Roland Gram looked over the card he had been given carefully. It was strange, to say the least. When he searched this group online, nothing had come up. He didn't know anything about them at all, and Snake was an even bigger mystery. The man didn't exist, and no hero with the name fit his description. It was an intriguing mystery. Roland didn't know if he should trust them, but they struck a chord.
Something about them felt different from other heroes. Of course, his teacher didn't appreciate him being distracted.
"Roland, if I see you looking at your phone again, it's detention for a week."
"Huh, what? Oh! Sorry, Mr. Sparks." He scrambled to put the card away worried it might be confiscated.
"Good, now with all of you back today I want an essay on what you learned from your internship. It must be in times new roman with no double spacing…"
And Roland immediately tuned him out as the first words set in. What was he going to write in the essay? That he learned how to take selfies with fans? Maybe he could spin it so it was providing hope to civilians, but he couldn't really buy it. His internship had been a complete waste of time, well except maybe for that Snake guy. Actually, maybe he could use what Snake said. He did make a lot of good points.
"Seriously man, what am I going to write for this?" one of his classmates said aloud, visibly rubbing their eyes.
"You didn't do anything interesting?" another asked.
"No! We just patrolled the streets. No villains, no drug bust, no charging into a burning building. It was boring!" his classmate slumped down on the desk.
"Speak for yourself, I had to work at a soup kitchen for a week. That was boring. I'm not even sure what I was supposed to learn from it!"
"It was to do some good." Roland chimed in.
"Ok and? Heroics and good are too separate things. What does going to a soup kitchen have to do with learning how to fight villains?"
"It isn't, it's supposed to do some common good." Roland countered.
"Who cares about the common good! Villains sure don't!" his classmate yelled.
"Yeah but as a hero we're supposed to help people!" Roland yelled back.
"And we are, by fighting the bad guys! We shouldn't have to go tending at a nursing home on the weekends!"
"What if we don't need another person to fight villains! What if we need someone just to be there for people!" Roland was almost furious now. Was his classmate really this selfish? He looked around the class, yet everyone seemed to agree with him.
"Then become a fucking therapist! Because that isn't the job of a hero!"
"I'm with him man, a hero is supposed to fight villains. Leave that shit to the cops or something."
"The last time I was at a soup kitchen, my hair got all ruined. I'm not going back there now, why would I as a hero?"
"They have homeless shelters for a reason dumbass."
No one agreed with him, all thought he was somehow wrong. It made no sense. These were the next heroes? Had he been blind to it all this time? He looked over to his friends, but even they gave him confused glances or gave a light chuckle. Not even they agreed with him, and now he hoped his teacher would.
"Huey, no. Just no." Strangelove stated, holding Hal in one arm and using her other to rub her eyes. This is why he didn't bring the idea up to her. She would always take the side of an AI rather than a human when it came to ZEKE.
"Why not? Giving ZEKE a pilot would better prepare MSF in case of a false strike." Huey countered.
"But you said the pilot seat isn't big enough for anyone taller than Paz! It isn't feasible." Strangelove reminded him, as she looked back at a babbling Hal.
"This is for the good of everyone, if we can finish it then we-."
"Drop it. Giving ZEKE a pilot is pointless." Strangelove interrupted him then, beginning to walk out the R&D department's door. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't listen. This was for the good of everyone, ensuring ZEKE wouldn't fire a nuke without human intervention. Now sure, Coldman was proven wrong, and humans were capable of destroying themselves. But they still had the chance, the minute possibility of not doing so. Only if there was a human controlling it.
Why couldn't she see it? He had to go through with this, to ensure nothing went wrong. Work had already been done on ZEKE, and the controls that were already inside it were being changed for the prototypes. All he needed was someone to test it, and Strangelove was adamant against it. As was Paz, so that left his options limited, as he looked back at the cramped cockpit.
Diego looked out the window of the HPSC building, attempting to admire the coastline of Cuba. Attempting was the keyword. All the work he and his brother had done was gone in a year. He didn't even know if there was a point in rebuilding. Alejandro seemed determined to do so though.
"Look, we can take a boat down to the Bahamas, there we might be able to hide out for a while and then return to Colombia," Alejandro called out, looking over plans on a desk.
"No, we lost. Rebuilding is nothing more than a lost cause." Diego replied, "Let's just retire, or just leave."
"No, after everything we built, everything we lost. I refuse to let it die out as a memory." Alejandro told him, vigorously going over maps of anywhere. He eliminated country after country they could take refuge in.
"It already has died out. What your going after is a fruitless goal," Diego responded.
"Stop being so pessimistic and help me. If we want to get back on top we need to strike quickly."
"Strike where? And with what men? You need to accept it Alejandro, it's over."
"Damn it no! After everything I refuse to die knowing it's all gone!" Alejandro shouted at him.
"And what would you have us do!?" Diego shouted back, "We're wanted all over South America so that's a no-go! Africa is full of rivals we could never stand against, Asia is the HPSC's home turf, and don't get me started on those oil monarchs in the Middle East!"
