"In the Darkness of Shadow Moses: The
Unofficial Truth" by Nastasha Romanenko

Dumped by: Nekura_Hoka from the PC Version
of Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance. 7/6/05
--------------------------------------------

   I dedicate this book to the casualties of
Shadow Moses as well as to all those who
suffered the tyranny of the nuclear weapons
-- and to Richard Ames.
  
  
  
  
                      Nastasha Romanenko
  
 PROLOGUE
Shadow Moses Island: XX•ZXX'N , XX•ZXX'W
  Even the local fishermen rarely venture to
this outcropping of land. Yet the incident of
all incidents took place on this remote isle,
north of Alaska's Fox Islands. A number of
confirmed facts undermine the U.S. govern-
ment's denial of the entire affair. Among those
are the sudden appearance of the Ohio-class
nuclear submarine USS Discovery off Shadow
 Moses, far away from its designated position,
and an official record that shows that a
squadron of six fully-armed F117 Nighthawks
departed from Galena Air Force base for
Alaska a scant sixteen hours later. In another
possibly related event, an E-3C AWACS on
emergency deployment to the Alaska area is
said to have had none other than the then-
National Security Advisor Jim Houseman as
its on-board VIP.
   What exactly happened on Shadow Moses?
  There was no lack of rumors to account for
this series of unusual military activities: an
armed incursion, a coup attempt by a branch
of the military and other theories made its way
to the public table. I can state unequivocally
that none of them came close to the truth.
  What actually took place was the single
greatest terrorist incident in modern history.
It was an act of political violence on a scale
 the world had never seen, a blow that
threatened to send the Damocles' sword
of nuclear warfare into a free-fall. Most
significant of all, the attack stemmed from
several so-called 'Black Projects' which
the U.S. government had been conducting
in top secret, away from public scrutiny.
  
  I have in my hand two optical discs. One
contains the entire record of events that took
 place on Shadow Moses Island that fateful
day: the takeover of a nuclear weapons
disposal plant by an armed group. Other
key points of this incredible record are:
- The identification of the perpetrators aas
  the government's own genetically-enhanced
  next-generation commandos and a covert
  special forces squad, FOXHOUND, with a
  long dark history of secret intervention
- The existence of one Metal Gear REX, a
   bipedal nuclear-capable tank whose deve-
  lopment was one of the most classified
  projects of all time
- The discovery of a massive government
  conspiracy
- The activities of a former FOXHOUND
  operative who single-handedly took on this
  daunting situation and averted the crisis, a
  man who is known only by his code name:
  Solid Snake
   The other remaining disc holds the details
of Project FOXDIE, a massive cover-up, which
the U.S. government planned and executed in
order to prevent exposure. There are, after
all, forces within the U.S. government who
seek to maintain the military power structure
established in the last century, and will not
hesitate to resuscitate the terror of nuclear
arms in order to achieve that end.
  My intent is to expose their activity, and
 the entirety of the Shadow Moses Affair,
through this book. Only then can we hope
to free the coming generations from the
damnosa hereditas of the 20th-century
nuclear arms race.
   I looked up from the mass of documents at
the sound of the doorbell. On the monitor in
front of me was a half-finished status report
on the resurgence of nuclear arms
development in a certain Middle Eastern state.
  The UNSCOM (United Nations Special
Commission) had officially requested a survey
by the UN weapons inspectors, and had been
refused entry; tensions were once again
running high in the Gulf. As a military analyst
 whose specialty was nuclear arms, I was
under contract from a think tank to produce a
study of the situation. It was due the day after
the next, and interruptions were definitely not
welcome. I ground out my cigarette in the
ashtray and stepped out of the study.
  All visitors to my house are checked via
a surveillance camera and then let in through
the heavy gate. The property itself is
surrounded by a high wall. It may seem like
 overkill for a beach community, but security is
a necessity in greater Los Angeles, if only to
keep out the legion of swimsuit-clad tourists.
  However, there was nobody to be seen at
the gate. It was either a prank, or the camera
was malfunctioning.
  Reluctant to investigate but feeling unsettled
nevertheless, I headed back to the study and
sat back down at the computer to continue my
work. Just then, someone spoke behind me.
   "You always were a little careless."
  I spun around, kicking my chair over. There
was a man standing at the entrance of the
study, slouching in a well-tailored suit.
  "Richard!"
  He caught my eye and grinned. Ignoring my
surprise, he strolled into the room, gazing
around at the pile of books and papers.
  "And still as disorganized as ever."
  He shrugged his shoulders in a familiar
 gesture, triggering a wave of memories laced
with bitterness.
  
