This is The Evincar…
And this is my very first MGS fanfic…
So forgive me if it's lame or something…I write a lot of fanfiction, but mainly Evangelion stuff…I did write some Eva/MGS crossover, but that doesn't count much, just some Solidus Snake scenes…ehehhe
Well, I've been doing some reading, and I like the stuff here…My favorite characters, by the way, are Solidus and Ocelot…'
In other news, I hate all the Raiden bashing…Sure he's odd and he's not Solid Snake, but I still find him interesting…Like some people say, maybe if the American voice of his would've been better like the Japanese actor voicing him.
This fanfic is sort of a Metal Gear Solid 4, as you've seen tried countless times I'm going to try to continue the Metal Gear Solid 2 storyline (except very poorly…ehehhe)
Well, anyway, let's start the show.
Disclaimer: I don't own Metal Gear or its characters. Konami does, and they rock. Who else could create someone as kickass as Revolver Ocelot!
December 3rd, 2010
Unknown Location
The shadowy figure stood their, its long drab trench coat swaying in the wind.
Behind it were a horrendous fire, and a large wreckage of metal and dirt that seemed unidentifiable as anything commonplace.
He clutched his arm, stumbling forward, an odd clacking sound against the ground as he walked.
He reached into his coat, pulling out a small syringe and injecting it into his arm.
New York City, New York
Public Park
The slender man dressed in a white shirt and jeans sighed as he strolled down the grassy path, his pale hair swaying in the wind over his equally pale face.
He stopped and slowly lifted up his hand, staring at his watch.
Dammit…where are you Snake?
The message had been small, delivered on a piece of paper, breaking the silence that had descended for months between the two men.
Raiden had spent the last few months trying to settle down into a normal life, or at least as normal as he could manage, as he and Rose tried to settle their problems, the young woman growing steadily more and more pregnant.
He remembered her face in the chaos; he remembered her words and the face he could not truly refuse.
"I want you to see me for who I am, not for who I pretended to be."
Then it had happened, a simple knock on the door and a small piece of paper reading, "December 3rd, Williams Street Public Park, 8:10 P.M.- Snake".
He had found it crude and odd for someone like Solid Snake to simply leave a note like something one would find in elementary school note-passing, right by his door, or to even know exactly where his new address had been, since he lived under the alias "Leonardo Sears" now.
But he supposed that Snake and the rest of Philanthropy were busy and disgruntled, on their chase after what Raiden had dubbed "Liquid Ocelot" and the Patriots.
He remembered the countrywide news reports about a "Hijacked Metal Gear Ray". Those only served to put more fear into the people, Congress pushing for more military spending and passing a bill to sustain and raise the number of guards on duty at American military facilities. Such a thing would not be allowed to happen again. Unless the Patriots wished it.
He stopped short of a small clearing in the grassy path, looking around the dark bushes of the park, which was strangely abandoned, at a time where there would usually be homeless people, or at least late joggers.
Snake always knows the perfect meeting places, I guess.
Then he saw it, a solitary figure, an approaching shadow in the distance, as it approached he could see the telltale bandana and outline of Solid Snake.
Raiden nodded to himself, striding forward to meet Snake when he suddenly noticed something odd about Snake's face.
There was something different, it had the same basic features of Solid Snake's face, but there were some minor differences other than the lack of facial hair, the nose seemed insignificantly smaller, the ears a almost unnoticeably different shape, the differing characteristics between perhaps what Snake and someone trying to pass as Snake would be.
Raiden halted, his eyes widening, his body moving quickly as the faux Snake suddenly produced a long wooden pole from out of nowhere, as if it had simply materialized, and swung it wordlessly towards his head.
He ducked down quickly, dodging the blow, and rolled backwards; reaching for the handgun he knew was tucked into the back of his pants.
But his motion was cut off from a strong slam to his back, sending him falling and rolling onto the ground, stomach up, cursing himself mentally for not checking for more attackers.
He stared up at the newcomer as the figure loomed over him.
It was a tall, lanky, slender man dressed entirely in black with a black fedora. In fact, it seemed like he was taken off of a screen full of black and white cinema, since he was covered from head to toe in ebony except for his pale, almost completely albino skin. Even his eyes were a pale, light, lifeless gray.
