Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Metal Gear character or the Metal Gear franchise. They belong to Hideo Kojima, Yoji Shinkawa, Kojima Productions and Konami studios.

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Author Notes: I'm back as promised. To make up for the delay (three days) here's a slightly longer chapter. Some of the scenes here were in my mind long before I even started writing this story, so I'm quite pumped to see them published. I hope you like this episode!

Devil Boss

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Metal Gear Solid - The Philanthropists

Episode 3: New Beginnings

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"So?" Nastasha Romanenko wasn't one to beat around the bushes. She went right for the point after exchanging the perfunctory pleasantries, unwilling to waste any time. The slightly overweight man in front of her frowned.

"Look, Miss, I'll spare you the details," he grunted somewhat harshly "Your book's good. It's well written, and I'll be damned if I didn't read it in one sitting, just under two hours. That Snake guy is cool, for a main character. All that government conspiracy crap is sound and well written."

He stood up, paced the small office and looked out the window. Nastasha sighed, knowing all too well what was going to happen.

The man turned around "But I'm not publishing that under the idea that it all really happened. I've seen weird shit in my life, and heard of weirder shit around, but this? A clone from the greatest soldier of the 20th century? A super ninja who came back from the dead? A doomsday machine that can launch nuclear missiles undetected? Come on, give me a break. That stuff only happens in movies. You could make a fine movie with this, or a book, or a great videogame. But it doesn't cut it for real life. Just the thought of-"

"Look, Mr. Spencer," Nastasha interrupted him "You can hide from this, but only for so long. I've cited references to all the events and participants in this incident-"

"And I've checked them all, and they led me nowhere," Spencer replied. Nastasha was shocked into silence "What, you didn't think I would check your sources? I've told you, this book is good. Don't you think I'd like to publish this? It would be great! But none of your sources checked out."

"I'm not surprised you checked," Nastasha said after a beat "It's just... dammit!" She stood up, startling Spencer a bit "Are you sure my sources didn't check out? None of them?"

"Well, not exactly," Spencer said uncomfortably "The Tokugawa Heavy Industries Company didn't deny they were working on a Human Enhancement Project for military use. And I'll admit the deaths of Kenneth Baker and Donald Anderson were not an accident like the government's been saying. That's just a poorly covered excuse. But to jump from there to all this Shadow Moses Incident..."

"Surely you've heard of Big Boss, right?" Nastasha pressed the man, talking loudly.

Spencer paled a little "Er... yes," he admitted "Everyone has."

"Well, then you know this isn't as far-fetched as you think. Believe me, there is a lot more to Big Boss' story than the public knows. And Solid Snake is just as mysterious. I'm telling you, NSA is keeping this as quiet as they can, but if you give me some more time, I can find other sources they haven't eliminated yet-"

"Look, Lady," Spencer cut in with a shake of his head "I like you, I really do, and I like your book. But this just isn't going to happen. I can't have this company publish this book, not when any smartass with a fancy imagination could have taken some fishy things and created a whole James Bond story. If you want to get this published - and if you did, it could sell rather well, I think - just admit it's fiction and that's that. Change the names of the men involved so that we won't get sued, and we'll be good. For Christ's sake, it's not so hard! Just think of how much the Bourne books make, or Bond, or Mission: Impossible. The spy genre is always up for a new entry. If you do it, you'll have my endorsement and we'll begin printing right away..."

Nastasha was already standing up "I can't do that," she said grimly "It would be an insult to the people that fought and died to do the right thing."

She left the room without looking back.

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"Whoever invented this deserves a monument..." Hal Emmerich, also known as Otacon, said after an invigorating sip of hot coffee, closing his eyes in delight.

Solid Snake, who also went by David to a small number of people, hummed in agreement "Nothing matches the taste of a good smoke in the morning, though," he added, coupling his mug of coffee with a trusty cigarette.

They were in Hal's small house in Chicago, in a bright August morning that seemed to reflect their cheerful, yet calm mood. The windows were open, letting in some warm air, and both men were sitting at the kitchen table, having woken up only a few minutes earlier.

"Why are you reading that?" Hal asked, slightly amused. Snake was holding a tabloid in his hands. The headline read 'Alien Conspiracy Unveiled, by Gary MacGolden!'

"The yellow press can be a useful source of information," Snake defended himself, while Otacon yawned. Calm silence filled the room as Snake kept reading and smoking.

Otacon was too content to let the smoke bother him "What time is it?" he asked drowsily.

