Philanthropy: The Complete Files

The story of how everyone's favourite organization came to be!

Chapter One


Snake

"Humble Beginnings"

I sat down in the old, worn armchair and began to pick at the place where the stuffing was coming through one of the many holes in the cushion.

"Snake, stop destroying my chair, wouldja?" said Otacon without even looking up from the computer.

"Sorry," I said. I began to pick at the chipped cream paint on the wall instead.

"You know I pay half the rent for this place, don't you?" Otacon said, still without looking up.

"Sorry," I said again, automatically.

A pause. Then – "Snake?"

"Yeah?"

"You're out of cigarettes, aren't you."

"Yeah."

"And money to buy cigarettes."

"Yeah."

He nodded to himself. "Thought so."

"You're not going to do anything?"

"Nope."

"Even though you have money?"

"Yup."

"But you're not going to give me any?"

"Nope."

"Otacon?"

"Yup?"

"You're a bastard."

"I know."

"You're more than a bastard."

"Most probably."

"You're an asshole."

"Uh-huh."

"You're more than an asshole."

"Indubitably."

"You're an...an...an Anime fan!"

He looked up. "Snake?"

"Yeah?"

"Go away."

I did. I went into the kitchen, and started playing with the taps.

"Snake?" came a voice from the other room, right on cue. "Stop playing with the taps."

How the hell did he know?! Did he have surveillance cameras up or something? I wouldn't put it past him.

I opened the fridge and surveyed the contents. The outlook was bleak, on the whole. There was half a jar of mayonnaise, a block of mouldy cheese, the remains of a chicken and some bread that was starting to go furry. I made myself a chicken sandwich, using the least furry slices of the bread, and wandered back through. "Otacon, we need groceries."

"You're going to ask for money, aren't you."

"Yeah."

"Then you're going to go and buy fags with it, aren't you."

"Yeah."

"Well, you're not getting any," he said righteously, turning back to the TV screen.

I went out.

No sooner had I shut the door behind me than Otacon was standing there, calling after me. "Snake?"

"What?"

"Give me my wallet back!"

"No!" I cried defiantly and ran off.

I headed to the little store around the corner from us. It didn't sell very much, but I liked the owner. She was a formidable battleship of a woman named Mrs Jacobs. She was in her mid-sixties with gun-metal grey hair and a permanent glare; she was about 4ft9 and weighed about 400 pounds. She sat behind the counter day in, day out, glaring out at the world. She hated everyone, and she particularly hated me – though she liked Hal, for God-knows-what reason.

I liked her.

"Hi, Mrs J," I said amiably, walking in and shaking my head to get rid of the raindrops.

"Don't you be cheeky, boy! Why, if you were my son, I'd never stand for that..." she started.

I grinned to myself and wandered off around the shelves.

Eventually I returned to the counter and dumped my purchases on it. "How are you on this fine day, Mrs J?" I asked, as I always did.

"There's nothing fine about it, my boy!" she replied. "How are you and your boyfriend?" she asked – as she always did.

"He's not my boyfriend, Mrs J," I replied. As I always did.

She just shook her head and began ringing up the things on the till. "That'll be eighteen dollars and fifty cents, please."

I opened Otacon's wallet. A twenty dollar note – I was in luck! I handed it over and watched absently as she changed it, before picking up the shopping bags and leaving.

"See you, Mrs J," I called, listening to her mutter to herself about my dreadful manners, and smiling.

On the way home, I smoked three cigarettes, ate seven cookies and two squares of chocolate, and came up with a Plan.

I burst triumphantly into the apartment. "I have a Plan!"

"Dave, if you've overspent..."

"No, no. Nothing like that," I said, going into the kitchen, dumping the bags on the counter and beginning to unpack them. "About what we should do next, you know, being bored and all." I called.

"I'm listening," Otacon replied, coming in and helping himself to a further four cookies.

"We should start an Organization!" I said proudly.