   Richard Ames and I were married, once
upon a time. We were both young, and
working for the DIA (Defense Intelligence
Agency). We spent much of our brief marriage
in disagreement over virtually every issue, and
just as I came to realize that our union was
a mistake, he disappeared from my life.
   A while later, I received the paperwork for
divorce from his lawyer. There was a generous
alimony offer involved, which I refused. Not
only did I find the thought of owing him
anything intolerable, I also wanted to prove
that he was not the only one who could walk
away without an explanation. The divorce was
finalized without us ever meeting face-to-face,
and we were legally strangers once again. In
the five years since, I quit the DIA and became
 a freelance analyst. I had not seen Richard at
all, nor even heard of his whereabouts.
  
   "How did you get in here?" I demanded.
After all, attempting to scale the wall or force
the front door would immediately trigger the
security system. But he refused to be ruffled.
   "If you're going to use a flimsy lock like that,
may as well not bother. I'd recommend a more
professional security setup."
    "Does the term 'breaking and entering' mean
anything to you, Richard?"
   "You know law isn't my field of expertise,"
he replied nimbly and peered over my
shoulder at the report on the computer
display.
   "Radio isotope projectile separator...
uranium-235 production feasibility for high-
speed gas centrifuge... This must be about
that Middle East nuke development. Looks like
 your career is going well. That's great."
   I pushed Richard aside and asked him flatly.
"What do you want?"
   He took a step back and regarded me with
a slightly mischievous smile.
   "What, you afraid I came back to give us
another chance?" He let the silence linger as
if to relish my reaction. Then, suddenly formal,
he continued, "It's an official request from the
DIA."
    He placed a folder on the desk. "I'm asking
for your cooperation as a member of NEST."
   NEST stands for Nuclear Emergency Search
Team, a group that operates on the Depart-
ment of Energy budget. It was established in
1974 to provide technological support to the
FBI in areas of intelligence, investigation, site
securement, damage containment and medical
response during incidents involving criminal
threats of nuclear weapon use. Call it a band
 of experts on nuclear terrorism, if you will.
NEST consists of independently contracted
scientists from federally funded research
entities like Los Alamos and Lawrence
Livermore, and military specialists from groups
dealing with nuclear arms issues. I happen to
be one of the latter group.
   Richard was opening the file folder. "You've
heard of Shadow Moses Island, I assume."
   I nodded assent. I had indeed heard of the
 remote place, north of Alaska's Fox Islands.
Though it was hardly public knowledge, the
island was home to a nuclear weapons
disposal facility.
  
    According to the terms of the START2
(Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty), the total
number of tactical nuclear warheads owned by
the U.S. and Russia were reduced to some-
where between 3000 and 3500 in the later
 decades of the twentieth century. The outcome
was a massive number of warheads in need of
disposal when there was already a shortage of
storage space for radioactive materials. As a
result, warheads had to be kept somewhere
before they could be dismantled and their
radioactive elements extracted for long-term
storage. The Shadow Moses facility was the
answer. It was the crystallization of the forces
of nuclear proliferation, political engineering
 that gives preference to delaying a solution
rather than producing one and a hidden
military agenda to preserve what it could of
the old nuclear stockpile.
  
   Richard took out several photographs from
the folder and handed them to me. They all
appeared to be satellite captures of the
nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow
Moses Island, perhaps acquired from the NRO
 (National Reconnaissance Office). There were
multiple human figures around the building
structures.
   Richard broke the silence.
   "The disposal plant was seized by terror-
ists." I looked up sharply at the news, but his
next words left me speechless.
   "And the ringleaders are FOXHOUND
members."
  
