Disclaimer: Metal Gear still is the property of Konami.
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As we last left Solid Snake, he had just sent another member of FOX-HOUND on a one way trip down the River Styx. And so, after clearing the obligatory snow level, he began walking down a rather long staircase. And upon opening the door at the other end, he could only thing one thing.
That's a really fucking big pit of liquid steel they have there, right underneath the catwalks that the guards patrol. It's like a fucking early Christmas…
And so, spotting one guard standing at the edge of the catwalk, Snake proceeded to sneak up on him and throw the sucker into the lava. Man, this'd be so much cooler if the guards here were like that dude from Terminator 2. Now then, how the Hell am I supposed to get across to the other side? Better call the base expert on my team.
And so, as he turned on the CODEC, Snake was surprised that Otacon, in a grand total of sixty seconds, had gotten over his dead terrorist girlfriend.
"Hiya Snake? How's it going?"
"Good. Listen Otacon, how exactly am I supposed to get past this lava pit?"
"Okay, go to the far wall. Now, see that construction beam jutting out of the wall a grand total of 4 inches?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Well, I've seen rats run across it plenty of times.".
"Otacon, I'm a wee smidge large than a rat."
"Oh, I know, but it'll be easy. All you have to do is shimmy across the unimaginably narrow crossing, duck underneath the construction crane, and continue, all the while staring at the molten pit of certain doom that awaits you if you slip up."
"Uh… okay then. Snake out."
And so, Snake began to cross the narrow thing, trying to ignore the whole "bridges" tangent from two chapters ago, as even though it was being used as a bridge, it was still just a support beam, and therefore, unsuitably for use as a bridge. But still, a thought did possess his mind that the time…
This is so very fucking stupid…
Ducking beneath the crane, Snake continued inching across the beam, his gaze fixated on the liquid metal beneath him. Arriving at the other side of the bridge, our hero dropped to his knees and thanked God, Buddha, Confucius, Quetzalcoatl, and Spider-Man for their protection as he crossed the support beam. Unfortuntately, he thanked them a little too loudly.
"Intruder alert!"
Fuck… our hero thought as he picked himself up.
And so, FG173, FG1014, and FG1227 sprang into action and engaged our hero in another gunfight. Actually, only FG173 and 1014, sprang into action, as FG1227 decided that engaging the hero in a gunfight on a catwalk above a pool of red hot metal was definitely not a bright idea. And so, he walked away, destined to live on, to pass on his genes, for he was FG1227, the most intelligent Genome Soldier ever. As Darwin wrote, only those most fit to survive do, and therefore the race as a whole benefits. As FG1227 planned his excuse for skipping the gunfight, he was hit by a stray bullet from Snake's SOCOM. And that's why, my friends, Darwin was full of crap. Sure, survival of the fittest, and the ones who aren't dumb enough to turn around during a gunfight.
Knocking out the other two guards with some of his kung fu, Snake proceeded to walk down the stairs. Ignoring the Kevlar vest hidden behind the steam pipes that shot out vaporized water at predictably intervals, Snake proceeded to pass through another set of patented Shadow Moses Island bigass Blast Doors™. And so, a gigantic cargo elevator rose to meet him. Ignoring the fact that the elevator rose up right in time for him to board it, Snake boarded it. Manipulating the control panel, Snake was caught off guard when the tense musical sting that played before bad things happened started playing.
The sound of feet could be heard as FGs 1244 through 1247 ran out of their hiding spaces, leapt, and fired at Snake in midair. Grunting, Snake dived to the side as his opponents' bullets riddled the elevator. The aggressors landed on their feet, scowling at the spy. Seconds later, the shell casings of their spent bullets landed, making the scene seem all the more badass.
Snake had already unholstered his SOCOM, glaring at the genomes. He waited for them to make the first move.
And waited…
And waited…
And waited…
"What the hell are you doing!" Our protagonist spat, glaring at his motionless enemies.
FG1244, the spokeman of the group stepped foreward, scratching the back of his helmeted head. "Uh, we're kinda… out of ammo…"
"What?"
"Well… we wanted to make a big entrance, so we were practicing jumping on the elevator while shooting our guns. And so, well, we so many of our bullets practicing that we used up the last of our supply with that stunt…"
"Wow. You people make me sad…" Snake said. Sighing, Snake placed his SOCOM back in his holster. "Fuck it, you guys can go…".
"Wait, you're letting us live?" FG 1244 asked.
"Seriously, I've wasted enough bullets missing bald anorexics, and hitting dying femme fatales. And Hell, you aren't even worth the effort of snapping your necks." Snake said, shaking his head.
And so, as the perilous elevator ride of doom ended, Snake proceeded to watch as his defeated foes, their shoulders slumped and their heads hung low in shame, marched out of the elevator. Unfortunately for them, as they marched towards the second bigass cargo elevator, in the room adjacent to the one the entered, the failed to recall the fact that claymore mines were placed there. So as soon as Snake proceeded to pat himself on the back for his restraint in such a situation, as well as the fact that there were people far dumber than he was, a thunderous boom reached his ears. And so, he turned the corner to espy the guards in various states of blown-upidness.
Sighing, he approached the next cargo elevator. Pressing its control button, the weary soldier proceeded to wait for the next idiotic thing to occur. It wasn't a long wait.
"Snake, we need to talk…" McDonnell Miller said over the CODEC.
