The trek from Moray Towers to the heart of Inkopolis only took Snake about twenty minutes. For those twenty minutes, stealth was of the utmost importance. Even if the Inklings were really just kids, he still had to keep word of his location from spreading, lest Ocelot track him down. He'd decided to discard his macabre disguise along with the body it once belonged to, but by slipping through narrow alleyways, he managed to avoid being spotted by any local Inklings. Even if he hadn't kept himself hidden, though, he'd hardly be the most conspicuous sight in town. While Inkopolis looked relatively human in terms of architecture - complete with apartment complexes, a mall, and even a skate park - it was hard to ignore the garishly bright coat of paint the Inklings had adorned it with. You could find a rainbow coating every square inch of the town, with lime green to your left, ruby red to your right, and a shade of purple at your feet that you didn't even know existed. Inkopolis' energy wasn't limited to its color palette, though; as familiar as the architecture was, it did have a notably erratic layout, as if the whole city was just a set for a show. Inkopolis Plaza was the most distinct in this regard. Inkopolis Tower, a green truss tower stretching out from the Plaza over the rest of the city's skyline, looked far more fashionable than functional, with half a dozen satellite dishes along its sides and a bus sized catfish wrapped along its peak. Snake observed this alien environment from the shadows of the alleys; any closer and the densely packed Inkling population in the Plaza's core would've seen him for sure.

"Otacon," Snake said into his newly acquired phone, "this place looks like Times Square crossed with a McDonald's Play Place."

"I actually find it rather charming," Otacon replied, "Isn't it intriguing how the Inklings have modelled their own architecture after our own? It reminds me of the Gherkin, that skyscraper in London that based its ventilation system off of sea sponges."
"Whatever you say."

Snake leaned against the wall of the alley, easing his muscles while ensuring he was still out of sight. He'd been on the move ever since he broke out of Ocelot's grasp, and he hadn't yet gotten the time to contemplate the ramifications of his time bending situation. With this newfound mental vacancy, one question rose to the forefront of Snake's mind.

"Hey, Otacon, how is it possible for you to contact me from 12,000 years in the past?"

Otacon kept quiet for a moment. Snake was almost worried that the phone had died, but thankfully, his partner's voice eventually came through.

"It all has to do with information I've learned by perusing through the Villainoct's data banks. That's what I've been doing in the meantime while trying to get in touch with you. It's all very...metaphysical. I don't think you'd quite understand."

"Try me."

"Alright. You might want to sit down for this."

Snake opted not to. The street below was damp enough to make an audible squelch beneath the step of his boots.

"First, you'll need to understand that more than one universe exists. To understand what that means, though, you first have to understand what a universe is. A universe has two defining properties: an initial state and a series of events that follows. Let's use our universe as an example. At the time of the Big Bang, there was a specific quantity of matter exhibiting specific properties, existing within a certain position and bound by a specific set of physical limitations. All of these specifics are what we would call our universe's initial state, that first defining characteristic. The second characteristic consists of everything that's happened since the moment that initial state was introduced. Every event - the Big Bang itself, the creation of Earth, the beginning of human civilization, even this conversation we're having right now - makes up a definitive timeline that we use to define and identify our universe. It's necessary to define the universe like this because of the existence of other initial states, and therefore, other universes."

"You mean there are other Big Bangs? And other timelines?"

"Not necessarily Big Bangs, but you have the right idea. Other beginnings with other timelines that follow."

"But wait, if the timeline defines the universe, wouldn't time travelling and changing the timeline end up changing the universe too?"

"Exactly! You can't time travel within the same universe! Imagine what would happen if you were to travel back in time. Our universe is defined by a timeline where only one of you has ever existed. If you were to travel back five years in time, there would be two of you from that point on, which contradicts the timeline and, by extension, the universe as a whole."

"But what about travelling to the future? Wouldn't that work since the future hasn't happened yet?"

"The future has happened, Snake. Or, more accurately, it already exists. The future doesn't really happen. Neither does the past. The moment a universe begins to exist, its entire timeline is already laid out, start to finish. The sequential progression of time is merely an illusion resulting from our inability to properly perceive time. Time is a dimension, the fourth dimension specifically. Because we're three dimensional, we can't perceive time the same way we can see height, width, and depth. We can only see a single moment of time at a time. That moment is what we call the present."

"So you can't time travel, yet here I am. Why?"