"Eleven sharp," Snake replied "We slept for thirteen hours."

"I don't feel guilty at all," Otacon declared "After that mission, and the flight back, I felt I could sleep for a week with no problems."

"I did too, but it's not a good idea to let down our guard after a mission," Snake said. He had been the one to wake Otacon up "We need to check if we left no traces behind. You need to make sure we didn't raise any red flags on our way back."

"I know, I know," Otacon agreed with a sigh "What will you be doing?"

"I've checked the neighborhood, and there doesn't seem to be any irregularities," Snake said gravely "I don't think we're being watched. But after word of this leaks out, you'll movements will be traced, Otacon. And if anyone finds out I'm with you, we'll become targets. There might be no proof of what we did, but it only takes some smart people to put two and two together and come knocking real soon."

"So what will you do?" Otacon asked, somewhat nervous. Rest was over, it seemed. It was time to go back to the battle. Was this the rhythm he would have to adapt to from now on, always working, always looking over his shoulder? The thought itself seemed daunting.

"This place won't work," Snake gestured to the house "We need to set up a base of operations. Our own Headquarters. A place big enough to live in and to house all your computers and high-tech equipment, as well as all my gear. It would come in handy if it also had a gym, and lodgings large enough to use as briefing and planning rooms."

"Yeah, you're right..." Otacon reflected, deep in thought "I know we need to expand. But... we're going to need some money if we want to buy a place like the one you said. I'd be expending all my savings to buy it, and then I would really need to keep a steady job, just to sustain myself..."

Snake sighed, getting up from the table and looking outside "I have money, Otacon. In cash, which is harder to trace. My savings should be enough to afford an HQ and ourselves, for quite some time."

"Where did you get that money from?" Otacon had to ask, failing to suppress his curiosity "I mean, I know you were a member of FOXHOUND, but that was quite some time ago, and it was the military that paid you, right? Surely you didn't make that much..." he stopped himself suddenly, and shook his hands "You know, you don't have to tell me. It's not my business to ask you, sorry."

Snake seemed lost in thought "FOXHOUND didn't pay so well," he denied with a grunt "People was a part of the unit because of the thrill and a chance to make a great career in the military. I got money saved from my time as a mercenary."

He sat down again, taking a deep puff of smoke "After I defeated Big Boss in Outer Heaven, I quit FOXHOUND and became a mercenary. No ideology, no morals, just a dog of war. I did many things I'm not proud of. But the payment was good. More than that; for the kind of services required of me, the payment was great. I made enough money in six months to build a home in Alaska and live there for many years, and I still have plenty left."

Otacon was silent.

"What I have should be enough to afford the beginning of our task," Snake continued "Infrastructure and gear. But it won't last much longer with the kind of expenses we'll be facing soon enough. We'll have to find other ways to get funding if we want to keep going."

"We could last a little longer if I put all my savings in this, too," Otacon determined "Together, we could endure some time, maybe a year. I'm sorry, but I have to ask, Snake: just how much money do you have left?"

"...About two-hundred-thousand dollars," Snake replied, making Otacon gasp "Fifty grand in Alaska, and the rest saved in five bank accounts throughout the world. They're made so that the money can't be traced back to me. It was a favor a friend owed me."

"Well, that's great then!" Otacon said, shocked but glad "I never thought you were rich, Snake! To think that you lived like a hobo for months after Shadow Moses, when you had that much money saved!"

"...That may not have been one of my best moments," Snake admitted, hiding behind his mug of coffee.

"In any case, I've got about fifty thousand dollars saved, myself," Otacon said "I don't like to admit it, but Arms Tech really paid well. It is only fitting that I spend that money in destroying what I created for them."

"How poetic."

"Well then, it all comes down to finding a good place to settle down," Otacon said, scratching his chin "We should think of where we could build it."

"As long as it doesn't stand out much, and that it has clear roads nearby, we should be okay," Snake decided "The location itself isn't so important. It doesn't matter if our HQ is in Chicago, New York or Washington. Most of our missions will be abroad anyway."

"So how about here?" Otacon proposed "Chicago is big enough, and it's relatively easy to get to other places from here. There are no military bases around here, which is a bonus since the city is not under tight surveillance. What do you say?"

"Hmmm, I was thinking New York, but I guess Chicago works just as well," Snake shrugged "Alright then, Hal, we'll set up camp in the city. You need to find us a good place to set up our HQ. We want to save some money, so I'd suggest you see what you can find in the government's auctions. Most bargains can be found in there. Once you get some likely candidates, contact me and we'll discuss which one to buy."