"Europe then! Well, go to Europe!" Alejandro yelled out.
"Where in Europe would we find business?! Or even take the land and resources necessary for our operation?! I'm pretty sure a militant force appearing in Iberia is pretty noticeable Alejandro!" Diego countered, fuming at his brother.
"Then what about… what about…" Diego heard Alejandro go silent, as he finally accepted it. He turned back over to his brother, his anger now gone. He silently approached him as they both looked at each other.
"No, your right," Alejandro said, putting a hand through his hair.
"We can still go to the Bahamas," Diego told him, pulling his brother into a side hug, "It would be nice for a retirement spot."
"Maybe, it's just… strange to think it's over."
"I know, I know."
It was over for them, and they knew it. They had been fighting an unwinnable war, and they had accepted it now. So the brothers sat there, knowing that the end was soon. They just enjoyed each other's company, reminiscing on old times. On dumb things, they did when they were kids. Then, they both heard it. The faint whirring of something outside.
Diego went out to look, with Alejandro following. It was hard to see at first, but a drone was present in front of them. It had a brick of C4 ducked taped to the bottom of it, and the MSF logo on the side. It was over. There was no escape, this is where it ended for them. And they accepted it. And before the C4 exploded, Diego couldn't help but hold some respect for his enemy. For the man who had so easily destroyed them.
"Well played Big Boss, well played."
And the world went dark.
Ocelot had brought them worrying news. The HPSC's operation, and most likely Night Owl, left South America. Now their focus was on weapons shipments in Africa. The primary focus of funds was on a client codenamed the Congo Tyrant. They couldn't find anything else on the area though. And this was for good reason. The nations in sub-Saharan Africa didn't exist anymore.
Snake didn't know why or how. Ocelot didn't even know why or how. But there was effectively no governmental body south of the Sahara Desert. Instead, warlords had taken over the majority of the continent, locked in a series of forever wars with their neighbors. A land of chaos is what it became.
That left other questions, however, why was the HPSC buying arms from the Tyrant? They had the Broker making deals with them before, yet when asked the Broker couldn't give them a straight answer. Now Snake has to establish yet another FOB, this one on the coasts of Nigeria.
"So, you couldn't find anything else?" Snake asked Ocelot over the codec.
"I found out what they bought," Ocelot replied cleaning the barrel of his revolver, "but not why they bought it sadly."
"Well, they're some pretty big spenders. I see a hundred T-72s, forty thousand rifles of various types, forty Hinds, transport helicopters, AA vehicles, trucks." Miller chimed in, going over the list.
"It's enough for a small army." Kaz finished.
"They control the majority of the world's heroes, both publicly and secretly. Why would they need their own army?" Snake asked.
"My best guess would be to set up a rival for MSF. No one else had really made the achievements we have, so they need a roadblock." Kaz replied.
"That still begs the question of who knows about the army. I told the President and she seemed entirely unaware of the transfer." Ocelot shared. At least somewhat, he was suspicious of it being an act.
"So, it wasn't the President then?" Snake asked.
"From what I've heard, no," Ocelot stated.
"Well, at least we know where to start," Snake noted, before taking out a cigar.
Mother Base had changed dramatically from what Snake remembered. Near the main barracks platform were the refugee platforms. Built up in the dozens, they now housed ten thousand residents. What started as simple housing expanded into a small city above the water. The homes were in the interior of the platforms, along with other luxuries that were added over time. Movie theaters, spas, bars, and other recreational locations.
On the outside, small garden-like sections created parks. The parks would hold artificial ponds and streams, with nearby trees and flowers. Small playgrounds were built for children, with stands giving out food and drink. They had soccer, baseball, football, tennis courts, and others. There was even an outdoor grilling area, surrounded by picnic tables and a bonfire.
It looked nothing like a military base, and more like a hotel. And Snake didn't know what to think of it. On the one hand, it was costing them a lot of money. Every few months they would have to add a new platform for the number of refugees they took in. Not to mention some of the men were getting distracted by the leisurely activities.
On the other hand, it provided a boost to morale, both to the troops and to the refugees. And Midoriya seemed to enjoy it.
"Look! They have katsu don!" he called out eagerly, running to a stand. Midoriya was there in an instant, standing with a wide smile as Snake caught up.
"Can I get some?"
"Why not," Snake replied looking at his watch, "should be time for lunch."
Smiling from ear to ear, Midoriya grabbed the first plate he could find, with Snake following suit. Looking around, he could see the platform had a theme. The previous one had an oak forest with a decorative log cabin. This one looked more like a stereotypical Japanese village. It had cherry trees and everything.
It made him wonder who on Mother Base had the time to get this stuff. He came to the conclusion that it was Kaz. They sat down at a lone bench overlooking the ocean on the platform. The food was fine, to say the least, yet Midoriya thought otherwise, devouring it all. They just sat there afterward, looking out across the sea.
"That one looks like a cat," Midoriya stated, pointing at a cloud.
"Hmm, looks more like a dog to me." Snake replied,
"No, look there are its eyes, its ears, and its tail." Midoriya traced the cloud with his finger, pointing out the shape of a cat.
