Fandom Metal Gear Solid I: First Light

[Retrohorror]

Dr. Clark in her time was highly regarded for her contributions to modern medicine. Once, he idolized her, but Captain Nicolas Cabeza now thought differently. In her pursuit of results, she had abandoned her oath as a physician. Her experiments had taken an unethical turn, and before he realized that he had been kept privy of the details, it was too late.

His research into gene therapy had been taken from him and transformed into weapons of war.

Genome soldiers, they were called. The US now had leverage on the world stage when it came to conflict, and he had played a detrimental part in it.

For a while, Nicolas fell into a deep depression and took a leave of absence from the military.

Weeks turned to months, and then a year. His LOA would have turned indefinite with his retirement until he was convinced by his colleague to return. Although the genome soldiers were largely successful, there was still tests to run and too many variables that were yet to be studied. 'Only you can make sure things don't get out of hand, Captain,' she said. 'These soldiers would benefit greatly from being in your care.'

It was hard to say what else really convinced him to travel all the way out here to a frozen shithole. Surely it was not to prance around in -13°F weather or some half-assed attempt to appeal to his bleeding heart. But suddenly you were aboard the next flight to Alaska in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Nicolas was supposed to monitor the Next-Generation Special Forces. Run a few labs, routine check-ups, nothing more. But suddenly, the soldiers had taken both the Darpa chief officer and ArmsTech president and he was strung along by a handful of lackeys. As he was corralled unceremoniously to a holding cell, Nicolas barred his teeth with their treatment of him.

"Damn it, let go of me! I have two feet; I can walk!" He ripped his elbow away from one of the soldiers.

Their hands reached for their rifles in anticipation, yet they did not draw them. Perhaps this was out of respect for him being a doctor and all. Regardless, Nicolas was not going to entertain the idea. Who knows how long they planned on keeping him confined, and it wasn't that unlikely for plans to change later on. They would sooner have his head impaled on some pike along the wall as a "message" to the American government.

Rolling his shoulders, he led the two soldiers down the hall into the first holding cell that wasn't already occupied. And without saying anything else to the two men, he walked in willingly. He could see the way they gave each other a look as though slightly perplexed by his behavior. They should be so lucky he made their job a lot easier.

"Sorry doc, nothin' personal. We gotta keep you in here until further notice."

Nicolas shrugged, "Not like I'm going anywhere. You got places to be right? I'll be here if you boys need me."

With a final look, they shut the metal cell door behind him and Nicolas was left to his own devices.

 

[khorvidae]

Snake is none too pleased. For all the shit slung his way, torpedoing into the freezing depths of an Alaskan island was the most advantageous, the most dangerous, and the least ideal. On-site procurement was an absolute must. He was no fool, he understood why, but that didn't make it any less quixotic, let alone convenient, for him. He's not complaining. The gear he was equipped with was dry and warm, and the Pepcid settled well enough in his stomach to leave him functional.

Of all the things he could have managed to smuggle through the screening, however, cigarettes were arguably the most important ─ for him anyway. Don't ask how he got them through, but, to spare the details, those antacids Naomi slipped him didn't only regulate his body heat. He had two objectives: to find and retrieve the DARPA Chief and to assess whether FOXHOUND's facility stowed away any weapons of mass destruction. There was also the ‘stopping it’ part, but he hoped it'd begin and end with retrieving Donald Anderson from confinement and readying him for recovery.

It didn't. He bit the dust early, to the chagrin of Snake; died of a heart attack. Those VR trainings hadn't prepared him for that, that's for damn sure. Although, now he's more miffed about how much of a hassle it was to get there. With that, his first objective could be considered done. Snake deemed it close enough for all five minutes Anderson was alive. Rescued is a subjective term in black-ops missions.

He'd also succeeded in the first half of his second objective: FOXHOUND undoubtedly has possession of weapons of mass destruction. Better yet, the DARPA Chief leaked his code, so they're double-fucked. When Snake called him worthless, he meant it. But, lucky him, he procured some practical curios. He was beginning to rescind all the shit he gave the Colonel over some code-red accessibility as soon as he had to go gallivanting through the facility to gather clearance from the ArmsTech president.