"You can time travel, Snake. Just not within a single universe. I left out an important detail earlier. Initial states and timelines don't exist one to one. In fact, as far as we know, every initial state is attached to a virtually endless number of timelines. We call this a multiverse: whereas a universe is one initial state and one timeline that follows, a multiverse is one initial state and every timeline that could possibly follow."

"What do you mean by 'possibly follow'?"

"It's a lot like the many-worlds interpretation. Have you ever heard of it? It's a relatively new concept - barely even fifty years old - but it's gotten a lot of traction in pop culture recently. Essentially, the many-worlds interpretation states that at any point in our timeline where more than one outcomes are possible, it branches off into a number of distinct timelines where each of those outcomes are realized. Here's an example I think you'll relate to. Imagine you were sneaking through a ventilation shaft when suddenly it diverges to the sides. Now you can either turn left or turn right. At that point, the timeline branches off into two timelines; one where you turned left and another where you turned right."

"But if the future already exists, how can there ever be more than one possible outcome? Shouldn't the only possible outcomes be the ones that bring us to that future?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that. The future already exists, yes, but there isn't only one of them. The phrase 'timeline' is a little misleading; try to think of it less as a line and more as a tree. As time progresses, the timeline constantly branches apart. Immediately after that initial state comes to pass, one timeline becomes two, then ten, then a hundred. Despite this branching network, though, these are all still lines. During a multiverse's initial state, all of the individual universes that will follow do still technically exist individually. They just overlap. As time 'progresses' these overlapping timelines drift further and further apart, with each deviation representing its own unique timeline that itself represents its own unique universe. Therefore, because time travel fundamentally alters the course of your timeline, it actually transposes you into a different universe. Remember that example I gave earlier, where you travel back in time by five years? The instant you arrive in the past, you would enter a universe distinct from the one you started in. And you could never return."

"What!?"

"Think about it, Snake. Travelling forward in time from that point would bring you to that new universe's future, not your own. Sure, if you don't do anything else in the past, the new future you arrive at will probably look nearly exactly how you remember it. But it'll still be a different universe. To everyone in the universe where you started, it'll seem as though you disappeared."

"And there's no way you could ever go back?"

"Well, that was a little hyperbolic on my part. If you have the means to travel across universes, you could theoretically get home no problem. The thing is, that's not an option for most people. Even if it is an option for the Villainoct, I suspect that it'd be inconvenient for them, because it seems that they found a workaround. Apparently, the Villainoct opened some gate that allowed them to travel to the future. However, they managed to force the gate to stay open, and because that gate is still connecting this future to the present they came from, they can still return to the present. It's through that gate that I'm able to call you. I've managed to send signals through the gate that could connect to the cell towers of Inkopolis, and then reach you from there. Does that answer your question?"

"I don't remember. What was my question?"

"I don't remember either. I think you asked whether or not I can see you through the phone."

"Then no, that didn't answer my question. Can you see me through the phone?"

"I can't, no. I can only see through about three or four security cameras around town that I've been able to tap into. We ought to do something about that."

So Otacon led Snake to the Inkopolis Museum of History. It was a quaint little establishment, and probably the only structure you'd find in town painted buff yellow. Snake crawled in through a window, avoiding the gaze of the lone withered lobster dusting off the exhibits.

"Otacon," Snake whispered into his phone, "what are we looking for in here?"

"We need something that I can use to perceive the world around you. Human tech would be preferable; I can understand Inkling programming, but just barely. If I were better with Inkling tech, I could just use the camera on your phone. This museum is the only place in town where we'll find anything from our era."

"I see. Have anything specific in mind?"

"Yes, actually. Head to the exhibit in the back of the museum. I'm watching you right now through a camera by the front door. Don't worry about the old guy; some kids came in a few hours ago and stole an entire bookcase and he still hasn't noticed."

Still, Snake made an effort to sneak to his destination. Some habits are hard to break. His sneaking was mostly aimless, though, until he reached a short table covered in relics of humanity. There was a stack of comics on one corner, a vase on another, and next to a beat up looking toy robot, Snake found a handheld camera.

"Otacon, is this what you were talking about?"

"Yes! Grab it and let's get out of here!"

A mission well done, Snake reached for the camera and-

"No, no," Otacon said, "not that one."

Perplexed, Snake pulled his hand back.

"Which one were you talking about then?"

"The robot right next to it."

