OPERATION INTRUDE N313
DAY ONE
THE RIVERDOCKS AND SUPPLY WAREHOUSE FACILITY
Rows of tanks on either side of the concrete pathways greeted Snake as he moved further into the docks. They looked similar to Soviet models from the '80's, in that they were smaller than the Abrams and looked more built for maneuverability than damage absorption. Although the front end of these tanks looked bulkier, making Snake wonder if maybe these had thicker armor in the front. The rear was slightly larger, too. Engine modification?
Snake used the tanks for cover to avoid being seen by the enemy patrols. There was chain-link fencing and barbed wire separating different lots for tanks, steel shipping containers and wooden crates. Spotlights roamed the yards from guard towers around the perimeter. About 300 meters further in were warehouse buildings. To Snake's right next to one of the warehouses was a small grassy lot, from which he could see three parked transport trucks with canvas canopies over the truck beds. Keeping his head low, Snake scurried across the yard between the tanks, taking care to avoid the spotlights.
When he reached the first truck, he peeked over the tailgate to peer into the bed. There were crates marked 'FOOD' inside, one of which was open. Looking both ways, he carefully lifted himself into the truck bed and crept around and behind the open crate in case a wandering patrol might look in. He stole a glance inside the crate: MREs and ration tins marked with labels for various kinds of instant dinners. He grabbed a couple of tuna fish tins and slipped them into his pockets. He didn't know how long this mission was going to take, so it seemed to be a good idea to be able to feed himself. He would have to find something to open the rations with later. Being careful to look out of the bed before climbing out, he crouched over to the second truck, and lifted the canvas covering the entrance to the bed.
There was a guard with his back to him, looking through one of the crates inside. The guard turned his head to acknowledge him but didn't quite look back to see.
"Oh hey, good timing," the guard said. "You mind helping me unload this stuff? It'll be faster with two people."
Without a word, Snake climbed into the truck and closed the canvas behind them so that no one outside could look in and see the two of them.
"What're you-?" The guard turned around, and Snake grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down into his rising knee, knocking the wind out of him. The guard found himself unable to speak as he threw his fists towards Snake's face, Snake backing away from the flailing blows before grabbing the guard's arm and pushing the head into his free arm so that it rested in the crook of his elbow. Flattening his hand into a blade-like cutting gesture and grabbing it with the other hand, Snake rotated his shoulder and lifted his hips, pushing his torso upward so that the side of the thumb of his flat hand would dig into the guard's neck below the jawline, cutting off circulation.
The guard struggled, not making it easy for him, but within thirty seconds he blacked out. Snake dropped the body onto the truck bed and immediately set to the task of checking the guard's pockets and relieving him of any equipment or valuables he might be carrying. Unfortunately, the guard was unarmed, but he did have a pair of binoculars and some kind of keycard. Snake put the card into his pocket and hung the string of the binoculars around his neck. He then pulled the guard's sleeves over his hands so that he could tie them behind his back, and then peeled off one of the merc's boots and socks to stuff the sock into the mouth in case he woke up. With his work now finished, Snake then dragged the body behind the crates.
One of the crates had a loose nail in the corner of one lid. Digging his fingers into the wedge, he pulled violently upward, yanking the corner up and loosening up the adjacent corner. He slid his fingers around and pulled that corner open as well, allowing him to yank open the lid of the crate. Sitting in a rack amidst the packing straw were pistols arranged in a line. Snake tugged one loose and examined it. It looked to be a Beretta M92FS; it's Italian-made, but it's been used as the standard service pistol for the US Armed Forces for about ten years now. It didn't look like a civilian knockoff model either, but the actual military one—and it was brand new. How did Outer Heaven get these?
Snake looked at the crate again and noted that there was a demarcation on the side that read 'INCOMING' in big block letters. Was Outer Heaven purchasing American arms from some third party? Arms dealer, maybe? But the briefing said that shipments were constantly coming in and had been for months—the idea that a single independent arms dealer or even a group of them could get their hands on that much American hardware seemed unlikely.
Snake shook his head. It didn't matter. He ejected the magazine and pulled back the slide. Empty—of course. It's not like brand new firearms that got shipped came pre-loaded. He tugged on the slide a few times to make sure it was well-oiled. Everything looked to be in working order. He inserted the empty magazine and placed the weapon into his thigh holster. He'll have to find ammo as he goes, but it was a good start, all the same.
The guard stirred, and when he realized what had happened to him, he started to panic. He shook left and right and started yelling through the sock. Snake knew if the guard kept flailing it would attract attention. He grabbed the pistol from his holster and slammed the butt of the handle into the guard's forehead. The guard didn't stop moving, so Snake kept hammering down with the firearm. Still, the guard struggled. After a few good whacks, the guard finally went still, and so did Snake when he saw his handiwork.
The guard's nose was broken, the skin of his forehead cracked open, the skull having caved in on itself. Blood rained in streams from the cracked skin where he'd been struck, carrying tiny pieces of bone and flesh with it. A disturbing choking sound came from the back of his throat as the sock wormed its way into his airway. His eyes rolled back into his head. His mouth kept trying to close, chewing mindlessly on the cloth forcing it open. Within seconds, the guard stopped moving, the life having left his eyes and body, leaving behind nothing more than an inanimate object. Snake involuntarily dropped his gun as his hands started to shake. He tried not to be sick.
