Bang.

A shot—its sharp sound echoed through the halls, chased by the ringing of a brass casing hitting the crimson-stained floor.

A body followed it shortly after.

The phantom of the legendary Big Boss slumped upon the crumbling walls of his kingdom, his Outer Heaven.

Dying.

Almost dead.

Venom Snake felt his head roll back, leaning on the concrete wall behind him. Hand unconsciously on his abdomen, he could already feel the dampness staining his uniform. He fought the best he could, but in the end, it was the events from a lifetime ago that put him in this situation—the fall of mother base, the day shrapnel was permanently embedded into his head like a reminder. Bullets were one thing, but every rocket from the rookie Solid Snake vibrated the metal stuck in him, the half that was left under his skin, giving him a concussion with each blast.

He'd completely underestimated the rookie's ability to see that.

Venom Snake chuckled.

"Of all the times for me to be a sore loser…"

While he could feel his life slowly dripping away from him, he was sure that he wasn't anywhere near passing out. A lifetime of receiving life-threatening wounds saw to it that he wouldn't.

Except this time, there wouldn't be any backup to write a comma in his story instead of sealing it with a period.

No more Pequod to bail him out, no more D-dog to drag him to safety, no more D-horse to ride off into the sunset with. Not even Quiet came back to give him that small smile he'd always wished to see.

This time, Venom Snake's mission partner would simply be D-death. Ha.

He shook his head. Twice in one day, first a competitive spirit, and next a sense of humor. He really was an old man letting his life flash before his own eyes.

Speaking of life—Venom tried to reminisce, he did. But his newfound humor quickly died when he realized he could barely remember anything before he took on the face of Big Boss. He didn't know whether it was too long ago, or if those memories were taken from him when he received the same memories of the man he once served. To him, it no longer mattered.

He could remember nothing but being a soldier. A medic, maybe in another life, but always a soldier.

Always following orders.

If one thought about it, even when he was no longer a staff member and was instead the legend himself, he was still following Big Boss' orders to continue the legacy. Huh.

Venom sighed, struggling to reach into his back pocket for a cigar. Gritting his teeth through the pain of moving his torso, he managed to slip it out. The cigar was a natural one, not like the electronic phantom cigars that he used to use when he was younger. He felt like he outgrew those, eventually opting for the ones Big Boss, the one before him, used to smoke.

Maybe it was simply a sign of how he barely knew himself anymore.

Venom managed to pull out his Zippo lighter with much less difficulty than the cigar. But a new problem arose when he put the smoke to his mouth and flicked the lighter once, twice—sparks came out, but no flame stayed for long. He sighed, plucking the cigar from his mouth and holding it in his index and middle finger. Even this small mercy, he couldn't have.

Sirens went off around him, all saying how the self-destruct sequence was imminent and that evacuations were undergoing. In the room he was soon to call his burial grounds, there were crates. Medical applications, ammunition, provisions, all of which were in the corridors of crates that surrounded him. In one such corridor, the boxes were collapsed, scattered.

Therein that pile lay Solid Snake.

Venom stared at the similarly slumped figure across. The boy, at least compared to himself, had rapid, ragged breath, a contrast to the steady rise and fall of his own chest—a contrast to how he was about to die, while Solid Snake was nothing less than alive; albeit exhausted. A hardened veteran about to finally rest, versus what was supposed to be an amateur starting his career in war.

They were nothing alike…

Except for the fact that they were as photocopy was to xerox.

It didn't matter whether it was through genetic modification or through surgery. They both wore the same face of a legend. They both fought the same way, the same wars.

They were both the legacy of Big Boss.

Both forever bound by it.

In a moment of clarity, Venom saw himself in the man who killed him. All those years of fighting, spending each and every hour pointing a gun and pulling a trigger at where it needed to be pointed for the legacy of Big Boss to survive—losing yourself to it with each and every spent casing that falls on the floor—all of that, only for someone to come along and do it all over again.

In that moment, Venom realized something.

The legacy of Big Boss may belong on the battlefield, but…

But it deserves better.

It always did.

And so Venom Snake said something that surprised not just himself, but Solid Snake, too.

~/~

"Do you smoke, Snake?"

The rookie Solid Snake paused, almost doing a double take.

He was currently in the middle of using the shelf next to him to pull himself up—not easy, considering the countless injuries he felt that he was undergoing. While there didn't seem to be any stains of red on his uniform, he likely had a broken rib, several more cracked, and his muscles were undoubtedly covered in bruises. And contrary to popular belief, sometimes it wasn't okay if the bleeding was happening inside the body. Some blood was just better on its way out.

Right. He needed to focus. His body had definitely seen better days. But was that enough for hallucinations? He didn't think so. So he said nothing, waiting to see if what he heard would go away.

"Snake?"

Alright, so he wasn't hallucinating, and he was hearing something. He slowly turned his neck to where the sound came from, feeling the faint trace of pain with that effort, too. Add collarbone to the list of things that needed to be fixed when he got back home.

