DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY TITLE IN THE METAL GEAR FRANCHISE IN WHOLE OR IN PART. ALL CHARACTERS, UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED, BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS. THIS FICTION IS IN NO WAY AFFILIATED WITH KONAMI OR ANYONE WITHIN KONAMI. THIS FICTION IS NOT FOR PROFIT OR PERSONAL GAIN, AND MAY NOT BE PUBLISHED IN ANY FORM. THIS IS A FICTION CREATED BY NOTHING MORE BY A SUPPORTER OF THE SERIES (A "FAN FICTION," IF YOU WILL) AND WAS CREATED SIMPLY TO PROMOTE THE METAL GEAR FRANCHISE.
Snake once again found himself suited up for another mission. This time he was in the Arizona Desert, where Zidel had fled to after Snake's successful infiltration of the California air-base mission. Snake wasn't even sure that the Metal Gear model would be with Zidel, but he was their only lead to Metal Gear Zenrid.
The hot desert air surrounded Snake like an inferno in the desert, and with the very tight sneaking suit clasped to his body, he was sweating profusely. Snake had to trek across the desert for three hours, because the Zezro 94 couldn't fly across the desert and alert Zidel with what outpost he had. Snake literally thought he was going to die under the sun, until he saw the glimmering steel building in the distance. It was like striking gold in your backyard. Snake bent down and called Otacon via codec.
"Otacon, I've arrived at the research outpost," Snake reported. "It sure took long enough," Otacon answered. "Oh, I'm sorry. Who knew deserts were very, very hot and made people sluggish?" "Okay, I'm sorry. The important thing is you're there." Otacon paused. "Snake, there's another monitoring our transmission. It can only be Zidel around there. I've switched the encryption protocol for our burst transmission. For a while, we'll have safe communications." "Alright. Moving on to objectives," Snake said before turning off his codec. Snake stood up and trekked on. It wasn't even ten seconds before someone else contacted him again. "Hello, Snake. Gun cameras are mounted above the decking plate." The voice was not of Zidel's but instead a strongly familiar voice. "Look ahead." "Who is this?" Snake questioned. "Let's just say I'm one of your fans." The call ended with that.
Snake looked concerned after the mysterious call. After a moment's pause, Snake called Otacon. "What's up, Snake?" "Got a pretty freaky call just now." "Yeah, I was just about to contact you." Otacon returned. "Can you identify where the call originated?" Snake queried. "I already tried, but he's not using the same transmission we are." Snake had only heard a situation similar to this once before, and then it turned out to be Gray Fox. "Weird...Anyway, we'll figure it out later. Continuing the mission." Snake turned off his codec.
Taking this new knowledge to his advantage, Snake looked ahead to the decking plate of the outpost and saw three barrels poking out of the top of the outpost, aimed downwards. It was good Snake received this information when he did, otherwise he would have been shot down by the hidden threat. It was almost as if someone were monitoring his movements. Disregarding that thought for the moment, Snake snuck under the armed cameras' blind spots and proceeded forward. Snake came face-to-face with a sealed-off steel door. Snake set the laser sighting of his USP pistol onto the lock of the door and the silenced gunshot was followed by a bullet which then destroyed the lock. Snake reached his hand onto the doorknob and turned it. He aimed his weapon forward and cautiously walked forward. It was not even five seconds before an assault rifle met with Snake temporal lobe. Snake froze in place and looked sideways. He saw a gruff man, presumably in his fourties, and sporting an entirely scarred, savaged, and muscle-lesioned arm. "Who are you?" asked the strange man. Snake was silent. Snake heard the cocking of the weapon after a one-second delay. ."I'll only ask one more time," said the troubled, scarred voice, "Who are you?" Snake then took this opportunity to feint. "I'm --" Snake began, before he dropped his USP and grabbed the man's assault rifle, ripping it downward and cycling it to firing position, and pointed it at the man's head. "Who are you?" Snake returned the man's question. "Such skill...when the boss explained your capability, I'd never have imagined someone taking an assault rifle from ME, the great rapid-fire master." "And your name?" Snake asked. "I am Troubled Hand, master of assault rifles."
Troubled Hand (Kurt Russell)
"You know, scars are very powerful; they tell time, vitality, inner strength, willpower, and experience. This arm is a constant reminder of the discipline I was submerged in, courtesy of my father. Yes, he was a very abusive father, took everything from me...my mother, my brother, and my sisters...but in the end, while I do not appreciate him as a father, I appreciate him as an excellent motivator. He taught me that you cannot love, trust, put faith in, or expect anything from anyone around you, because one day they'll perish and you'll be left only with sorrow." Snake could relate to some degree with the man. Snake sometimes wondered about Meryl, his one and only true love, stuck in New York, where their main headquarters for Philanthropy were. He hadn't seen her in a few months, and Snake was feeling heartsick for her. But shaking off these thoughts, Snake looked directly at the man's face. Snake was just about to knock the man out, but just as Snake was about to execute this maneuiver, Troubled Hand already had prepared a TMP machine pistol in Snake's face. Snake paused. This was getting nowhere. Snake decidedly elbowed the man's arm carrying the TMP hard and slammed the butt of the assault rifle into Hand's neck. Hand stumbled for a second, then fell face-forward into the ground.
Snake picked up the TMP the man had dropped and pocketed it, as well as ammo for the new weapon. Moving on, Snake walked forward into the main area of the base...