    An "irregular" team of the best commandos
the military has to offer, armed with cutting-
edge technology. That was FOXHOUND. The
best of the best, and completely unknown to
the public they ostensibly serve. Their function
was to intervene in the kind of low-intensity
conflicts the U.S. could not officially touch.
They were the shadow soldiers of numerous
regional conflicts and civil wars, shaping
history with sabotage, selective assassination
 and other covert acts of war.
  
   Richard had more to say. "It's not just
FOXHOUND that's involved in this. FOXHOUND
was conducting joint exercises with the next-
generation special forces, and they're a part
of the takeover as well."
  
The next-generation special forces is
an aggressive anti-terrorism squad deployed
 to counter acts of political violence involving
weapons of mass destruction such as nuclear,
biological and chemical warfare methods. The
combat philosophy is derived from the one
used for Force 21, and most of the recruits
come from a mercenary background. The men
are intensively trained in VR environment, and
their combat capability is estimated to be well
beyond even those of Delta Force or the Night
Stalkers. While the government categorically
 denies the accusation, there are persistent
rumors that the men have been genetically
enhanced to increase tactical advantage.
   FOXHOUND and the next-generation special
forces. They were without a doubt the most
skilled group of fighting men produced by the
U.S., and they had hijacked a nuclear arsenal.
Richard had more bad news.
   "There are also civilian hostages involved.
Two of them happen to be the DARPA chief,
 Donald Anderson, and Kenneth Baker, the
president of ArmsTech, Inc."
   The Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency is the research satellite of the U.S.
Defense Department, charged with planning
and leading the development of new weapons
technology; AT happens to be one of the top
three defense contractors in the country.
There is no such thing as a coincidence,
especially the kind that involves the head
 of these two organizations meeting in an
out-of-way nuclear weapons disposal plant.
I decided to be direct with Richard.
   "There was something going on in that
'disposal' facility, I take it? Let me guess --
a demonstration of a new weapon."
   "How should I know? Shadow Moses is also
a prime Northern Lights observation locale,
you know." Whatever Richard knew, he wasn't
telling. But his evasiveness only confirmed my
 suspicions. Whatever was going on, this was
no ordinary terrorist incident. With that in
mind, I moved onto another point.
   "What are their demands?"
   "They want a body. Not just any corpse
though -- they want FOXHOUND's founder,
Big Boss. Legendary soldier, best fighting man
of the twentieth century, the whole works."
   "His body? Why would they want something
like that so badly?"
    "No idea, but unless they have it within 24
hours, they'll launch a nuclear strike." Richard
glanced at the watch coolly. "So we have
about 19 hours."
   "You don't seem too worried."
   "The DOD is already working on the
situation."
   Just as I'd suspected. Richard always has a
plan in place and the machinery in motion
before opening up to someone else. All he
 asks from others is approval after the fact.
   "Shadow Moses is completely locked
down. We had to rule out deploying an entire
assault team. Instead, we're inserting a single
operative to free the hostages and prevent
the nuclear strike."
   "Impossible."
   "Possible -- for Solid Snake."
   Solid Snake...! The former FOXHOUND, a
legend among mercenaries for single-handedly
 bringing down the fortress cities of Outer
Heaven and Zanzibar Land. Yes, with Solid
Snake in the picture, there was a possibility of
success. But still...
  "USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear
submarine, is already in place with Snake
aboard."
   So the plan was already a go. I looked
Richard in the eye and held his gaze.
   "And what do I have to do with all this?"
    He grinned. "Snake may be a legend, but he
knows jack about nuclear weapons. Which is
why I'm asking you to be a part of mission
support. We'll have you set up in no time."
   Right on cue, two men started to move a
large piece of hardware, apparently communi-
cation equipment, into the study. Richard
nodded towards the bulky load.
   "I'd like you to be available to Snake for
consultation via satellite linkup."
    As soon as the equipment was in place, an
engineer type started to make adjustments. I
could see another group of men setting up a
satellite dish in the backyard. They were all in
civilian clothes, but not a few of them had the
build and the oddly-fitting jacket that marked
them as armed military personnel. Clearly,
refusal was not an option.
   But there was still something that puzzled
me. NEST has a small investigative team, SRT,
 on standby at all times for immediate
response. They were stationed at Nellis AFB in
Las Vegas, just over in Nevada. Clearly, they
were the natural choice for this assignment.
And if not the SRT, the DIA also had a number
of qualified nuclear weapon specialists.
Richard had started to direct his men on
where to set up the equipment, but I inter-
rupted him.
   "Why me?"
    He turned and answered without missing
a beat.
   "I need people I can trust. There's too much
at stake."
   It was a lie. The Richard Ames I knew
trusted no one. But it was clear that whatever
the reason, he did not intend to tell me.
   "It's a good thing I was in. What would you
have done if I weren't?"
   "You have to be somewhere. We would have
 located you."
   "I'm sure you would have."
   "So are you in?"
   I took a deep breath. "Of course."
   I don't enjoy being a pawn, especially
Richard's, but I had no intention of standing by
while nuclear terrorism was in progress. A
nuclear strike takes an untold number of lives,
all in a blink of an eye. Adults and infants,
women and men, it kills indiscriminately. If
 there was a chance that I could do something
to stay the hand on the nuclear button, I had
to do it.
   "So everything is set..." Richard slapped a
fist into the other palm.
  
