contact with the blast furnace guard! He should be on the elevator now, riding down," a radioman near them piped up, readying his M4 rifle.

"But the elevator is down here, so it will be a while for the thing to go up then back down."

"We'll wait then. Settling down, boys, but be ready to go in an instant."

One of the younger men, Corporal Billy Hernandez approached the commander, "Sir? How did he survive that shot? It was a confirmed kill by those guys that came through earlier, but even now we're losing contact with more men."

"…" he was silent for a moment, contemplating his response. "I think… He is one of the legendary."

"Sir?"

"I was in the Army for a long time, kiddo. With the 101st Airborne I heard many stories about legendary mercenaries. There are two types: teams and individuals. Obviously, teams are groups of three or more mercs working together. They are often hired for large-scale missions that require more than one man, and are paid higher sums than solos. Some of the most famous groups I've heard about are the Shinsengumi, Black Wind, and the Wraiths."

"What about the individuals?"

"I'm getting to it. Individual mercenaries are usually hired for smaller missions, and are given smaller sums of cash for jobs, but they are potentially more dangerous than mercenary teams. The most famous mercenary would be the man that came through here a year ago…"

"Solid Snake."

"Yes. But there are a number of other legends that are almost as famous, or as infamous, as Solid Snake. For example, FOX-HOUND had many other unique soldiers running around before Liquid Snake came around. There's also Testament, a woman of extraordinary speed and stealth. Whereas Snake could sneak around by hiding, diversions, and being silent, Testament could literally stand in front of you and you would not see her. She could walk beside you for miles and you would never notice her. You would die and never know that you did. There's also Ryoji. He's not a mercenary, so to speak, but he's pretty damn good as a spy. Intelligence and information is his forte, and he's sort of a playboy. Fortunately for many intelligence groups, Ryoji has a near permanent station in Germany, working for NERV."

"Scary."

"Nah, they're not scary. I'll tell you the scariest. You ever heard of Berserkers?"

"In video games and in stories," the young man admitted. "I was sort of a Dungeons and Dragons player in high school."

"They're real, kiddo. And there's one man that stands above the rest in scare factor, brutality, and kill count. In nearly every mission he's been on, very few survivors are found. I'm sure there were several spy missions he had to perform without a fatality, but that doesn't matter now. There are many stories about the Berserker, some are merely exaggerations, and some are actually true. The problem is that no one knows which is which; all the stories seem true. Platoon strength forces, with armor, air support, and even artillery, completely decimated by a single man. Tanks ruined and bent out of shape. Entire squads of soldiers literally ripped to shreds. Of a one-hundred-man group of professional career soldiers, battle-hardened veterans, only four survived. They lived because they did the smart thing when they saw the Berserker, they dropped their guns, turned around, and ran like hell. Everyone else? It was pretty difficult to identify all the bodies, even with dogtags."

"What do they call this 'Berserker'?"

"They call him Bloody Hands."

Suddenly, the southern metal doors moaned in pain, as if something was trying to rip it apart. Electronic motors used to open, close, and lock the doors hissed and sparked, the result of excessive pressure being placed on the gears.

"Shit! How did he get down so fast?! To your stations!" the leader screamed. Immediately everyone scrambled to ready their weapons. Dozens of rifles and shotguns aimed at the door, as well as light machine-guns and even several rocket launchers. They did not want to take any chances.

With a final scream, alloyed steel was torn asunder by a mighty force, and the doors were forcibly twisted into jagged pieces. Immediately every firearm in the room unleashed hell, a torrent of hot jacketed lead tore through the air; a literal wall of fire and metal.

"Cease fire! Cease fire damn it!" a faint cry was barely heard over the constant shooting. As more cries of "cease fire!" reduced the number of bullets in the air, they brought themselves out of cover to see their target. Other than a thoroughly ventilated block of wood, there was nothing there. For emphasis, gentle breeze blew through the door.

"What the hell? Where is he?" the soldiers looked around, confused at the absence of their target.

"Private Dataro, recon the area."

"But—"

"Do it!"

With a sigh, the hapless soldier got up from his protective sand (and ice) bag and slowly made his way to the door. After looking around with a gun-mounted flashlight, he turned around the report to his superiors.

"There's nothing he—" the man suddenly became a literal pancake. Unlike the surface of the snowfield, the ground was made of reinforced concrete and steel, thus it did not give away like cold soil. Behind the bloody pile was a man, their enemy, the mercenary.

