"Metal Gear Solid: Big Boss's Shadow"
This fan fiction is set in the period between Metal Gear Solid 1 & 2. All characters belong to their respective owners Konami, Hideo Kojima, etc. Enjoy this, the first 2 chapters of my work which will hopefully be updated every two weeks.
Prologue
Location: Somewhere in Iran
Date: 12th January 2006
Time: 09:43 EMT
"Snake? Are you there? Are you alive!"
Solid's eyes opened slowly, awakened by the beep of the codec. It felt like a knife being thrust into his ear. This was the least of his worries though. The blast from the explosion had sent him flying. Surrounded in darkness, he went to move his left arm to check his body. A sharp pain engulfed him. His arm wasn't going anywhere soon. Biting his lip hard, he assessed the situation. He was conscious and alive. Always a good thing. Now he had to remain silent. Noise was what got him into this mess, and in his current condition, further discovery would most definitely be fatal. Another pang of pain shot through his damaged eardrums as his worried friend, Dr Hal Emmerich (codenamed 'Otacon'), sent another message.
"Snake? Can you hear me?"
"I'm…alive…." he responded in his trademark gruff voice, "But my shoulder, Otacon… it's dislocated…."
"Come on! It's not like a dislocated shoulder is going to stop the legendary Snake!"
Snake smiled through the pain.
"Your right. Give me a second."
His reply was in no way egotistical. Faith in your own abilities was crucial in this line of work. Grabbing a small fistful piece of rubble he placed it in his armpit, and then using it as a prop, he tugged hard on his left wrist with his right arm. There was a loud audible 'pop' as the bone returned to its normal place. Hissing and cursing under his breath at the combination of pain and sound, Snake tapped the side of his head, activating the codec.
"There. It's sorted."
It still ached but he was used to pain. Pain was a friend he treated with due respect. Pain told him he was alive, but, most importantly, he 'dealt' in pain. Yes, pain, could be good. The sorry bastards who detonated that C4 would become acquainted with his friend soon enough. Another smile graced the war-torn face of the hero as he recited a phrase Hal regularly used from some sci-fi series.
"Today is a good day to die."
Chapter One
Location: Philanthropy's headquarters.
Date: 10th January 2006
Time: 04:09 EMT
Dr Hal Emmerich, leaned back in his chair, a phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As he spoke, he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. "…so what I'm saying is, that in order to beat the boss on level ten, you have to get the BFG. Okay? You got that! Talk to you soon". He put the phone down and sighed. One more month and it would be a year since his life had changed so drastically. A year since 'Shadow Moses', since he met Snake, since he escaped barely with his life, but more importantly since Revolver Ocelot had sold the plans to 'Metal Gear' to the Black Market. After that act, there had been no word on his location. He simply…vanished. The UN approved anti-Metal Gear organization, 'Philanthropy' was formed, established by Solid Snake, and himself. Their job was to combat, and destroy the various Metal Gear Rex copies that were appearing all over the globe. So far they had used operatives to infiltrate four facilities. Two of these facilities had contained half-made models which they sabotaged easily. The other two had fully operational models which were destroyed on site before they could be activated by their creators. The last three months had been quiet though. This brought us to now. Rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses back on, Hal sighed once more. All he seemed to do now was play computer games, hold long-winded briefings and do paperwork. A regular 'pen-pusher'. Sure, paperwork was important. He knew that research notes into different variations of the Metal Gear model had to be compiled. As did detailed covert information reports on its spread through the black market, but so far, nothing exciting had really come up as of late. Dave, said to be patient. He could afford to say that, though. He was the legendary Solid Snake, a highly trained espionage operative and, of course, ruthless killer. Snake knew one hundred and one ways to kill a man. Then he could list one hundred and one ways to kill a man silently. Hal was all too aware of how dangerous a man like Snake could be. He owed his life to him. What if that 'maniac', Gray Fox, hadn't been stopped by Snake? The scientist cringed at the thought of being on the receiving end of the deceased ninja's katana. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and continued to muse over the current situation.
Dave had gone home to Alaska shortly after Shadow Moses, but made regular calls inquiring on developments. He hadn't participated in a mission since the events of early 2005 but Hal knew that he wouldn't have softened. A man like Snake never got soft. Otacon wondered if Meryl was with him. He somehow doubted it. Dave loved to be alone, and although he knew they had formed a connection, he didn't see the relationship developing into anything permanent. He let out a yawn and thought that 'bed' was in order. He had just gulped down the last of his coffee and stood up when the telephone rang. "Oh great…" he muttered. He picked up the receiver and placed it to his ear. A female voice, with a beautiful Russian twang greeted his tired ears.
"Hal? It's Nastasha."
Hal smiled. He'd always had a thing for the Russian minx. If only she'd stop smoking, he thought. Nastasha Romanenko had been in constant contact with Philanthropy after her work as nuclear analyst during Shadow Moses. Harnessing an exceptional knowledge of modern warfare as an ex-military analyst for the Defense Intelligence Agency, she was a key asset. However, following her publication of 'In the Darkness of Shadow Moses: The Unofficial Truth', she had received many threats on her life including an assassination attempt during a nuclear arms conference in Moscow. 'Attempt' was the key word. Hal remembered reading the report. Never without her well-maintained Makarov PM pistol, she had calmly unloaded a full clip into her assailant's head at close range before any of the surrounding security forces could move a muscle. The local authorities had attempted to identify the assassin. This proved to be difficult as he had removed his own fingerprints with acid. The investigators were forced to collect the would-be hitman's dental records from a small section of jaw- the only intact piece of the man's head. Everything else was pulp. Despite this, his identity was never discovered. He was just another dead hitman.