Snake had taken life before, in the Green Berets. But it was always at a distance, using a loaded firearm. It was impersonal, clean, and professional. This felt different: more brutal, more…personal, somehow. Snake started to gag. He grabbed the gun and hurriedly wiped the blood off onto the guard's uniform as he stumbled and tripped over the tailgate and fell painfully out onto the concrete.
"What was that?"
That was the voice of another guard. Wincing from the pain brought on by the fall, Snake quickly crawled backwards underneath the truck as he heard the approaching footsteps. The guard stopped at the tailgate. Snake could see his feet. He instinctually held the Beretta aloft, forgetting in his moment of anxiety that it wasn't loaded. Though all he could see was the guard's feet, he could feel the mercenary peering inside. He hoped that the one he'd killed was hidden enough behind the crates. A few minutes pass.
"Huh. Guess it was nothing…"
The sentry walked away, and Snake breathed out a slow sigh of relief. His heart was still hammering with the weight of what he'd just done a few minutes ago. Snake closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, counting the seconds between each breath. When he got to five, he felt much calmer.
Don't think about it, he thought to himself. You still have a job to do.
Having successfully compartmentalized his stress for the meantime, Snake crawled out from underneath the front of the truck's cab, leaving the lot when the nearby guard had his back turned. He passed by two more patrolling sentries as he moved between a couple of shipping containers and hooked a right into an alleyway between a warehouse and a concrete wall. At the corner of the wall was a door marked 'LV 1.' Next to the door was a small console with a slot in it. Snake fished out the keycard from his pocket and examined it, seeing the same LV 1 marking. He experimentally inserted the card into the slot and was rewarded with a beep as the LED on the console turned green and he heard the door unlock.
Slipping inside, Snake found himself across from a desk where another guard sat, leaning back in his chair. Snake's muscles tensed as he prepared to defend himself, until he heard a rhythmic and raspy breathing from the guard. He was fast asleep. On the desk was a gas mask. Snake didn't know if it would be useful at all, but it would be better to have it and not need it than the other way around. He moved forward with light steps, practically on tiptoes as he got closer and closer to the desk and gingerly picked up the mask before creeping back to the door. When he opened the door, the guard snorted.
Snake froze. Had the guard woken up? He slowly turned his head back to the desk to see the guard's head nodding. Then the snoring resumed. Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding; Snake opened the door wider and closed it softly behind him. He saw a loop on the mask and used a C-clip to attach it to one of the suspender straps on his uniform before moving on.
As he approached the end of the alleyway, Snake saw another row of tanks on his right. Behind these tanks was the first tower of the facility. He darted forward and looked around the end of the tank line to see a door guarded by two patrolmen.
No other way forward from here, Snake thought to himself. I'll have to find another way in.
He moved back towards the warehouse he passed, finding a door as he approached. Letting himself inside, he found himself surrounded by rows and rows of crates, stacked up at least 15 feet high. At the far end of the warehouse was a loft office with a steel stairway leading up to it. Through the window, he could see a guard and one other person. Thinking that maybe the office had roof access, Snake darted between the lines of crates.
Just as he got to the final stretch to the stairway, he heard footsteps and stopped to put his back against the final stack of crates and peek around the corner. They weren't mercenaries, or at least they didn't wear the same uniform: a couple of bulky men in orange jumpsuits with leather gloves were pushing dollies carrying more crates for the warehouse. Of course. Outer Heaven was known to have support staff in the form of their R&D team. After all, it couldn't possibly be just soldiers and mercenaries on the staff; someone had to handle logistical work and basic things like janitorial duties—even if they had mercenaries trained in that kind of thing, it would be impractical to assume everyone in the compound would have a military background. There'd probably be a civilian staff too. Why not? It was so obvious.
Both dockworkers had orange jumpsuits, leather gloves, a hardhat, and goggles, but the older one had a blue badge pinned to his lapel and a white band around his sleeves. A supervisor? The younger man looked to the other and started speaking. Snake focused on the conversation.
"Ugh, this is the seventh shipment this week," he said.
The supervisor nodded. "Yup. We keep this up, we're going to start running out of room for storage."
"Why do they need so much stuff, anyway? What do you think they're going to use it for?"
"It's a mercenary company, Greg. What do you think?"
"Well, yeah, but…with this much in supplies and hardware, these guys have got to have enough to keep them going for the next decade. Hell, just this warehouse alone probably costs several fortunes," Greg said. "They can't possibly use all this in the time it takes to maintain it, to say nothing of the food they're having us bring in. Don't these people care about how much money they're throwing away?"
"Hey, who cares about their spending habits?" the older guy said. "If the higher-ups want to waste their money on expensive boondoggles like this, I say let 'em. Long as the paycheck clears, what's the problem? Here, help me with this."
They had moved around the corner where Snake couldn't see them. Snake could hear the sounds of both men grunting, and he started moving to and up the steel staircase while they worked. He was already at the top of the stairway hiding behind a metal panel in the railing when they had finished moving whatever it was that they were moving.
