"I still can't understand it," Buffalo muttered as she walked next to Osprey, "Seven years in the MSF and you still choose fieldwork?"
"Well, thanks for making me feel old," Osprey replied with a small sigh, with Buffalo chuckling in response. It was hard to forget how long he'd been a soldier. Joined the MSF back in 1972, when the organization was first founded. Oh, how long ago it seemed now, he thought.
"Seriously though, you should have become a fucking General by now," Buffalo admonished while slugging Osprey in the arm, "And what you just hand over the opportunity to Cobra?"
"I just prefer fieldwork," Osprey told her, as Mother Base's airfield soon came into view. They walked at a brisk pace, a few soldiers saluting them as they walked. Sitting on the tarmac rested the large fuselages of two C-17s, and the one hundred and two paratroopers getting ready to board. In an orderly fashion, eight L-ATVs were being prepped outside, waiting for the order to load the vehicles onto the planes. They were strapped down the small platforms, with crewmen inspecting every part as they attached the parachute.
"Besides, I'm sure Cobra will do a fine job. Clerical work was always his thing after all." Osprey continued. Buffalo's only response was to shake her head. She knew there would be no convincing him, but she couldn't exactly blame him. Eventually, Osprey was spotted by the paratroopers, with one loudly pointing him out.
"Major Osprey sir!"
The rest moved to salute in turn but stopped as Osprey spoke.
"No, no, there's no time for that. We leave in five minutes!" he ordered loudly, "Focus on your equipment, and ensure everything is secured. Don't want you freezing your asses off out there."
The soldiers did as he commanded and got back to work.
"Still, all this work and you waste it on staying as a major," Buffalo commented, "At least tell me the pays good."
"It's good enough," Osprey replied, while quickly checking over his equipment. The most important of which being his radio and parachute.
"You gonna be good out there?" Buffalo asked, watching as the paratroopers started boarding the C-17s.
"We should be. The higher us said there should be a ten-minute window where the blizzard clears."
"Sounds lovely," Buffalo remarked sarcastically, "Only ten minutes of air support."
Osprey simply chuckled in response, before walking up to one of the C-17s. Buffalo, in turn, moved to get back to work, offering Osprey a small wave.
"Give 'em hell out there!" Buffalo called out, a small smirk on her face.
"Please, we'll make hell seem like paradise!" Osprey replied, before strapping into the C-17. With a calm breath, he looked over his watch and pondered the long flight ahead.
Snake silently removed the knife from a guard's neck, looking over the blade carefully. It was spotless, with not an ounce of blood on it. With a quiet sigh, he sheathed the knife and dragged the guard into a nearby closet.
"It still doesn't make sense," he muttered to Nagant as the two began moving through the hallway again. The vast majority of the complex was abandoned, with large sections being barricaded off. The further they went forward the more they found some activity. From what Snake could guess, the facility was massive, far bigger than previously thought. One would need an army to fully inspect every nook and cranny and it would explain why so much of it was falling apart.
There just weren't enough people to maintain this place. But the people who were here didn't make sense. Every living thing has something pumping through its veins. Now Snake had learned of some quirks that affected blood, but it was still there. It was still a fluid in the body, that kept the entire system functioning. But these guards had nothing.
"Think it's a quirk?" Nagant asked.
"Not sure what kind of quirk does this," Snake replied, "And besides, I don't think every guard here would have it. That said, I wouldn't rule it out as a possibility."
"Makes sense," Nagant commented, "Then again, they could already be dead."
"I don't think that's the case," Snake told her, as the Sorrow came to mind.
"It could be. They don't bleed, barely react to pain, and act entirely robotic." Nagant countered as the two kept moving forward. Coming up to an intersection in the hallway, the two paused for a moment. The hall going straight was blocked off, with a steel partition barricading the way. The right hall was lit up and somewhat cleaner than the rest of the base. Meanwhile, the left hall was pitch black and seemed lifeless.
"Any ideas?" Nagant asked as she looked between the two hallways. Snake thought for a moment as he did the same.
"Finding the prisoners is our priority," he began looking over at the right hall, "Which would likely mean they're being held in the more maintained part of the base."
He shifted his gaze over to the left hall, examining it curiously.
"However, we might get more info from the left hall. Possibly get a clue as to what happened here."
"We splitting up then?"