"Hey Nastasha. What's up?" he replied, trying his hardest to sound sexy. He knew 'business was strictly business' with her…but it was worth a shot.
"I've got some information I think you'd like."
"Fire away. This line is secure," Hal said with confidence.
Hal was at happy with the phone's level of security. After all, he had designed the encryption system personally. She didn't speak for a couple of seconds and he was aware of her taking a deep draw of her cigarette, another thing she was never without. He let his mind ponder, briefly, over the thought of whether or not she was smoking when she shot that man. More than likely.
"You can thank some of my old friends in the DIA. Word round the camp fire is they've captured an Iranian scientist who was working on a new type of Metal Gear."
Hal was unsurprised by the news. He was well aware that Iran, with its recent shift of focus on nuclear technology, and its precarious relations with the west, would be interested in a Metal Gear model.
"Well, we knew it was only a matter of time before they started to build one, Nastasha. We'll send in some operatives to investigate," He responded. "I'll call a briefing tomorrow and keep a closer eye on Iran"
"Hal, I don't think this is a job for rookies. There is more. Ocelot was there," she said.
Leaning forward, his glasses falling into his lap, Hal's response was hurried and excited.
"What? Is he still there? In Iran? Do you have confirmation this man is telling the truth?"
There was another pause, which seemed to last an age, as Nastasha took another deep draw. She finally responded.
"He is no longer there, for now. According to this man, he is due to return in a few days. Iran is making a new model of Metal Gear Rex, but this time with chemical weapons. Ocelot is funding its development."
"How is he getting the money?" Hal wondered.
"I don't know," she replied. "But that is another thing you need to work out. Hal, I suggest you send your best operative to the facility in Iran. Infiltrate and destroy this new model but most importantly, capture Ocelot."
Hal and Nastasha both knew exactly the man for the job.
"I'll contact Snake," he said. "I need you to send me all relevant data to my email account. Don't worry. You know it's secure too. Do you want to come out of hiding for a bit? Work with us? You'll be safe. I'll even let you keep your piece on you."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Hal. I'll send the data now. Talk to you soon. Give Snake my greetings. Пока!"
"Bye."
Hal put the phone back down and leaned back in his chair once again, letting out yet another long exhaustive yawn. For about a minute he stayed in this position, contemplating. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang for less than a second, being picked up quickly. He spoke into the receiver.
"Snake. It's me."
Chapter Two
Location: Twin Lakes, Alaska
Date: 10th January 2006
Time: 03:00 EMT
In the darkness, the legendary Solid Snake reached into his shirt pocket and carefully removed a 'Lucky' cigarette, his favorite brand. A flickering glow filled the log cabin for a moment as he lit up. He thought deeply to himself, smoking intensely. It had almost been a year…
Snake had made the decision to return to his retreat at Twin Lakes, Alaska, but this time retirement was not on the books. The break was only temporary. A man like Snake didn't retire. They couldn't. He knew he'd be called upon again and again, not that Snake cared. He had said many times that it was only on the battlefield that he felt truly alive. He longed for the rush of adrenaline, the threat of capture, the thrill of the kill. He often wondered what separated him from a serial killer, but only for a second. He knew the answer. Those he killed were not innocent women and children, but trained killers themselves. Soldiers, working towards a world where fear and oppression dominated, the poor and weak were downtrodden, and the rich and greedy were prosperous. They were the enemy of all that was good and decent, and despite everything Snake had done in the line of duty, he still had his principles.
He puffed on his cigarette, a husky barked outside, and the wind blew against the door. He wondered if Hal was still up, considered calling him, but then decided against it. If any developments occurred, Hal would ring him.
His eyes scanned his log cabin. It was plain. Almost unlived in. No-one, except him, had ever been in here. Not even her….
….Meryl.
His mind stuck on the name like a broken record. He had tried to forget her, tried to push all memory of her existence from his head. She had loved him, and he had tried to 'love' her, but the meaning of the word 'love' was alien to him. The last time he had seen her they had made 'love'. He had left in the early hours, without as much as a letter. He couldn't bring himself to be close to anyone. Not for long. She had been angry and hurt. He had been distant and cold. Eventually, she had stopped calling.
He had gone back to his 'dog sled racing', pushing himself, and his animals, over 200 miles of barren snowy wasteland. Alone, in the freezing wild, with nothing more than a few dogs for company and nature at her rawest. It was the ultimate endurance test. From the large kennels outside, another Husky gave a shrill bark. She was restless. The blizzard outside was getting her excited. Snake finished his smoke and opened the window slightly. He tossed the butt into the wind. The dog was staring at him from inside her kennel, across the yard.
"Quiet," He commanded in a low, yet firm voice.
The dog retreated into her kennel and lay down. He closed the window again and turned his head to gaze at the SOCOM .45 pistol that lay on his dresser beside the telephone. He had been cleaning it earlier and it was immaculate. It was also loaded, with the safety off, ready for use in a split second. It was good to be prepared. Snake had given up counting the number of people who wanted him dead. He had just reached into his pocket for another cigarette when the phone rang. He picked it up swiftly.
"Snake. It's me."
It was Otacon. He sounded tired. In Alaska, now, it was just after 1am. Snake knew they would be two hours ahead back at headquarters.
"Otacon, what's up?" He asked.
"Pack your things. You're needed. Some of our people are being sent to collect you. They will be with you within the hour."
Snake was silent for a few seconds.
"Snake?"
"I'm ready. I'll see you at briefing."
He said goodbye, and hung up. Snake knew that now was not the time to ask for the mission details. Methodically, he grabbed the bare essentials he needed for travel, placed the small bag of items at the door, then turned and sat on his bed… waiting.
Light flickered in the dark room once again as he lit up yet another 'lucky' cigarette
"This will not be my last mission," He whispered to himself.
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