"Jesus Christ! Fire! Fire damn it!!!" However before anyone had the chance to bring up their rifles, he was on them. Pouncing upon one man, he never got a chance to scream when his head was smashed off his shoulders. The berserker brought his foot up, bringing it down on another soldier to completely pulverize his right shoulder and arm. Using the crippled guy as a stepping stone, the red-eyed demon leapt off and dove at another victim. He wrapped his hands around the shocked Genome soldier's face, but rather than ripping it off right there and then, he soared over the still dazed man. As he landed, the momentum of his flight and subsequent landing gave the mercenary enough force to lift his victim up and over his head, the "Guillotine Throw" technique, and threw him into another soldier.

Impacting hard against the frozen walls, and not even a moment to cry out before they were skewered through the chest by a powerful punch, the two unfortunate soldiers died with one shot. As Garland pulled his bloody arm out of the two corpses, the bodies fell to reveal a severely cracked concrete wall.

"Kill him!" the cry brought up multiple weapons to bear at the blood covered martial artist. When the guns began to spit fire, he blurred. So fast was his movements that he was practically running on the walls.

The Lance Corporal blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. Good God, he IS running on the wall!

Quite true, the mercenary ran across a portion of the wall to avoid a burst of machine-gun fire. As he landed, his foot lashed out in a fearsome kick that shattered the skull of one of the soldiers. Blood, gray matter, and bone splattered across the boxes and icy floor as Garland landed with martial grace. Upon landing he brought his gauntlets up to guard, protecting his face from the incoming rifle fire. As bullets pinged off the impenetrable metal, more rounds were impacting into his body and limbs. Hot pain lanced through his entire being, but it was ignored through the bloodlust. With a mighty roar of anger and defiance, the mercenary reached over and gripped one of the large storage boxes. Weighing well over a ton, the box at first shifted slightly from his strength, but soon it was lifted into the air and thrown with incredible power.

Soldiers scrambled to get out of the way of the incoming metal crate, but several were too slow to respond. A resounding clang singled its landing on the concrete floor, under it were several men crushed by the weight. The icy floor gave little friction to stop it, so it kept skidding forward, leaving a gooey bloody trail. Screams echoed from behind the box as it slammed into the wall with a wet squish and a splash of blood. Not even stopping for a breather, "Bloody Hands" stooped low and ripped a heavy machine-gun from its tripod, only to twist his body and hurl it like a warhammer into a running soldier. It caught him in the back, with so much force that his back caved into the blow. A sickening crack told everyone his spine had shattered.

With his back to the door, shaking with fear and panic, Cpl. Hernandez looked on with shock and horror. More and more men fell to the unstoppable Berserker rage. Nothing seemed to even faze the demon, not even explosives. Close range C4 blasts did little other than push him back slightly. Claymores detonated like giant shotguns, but the anti-personnel mines merely slowed the monster for a moment. When several men shouldered Stingers and Nikitas and fired them, he merely swatted them out of the air before the missiles had a chance to explode. Even worse, he even caught them in midair and threw the missiles to the side, exploding harmlessly away from him, or harmfully into another unlucky Genome. Reflexes and movement so fast, there wasn't even a blur. A blink and the demon would be across the room, wreaking havoc on another fighter. Blood, the precious life fluid of his friends, his brothers, spilt all over the room; on the walls, on the floors, slowly freezing into icicles, it was everywhere. Limbs and body organs littered the ground, their owners screaming and moaning in pain. Every death seemed to be in slow motion, his fist impacting with a soldier's face, and the slow, agonizingly disgusting collapse implosion, and burst as the head exploded in a spray of brain matter, bone, skin, and blood. And amidst the bodies, his hands soaked crimson, stood hunched a man so terrifying, so ruthless, his name was known to nearly every major (and several minor) military units in the world. He let out a rage-filled howl that chilled the NGSF soldier to the soul.

"Oh God… Bloody Hands…" he whispered, so low and so quiet, yet the mercenary turned as if he heard it.

He saw me. Oh God in Heaven the monster saw me! Run… run… Must run! RUN AWAY!!! His mind was screaming at him

But he didn't listen to his mind. Instead, he ran forward with only his fists and his wits, fear and panic mixed with anger overriding his better judgment.