"Master, what happened to your face? It's all bit up."
"Nothing. It's just there's something about Naomi…"
"Hey, hands off her! Remember the agreement we made with Campbell, the one who gets sent against his will can pick the first of the radio support chicks. Then it's the guy sitting comfortably in his home, talking over a radio's turn. Then it's the lardass windbag with a beret's turn."
"Er, what agreement?"
"You know, the one you specifically wanted put in writing? The one you wrote out? The one you took out a second mortgage so you could finance the booze it took to get Campbell to sign it?"
"Oh, right. That agreement. Well, I'm sorry old chap, it must've slipped my mind… Anyways, it's not about that, it's about the fact that she said her grandfather worked for the FBI, in New York, in the 1950s. But the fact is, she got the time he worked in, as well as the city he worked in wrong. So let me ask you this, who would forget the chronological and geographical details of the career path of a grandfather who died before her birth and whom she never knew about wrong? She's obviously a traitor."
"Hell, Master, I've got tons of family I don't know about, like this Liquid guy. Seriously, it's like he was trapped in a timewarp from the eighties or something. He's got a really anachronistic rockstar thing going on. Seriously, I don't know how anybody could take a jackass like that seriously. Hell, he can't even get to the point. It's always "Rar! You stole my birthright! I'm your shadow! DIE!". Jesus, what a moron. Right Master? Wait, are you crying, Master?"
"You can be so very mean, br-I mean, no. It's obvious Naomi's an evil traitor, and I bet she's connected with the ninja and the deaths of the Chief and Baker."
"Uh, right."
"I mean, c'mon man, isn't she always slipping up, but saving herself from saying anything really incriminating at the very last second?"
"Right, but so do you."
"What, I'm Master Miller, you're trusty companion! I mean, remember the times we shared! Like, you know, that time… with the thing! Yeah, and that guy was all like whatever. The time with the thing. I thought that was a memory that would last forever."
"The time with the thing… oh, right. Yeah, those were good times. How long did it take for those scars the piranha gave you that time to heal up, anyways?"
"Er, that's not important. Remember, don't trust Naomi. Hot chicks with funny accents are always evil. Remember Wolf, she was evil."
"But during her last moments, I found her strangely noble and…"
"Evil!"
"Fine, evil too. Snake out.".
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IN THE METAL GEAR CONTROL ROOM…
"So, we've exposed the Doctor, right boss?" Ocelot said, juggling his revolver.
"Yes, and the Snake still dances to our flute…"
"Where the fuck did that analogy come from?" Ocelot said. "I thought rats dance to flutes, not snakes. Y'know, the pied piper?"
"No, you idiot. Remember those snake charmer guys in India? The ones that sit on the ground while playing their pipes, and the cobra will raise up?"
"Oh. I was watching the animal channel, and that's actually a misnomer. Cobras, like all snakes, barring people named Snake, of course, are deaf. The guy actually is tapping his foot on the ground, and snakes are sensitive to vibrations along the ground. The cobra rises and spreads it's hood as a warning it's about to strike, but because the charmer actually doesn't usually seem threatening to the snake, it typically stays in place, and when the performer stops tapping his foot, will return to being coiled up.".
"Where the fuck did you learn this?"
"Watching the Discovery Channel.".
"Mmyes. The Discovery Channel. Ocelot, put the Discovery Channel on our 'Our first ten things to blow up with a nuke' list. Oh, and Ocelot?"
"Yes boss?"
"How long would it take to heal up from a severe piranha mauling?"
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Back with Snake on an Elevator (MGS really should've had a plane so I could make an obvious joke about it)…
So our hero started to ponder what Miller had said. Naomi… a spy? Damn, she was hot. Aw well, there's still Mei Ling. And proverbs are easier to ignore than genetic dissertations. Aw fuck, birds.
And our hero was right. Despite the fact that he was very near to the Alaskan permafrost, and he was indoors, a flock of ravens flew up the elevator shaft. So, as the elevator stopped it's descent at the very fucking cold part of the base, Snake stepped off. Hm… Ravens. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered what an asshole Edgar Allen Poe was, I thought, it'd fucking suck to fight a big Inuit guy with an aircraft chaingun named Raven.
Crossing the floor of the room, Snake walked past another set of blast doors. And was promptly surrounded by birds. "Where's a fucking scarecrow when you need one?"
Suddenly a booming monotone voice was heard from atop one of the cargo containers. "Welcome kasack! This is the end of the road for you! Right my friends?".
Suddenly, as if on cue, the ravens cawed in reply.
And our hero could only think one thing. Fucking ominous foreshadowing. Oh, and fuck you Poe!
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Author's note: Well, it's been a while, eh? Cliffhanger. I believe I should apologize to Edgar Allen Poe. I actually like his work, I just wanted to squeeze the opening of the Raven in and couldn't think of a better way than if Snake hated classical American authors. He's gunning for Twain next. Robert Frost, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Nathaniel Hawthorne are also on notice.
Anyways, I'm going to be starting college Monday, so (all together now) I don't think I'll be able to update this soon. Sorry. I know I update at a pace that could be best described as like a glacier on valium, but I will finish this fic. Eventually. Someday. When it's done.
Also, please watch Snakes on a Plane. Seriously, it doesn't matter if it sucks or not, it's a movie with Samuel L. Jackson, motherfucking snakes, and a motherfucking plane. What more can you moviegoers want?