Snake shot a glance at the toy. Standing at less than a foot tall, the little robot consisted of a thin pole atop a hexagonal platform. Atop the pole rested a visor, and along its length was a flat body. Two arms stuck out from the body, ending in stubby stamps that likely served little to no function as hands.

"What is that thing?" Snake asked.

"It's R.O.B.! The Robotic Operating Buddy for the Nintendo Entertainment System! Actually, this one is a Famicom version; you can tell because of its red and white coloring. I was telling you about it earlier."

"I don't see how this thing's of any use to us."

"Trust me, Snake, I've thought this through."

Against his best judgement, Snake grabbed the R.O.B. and prepared to head out. Just before leaving, though, he caught a glimpse of the comic sitting atop the pile on the table. Over the years, the ink had faded to the point that no legible text had remained. From the artwork that survived, though, Snake was able to identify the comic with ease.

"Is that," Snake said to himself, "...G.I. Joe?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, that seems to be a favorite of the museum goers. Based on the way they treat it, it seems as though they think its a historical retelling of human warfare."

This was somehow the biggest bombshell Snake had received all day. His curiosity piqued, Snake grabbed the comic, running his thumb over the grainy cover.

"So they don't know about any of it? Ocelot? Liquid? The Metal Gears? All the wars humanity suffered, all of the lives we lost, it's all…"

"History. Less than history, actually. There is no history. Not of us, anyway."

Snake took a moment to absorb that one. He'd already figured something bad had happened to humanity given that Ocelot was the only other human he'd seen in Inkopolis, but looking around and watching the world and culture he'd once taken as absolute vanish without a trace made him feel...something. He wasn't quite sure what - the death of an entire world was far too surreal to mourn - but there was definitely something there.

"Hey, Snake, when you're ready, we're good to head out."

"Huh?" Snake let go of the comic, having been snapped back to reality. "Oh, yeah."

Snake vacated the museum and lingered behind the premises as Otacon instructed him on the operation of the R.O.B. Messing around with it was admittedly the hardest task Snake had to manage over the past hour, but with some visual aid from Otacon, he was able to connect some wires from the R.O.B. to some wires in the phone. This was a good thing, probably.

"Did it work?" Snake asked.

"Let me test it out."

Just then, the LED eyes on the R.O.B. flickered a bright red.

"Huzzah!" Otacon cheered.

"What can you see?"

"Nothing."

"Otacon."

"Wait, wait, hear me out! R.O.B.'s sensors can detect light. By interpreting the light R.O.B. detects, I can map out your surroundings, kind of like a photosensitive form of echolocation."

"Sounds like a pretty inefficient pair of eyes."

"But it's a pair of eyes that's also a cool little robot!"

Snake sighed and strapped the R.O.B. to the belt of his stealth suit, keeping the phone strapped nearby.

"Well, what are you 'interpreting' right now?" Snake asked.

"Let's see...I can see the museum wall right there...I can tell where the ground is too. I can't quite tell what the short thing standing behind you is."

"Short thing?"

Snake swiveled around, only to see an Inkling staring right back at him. Chartreuse tentacles dangled from its head, and it wore a neon safety vest like one you'd find on a traffic guard. The two of them stood there, deadly super soldier and squid kid alike equally flummoxed by their situation.

And then in a flash, the Inkling shot into the air in liquid form. The arc it travelled in reached a maximum height of several dozen meters, ending on the roof of a nearby apartment.

"Damnit!" Snake growled, "If that Inkling gets away, my cover's blown! Otacon, where do you think it's headed?"

"Probably the train. Do you see it by Inkopolis Tower?"

Snake looked, and sure enough, a train track suspended in the air atop a platform could be seen running along the edge of the plaza, nearly grazing the side of the tower.

"How quickly do you think I could get to the nearest train station?"

"From where you're standing, maybe three minutes. Problem is, I'm not really familiar with the train system in Inkopolis, so I can't guarantee that a train hasn't already passed through the station, on its way to give that Inkling a clean getaway."

"You took the time to locate a 12,000 year old children's toy, but you didn't bother learning about the trains?"

"You're a spy, Snake. I didn't think you'd be using a lot of public transportation. Still, if you want to go for the train station, head back towards the plaza and then turn left. You should run into it soon enough."

Instead, Snake ran for the tower, sneaking around the back to remain out of sight.

"Where are you going?" Otacon asked.