"Fair enough, but what will you be doing?" Otacon asked, intrigued.

"We're going to need some firepower and proper gear for my missions, from now on," Snake said, already heading to his room "And I also need to retrieve the savings I have in cash. That means I need to make a trip to Alaska."

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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X New Beginnings

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Snake got out of the truck, taking his surroundings in. His old house near Twin Lakes, in Alaska, stood before him, no farther than fifty feet away.

Still looking around, Snake couldn't deny the beauty of the landscape. His house stood near some tall hemlock trees; their needle-like leaves were agitated by the occasional gusts, rustling slightly. All around there was green, a gorgeous shade of green that permeated the whole land. And farther north there was a river, whose crystalline water shone under the sun. Even the air seemed coated with a cold yet sweet smell that seemed to purify one's body and mind. It was the perfect place to stay if one wanted solitude, and peace. That was the reason Snake had come to live here, almost ten years before.

Lighting a cigarette up, Snake started to walk to his former home. Only the wind accompanied him.

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The whole area was covered in white. David knew that he stood out, clad in dark blue and black. He knew that what he was doing went against every principle of camouflage and field survival. Not that it mattered to him any longer. Or maybe it did, but he would learn to suppress the voice inside his head that always advised him on the easiest way to do things.

It was cold. More than that, it was freezing cold. There was a snowstorm coming, after all. It wasn't uncommon, even if it was March already. Well, so much the better for him, right? What better way to test his resolve? He had promised himself that he wouldn't stop until reaching Seattle, and he would follow through on that. And if he failed, if he got sick or a wild animal killed him... well, no one would miss him then. He wasn't going to let himself fail so easily, but a part of him hoped that he would.

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Snake sighed and pinched his nose, shutting his eyes. He knew this was going to happen. Coming back here wouldn't do him any good, not without all the memories haunting him. But what else could he do? He didn't think Otacon would be able to smuggle all his gear through the border unnoticed. He didn't really have a choice.

He had reached the front door. Trying to ignore the memory of Meryl slamming it shut as she left, or himself quietly closing it in March, Snake unlocked it and tried the doorknob. It creaked slightly, but the door opened easily enough.

It was quiet inside, and extremely cold. A fine layer of dust covered both the floor and the furniture, and there was a rank smell in the air. 'Not surprising,' Snake thought to himself 'Given how long this place has been without fresh air, or sunlight to boot.' After taking a moment to inspect the room, the former mercenary drew the curtains and opened the windows as much as he could, letting some warm air inside.

He knew he had to check the house before doing what he came to do. Resigned to his task, Snake checked every room, opening the curtains. But he did it perfunctorily, without taking too much time to look; he didn't want to get distracted. He didn't want the memories. Once he cleared the house, Snake went to his bedroom.

The bedroom looked almost grim, even with light pouring in from the window. Snake walked in, unable to keep himself from staring. There was a small picture framed on a desk. Meryl appeared in it.

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"You don't even love me!" Meryl was shouting. David couldn't fault her for saying that. He had known she wasn't going to take his decision well "Admit it already! The only thing you love is war!"

"Meryl, it's not like that!" David tried to argue "I just... I can't do this! I'm going to ruin your life and we both know it!"

"Save it, David! Don't you throw that crap at me! You think I'm an idiot? You just want me out of the way. Out of the way, so that you can go back to the battlefield! Isn't that what you really want, SNAKE!?"

"It isn't!"

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His knuckles were bleeding. Slightly alarmed, Snake checked them closely. He didn't remember punching the wall, but the crack was there all the same.

'I need to get a hold of myself,' Snake chided himself 'I nearly lost it back there... better to get this done with quickly.'

He had always been careful. There had always been a P7 handgun in his nightstand, on the top drawer, but he had discarded it after he found himself staring too closely at the gun's dark mouth a couple of nights after Meryl left. But that wasn't the only secret to the room. Opening the closet and setting aside the clothes, Snake removed a fake panel on the back. There was a small briefcase inside, standing in the narrow compartment he had installed years ago.

Snake brought the briefcase to his bed and opened it. It was all there. The money he had stored years ago, along with four fake identities and passports. After saving the fake papers in his pockets, Snake counted the money. Almost fifty thousand dollars, half of it in Euros. Good. Snake closed the briefcase and locked it.