"Maybe,"
"Well, I'll take the left then." Nagant stated before walking over to the other hall, "I'll radio in if I find something."
Snake silently nodded in response, before walking over to the right hall. It was empty for the most part, like the rest of the facility. But every so often he was forced to duck into a nearby room as a couple of guards strolled by. He would do this five different times before finding something different with the next few guards. All of their equipment and clothes were the same as the other guards, but they seemed more alive. One guard had his eyes a pure white with no pupil and his posture was relaxed and calm. The other was a bit more rigid and robotic but acted far more alive than the others. Even stranger they were talking.
"Do we really have to go down there?" the rigid guard asked as the two walked by Snake, not noticing the door was cracked open.
"Of course, we do. What you too chicken?" the other guard mocked.
"I prefer practical." the rigid guard countered, "I mean for fucks sake, Gregory went down there a week ago, and I haven't seen him since."
"Gregory always had two left feet and lacked any sense of direction." the second guard retorted.
"True, but Alexander didn't. And he's still been missing. I swear if the pay wasn't so damn high, I would have quit weeks ago."
"You act as if there's a boogey man down there."
"I know there isn't, but some of the shit down there is just unnerving."
"Oh yeah, a couple of flasks and beakers, how scary."
"Ugh, Fuck you,"
Snake watched as the two walked by, slightly confused as to what they were discussing. How deep was this facility? The entrance's elevator had taken them down far, but there were even lower levels. It was odd, but the guards themselves were odd. Thinking quickly, Snake aimed his M4 through the crack in the door. In two shots he shot the rigid one in the leg, and the other in the head.
"Fuck!" the guard called out falling to the ground. He moved a bit reaching for something Snake couldn't see. So, he moved quickly, opening the door fully and walking over to the guard.
"Freeze," he ordered, the guard complying instantly. Carefully Snake crouched down and searched the guard's person. On his waist was his radio, which Snake quietly confiscated. With it secured Snake kicked the guard's rifle away and also took his sidearm. The guard effectively disarmed; Snake moved to hide the other guard's corpse.
"Move and your friends won't find enough of you to bury," he told the guard. Quietly he picked up the corpse and carried it off to the room he was hiding in. As he did so, he felt something trickles onto his hands. He paused for only a moment, his eye inspecting the blood on his hands. These guards were different. He got over it quickly though and hid the body in a nearby closet. Snake then went back out and dragged the other guard into the room. Checking the hall one last time, Snake closed the door and took out his knife.
"You're not like the other guards," Snake noted, brandishing the knife at the guard.
"Mind telling me why that is?" he asked, bringing the knife forward.
"I uh, I don't know what y-you mean," the guard replied, with Snake glaring at the man.
"I could show you what I mean," Snake told him, bringing the knife to the guard's hand.
"W-wait wait! I really don't know! The freaks were here when I was hired!" the guard quickly yelled out.
"Explain," Snake demanded.
"I've been working with these guys for a month or two now. And in all that time, half of the guys here never uttered a word. I've never seen them eat; I've never seen them drink. Hell, I don't think the bastards even sleep."
Snake pondered the words for a moment, as Nagant's previous assumption began to seem more likely. It couldn't be possible, but it seemed to be gaining more merit. Especially as the guard kept talking.
"Oh! And every Thursday, they disappear off into the lower levels of this place and we don't see them or the boss again till the next morning."
"These lower levels, how do they get to them?"
"Well, uh… there's an intersection in the hallways not far from here. One of the halls is pitch black, and if I remember correctly there's an elevator at the end of it."
Nagant would have more than likely found it, Snake thought. So, he filed it away as something to cover later when she reported back. There was still the matter of the prisoners though.
"And the prisoners? Where are they?" Snake demanded, bringing the knife away from the guard's hand, and bringing it up to his throat instead.
"...You take a right out in the hall, then keep going until you see a sign that says Mess Hall. Once you find it take another right and they'll be at the end of the hall."
Wordlessly, Snake knocked the guard out when he finished talking. The like he did with his compatriot he hid him in the closet. All the while he reflected on the information given. Not all of the guards bled, but the question remained, why didn't they? The rest of the guards were mercs for hire or random thugs picked up off the streets. But what of the others? The ones that didn't even seem human? He could only hope Nagant was finding answers.
