Chapter Text
In hindsight, Snake doubted he'd successfully hidden from the EAM. More likely they hadn't needed him enough to be worth the hassle of bringing him in. To his credit, he made it a hell of a job. He'd been midway through his second drink of the day, armed only with his tablet and a folding chair, and had still managed to take out over half the soldiers, many of whom were currently glaring at him and nursing broken limbs. The fact he'd managed this feat wearing only a pair of boxer briefs did nothing but add insult to injury.
A few seats down from him a young woman sat with her hands on her lap, staring straight ahead. Her long dark hair was pushed back over her shoulders, her eyes closed but her body alert. She looked as if she was meditating. A small metal briefcase was tucked on the floor behind her legs. After a brief glance he paid her no more mind.
The shuttle was freezing, even with the thermal blanket they had wrapped around his shoulders. He had not been allowed to dress, just in case he had weapons stashed in his clothing. They would have been correct, however, it had been worth the try. With his hands cuffed to his seat, he was unable to adjust the blanket as it slipped from his shoulders, nor could he pull it tighter around himself. The metal bench did nothing to improve the situation and his balls felt like they were trying ascend back inside him.
He shouldn't even be here. He was retired. Though his retirement had been unofficial, he had assumed it was at least respected -- he had gone five years without hearing a single word from the EAM or EI.
“What did you do with my dogs?” Snake demanded. His former commanding officer sat on the bench across from him, elbows on his knees. He looked exhausted. Under any other circumstance Snake may have had a shred of sympathy. As it was, kidnapping had done nothing for his mood.
“They've been transferred to an EAM facility, there's a veterinarian there who will look after them.” Campbell frowned. “We're not monsters, Snake.” Snake did not dignify that with a response. Campbell sighed, leaning in closer, “I know what the last mission did to you, we wouldn't have done this unless--”
“You needed me?” He was exactly as bitter as he let himself sound. “Right, there's always something, isn't there? I'd like to go back to my retirement, Commander, so tell me what you need from me.” His attempts to chase away the previous night's hangover with more alcohol were starting to backfire and he felt nausea swell in his stomach.
“Actually it's Colonel now,” Campbell corrected, “I was promoted after the... Charon incident.”
“Colonel? You’re ground force now?” Snake responded, unable to contain his surprise. “I have a wife now, Earth Ground Force suits me fine, keeps me on Planet… usually.”
“I see.” To his relief, that was the end of the conversation. Campbell fumbled in his jacket, pulling out a pack of honest to god cigarettes, not that electronic crap that passed for a decent smoke nowadays. He extended the pack to Snake, gesturing to one of the uninjured soldiers to release his hands. As soon as the handcuffs were off, Snake reached forward and popped the cigarette in his mouth. Filtered, but even unlit, the taste was familiar. Somewhat comforting. He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had chafed.
The Colonel leaned forward again, electronic cigarette lighter in hand. Snake moved in, savoring the acrid smoke as it burned the back of his throat. “Recycled air and you're still going to let me smoke this in here?” The Colonel shrugged, his mouth twitching into a smile. “I thought these were illegal most places. Where did you even get them?”
“There are benefits to command,” the Colonel replied, the smile not leaving his lips but never reaching his eyes.
“I'm feeling a little like a condemned man getting his last supper. What's this all about?” He took another long drag, tapping the ash onto the floor. Several of the soldiers glared at him with wrinkled noses. The Colonel pulled a tablet out from the bag at his feet. Tapping it, he pulled up an aerial photograph of what looked like a series of concrete and steel buildings. The surface area surrounding the buildings was filled with craters and piles of rock. The reflective sheen in a segment of the photograph suggested the area around the buildings was oxygenated, and he could see the generators around the building that maintained the oxygen field.
Snake studied the photograph, but he couldn't place the geography. Likely a small moon, but which one, he couldn't be sure. He handed it back, nodding.
“What happened?”
“Foxhound, or at least the remnants of it. They're calling themselves the Sons of Big Boss.” Snake's blood ran cold. A familiar tightness crept into his chest. Suddenly the air felt too thin. He took another deep drag of his cigarette.
“Foxhound disbanded after the Charon incident.” His voice did not betray his unease, and for that he was grateful. Campbell shook his head.
“By the Earth Alliance Military, yes. It didn't stop them from joining up with the UFP.” Snake's cigarette was little more than a filter. He put it out on the seat beside him, tossing the butt onto the floor. “They're little more than a terrorist group now, but then again, the United Federation of Planets is made up of thugs and rebels. They're a perfect match.”