   "Insertion was a success. Snake is on
Shadow Moses." Richard walked into the
study with the update he'd just received from
one of his men.
    The study was almost unrecognizable,
thanks in part to the racks of communication
hardware. Cables snaked across every square
inch of available space, and engineers and DIA
agents were coming and going in controlled
chaos. The place looked like what it now
was -- a temporary mission control room.
   Richard laid a hand on my shoulder.
   "You should be hearing from him soon.
You're clear on how to use the radio?" I
 nodded assent.
  
   While the engineers were busy setting up
the equipment, I had been briefed on its use
as well as the mission.
   Snake had been delivered to the general
area of Shadow Moses Island by USS
Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine.
He was then ejected from the submarine on a
swimmer delivery vehicle (SDV), which he
 abandoned once within the range of under-
water listening devices located near the
disposal plant. He would swim the rest of the
way, in the freezing cold Bering Sea water.
This last leg of the insertion struck me as
nothing short of suicidal until I learned that
Solid Snake was outfitted with a state-of-the-
art sneaking suit and had been injected with a
compound designed to prevent the onset of
hypothermia. In addition, while Snake would
 be the only field operative involved, he would
be in radio contact with a support team during
much of the mission.
   The members of this support team drew
from a wide range of backgrounds. The
mission control officer was Colonel Roy
Campbell, who would remain aboard the USS
Discovery. I knew him by reputation alone. He
was a former FOXHOUND commander, and
Solid Snake's CO during the quelling of the
 1999 Zanzibar Land uprising. He had retired
soon after, but from the looks of things, he
had been called out of retirement for this
mission.
   Dr. Naomi Hunter, a genetic engineering
expert on a temporary assignment from the
gentech giant ATGC, was also on the team.
She had apparently been leading the bio-
engineering program for FOXHOUND. Richard
matter-of-factly confirmed that both FOX-
 HOUND and the next-generation special forces
had been undergoing genetic manipulation to
enhance their combat capability. I have a diffi-
cult time grasping what we have come to --
modifying a person's essential genetic struc-
ture for the sake of creating a better soldier.
   Also aboard the Discovery was Mei Ling,
the inventor of the new radar and communi-
cation system deployed for this mission. She
was something of an engineering wunderkind,
 an MIT student who managed to turn the
current protocol of secure communication
completely on its head.
   The last of the support team was McDonnell
Miller, a former survival instructor for FOX-
HOUND. Unlike the rest of us, he had
volunteered his services upon receiving news
of the incident on Shadow Moses. Like myself,
he was working via satellite linkup from his
home in Alaska.
    The five of us were more than equipped to
support Snake from our respective areas of
expertise, but Snake was still the lone field
operative and the mission was a desperate
one. Despite that, Richard maintained that this
was the most workable plan produced by the
DOD situational analysis. In hindsight, perhaps
I should have suspected something then. The
signs of a conspiracy were there, cleverly
disguised as it was in a seemingly reckless
 mission plan. But we failed to see it, and both
Solid Snake and I were to regret our folly
bitterly.
  