This was harder than Nagant thought. The flashlight she had barely lit up the way in front of her. So, she had to move slowly for what felt like an eternity. She heard the occasional crunch of glass under her boots, explaining what happened to the lights. But it didn't explain what else she was stepping on. Occasionally Nagant's foot would land on something slippery or sticky, leaving her to wonder what it was. With the reputation this place was getting from her, it was either blood, some odd chemicals, or water.
Oh, how much she begged it to be water. But she kept forward, reaching the end of the hall and finding a lone elevator. The only indication it was there, was the small, illuminated arrows representing up or down. Seeing no other option, she pressed the first button. Quickly the elevator came up and opened its doors. It was just as dark as the hallway, but the buttons were at least glow-in-the-dark. There was only one floor working though, and she didn't know enough Russian to understand what it meant.
Nagant pressed it regardless though, keeping her M18 at the ready. When the elevator reached the floor, she inspected the area carefully. With slow methodical steps, Nagant found what she thought was a hallway, was in actuality a large room. I wonder if there's a light switch, she thought, her hand tracing a nearby wall. After a bit of searching her hand found it, and she quietly flicked it on. She would regret it almost immediately.
The room lit up quickly, displaying a massive laboratory. The ceiling had to be almost thirty feet high and the room itself seemed to stretch for miles. The walls appeared to be reinforced with large steel girders and were a bright white reminiscent of the padded cell of an insane asylum. Then there was the equipment in front of her. Large vats dotted the open, some with bodies, others with nothing.
They were grotesque and disfigured horribly, with odd mutations and growths along their bodies. It was hard for Nagant to look at, with how many of them there were. Everywhere she looked she could see more vats, stretching as far as the room did. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Nagant pressed forward. In the middle of the room was a central computer system, which Nagant walked over to quickly. Turning it on, she immediately realized her search would be difficult.
All the text was in Russian, and the only word she knew was goodbye. With annoyance, she rubbed her face as she thought up her next move. Calmly Nagant looked back around the room, inspecting the vats more thoroughly. At that moment an odd thought struck her. She aimed her sidearm at the closet vat and fired. It shattered its glass and ripped through the head of the body inside it. The pieces of glass fell to the ground along with the body.
Standing up Nagant moved for a closer look, where she confirmed her suspicions. The body had no blood. Curious she shot another vat and found that body didn't bleed either. It was a shocking connection, but one that brought a question. The guards upstairs don't bleed, but they don't share the same deformities as the bodies in the vats. They looked more normal if somewhat pale and lifeless. They didn't have the third mushy flesh arm growing out of their back, or an extra eye on their heel.
With a sigh, Nagant turned back over to the computer. She didn't understand a word, so guesswork would have to be done. So, she began clicking away, while continually checking her surroundings.
Ocelot tiredly looked up at the gates of UA, the man slowly getting closer to the entrance. He had spent hours ensuring no one learned of FOXDIE's existence. Through all that time he couldn't pin down the culprit, yet he had two theories so far. The first was that someone in this dimension had been able to create it, which seemed unlikely. If it was then the HPSC would have personally taken control of the project, and diverted billions to it.
But there wasn't any sort of paper trail pointing towards that theory. Sure, it could have been an independent scientist or maybe a villain organization that struck gold. However, that didn't explain why it was being used to target HPSC reps, nor did it explain who was using it in the first place. Which left theory two. One Ocelot thought was all the more plausible, and all the more terrifying. Night Owl's experiments were bearing fruit. He didn't have an exact answer but the technology to travel to other dimensions gave Night Owl the capability.
He could jump and grab the research documents, steal a sample of FOXDIE, or kidnap the scientists who made it. The possibilities of what could have occurred were near limitless. Without evidence, however, he couldn't prove this to be true. So, he decided to get some help. Nezu was a smart little rodent, after all, Ocelot reasoned, so finding something should hopefully be quick.
So, as he walked through the gates, he went forward to the main building. The halls of the main building were somewhat crowded as the students rushed to get to class. Many stepped out of the way as he walked forward, the rumor that he was Snipe out of costume still prevalent as ever. He genuinely didn't understand why it was still around after all this time. Ocelot kept moving forward though, soon reaching Nezu's office. Calmly he knocked on the door and waited for the rat to respond.