Snake pulled the thermal blanket tight over his shoulders. He felt cold again. His fingers gripped the edges of the foil tighter than necessary. “You ever think UFP might have a point?”
“That's not for people like us to decide,” Campbell responded. “Leave that to the politicians.” Snake rolled his shoulders, shifting in his seat.
“So this is a UFP base?” With a flick of his wrist, Campbell opened another series of photographs. He handed the tablet back to Snake, who frowned at what looked like a close-up of a blueprint. He zoomed out and his eyes widened.
“It is,” the Colonel finally responded, “and these are your targets.”
“Metal Gear...” said Snake, more to himself than to Campbell. “But I've never seen anything like these, these designs.” He pointed to the screen, leaning forward to the Colonel could see what he was gesturing to. “The cockpit is too low and too big, and where is the power source being stored? The design is too compact.” He rapidly flicked through the next few images, more blueprints, marveling at each one. It couldn't possibly be real, the speed and agility it could achieve without the bulky power cells. Realization dawned on him.
“I thought they outlawed the old power source as 'inhumane'.”
The Colonel cast his eyes downwards, his mouth pursed. “Desperate times, Snake. We're in the middle of a war. If we don't want things to get bloodier, we have to make a few sacrifices.” His face twisted unhappily. “President Sears made a speech alluding to it, I'm surprised you missed it.”
“President who?”
“Never mind.” Campbell shook his head. He flipped to the last image in the gallery, a photograph of a young man. He looked as if he could have hardly finished his first year of college, however the pin on his coat read 'Dr. Emmerich'. The name was familiar, but he couldn't place it. His blue eyes stared at the camera similar to a deer caught in the headlights, his messy brown hair peeking out from behind his ears. His face was thin and covered in sparse stubble, and his lab coat was too big for him and bunched around his shoulders.
“Who's this?” He looked too young to possibly have any connection to this, any importance, though his age was hard to place. His bright, wide eyes said one thing, while the bags and thin creases under them told another story.
“Dr. Hal Emmerich, your second target.” Campbell retrieved the tablet. “You are to get him back alive. He is of vital importance.”
“My first being that Metal Gear.” Snake leaned back, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Just how important? He hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school.”
“I'll admit, it's a bad photograph, though he is fairly young -- twenty five -- and a prodigy. Would you believe he has two doctorates?”
Snake shook his head. “His name sounds familiar, but that can't be. He's too young and I've been cut off for too long.”
“His father developed the first working models for Metal Gear.” Snake's eyebrows shot up. “He personally developed the last two models you interacted with about a year before his untimely death.”
“So his son has taken up the mantle, then,” said Snake, making the connection between the awkward photograph and the blueprints.
“And he's done quite admirably for someone so young. Like I said, the kid's a prodigy.”
Snake grimaced. “Let me guess, he's the only one who knows how to start up the new Metal Gear?”
Campbell nodded. “Your mission is to retrieve Dr. Emmerich and Metal Gear REX in one piece and fly them both back to a prearranged rendezvous point.”
“Retrieve?”
“Emmerich is actually one of ours, he's been missing for several months now. We discovered he had been taken to this base and has been forced to work on developing new technology for the UFP. All our previous rescue attempts have failed. We need to get him and Metal Gear REX out of their hands before it's too late.” The Colonel sighed deeply. “God only knows what they've done to him.”
“You almost sound concerned.” Snake meant for it to sound bitter, and by the way the Colonel jerked up, it stung like he intended.
“You know we only follow orders,” Campbell's eyes narrowed, “however, I have met the man and have no desire to see him injured. The plans he's using were ones we developed and tested back at our own EAM facilities. We were about to go ahead and build it before he and the finalized plans were stolen.”
Snake had heard enough, their incompetence was costing him his retirement. “And where exactly am I going?”
“UFP Base, Codename 'Shadow Moses' on the far side of Galatea . We'll be there in twenty minutes. You'll have to do a space jump.”
Movement in his peripheral vision. The young woman he'd noticed when he first sat down had opened her eyes and was rummaging through her metal briefcase. She pulled out a long metal cylinder, it looked like one of the combat grade hypos he was used to. The needle itself was a millimeter in diameter and his eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what it was for.
“Is this really necessary, as long as I keep my headset on--”
“You've been out of the field for a while,” the woman interrupted. “These are new, top of the line... you'll understand once you experience them firsthand.”