I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, I'll be fine…The young man reassured himself, despite the fact that the mercenary had slaughtered EVERYONE ELSE, as he leapt into a flying jump kick, aiming for the enemy's head.

His assured mood however, was completely obliterated when his outstretched foot was caught before it could impact. Even worse, the corporal was unable to counter as he was suddenly flung around like a ragdoll, slammed repeatedly into the ground, metal boxes, and walls. Although he was dead by the second smash into a box, the Berserker continued to fling the body around. Finally dropping the crushed and pounded corpse, the red-eyed tyrant stalked to the next door, once again forcibly ripping the door open with his incredible strength.

Let the bodies it the floor…

Heh heh heh ha ha ha ha HAA HA HA HA HA! Demonic laughter echoed in the lifeless halls, and in his own mind.

------------------------

Captain Dennis Hancock was worried.

Rightfully so, he had just received a report that the cold storage room bunker had been completely and utterly decimated. Twenty of his best soldiers, NCOs (Non-Commissioned Officers), and officers were killed in the time span of five minutes. Not a scratch was done against the beast of a man that did it, either.

And he was coming this way.

Between the cold storage room and Metal Gear REX's containment bay, it was a very short less-than-a-minute walk. Which meant he was below them at the moment.

The captain, along with the remaining thirty-odd Next Generation Special Forces Genome soldiers and a single hostage, were camped out in the testing room directly above REX's holding pen. Nearby was the blackened wreckage of Metal Gear REX, turned into a crude shelter. This was their final encampment before hitting the surface and moving on to the residential halls. No one approached the residential halls since every time they approached, a collection of people died from sniper fire. Whoever the sniper was, he was damn good.

But that was not the problem at the moment. Instead, it was the fact that a highly skilled and extremely dangerous mercenary had infiltrated the facility, exterminated quite a number of the Genome soldiers, and now currently on an unstoppable berserker rampage that left the cold storage room/bunker in utter decimation. And he was coming this way.

Bah. Lousy day.

At least he had thirty of the best men the NGSF forces could muster, a few pieces of heavy fire support, and a good hostage that could turn the tides. The preparations had barely finished when a protective floor grating exploded from its hinges. Following the flying scrap metal was a gray, black, and blue shape that seemed to blur in the cold air. Only then, after it had landed and faced the soldiers did the captain know that this was his objective.

"All units, open fire! Neutralize the target!" he barked his commands, waving his free arm at the mercenary before shouldering his own weapon.

Fifteen assault rifles, five FIM-92A Stingers, a .50 caliber Browning M2HB heavy machine-gun, six M240 light machine-guns, and a fully operational M1A2 Abrams tank thundered in the spacious room.

Heedless of the lethal barrage, the mercenary dashed forward. With only his arms up for protection, he defended his head from bullets, ignoring the wounds and injuries caused to the rest of his body. Similar to the bunker incident, the Stingers were simply deflected out of the air or even redirected back to their firers; fortunately for the soldiers, they exploded harmlessly a distance from them.

With a mighty belch the Abrams tank spat out a powerful HEAT (High Explosive Anti-Tank) round, aimed at the ground in order to explode and effectively fling deadly shrapnel. As the tank round impacted and detonated, the mercenary jumped high and flipped over the flak. He landed gracefully, and continued his dash.

Not one to be bested, the tank simply reloaded and fired again, this time sending over an APFSDS-T (Armor Piercing, Fin-Stabilized Discarding Sabot, Tracer) bullet. The tungsten "spear" rocketed forward in a white-yellow fireball, the anti-tank round aimed right at Garland's chest.

For a seasoned, well-trained and experienced soldier, his reflexes and danger sense develop beyond what the body can perform. As a result, his mind slows down his real-time perception into a speed in which his body seems to react as fast as his mind. This holds true for the mercenary Garland Durev, in many cases proving this with feats of reflex that would seem impossible to a normal man. While in the Berserker rage, this reaction time is multiplied by a huge degree, giving him a huge window of opportunity to act and react. Leaping into the air and twisting his body, he curled around the giant metal spike and avoided the hit. The intense vacuum created by the huge bullet, a gust of air that would normally rip flesh apart from sheer pull, did little but pull on the man's combat suit.

He landed on all fours, and immediately sprinted once again towards his prey. By this time he had crossed a good portion of the room, and with a final leap, was among the soldiers.