Snake had found himself on a steel platform overlooking the warehouse. Just ahead of him was the door to the main office that he'd observed before. He tiptoed over to it and gently turned the knob and when he found it wasn't locked, he slowly pushed it open just enough that he could look into the room.
There were four desks, separated by partitions, Snake assumed for privacy. There were two doors in the back, one with a sign indicating an employee restroom, and the other marked 'ROOF ACCESS.' Sitting at two of the desks, at opposite corners facing opposite directions were a couple of accountants dressed in polos and slacks, one of them wearing one of those green plastic visors, like you see in the movies. Snake tilted his head as he looked at the man with the visor. People really wear those? Huh.
Facing out the window leaning back in a chair dressed in combat fatigues with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was a large, cigar-chomping man with a bushy mustache and a bowl cut. Snake guessed that he must be the manager of the warehouse. He certainly had the air of a man who believed himself to be in charge.
How was he going to get to the roof access ladder? Snake wondered. Before he could think too hard about it, the manager looked over to the door Snake was standing behind and looked him right in the eyes.
Shit!
Snake tensed up, figuring he would need to fight his way out. He worried that the man would immediately sound the alarm. Instead, the manager just looked at him with the sort of bored condescension one could only get from a middle-manager.
"You coming in or out?" he said.
Snake was bewildered. He certainly didn't expect that response. "Uh…in, I guess. Sorry," was all he could think of saying as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.
"You that technician they were supposed to send to fix the fuse box, right?"
"Yeah, that's right," Snake nodded. Whatever this guy wanted to hear seemed to be the best way to move forward.
The manager looked him up and down, sizing him up. His brow furrowed into a scowl. Whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't seem very impressed by what he saw. "Where's your tools?" he demanded.
"Sorry?"
"Your tools." He gestured vaguely to Snake. "What, do they not give you techies proper tools anymore? Who the hell is running your operation over there?"
"Oh, right, sorry. No, I'm just here to perform an inspection. They're going to send another guy for the repair when I get back," Snake lied, thinking quick on his feet. Hopefully by the time a real tech does show up, he'll be long gone.
"Another inspection…?" the manager said. "Why do those folks keep wasting time? So much for corporate efficiency."
"Hey," Snake said, trying to sound a little indignant as he shrugged. "I just go where they tell me. You've gotta problem with it, take it up with my supervisor."
The manager rolled his eyes as he walked back over to his desk. "Whatever. Guess you get what you pay for."
"I'm going to need to access the roof. That alright?"
"Whatever you need to do, man. Get the key from the hook over there." The manager waved vaguely to a corkboard near the bathroom door. "Idiots, I tell you," he muttered, before centering his focus back out the window, having lost interest both in Snake and in the conversation.
Snake walked over to the cork board, doing his best to look annoyed before snatching the key with the fob marked 'ROOF' and marching to the roof access door. He unlocked the knob and exited onto a small metal platform on the wall next to a ladder, which he climbed up to the roof. He laid down prone and pulled out his binoculars and tuned his radio to Kyle's frequency. He turned on the radio and began to mutter into his earpiece microphone as he surveyed the area leading up to the first tower.
"This is Snake," he said. "Are you reading me, Architect?"
"Here," said Kyle. "What do you need?"
"I've moved up to the last warehouse in the shipping area. I'm looking at one of three big buildings I spotted on my way in. The one closest to me is about three stories high. What can you tell me about what I'm looking at?"
"That building you're looking at right now is the one I designed," Kyle replied. "They only finished constructing it four months ago. The third floor is where the armory is located and is also where arms manufacturing takes place. Second floor is used for personnel and general storage. Any material too sensitive or too dangerous to keep in the warehouses is kept in the second and third floors away from the general civilian staff. The first floor is a hangar for the tank fleet and trucks—the ones you saw in the stockyard are either about to be sent out or are just arriving from deployment. They also have interrogation rooms and holding cells in the basement. If my comrades are being held anywhere, it's going to be there."
"Makes sense," Snake said. That's also probably where I'll find Gray Fox if he's still alive.
"Fair warning, they've got all sorts of security devices near the more sensitive areas to deter intruders. Not just guards and security cameras, but some hallways have traps that can be activated by the staff, like electrified floors and gas chamber passageways."
Snake whistled. "Jeez, Architect. That your handiwork, too?"
"Nope. I only designed the layout of the building. Outer Heaven installed the security systems themselves," Kyle answered.
"Sounds like they really don't want me in there," Snake mused. "Which means that's exactly where I want to go."
"Good call," Kyle said.
Snake scanned the horizon to examine the other two buildings. His initial impressions of them being "towers" was something of a misnomer because one building had its height extended by a radio tower on its roof, and the other one was simply just a very large blocky building that could be seen from far into the distance.
"So that's big building number one," Snake said. "What about two and three?"
"The one with the radio tower 15 kilometers away is the R&D labs," Kyle explained. "That's where the science team develops new weaponry and equipment for Outer Heaven. The other big building is some kind of bunker. I've never been there, myself. I didn't design these other two buildings, so there's not much I can tell you about their layout, I'm afraid. If you rescue my men, perhaps they can tell you more."
"That's fine," Snake said. "What can you tell me about the rest of the base?"