Nothing. After thirty seconds he knocked again. Still nothing. At that point, Ocelot began weighing his options. He could barge into his office, which was more than likely booby-trapped with enough C4 to kill a tank, or he could check the teachers' lounge. The choice was obvious. So, he turned around and walked over to the teachers' lounge. Once he arrived, he walked in, one of his revolvers spinning in hand. At the moment only two teachers were there, Eraserhead and Present Mic.
The former was given a flawless impression of a corpse in a sleeping bag, while the latter sat loudly talking to the former.
"How is it you've run out of students to expel? We had three different gen ed classes!"
"None of them had potential," Aizawa replied tired, still not leaving his sleeping bag. "None of them? Sho, you expelled eighty-"
"Seventy-nine," Aizawa interrupted.
"Seventy-nine students, and you mean to tell me only one had potential!?"
"Yes."
"What's this about?" Ocelot asked, deciding to make his presence known. Mic turned over to him quickly a little surprised by his sudden appearance.
"Eraser expelled another class," he explained calmly, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Again? What's the fourth class this year? He asked, walking over to the two teachers.
"It is. You hear the part where I said we had three gen ed courses?" Mic asked to which Ocelot nodded.
"I say had because we've been forced to make a fourth."
"Geez, I know some of those kids had their head in their ass, but all of them seems extreme."
"I'll reenroll them once the lesson sets in, as per the HPSC's new requirement."
"Where you'll expel them again once UA becomes a charity, right?" Ocelot asked, taking small delight as Mic froze. Aizawa sat up from his spot, giving Ocelot an accusing glance.
"How did you… it was Nezu."
"Who else would he talk about this with?" Ocelot replied with a chuckle, "But I assume I'm correct with my assumption."
"Not necessarily," Aizawa replied, "If they've learned what I'm trying to teach them, then they'll stay enrolled. If not, then they're staying in gen ed."
"Somehow I don't believe that," Ocelot muttered. At first, he held a small amount of respect for Aizawa. He was a man showing his students the dark reality of the world, a drill sergeant of sorts. However, the more he came to visit the more respect he lost. Especially when it came to his students "experiencing death". That statement alone was what swayed Ocelot. To think he could compare an expulsion, to the watching friends and allies die in the field, or the tormenting heat, cold, and disease hundreds of the MSF's best had to go through on the daily.
"Are you going to keep heckling my methods, or was there something you needed?" Aizawa then asked, disinterested in keeping this conversation going.
"Well, I was looking for the rat," Ocelot answered.
"Oh, he left hours ago. Didn't tell anyone why though," Mic told him, with Ocelot sighing in return.
"So much for this trip then," Ocelot muttered, beginning to stand back up.
"Actually, before you go," Mic spoke up, "You mind helping us with something?"
Aizawa looked over at his friend, his face remaining emotionless but the displeasure all but clear.
"We got a new exercise for the students tomorrow, and Eraser won't be available due to a scheduling issue," Mic explained with Aizawa quickly interrupting him.
"I told you; I'm not going to it." Aizawa countered.
"It's required for your license." Mic rebuked.
"It's illogical and wastes time." Aizawa retorted, "And besides I'm perfectly healthy."
The pile of thrown-out coffee grounds told Ocelot otherwise, but he remained silent as the two teachers bickered.
"You still have to go," Mic told him, quickly turning back to Ocelot before Aizawa could speak up again.
"So, I was wondering if you would be willing to take his place for the day?"
"Me… the unlicensed HPSC rep with no teaching experience," Ocelot questioned.
"I'd normally do it myself, but unfortunately I won't be available either," Mic explained further. Ocelot thought over the proposal for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He didn't have anything to do now, and he needed Nezu's help pursuing his next lead. So, he ultimately had nothing to do except wait. At least this would give him something to do.
"Sure, I guess," Ocelot replied.
"And with that ladies and gentlemen, our bid comes to an end! I would like to congratulate our lucky buyer, Malcolm Stuart Faraday! In just one short moment your prize should arrive!" the Showmaster boosted over the screen. Miller could only stare at the man in disgust as he turned over to the feed for the security cameras.
"Everyone ready over there?" he asked over the radio, watching the dozen soldiers stand in position. With the MSF's purchase, it felt disgusting to even think about it, they gave the Showmaster a set of coordinates. Its location? A small outpost out in Nigeria. The girl would be teleported to them, hopefully with the teleporter accompanying her, and they would get her to a medic.