   "It's time, Nastasha," Richard called out as
the call signal came on. The line was already
live as I nodded to him and took my position.
I could feel myself growing keener, more on
edge.
   "This is Nastasha Romanenko. Good to meet
 you, Solid Snake."
   "You the nuke expert that the Colonel was
talking about?"
   The voice that responded over the radio
was, above all things, calm. Here was a man
operating alone out of a deeply hostile terri-
tory, and I could sense nothing resembling
tension or impatience in his tone. Instead, it
was as level and unruffled as someone
answering a routine telephone call at their
 office desk. Impressed, I continued on.
   "Correct. If you have any questions about
nuclear technology, all you need to do is ask.
My department is military analysis, so I should
be able to provide support with weapons
information as well. I was called into this
mission as a Nuclear Emergency Search Team
(NEST) consultant, and I'd like to emphasize
that my cooperation was freely given. I have
no intention of allowing any nuclear strikes on
 my watch, let alone the rogue kind. Let me
work with you on this one."
   "...You get to the point fast, don't you?"
   "There's a missile that's about to fly. A
nuclear strike can never be someone else's
problem, and I'm not good at standing around
twiddling my thumbs... Not that I can do little
more than advise in this case."
   That fact was all too obvious. Snake was the
one who was putting his life on the line in
 Alaska, and I was safe and sound in California.
All I could do was talk over the radio.
   Snake's voice became less abrupt. "It may
not seem like much, but it's enough. No one's
asking you to come out here and fight. That's
my job... Anyway, Nastasha, I'll be counting
on your help."
   It was a strangely comforting voice, a voice
that inspired trust.
   "Same here." As I answered, I resolved to
 myself to do everything in my power to help
him complete this mission.
   "The nuclear weapons disposal plant on
Shadow Moses dates back to 2002. It was
built solely for the purpose of temporarily
storing nuclear warheads slated for
disposal..." I started to brief Snake on the
background of the disposal facility, running
through the points he needed to know.
  
    My first short exchange with Solid Snake
ever, I was beginning to understand why he
was called the man who "makes the
impossible, possible." The icy calm in the
face of insurmountable difficulty, the absolute
confidence, made it suddenly seem possible
that he would pull off this deadly mission.
He had the power to make me believe.
   I grew conscious of Richard's gaze.
   "What?"
    "Oh -- just that you have a kind of glow
about you when you're working. I like it."
   "A glow? Funny, you used to call it
workaholism in the past. You found it very
unappealing, I recall."
   "Time flies. People change their minds."
   "It's called nostalgia. You'll dislike it again
soon enough."
   "Perhaps..."
   Richard continued to look at me.
   Solid Snake certainly managed to live up to
his reputation. He adroitly wove his way
through the enemy's patrols and infiltrated
the nuclear weapons disposal plant, where he
made contact with Donald Anderson, the
DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency) director. Throughout the mission, we
had radio monitoring capability over Snake's
every movement thanks to his internal nano-
machines. It was through this access channel
 that I learned a shocking fact.
   Donald Anderson -- discovered in solitary
confinement by Solid Snake -- confirmed that
the terrorists had full nuclear capability, and
that Shadow Moses Island was the site of a
field exercise for Metal Gear.
  
   Metal Gear. The very mention of that name
sent me reeling. It was the ultimate weapon, a
nuclear-capable bipedal tank that could
 launch a rapid and accurate nuclear strike
from virtually any terrain, from mountains to
marshlands to the desert dunes. It could
bestow the dubious privilege of initiating a
missile strike from sites that were previously
out of the question as launch locations. For
that very reason, analysts had long predicted
that if brought to fruition, Metal Gear techno-
logy would rewrite the tactical map of the
world.
    There are speculations that this Unholy
Grail of weapons development was being
pursued late last century in the South African
fortress state of Outer Heaven, then in the
ultra-nationalist sovereignty of Zanzibar
Land in Central Asia. One source went so far
as to claim that a working prototype had been
produced, but the weapon never made it onto
the world military stage; instead, it was
destroyed by a special forces operative. The
 squad in question was FOXHOUND, and the
operative was a man codenamed Solid Snake.
I briefly wondered if it were some strange
quirk of fate that had brought Snake into this
latest incident, but I knew Richard too well.
Snake had to have been called in because of
his past battles. Whoever had planned this
mission had been thorough, and the more I
realized the fact, the less I liked it.
  