"Between the arms storage building and the R&D labs is a large desert-like area. Outer Heaven uses it for combat drills and training operations. Past the R&D lab, but before the bunker, is the industrial complex and the SIGINT listening post. Staff living quarters are on the far eastern side of the R&D labs. There's more to the complex, but those are the main areas you will most likely have a reason to visit."
"Where's the CEO's office?"
"I don't know. I've never met him in person or had any opportunity to study his movements. My guess would be the staff living quarters. Failing that, you'll probably catch him somewhere around the bunker or the R&D labs. Last I had heard before I left, he was spending a lot of time in both places," Kyle said.
"Got it," said Snake. "How many entrances are there to the arms storage building? I only see the one, and it's got a couple guards attached to it."
"There are a few entrances and exits around the perimeter," Kyle said. "But doubtless those doors will be guarded, as well."
"So, what do I do, then? I can't take on two guys by myself. Not without being noticed, anyway," Snake replied.
"You'll just have to think of something. Wait," Kyle stopped for a moment, having an idea.
"It'll be morning in a couple of hours," Kyle pointed out. "Shift change happens just before first light. The guards will have to leave their post to let the new guards come in to cover the next shift. It's a small window, but maybe you could use that to slip in?"
"I like the way you think, Architect. Snake out," Snake signed off and tuned his radio to Big Boss's frequency.
"This is Solid Snake. Come in, Control," Snake whispered.
"This is Control," came Big Boss's voice. "Send it, Snake."
"I've successfully entered the warehouse area of the compound. I've located what I believe may be the building where one of the VIPs are being held, as well as an opportunity to procure supplies. Contact has recommended waiting until shift change before making my approach. I'm going to take his advice."
"Acknowledged," Big Boss responded. "Has the security given you any trouble so far?"
Snake's thoughts flashed to the man in the truck. Images of the gagged and bloodied corpse came unbidden to his mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to make the picture leave. "I had to eliminate one guard when I was searching the transport trucks, but the body is hidden. By the time someone finds him—assuming they ever do, I'll be long gone," Snake said.
"Did you manage to secure any weapons?"
"Yes, but no ammunition. I'm hoping to find some when I get inside the storage building before I get to the detention centers."
"Your logic is sound," Big Boss said with approval in his voice. Snake felt a small flicker of pride.
"You ever have to scrounge like this when you were in my shoes?" Snake muttered, staring down the two guards at the door.
"Heh. When I was your age, I not only had to pilfer my own equipment, but I had to hunt my own food, too. You ever eaten jungle food, kid?"
Snake snickered as the guards turned to talk to each other. "Can't say I have, Control," he breathed.
"Too bad," Big Boss chuckled. "You haven't lived until you've eaten python. Those things are bigger around than your biceps. Good meat, enough to last you a solid day. More, if we're talking the whole snake and you ration it properly."
"Think that might make me a cannibal, Control," Snake joked.
Big Boss chuckled again; it was a strange sound coming from him. For some reason, it reminded Snake of warm, smooth whiskey. Then the Boss said with more seriousness, "Well, you're not likely to be doing much hunting here, so be on the lookout for any provisions while you're running around."
"Way ahead of you, boss," Snake said, patting his pocket with the tuna tins for emphasis before remembering that he was conversing over the radio.
"Good to hear," Big Boss replied. "I'll leave you to it, then. Be sure to send me more updates as and when you're able. Control out."
Snake lowered his binoculars and climbed back down the ladder and moved back through the door, hanging the key back on its hook. When he got halfway through the office, the grumpy manager sent him another bored glance. "Well?" he said. "How did it look?"
Snake gave what he thought was a confident nod. "There's an old fuse that'll need replacing before it burns out, but otherwise things look good," he lied. "I'll have a guy sent back before the day's out."
Snake had no way of knowing how soon a repair technician would actually come to this place, but based on the manager's complaining earlier, they probably wouldn't bat an eye if Snake's empty promise turned out to be false. Either way, it was unlikely to become Snake's problem once he got out of the building. The manager nodded, accepting his explanation. Snake made his way out of the office and down the stairs before ducking out of the nearest door.
He rushed back to the final line of tanks and moved to the far end before diving underneath between the treads and crawling forward so that he could observe the guards at the door through the other side while he waited. Remembering what Kyle had told him about the coming morning, Snake fished out the anti-malarial medication bottle from one of the pockets of his cargo pants and popped a pill into his mouth. That should help him stay safe from disease while he waited.
After a couple of hours, one of the guards, a burly red-haired white South African man, turned to his colleague, saying something in Zulu. The other guard, a tanned Kiwi replied in English in his light New Zealand accent, "Yeah, I heard rumors. So, you think the boss in corporate's gonna go through with it? Seems like a lot of heat for not much gain."
The South African sounded agitated in his response. Snake saw the Kiwi's feet move as he turned to face his coworker. "Nah, sorry, man, I didn't mean to offend you," the Kiwi said. "I'm sure there's plenty worthwhile that this country would have to offer. I'm just talking in a strategic sense, here. Like, say we fight the government; hell, say we even win—knock over the leadership, take power for ourselves. Okay. So, what then? What exactly would we get out of that that we don't have already, besides tanking our reputation with the clientele and getting the attention of some bigger world powers who've got bigger sticks to wave around?"