Once he had left the case in the truck, Snake returned and made his way to a small studio that faced north. This was the place where he used to find refuge, whenever he felt like being alone. The good thing about this room was that he didn't have many bad memories from it; Meryl wasn't fond of it, and no argument took place in here. It was a good room, where he mostly had books.

It was also the place where he stored all his weapons and gear.

There was a small closet on the side of the room. Snake opened it with a key he had retrieved from a desk in the room, and peeked inside. Inside were several items he had used in past assignments, such as his S23A7 binoculars, thigh holsters, a M50 Joint Service General Purpose Mask... and his Sneaking Suit, the one he had worn at Shadow Moses. It's state-of-the-art technology made it far better than the one he had used a week ago. It consisted of a gray flack-jacket made of Kevlar and reinforced alloys, with straps around the inner things and padding over the shoulders and neck; several cases hung down from the waist. A light-gray thermal shirt and light-gray military issue pants went underneath, as well as elbow and knee guards, gray gloves with metal plates at the back of each fist and a pair of Combat Boots designed to increase traction while reducing noise from footsteps. Nodding to himself, Snake stored the suit in another case. It would come in handy soon enough.

There was a trunk next to the closet. It was also tightly locked, and Snake had to punch in a password for it to open up. Inside there were enough weapons and ammunition to fight a war all by himself. It was highly illegal of him to have such an arsenal, but nobody cared in the Alaskan wilderness. Smirking, Snake opened the trunk, separated its compartments and assessed its contents.

There were four handguns; a Colt M1911, customized during many idle nights, a Beretta M9 just like the one he had acquired recently, the SOCOM pistol he had used during Shadow Moses and a FiveseveN handgun designed to shoot piercing bullets. There was also an M16 assault rifle as well as a MP5 Submachinegun, both of which Snake had used during his time as a mercenary and that had been kept in top form. And last but not least, there was a DSR-1 Sniper Rifle, which came from a favor Snake had cashed in a couple of years back.

Nodding to himself, Snake stored all the guns in his duffel bag. Closing the trunk, he stood up, and as he raised his eyes he found himself staring into a mirror.

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The house was so quiet that the air almost seemed oppressive. David stood next to the weapons cache, thinking. Already he had dressed to travel, already he had taken care of everything in the house; his sled dogs were now safely in the care of an acquaintance in Anchorage, the house was locked, and he had unsubscribed to all services. This was it.

Should he take a gun with him?

The soldier inside his mind screamed yes. Taking a gun was only logical. He would need it, of that there was no doubt. It was important in order to survive; it was pivotal in order to survive. He was sure there would be some nasty encounters in the wilderness, whether with people or wild animals. He would also have to hunt more than once, too.

So why wasn't he taking one?

It wasn't as if it would bring him trouble. David was way past the point where a gun would jam on him due to poor weather conditions. He would have no problems concealing it, should there be a need of that. He wasn't too concerned about crossing the border while armed; after infiltrating facilities like Shadow Moses, crossing a border unseen was a walk in the park.

But... a part of him also rejected the idea to carry a gun. It was the easy way out. David had always gone for that; he had always found the best way to do something, to be efficient in whatever task he ever underwent. He had never had the time to deal with other things, like himself. The mission had always come first. Right now, the mission was to get to Seattle on foot. Taking a gun was a great way to improve his odds of success. But, as he stared at the M1911, David realized that was not the point of this. He wasn't going to Seattle because he had been ordered to, or because innocent lives depended on it. He was going because he needed the opportunity to get away from everything, and find himself. Treating this quest as another mission wasn't fair to himself.

And there was something else; however hard for him it was to admit it. If he took a gun, then he would be a soldier again... And he didn't want that anymore. The reflection of himself in the mirror nearby still gave off the image of a military man. And if he kept to his old ways, it would remain like that, no matter how hard he wanted it not to.

'You saw past that, didn't you, Meryl...' David sighed innerly 'It took you some time, but you figured it out. You realized that beneath the uniform, there was... nothing. I don't even know who I am. Just another soldier... but there's nothing else beyond that.'

He owed it to himself to learn who he was. He didn't know if he would like that person or not, but there was one thing he was sure of: it would have substance beyond the life of a warrior.

It was time to put the gun down.

David shut the cache and locked it. Placing it where it belonged, he left without turning back.

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The image in the mirror was quite different than the one he had seen months ago. He looked thinner, he now had a scruffy beard, his hair was longer, and somehow, his face seemed older now. His eyes, though, didn't look as haunted as before. But they seemed lost. Snake himself looked lost. Lost, and carrying a bag full of weapons.

