Chapter Two

Alyssia Markova, preceded by an escort of United States Army-issued soldiers and followed by Doctor James Dawson, Medical Degree, entered the large and well-equipped medical ward where her patient was being held under constant surveillance. The ward was the most technologically advanced in the world, and it filled the doctors who worked at the base with a sense of achievement and wonder. To Alyssia, partially hypnotised, it was just another place for her to learn her trade. Despite the telepathic interference, her determination was as strong as ever.

Finally, the squad team came to a halt at a particular bed. It was a life support cradle, not dissimilar to those used for premature babies at intensive care units. Beyond the glass screen was the same sleeping infant that the young Canadian had seen not a week before. The cradle was surrounded by medics, some standard and some army trained.

"What's this about, James?" The enquiry came from one of the four doctors around the cradle, addressed at Dawson. He was holding a clipboard, and looking at Alyssia. "I thought you were looking after the terrorist."

"Ling's orders," Dawson replied with a casual tone. "I'm meant to baby sit her 'til Fox-Hound takes over."

"Christ..." a second doctor interjected. "I thought the UN prevented the use of child soldiers."

"Yeah, well." Dawson scratched the back of his head and looked at the baby. "What's the situation?"

"A broken left arm, sustained in transit..." the doctor with the clipboard answered.

"What?" Dawson was amazed. The Patriots would have taken every precaution necessary to ensure the child's safety, especially as it was an effective bargaining chip. Through the baby, the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo controlled the Gurlukovich Army.

"Some GRU rebels attacked the medical convoy on the way here," the fourth doctor informed. "Yusev denied all involvement."

During all of this, Alyssia had remained silent, staring at the child. She looked upon his tiny, sleeping eyes; and glanced over the white splint that exenterated the layers of fat that extended from beneath his arms. Every thought she made seemed to be processed by another mind before being filtered into hers.

She would have very much liked to scream.

"Anything else?" Dawson's voice began again.

"Yeah. There's a slight laceration to the head, nothing serious. Plus, he seems to be suffering from constant influenza, and he might be developing a mild bronchitis."

Pretty sick kid, Dawson thought. "Has he been vaccinated?"

"No," the second doctor chuckled. "We thought we'd leave that up to you."

Bastards. "Can't we get a nurse?"

"No, but your date might like to see it done." The other doctors sniggered at Dawson, the first producing a hypodermic needle from behind his clipboard. Dawson didn't see the funny side. These were relative trainees, no match for his years of medical training, yet respect was something that often escaped Dawson. After a small farewell they all left, save for Dawson, Alyssia, and a solitary guard.

"Okay, let's get down to it," the overweight Doctor sighed. "Alica, right?"

Alyssia continued to stare at the baby, and answered her name monolithically.

"Right... This," Dawson said, holding up the needle. "Is a vaccination against a very nasty disease..."

"Polio," Alyssia interjected, stunning her would-be mentor.

"Yes, that's right," Dawson said, after a pause. He had expected to have to start from scratch with the kid, but perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult after all. Just how much had Rene taught her? "How did...?"

"Hey, even I knew that one, Doc." Dawson was surprised to hear the nearby guard speak. He turned to him, with a look of slight disgust on his face. He didn't like being addressed by the brain-dead commandos that patrolled the corridors. He smiled sardonically at him, before turning to Alyssia again.

"Never mind. Now, we have to..."

"Remove the cast. The injection must be made in the left arm, to the right of the humorous, in the major limb artery." The response from the girl came as though from a robotic textbook.

"Okay, I didn't know that one," the guard chuckled. Dawson was beginning to get quite irritated. The sentry was very young, no more than twenty. He was of average height, and extremely well built, though not particularly handsome. Nevertheless, Dawson was not to be intimidated.

"Don't you have anywhere better to..." Dawson's tongue stumbled vainly around his mouth for a word. "...Guard?"

The uniformed man smiled. "Orders are orders."

"Whatever." It took Dawson around ten minutes to retrieve the saw required to remove the splint and a further five to cut through. Huffing and puffing, Dawson could almost feel the guard mocking him. "Do you know how to inject, kid?"

Alyssia took the needle from him in response, and made her way towards the baby. She held it in an expert fashion, and even tapped the end to remove any access fluid. She approached the bed, more than ever feeling the need to scream. She saw the soft flesh of the child, his eyes moving behind his closed eyelids, his slightly disfigured arm; and felt a need to protect him from his surroundings, those that hid an evil presence beneath a protective exterior. She screamed defiant calls in her mind, only to have them silenced by another consciousness. Her hands began to shake, and her eyelids flickered.