Immediately screams and cries for help erupted from his impact point as bodies and blood began to spread across the area. Half a man flew over the tank; only to have his second half, along with the pulped flesh of what was once a person, follow. Rifles were crushed like foil, along with the bones and flesh of those whom wielded them. Blood washed the ground like water, flowing gently over the corpses, limbs, organs, and shattered bones. As the tank swiveled the turret to aim its 120mm smoothbore cannon, it was greeted with a glowing red fist. A brightly sparking red hue was enveloping Garland's right hand, rapidly increasing in brightness and pulse.

With a primal roar, he threw the red ball of energy at the tank much like a baseball pitcher, the pulse traveling down the turret and into the armored vehicle itself. A muffled explosion was barely heard over the chaos, but the tank fell silent, its crew dead. But there were still more… victims…

"MERC! STAND DOWN!" Garland turned to face the voice.

The captain, along with three riflemen and a light machine-gunner, stood over a kneeling Maggie Thompson.. The riflemen and machine-gunner had their guns trained on Garland's head, while the commander stood over his hostage. Maggie sat on her knees, facing sideways from the out-of-control mercenary, her hands bound tightly against her back and her eyes covered by a blindfold. Pressed firmly against the back of her head was a Heckler & Koch Mk. 23 SOCOM pistol, more than enough to effectively silence a target for good

"Surrender, and she'll be spared. If not," the man kicked her in the chest, sending the FOX-HOUND commando sprawling onto her back. He dropped to a knee and shoved his pistol into her face. "If not, she will die, as well as you."

"Heh heh heh… I've killed nearly everyone in this facility. What makes you think you can kill me?" for the first time, the berserker spoke in a grinding dark voice. Malice and rage laced into his words, promising death with each syllable.

He took a step forward.

Captain Hancock brought his pistol to bear, and shot Maggie in both thighs. This elicited a cry of surprise and pain, her body writhing in agony. While the shots were merely flesh wounds, they still hurt a lot.

"Call my bluff, I dare you," the captain mocked.

------------------------

He hurt her. He shot her. The bastard hurt her. She's crying. He made her cry.

Hehurtherheshotherheshothershescryinghislifeisforfeithislifeisworthlessmakehimpaymakehimpaymakehimpaymakehimpay

Make him pay.

Blood! His blood must be spilled!

No longer worthy of living.

Destroy the infidel!

Two voices, one of dark malevolent rage, the other a calm, human, yet with equal levels of anguish, rang out as one.

Yes. He will pay with his life.

From his slight forward slouch and dangling arms, he slowly straightened. Now standing tall and defiant, his eyes no longer held the crazed wild look. Rather, his crimson eyes held a clarity, fierceness, and pure highly focused rage that burned through the surviving soldiers like twin lasers.

"I fear not man, for they are a pathetic lot." His aura and power seemed to strengthen tenfold.

"I fear not pain, for the suffering will soon end." Black flame-like shapes formed in his claw-like hands.

"I fear not death, for I am Death." Behold, the Destroyer of Worlds.

Instantly the squad machine-gunner exploded in a blooming flower of blood, guts, and bone. From under his feet a burst of black energy had ripped through his body and detonated in his belly. Before anyone could react, the True Dread was among them. Wielding a shadowy zweihander he sliced through two riflemen like a hot knife cutting butter, impaling the third with a spear he formed out of the same black flame. Without even touching the hostile captain, Garland sent enough force to give him a brief and painful flight through the air, a burst of dark fire trailing behind.

With a painful thump, he landed on his back thirteen feet away, his chest still smoking from the powerful blow. As the captain tried to get regain his bearings, he looked up to see that the mercenary had already closed the gap between them in a blink of an eye. He was easily lifted into the air to about eye level with the demon, those blood red eyes burning into his very soul. The brave and confident soldier part of him immediately died, fear and terror overwhelming him in massive waves. His will to fight shattered, his very existence balanced on the Berserker's fist.

Unfortunately for the captain, his judgment had already passed, his verdict: guilty, by all accounts.

His sentence…

"Death Adder," Garland whispered, letting the man go for a moment.

Dark energy focused into the mercenary's hands, practically sucking the light from the surroundings. His left fist shot out, encased in black fire, slamming into the shocked soldier's shoulder. By brute force alone, the shoulder and arm ripped out from its socket. His right fist followed, with equal levels of force that tore the other arm clean off. A left open hand backfist chained in, a blow that shattered the skull yet was non-lethal to an extent. His ribcage and sternum was crushed into pieces by a powerful right hook, the blow sending shockwaves throughout the entire body. Finally, both hands drew back and thrust forward in a mighty double open palm strike, an explosion of black energy surging outward as it impacted.