She stood to approach him, needle in hand. Snake was on his feet in an instant, hands curled into fists. “I wouldn't come near me with that thing if I were you,” he growled. For a moment, the hum of every blaster in the cabin charging was the only sound. The woman raised her hands over her head, a small smile playing across her lips. She was certainly attractive, but there was something dangerous about that smile.
“It's alright,” she said to the overzealous soldiers. Their grips relaxed; the barrels of their blasters sloped slightly downwards. “I think I understand your reluctance, however we both have a job to do, so let's make this easier on each other.” She leaned over and put the hypo back in the briefcase. She took a step forwards, extending her hand.
“Take your other hand out of your pocket,” Snake demanded, refusing to take a single step forwards or backwards, body tensing and then relaxing, as he prepared to take a swing if she got too close. She let out a small huff that might be considered a laugh, though she did remove the hand she had slipped back into her lab coat, raising it back above her head.
“My name is Dr. Naomi Hunter. I'm here to get you through this mission alive, so you're going to have to trust me, like it or not.” Her smile widened, but her eyes narrowed. In the dim light of the cabin they appeared almost black.
Reluctantly, Snake accepted her outstretched hand, allowing for a brief but firm handshake. It looked like he wasn't going on this mission without her, and he wasn't going home without going on this mission. She slowly reached back down to her briefcase, grabbing the needle again, her eyes never leaving Snake and his never leaving her hands. He let his shoulders relax.
“Do it,” he said, stepping closer. She put a hand on his shoulder, having to use his arm as leverage to get level with his neck.
“This will sting.”
Snake grunted in response, clenching his teeth as the needle pierced his neck. There was a hiss of air as she pressed the release and he felt that horrible coldness, that feeling of too much in his veins, before she pulled the needle out, placing a cotton swab over the entry wound. She taped it in place, putting the needle into a small plastic case labeled with a bio-hazard warning.
“I'll activate those and explain how they work once they've had a chance to circulate, for now you should suit up.” Naomi turned away from him, pulling out a personal computer laying the keyboard across her lap. The keyboard was half the size Snake was used to but she had thin, delicate fingers. She booted up the projector and three screens appeared in front of her face. She reached out and tapped the first one. A small picture of Snake appeared in the corner, as well as what looked to be his current physical state.
Campbell handed him a bundle. His EVA and mission suit. The texture of the fabric was the one thing on this mission he actually felt familiar with. Lightweight, durable, completely airtight, and silent. The exterior coating selectively reduced friction to increase movement speed and make his movements almost soundless. Wires ran through the whole suit that modulated his body temperature, no matter the conditions. The colour was dark grey, likely to match the most prevalent colour on the base and give him the best chance at camouflaging himself. The boots were a new model of a familiar make, Grav Boots designed to adjust his personal gravity to earth normal when switched on. The flexible soles were a new, but welcome addition, as well as the reduction in bulk and replacement of metal parts with flexible silicone and plastic ones where applicable. The soles, Campbell explained, were also magnetic, a function he could turn on and off at any time. The silicone soles would allow him to use this while remaining totally silent against any metal surfaces. His gloves, which vacuum sealed to his suit, had a similar function. He wore a set of black holsters strapped to his chest and thighs. Two held fully charged blaster pistols, while the others were pouches for various tools, fresh batteries for the pistols, as well as space to put anything he procured on site.
“My headset and my helmet?” Snake asked. Naomi gestured him over with a jerk of her head. She pointed to the middle screen which had a series of dots across it.
“I'm going to do some calibrations and I need you not to look away from those dots while I do them.” Snake grumbled but said nothing of consequence, so she pressed a few keys and suddenly everything went green, then red, then back to green. He grit his teeth, not moving his eyes from the dots, though he desperately wanted to. He wasn't going through this more than once if he could help it. His blood felt too hot, then cold, then hot again. Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck and he was hit with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. As suddenly as it started, the sensations stopped.
“I hate nanomachines,” he muttered, shooting a sidelong glance at Dr. Hunter, who was busy adjusting something on her far screen. Snake could see that the screen with his face now had readings of his blood pressure, his heart rate, his current white and red blood cell count, and several other readings he couldn't make out.
“These are so much more than the nanomachines you're used to,” said Naomi. She almost sounded excited. “This is a fully integrated ops experience. You might want to sit down before I activate this next part.” Snake did so and was glad he had when she hit something on her screen. His vision was suddenly infrared, allowing him to even see the pilots through the thick metal doors to the cockpit. It changed back to his normal vision, however this time the entire room was covered in a grid, showing him exact measurements and distances between him and select points, including other humans. The view switched again. This time, only part of his vision was adjusted, a small transparent map superimposed over the top right corner of his vision, showing him the layout of his immediate surroundings, life forms indicated by small red dots.