The Zulu speaker asked a question. The Kiwi turned away. "Nah, it's not that I don't have faith in this place, or in the guys here. If I didn't, I wouldn't have signed on. But our boss is the best around—and that's exactly why I don't put much stock in the rumors. I think he's smarter than that; he wouldn't waste all our lives on something that trivial unless there was a major gain from it, or he had a trick up his sleeve."
Laughter from his conversation partner, followed by more speaking, which progressively got more animated as he talked. Snake had half a mind to turn on his radio and ask Mission Control for translation, but he was too close by, and he didn't want to make any noise. The Kiwi swayed slightly, and Snake heard his clothes as he moved something with his torso. A shrug?
"Yeah, I suppose it could be worth seizing control of the South African ports, I guess. It'd be a good way to police ship traffic in the region, give us control over maritime trade in the southern hemisphere. But we're a mercenary company, not a government or a standing army. But even if that were worth our time, that still doesn't really answer how we'd seize and retain control of—"
The Zulu speaker said more. There was a pause.
"You don't mean—the bunker…?" The Kiwi was quiet for a moment, only following up with a short grunt, "Huh."
A few minutes later, an electronic alarm was heard emanating from the guards. The Kiwi shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pager.
"It's time for shift change," he said. "Come on, let's go meet them halfway."
The two guards starting walking to Snake's right, and once they were sufficiently far away, he crawled out from underneath the tank and quickly inserted his keycard to get into the building, slipping through the door into a short brick hallway that led to an elevator.
So, there were rumors even onsite among the staff of a possible coup in South Africa. With the sheer volume of the munitions that they were hoarding, Snake believed it possible that they might be able to pull it off; and with the Metal Gear weapon, they'd have a useful deterrent in preventing outside interference from other members of the UN. But was that what Venom was actually planning, or were the rumors among the staff just that? The guards looked to be low-level staff; rumors among the small fries wasn't really going to tell Snake much, he mused as he stepped into the elevator. Best to just mentally file that information away for later.
The elevator only moved between two floors; the one he was on and the third floor. He recalled what Kyle said about the second-floor storage facility and the third-floor armory. Maybe he could swipe some more supplies before investigating the basement. Hopefully he would find something useful, he thought optimistically.
When he stepped out of the elevator, he was greeted by the whirring sound of mounted surveillance cameras turning. The elevator let out into a branching concrete hallway, stretching away in front of him and to his left. On the wall to his right, he could see a camera turning away, just as he heard a camera moving to his left. Thinking fast, Snake rushed forward to get underneath the camera in front of him to stand in its blind spot.
He couldn't rest for long, however, as he heard footsteps from further down the hall. So as soon as the camera started pointing back toward the elevator, Snake ran forward and around a slight corner to his left to move further down the hall. Standing against the wall on his right were crates, and on the wall to his left was a door marked 'LV2'. The sound of footsteps continued from the end of the hall around a corner bearing right.
Putting his back to the crates, Snake peeked around the corner, and saw a man walk into view, turning to look down the hallway. Snake moved back from the corner to keep from being seen and waited to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. When he heard nothing of the sort, Snake realized that he'd need to either find another way past the cameras or find some way to get the guard out of his way. So, he knocked on the crates with his knuckles.
"Huh? What was that noise?" came the voice at the end of the hall. The sound of footsteps approached. When the guard came up on the corner, he found himself suddenly face to face with Snake, the barrel of his Beretta pointing directly at his head.
"Freeze! Don't make a sound!" Snake hissed through his teeth. Instinctively, the guard put his hands up. Snake stepped back a few paces to put some distance between them.
"Put your weapon on the ground. Slowly," he commanded. The guard carefully complied.
"Kick it towards me with your foot." The guard nodded, doing as he was told. Snake kicked the pistol hurriedly behind him. He looked at the guard's vest to examine the kit he carried with him.
"I'm going to approach you for a pat-down. Make any sudden movements, and you will be dead," Snake threatened quietly. The guard nodded.
Snake stepped forward and relieved the guard of a Bowie knife and scabbard that was hanging from his shoulder, tucking it into his own belt. He also pulled two pistol magazines and a walkie-talkie from his vest pocket. He then carefully stepped around behind the guard's back to check his belt for anything else he could use to fight with. Satisfied that the guard was unarmed, Snake stepped back in front of him, never pointing the gun away from the patrolman.
"Now, very slowly and carefully, lie face-down on the ground and put your hands on your head," he said. The guard nodded and got down onto his hands and knees. Snake walked over to the discarded pistol he'd taken from the guard and tucked the empty pistol he was carrying into his belt before pointing the guard's pistol at him.
"You got any handcuffs, or zip ties?" Snake asked.
The guard shook his head.
"Alright, hold still. Don't move a muscle."
Just like from the truck lot outside, Snake pulled the guard's sleeves over his hands and tied them together, and then dragged the guard to a sitting position behind the crates, leaning his back against them.
"Attempt to call for help or move from this spot," Snake whispered in Afrikaans, "and you will be dead. Do you understand what I've just told you?"
The guard nodded.
"And do you believe me?"
The guard nodded again.
"Good. Now, what's behind that door? Answer quietly."
