The vents were dark, horribly so. The only traces of lighter were found by the occasional vent, but those were few and far between. Snake didn't know how long they had been moving, but he could have guessed hours. After a while, the two stopped for a moment to get a bear on their surroundings. It was deathly quiet as they rested, the only noise being their breathing. At that moment, Snake grabbed his Idroid and placed it on the vent.
Turning it on, the vents were quickly lit up. At the same time, Nagant shifted to look back at Snake, moving to grab something off her belt.
"Here," she said, passing him an old radio. It was rusted and old, a soviet design if Snake remembered.
"Grabbed it off one of the guards," she explained, Snake nodding in response. Holding it up, he turned it on and flinched back as the loud voice of the Showmaster spoke through it.
"What do you mean they're gone!?" he yelled out incredulously, with Snake turning down the radio's volume. After a few moments of nothing but cursing the Showmaster sighed, seeming to calm down.
"You know what, I should have expected this." Showmaster muttered to himself, "No one is called a legend for nothing. Still, where were they last seen?"
"The contestants were last seen in the decontamination, before disappearing into the vents," a voice replied robotically, yet sounding far too human. Snake could already see where this was going though and motioned for Nagant to move forward. She did so quickly, just as the Showmaster spoke again.
"Then what are you standing around for, burn them out!"
A bright light was slowly forming behind them as they kept moving forward, the smell of smoke following quickly. With the heat beginning to rise Snake found Nagant stopping for a moment before gunfire echoed in the vent. Seconds later she kept forward, before crawling out of the vent she shot open. Snake quickly followed behind, and the two landed in a dark room. Again, they stopped. Waiting for any noise to give them a warning.
Looking up, Snake found the fire burning past them before ultimately dying out. A great gust of wind blew through the vents extinguishing the flames.
"Anything?" The Showmaster asked over the radio, only to be met with silence.
"Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered quietly, "Paid all that money just to get him here. I'm definitely not getting that deposit back."
That last bit left Snake confused for a moment. Did he pay to get Snake here? Showmaster seemed to know he was coming, so that would explain the paid part. But who did he pay? Maybe it was his clients? But that didn't make sense either. With it not making sense Snake returned his focus to the radio.
"Alright, here's what I want you to do. I want more eyes on the contestants' quarters and the rest of you searching the premises. We go live in an hour so hurry, or you'll partake in my next event." Showmaster orders, with malice and annoyance present in his voice before the radio went silent. Seeing he wasn't going to get anything else from the radio, Snake put it away in his bag.
Looking back up, he held up his M4 and turned on its flashlight. It lit up the area quickly, displaying the confused form of Nagant, as she grabbed her flashlight. Shining it around the room, the two found the area to be a clinic of some kind, which was odd. The vents had led from a decontamination chamber to a clinic. They hadn't run into any filtration system either. So, either this place was poorly built, or someone had stopped maintaining it for a while.
Looking around, Snake began to lean toward the latter option. Cobwebs lined the corners of the clinics, all the cabinets and drawers were torn apart with their contents looted, blood stained the walls around them, and several bones littered the floor. Whatever bodies they belonged to had rotted away years ago, leaving only these horrid remains. Nagant let out a quiet shudder as the two kept looking, eventually finding the door out.
Silently, the two approached it. At least, they did at first. Snake had questions, far too many. But only one came up the most. Why didn't the guards bleed? It didn't make much sense, and Snake came to a stop. There were blood stains on the wall, he thought, but then whose blood is it? It could have been the prisoners, but they more than likely didn't get medical attention in the first place.
"Something wrong boss?" Nagant asked, also coming to a stop. He thought he could be wrong for a second, that the guards were normal, and Snake simply missed things due to the adrenaline. But everything about this seemed wrong.
"Back in the obstacle course, did any of the guards bleed?" Snake asked her. Nagant paused for a moment, before nodding carefully.
"Now that you mention it, no." she replied, "Barely noticed it during the fight, but I don't think any of them did."
Snake went quiet then, searching the room for a second time. He ran over every corner of the room again, finding bits and pieces of torn-up papers. None of them fit into a coherent report when he inspected them, but all bore the same word: Bogatyr. What it could mean he didn't know. It roughly translated to some kind of warrior, but that barely gave him any information.
"In your time in the HPSC, did the word Bogatyr ever come up?" Snake asked, walking back over to her. It was clear he wasn't getting any more info from the room at this point.
"Can't say it has," Nagant replied, "Then again my job didn't involve cooler side chit-chat."