    A few years ago, I interviewed a high-
ranking DOD official and led the conversation
to the subject of Metal Gear. His response at
the time was that the U.S. had very little
interest in developing a weapon like Metal
Gear (not that he officially admitted that such
a thing as the Metal Gear existed - on a
purely a hypothetical level, IF such a techno-
logy were available.) With the collapse of the
Soviet Union, nuclear arsenals built to
 enforce the idea of mutually assured
destruction had lost its justification, and the
deterrent argument was losing ground. In the
current "multilateral world order rife with
smaller regional powers" as he put it,
development priority lay with cruise missiles
and smaller weapons with lower lethality that
could be carried by stealth bombers.
   He also went on to note that Metal Gear,
with its affinity for rough terrain, would be
 extremely difficult to discover and destroy.
Hence, it was the perfect nuclear strike
system for rogue states. He was deeply
concerned that if such non-democratic
sovereignties were to get a hold of Metal Gear
technology, the resulting upset in the balance
of military power would lead to a massive
rupture in world order. It was a fear that I
myself shared.
   An artifact of the Cold War. The devil's
 candy, created by nuclear proliferation. That
was what Metal Gear seemed to be. So why
was this weapon, a cutting-edge technology
that was politically long-obsolete, being
developed once again on American soil? It
was possible that the Defense Department
wanted to restore last century's nuclear
strategy to the national agenda. Or did this
new Metal Gear have something that set it far
apart from Metal Gear as I knew it?
    Anderson had more to say. Metal Gear's
launch key consisted of two separate pass-
words, one held by Anderson himself and the
other by Kenneth Baker, the president of
ArmsTech. Anderson's own password was
already in the terrorists' hands, and he feared
that the same was true for Baker's. A
renegade FOXHOUND psychic, codenamed
Psycho Mantis, had literally read Anderson's
mind and obtained the key.
    The bottom line was that the terrorists
could activate Metal Gear and launch the
missile whenever they pleased. The worst-
case scenario had come true.
   However, Anderson revealed that there was
still a way to prevent the nuclear strike.
Kenneth Baker alone had the emergency
override key that could be used to reenter the
launch code and cancel the missile launch.
Even if the terrorists had already completed
 preparations for a strike, the override would
reverse the process.
   His only hope now riding on obtaining the
override key, Snake attempted to leave the
cell area with Anderson in tow. We heard the
terrible cries over the radio at the same time
Snake did. Anderson had suddenly started to
clutch at his own chest in agony, and before
we could even recover from our initial shock,
he was dead. Dr. Naomi Hunter, monitoring
 the situation from onboard USS Discovery,
tentatively diagnosed the cause of death as a
heart attack.
   Snake walked out of the cell alone in search
of Kenneth Baker, leaving behind what had
until recently been Donald Anderson, chief of
DARPA.
  
   "All right, what exactly is going on here?"
I confronted Richard as soon as I confirmed
 Snake's safe departure.
   "You know the situation. There was a Metal
Gear field exercise being conducted on
Shadow Moses. FOXHOUND and the next-
generation commandos were in charge of the
exercise, and now they're threatening to use
the Metal Gear to launch a nuclear strike."
   "Apparently, I didn't know about that
particular situation."
   "If you say so."
    I glared at Richard, but he didn't turn a
hair. He knew as well as I did that I could
not abandon the mission. Even if I did
refuse to cooperate further, there was an
entire group of DOD personnel around me
that would not permit that to happen. I
briefly closed my eyes and brought the
recent events into focus again.
   "What happened to Anderson? Why is he
dead?"
    This time, I could see a trace of a reaction
in Richard's eyes.
   "It's hard to say from our end. Naomi thinks
it was a heart attack but -- I'll have his
medical records pulled just in case." He
turned and left the study, presumably to give
orders to that effect.
   The sounds and the voice being broadcast
from the radio told me that Snake was moving
deeper into the complex in search of Kenneth
 Baker.
  