'Here I am, back again,' he sighed dejectedly 'picking up guns to fight. I haven't changed much. It seems that I can't, whether I like it or not. I'm sorry, Meryl. I tried to give this up, for you, and then for me. I failed.'

He shouldered the bag and walked out. As he did, one last forlorn look around told him enough: he was never coming back to this cabin. He would sell it, along with everything in left inside. All the furniture, the books, everything, he would leave it all behind. True, he had tried to start over once and failed, but he would still rid himself of anything that wasn't vital. The only things he took care to remove were the documents and personal items that could lead to him.

'Nothing left of me in here,' he thought as he closed the curtains 'It didn't take me long to remove all my stuff. Really, apart from the guns and the gear, all I had were books, a few medals, and some pictures. Not much to prove I'm anything aside from a soldier.'

He hopped on the truck and started the engine. Alaska was truly beautiful at that time of the year. He had tried to hide here for a long time, hide from the life of a warrior, from the fact that he could never stop fighting, because deep down he loved it. Snake looked around and gazed at the last frontier, at the wilderness, knowing that yet again he didn't belong, that he never would.

'But if I can't stop fighting, at least I'll try to do it for something worthy. At least, I'll try to redeem myself.'

The truck rumbled away. The cabin became smaller in the mirrors, then it became a small spot, and it finally disappeared in the distance.

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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X New Beginnings

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Otacon opened the door after Snake's careful knocking. When the spy walked in, he found himself staring at a lot of boxes.

"You're ready to move out?" Snake asked as Otacon closed the door behind him.

"Almost ready, yeah," Otacon nodded "All I've got to do is pack my clothes and I'm good to go."

"That's good news," Snake said, going to the fridge and grabbing a beer "So you bought the warehouse you told me about?"

"Yes," Otacon said, slightly nervous "I think you'll like it. I also bought a van like we agreed on the phone."

"If the warehouse is like you told me, I'll like it," Snake stated "I saw the van parked outside. Good choice."

"Thanks. So, did you...?"

"I got the money, all my guns, and the Sneaking Suit I wore at Shadow Moses. It could use some tailoring to allow more movement, but it's definitely a step forward from the one I stole a few weeks ago. I also brought my clothes with me. I don't want to waste time going shopping."

Otacon laughed at the idea "No, you don't seem like the type of guy who would enjoy that," he shook his head "I had the warehouse fitted with everything we need to live there from now on. Pack up your stuff and take it to the van. I'd like to move out before tonight, so that we both can settle in faster."

"Can't argue with that."

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"Any word from Nastasha?" Snake asked while driving the van. It was six o'clock and sunset would be coming soon. Both he and Otacon were going to the warehouse, after packing all the essentials in boxes and loading them in the van. The vehicle proved big enough to fit almost all of their possessions; they had left only a couple of things behind.

"Nothing," Otacon said worriedly "I've been trying to reach her ever since she sent us that e-mail, but I've found nothing. She's gone missing, Snake."

"Or hiding," Snake grunted "She's a tough woman. But I wouldn't bet on her chances if we don't find her soon."

"I'm trying," Otacon said "I'll let you know as soon as I find something. Make a right here."

Snake steered the wheel and they came upon a grey street surrounded by warehouses and other buildings. Chicago's industrial district was bristling with activity as most workers were ready to call it a day and leave. The many buildings provided excellent cover for them; Snake realized 'Two men driving a van in and out every day will hardy call any attention. Otacon chose this place well.' Otacon pointed at one building and Snake parked in front of it, taking a careful look.

It was an old, grey building. The warehouse was set in a piece of ground with tall surrounding fences. Stern concrete walls made up its front, with a large iron gate meant for trucks at one side and a smaller door next to it. Skylights near twelve feet above the ground stood as the closest thing to windows the old warehouse had. The roof was bare. The front lawn had a concrete strip that led to the iron gate. The fences surrounding the whole piece of land were ten feet tall.

"What do you think?" Otacon asked nervously.

"Can't complain," Snake nodded approvingly "Let's get inside."

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Night was falling over New York. William Spencer, manager of Global Elements Inc. was ready to call it a day and shut the office down. It had been a quiet day, save for the signing of a contract with a fat bloke who had been happy to see his book on the economic crisis published. Nothing too juicy in Spencer's opinion, but it was better than nothing.