Calmly Snake approached the door leading out of the clinic, as he thought over Nagant's response. He wasn't sure if the HPSC was involved in this, but it seemed like something they'd do. But with how old this place seemed, whatever it was that happened, would have occurred decades ago. He put those thoughts aside for the moment, before carefully opening the door. Outside the hallway was dark, but still had some light above. Every fifth bulb seemed to flicker the further down the hall Snake looked.
It seemed abandoned, but the sound of footsteps said otherwise. He pulled the door back, leaving it open just a crack to hear outside. The footsteps got closer before a squad of guards walked by. They looked lifeless up close. Their skin was pale and sickly, with an almost robotic expression on their faces. It was disturbing to look at as they walked by. Once they were gone Snake fully closed the door. The two remained in silence, thinking over what had walked by.
Ocelot paled as the doctor went over the autopsy in front of him. He begged, pleaded to be hearing things, that his eyes and ears had betrayed him. But it was pointless in the end.
"It took a lot of digging to find the cause of death, but we think we've narrowed it down." the forensic specialist explained, passing him a stack of photos. He went over them silently, his dread becoming worse as he kept looking. Yet he kept a calm face, hiding away his true thoughts.
"From what we see this appears to be a kind of retrovirus." the specialist continued, "It most likely altered Ghost Leopard's DNA, leading to the onset of a heart attack."
It was real. To Ocelot's horror, the specialist didn't stop talking. He hoped the specialist would shut up and never bring up this event again. But he didn't.
"It was rather peculiar too. For whatever reason the retrovirus only targeted Ghost Leopard. Makes me wonder how he contracted it. Because it almost seems artificial in a way."
This information could not be allowed to spread. That was Ocelot's immediate decision as he eyed the rest of the room carefully. There were no cameras luckily, as this facility was effectively an HPSC black site. Somewhere to ensure no one learned of Ghost Leopard's actions. But to think even one person knew of this weapon's existence was bad.
"We're going to begin testing in a few days, so we should have more information by then," the specialist continued, not noticing Ocelot grabbed a scalpel. No one would learn of this, no one. He wouldn't allow the HPSC to get ahold of a weapon like this.
"Really, this is quite fasci-"
Ocelot shoved the scalpel into the specialist's throat, quickly killing the man. With him dead, Ocelot turned to the main computer in the room. Wordlessly he grabbed a USB from his pocket and plugged it in. A gift from Strangelove, a highly capable virus designed to find and eliminate information. Ocelot could only hope the details of the retrovirus hadn't reached anyone else yet. As that happened, he turned away and eyed the room carefully. Walking around he grabbed whatever chemicals he could find, before pouring them all over the room.
Some were acidic and burned away at the floors and walls, bubbling away as they ate the material. Others didn't react, but Ocelot knew they were highly flammable. Finding the virus was finished in its purge, he unplugged the USB and began walking out of the room, quickly dropping a match behind him. The room was in flames in seconds, quickly burning away what evidence displayed the retrovirus's existence. He walked away silently, fully exiting the building and disappearing into a large crowd.
This investigation was becoming more confusing by the day as he despised what he had learned. The horror of this weapon existing at all made him worried, and he refused to let anyone know of this weapon's existence. For it was something created only, by the machinations of Cipher. A proposed idea Ocelot had only seen once but remembered like the back of his hand: FOXDIE.
"Rody, are you sure this is the right website?" Midoriya asked. Beside him, Rody scratched his head confused as the two looked at the computer. Now a bet was a bet after all, and Midoriya was too loyal of a friend not to follow through with it. So once the two had finished playing C&C, he went over to the website Rody was talking about. It was a completely normal website, nothing weird. It had models of every plane one could think of. Be it obscure Cold War jets, or well-known mediums of pop culture.
They were very high quality as well, which explained the large price tag on every model. An F-15 model costs around a thousand dollars, simply due to the material, hundreds of customizable replacement parts, and an included flight manual. Some were obviously cheaper than others, such as a model biplane. However, the one Rody was talking about, a model F-14, was thirty-eight million dollars.
"I uh, don't remember it being that expensive," he said chuckling nervously.
"How!? It costs forty thousand percent more than everything else!" Midoriya exclaimed, clicking on the model's page.
"Maybe it's a technical error," Rody guessed.
"I mean my allowance is large, but I can't afford this." Midoriya told him. And it was true. Helping soldiers around Mother Base tended to bring a lot of cash. That said, it did not bring thirty-eight million dollars.
"What about that one?" Rody asked, pointing out a different model F-14. It was cheaper than the one they were originally looking at. And by a lot too. Whereas the other model was incredibly overpriced, this one was much cheaper. Only four hundred dollars surprisingly.