The guard said in a strained whisper, "One of our interrogation rooms. A rebel fighter we captured. I was supposed to guard him until Shotmaker comes around later today."
"Who's Shotmaker?"
"Warden of the detention facility. After he caught the foreigner, he started moving the prisoners to the other floors to keep him separate from them."
"Why?"
The guard glared into his eyes, saying nothing. Snake jabbed his gun into the guard's forehead, but he still stayed silent.
"Where is this foreigner being held?"
The merc gave no reply.
"Fine," Snake said, not having the time to play twenty questions with a stubborn guard. "That door says Level 2, so I'm guessing it needs a Level 2 keycard. Where can I find one?"
When the guard still didn't answer, Snake lowered his weapon and covered the guard's mouth with one hand while digging the thumb of his other into a nerve cluster inside of the guard's collar bone as hard as he could, which Snake knew from experience would hurt like hell. After a few minutes of the guard's grunting, Snake drew his new knife and set the blade against the guard's inner thigh.
"You feel this?" Snake asked. "One wrong movement, and I slice your femoral artery. You will bleed out and die in seconds. If you don't want that to happen, you will answer my questions."
The guard was breathing hard, and he nodded shakily. "Far side of this floor. There's a level 2 keycard on this floor, near where we store the MREs. Down the hall and through the other interrogation room is a hallway. Follow it to the opposite corner of the building."
"And the foreigner?"
"B-basement," the guard sputtered. "He's in the basement."
Snake patted the guard's cheek. "Not so hard, was it?" Snake asked.
"F-fook you…" the guard whimpered.
"That's the spirit," Snake said as he pulled the balaclava from the guard's face and shoved it into his mouth before standing up. The guard's eyes were puffy and red with tears of frustration and humiliation as he looked up at Snake.
"Previous threat still stands," Snake said. "Don't move or make a noise. You don't want me coming back here again."
Snake moved further down the hall and around the corner just in time to see another guard disappear around the next corner. Snake moved quickly behind the guard around another stack of crates and slipped into another door into a new room where he found a table with a box of 9x19mm Parabellum rounds. Snake grabbed the box and walked to the other side of the room where he found an LV1 door. Using his keycard, he let himself in and found himself face to face with a prisoner in a chair with his hands tied behind his back.
The prisoner was badly bruised around the eyes and his arms, and he had cuts on his cheeks, but he seemed conscious and decently fed. When Snake closed the door behind him, the prisoner looked up to see him and almost yelled in relief before Snake put a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture. The prisoner nodded and Snake moved behind him to cut his bonds.
"Did Kyle send you?" the prisoner asked in English.
Snake nodded. "More or less," he said as he started pulling half of the 9mm bullets from the box he found and putting them into his pockets. He then ejected the empty magazine from the Beretta in his belt and started loading it with the rest of the bullets.
"Are you here to get me out?" the prisoner asked.
"Not exactly," Snake said. "I'm not your extraction. I'm just here to turn you loose. I'm looking for another prisoner. A foreigner, not a member of your resistance cell. I hear they locked him up in the basement."
The POW nodded. "That's right. There's a maze down there which leads to the detention facility. They used to hold us down there, but ever since the foreigner got himself caught, they moved us to different floors. I think they were worried that the foreigner might escape and cause a mass breakout."
"That's not a bad idea," Snake mused. When he finished loading the magazine, he inserted it back into the spare pistol and pulled back the slide to chamber a round before handing it to the prisoner. "Here," he said. "It's all I can spare. Try not to raise too much of a ruckus with it."
The prisoner took the offered firearm thankfully. "Will you be breaking out my Rebel brothers, too?" he asked.
Snake shrugged. "If the opportunity arises, sure. But I make no guarantees."
"Fair enough," the POW said. "Which way are you heading?"
Snake pointed at the unopened door to the right of the prisoner. "I was thinking that way."
"That room is a gas room," the POW warned. "I overheard the guards outside my cell talking about it. It's supposed to be a trap preventing my escape if I were to ever break out. I don't think they expected me to leave out the front door, though."
Snake nodded. "Makes sense. Good thing I picked up a gas mask on the way in, then."
He unclipped the mask from his suspenders and set it on top of his head. "Before we part ways, I have a question," Snake said. "I heard the guards mention a warden by the name of Shotmaker. You ever hear that name before?"
The POW nodded gravely. "The Russian," he said. "Said to be of good aim and proficient with a shotgun, hence the name. Used to be a Spetsnaz soldier, or so I've heard. A former interrogator from the gulags. What he's doing in South Africa is anyone's guess. He hasn't been here for very long, though. Unfortunately, that's all I know. Sorry I couldn't be of more help."
Snake shrugged. "It's fine," he said. "It's more than I knew five seconds ago. Listen: there's a guard patrolling just outside the door I came in. There's another guard I took out further down the hall, and there are two cameras near the elevator. At the bottom of the elevator there are two guards outside. It's going to be hard for you to move around right now. I recommend finding someplace to hide for the time being since I'm not going be able to look after you. Do you think you can do that?"
The POW nodded. "No worries, mystery man. I am in no rush to start trouble. At least not until I can get some kind of reinforcement."