"Ah, I see it now. What about that one, it looks like a car to me." Snake told him.
"Oh, I see a car too. That one looks like a… a…"
He didn't finish. Confused, Snake looked back over to him. Midoriya wasn't looking at the clouds anymore. His gaze was instead on a family of refugees. It was a mother and a father, with one son. They played with their son on one of the playgrounds, watching over him. Midoriya watched as they embraced each other in a big hug, before walking off to get ice cream. He hadn't noticed it, but he had started to tear up.
That could have been him. It could have been him and his mom, having fun together. Being together. But they couldn't, not anymore. It wasn't fair, it was never fair. Snake saw what was happening now, as Midoriya started to quiver. Wordlessly, he pulled the kid into a hug, hoping to help him. Midoriya returned it, unable to stop himself from crying. Midoriya didn't know how long he cried, and he didn't care. He just wanted his mom back. He just wanted his home back. But it wasn't going to happen.
"I-i-i j-just m-miss them s-so m-much," Midoriya cried.
"I know buddy, I know," Snake replied, trying his best to calm him.
"I-i w-want t-them back."
"I think they would want to come back to you if they could. I don't know everything, but kid, they must have loved you very much."
They sat there for a few more minutes. Midoriya slowly stopped crying, his eyes now feeling dry. He didn't know if he could accept, they were gone. It had been a long time since they died, yet he still remembered the event. It still hurt, even if he tried to ignore it. But Snake was there, sitting with him, trying his best to help.
"T-thanks d-dad." Midoriya never noticed that he said it, but Snake did. Surprise took hold of Snake's face before a faint smile replaced it.
"You're welcome, kid."
Night Owl looked over the list of arms that had been bought. Sure enough, everything he'd ordered was on the list. He looked up with a wide smile at his dealer, briefly shaking his hand.
"A pleasure doing business." the Tyrant told him, a smaller grin on his face. The warlord of southern Africa. A man who controlled lands from Nigeria in the west to Ethiopia in the east. From the northernmost tip of Chad to Botswana in the south. A ruler who controlled nearly three million square miles of land. And he had the audacity to wear an open-top Hawaiian shirt to a business meeting. Oh, Night Owl liked him.
"Believe me, I will enjoy the gifts you've given me." Night Owl replied, turning around as he watched the field in front of them. A large battle was going on not too far away. The Tyrant's forces were at war with a rival in Sudan, and the artillery near began shelling the area. It was interesting for Night Owl to watch, as he saw the enemy fleeing like small ants.
"I would hope so, it was a pain to get them over the years." the Tyrant replied as he leisurely sat back in his chair.
"Well, if it's any consolation I'm looking for quantity rather than quality at the moment." Night Owl responded, pulling out a pair of binoculars. He saw a tank violently explode from a distance, with its occupants burning alive.
"I should have brought the T-55s then."
A piece of shrapnel impaled the wall next to Night Owl, the man looking at it uncaringly for a second. He turned back over to the Tyrant then, the man still sitting back, but looking at him expectantly.
"So, this Big Boss, he as good as they say?" the Tyrant asked him.
"From what I know, yes." Night Owl answered.
"Good, I was hoping for a decent fight."
A helicopter was shot out of the air then, and the aircraft crashed into a group of fleeing soldiers. The blades chopped them up as before fire engulfed them all, the helicopter's fuel tank exploding. A most interesting sight indeed. At that moment, a few of the Tyrant's men approached them. One was a beaten and bruised soldier, and the other was a small child.
"What is the meaning of this, you are supposed to be on the front?" the Tyrant demanded, as one soldier through the wounded one forward. The wounded one looked up and him and begged.
"Please, please he is just a child, he can do no harm."
The child looked afraid as he looked around the area. The Tyrant got up, approaching the wounded soldier. He unsheathed a knife and carefully examined its blade. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, a better design than an army issue. A prized token, stolen from a previous enemy.
"No harm, you say." the Tyrant began, tracing the man's wounds with the knife. Faint traces of blood would appear, as the blade cut through the skin.
"I disagree, this boy's a killer. He has two hands, what more would he need."
He slowly pushed the knife into the man's arm, watching as he squirmed and held in a scream of pain.
"And you know, what I could really use right now, are killers."
He turned and dragged the boy over, handing him the knife. With his hands, he guided the knife to the man's throat and held the child still.
"Go on, do it."
The child shook all the while, but slowly pressed the knife forward. He was afraid of the consequences of what the Tyrant would do. So, he pressed forward, the knife pushing into the man's throat until the man stopped moving. The Tyrant let go of the boy then, stepping away as he took back his knife. He wiped the blood on his shirt before sitting back down.
"He'll make a fine soldier, arm him and send him in with the others." The Tyrant ordered. His men saluted and dragged the child away.
"You really are one to impress. Business and a show." Night Owl commented, a wide grin present on his face. He gave the child a small wave as he was dragged away.
"I should come here more often." Night Owl told him.
"Well, so long as you have the money, your welcome anytime."