As he set about arranging his desk and office, Spencer couldn't help but think of Nastasha Romanenko again. What a book she had written. After twenty years in business, Spencer was smart enough to recognize a best-seller when he saw one. Too bad the woman refused to change some details and have the story be completely fictional.

'Hollywood would make a fine movie with that' he thought with a grin 'There could even be a saga.' But Nastasha had refused to compromise, and the following deals Spencer offered her met no response 'Well, no use crying over spilled milk. Who knows what opportunities will come up tomorrow?'

Just after the man finished cleaning up his desk there was a knock on the door.

"We're closed!" Spencer growled "Come back tomorrow!"

"This is the NYPD. Open up!" a voice called back.

Confused and somewhat nervous, Spencer peeked from a window. There were three men outside, and two of them were indeed dressed as police officers. Mumbling questions to himself, Spencer opened the door.

"Yes?"

"I'm Captain John Kenway," the man who knocked presented himself. He had a clear, cold voice that was easy to hear despite how low he talked "I need to have a word with you, Mister Spencer."

The overweight publisher looked at Kenway. He was on the tall side, with a slim body. Unlike his companions, Kenway was clad in a black suit with a red tie, and a long overcoat that nearly reached his knees. He was completely bald, a feature that served to accentuate his sharp chin and cheekbones. His eyes, though, were unlike any that Spencer had seen before. Clear blue, cold as ice, precise and incisive.

"I'm about to close for today," Spencer replied, his usual confidence gone "Can this wait until tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid it can't," Kenway replied politely, but with a firm voice. There would be no arguing about his orders "Will you let me inside?"

Spencer moved away and let the three men pass. He sat behind his desk, while Kenway stood in front of it, hands clasped before himself.

"Mr. Spencer, I work with the DIA," Kenway said simply "We're monitoring the activities of a certain individual who is said to have delicate information regarding a case we're working on. A few days ago, we received a tip that this person came in contact with you. Tell me," he said, leaning forward, staring down at Spencer with his clear, frightening eyes "Have you seen a woman by the name of Nastasha Romanenko recently?"

Spencer gulped. His first reaction would have been to deny everything; those eyes promised nothing good, and the two men dressed as policemen looked more like thugs by the minute. But as he was going to make excuses, he found himself unable to lie to the man in front of him. There was something about Kenway that told him lying would get him nowhere "What if I did?" he replied hoarsely "What if I did?"

"What was she doing here?"

"Trying to publish a book, what else?" Spencer gestured to the room "What else?"

"Can you tell us where to find her?"

"She didn't give me an address!" Spencer grunted, standing up. He had found his courage again. That old rebellious streak in his veins shone in his voice "Who are you to ask these questions!? You come barking orders, without any legal authority, and expect me to violate a customer's privacy! You think-"

"Spencer," Kenway cut him with a single word. Silence fell on the office "Spencer. Do you really want to go down that road? If you refuse to cooperate, the consequences won't be good for you. I'll ask one more time... tell me where to find Nastasha Romanenko."

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"I know it's a little rusty, but I think we can make it work, right?" Otacon asked as both he and Snake sat down on two small chairs he had procured from the van.

"It's good," Snake said "You picked right, Hal. Couldn't have found a better place myself."

The warehouse was rather big, more than enough to house two men. It had a large garage meant for trucks in the south wing, a narrow storage depot next to it, three smaller rooms that Otacon had adapted to function as bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. There were three great rooms to the west, that were empty as of now but would soon serve as gun range and gymnasium, briefing room and second storage room. Added to that, a trapdoor led to a basement below the garage, and the building's roof could be accessed by a ladder in the front. If anything, the warehouse was too big for two men to live in; Snake knew that it would soon be crowded with stuff they would need to operate, though.

"Your tip worked," Otacon acknowledged "I went to the City Hall, where an auction was taking place. There were some really nice bargains there, and this place fit our needs perfectly. I would have liked to ask you if you were OK with me buying it, but there was a guy making a nice bid and I didn't want to take any cha-"

"Got it," Snake waved a hand, bored "I'm going to sleep for tonight." He hadn't had any rest since the day before yesterday.

Otacon sighed and decided that he was tired as well. Standing up, he went to his new, box-stuffed bedroom and lied down on a mattress. Sleep came fast that night.

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Author Notes 2: And so it ends. I'm personally fond of Snake's flashbacks in Alaska, since I had them in my mind for a very long time. Next episode will be posted one month from now as usual.

If you liked this, leave a review! It's always great to get feedback from you guys. To my anonymous reviewer, Guest, many thanks as well!