MARCH 10, 1995

FOXHOUND COMMAND, CONFERENCE ROOM

MISSION BRIEFING

"First, some background."

Director Deutch turned on an overhead light projector at the front of the room and placed down documents and pictures as he talked. The first photo was of an abandoned ocean rig and a logo of a skull mixed with some kind of landmass, with the words 'Militaires Sans Frontieres' emblazoned underneath.

"The year is 1974. A band of pirates in the Caribbean Sea decide that they want to put the talents honed from their illegal activities towards a more legitimate enterprise by incorporating as a private mercenary company—one of the first of its kind. While mercenaries have always existed, this was one of the first times anyone thought to create an LLC out of it—and it was the first one to be successful enough to be noteworthy, for the purposes of this discussion.

"They set up shop in a rig that was provided to them by clandestine Soviet forces operating in Costa Rica who were disguised as a local university. They called themselves Militaires Sans Frontieres—Soldiers Without Borders—and they made a name for themselves contracting logistics and military power to Socialist governments and guerilla movements in Central and South America as muscle.

"They were on our radar, and while they presented a concern from a threat assessment perspective, they were ultimately deemed to be of a low-to-moderate concern; not harmless, but also not something that merited a military response from the U.S. Instead, we chose to exercise soft power by hiring them ourselves for some occasional grunt work to supplement military concerns that our external postings need not be bothered with. The idea was that by controlling some aspects of how this company is funded and utilized, we could sway them away from Communist influence and put them to work for Western interests.

"Then, one night in March of 1975, this company disappeared without a trace. Explosions and fire could be seen from the coastline. Conspiracy theorists in Nicaragua reported seeing black military helicopters leaving the area. There are many theories as to what happened. Nicaragua, Colombia, and Honduras blamed the U.S. of course; however, we have no standing operation on the books that line up with the incident. Another theory is accidental detonation of an explosive on the site by the pirates themselves—simply done in by their own incompetence. Something else that's been suggested is that they were attacked by a competitor, another pirate gang or maybe one of the Mexican cartels, or even Cuban authorities who didn't like how close to their shores this mercenary company was operating. Whatever the case, the company had disappeared off the face of the earth, but their influence—now, that had only just begun to take root. In the intervening years, other mercenary groups followed MSF's example and started making private military companies of their own; PFs—also known as Private Forces—started to dominate in the parts of the world which lacked stability but had enough money to afford their services. War as a business—and business was good."

Deutch removed the pictures and replaced them with new images: Soviet soldiers in red berets, desert fighters on horseback in long, dark clothing, tanks in the desert set against tall cliffs. Another logo, this one of a black Doberman inside of a diamond design and the words 'DIAMOND DOGS' inside a yellow ribbon. Someone was a David Bowie fan, Snake noted with amusement.

"As the PFs get more strength and notoriety, one in particular stands out: in 1984, in yet another offshore rig situated in the Seychelles waters off of East Africa, a little over a thousand kilometers north of Madagascar, is the home base of Diamond Dogs, the newest PF to enter the scene. They were small-time, basically got the rig in return for lending their muscle to the local governments in Madagascar and Mogadishu, and as far as bigger contracts were concerned, they got their first big break training Mujahideen fighters in Afghanistan against the Soviets' 40th Army. They were a known quantity—matter of fact, we were the ones who hired them to perform the training—but by themselves, they were no one special. Until one day, when they experienced a change in leadership that same year."

Another photo was added to the presentation, a gray cartoon outline of a person with a white question mark on its head. Underneath were written the words, 'AHAB' and 'VENOM.'

"Sometime in 1984, Diamond Dogs came under new management under a CEO who's only known name is Ahab, alias 'Venom.' Precious little is known about this individual, but from the information we've been able to gather, we've picked up a few things. First, he's a survivor of the incident that led to MSF's destruction. It's possible he may have been involved in orchestrating the incident himself, but nothing is confirmed at this time. The second thing we know is that he is a very talented individual on the battlefield, and very charismatic. His employees are fanatically loyal to him, to the point that the company more resembles a cult than a business. Even his enemies have shown a great deal of respect for him; in many places in which Diamond Dogs has operated, he's been compared favorably to Big Boss himself."

That got Snake's attention. He'd been told when he first met the man that in the places where Big Boss was known outside of the US, Big Boss was known as one of the best and most dangerous soldiers to have ever lived, and from the reputation he had at FOXHOUND, Snake didn't doubt it for a second. For someone to be compared to him, this Ahab or Venom or whatever he called himself must be a real force of nature on the battlefield.

"After Ahab took the reins on the company," the Director continued, "their local and international contracts skyrocketed, and they started deploying not just in Afghanistan and the Seychelles, but in West Africa and Central Asia as well."

More photos. Three more logos, as well as pictures of African savannah, truck convoys, weapon emplacements, an airfield and a dark-skinned man with glasses wearing a blue suit and a leopard-print cover hat. The name underneath the photo of the man read 'MOBUTU SESE SEKO.'

