Ridley dragged his steel carcass through the unhallowed halls of Ganondorf's castle. The metal segments of his tail created sparks as they struck the stone tiles beneath him. The halls were illuminated by moats of lava flowing down either side of the dragon; if that heartless monster could feel anything through his leathery hide, his insides would've been boiling.

"Ocelot?" Ridley snarled into his transceiver, "Ocelot!? Do you read!?"

No response. Ridley groaned, rubbing his luminous eyes as he made his way into the Pipe Room. The Pipe Room, simply put, was the room with the warp pipe. With so many members coming from beyond Ganondorf's home universe, the Villainoct needed a way to congregate. Dimentio, the master of dimensions, was the one to suggest leaving a warp pipe untouched from his curse and placing it in the castle. Everyone disliked that idea. Some feared they'd be too big to fit through the pipe, others simply figured themselves above such a childish method of transport. Unfortunately, no one else in the Villainoct even came close to Dimentio's level of dimensional trickery, and so the jester got the final say. Ridley himself actually wasn't too opposed to the concept. Sure, he didn't like the idea itself. But he loved the fact that no one else did either.

In fact, at this very moment, Count Dracula swirled out of the pipe, his face pulled down into a miserable grimace. For once, Ridley's dry lips curled into a smile - cracking of course as they did so, and leaking saliva all over the ground, but a smile nonetheless. Something about seeing the undying Dark Lord spin around and around in a giant sewer pipe brought boundless joy to his shriveled up heart. Ridley's voice box crackled as he laughed at the vampire king.

"Hold your tongue, Ridley," Dracula hissed as he crawled out of the pipe, "before I bite it off."

"Let me have this, Dracula." Ridley's smile quickly dropped as he held his head in his hands. "It's been a horrible day."

"How unfortunate," Dracula scoffed. He wasted no time in skulking away down the hall.

"Hey, wait, have you heard from Ocelot? Sectonia's acting up and-"

"No. I haven't." And with that, Dracula was gone. Ridley groaned again, perching himself on the ground by the pipe.

"This is why I don't do teamwork."

At the least, Ridley could appreciate the silence of the castle at the moment. Everyone was busy somewhere else, with Wolf on Tallon IV, Ganondorf in his throne room, and Dimentio hopefully rotting in the bottom of some pit on the other half of the galaxy. Before Ridley continued his search for Ocelot, he figured he'd just take some time to rest against the rumbling walls of Ganondorf's castle.

Rumbling? Ridley pressed his head against a wall adjacent to him. Very faintly, he could hear some sound pounding through the stone of the castle. The sound grew louder and louder, and more distinct too. The rhythm sounded choppy, clunky, electric to the ears. Ridley recoiled as he realized what he was hearing.

"Oh God no."

Just then, a massive floating machine burst through the wall. At nearly seven feet wide, the machine was a giant black orb, decked out with neon lights and speakers on every inch of free surface area. The center of the machine was equipped with a tiny turntable, from which its pilot operated the whole vehicle. The pilot in question was a plump little octopus. The DJ was blinged out just as fully as his vessel, his head topped with a golden kabuto helmet bigger than he was. But this didn't keep the DJ from pumping out sick beats. With stalks of wasabi in two of his tentacles, he furiously worked the turntable, making his machine screech out a cacophony of dubstep and buzzing and crunchy sounds. Ridley covered the sides of his heads, unable to even hear himself speak to the DJ.

"Octavio!" Ridley shouted, "What are you doing!?"

"Oh, I'm just practicing my newest beat for my SoundCloud," Octavio replied, "I just hit 10 followers two days ago. Double digits is the big leagues, so I gotta start taking this gig seriously."

"Well can you please do that somewhere else!?"

"Alright, alright, I get it." Octavio put down his wasabi, putting his funky fresh beats to a grinding halt. "Don't wanna be spoiled, wanna hear it when it's finished. When it's done, you know where to find it. WasabiBeat on -"

"Yeah, yeah, great, look. Do you know where Revolver Ocelot is? He's not picking up his transceiver."

"Ocelot? Yeah, I was just talking to him. He's over at my place."

"Octo Canyon? What for? I thought we already exported all of the Octarian troops that we needed."

"I dunno, I didn't ask him. Didn't think it really mattered too much."