"Huh, that could work," Midoriya stated, moving the mouse over to the purchase button. For some odd reason, he felt someone cry out in anguish. As if a dozen people suddenly lost their jobs. He shrugged it off though, before clicking the same-day shipping button.
"Cool," Rody stated, a look of excitement plaster on his face, "Wanna play Ace Combat?"
"You promise to keep quiet about the lore?" Midoriya asked, with a look of fond annoyance.
"I can promise nothing," Rody replied before he booted up the game.
It was shocking what one could learn from a ten-minute phone call. And that's what made Miller pissed. It had taken no bribes, no shouting, not even a fight, for the Polish President to send them the files. Instead, there was nothing but confusion on the other end, insisting that the information was ordered to be handed over. "My officers we're supposed to give you the report weeks ago," the President explained.
At first, Miller didn't believe him. But then the President said he would send over a copy of the files, and the copy arrived two minutes later. Every piece of information they would have ever needed for the mission was now in his hands. He was furious, thinking the Polish Government had been holding out on them for no damn reason. But then he said a few fated words.
"Kowalczyk said this was above our paygrade, so why the hell are we only seeing it now!?" Miller exclaimed angrily, only to hear a pause on the other end.
"Kowalczyk?" the President asked, concern laced in his question.
"Yes, the diplomat you sent us," Miller replied, his annoyance dying down temporarily. Slowly, he turned pale as the President responded.
"Kowalczyk was put under investigation for corruption charges weeks ago. Evidence was found of him leaking classified information to an unknown source,"
And then the conversation had ended, with Miller stuck in shock for a brief few moments. Nezu who was looking remarkably less tired, looked over at him.
"Is something wrong?" Nezu asked carefully, seeing Miller remove his glasses. The man rubbed his brow for a moment, his shock dissipating.
"It was a trap," Miller replied, his fury slowly coming back, "It was a damn trap the entire time!"
Angrily he turned over to the rest of the officers in the situation room. Pulling up the room's main screen he scanned over what assets were closest to Snake's general area.
"I don't care how many laws this breaks, I want any available forces heading for Snake's location!" he ordered loudly, the rest of the room now entering into a scramble. Nezu only watched on as Miller slumped back into his seat.
"And keep trying Snake's comms, see if we can warn him."
"Well, I assume something good came of that conversation?" Nezu mused, taking a small sip of his coffee. His face grew sour as it reached his lips, and he remembered why he stuck to tea. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures.
"I'll say. That entire area is an old Russian military base."
"Meaning whoever's there is well-armed," Nezu concluded, rubbing his chin with one hand.
"Worse, the files don't even explain what the base is. The Polish government isn't sure if it's a hidden missile silo, underground training camp, or who knows what." Miller explained.
"So, arms may be the least of our worries then," Nezu realized.
"And with the entire thing being a trap, we may have kicked a hornet's nest."
"Let's start from the beginning then. Who exactly are you dealing with?" Nezu asked, bringing his hand to his face.
"In the beginning," Miller stated, "we were approached by Kowalczyk posing as a diplomat on behalf of Poland. He hired us to take down a human trafficking organization but gave us no basic intel on anything."
"Which led to you asking me for a favor," Nezu deduced, "To which you found out Kowalczyk was possibly working for the people you were hired to eliminate."
"Emphasis on possibly. If it's him then the entire operation has been nothing but a setup. If not, then there's still the issue of him not giving us intel." Miller continued while passing Nezu his Idroid. In a quiet motion, Nezu turned it on and opened the files they were given.
"Well," he began, his eyes widening slightly, "I think Kowalczyk worked for them."
Miller looked over at the Idroid, finding a live broadcast being displayed. On the other end, a man in a crisp white suit was flaying Kowalczyk. The diplomat was bloody and beaten, with bits of skin peeling off him.
"I gave you what you wanted!" Kowalczyk yelled out in a panic, the scalp on his head slowly being pulled off his head.
"Did you now. Because our lovely viewers have no entertainment at the moment. For that, I'd say I wasted money on you!"
"It's not my fault he snuck away!"
"No, it isn't. But I need to make a reimbursement somehow!" the man in the suit turned back over to the camera. In a swift motion, he ripped the scalp off of Kowalczyk's head. The diplomat shrieked in pain as the man in the white suit tossed the scalp away.
"Now then, last week's game ended in a draw, so we will be having a rematch for you lovely folks at home, while our glorious assistant tries to find our lost contestants." the man in the suit explained, before stepping back. A couple of clowns walked into the shot then, dragging away Kowalczyk's flayed body. Thoroughly disgusted Miller turned over to Nezu, the rodent also disgusted.