"In Mobutu's conflict against Angola, there were multiple PFs operating in the Angola-Zaire border region: Zero Risk Security, Rogue Coyote, and the Contract Forces of Africa. These were supplied by Western munitions through our Company and through Britain's SIS. You see, Mobutu was on our payroll—we offered him the Congo in exchange for keeping the Communists out of West Africa, and he was more than happy to take us up on it. Diamond Dogs, by contrast, had elected to take contracts from anti-government guerilla forces in northern Angola.

"Much like MSF, Diamond Dogs didn't seem to care at all about ideology or nationality; they weren't particularly loyal to any given side, just to the side that pays them the most. The fact that on one continent they fought Soviet forces and on the other they fought pro-Capitalists only seemed to further this notion. We understood that and accounted for it—they were a thorn in our side for a while in Angola, but it obviously wasn't personal, and our old strategy of buying out as many of their contracts as they were willing to sell us served us well. They've been utilized by us in campaigns against Colombian drug cartels and in UN peacekeeping missions in Rwanda. As they expanded, they started buying up other mercenary companies in a series of mergers, acquisitions, and hostile takeovers. By 1987, they had reincorporated as Outer Heaven International, and by then they became the single biggest and most well-equipped unified military force on the African continent. They had forward operating bases all over the Indian Ocean between Africa, Asia, and the Philippines. As they expanded though, they realized they needed a more permanent foundation from which to command as their headquarters."

The photos were all removed, to be replaced by two more: satellite aerial photos of a massive and sprawling industrial complex and a logo of a winged skull with a bullet hole in the forehead in a circle with a banner above reading 'OUTER HEAVEN.'

"In 1990, the government of South Africa is running into a bit of a problem. The citizenry are demanding an end to apartheid by referendum and for the release of Nelson Mandela from prison. The protesters are starting to become very spirited, and the official posture of the United States and the United Nations is to denounce South Africa's anti-humanitarian apartheid policy. The government has its back against a wall with no help and nowhere to turn as the moral center of the world around them is shifting. Enter Outer Heaven, who comes in to strike a deal: they act as government-sponsored enforcers to help quell the protests, and in return, they're given a land grant from which to build their new headquarters. South Africa complies, and Outer Heaven proceeds with constructing a large sprawling complex about 300 km north of the region of Galzburg. Before they can even finish building the thing, the South African government calls on them for help—Outer Heaven sends some token forces to assist in Cape Town and Johannesburg, but ultimately, it's too little, too late. Mandela is released in February, and apartheid ends a year later.

"Exactly how sincere Outer Heaven was about propping up the government forces at the time is up for debate. What isn't up for debate is that they had no intention of vacating the area once they had finished setting up. After the change in leadership in South Africa, the new government tried to get Outer Heaven to leave—and when diplomacy failed, they threatened to use force if Outer Heaven didn't comply. Ahab only had this to say: 'I'd like to see you try.'

"Since both government and private institutions across the continent and overseas had made use of Outer Heaven and found them too useful to get rid of, there wasn't anything South Africa could do about it—they were stuck with this foreign military presence on their soil."

The Director stopped for a moment, and Snake leaned back. That was quite the history lesson, he thought to himself. "How did the average citizen take this?" he asked.

"About as well as you would think," the Director said. "There are a lot of people in South Africa who are calling it an invasion, likening Outer Heaven to an occupation force. They're not entirely wrong, either: the Outer Heaven headquarters is a fortress with the size and population of a small city, and they've got enough force worldwide to overthrow multiple small governments if they wanted to, and we believe that South Africans are concerned that Outer Heaven is planning to do exactly that. The company hasn't been observed making any moves to that effect as of yet, but it doesn't matter, their very existence represents a major destabilizing force for the whole region. There's a civilian resistance movement in the country that's actively using force to fight against Outer Heaven's occupation. The South African government is trying to suppress this fact, which is why it's not international news. It's for these reasons that the CIA's threat assessment climbed from moderate to high. The only thing keeping them in check from a threat assessment perspective is our purchasing of their contracts."

"So, what changed?" asked Lt. Col. Campbell.

"In 1993, they stopped contracting out to us entirely. Not just us, either—nearly every country on their client list got the cold shoulder. But the observable incoming weapon and supply shipments haven't stopped; they just keep rolling in like clockwork, every day. In addition to this, last year they purchased a diamond mine in northern Angola, near their old stomping grounds—the Kungenga Mine. There's also been a massive increase in the number of R&D personnel on their payroll."

"So, what?" Snake asked. "That doesn't sound so ominous by itself. Maybe they're getting ready for a new FOB construction or something. Or maybe they had a bad fiscal year last year and they needed to do some reshuffling of their resources…or they're just hunkering down to defend against guerilla attacks."

"Those were our first thoughts," the Director replied. "However, since their purchase of the mine, convoys of trucks have been moving to and from the mine nonstop to make deliveries to the HQ. They had no shortage of material wealth from their business dealings and resource acquisitions before, but they were especially interested in the resources from this mine specifically, to the point that both the mine and the convoys had armed personnel protecting them. In addition, many of the new hires in the HQ were scientists with previous experience either in weapons development or in nuclear physics.

"We had one of the trucks intercepted. In addition to weapons caches and crates of diamonds, there was also trace amounts of yellowcake—uranium powder from leech solutions after the ore's been mined, but before enrichment and fabrication."

