Chapter One
The increasingly terracotta orange of the setting sun glinted duly off the twisted steel of the ten-metre-tall fence, illuminating it in the gathering dark. Two men walked over American sand towards it, their paces slowing as they came within detection distance of the surveillance cameras perched atop at five metre intervals. Beyond that, and the identical second barricade, they could just about make out their destination: a military station. Between the two fences, formidable Dobermans prowled restlessly. One of them, wearing a mask, halted their approach with a raised hand. He took from the inside left pocket of his long trench coat a suppressed M-94 Beretta, took aim, and fired it three times in rapid succession, destroying three cameras in as many seconds.
"Great," the second man sounded, sarcastically. "Now what?"
The man who had fired approached the first fence at a canter, and reached it in seconds. He took from his coat what appeared to be a small gun, knelt and pointed it at the ductile metal. As he pressed the trigger, a beam of light red emitted from the end, slicing the steel easily. He cut a small hole with a diameter of about 25 centimetres in the fence, one of the large dogs watching him intently.
The second man approached, confused. He looked on as the masked man extended his arm through the hole, almost inviting an attack from the dog. Not an animal to let a gift horse in the mouth, the canine jumped forwards, attempting to sink its sharp teeth into the man's bicep. In a split instant, the man pulled his arm back through the hole, dragging the dog with it. The animal's head became lodged in the razor sharp wire, the serrated ends of which cut into its throat. It whimpered quietly and released the man.
"Why doesn't it bark?" asked the second man. There was no reply, as the masked shooter craned upwards at the fence's top.
"VII," came the enforcement. "Why doesn't it bark?"
"It's an attack dog," came the reply from VII. "Trained not to bark, no matter what."
"That's lucky," reflected the first speaker.
"It's more than luck, Mr Andrews," VII said, still anticipating his climb to the top.
"Raiden," the second man corrected him. "I'm on a mission."
"Raiden, then. It makes no difference to me." He took hold of the fence, and shook it to assess its strength. He knew it would easily take his weight, but he always made sure. "It's almost as if someone wants us to get in," he mused.
"Even more fortunately, this is the only dog in this section," Raiden noted. He was right: further fences came between the other dogs and the one that VII had incapacitated, preventing infighting from the first line of the base's defence.
"Hrrm."
The two soldiers took hold of the fencing and began to climb. It wouldn't do to cut a hole in the fence big enough for them to fit through, as an escaped dog would doubtless be noticed by the remaining surveillance cameras. They reached the top in mere seconds, Raiden marginally getting over first. The distance between the two barricades was too far for them to attempt a jump, and so they climbed down before scaling the second fence while the Doberman struggled in vain to remove its muscular neck from the improvised collar. Despite care taken not to get fingers trapped in between the metal links, both men's feet touched the floor eleven seconds after beginning the second climb.
"So what now?" Raiden asked.
"Now," VII began. "We hope that my plan to get in worked. It can get very cold here at night." Raiden looked towards the sun, wondering if it was the last time he'd see it set. He longed for Rose's warm hand against his, and considered calling her shortly.
"Keep your mind on the mission, boy," VII growled, followed by the usual hiss of air from his throat. "We're Snake's only hope." Raiden took the instruction on the chin, despite what his years of VR Training and earlier field missions told him to argue. He turned towards Area 51, a place he never thought existed which now beckoned like a lost ghost.
Otacon sat at the computer terminal in the truck, typing diligently. Mei Ling was outside, sitting in silence with Rose; therefore the lonely technician had decided to take a few minutes, until Raiden and VII had reached the base at least, to write what could well be his last communication with the outside world:
Life is funny, but not like people say. One minute, you have it all laid ahead of you. The next, you don't know how long you have left.
I'd like to say I have no regrets, but I'd be lying. People I hurt, people I killed with my own selfishness... sometimes I thought I'd never be able to live with myself. If I survive, I can't even have the girl I want, because she's not interested and I know it's wrong. She'd just be another person that I'd let down, that I'd hurt. I've tried to help her on personal and professional levels, and that's why it should stop.
He paused for a moment, deleted the word "girl", and replaced it with "woman". Then he continued.
I refuse to lure her into a relationship. With God as my witness I refuse.
I've always been indecisive. Sometimes, I'm not as strong as I should be. I've made mistakes in the past, and done things that would turn your stomach, and I have no excuses. But at least now, I'm fighting for something I believe in.
He took his glasses off and wiped them with his shirt, taking care not to scratch the lenses with his buttons. He was surprised when he realised he wasn't crying. He'd delved deep into his own emotional past, and for the first time come out unscathed. Returning his glasses to his face, he laid his hands on the keyboard. He listened to the sand grains blowing over each other in the strengthening wind outside the van. It would be dark soon.
The sky darkens, and I'll be cold tonight, he continued to type. But not just because of the temperature. I could die in my sleep, and not know it. I could be shot or blown up, or crushed by a walking battle tank that is partly my creation. Me, Rose, Mei Ling... we might not see the morning.
His heart skipped a beat as he paused.