"Alright," said Snake. He handed the walkie talkie he took from the guard earlier to the prisoner. "Your leader is on band 120.79. Use it to coordinate, but only call when it's absolutely necessary. Wait near the elevator. If I find any more of your friends, I'll send them your way."
"Of course. Thank you, mystery man," the POW said.
"Call me Snake."
"And I'm Trevor," the prisoner replied. "Thank you, Snake."
Snake nodded and pulled the gas mask over his face, checking the filter. "Alright, Trevor. Get moving!"
Snake moved through the door at the same time as the prisoner left through the LV1 door to get out. Just like the prisoner said, Snake could hear gas hissing in the vents as he entered the room. Thankfully, the filters on the mask were in good shape and he was able to pass through with no trouble.
When Snake emerged from the other side, he lifted his mask and tuned his radio to Kyle.
"Come in, Architect. You read me?"
"I read you, Snake. Over."
"I just ran into one of your buddies. He's free and armed. I've given him a radio and your frequency, so he should be in contact with you. Best I can do for now. I've told him to find somewhere to hide—if I find more guys, I'll send him reinforcements."
"I see. Much appreciated, Snake. Seems you're a man of your word, after all."
"My pleasure, Architect. Snake out."
A guard appeared from around the corner ahead of him, and Snake ducked behind some more crates to let him pass. In front of him further down were two more doors, an LV2 door and an LV1 door further down the hall. Snake moved around the corner of the crates and let himself into the LV1 door.
It was a storage room. Ammo boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling. One opened crate had more pistols. There were boxes of ammo scattered and tucked away on shelves. Snake grabbed one of the pistols and started loading it—best to be able to arm any more prisoners he might come across, he thought.
He looked around amidst the supplies for anything else that might be useful. No other weapons, but he did find a metallic case with a small padlock that he was easily able to bust open, surprised to find a suppressor. He went to work screwing it onto the barrel of his Beretta right away. It wouldn't completely silence him (suppressors don't actually work that way), but it would obscure the shot enough that if he had to use the pistol to defend himself, that the sound wouldn't penetrate the brick walls and attract any guards from outside the room. Plus, it would help to keep his hearing intact. Snake cursed himself for not thinking to buy ear protection when he first landed in Cape Town. He'll have to remember that for the next mission.
Heading out the door, Snake found himself face to face with the guard that was patrolling the corridor. Recovering from the surprise first, Snake raised his newly suppressed pistol and plugged two rounds into the guard's chest and one more between the eyes. The guard fell in a crumpled heap as the back of his head exploded and blood sprayed out of the exit wounds, and a puddle formed underneath him.
Snake threw the pistol out of the guard's hands, grabbed another magazine from his vest and snatched the guard's radio, which he clipped to his belt. He then dragged the guard into the ammo room before moving to the end of the hall and through an open doorway.
Snake was immediately set upon by one of the more bizarre traps that he'd ever encountered: rolling in a groove set into the walls on either side of the room ahead was a cylindrical rod about a foot and a half in diameter, which had spinning blades affixed to the sides jutting outward. It rolled from one end of the room to the other in an uneven pace. There was another doorway on the right-hand side, and a small nook with more crates on the left. If Snake went for the nook when the rod went right, he'd be trapped. If he went right as the rod went left, he'd have to make sure he got through the door in time before the rod came back and sliced him to ribbons.
"What the hell kind of Looney Tunes bullshit is this?" Snake said aloud, looking all around as if expecting to be menaced by Wile E. Coyote himself.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for the rod to move past, and then sprinted in a mad dash for the door. Just as he reached the doorway, he felt the spinning blades get within a hair's breadth of him, and he dove and rolled forward.
"Hey, I just heard something! I'm going to go check it out!"
No time to lose, Snake scrambled to his feet and ran around the concrete barrier in front of him to avoid the jogging footsteps of the approaching guard, who moved past the other end to check out the space Snake had just vacated. Snake kept moving, not waiting for the guard to turn around to head back and dodged another couple of wandering guards as he moved past several more rows of crates. At the very end of the hall, he ducked into another LV1 door and found himself inside of a small office. A guard who'd had his back to the door turned around to see Snake rush in and yelled out a call that was cut short as Snake slugged him in the gut and elbowed him in the face.
The guard struggled, trying to keep his hips and torso out of Snake's reach and grabbing Snake's arm so that he couldn't point his pistol at him. Snake still had his left arm free however, and he used it to quickly draw his knife and dig it deep into the merc's chest. The man cried out and his grip on Snake's right arm loosened, giving him an opening to press the suppressor against his liver and squeeze the trigger, after which he followed up by pressing it into the guard's forehead and letting off one final round. Motivational posters hanging on the wall behind the guard were drenched in blood and brain matter. The guard's body slumped to the floor.
Snake breathed hard as he swung around to point his pistol at the door through which he entered, painfully aware that he had backed himself into a dead-end if any of the guards up the hall had heard the scuffle. He waited. And waited.
Minutes passed, and no one came. Snake breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down at the red mess that used to be a human being's thoughts messily strewn about underneath yet another inanimate object of hair and flesh that he had been responsible for creating. A person had stood in this room before he arrived. Now, it was just him. He stared at the mess for about ten minutes, still breathing hard.