A silence befell the room. The generals gripped the arms of their chairs tighter. Snake's eyes went wide. The idea that a mercenary outfit with enough firepower to overthrow a small government might have access to fissile materials and the manpower necessary to develop nuclear weapons was alarming.

It was the Secretary of Defense that spoke first. "You had come to my office and the Joint Chiefs with this back in January. You say that these developments occurred last year. How long have we known?" Defense Secretary Perry asked.

"Not long," the Director replied. "This information was compiled, and the report was completed in late December. However, this isn't the only development of interest in regard to Outer Heaven's activities."

The Director removed the photos and documents again, this time placing two photos on the projector: one was a pale old man with a large white moustache and the other a thin, dark-haired woman with blue eyes. Beneath both photos are the names 'DRAGO PETTROVICH MADNAR' and 'ELLEN MADNAR.'

"Dr. Drago Pettrovich Madnar, educated in Prague and known in Russia as the Father of Robotics, is a former weapons research scientist for the Soviet Union," the Director explained. "His main claim to fame is the development of the Powered Gear bipedal locomotion system, which was used as a design improvement on the Soviets' original Walker Gear technology developed in Afghanistan in the '80's."

Snake had heard stories of the Walker Gear machines, though he'd never seen them in action; large bipedal weapons platforms with walking legs and wheels capable of small-arms fire in the form of gatling guns and robotic arms that could hold pistols and rifles. Not as durable as a tank, but it was fast and the projected armor in the front protecting the single pilot made it a nightmare of an anti-personnel vehicle. He was thankful that these weapons never made it into the hands of the Iraqi militants he'd encountered in Kuwait.

"When the Soviet Union fell and these Walker Gears fell out of use, Dr. Madnar went back to his old university in the Czech Republic as a professor, retiring from government service altogether. He was supposed to give a lecture on electrical and mechanical engineering at a symposium in Prague after Christmas, but he never made it. The last place he'd been seen was at the Opera Theatre on December 26, watching the Bolshoi Ballet perform Swan Lake live. His daughter Ellen, a ballerina with the troupe, disappeared not long after he did. The local police departments found her apartment turned over with signs of a struggle. Considering the two disappearances might be connected, a missing persons report was filed, and an All-Points Bulletin was put out over international channels through INTERPOL later that same week."

"Wait, sorry," Snake said, raising a hand. "What does this have to do with Outer Heaven and Ahab?"

"One of the known members of Outer Heaven's R&D team is a bionics specialist—a former Soviet engineer who tried to defect to the West, who instead joined Diamond Dogs in the 1980s after being rescued from a POW facility," said Director Deutch. "This engineer and Dr. Madnar both attended the same university in Prague together; they're known associates. We believe that in light of the discovered yellowcake and personnel expansion, this is no coincidence. The timing is too suspect."

"You mean to say that you think Outer Heaven kidnapped this Dr. Madnar and his daughter? What for?" Snake asked.

"We believe he may be participating in some kind of weapons development project for Outer Heaven under duress, with his daughter being used as leverage," Deutch replied.

Snake turned to the generals, lieutenant colonel, and Secretary. "Do we know any of this for sure?"

Secretary Perry nodded. "This report was delivered to my desk in January. I sent it Big Boss's way not long after. A squad of Special Forces personnel would draw too much attention, and having armed US military personnel in South Africa would be an act of war if they were discovered. We needed a discreet way to confirm Outer Heaven's capabilities and intentions. I brought it to the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff and together we authorized FOXHOUND to investigate."

Director Deutch nodded and turned to Big Boss. "I believe that's your cue, Boss. You have the floor."

"Thank you, John," Big Boss said as the Director sat back down at the table. Big Boss turned to face his audience.

"As the Secretary said, we needed a discreet method of observing Outer Heaven's activities from the inside without drawing undue suspicion or placing the United States in any danger of liability in the event that the probe was discovered. After receiving the authorization, I chose to send in FOXHOUND agent Gray Fox for reconnaissance."

Big Boss placed Gray Fox's picture onto the projector. His wide-eyed predator's stare bore into Snake with his gaze.

"We inserted him as a new recruit. His resume was spotless, containing just the characteristics that Outer Heaven was looking for. For one month, Gray Fox moved throughout the compound, sending us regular updates about their materials, fortifications, and troop movements. By week two, he had confirmed the presence of Dr. Madnar and his daughter on site inside the R&D labs. By week three, we had received these images via microfiche film."

Big Boss placed some grainy photos onto the projector screen, showing sets of schematics for some kind of vehicle. Like the Walker Gears, this vehicle appeared to utilize bipedal locomotion. It had two huge, trunk-like legs supported by hydraulics with two-toed feet. The hydraulics and transmission were protected by thick plate armor of 11-gauge steel, similar to tank armor. The "head," for lack of a better word, was a rounded bulbous armored cockpit that stood off-center on the legs towards its left-hand side with antennae at the top, a metal stabilizer hanging off the head and a set of three camera "eyes" at the top toward the middle of the machine.

On the right side of the machine, attached to the head below the cameras, was some kind of gun emplacement with a 20mm Vulcan cannon and two 15-mm machine gun barrels. Sitting atop this gun module was a large armored mounted artillery piece on the right "shoulder," with a missile delivery system capable of carrying two missiles as well as an air nozzle for exhaust. The machine was like nothing Snake had ever seen before. He looked to the others in attendance. Only Lt. Col. Roy Campbell looked surprised. Snake supposed that made sense. The higher officers had likely already been briefed on the situation before they came to attend.