"Oh," Dawson patronised. "Don't you know how?"

But she didn't hear. She was too embroiled in a mental battle that was taking place in her head. In her minds eye, she saw the two girls that had appeared in Ling's eyes the night he took her form her mother. They reached out to her in fluid motion, and tried to grab her, to restrain her. She felt herself kicking and thrashing out at them, totally determined not to fall under their control again. She stared right into their white, pupil-less eyes and spoke in her native tongue.

"I will not be contained."

"What?" Dawson asked stupidly.

"I will not be contained!" Her shout echoed around the empty ward. Dawson approached her, dumbstruck. She snapped the glass needle in her hand and allowed the sharp pieces to fall to the floor. Dipped in her blood, the cracked shards hit and bounced off the polished ward surface. Crimson stained her dress.

Dawson saw her bloodied arm and approached her. If she dies of blood loss, it would be his ass. He grabbed her by the arm, attempting to lead her away, but she was as stiff as the floor on which she stood. He tugged harder, but she wouldn't move. In her brain, she fought the Janus Collective with all her strength, refusing to give.

"Hey, be careful!" The guard commanded. "You'll rip her fucking arm off!"

"Fuck you," Dawson spat through gritted teeth, pulling harder than ever. He grabbed her around the waist and started to drag her away. The guard gripped Dawson's arm. He shook it off, and continued to pull the girl from the ward. The guard looked on, bewildered and angry.

"Leave her be!" he growled.

"Fuck you," Dawson repeated, more forcibly. "If you follow me, I swear you'll lose your fucking job." He left towards his office, dragging Alyssia by her waist, the hairs on his arms stimulated strangely by the touch of her flesh.

The guard watched him go, feeling conflicted and furious. He stood alone in the emptied ward, with nothing but the soft bleeping of the baby's heart monitor creating noise. He wanted to go after the Doctor, not trusting him. He had a feeling that the girl was being hurt in some way. Though he was by no means a saint, the soldier did have soft spots in his otherwise ruthless heart, and child abuse struck a particularly unsavoury chord with him.

But his orders were to remain in the ward, and staying in line and straightening his back was the only way he could see of ever getting out of this dead-end base-guarding and back into the real Army with some real work.

His radio intercom buzzed into life. "Private Brooks, Nathan, to the cells. Back-up required." He waited a second before answering, still staring at the sliding door out of which Dawson had struggled to make his exit. "Private Brooks, do you copy?"

A decision had to be made. Should he follow his conscious, or his orders?

"Unable to comply. Another situation has arisen. Over."

"Do you require assistance?"

"Negative," Brooks replied, and began to move towards Dawson's retreat. "Investigation in progress. Brooks out." His walk turned into a jog as he followed the Doctor.

Suddenly, pain flooded Brooks' mind. His forward motion halted, and he knelt to the floor, letting his rifle's shoulder strap pull taunt with the weight, and attempted to stem the agony that clouded his vision. The world span, and his muscles tensed as though awakening from a falling dream. But there was no stopping it.


Doctor Nicholas Ling, advanced of years and possessing a medical knowledge allegedly unrivalled in modern scientific circles, has a face that betrays his true age. It is the face of someone passing into their fifties, when in fact he is much older. He paces his office casually, often stopping to admire the paintings of rivers and misty fields that hang beautifully framed on the walls, and from time to time will sit motionless in his chair and take them all in at once. He longs for the freedom he once had, walking up and down like an entrapped animal the corridors of his mind; huge expanses to you or I, minute compared to what he is used to.

However, even he, a genius by any standard, was unnerved and even alarmed by the sudden scream that had erupted collectively from the mouths of his two protégés. They had been deep in conversation when both Charity and Faith, the identical twins that comprised the Janus Collective, had let forth the chilling sound. For miles around the facility, the psychic shockwave had been extremely painful to all those without a psychic inhibitor, like a serious but temporary migraine. The closer the proximity to Ling's office, the worse the pain.

The two psychic sisters knelt at his feet, though neither of their bodies touched the floor respectively. Doctor Ling was relieved to see that levitation was no longer beyond them. He tried calling out to them verbally, and cursed the Patriots' inhibitor, but there was no answer. The Collective were locked in a battle with one of the most defiant minds they had ever encountered, and for the first time for as long as he could remember, Doctor Nicholas Ling was afraid.