Slowly, Ridley hoisted his mechanical frame off of the ground and stood up straight. Every joint in Ridley's body - be they metal or otherwise - creaked and rattled as he rose. Octavio was in pain just watching the Space Pirate; he would've extended one of the giant robot hands on his machine to help Ridley up if he had the courage to get that close. Once Ridley was at full height, however, he was even taller than Octavio's personal ship.

"Sure. It wouldn't matter to me in the slightest," Ridley snarled, "That is if it weren't for the fact that I'm carrying this entire operation. I was the one who genetically reconstructed Sectonia from a single flower petal. I was the one who bred those five Metroids for the express purpose of finding the Mirror. I was the one who made all of those clones everyone kept asking me for. A Link clone for Ganondorf, a Pokémon clone for Giovanni, that cursed Mario clone for Dimentio. Now, because of all of those clones, I'm bleeding assets like a pig. My Orpheon was one of the most advanced research vessels in my fleet - in the entire galactic supercluster, even - and it just got obliterated by that Goddamned Mario clone! Worse still, I just got word that one of my Phazon mines was torn to shreds. An entire troop of my Space Pirates were slaughtered. No doubt was it the work of that Mario clone, and his little friend too. And while I'm stuck neck deep in this mess, Ocelot has the time to wander around in that sickeningly saccharine playground your race calls home? What has he contributed? A little psychotherapy on Sectonia to get her talking about the Mirror? I could have pried it out of her eventually, but I guess we didn't have the time. Yet somehow, Ocelot has the time to sit around in Octo Canyon, 12,000 years in the future where we can't contact him? Once again, I have to ask, what for?"

Octavio sighed, rubbing his slimy mollusc forehead.

"Shit, dude, I don't know. I told you, I didn't ask-ooh, ooh, wait, I remember! I was there! He was dealing with Solid Snake!"

"Solid Snake? Who is Solid Snake?"

"You don't know who Solid Snake is!? He was, like, the most hype Smash character of all time, other than maybe Banjo or K. Rool."

"Never heard of him. Why's he so important?"

"I'm glad you asked." Octavio reached under his turntable and heaved out a book labeled Metal Gear Lore. It was wider than Octavio was tall, its binding bursting at the seams. "You see, Ridley, it all started in 1962 when a Soviet scientist called Nikolai Sokolov decided to defect to America. The operation to extract Sokolov was ran by a CIA officer named David Oh, who went by the code name Zero, and-"

Ridley brought a bony finger to Octavio's face.

"Octavio. Please. For the love of God. I just want to know why Revolver Ocelot is currently in Octo Canyon. Do you have to tell me about some 40 year old covert operation just to explain that to me?"

"Hmm…" Octavio scratched his head, flipping through the book. "I mean, I guess I could skip over the events of Metal Gear Solid 3, Metal Gear Solid: Portable Ops, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Metal Gear Solid 5, the other Metal Gear Solid 5, Metal Gear - which is entirely distinct from the first Metal Gear Solid - Metal Gear 2, and Metal Gear Solid."

"Please do."

"Alright. Don't worry, it'll only take like 10 minutes to cover this. It all started on the eighth of this month, news outlets called it the Tanker Incident. Let me ask you this, Ridley; do you think love can bloom, even on the battlefield?"

The date was August 8th, 2007. Rain was pouring hard on all of Manhattan, flooding every New Yorker nose with the briney scent of the sea. None felt more at home that night than the seafarers of Manhattan; any amphibious adventurer, from the most humble fisherman to the biggest yacht you could fit in the Hudson, could appreciate the cloudy skies. But tonight, the only vessel in the Hudson River was an unremarkable oil tanker; the USS Discovery. The Discovery rocked and rumbled down the river. The ship's turbulent rhythm was enough to make even the most seasoned Marine hurl. Fortunately for the crewmen above board, they were all dead and did not have to worry about this. Mercenaries in camouflage had stormed the tanker less than half an hour ago, slaughtering everyone above deck while hiding from those below. They were now scouring the ship, red lights blaring out of the sights of their goggles.

One such mercenary snuck his way into the mess hall of the crew's quarters. He paused in the doorway for a moment, but upon seeing dead crew members strewn across the room, his muscles eased up. After all, there was only one other door in the mess hall, leading out to the bridge. It even had a camera stalking it from above. Confidant in his security, the mercenary turned his attention away from the door. Less than a second after he looked away, he hit the floor unconscious.