"What sort of organization?" asked Otacon through a mouthful of choc-chip.

"An...an...anti Metal Gear organization!" I replied.

Otacon paused, his mouth full of cookie, cheeks bulging like a hamster. He swallowed slowly.

"That's actually a good idea..." he said.

I grinned. "I know!"

He headed back into the living room, already talking rapidly. "...and you should get in touch with Mei Ling, she has contacts – oh, and whatshername, nuke-girl, Natasha something, she might be able to help..."

"Nastasha Romanenko. And aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"We have to go out and celebrate my brilliant idea! I think maybe a meal..." I said.

Otacon picked up his much rifled wallet. "Snake, I have two dollars."

I checked my pocket. "So do I. And?"

"There's nowhere we can go for two dollars apiece."

I smiled smugly. "I know somewhere."

That was how we ended up sitting in McDonalds holding burgers. Otacon was looking at his distastefully. "I can't believe you forced me into this."

"Hey, we're meant to be celebrating, remember?" I pointed out. "Plus, at least we're eating food within its sell-by date, which is more than we have been doing for the last few days."

He sighed like a martyr on the rack and took a small bite. Followed by another. And another.

I watched in amazement, my own meal forgotten, as he demolished the burger in a further three bites and ate most of his fries in another four, before turning to me with a smile. "You know, this actually isn't too bad."

"I figured," I replied, shutting my mouth, which had been hanging open.

"Don't you want those?" he asked, gesturing toward my fries.

I waved my straw at him in a vaguely threatening manner. "Hands off."

He reached out, very slowly...I threw a discarded piece of lettuce towards him. With the sort of comic genius I'd previously thought only movies were capable of achieving, it landed on his glasses and slid slowly off, leaving a trail of mayonnaise.

"Ugh, Snake!" he said, removing his glasses and wiping them.

I grinned beatifically. "Can't say I didn't warn you," I said, helping myself to one of his fries.

The food fight that ensued will, I feel, very probably go down in history. It involved half a Big Mac, all of Hal's and most of my fries, rather a lot of soggy lettuce and tomato, and four Chicken McNuggets, stolen from a neighbouring table, and ended with us being thrown out by an irate waitress, still giggling like little kids.

We wandered home, idly fighting over the final fry.

"The Fry of Destiny!" I intoned, holding it aloft on its red and yellow cardboard throne. "The Chip of Gods! The – "

I got no further, because suddenly, Otacon leaned over and kissed me, on the lips, hard.

I stumbled backwards. "What the – "

He smiled at me and held up the final fry. "I win," he said, popping it into his mouth.

"So I see," I muttered, feeling slightly wrong-footed.

"Anyway," he said, after an uncomfortable second, "can you still get in contact with Mei Ling?"

I nodded. "She gave me her phone number."

"Regular babe magnet, aren't you."

"Absolutely."

We turned the corner into our street and went into the apartment block, nodding to our landlord Mr Fuller as we passed. We went upstairs and into our apartment. It was shabby, all faded, chipped cream paint and worn floorboards showing through tattered red carpet – but hey! It was home.

We settled down on the sofa with coffee and the last of the packet of cookies. Suddenly, I had a thought, and turned to Otacon. "Otacon, we need a name for this organisation."

"Um..." he thought for a second or so, "How about AMG?"

"AMG?"

"Anti-Metal Gear."

I gave him a look.

"Fine, fine. Um...Tomorrow?"

"Are we an organisation or a sci-fi series?"

"You think of one if you're that clever."

"You're the brains behind the operation. I'm just the humorous thug."

"Well, I'm sorry, but the Muse is just not upon me."

"The Muse won't be the only thing that's not upon you if you don't shut up."

A pause. "What else won't be?"

"Don't analyse my threats."

"Snake?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Well, whaddya think, hm? Will get better, I promise. If you have any ideas about missions they could have, whether funny or serious, send 'em to me please! (Though I'm not promising anything. They have to inspire me!)