If I even get back home at all…

Snake groaned, remembering the self-destruct timer, as if the blaring sirens around him didn't serve as any reminder. In his condition, he'd be lucky to even set foot past the entrance, much less make it a safe distance.

He was snapped out of his thoughts of a one-way mission when his stumbling foot didn't quite get the message to balance, sending the rest of his body down with it.

"Ah, hell—!"

Solid Snake was sure he'd make impact with the floor, until he instead felt himself collide with some force holding him up—being his crutch while his legs didn't want to cooperate. It didn't feel like another wall, nor boxes that broke his fall. Instead, he felt a form of dampness; and with it, a pair of arms..?

"There you are. I asked you a question, didn't I?"

"B-boss..?" Snake couldn't believe his eyes. The man he shot just moments before was standing before him, even as he bled all over the floor. "W-why?"

Big Boss tried to chuckle, but it ended up as a raspy cough. "Don't think so highly of yourself. I've survived more threatening things than a rookie with luck on his side."

"R-rookie..?"

Solid frowned. He was about to retort, like he always wished he could back when he was in training, but he realized the kind of situation they were in. The man in front of him: his mentor and teacher, the person who taught him everything he knew, the reason he was out here to begin with, was dying.

Because of me…

The younger of the two looked down, remorseful.

"…I'm sorry."

For some reason, there was no hesitation in his mentor's voice. "Don't be. Help an old man down, would you?"

Solid Snake blinked for a few moments then obeyed, reversing the situation and helping Big Boss to the floor as gently as possible. He wrapped his arms around his teacher's torso, and leaned the man's bleeding body onto the nearby wall.

For reasons beyond Solid Snake's understanding, Big Boss gestured for Solid to sit in front of him. The rookie supposed he didn't have much of a choice, then. Skeptical, he crouched down in front of Big Boss, settling for a compromise between standing and actually taking a seat.

Grunting, the older soldier plucked out a cigar from his breast pocket, holding it out for Snake. It was brown, somewhat longer than his thumb, and was lined with a gold band around the middle. Fancy, then. Not something Solid could afford on a soldier's paycheck.

"Try this. They're from Cuba, much better than those Lucky Striker menthol sticks you like so much."

"Cuba, huh..?"

At this point, Solid Snake had suspended all his disbelief, and just decided to accept that these were the last moments of his mentor, whom for some reason didn't hold any ill will for his killer. He gingerly accepted the cigar, placing the end that wasn't cut into his mouth. Pulling out his set of matches from his own breast pocket, he struck a match, and upon hearing the flame hiss, lit up the cigar.

Big Boss seemed to have a reaction, letting out an audible hum as he watched Solid Snake extinguish and toss away the used match.

"You're right," noted Snake, exhaling. "These are better. Then again, I've always known that—these things are expensive. It's shame that I'll never get another chance to try them."

A moment passed, two, where neither said anything. Just two soldiers, one young, one old, and the second-hand smoke from the one cigar. One teacher, one student no longer.

The old soldier in front of him sighed, breaking the silence. "…How much do you know about Big Boss, Snake?"

"You mean how much I know about you and your 'legend'?" Solid Snake scoffed, feeling the conflicting emotions he tried so desperately to bury boil within him. "Plenty. There was once a time where there was no limit to the respect I had for you. Especially when you first picked me up from basic, I had felt so honored justto fight alongside you in FOXHOUND, too. I wanted to live up to every single story about you."

Snake paused, realizing that he was already going too far to stop now. "But it was never good enough for you, was it?"

Big Boss pursed his lips. "Snake—"

"No. It wasn't, wasn't it?" Solid Snake was standing now, his emotions holding him up against all the pain in his body. "Even on the first day of basic, when I outperformed every single trainee in the camp, you were everything but impressed. When I aced each and every increasingly difficult drill you ran us through, there wasn't really anything in you. Even when I graduated as the youngest member to reach operative in FOXHOUND, I'd never seen more polite and dry clapping from the man who was supposed to be my mentor. You said that you saw potential in me, were you just lying through your teeth? Lying when you were the toughest on me, out of all the recruits? I wouldn't have minded the hardass act, but this? Even now, when you make me kill you, you aren't even satisfied enough to stay dead."

Solid let out a desperate cackle, before realizing what he was saying. Reining himself in, his eyelids tightened, as he got a grip on his emotions. But as much as he tried, he couldn't stop his voice from breaking when he asked his next question.

"Boss, I just want to know why…"

"Snake, no—David. Look at me."

Like a good soldier, Snake did as he was told. He stared straight into Big Boss' blue eye, expecting to see the same indecipherable look he'd seen in his mentor for years. Except something was different. Big Boss' expression was… understanding? Warm? Snake couldn't tell. The signs of weariness from war were still there, but there were… different, somehow. Like there was a piece of a man's soul still left in there. A fragment of hope. It was completely different from the man who had taught him everything he knew.

It was impossible for that man to have this kind of…

Oh.

In that moment, Solid Snake understood.

"You're not Big Boss…"

"I'm not. But the same time, I am. You and I are more similar than you'd ever believe."