Snake stumbled over the gaping exit wounds that his M25 had punched into the dead bodies of the guards, trying desperately to block out the telepathic intrusion that rang like an alarm in the forefront of his mind. He'd experienced a psychic mind blast before when infiltrating Shadow Moses, but this one was different. Whereas Psycho Mantis's mental attacks had been controlled, penetrating mental defences when they were at their most weakened, these were totally random. It was the difference between fighting a martial artist and a (albeit very strong) street fighter.

Snake approached the door that read ITEM QUARANTINE, letting the expected buzz deny his access. He knelt down to the body of the room's guard, which was fortunately not long dead. Snake's getting through the door was reliant on the necessary ID card the guard carried being able to register with his personal area network, his body's electronic field. Snake counted that since the body was still warm, the card should still work. He lifted the corpse, not an easy task for a man fighting with the equivalent of a migraine and experiencing painful muscle spasms (an after effect of electro-torture), and held it a about a metre from the door. It slid open.

Barry's clothing had proved too tight a fit to wear entirely, but using it as a disguise had never been Snake's plan. He only needed the soldier's boots (which were at least a size too small), trousers and sub machine gun in order to reach wherever the prisoners' personal items were kept. He had known that stealth couldn't have helped him against alerted US Army recruits in these tight corridors... not until he had retrieved his inventory in any case.

The room was large, but appeared small and boxy due to the rows and rows of what appeared to be filing cabinets, with each presumably pullout container being the size of a small door. It reminded Snake of a morgue. Before too much searching, the operative had found the drawer labelled "SNAKE". Praying it wasn't locked, he pulled it open, a task which required both hands due to the size of the container and his own body's temporary limitations.

The contents took him by surprise. Inside there were eight different sections, each labelled with roman numerals. Snake was quite positive that he'd not even had on him that many items when he'd been taken, let alone enough to be filed into eight different categories. Nevertheless, now was not the time for questions: there'd be plenty of opportunities for that later, if he got his way. Instead, Snake opened the first compartment.

Within was a peculiar set of items which Snake was pretty sure he'd never owned before, though the sight of them gave him something like déjà vu. A few minutes of rummaging revealed: several army uniforms with different camouflage patterns; an array of outdated weaponry; a basic two-way transmission radio; and, most curiously, a worn black eye patch. None of the above belonged to him, nor could have been of use to him, so he pressed on to the second compartment. Finding this strangely empty, he closed it quickly and swung open the third.

The third compartment housed many items. Like the first, there was an eye patch, though it seemed new and hardly worn. There was a prototype bodysuit, Army model, which Snake had seen only once previously, though he recognised it more from the official blueprints Otacon had downloaded. Its design was to increase the strength of the wearer by feeding adrenaline straight into the muscles while keeping all bodily functions in check, practically removing the risk of heart attacks. In addition, there could be attached up to four extra tentacle-style "limbs" which were controlled by mental commands by the wearer. Snake had never worn one before, but he knew someone who had. This should not have come as a surprise: the drawer read "Snake", it didn't specify which.

The contents of the fourth compartment, like its predecessors, shocked and amazed Snake. In addition to the clothing Snake had been wearing the night he was kidnapped, there were also four different sneaking suits: two of them early Fox-Hound models, one that Snake presumed to be a replica of that which he had worn for all his Philanthropy missions to date, and the more advanced insulated rubber stealth suit with bleeding control that Snake had utilised in Shadow Moses. There was a Navy SEALS uniform with the inscription "LT. JR. I. PLISKIN", along with various other clothing and items that conjured up bad memories. Snake found a collection of bandanas he'd worn before along with an impressive arsenal of weaponry, including tranquiliser rounds, assault rifles, and handguns. He'd used them all before. The more he knew, the more questions he had...

Eventually, Snake found what he was looking for: Codec transmission equipment. Once equipped, he dressed himself quickly in the Philanthropy threads, still pondering who had collected all this stuff, and how. He left the nearly-empty Swiss SMG on the ground and took up a Beretta M92F, which he remembered modifying to fire tranquilisers, and loaded it with tranq rounds, as he had no compunction to kill any more American soldiers. Just in case, he also grabbed a SOCOM pistol, some chaff-grenades, and a couple of flash-bangs. To complete his preparation, he wrapped a dark blue bandana around his head, realising for the first time that he had been shaved bald.