I'm not looking forward to my watch
The sound of his codec stopped him abruptly. Otacon left the word "watch" unfinished on the screen and answered.
"This is VII," claimed the ominous voice of the masked mercenary on the other end of the line. "Do you read me, Otacon?"
"Loud and clear," answered Otacon duly. The thought of Snake ran through his mind fleetingly.
"Hope you haven't been waiting too long."
"I've been pretty occupied," Otacon said. "How are you doing?"
"Past the first few lines of defence," VII told him. "Not too much trouble so far, but it won't be long until those destroyed cameras are noticed." Otacon was pretty impressed: Area 51, or whatever, was legendary, but had failed to put up any serious defence so far. But then, Otacon had dealt with legends before. "Can you get Mei Ling to log our progress?"
"She's... resting," Otacon stuttered. VII was silent. "She's had a long week, VII. Anyway, I can do it easily." It was a few more minutes of Otacon working before they spoke again.
"The kid's pretty good," VII broke the silence over the frequency. "I'm close to impressed."
"Well, he's allegedly been a soldier since he was six. He should know his stuff."
"Who taught him?" Otacon couldn't decide whether VII was taking a genuine interest in Jack's past, or just making the most of the calm period before the storm. It was hard for anyone to read his emotions.
"You don't want to know," came the reply, as the speaker pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. Soon after, the two men ended the conversation by mutual consent, and Otacon was left once again facing a computer screen. A cold shiver ran down his spine, prompting him to rise from his chair and check on the other two outside the van.
"We could've just shot the dog, y'know."
VII looked up a moment from his lock picking at his addresser. Raiden was looking away from him, scouting the sand dunes for any sentries or tanks within sight.
"What?"
"I said, we could have just shot the dog," Raiden repeated. "You had a gun and all." VII decided not to answer, and return to the more pressing concern of rotating the fence door's tumblers before the surveillance camera moved back to its original position. It was a pretty standard lock, but nevertheless presented a difficulty in the oncoming darkness. Finally, a small clacking signalled the end of its resilience, and the mesh door began to swing open.
"Y'know, when I was in the army, I'd heard a lot of stuff about this place. We called it "Groom Lake,"" Raiden spoke again. "But I guess names don't mean much in combat."
VII stood from his crouched position. "This isn't Area 51 yet," he corrected Raiden, prompting an inquiring stare from the younger man. "This is the Nellis Air Force Base. It'll be daybreak before we reach Groom Lake."
VII turned, and walked slowly through the mesh opening he'd created. "So we better get moving."
Raiden reluctantly nodded, and hurried after his now-running comrade, still keeping his eyes open for enemies. It was difficult in the dusky orange light to avoid detection and, not for the first time in their lives, both men would welcome the dark.
"What date is it today?"
A cold, Eastern European accent penetrated the silence that had existed as two men prepared their assault on a base containing thousands of opposing men. The addressed was in the process of tying his lengthy blonde hair back with an army-issue bandana, and turned to his comrade when he had finished.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Sometime in May. Why?"
"If this is to be a day of reckoning, when the oppressors of this country fall beneath our boot, then I would like to know what to mark on my calendar."
The second speaker smiled, and finished arming. He looked down at his body; a body that he had thought lost to him forever, now its perfection recreated to the smallest detail. Too long had he been entrapped within an aging, however able, corpse. For the first time in years, he felt complete.
"By the way," his parasitic ally began. "I found this in the Big Shell." He pulled a small chain out of his inside coat pocket and threw it to him. The man snatched it out of the air, and slowly opened his hand to look at it. It was a military identity tag, with the words LIQUID SNAKE engraved in the metal. "I believe it's yours."
"Yes," Liquid replied. He took the chain in both hands, lifted it over his head, and allowed the cold metal to fall on his shoulders. "This is who I am now."
"Ready?" Vamp inquired. He was carrying but one weapon: the machete he'd used to kill so many. It was all he required.
"When you are," Liquid retorted, and pulled a control unit from his jacket. Behind them, the gigantic battle suit known as Metal Gear RAY, silhouetted ominously against the setting sun, began to activate, lowering its cockpit/head to about ten feet from the desert floor. Liquid ran towards the RAY unit, and with a sharp exhalation of air leapt up to its open control panel. He sat in the cockpit, and flicked several switches to start up the motions and arm the weaponry as plexi-glass closed around him. He looked back towards the ground at the figure of Vamp, getting smaller and smaller as the walking tank's head rose to its full height.
"For Liberty!" Liquid mockingly yelled over the RAY's PA system.
Vamp smiled grimly, and then crouched like an Olympic sprinter before a race. "For Liberty," he said quietly. "And Fortune."
As the Metal Gear began its first slow steps, building to a sprint that belied its huge size, Vamp began his run. His muscles pumped, slicing through the evening air, leaving his coat billowing out behind him. His feet sped over the sand, throwing it up into the air and swiftly overtaking the comparatively lumbering RAY. He could hear his own heart, beating rhythmatically. Soon he would be dancing to a different music; dancing to the sound of ricochets and the warm spray of crimson fountains.