"What the hell is that thing…?" asked Lt. Col. Campbell. Snake shared in his sentiments.

"That," Big Boss began, "Is designated officially on the blueprints that Fox recovered as 'Tango X-Ray Fifty-five.'" He pointed out the "TX-55" at the top-right corner of the blueprint. "It's an advanced mobile weapons and artillery platform designed for small-arms and long-range engagements. It's equipped with an anti-air radar and is capable of launching up to two missiles at a time. But these missiles aren't simply for anti-aircraft and anti-armor warfare."

Big Boss pulled out a SONY tape player, which he connected to some small speakers. "This is Gray Fox's last audio transmission to us. It was received by us on February 25, almost two weeks ago."

Big Boss pressed Play, and a hushed voice filled the room.

"This is Gray Fox, Day 25 of Operation: Intrude November 312. This may be my last transmission. I've been discovered. Outer Heaven is aware of my presence. It's only a matter of time before I am found. I have made contact with VIP, confirmed name of Target Designate: Tango X-Ray Five-Five. VIP calls the weapon 'Metal Gear.' Purpose of weapon: to carry and deliver payload of nuclear warheads."

The room listened in growing horror. Snake wasn't the only one holding his breath as they all considered the implications.

"The weapon can walk into enemy territory undetected by radar—armor has some kind of shielding to prevent this detection. R&D labs must possess an NRL arch for materials testing to develop EM radiation-reflecting armor. Metal Gear can walk behind enemy lines and deliver payload to great effect. It's the ultimate weapon."

The sounds of Fox moving around could be heard, as well as shouting in the distance.

"I lost contact with the VIP some time ago. I won't be able to rescue him. Soon I'll be captured, too. For the sake of everyone back home, for the sake of the whole world, it must be destroyed. Metal Gear—"

Gunshots, shouting, sounds of a struggle. Then—silence. The tape stopped running with a click.

"Metal Gear…" Snake whispered to himself as he considered Fox's last words.

"That was Gray Fox's final transmission," said Big Boss, removing the tape. "He has not sent any follow-up since. He is presumed to be dead or captured. After receiving this transmission, I called Director Deutch and General Clapper, and requested authorization from Perry and the Joint Chiefs for a new mission into Outer Heaven. I asked Miller to give me a list of recommended FOXHOUND agents to send, which brings us to today."

All eyes in the room turned on Snake, who straightened up in his seat at attention. Big Boss stared down at Snake with burning intensity, and Snake couldn't help but feel stifled by the pressure. He thought of that day in the Pentagon where he was first introduced to FOXHOUND four years ago.

"Snake," said Big Boss. "Your mission is to infiltrate the enemy's fortress, Outer Heaven, and destroy this 'ultimate weapon,' Metal Gear."

"Because of the sensitive nature of this mission," Secretary Perry explained, "this will be a top-secret black op. You will receive no official support of any kind while you are there. If you are captured, the United States will disavow you and deny any knowledge of your existence. You will be entirely on your own, without support, weapons and equipment will be OSP. If you do not succeed, the chances of death will be extremely high. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Snake replied.

"And knowing this, you still agree to take on this mission?"

"Sir," Snake answered, "I've been ready, willing, and able since I first set foot at FOXHOUND."

The Secretary nodded in approval. Snake turned to Big Boss. "How will I be inserted into the Hot Zone?"

Big Boss looked to Deutch. "Director?"

The CIA Director got up and walked back up to the projector and placed a photo of a blonde man with a thin face and downcast expression. "We have a contact within the South African Resistance movement's leadership. The man's name is Kyle Schneider. He used to work for Outer Heaven as an architect, until his wife and child were killed by mercenaries last year. He joined the underground movement and rose up the ranks ever since. He has an extensive knowledge of the fortress's layout and has agreed to get you inside and also serve as a navigator for the Mission Control support team over the radio.

Tomorrow, we'll fly you into South Africa and land you in Cape Town. From there, you'll head into the village of St. Gregor in southern Galzburg, where you'll meet up with our contact in a bar called the Blue Star Club. From there he'll escort you north by river boat as close as he can to Outer Heaven's docks before dropping you off. You'll have to make the rest of the way to the docks on your own."

"Understood," said Snake.

Big Boss said, "As I told you before, I'll be leading your support for Mission Control. I'll receive and pass along your reports to the higher-ups, and I'll be able to give general advisement when needed. You have three main mission objectives: first, determine whether Gray Fox and Dr. Madnar are still alive. If they are, get whatever intel on Metal Gear you can before releasing and extracting them. If they're dead, move on to your second objective.

Your second objective is to locate this Metal Gear weapon and determine its capabilities. Is it sufficiently combat-ready? Does it possess the ability to launch a nuclear weapon? After you report its state of readiness, you are to sabotage or destroy the weapon.

Your third objective is to locate and terminate this Venom character. Ahab is the main source of direction for Outer Heaven—the entire organization is a cult of personality. They say if you cut off the head of the snake, then the body dies with it. Kill this CEO, and the whole organization will crumble."