The culprit stood in the doorway to the bridge, aiming a Beretta 92 at the fallen mercenary. He was clung to the wall in such a way that the camera just skimmed over his presence. He shimmied along the wall past the camera, snaking through the other door and proceeding down to the deck waiting below. But it wasn't just any snaking. It was Solid Snaking.

Solid Snake crept down the stairs, watching as another mercenary passed him by. When his target was a good distance away, Snake fired a shot from his Beretta. Like before, an anesthetic round came out and struck the mercenary, knocking him out mostly harmlessly and clearing Snake's path.

Every deck on the ship looked the same to Snake; cold, dry, and coated a hazy blue by the overhead lights. He felt lost in a fog as he made his way to the next deck below. It was like being stuck in white noise on an old TV. For the sake of both the mission and his own sanity, he hoped to be out of here soon.

Snake slithered down two more decks until he was facing the door to the engine room. He placed his hand on the door, but quickly pulled it back. As much as he'd wanted to move forward, he knew better. He crouched down and brought his eye to the gap between the door and the ground. Light poured in through the crack, but its spread wasn't even; feet planted outside were blocking light from passing through the crevice. Snake used these obstructions to deduce that the person connected to those feet wasn't moving. Investigating the shadows cast by light running under the door, Snake also figured out the angle at which the light rays were approaching him; straight ahead. Because of the size of the shadows under the door and all else equal, Snake felt confident in assuming the one blocking the light was standing perpendicular to the length of the door. This meant one of two things. One: They were facing directly away from the door. Snake would have an unbeatable tactical advantage, and could probably anesthetize them before they even realized Snake was there. Two, however: They were facing directly towards the door. If Snake could fully open the door before the other person realized what was going on, he could still overwhelm his target. If not, however, he'd be left completely vulnerable. Snake decided to wait until the other person was standing parallel to the door; even if they saw Snake in their peripheral vision, they'd need a split second to orient themselves. With his breath held and his Beretta ready to go, he silently observed the light from the door.

And then, the shadows moved. They stretched and warped; the stranger's feet turned to the side. Snake threw open the door and fired at his target, who he could now see was another invading mercenary. Before the mercenary could even turn his head, he was knocked under by the tranquilizer round. The merc hit the floor, and Snake continued into the engine room.

As Snake was trekking into the Discovery, the inside of his ear started to ring. It was the distinctive buzz of his cochlear implant - the Codec. With a firm press to the side of his head, the ringing stopped and a nasally voice filled his mind.

"Snake," the voice said, "are you in yet? Have you made it to the holds?"

"It's taking longer than I expected, Otacon," Snake confessed, his voice much more grizzled than that of his accomplice, "We've already passed the Verrazano Bridge."

"Alright. We'll use another recovery point."

"They may be planning to change course."

"What?"

"The exits to the deck are all sealed."

"What are they planning?"

"If they get Metal Gear, we're going right off the fringe."

The next door led Snake to a balcony, looking over the lowest part of the ship. Down below, a troop of soldiers were standing in neat rows and columns, watching their sergeant give a speech through a projection on the wall. From his time in service, Snake could recognize them all as fully fledged Marines - the Marine on the projector seemed to be their Commandant.

"Looks like they don't know about the company," Snake said into his Codec.

"If the deck is sealed off," Otacon added, "they have no way of knowing that the ship's been taken over."

"I'm not interested in fighting these guys. The weapons won't do me much good here."

"Can you see Metal Gear?"

"No. I'll have to go around to the bow." Snake leaned over the balcony's railing to investigate the squadron below. It seemed as though the more he looked, the more Marines there were. "They have some serious defenses here. I doubt the recent arrivals want to blast their way through the Marines either."

"I wonder where they're headed."

"I don't know...Not the beach, that's for sure."

Snake opened up a pouch on his skintight stealth suit and pulled out a camera, no bigger than the palm of his hand.

"Okay, Snake," Otacon instructed, "let's go over this one more time. Use this camera to get photographic evidence of the Metal Gear prototype. Pictures will speak louder than the government's plausible denials. We need four shots: Metal Gear from the front, front-right, and front-left, and a close-up of the Marine Corps marking."