Raiden noticed this all in seconds, and leapt up, trying to take the initiative, kicking at the man while spinning around to face the faux Snake and at the same time drawing his pistol.
He landed the kick, although the man in black seemed to stand there, absorbing the attack, and managed to duck under yet another swing from the faux Snake while drawing his weapon and aiming it.
Then, he felt something slam into his neck from the side, and it was all over, his body rolling onto the ground and shaking.
He stared up numbly, his eyelids growing heavy.
The last things Raiden heard and saw before he descended into the darkness were the faux Snake standing over him, staring down at him and then turning to his someone Raiden could not see.
"Viper...make sure not to kill him…we still need him alive."
Unknown Location
He groaned as he slowly became cognizant, as he was slowly born into total strangeness and confusion.
The only image in his mind was the last thing he remembered.
He stumbled slowly backwards, his body slowly almost floating dizzily in confusion as he teetered off the edge of Federal Hall.
He knew the truth, and it ripped up his soul. It made him want to destroy entire countries full of people.
He'd been weak, he'd let the boy win, he'd let the Patriots get the best of him. When the time had come for the final strike, when the time had come to finally deliver, he had been unable to, and Jack had.
Always that way, huh, Jack the Ripper? He chuckled to himself at the memories.
He knew he'd lost, but deep down he felt a certain peace in defeat, and a realization of the importance of passing ones genes on from generation to generation, even if the person you were passing them to had no realization, and wasn't literally related to you.
They didn't need to be, it didn't need to literally be ones genes; it could be a person's dreams, a person's morality and spirit. That's how life worked.
He coughed, a bit of blood dripping from his mouth, and reached out with his left hand towards the blurry image of Raiden standing there silently, his hand grasping his godson's image, and then releasing it as he spoke his last words, to silent to be heard.
"Carry on…Jack…carry on…a dead man has no use…the land goes…to the strongest"
He growled, shook by the memories, filled with anger and rage at everything, his own weakness, Raiden, the Patriots, Dead Cell, the entire damned world.
He wanted vengeance, but most of all he wanted to deliver the final plan he had been enacting ever since the faithful day he had resigned from the presidency, his final scenario.
He didn't know what he was doing there alone and nude in the woods.
He didn't know why he was still alive, or why the Patriots or the local authorities had let him live, or let him go.
For all he knew he was simply another pawn in the paw of the Patriots, as he had been on the Plant, as most of the country was.
But this was irrelevant, for he knew one simple thing.
That he still remembered the code to enter a very special bunker, where there were many different suits of a very special armor.
New York City, New York
Unknown Location
The man let out a shivering moan of agony as he felt the sharp points rip into his neck, and then fell limp to the ground, blood pouring out of his wound.
The shadowy figure watched the man writhe upon the ground and smirked, his smart black goatee contorting with his expression, his ebony hair and drab green trench coat swaying ever so slightly in the breeze.
He stared listlessly at his hand, drenched with blood, and licked off the crimson substance, chuckling to himself and rubbing a bit of it into his skin.
Then he slowly brought his hand up, taking a long dagger out of his trench coat and slowly slicing a horizontal line into his bare chest, which was normal except for two other similar lines that were now scars in his skin.
There were also other lines, but they were only faintly visible, covered up by regenerating new skin, ghost relics of dead victims.
He smirked again as he put away his dagger, speaking to himself in a silky, accented voice.
"Third one today…"
But that was enough for now…He had business to take care of…Vengeance, meaning, meals, they all came together in the end.
He had promised him that he would take care of her, protect her from the death she had seemed unable to welcome afterwards, but he had failed in his weakness.
The man turned around, making his way farther down the alley, his boots making hollow noises as they splashed against puddles of dirty water and oil.
Short debut chapter, definitely, but I'm still getting the feel of writing Metal Gear Solid stuff, having never found it before…
Hope you enjoyed or were at least slightly interested by this…
I plan to have as much fun as possible with this fanfic, while introducing new characters and messing with the plot.
Well, see you next chapter, check out my other fanfics, when you can.