In a burst of light absorbing darkness, Captain Dennis Hancock's body literally evaporated into nothingness, not even leaving dust or remnants that he existed.

And so, with that final death, the entire main facility had been cleaned out. Mission accomplished.

One objective down, two more left.

Wordlessly, Garland stepped to where Maggie lay, the girl was still writhing around in pain. Blood poured out from the twin wounds in her thighs in a smooth trickle. It wasn't immediately lethal or dangerous, but the bleeding would not stop if left untreated. He kneeled down next to her, gently removing the blindfold.

"You don't look so good. Those bullet wounds getting to you?" he spoke softly, a tone that was much softer than before.

Her eyes refocused in the light, slightly red from held-back tears. Breathing heavily from pain, she turned to glare at the mercenary. Fortunately, her vision was still blurry as she gazed at him, hiding the fact that Garland's eyes were an unholy red.

"They hurt just a bit, you know? Damn it, Aagh!" she winced.

"First time you've been shot?" seeing her nod quickly, he reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a syringe, a large roll of gauze, a few gel bandages, a large pair of tweezers, and a small squirt bottle of water. "Relax, I'll patch you up. You'll be good as new in a few weeks."

First, with the slash of his knife, he removed portions of the girl's BDU pants to give better access to the wounds. With the stab of the syringe, a good dose of morphine was introduced to her system, and quickly killed the pain. With careful precision and delicacy, Garland searched for and removed the two .45 slugs with the tweezers. A quick wash of the blood cleaned the area, and the bandages were placed upon the wounds. Finally, gauze was wrapped around the bandages to hold them in place and to give protection.

"Alright, I'll carry you from here on. That morphine will knock you out pretty soon, and I don't want you collapsing on me," he picked her up, and after a bit of shifting of weight, Garland managed to set the girl in a piggyback position, comfortably carrying her. His rifle was slung in front of him, ready to be whipped up for use at any time. Exiting out of the room via parking garage, he pleased to find that several jeeps were still left behind, but none of them had keys. This was no problem, since the martial artist could easily hotwire a vehicle. A quick fiddling with wires, and soon they had a moving jeep with a decent tank of gas.

------------------------

A few minutes later, a few long-distance shots to neutralize straggler guards, and a second dose of morphine, the two soldiers had finally reached the snow-covered land of Shadow Moses Island. Fresh snow had fallen, and the sun had begun to rise in the distance, oddly similar to that when Solid Snake and Meryl Silverberg came through. Unfortunately for the recent duo, there was no snowmobile available to "borrow." Fortunately, the jeep was still available, but it lacked the traction and stability a snowmobile would have in snow. No matter.

Garland stopped the jeep at the mouth of the tunnel, a moment to rest after a certain episode. His eyes had returned to their normal gray-blue hue, the bullet wounds had healed over, thanks to the rapid regeneration-healing rate of the berserker; the body had probably pushed out the bullets already. Leaning back into the lightly cushioned seat, he pulled out his PDA (Personal Digital Assistant, a Palm Pilot) and pulled up the area map. Where else could he go, now that his mission was more or less complete? With a sigh, he examined an extended map of the island.

Meanwhile, in the sleepy haze caused by two doses of morphine, Maggie Thompson had accessed her Codec to call back. After two rings, the deplorable face of her commander popped up, still looking as if he sat on a rusty nail.

"What is it now, Thompson? You're pulling me from an important matter!" he seemed to spit at her.

"Sir, I've managed to locate and isolate two of them. The rest are far too gone. My mission is complete," Maggie mumbled sleepily.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you mumbling?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It's the morphine. I got hit and patched myself up."

"Weakling. You're FOX-HOUND, you don't need morphine to deal with wounds."

Ignoring the comment, Maggie continued, "Sir, requesting pick up from Shadow Moses,"

"Very well, Thompson, there will be an Osprey coming to get you at the roof of the northern residence hall in three hours."

"Sir? Where's this residence hall?"

"You'd better find it in three hours, Thompson," with that, he signed off.

Sighing heavily at the frustratingly annoying man, she readjusted herself in her seat.

"You doing okay, Maggie?" Garland spoke from next to her.