"Affirmative sir," the soldiers replied in unison. All guns pointed at the exact spot they had given the Showmaster. With the confirmation, Miller turned back over to the Showmaster's broadcast, where the loud boisterous man continued to talk.
"Now, unfortunately, we can't seem to find our esteemed guests. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I promised all you lovely viewers a grand show and I could not keep my promise. But fear not! This is only a delay! In the meantime, I bring forth today's next challenge, a good old family-friendly favorite, the Floor Is Lava!"
The screen switched over to a large obstacle course filled with a molten substance.
"Disclaimer all the lava present is in actuality melted steel to better encapsulate the slime-like attributes lava normally possesses in media! That said please stay tuned, while we gather up this round of contestants! Oh! And to Mr. Faraday, your product should be arriving in three, two, one! And again, congratulations on your purchase!"
The sound of gunfire was immediately heard on the security cameras next to Miller. He turned over finding the soldiers surrounding who he assumed was the teleporter. The man was clutching his wounded arm as it gushed blood on the floor. Nearby another soldier was cradling Annabelle, while a medic came over to tend to her.
"Target secured sir," a soldier informed him.
"Good. Get him interrogated now and keep all eyes on him. If he even flinches you shoot him."
"Understood. You heard the commander! Get his ass out of here!"
Miller slumped back into his chair then, the hours that had passed now weighing heavily on him. The fact that they had managed to get Annabelle out of there provided a small amount of energy at least. Still, he was far too worried about the next "game" the Showmaster was getting ready. It was clear the man hadn't found Snake or Nagant, so he could hope they could stop him quickly. Or at the very least hold him off until backup arrives. As he reflected on this, he could feel the sudden rage radiating off of his rodent companion.
Turning toward him, he found Nezu endlessly scrolling through all the files the Polish government had sent them.
"Find anything interesting?" Miller asked tiredly as he watched Nezu move.
"Oh, most definitely. On an unrelated note, do you have anything human-shaped I can rip to shreds?"
"That bad?"
"Oh no, no, no, no, no, it's much worse," Nezu replied handing over his Idroid.
"This, forgive my language, mother fucking son of a bitch, has been broadcasting his show for over a decade. So again, I must ask if you have anything I can tear apart, as I fear I may do something rash if not done soon."
"Ballistics dummies, third floor," Miller replied, scrolling through Nezu's Idroid. The rat silently thanked him before walking out of the room at a brisk pace. All the while Miller could feel his blood boil as he scrolled. Hundreds of episodes were listed on the dark web, with thousands of views and millions of dollars in donations. It was horrendous the further he went, and war crimes were becoming more justifiable by the second. With a deep breath, Miller stood up with the sudden urge to shoot something.
"Cobra you're in charge until I get back," he ordered stepping out of the room. Out in the hall, he walked quickly to the closest firing range he could find. That was until he accidentally ran into someone. Miller's anger slightly dissipated when he heard Midoriya briefly cry out in pain. Looking down he found the kid moving to stand back up, rubbing his nose as he did so.
"Ah, sorry kiddo. Didn't see you there." Miller said, looking over Midoriya carefully.
"It's ok. Only hurt for a second," Midoriya replied calmly, before looking up at you.
"Is something wrong? Midoriya asked curiously, seeing the mad state Miller was in.
"Nope, just going to blow off some steam," Miller explained, as he started to walk again. Midoriya followed behind him quickly, a curious look on his face.
"Is it with dad?"
"Something like that," Miller told him, "The contract we're on has us a bit on edge. It's nothing you need to worry about though."
"Are you sure? Maybe I can help!"
"I'm sure," Miller replied, as the two then entered the firing range. Carefully Miller grabbed his M18 and aimed it down range. He fired repeatedly, quickly emptying the gun's magazine. Then in a quick motion, he reloaded and did it again. Midoriya watched as he did so, before walking to the stall next to his. There Midoriya pulled out his M1911 and fired as well. While he did so, Miller stopped shooting. Once Midoriya had emptied his magazine, Miller looked out at the kid's target.
"How about this," Miller began with Midoriya looking over curious, "A nice little challenge between you and me. Whoever gets the most headshots wins."
A smile graced Midoriya's face, and Miller was glad he wore sunglasses everywhere. Yet as it started bright, it shifted to something more mischievous and determined.
"You're on!"
Miller smiled in response, as the two took aim and fired.