At some point, Snake came to his senses, and he shook his head. Need to stay in the game, he told himself as he walked over to the guard's desk. After rifling through the drawers, he found what he was looking for: a keycard, emblazoned with the number '2.'
Snake stepped outside, looking for any more guards. Finding none, he walked around the nearest stack of crates into a LV2 door he had passed on the way to the office. Inside were more crates, this one carrying fragmentation grenades, and a device he hadn't seen before—it looked like a rocket launcher with some kind of electronic guidance system kind of like a miniaturized Stinger missile launcher, but the launcher itself and the warhead it loaded was much smaller than normal. An anti-personnel weapon? It was too much equipment to carry, so Snake contented himself with just grabbing a few grenades and stashing them in the last empty pocket his pants had on the side of his leg.
He hoped while he was raiding the enemy supplies that eventually he would find a kit bag—as happy as Snake was about the weapons and ammo he'd been finding, he was beginning to worry that he wouldn't have the space to carry anything else in the event he needed some higher ordnance.
Snake sighed. He'd been on the move nonstop since he had arrived in Outer Heaven. He had lost track of the time since he entered the storage building and he didn't know quite how long he'd been onsite overall, but he was beginning to feel exhausted as the adrenaline started to wear off. The stress of staying under the radar coupled with the close calls he'd had, and the violence of those encounters was starting to get to him. He knew it had been at least more than fourteen hours since he'd last had any sleep. He was going to run out of energy soon if he kept this up.
But he couldn't rest yet. Not now, and not here—it was too dangerous. So, instead Snake decided to content himself with some lunch in the hopes that the calories would keep him going at least long enough to get to Gray Fox. He pulled out the tuna fish cans and his knife. It wasn't much, but maybe he'd be able to find more food in the second-floor storage wing? He jabbed his knife into the lid and worked his way around the can. Once he got it open, he got to work on the other tin.
His treasure opened, Snake sat down between the shelves and started eating. As he ate, he tuned the frequency on his radio to Big Boss.
"Solid Snake to Mission Control, over."
"This is Control," said Big Boss. "What's your status?"
"I've located and freed one of our contact's friends. Even had some extra munition to arm him with. If I happen to run into any more prisoners while making my way through the building, I intend to do the same for them."
"Understood. That's a good idea," Big Boss said.
"You don't disapprove? Of my deviating from my objective?"
"If you're only freeing prisoners that happen to be on your way, then it's not a deviation. Especially if they're able to offer information that furthers your objective. Besides, if you free enough of them, they might serve as an effective distraction to keep you from being detected by the enemy."
"…Right," Snake said. He didn't think Kyle would like the idea of his people being used as human shields, but Snake didn't want to argue.
"Speaking of your objective, were you able to locate any of the VIPs during your infiltration?"
"Affirmative," Snake said, picking up a piece of tuna on the end of his knife and slipping it between his teeth. "Our Fox is definitely here. He's being kept in a pen separate from the Resistance POWs. I'm still working out on how I'm going to get him out. I've been supplying myself with enemy munitions. I can take them on now. I've already had to eliminate some more sentries since I've gotten inside."
"Has the enemy discovered their casualties?"
"No," Snake replied. "But it's only a matter of time. It's a finite area, this place. Those casualties won't remain hidden forever. Ditto for the guy I freed."
"Then you'll need to get moving again, soon," said Big Boss.
Snake nodded, more for his own reassurance than anything. He didn't want to admit to Big Boss that he was shaken. "Yes, sir," he said. "Solid Snake out."
When Solid Snake finished off his ration tins, he continued sitting and resting his head against the wall for a few minutes, psyching himself up to go back outside. He took another few deep breaths. When he was ready, he stood up, drew his suppressed pistol, and headed back out the door.
A/N: And that's Chapter Eight, Snake's first few hours inside the complex. I had the maps from the MSX game open in front of me while writing this chapter, so while a couple of things have been moved around, the third floor of Building 1 is pretty much 1-to-1 in terms of layout.
I wanted to focus more on the action of the mission for this chapter since the previous two chapters were mostly dialogue. However, I don't want to basically just write exactly the actions of Snake moving through video game levels with no characterization or dialogue since that would get pretty repetitive and also wouldn't make for a very good story from a writing standpoint, so you might see some changes in the coming chapters to the events of the gameplay to keep things interesting—new named characters and longer dialogue where there previously was none, some streamlining of the actual building navigation so it doesn't get too drawn out, stuff like that.
Next chapter will probably be primarily action also, but you can probably expect to see more obvious changes for adaptation purposes starting around the time we get to meeting Gray Fox, although I do plan to have at least one POW conversation where the POW tells Snake some more about Venom to kind of build up our antagonist a little bit more. Hopefully I'll be able to pull it off and make it suspenseful, but we'll just have to see I suppose.
I plan on having the next chapter written and uploaded sometime in early-to-mid June; I'm thinking June 11th at the latest. I said I would give myself a break and not work on Chapter 8 until yesterday, but I ended up being so excited to get the words out that I still wrote last week during the time I was supposed to be relaxing. Oops. Goes to show how much fun I'm having with writing these, though, which is a good sign, I think. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am, and I look forward to giving you even more in the near future!