For the record, Revolver Ocelot was the first FOXHOUND agent he ran into and his least favorite, with Psycho Mantis a close competitor. There's C4 strapped to the ArmsTech president's chest, and that's when he decided to flaunt his fancy shooting. Snake's not impressed, and Ocelot figures that out real quick. Miraculously, or not, the gray-statured ninja, a nuisance in all of this, intervened before Snake could finish the agent off. It's perturbing, familiar, but he's not granted much time to think about it, as his priorities lie elsewhere, specifically with the president.

Next, he's interrogating Kenneth Baker, the aforementioned president, whose worst inclinations had him asking more questions than he's answering. According to him, the DARPA Chief couldn't have handed over his codes unbeknownst to himself. Somehow, despite his foibles in maintaining the integrity of his own code, Snake's able to collect a good batch of information from him regarding this place and what FOXHOUND is hiding ─ a metal gear ─ than from Anderson.

One heart attack later, and Snake's not only running around the facility looking for card keys but for help as well if that PAL card was to be obtained. This time, Snake's extra concerned, although he's barely able to get a word in between everyone on the codec. Nevertheless, the Colonel urged him to find Meryl, his niece, which seemed like a greater coincidence than the heart attacks, really. And she's on his ass about yet another contact buried deeper within the nuclear plant, who he's only willing to retrieve because a physician sounded as useful as this Emmerich fellow.

---

Nobody was willing to give him codec signals, and he was getting real sick of it. Everything up until this point was an upward battle, finding nothing but layers of shit and more shit, FOXHOUND, like the groveling pigs they were, bathed in the filth they've produced. It reeks. The air is thick with something sickly sweet and gunpowder, the latter being more concerning given how many nuclear warheads sat around in the open, awaiting the moment a ricochet or terribly timed bullet sank its teeth in the uranium tamper to bathe and cleanse the region.

And yet, to combat this discord, Snake embarked on several rescue missions, traveling floor to floor in an endless, and seemingly futile, search for every contact he possibly could for hopes they too would not perish from instantaneous heart failure. And somehow, amidst half a dozen people who could possibly help him, one of them deigned to inform him of Meryl's radio signal. Then she sent him on another wild goose chase.

A few dozen turns had him dizzy. He hadn't had a damn clue where he was going, he just knew that the signs denoting the respective halls kept changing. At least he was on the second floor where Emmerich, and potentially “Captain,” were confined. This already did not bode well. The last two had heart attacks, so he couldn't wait to see what would happen to them the second he encountered them.

A few cautious steps down the wafer thin, steel plates outlining the hall put him right in front of a sign that possessed two arrow signs, one indicating the path newly traveled, and the one to come. At this point, he'd be partial to a massive map with a big “you are here” dot, just so he could make sense of the facility's layout. He doesn't take time to read it since it's just one big rectangle that he couldn't feasibly get lost in, which seems reckless, but he's been at this for a while; he's likely prone to finding the right way by accident.

Snake proceeds with caution, as implored by both Naomi and the Colonel, tiptoeing along the wall. Eventually, voices emerged from the hollow songs the wind sung outside, which ushers him along in hopes of gaining a lead.

He presses himself flush against the wall. With his cheek enduring the preponderance of the cold, he listens in on the conversation that ensues while, in his periphery, he's scarcely able to make out two soldiers ushering a man along, who's not having any of it. It's the first average Joe he's seen yet. Snake is quick to jump the gun, thinking that's one of his contacts.

It doesn't take those guards long to cram him in a cell. For his part, the prisoner is rather cordial about the ordeal, which almost sounds like the makings of a set-up. By the time they're rounding the corner, Snake has ushered into an adjacent room. It's muggy and cramped, but it's the best he can managed in a split second decision. Until the footsteps fade, he's peeking out into the hall. And when they do, he steps out. Before he pulled his disappearing act, he did pay special attention to which cell they shoved that guy in. Meryl did say something about the specialists being sundered with the assumption that they couldn't collude if they weren't close enough.

After regrouping ─ inhale, exhale ─ Snake skulkes, pushing onward until he reaches the door. Snores echo from surrounding cells; ones he intends to be cautious in rousing. Once he's certain the coast is clear, his knuckles rap against the door. "Captain?"