"Marking?"
"There should be a 'MARINES' insignia on the body of Metal Gear. Just let someone try explaining away a clear shot of that."

"Alright."

"There's actually one little thing."

"Just spit it out. I'm used to things going wrong."

"It looks like someone's monitoring our transmission."

"Who?"

"I don't have a clue. All they're doing is watching. It would creep me out less if they tried to interfere with our communications."

"Could it have something to do with that Cypher we saw?"

"Maybe. I've switched the encryption protocol for our burst transmission for now. What I want to do is use a different method for sending those photos, just in case."

"Instead of using the Codec?"

"Exactly. There's a workstation in the southeast corner of the block where Metal Gear is housed. I've made arrangements so that you can send the pictures from the machine."

"Arrangements?"

"I hitched a ride on Link-16 into the U.S. military's proprietary network. Managed to get into that workstation and overwrote a part of the system software so I could remote install a little app I wrote."

"Why bother with anything that complicated?"

"No, it's pretty simple, really. Once you connect the camera to the machine, the app will automatically launch and download the image data from the camera, split the files and encrypt them individually. The data packets can then masquerade as-"

"Okay, okay, so I just have to hook the camera to the computer?"

"Well, sure, if you put it that way. And one more thing; the Commandant's already begun his speech, and you need to get the pictures before he's done talking. Otherwise, the Marines will spot you on their way back to their posts. Okay?"

"How much time do I have?"

"I hacked into the personal files and took a look at the text in that speech. I'd say you have seven more minutes, longer if he throws in a joke or two."

"A seven minute time limit, huh…"

"Remember, Snake, just the photos, okay?"

"With these kinds of odds, I won't be making any sudden moves. But that doesn't mean we can just let Metal Gear be hijacked."

"Okay, okay, but first, the photos!"

"Alright. We'll deal with the rest when we get there."

"Stay low."

Snake descended from the balcony by a ladder, joining the Marines down below. With his body crouched down stomach to floor, he could feel the Commandant's booming voice reverberating through the ship's metal plating.

"At the moment," the Commandant bellowed, "every industrialized nation on the globe knows the specialization for Metal Gear. Worse yet, so do a number of rogue states. They are all working on deploying their own Metal Gear force to compete with the U.S's nuclear strike capability."

Snake shimmied across the floor past the Marines. Slowly but surely. Inch by inch. In spite of the 165 pounds of pure muscle Snake had to lug around, the master spy didn't make a sound as he moved. You couldn't blame the Marines - even the ones in the next room over - for letting Snake wriggle right between their toes and over to the bow.

Both of the first two Marine holds looked virtually identical. Fuzzy blue ambiance bleeding into the walls of the ship, all wrapped up in a pretty spacious hangar, even with all the Marines stuffed inside. But the bow was drenched in an orange glow, like the room itself was molten. Sure enough, Snake could feel himself burning up underneath the oppressive pressure of the atmosphere. Even with the same amount of marines in the hold as any of the others - with the addition of the Commandant standing before them in person - Snake felt a claustrophobic coil wrap around his lungs. It didn't take long to figure out why. Just a mere glance upwards and he saw the devil himself staring back down. Crouching behind the Commandant was a mechanical monstrosity, rising over 20 meters into the air. Its frame nearly scraped the roof of the hold. Snake stepped back in awe, lost for words save for two.

"Metal Gear!?"

Metal Gear. A weapon, a machine of militaristic destruction, but not like any tank. In fact, it looked vaguely reptilian; two legs, a tail, and even a titanium beak hanging over Snake and the marines. The Metal Gear's form was streamlined like a shark, and the joints in its legs resembled that of a frog. Copper fibers held the whole contraption together, but you could've mistaken them for muscle tissue at first glance. While Snake gawked at the Metal Gear, the Commandant continued his speech.

"Ours is not the only military project devoted to Metal Gear development," the Commandant said from the platform carrying the Metal Gear, "but it cannot be more different in nature from the Navy's. Theirs is a program that will add fuel to the uncontrolled fire of nuclear proliferation..."

Snake turned on his camera, ready to get to work. He could see the workstation Otacon had told him about just by the door. All he needed was the pictures. From the doorway, he had the perfect angle for the front-left shot. After that, he snuck around the Marine who was recording the Commandant and got a shot of the front and front-right. But what about the marking? He had to get closer to the Metal Gear in order to investigate.