"One more note," the CIA Director chimed in, "we had to make some promises to Schneider to induce his cooperation. He will likely make these same requests to you when he meets you. Say whatever you need to make sure he continues to cooperate, but under no circumstances are you to give him any reason to believe that his terms will not be met."

"Why, what did he ask for?" Snake asked.

"Irrelevant. What he wants is outside the scope of your mission."

Something about that didn't sit well with Snake, but he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he turned back to the Boss. "Once I locate Metal Gear, how will I dispose of it?"

"If possible, you can use whatever explosive ordnance that the enemy keeps on site," Big Boss said, "Dr. Madnar should know of any structural weaknesses you can take advantage of. If you're unable to obtain credible intel regarding these weaknesses or if conventional firepower and explosives prove to be insufficient, then Mission Control will organize a bombing run as a last resort. There are NATO warships just off the coast several hundred kilometers west from Cape Town that are loaded with B-52 bombers."

"Bombers?" Snake responded. "So, your plan is to wipe Outer Heaven off the map?"

"If you find you are unable to destroy the weapon or if they are provoked into all-out war, yes," General Clapper said, speaking up for the first time. "It is ideal that you do not let it get to that point, but should the unthinkable happen, we will do what is necessary to prevent this threat from being unleashed onto the world."

Snake nodded. "I understand, sir." Snake turned to Big Boss one final time. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I'll be flying out with you to South Africa," Big Boss said. "Unfortunately, I'm a known quantity in that country, so I won't be able to accompany you to Galzburg, it would draw too much attention. So, we'll be going our separate ways when we get to Cape Town. There's a safe house I have in the boonies north of Cape Town. I'll be maintaining radio contact from there."

Snake voiced his understanding. Big Boss looked from one side of the table to the other. "Well, gentlemen, if there isn't anything else…?"

When no response was forthcoming, Big Boss said, "Very well. Snake, you and I will convene tomorrow first thing in the morning at 0400 hours. FOXHOUND will issue us our work passports and identification and we'll fly from the airfield to Detroit to switch over to a civilian international flight."

He looked to the others. "Gentlemen, thank you very much for your time. I'll have my first report for you as soon as it is ready."

The Lt. Generals, Secretary of Defense, and CIA Director stood up to leave. Lt. Col. Campbell walked up to Snake to shake his hand before walking out. "Good luck, Snake," he said.

"Thanks, Colonel," Snake replied. "It's much appreciated."

Campbell nodded with a smile before following his superiors out of the room. It was now just Snake and Big Boss.

"After this, there's no turning back, you know," Big Boss said.

"I know."

"You're going to be walking into certain hell. There's still time to reconsider if you've got cold feet."

"No," said Snake. "I've come too far to quit now." He looked up to return Big Boss's steely one-eyed stare. "I'm ready, Boss. Born ready."

Big Boss sized him up and down and searched with his penetrative gaze into Snake's eyes for any sign of weakness, any single crack in Snake's mental armor. Looking satisfied with what he saw, Big Boss nodded in agreement. "I know you are," he said with a slight smile.

MARCH 13, 1995

ST. GREGOR CITY, GALZBURG, SOUTH AFRICA

BLUE STAR CLUB – EVENING

As far as watering holes go, the Blue Star wasn't bad. A little dingy, a little dim from the old lightbulbs. But Snake liked it that way: it felt lived-in. The wood from the counter and floorboards had a kind of musty smell, from sitting in the day's heat. This far below the equator, this place will be reaching the end of its summer soon. It wasn't the most popular bar in the world, but there were a good few patrons sitting around the place, talking about work and home life. Music was playing softly over the speakers overhead.

The people around here were polite enough, though one wouldn't necessarily call them friendly, especially not to outsiders. Understandable, given the grief that outsiders and colonials have given this country so far. Probably didn't help that Snake passed as a white man; even though apartheid had been ended for about four years now, that didn't mean that all of a sudden pale skinned people were now seen as trustworthy. Snake didn't mind the occasional look of fear and suspicion in public, and he certainly didn't begrudge them their caution given the generational trauma inflicted. He was just happy enough to be served his drink and be left alone—the bartender didn't seem up to starting any kind of conversation, and that suited Snake just fine.

A man approached Snake and sat down on the stool next to him, asking him something in Zulu, which Snake had never been taught. "Excuse me," he replied in Afrikaans, "I apologize. I don't understand you. Do you speak Afrikaans, or English?"

The man switched to Afrikaans and said, "I said, 'how's the hunting been? The season is coming up, and I was hoping to catch a fox.'"

Snake nodded. It was the challenge he was given by Big Boss before he made his way out here from Cape Town. He said, "Sorry, man. I wouldn't know. The only fox I've seen around this place is this one right here."

Snake flashed the little silver zippo lighter in his left hand. On the lighter was a little cartoon of a fox with a pistol in one hand and grenade in the other. The pistol was firing, and the bullet spun around behind and in front of the fox in a circle, with a mean little smile on its face. It was a design that had appeared on some clothing merchandise on the FOXHOUND base. It was a cute little design and didn't make it obvious where exactly it came from since it was so outside the popular conception of what a tough-as-nails special ops group would have, so FOXHOUNDers could and sometimes would wear them off-base in public as fashion accessories. It was a useful means of identifying each other out in the world.