“Can you hear me,” asked Naomi, but the voice did not come from beside him. Instead, it came from inside his head, echoing in his skull. Snake nodded. “Like I said,” and this time it was mercifully out loud, “this is a fully integrated ops experience. Anything I know, you can know, and I can feed that information directly into your visual cortex. The nanomachines also connect wirelessly to your suit, which will pick up on information such as vibrations in the floor, and sounds too quiet for the human ear to perceive. In turn, I can feed that information back to you. They will also do all the standard nanomachine functions such as aiding your body's natural healing process and immune system, allowing you to stay alert longer, booting your stamina and physical limits.”
“It's a bit science fiction for my tastes,” said Snake, crossing his arms. “You designed these?”
“I've heard you were a bit old fashioned.” She let out another of her half exhale half laughs. “But yes, this is my design. How did you know?”
“You sound like a proud parent.” Snake frowned, “I don't need these though, I would have been fine with just a headset.”
“I was actually working with Dr. Emmerich before his capture. You'll need these if you're going to activate Metal Gear REX.”
“They're integrated?”
Naomi nodded, handing him a small silicone collar with a miniature generator. “That will seal to the neck of your suit and give you about an hour's worth of oxygen if you breathe normally. You shouldn't need more than 120 seconds, just long enough to make the space jump. After that, you'll be in the facilities.”
Snake snapped the collar around his neck, sealing it to the neck of his suit with the press of a button. “I don't like not having a helmet,” said Snake, running a hand through his hair.
“You'd only need it for the space jump, after that it would just get in the way, the field generators are at least designed to be disposable.”
“I won't need it for piloting?” Snake insisted, pulling his hair back again. It was getting too long and hung in his eyes. It would be distracting on a mission.
“The helmet is integrated into the machine with REX,” Naomi replied. Without even looking up, she handed him a short strip of fabric, the same material as his suit. Snake tied it around his forehead, pushing stray strands of hair back. “It's quite brilliant, you'll see once you're in the cockpit. Dr. Emmerich is a genius.”
“So you all keep saying.” Snake clenched and unclenched his hands. “How much longer until the drop point?”
“ETA five minutes 20 seconds,” said Campbell, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you understand the gravity of this situation. A lot rests on your success.”
“It always does,” muttered Snake, adjusting his holsters.
“I mean it, Snake.” Campbell's voice, while normally grave, sounded positively morbid, “If the enemy manages to activate REX it could turn the tide of this war, and I don't think you want people like your ex-Foxhound friends making policy.”
“As soon as you enter the oxygen field you will trip their sensors. Now the suit will regulate your body temperature enough that you won't register as human, but they will be suspicious, and they will be on alert,” Naomi informed him. “You'll want to reach Dr. Emmerich first and then he can lead you to Metal Gear. He'll have the passwords that can link your nanomachines to REX.”
Snake had been walking towards the back of the shuttle, preparing for the jump. He stopped short and turned back to face her. “Will this be like--”
“Charon? Yes. Likely more intense considering the adjustments to the power source and the level of integration between the machine and the nanos.”
“Intense is one word for it,” Snake growled. He clenched his fists. One more time. One more time, and maybe they'd let him go for good. He shook his head, not fooling himself for a moment.
“Colonel, we're reaching the drop zone in T-minus 60 seconds,” came a voice from the overhead speaker. The Colonel pressed a button on the wall closest to the cockpit.
“Thank you, Private.” Releasing the button, he turned back to the cabin. “Everyone strap in. We're opening the hatch.” A soldier approached Snake from behind, holding out a small thruster pack with just enough fuel to get him to the ground. Snake strapped it on with practiced efficiency. As soon as the crew was buckled into their seats the Colonel rapped on the metal divider to the cockpit. Snake stood at the back of the shuttle, gripping the nearby handrail. The oxygen field should prevent him from being sucked into space without warning. However, if there were a malfunction, he'd rather be safe than sorry.
The back hatch opened with a loud hiss. Snake stepped towards the shimmering oxygen field, activating the generator on his neck. He stepped through the field and out onto the extended metal platform. He tested the straps of his thruster pack one last time.
“T-minus 10, 9, 8, 7,” the countdown began, this time in the Colonel's voice. Snake nodded and stood ready to jump. “3, 2, 1.”