"Metal Gear RAY is amphibious," the Commandant continued, "Unlike the Army's REX, it can cruise deep underwater, move in undetected, and make its landing on any shoreline. Its onboard Joint Tactical Information Distribution System identifies targets with unerring accuracy and takes them out with massive firepower. It is the ultimate weapon, and it is yours to guard."

Snake paused, allowing those specs to sink in. This Metal Gear - RAY, apparently - sounded like something the world had never seen. A weapon on both the land and the sea? Even Snake, after everything he'd seen, couldn't help but feel a chill deep in his core. He shook it off, however, when he found the white MARINES insignia on the side of RAY's leg. With that snapshot taken, Snake creeped back over to the workstation and hooked up the camera. A computer sitting atop the workstation clicked on, glowing a bright green and displaying lines of text Snake couldn't hope to read for his life.

"Okay, now we have all the photos," Otacon said through the Codec, "Snake, the speech is about to wind up. Get out of there now."

Almost on cue, the Commandant wrapped up his speech.

"We, the Marines, will lead the charge into a new world order with Metal Gear RAY. That is all. Dismissed!"

The Marines brought their heels together and saluted their Commandant. Snake pocketed the camera, ready to run out the door before being caught.

"Excellent speech, my friend…"

Everyone froze. Snake, the Commandant, all of the Marines. That oily voice hadn't come from any of them. Snake put his hand on his holstered Beretta and hid behind a corner while the Commandant whipped around to his 6 o'clock.

"Who the…?"

It was then that the perpetrator prowled out from the corner of the room. Snake strained from his hiding spot to see the intruder, but he could at least make out that the latter was wearing muddy brown camouflage. Aside from the duster covering the uniform, it seemed to be identical to those of the mercenaries Snake had encountered. But something was...off. Something about that voice, along with his assertive actions, struck a chord with Snake.

"Gift of the silver tongue," the intruder said, clapping as he approached the Marines, "They say it's the mark of a good officer. And of a liar. Americans are too in love with the sound of their own voice to speak the truth."

As he spoke, the intruder's hands moved in a way that couldn't help but attract your attention, especially with the blood red leather that covered them. The Commandant, however, was unphased.

"Identify yourself."

At the Commandant's command, the Marines jumped to his side, aiming all sorts of artillery at the intruder.

"I am Shalashaska! Also called...Revolver Ocelot."

"Ocelot!?" Snake echoed to himself.

"What do you want?" the Commandant demanded.

"This machine will be quite useful." Ocelot gestured up to Metal Gear RAY as he stepped underneath it. The spurs on his boots jingled as he walked, as did his three different belts.

"What are you planning to do, steal this thing?"

"Steal? No, no, I'm taking it back."

Just then, the Commandant felt a cold block of metal dig into the side of his head. With a small grunt from their officer, the Marines turned to see the Commandant being held at gunpoint. The assailant was a burly old man in a sheepskin coat. His brow was wrinkled, the skin weighed down by years of war, no doubt. But his resolve couldn't shine harder.

"Gurlukovich…" Snake murmured to himself. He'd already seen the old Russki on the Discovery earlier, so his presence wasn't as surprising as Ocelot's. But Snake couldn't help but wonder what the two of them were planning.

"Nobody move!" Ocelot ordered, "Understood?"

The Marines focused all of their firepower onto Gurlukovich, but this was ultimately an empty gesture as long as the Commandant was stuck in the line of fire. Ocelot strolled over to Gurlukovich's side, waving a chunky remote in the air. It didn't look too far off from a 1980s style Motorola.

"This ship," Ocelot explained, "now carries enough SEMTEX on its key structural points to blow it out of the water at the touch of this button."

Ocelot took an experimental step towards the Marines. In response, they all stepped back silently.

"That's right. No one has to die needlessly."

Gurlukovich looked up at the ceiling, giving a quick gesture to some unseeable entity with his pistol. On queue, a horde of mercenaries rappelled from the rafters, dropping themselves between Gurlukovich and the Marines. A few more came down and got to work activating Metal Gear RAY.

"We're almost at the target," Ocelot commanded the mercenaries, "Get a move on!"

"What do you intend to do with RAY," the Commandant asked, "sell it on the streets?"