Solid Snake slowly sat down, crossing his legs in front of the man who shared his mentor's face. "Who… who are you? How..?"

The older man smiled. "A lifetime ago, I was a Snake, too. They called me Venom Snake. It's amazing what the doctors were able to do, even back then," he said, opening and closing his left arm. "You're not the only one who had idolized Big Boss. I worked under him, serving as the most proud and loyal medic in the world—and now I got to become him, as his phantom. Not quite the dream I always thought it would be."

"As for you… One of the reasons he treated you like that was because you're his son."

A lump formed in Solid Snake's throat. "S-son?"

Venom Snake nodded. "You're his son, and he's your father," he repeated. "But for what it's worth, he wasn't your dad. Not in any sense. Some scientists decided they wanted to play God, create the perfect soldier from the genes of Big Boss. The result was you, and your brother, Liquid. Eli, if you'll ever meet him."

"Eli…"

"So that makes both of us the legacy of Big Boss. But there's something I want you to understand. Look around you."

Solid Snake did so, seeing the building all around him. Outer Heaven: the painted concrete, the caches and crates, all filled to the brim with weapons and ammunition eternally intended to be wielded by soldiers. The rookie nodded, somewhat understanding.

"We're always going to be bound Outer Heaven," breathed Venom Snake. "A place where there's always going to be a war to fight. I think our legacy deserves better than that. I know it can have better than just that."

Solid Snake chuckled sadly. "Unfortunately, you're a bit too late on that idea. With how much time the self-destruct sequence has left to blow, I don't think there's going to be left of either of us to make that dream come true." He puffed on the cigar, making sure to exhale away from Venom's face. "As much as I'd like to see it happen."

"I wouldn't be too sure."

Snake felt something move into his hand. Looking down, he saw that it was Venom—the man put something into his palm, pushing Solid's fingers to wrap around the device. It looked like a radio transmitter, or the detonator for C-4. But all thoughts of it being such disappeared when a faint blue light flashed over Solid's thumb, scanning it. Once the light dissipated, the device beeped twice.

"Authorization transfer complete."

"What was that?" asked Solid, cautious.

As soon as he asked, he heard the heavy sound of metal moving. Upon looking to where it came from, he understood. A door had opened up, a passageway to what he assumed to be headed outside.

"That should lead to a shortcut—"Venom Snake coughed, but the red stain dribbling down his lip didn't go unnoticed. "Damn it. I want you to live, Snake. Big Boss' legacy deserves better. But from here on out, that would be you. You get to choose, no more being bound to Outer Heaven, Big Boss, or anything. You can keep fighting you want, or stop altogether, but promise me that you'll live—and that it'll be by your terms and no one else's."

Solid Snake nodded. "I will. I'll make sure your dream becomes a reality," he promised, filled with conviction. He began to stand up, determination and grit supporting him when his legs screamed for him to give up.

"Good." Venom Snake sighed. It sounded happy, content. "And for what it's worth, Big Boss isn't the only one who watched you progress."

Solid Snake dared for a moment to look back, to back to the man whom he now shared so much more with than anyone else he'd ever met in his life.

"I'm proud of you, David. Now go. Get out of here."

The rookie had to tear his view away from the older man. He knew that if he stayed a moment longer, he wouldn't be leaving at all.

"Thank you," he whispered.

And Solid Snake ran through the emergency tunnel as fast as his feet could carry him to escape Outer Heaven—ran to the beginning of his newfound life.


Hi, I'm Pontius.

This was my take on how the ending of MG1 could have gone. Venom taking a look back at his life, and having a heartfelt talk with his successor (technically), Solid Snake.

Conveniently, it somehow explains how Solid was able to escape Outer Heaven so fast. As I finish this up, I'm left wondering if Venom is a bit too talkative. My main reasoning here is that he's older than he was back in his prime (?) in MGSV, and he wasn't in the middle of a mission anymore. As I've said in my other work, Venom's a lot more talkative than we think he is in the games, if you listen to all of the tapes in MGSV. I'll admit though, I did stretch that concept a little bit far with how much Venom talks here, but I had to take some liberties to help him express how he thought.

Solid, on the other hand, is still a rookie, and while I'll also admit I could have done more research on the radio calls of the original MG, I'll say that I represented him here as a lot less experienced, a little more childish with Big Boss as a not-great father figure. I mean, Big Boss did say that he'd never consider the products of Les Enfants Terribles his sons, so I think that's how it might have gone. And as a side comment, I took way too much time figuring out the brand of cigarette Solid smoked in MG.

(Please don't smoke, that stuff's really bad for you even if a lot of our MGS characters seem to love the cigs)

Anyway. If you have any ideas on what I could improve, don't hesitate to tell me! Comments are basically the lifeblood of any fanfic writer. If you want to tell me personally and talk to me about Metal Gear and whatnot, I'm on Discord, too.

Pontius Pilot #0974

That about wraps up this fic. I hope you guys liked it!

Until next time,

Pontius