The man looked down at the lighter and nodded, looking forward. "Your accent is strange," the man said, "Not local. Are you a tourist?"

Snake smirked, switching to English. "Something like that," he said. "American tourist. Name is, uh…"

Snake had to be careful. They were in public, and his code name might draw attention if the wrong people were listening in. He did some word association in his brain and cast around for the first name he could think of.

"Pliskin. The name is Pliskin. What do I call you?"

"Pliskin? Like in that movie?" the man asked. He leaned forward and whispered, "A bit on the nose, don't you think?"

Snake chuckled and said in a more audible tone, "Yeah…"

The man extended his hand. "My name's Kyle, Kyle Schneider," he said. He cleared his throat. "Well, Pliskin, since you're new around here, how about I give you a bit of a tour? South Africa can be a dangerous place for a tourist if you don't know where you're going. We can go on a pub crawl, see the sights, and you can tell me more about America. I've always wanted to visit."

"Sure, sounds like fun," Snake said, adding, "I don't have much better to do, anyway."

"Meet me outside when you've finished your drink," Kyle replied before standing up and walking out, slapping a bill on the counter for the bartender.

Ten minutes later, Snake and Kyle were driving in a Jeep on the dirt highway as the sun finished setting on the horizon. The road was red like clay, and they were surrounded by rolling hills with grassy plains. Mountains could be seen in the distance before the sun finished setting and all they could see in front of them was the path illuminated by their headlights.

"So, Snake," Kyle began as they drove. "What did they tell you before you came out here?"

"That you were an architect, and that you can get me into Outer Heaven."

"That's right," Kyle said. "But not for free."

"Yeah, they mentioned that. What's the cost?" Snake asked.

"We've been watching the fortress for months before your man got caught. Some of my Resistance fighters have been taken prisoner in the process. I want you to free them."

"How many are there?"

"A little over half a dozen, assuming they all live. That's not counting your man, by the way."

Snake shook his head. "What you're asking for would normally be done by an extraction team of six or more. I'm one guy."

"Yes, I can see that," Kyle noted with some distaste. "You Americans have a habit of making promises you cannot keep, no?"

"Sounds like you've got no love for Americans."

"Of course not. You're two-faced. You go into other countries dictating their affairs and leaving messes that take generations of people to clean, and then have the balls to go around talking like you're the heroes." Kyle's voice had an edge to it.

"Hey," Snake said. "Let's focus on the actual enemy, here."

"What, the mercenaries?" Kyle scoffed. "Do you truly think you're any different than them?"

"Aren't we?" Snake asked. "When your government tried to keep your racial segregation laws in place, it was us that denounced them."

"Only because it was politically convenient," Kyle responded. "Your country never chooses to use their power to help anyone unless they can get something out of it, and even then, usually the people they're helping are just as bloodthirsty as Outer Heaven's kind."

"I don't believe that for a second," Snake spat. He was starting to get angry at Kyle's accusations.

"Oh, no? In the sixties, your CIA helped now-president Mobutu assassinate his political competition and assisted the radicals in taking over the Congo in a bloody coup, because he was more friendly to your country's business interests. When Zaire fought with Angola in the 1980s, your government supplied mercenary forces to fight on his behalf.

"Also in the sixties, your government got involved in persuading the nations of the world, particularly the UAE to adopt the petrodollar, intrinsically tying the economic strength of every country in the world to a single currency, one which Western powers, particularly America, controlled. America then used this power to defend British Petroleum's interests in Iran, which is a direct lead-in to the Middle Eastern conflicts you find yourselves in today.

"In the 1970s, your CIA, in addition to toppling democratically elected governments in Central and South America to prop up fascist dictatorships that are friendly to American business interests, have also actively participated in the supply and smuggling of the drug trade, bringing in cocaine and heroin to your shores, turning your own children into junkies. American corporations in South America and even here in Africa are actively enslaving people to work their factories because it is cheaper than employing American workers. Need I go on?" Kyle emphasized the last four words.

"How do you even know any of this? Why do you believe America was involved?" Snake demanded.

Kyle replied, "I'm from Angola, originally. I fought in the war with Zaire. Do not tell me to deny the evidence of my eyes and ears, American. It will not end well for you." His voice dropped low, and Snake began to feel cornered.

"If we're so evil," Snake snapped. "Then why are you fighting with Outer Heaven in the first place? They fought on your side in Angola, right?"

"Mercenaries. They fight for whoever pays them," Kyle breathed through his teeth. "Not unlike you Americans. My wife and child were in Rwanda visiting family last year. My wife is a Tutsi. Do the math."

"I—wait…but I thought Outer Heaven was assisting the UN peacekeeping force to defend refugees. That's what America was paying them for."

Kyle swerved the Jeep off the road. Snake was afraid they were going to roll the vehicle with the sharpness of the turn. "Jesus Christ!" Snake shouted.

They sped through a rocky and bumpy path before coming to a stop. Snake couldn't see anything but darkness. Kyle was next to him, murder in his eyes as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. He spun around to face Snake.