"I was raised in Snezhinsk," Gurlukovich replied, "formerly known as Chelyabinsk-70, the nuclear research outpost."

"What are you talking about?"

"After the Cold War ended, my home was bought out by the Americans."

"Is there a point to this sad story?"

"Not that you would understand. Land, friends, dignity. All sold to the highest bidder; the United States of America. Even the technology that gave birth to these weapons is Russian, developed by us!"
"What do you intend to do?"

"Russia will rise again, and RAY is the key."

"I regret to inform you," Ocelot cut in, "that I have no intention of selling Metal Gear. As I said, I came to take it back."

Gurlukovich's mercenaries all started to turn and watch Ocelot, as if something had just gone off course. Gurlukovich himself loosened his grip on the Commandant, his attention now primarily focused on his companion.

"Yes. Returned," Ocelot elaborated, "…to the Patriots."

"The 'La-li-lu-le-lo'! How's that possible!?" the Commandant shuddered.

"Ocelot, you…Have you sold us out!?"" Gurlukovich's eyes bugged, combing the scene before him to make sure he hadn't missed something. Ocelot had kept his back to Gurlukovich during this whole exchange, not looking him face to face once. How could he act so aloof while saying such poisonous words?

"I was never in your employ, Gurlukovich," Ocelot answered.

"Are you still in league with Solidus!?"

"No hard feelings, Colonel. Mother Russia can rot for all I care."

"Since when, Ocelot!? When did you turn!?"

"I'm glad you noticed, Comrade. I abandoned her during the Cold War. Metal Gear only has room for one! Gurlukovich, you and your daughter will die here."

Gurlukovich ground his teeth together so hard that they nearly chipped. Just by looking at his twisted expression, you could hear in your head how hard his blood was pumping. The claustrophobic heat in the air rolled into a steaming boil as the colonel finally exploded.

"Damn you!" Gurlukovich threw the Commandant Ocelot's way as he aimed his pistol. "Die, you dog!"

As soon as Gurlukovich swore out his foe, Ocelot finally swiveled around to face the colonel. He threw off his duster and drew his revolver in one swift motion. Before Gurlukovich's finger could even skim the trigger, Ocelot had already fired a round, striking down both Gurlukovich and the Commandant.

"Sergei!" Ocelot declared as he dropped his revolver, "Looks like you were long overdue for retirement."

"Traitorous dog…" Gurlukovich sputtered. As their boss hit the ground, four of the mercenaries tried to fire on Ocelot, but he whipped out a second revolver and gunned them all down so quickly that you could barely distinguish the individual gunshots. While they kept their weapons trained on Ocelot, neither the Marines nor the remaining mercenaries made another move.

"Show's over!" Ocelot held up his SEMTEX remote once again. "If you wish to live, I suggest you run now! This ship is still in the Lower New York Harbor. You may yet make it to shore if you swim for your life!"

Ocelot detonated the SEMTEX, punching a hole clean through the wall of the block. A wave of fire lit up the room, followed by a torrent of water billowing in from outside. Snake could hear the hull of the ship groaning against the explosions from outside the block. With the Discovery's lifespan shortened severely and the water having risen to his hips, Snake knew he couldn't hide any longer. As Ocelot ascended a stairway up to RAY's cockpit, Snake bolted after him, drawing his Beretta when he had a clear shot.

"Ocelot!" Snake cried. Ocelot looked down at Snake with the coldness of a surgeon. His cool demeanor quickly washed away, however, and he looked down at his right arm with concern. It began twitching violently. Even as Ocelot held it down by the wrist, his arm only throbbed harder. After a minute of fighting his own appendage, he suddenly calmed down, plucking off the arm's glove and rolling back its sleeve. With a new, sadistic glimmer in his eyes, he looked back down at Snake and smiled.

"It's been a while, brother!" Ocelot said. Snake held back for a second, not entirely sure how to respond.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

And it was then that it hit him. There was only one person who would call Snake "brother." It had to be the only other product of the same project that created Snake himself. Sure, he'd died all those years ago at Shadow Moses, but there was no other explanation. Snake lowered his Beretta, realizing that the man before him was none other than his genetic doppelganger:

"Liquid?"

"Lol nope."

Then Ocelot took out another revolver and shot Snake straight through the fucking heart the end.