"Yeah… I'm getting a pick up at the roof of the northern residence hall. Any idea where that is?" it was getting harder to stay awake.

"It's a long drive from here. You go ahead and sleep; I'll drive."

"Right… Thanks Garland."

"Sleep well."

Falling asleep never felt so good before. Oddly enough, she felt quite safe despite the carnage she had heard twenty minutes ago.

------------------------

In reality, it really wasn't that large of a distance between the residence building and the main facility. It was the amount of snow and ice that slowed Garland down to a point that it took nearly two hours to get there. However, with an hour to spare, Garland managed to park the jeep and carry Maggie into the building. There was one snag nowever…

Passing by one of the officer's rooms, the mercenary's heightened hearing heard a soft snore. It was not Maggie's, he had been listening to her for a while, and it definitely did not sound like her. After placing the girl down gently, he readied his pistol, and snuck into the room. He stopped at a wall and corner, beyond would be the snoring person. Taking a deep breath, Garland dove out and rolled into the room, bring his pistol up to bear on the occupant of the room. He was stunned at the sight.

On the bed was a male child, no older than seven years. His hair was wild and face dirtied with smudges of grease, oil, and dirt. In his arms clutched protectively was a PSG1 sniper's rifle. From the ammunition strewn around the room, Garland guessed that the boy had been using the rifle extensively. Unfortunately, there was very little left in terms of bullets. The boy had a dogtags, amazingly enough:

Private James Masterson… only seven years old… The mercenary sighed—here was another target, one he had to kill, but it was a child. From the looks of it, the boy was exhausted, hungry, and afraid, but Garland could not take the chance of waking him, nor could he just take the boy and run. He sighed again, reached into a pouch on his belt, and fished out his remaining rations and leftover 7.62x51mm ammunition from his old G3 rifle. Placing it gently on the bedside table, he quietly tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Once again picking up Maggie, he continued on for the roof.

An hour later, a deep buzzing sound brought Garland out of his nap. Glancing into the sky, he saw a black V-22 Osprey coming closer and closer. No doubt this was either the Black Ops that was going to move in after him, or Maggie's ride. The latter idea was confirmed, as the hybrid chopper-plane came to slow down and hover over he and his ally. As the aircraft landed, its rear door dropped open, and out came six heavily armed FOX-HOUND grunts.

Unlike Maggie, who was a Special Operative, these men were basic soldiers that passed FOX-HOUND's recruitment requirements, and were often deployed with Special Operatives as back-up, support, or escort.

Garland got up, still carrying Maggie. As he approached the waiting Osprey, one of the grunts confronted him.

"Halt! Who are you and why are you carrying the operative?" the man asked, his rifle as well as the five others bearing down on him.

"I'm a mercenary, and she's just knocked out from morphine doses. If you don't mind, I'd like to at least put her in the Osprey.

"Corporal Allan, it's ok," Maggie mumbled out from her drowsy state. "He's with me. Give him a ride back to the States, please? Just don't tell Reese about this, the old bastard."

For a moment the corporal said nothing, thinking about what to do. Finally, he looked Garland in the eye and said,

"Alright, merc. We'll give you a ride to mainland Alaska. From there, you're on your own."

"Hey, man, thanks. I'll be able to take care of myself once I hit Alaska. You think you can drop me off near a city?"

"I'll see what we can do."

Garland and Maggie, along with the six grunts, boarded the aircraft. Seconds later, they were airborne.

------------------------

Hours later, as the Osprey flew over Skagway, Alaska, Garland was approached by the same soldier.

"We're over an Alaskan city now. This is where you get off, merc."

"What, you want me to jump out? What about a parachute?"

"Too suspicious."

"And a man flying out of a plane isn't?"

"Look, they're gonna wonder why we're missing a parachute. Picking you up is already a major offense, and Lieutenant Reese isn't exactly the nicest commander."

"I understand. You think you could at least give me a drop line?"

"I guess so."

Minutes later, as Garland stood at the mouth of the ramp, drop line in his hands, he turned to look at the sleeping Maggie on last time, before facing the soldier again.

"Allan, right?" Seeing him nod, he continued. "Tell her I said goodbye, and that it was nice meeting her."

"I will."

The mercenary saluted, and jumped out.

------------------------

A/N: And I'm done! Two more chapters, and this story will be complete in its entirety. Next two chapters, cameos galore! Stay with me folks. I'll see you all later.