"Did you really think that Americans and the UN were the only ones with Outer Heaven contracts? Are you really that naïve?! My wife and daughter were murdered by the Hutu militias and the Outer Heaven mercenaries they hired!"

Snake didn't have any words, just stared into Kyle's furious eyes that were starting to fill with tears. He realized just how much he had fucked up by not keeping his mouth shut. Was Kyle going to refuse to help him, or God forbid, maybe even try to kill him right then and there? Snake's body tensed as he prepared to defend himself.

He wasn't worried about Kyle harming him, but if he lost Kyle's cooperation or accidentally killed him, then he'd be stuck without his navigator, and he would have to try to get into Outer Heaven on his own with no help. Snake raised his open hands in a calming gesture, trying to indicate that he meant no harm. "Look, I'm sorry," he said lamely. "I didn't mean to open that wound."

Kyle seemed to realize just how much he was losing it and wrenched open the car door to walk a few paces away and take several breaths to calm himself down. Snake just waited patiently in the passenger seat, too afraid to move for fear of doing or saying something that might set him off.

After a few minutes had passed, Kyle walked back up to the car and opened the hatch back to start digging around in a duffel bag. Snake's senses sharpened as he slowly opened the car door and stepped out. Was Kyle retrieving a weapon?

But his fears were unfounded. Kyle had gripped in his fist a flashlight, which he turned on to check the battery. He tossed Snake's backpack into his arms. "Grab your stuff and follow me to the boat," he said tersely before turning off the Jeep and grabbing the keys to lock the doors.

Snake pulled out of the backpack his combat fatigues and started changing into them and out of his civilian clothes from behind the car, and then pulled out his waterproof radio and headset that he strapped to his hip and donned on his head, respectively. He turned it on to test the signal and tuned it to Big Boss's frequency before turning it off. Best that he didn't have to worry about fiddling with the radio as soon as he arrived at the fortress, he thought.

Kyle led him down the rocky path into a riverbed, and used his flashlight to help them locate the boat which was hidden by what looked like a pile of driftwood. Snake helped push the boat into the river before climbing in while Kyle started the engine.

As they rumbled northward up the river, Snake got the courage to talk again. "So, that's the idea, huh? 'Enemy of my enemy is my friend,' is that it?"

Kyle breathed in and sighed heavily before responding. "The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy. Nothing more, nothing less. Personally, I'm hoping you American agents and Outer Heaven destroy each other. I was just trying to secure my people's safety before that happens."

Snake looked down between his feet, feeling guilt. He realized now why the CIA Director had told him not to give Kyle any indication that his requests wouldn't be met. Snake's fists tightened, feeling anger. Snake may be a government tool, but at least he agreed to being used. This man before him never had any choice in the matter.

Snake looked up. To hell with the CIA. "Kyle, listen," he said.

Kyle looked at him, still pissed off and clearly already done with Snake's shit. "What?" he demanded.

"You said that you hate Americans because they make promises they can't keep."

"That's not the only reason," he interrupted, "but go on."

"So, in light of that, I won't promise you that I'll get your people out, or that I even could if I wanted to. To put it bluntly, I'm not their extraction; they aren't my mission. My guy inside is. So instead, I'm going to make you a promise that I can keep."

"And that is?"

"If I can find your men being held prisoner, and if I get an opportunity to do it, I'll do what I can to set them free from where they're being held. This doesn't mean I'll be able to get them out. But maybe my friend can. And if he can't, I'll at least be able to arm your men so they can have a fighting chance. I know it's not much, but it's the best I can offer you without lying to you," said Snake.

Kyle said nothing at first. Then he smirked, and then broke out into laughter. It started small and then built up to a raucous full-belly laugh. Snake panicked and leaned forward to shush him. When Kyle's laughter finally died down, he rubbed his face to get the tears from his eyes.

"You are very interesting, American," Kyle said. "Definitely nothing like your superiors."

Snake wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, so he said nothing.

"Ha ha ha…" Kyle chuckled again and said with a smile, "Alright, Snake. Alright. I'll take you up on that offer. It's more than fair: I'll help you navigate Outer Heaven over radio, and in return, you keep an eye out for my men, as much as you can spare it." Kyle offered an outstretched hand.

Snake smirked as he shook it. "Deal."

Kyle looked up as a low-hanging fog started to roll in over the water. He turned off the motor. "It's another thirty minutes by foot," Kyle said. "This is where you get off. My frequency is 120.79. Can you remember that?"

"No problem," Snake said, putting one foot on the edge of the boat.

"Wait," Kyle called out. "Where's your gun?"

"I'll get one when I get there," Snake said, shrugging. "Part of the job."

"Well, here, at least take this," Kyle said as he started digging into a small emergency kit at the bottom of the boat. He pulled out a small orange bottle with a white cap and tossed it to Snake, who caught it.

"What is this?" Snake asked.

"Anti-malarial pills. It's nighttime now, but this is a river, and when the sun rises again in several hours, the mosquitoes are going to come out. Take one pill in the morning, and then one more if you start to feel any symptoms. Malaria is no joke out here."

"Thanks. Be seeing you," Snake said. He hopped over the side of the boat and began to swim northward, keeping to the shallow east side of the river and taking care to avoid any wildlife that might be hostile.