Another of Snake's objectives had now been achieved, and next on his list was to contact Otacon. If Snake had been taken so easily, he didn't hold out much hope that his Philanthropy partner had avoided capture, so Codec-ing him was a priority. However, as he had been readying himself, Snake had been intrigued further by the contents of the remaining three compartments in the "SNAKE" file. He felt a strong urge to know what was in each of them; indeed, he felt it was his right.

Finally, he concluded that knowing his friend was safe was more important. He knelt on one knee and pushed his neck's aching flesh, tuning the Codec into the necessary frequency.

"Snake?" the elated sound of Hal Emmerich's voice inquired. "Is that really you?"

"It's me," Snake said slowly. He hadn't forgotten their disagreement, but now was not the time to bring it up again. "What's the situation? Where the hell am I?"

"Snake," Otacon said again. "You're not going to believe this, but you're in Area 51."

"Area 51, huh?" Snake had heard of it before, and his Fox-Hound experience told him it was real.

"You don't sound too surprised," Otacon commented. "I thought it was just a legend, dreamt up by supermarket tabloids."

"You'd be surprised how often a day-to-day journalist knows as much as a former black-ops operative. I knew it was real, but I've no idea what it's for."

"Well, from what I can gather, it's the basket the Patriots keep all their eggs in," Otacon replied, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "They're holding you and a new weapon there."

"A new weapon?" Snake inquired, and read the answer in Otacon's eyes. "...Metal Gear?"

Otacon nodded. "One to add to the hit list. I can support you from here: I'm a few miles outside the Nellis Air Force Base, with Mei Ling."

"Mei Ling?" Snake growled. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Besides her being a great help, Snake, she also received an email about her father, which I've traced back to inside Area 51. She helps us, we help her," Otacon sighed. "Call it mutual gain."

"Okay," Snake conceded. "She can help. What's your plan?"

"Well, we've already got two people on their way to you. Raiden's one of them."

"I should've known," Snake grinned. Otacon had been trying to get Jack to join Philanthropy since day one. Snake could laugh, but truth be told, there was no one else alive Snake would rather have in his corner than Jack Andrews. "Who's the other one?"

"He calls himself VII," Otacon replied. "He's got some sort of agenda with the Patriots."

"He should join the club," Snake answered. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"Frankly, no. But he did help me escape capture. If you meet up with him, be careful. He's quick to anger, but a brilliant tactician. This was all his idea."

"Remind me to thank him," Snake growled. The pain was still thumping through his head.

"Are you okay?" Otacon asked.

"I'm getting some sort of psychic backlash. It's happening to the guards too, and it's getting worse as I push on."

"That explains the tingling I felt before," the technician stated. "It was like the beginnings of a headache."

"It's much worse where I'm standing. That means the psychic responsible is somewhere inside the base."

"Maybe you can follow it," Otacon suggested. "It might have something to do with the Metal Gear, like a kind of telepathic protection system."

"If I get much closer, I won't be able to think at all."

"We might be able to help with that," Otacon answered, getting a brainstorm. "Hang on a sec..." Otacon's face disappeared from the Codec screen to be replaced a few moments later by someone Snake hadn't seen for years.

"Hiya, Snake," Mei Ling said, the naïve chirpiness Snake remembered drained from her voice. "Long time no see."

"Mei Ling," Snake nodded, and added untruthfully: "As cute as I remember you."

Mei Ling smiled weakly. Snake's voice was welcome, but she wasn't in the mood for his pseudo-flirting. "Otacon tells me you're experiencing some sort of psychic interference."

"Yeah, but I don't see how you can help."

"You'd be surprised," Mei answered. "Do you know how the Codec works?"

"I know it involves nanomachines and the bones of my ear, but that's about it," Snake admitted, failing to see how this was of any relevance.

"Kinda. It actually has more to do with your brain. In a nutshell, the nanomachines you've injected yourself with enhance your brain's functions and allows you to communicate with others on a level very similar to that of telepathy. It sends messages to your ears, eyes and mouth, and those of the person you're speaking to, which in turn send messages back to your brain, so it feels as though you are actually speaking. Touching the nanos in your neck or wrists, or anywhere where there's a major artery, merely activates those that are travelling through your brain via radio sensors."

"Fascinating," Snake lied unconvincingly. "What does this have to do with me?"