"To the top of this tower. I need to get an eye on that Inkling."

Soon, his intent became clear. Grabbing onto the trusses like rungs in a ladder, Snake ascended the tower at a nearly inhuman speed. One might've mistaken him for a spider monkey were it not for the absence of any other characteristics reminiscent of a spider monkey. Aside from some trouble weaving past the catfish's electrified whiskers, he'd hardly broken a sweat before making it to the balcony at the top of the tower. From this height, he had a clear shot of the tracks, and sure enough, a cable car was trundling towards the plaza. Its roof was coated in bright green ink; surely, the Inkling - who'd vanished out of sight - had already made it aboard. All he could do now was catch up, but from where? Would the train even pass through the station?

Maybe. But it would definitely pass the tower.

With a deep breath, Snake rolled his shoulders and backed up from the edge of the balcony. Then, he ran back to the edge, jumped atop the railing, and kicked himself off of the tower. His descent was quick. The air slapped his chiseled cheeks as he hurtled towards the tracks, and yet he did not flinch. Instead, he reached his arms out so as to grab the cables stretching over the platform. Grab them he did, landing the stunt much like a gold medal gymnast. Sure, his palms were probably irreparably scarred, but they only had to hold out long enough for the train to roll in underneath him. Once it did, Snake let go of the cable and landed on the top of the train, albeit while nearly slipping off thanks to the ink. He appeared to be alone on the roof. Had it already snuck inside? If so, he was in trouble; climbing inside in pursuit would only blow his cover to everyone else in the train. But it wasn't too late just yet; Snake spotted a ripple of bubbles surging through the ink. It nearly slipped through a window, but Snake managed to cut off its path by wiping away some of the ink. The Inkling was quick to burst out of the ink and fire at Snake. Naturally, Snake made no attempt to dodge a mere shot of paint, but this was to his detriment. The few inches of skin that had made contact with the ink were starting to burn, as if they'd been rubbed with sandpaper.

"Otacon, this ink is starting to sting! What's going on!?"

"Did you get it on your skin? Inkling ink is naturally acidic. Try to keep it from getting into your wounds, or else you'll be at risk for acidosis."

How hadn't he noticed before, back in Moray Towers? Maybe the pain from landing his jump had overwhelmed the pain from the ink. He'd have to dress the gash in his leg, but that could wait until later. For now, the Inkling had to be neutralized. It was already scrambling towards another window in an attempt to escape, only for Snake to grab it by the ankle and drag it back onto the roof. The Inkling tried to shoot Snake again, but by now, he'd learned better. Before the Inkling could squeeze the trigger, Snake lunged forward and - in a Judoesque move almost too quick to observe - wrapped his arm around its arm, forcing it to drop its ink gun and leaving it vulnerable to a knee thrust to the stomach. It was truly impressive - maybe not to the Inkling, but surely to everyone else. Predictably, the Inkling retreated into the ink below, so Snake moved himself to where he assumed the squid kid would resurface. Sure enough, it popped up in front of Snake with its back to his front. In this brief moment of vulnerability, Snake kicked the tanker strapped to the Inkling's back, shattering the glass and allowing the ink inside to gloop out.

The Inkling rolled to the other end of the train and hurled a pyramidal bomb at Snake, but with no ink to fuel it, it remained inert. This was it. The time was now. With the Inkling disarmed, Snake somersaulted forward, landing beneath the Inkling. From below, Snake hit the Inkling with an upward scorpion kick, connecting beneath its chin and knocking it off of the train. Snake jumped off after it, falling several feet more than humans were built to withstand. No time to cry over fractured bones, though. Snake caught a glimpse of the Inkling disappearing into a compact marketplace. He tailed after it, following the ink trail dripping from its broken tanker, making sure to duck under open windows and away from gazing eyes. The trail ended at an open sewer grate. This was perfect in a way; down in the sewer, he'd be able to avoid the public eye. So, Snake wasted no time in plunging down into the sewer's depths. The sewer largely consisted of a single straight channel, and so despite the Inkling's head start, Snake could still see it at the end of the tunnel. All Snake had to do now was close the distance.

And like that, he was cornered. Two other Inklings lurched out from the darkness and surrounded the soldier. One trained the end of a sniper rifle on his head. The other held up what looked to be a paint roller as wide as a noticeably short adult man. Flanked on both sides, Snake had nowhere to run.