As promised, thirty minutes later, he found the beginnings of the fortress. The fog was still very thick, so he heard the place before he saw it: the sound of engines, the buzzing of electrical wires, shouting voices, marching. He heard gunshots farther out into the distance, but no screaming or explosions. A shooting range, maybe?

Massive, thick walls of concrete became visible as he continued making his way north. Spotlights moved along the surface of the water. Snake clung close to the walls to avoid them. The heavy cloth of his garments dragged in the water; he could only move a few feet at a time to keep from tiring out. Eventually, after about another hour of swimming, he came upon a wooden pier jutting out into the river. As he moved in closer, he saw a guard smoking as he stood out enjoying the late-night air. Snake waited patiently underneath, watching through the floorboards as he waited for the guard to finish his smoke break. This gave Snake a chance to rest his muscles from the swim as he held onto one of the wooden beams.

After several minutes, the guard flicked what was left of his cigarette into the river and shouldered his rifle as he turned around and walked back inside the gate to head back to his patrol. Snake waited a few more minutes for the sound of some footsteps and when he didn't hear any, he climbed up the beams and hauled himself onto the dock, his clothes dripping on the wood. He looked upwards as the fog started to slowly roll away and saw three huge monolithic buildings rising up into the sky; one was just ahead of him, and the other two were further in to the left and right, behind this first building. He looked in front of him and found himself standing in front of a huge chain link gate that was left open. He quickly rushed inside before the automatic motors could close it and crouched in front of a corner to the side of the driveway.

He turned on the radio, which he had already pre-set to frequency 120.85, and whispered, "This is Solid Snake. Do you read me, Mission Control? Over."

Some high-pitched electronic whining was heard over the earphones before a voice returned. "This is Big Boss. I read you."

"I have arrived at Outer Heaven. Our contact was able to get me in without a problem, and he has given me his frequency for navigation."

"Excellent, Snake. Tell me, what do you see?"

Snake looked around. "I've entered through a dock on the east side of the river, west side of the fortress. I've already seen at least one guard. Didn't get a good look at what he was carrying before he left, though. I see three large towers, one of them is close by. I remember from the briefing how large this place is. I'm going to head for the tower first, get my bearings. Maybe I'll be able to arm myself on the way there."

"Understood. You said you're outside. See if you can't find any transport," Big Boss said. "We know they receive regular weapon shipments by convoy. Maybe you'll be able to find something in one of the trucks."

"Got it. I'm going to maintain radio silence for now until or unless further developments occur."

"Acknowledged. I'm going to summarize your main mission objectives one more time. Infiltrate the enemy fortress, Outer Heaven. Locate Gray Fox and Dr. Madnar. Destroy the 'ultimate weapon,' Metal Gear. Terminate Venom."

"Affirmative," Snake replied, standing up. "Commencing Operation: Intrude N313 now."

He turned off his radio and got moving.

A/N: Alrighty folks, we're finally here: the mission has begun! I'm very excited to be moving forward on this journey with y'all. I'm going to take a break from writing next week, after which I'll get started on Chapter 8, probably around the 17th. Don't know when it'll be finished, but at the rate I'm going so far, I have high hopes.

So, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm having Venom acting independently of Big Boss while the rest of the games imply that the Outer Heaven Uprising was orchestrated by him directly. There's a couple reasons for this: as any Metal Gear fan knows, half the story of the whole series is made up of retcons built on top of each other, and the end result is there are a lot of little story details that don't make a whole lot of sense when you look at them critically. For me, the big one was: how is Venom able to spread the legend of Big Boss and act as a distraction away from Boss's activities with setting up Zanzibar Land at the same time that Big Boss is leading FOXHOUND and training Snake in 1995? My answer to this question basically shows up in this chapter and the one before it: BB was actively using Venom as a convenient distraction until Venom starts getting ambitions worthy of the real Big Boss. BB approves of this, but the problem is that it's too much too soon and might get in the way of his Zanzibar Land preparations by outing him to the world as the real threat that he is before he's ready. That's why I outlined the four possible outcomes of sending Snake and their associated costs and benefits in the previous chapter. It's not so much that BB sees Venom as rival or an active threat, moreso that Venom's a little too good at his job for his own good.

Is it canon? Well, it's fanfiction, so by definition none of it's really canon. This is more my attempt at fitting a couple of loose ends in the canon together in a way that makes more logical sense. The one thing about this briefing chapter and Kyle's introduction I was really excited to touch on was what exactly Outer Heaven had been up to on the world stage from a geopolitical standpoint and how that relates to actual history and what little I know about the United States' foreign policy posture at the time. Knowing what kind of shady stuff, the CIA has historically gotten up to throughout the decades made for a really interesting Metal Gear Solid-style critique on American interventionism, especially if you directly compare my country's government to the private mercenary companies and private corporate enslavement that were getting big in Africa at the time. Hell, I stopped just short of having Kyle reference CIA case officer lingo where they're referred to as "Company Men," and referencing Apocalypse Now by referring to the US military as "the Corporation." I hope to do more stuff like this throughout the rest of the story, as it's definitely in keeping with the Metal Gear series' approach to military fiction and I want to keep that spirit intact here.

Hope you continue to enjoy reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it, and I look forward to sharing more with you in the future!