"The nanos register all forms of telepathy, including incoming Codec transmissions. I can send you a programme which will block any invasive telepathy except that of Codec transmissions, as they operate on a slightly different wavelength to that of psychic probes."

"What's the catch?"

"What makes you think there's a catch?" Mei Ling would've been annoyed with Snake's attitude if she weren't attributing all anti-social behaviour to the psychic probes.

"There's always a catch."

"Well, we'll have to use burst transmissions, and the Codec probably won't work at all in cramped areas, like an air vent. It might even be blocked by a chaff grenade."

"I won't ask why," Snake said, not wanting another OTT explanation from the chattering nanny. "How soon can you send me the programme?"

"It might take a few minutes," Mei replied. "In the meantime, you'll just have to put up with the pain."

"I'm getting used to it lately. Make sure you send it to the other two: I'm sure they'll be needing it as much as me right now."

"Will do. Good luck, Snake!" Mei Ling signed off more cheerfully than when she'd signed on. She sat back in her chair, and looked over to both Otacon and Rose, who'd came in to the van hours before to escape the gathering cold and had not yet been able to find sleep. A smile spread across Mei Ling's face at them both. For the first time in ages, they were all filled with hope. After all, Solid Snake was the man who could make the impossible possible.


Author's Note: Long time no note! This was a difficult chapter to write (I actually started it before I'd started the last three chapters), but once I got to Snake I really picked up steam. After all that editing and re-reading, I'm still not 100 happy with the first part with Alyssia, but I can't be doing this forever. Act Two: Chapter One was something that I enjoyed more.

Thanks to newcomers Meirelle Emeraldeyes, Maximus1, Angel of Hope and Miracles, Essex01, SJACK and others for checking out my fanfic. It just goes to show that you don't need "Metal Gear Solid" in the title to get more reviews than you deserve! Since you all took the time to comment, I feel compelled to reply...

Scarbie: Cheers for all the reviews. You really seem to understand and appreciate what I was trying to accomplish with each chapter. I think I've made Dawson as prickish as possible, and he'll get worse, but will he get his comeuppance? We'll just have to wait and see what I think of. Yeah, Frank was cool while he lasted, but he had to go. He'd started to make the backstage area smell.

Essex01: Don't worry, I'm not adding any more characters for the time being. The sudden overload should be enough to keep everyone going for a while, and I'm going to try to build them all up to at least half the level of Snake in upcoming chapters. Try and fail, probably.

Meirelle: Snake's back, and luckily he won't be off the scene for too long. Cheers for your reviews!

Ginger Ninja: I'm backtracking a bit here, but thanks for the well wishing about my results. How're you doing academically at the moment? Hope you're enjoying Act Two.

TUG: I agree that Shark is a bit generic, and the Janus Collective annoy even me at the moment. But they will be paramount to some future ideas that I have, and they won't stay as they are for long. Trust me. I think that Miasma is going to piss some realists off, and to be honest I haven't been forward-thinking enough to plan out what her personality is going to be like, so she could be the weak link. Let's hope I have some sort of half-decent brainwave. If you don't like Liquid, you're probably going to be disappointed, as he'll be involved frequently (but luckily, so will Vamp). I find him to be less fascinating than Solidus or even Big Boss, as he can be just bad for the sake of being bad, but interesting nonetheless.

SJACK: Yeah... I wonder about Sniper Wolf too. What did she ever see in him? And did Hal really think he had a chance? She was so, so hot... -drools-... If only she were real, sane and not a mass of busty polygons, huh?

Pablosky: Yeah, the "name denial" was pissing me off too. Luckily though, it looks like Snake doesn't even need anyone to rescue his ass...

SnakeEater23: Dude, vomit your verbal shit on your own time. You still sad 'cos I punk'd you out with a review? Too bad. Learn how to write, get over it, play MGS through at least once, and get the fuck off my review pages, you angsty bitch.

Maximus1: Yeah, Doctor Ling. I just fucking realised about a month ago that "Ling" ain't gonna be Mei Ling's last name... you're just gonna have to bear with my bullshit for the time being. At least he's not going to be shooting energy blasts from his ass or turning people into moths... at least until I run out of brain cells. As for Ocelot, I was planning on making him dead and buried, but I've just started to like the senile gunslinger as a character, so I might think of something to bring him back for a bit. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you stick with me.

And that's just about enough of kissing your collective ass for the time being. On a final note, I'd like to point out that Shade Wolf was kind enough to beta-read this chapter, but had nothing worthwhile to add.