"Where is this?" he asked.
"I'd assume the facility Snake entered." Nezu replied.
"He must be the lost contestant then," Miller deduced.
"Here's hoping he is," Nezu agreed.
"What is this on though?"
"I'm not sure," Nezu replied, "The file said it was some site on the dark web."
Soon a new pair of clowns stepped forward, placing a pair of knives on the ground. Miller didn't like where this was going. Then things began to connect. The word the man used was contestants. Not prisoner or product or anything else. He used contestants.
"It's a gameshow," Miller realized, "they kidnap people and force them into playing these games."
"Despicable," Nezu muttered, "To wonder what other horrors this madman has conceived, makes my blood boil."
"It could be anything. From what he seems to be implying this isn't even the main… event…"
Miller lost the words in his mouth as the contestants walked out in front of the camera. One was a thirteen-year-old boy. The other was a ten-year-old girl. Both had brown hair and were bloody. The girl could barely stand, while the boy's arm seemed to dangle at one side. Their eyes were red and seemingly dry, with the two looking at each other terrified. And then the man in the white suit spoke up.
"It was truly an astonishing feat these two put up, managing to both make it to first place! So please give it up for the Beaufoy twins!"
An applause track was played over the video, the fake clapping going on for thirty seconds. Miller had visibly paled at this point, once the track came to an end. The man in the white suit walked over to the girl then, with a microphone in hand. He crouched down to her level, with the girl flinching back.
"Now tell me, little Annabelle, what do you want to say to our dear viewers?" the man asked, a mocking smile plastered on his face. The girl let out a small shudder as she tried to step back. The man's smile fell, a look of annoyance now replacing his mockery.
"The audience can't hear your mumbling so speak up!" the man exclaimed pulling her back to the microphone. Hesitantly the girl looked at it, terror clear in her posture.
"I-I w-want t-to go h-home."
"Don't we all. But see, that wasn't so hard now was it." the man stated, before standing up and walking over to the boy.
"And what about you Damien? Anything you'd like to say?" the man asked. He got a more immediate answer from Damien, the boy trying his best to sound tough.
"No,"
"Wonderful. Now while you both made it to first, I'm afraid there can only be one winner."
The clowns behind the kids pushed them forward, as the two looked down. They both paled, with fresh tears beginning to form in their eyes. Miller couldn't look away. He didn't realize it but everyone inside the situation room was now watching.
"Which is why I have devised an ingenious way to decide the winner. There is only one rule, whoever kills the other, wins."
Miller didn't think it was possible to get any paler, but he could feel all the blood drain from his face. Neither child moved, both too frozen in fear of what was said. The man in the suit sighed then, bringing a hand to his face.
"Fine, seems there's a second rule. If neither of you kills the other, I kill you both."
Annabelle remained frozen in fear, but the man's words snapped Damien out of his stupor. The man in the white suit saw this, and a smile came up to his face. Damien took a cautious step forward, his sister looking at him pleadingly. He didn't bother looking back at her. One of the knives was under his foot now, and he slowly picked it up. Annabelle stepped back, afraid of what was to come. But Damien didn't step forward. He looked up at her, giving her a teary-eyed smile.
Before stabbing the knife into his chest. Miller could only look on in shock as the boy's body fell to the ground. No one moved an inch, no one breathed, no one spoke. Annabelle ran up to her brother, fresh tears streaming down her face. She didn't get to him though, as the man in the white suit grabbed her arm. Mockingly he wiped away at his eyes as if he had been crying.
"Such an emotional display. It seems we have our winner. With such a sad outcome, the bid will start at ten million dollars. And remember, an extra five million gets same-day shipping." the man stated, passing the girl off to a pair of clowns. Annabelle kicked, screamed, and clawed at the clowns, trying desperately to reach her brother. It was for naught, as another pair walked over, and picked up the corpse of Damien. The situation room remained silent the entire time. The only noise was the animalistic growls of a furious Nezu.
The rodent principal had to do everything in his power to not claw into the table in front of him. Even if he did, no one would move a muscle to stop him. On the screen, a live feed of bids had popped up, with it already surpassing ten million dollars. Miller lingered on the man's words though. Same-day shipping? Maybe they had someone with a teleporting quirk. That didn't leave the girl with much time.
"Someone get a bid going," he ordered, the officers looking up at him in disgust and confusion until he explained further.
"That fucker said same-day shipping, which means if this bid ends that girl will be gone before we can do shit about it. So, get a move on it, now!"
The officers quickly scrambled, leaving Miller alone with his thoughts. As he pondered what he had seen, one thing became more prevalent. They needed to call Snake fast.