   Snake found the ArmsTech president in one
of the underground levels. Kenneth Baker was
bound to a steel girder along with multiple
packets of C4 explosives. Before Snake could
free Baker, he came face to face with the
originator of this trap: a FOXHOUND operative
called Revolver Ocelot. It seemed that he had
anticipated Baker's rescue attempt upon
 receiving news of Snake's arrival.
   According to Naomi Hunter, the former
director of FOXHOUND's genetic manipulation
program, Revolver Ocelot is a former
Spetznaz. He moved into OMON (Otryad
Militsii Osobogo Naznacheniya, the Interior
Ministry riot squad, AKA Black Berets) and
the SVR (the Russian Foreign Intelligence
Service) -- a successor to the KGB's First
Chief Directorate -- after the collapse of the
 Soviet Union, but was unable to adapt to the
new regime and dropped out. He cut a swath
through the world's hot spots as a mercenary
before being recruited by FOXHOUND. As his
codename indicates, Ocelot is a master
marksman with a marked preference for
revolvers.
   We could hear the gun battle between
Snake and Ocelot over the radio. Ocelot was
using an antique Single Action Army revolver
 against Snake's SOCOM pistol. The first Single
Action Army Revolver was manufactured in
1873. A small number of them are still in
production today, but strictly for collectors
and antique weapon fanciers; using this out-
moded weapon for live combat is unheard of.
   But Ocelot seemed to invest the vintage gun
with diabolical powers. He would purposefully
fire against walls and the floor, weaving a
tight web of ricocheting bullets around Snake,
 gradually hemming him in. All we could do
was silently monitor the battle. However,
Snake was slowly but surely gaining the upper
hand by dodging the ricochets and exploiting
the revolver's lengthy reload window. Finally,
just as Snake was about to deliver the
decisive blow, an explosion rang out.
  "My hand!" Ocelot's scream came a second
later, followed by more explosions.
   "What the hell is going on!?" Richard
 cried.
   The controller in charge of the data sent in
by Snake's nanomachines started a running
commentary.
   "We don't know yet. I'm seeing a life sign
other than those of Snake, Ocelot or Baker."
   Explosions continued to boom out over the
radio.
   "The unidentified fourth subject is knocking
down girders. No sign of firearm use! What-
 ever it is, it's moving fast!" The controller's
voice rose with excitement. "The speed is well
above anything a human being should be able
to handle."
   The situation was chaotic. I could make out
Ocelot's voice through the roar of collapsing
metal.
   "Stealth camouflage! Someone left a job
only half done... As for you -- we'll continue
this later!"
    It seemed Ocelot had left the area.
   The explosions went on one after the other
as girders crashed to the ground. In the midst
of the collapse, Snake confronted what we
could only guess was the fourth life sign.
   "Who are you?"
   "I'm like you...I have no name."
   It was not human, but an artificial machine
voice that answered. In spite of the metallic
tones, there seemed to be in that voice an
 unspeakable pain. Baker's labored groans
could be heard over the conversation.
   "You have a reinforced skeleton -- !?"
   Suddenly, the possessor of the metal voice
let loose an animal howl. The shattering
scream set the communication speakers
screeching, and I instinctively covered my
ears to shut out the maddened sound.
   The cry went on and on, then cut out as
abruptly as it had begun. In the ringing
 silence, the controller's voice floated out, thin
and hollow.
   " -- the fourth subject has disappeared."
   The words brought us out of a state of
shock.
   "Can we track him?"
   "Negative. He's vanished, no traces."
   "Collect as much data as you can."
   "I have the full results on information
relayed by the nanomachines. There's an
 electromagnetic pattern that resembles a
stealth camouflage signature."
   "Stealth camo and reinforced exoskeleton..."
Richard muttered, deep in thought.
   "Not everything is happening according to
plan, I take it?" I inquired with some
sarcasm.
   "It's within acceptable deviation. The
mission will go on as planned."
   For a split second, his eyes betrayed his
 disquiet; then he quickly recovered his
characteristic arrogance. "You just concen-
trate on your job."
   Snake had called the fourth life sign the
"Ninja." I could not help but wonder about the
identity of the name's bearer, and what it was
that accounted for the superhuman abilities he
had just demonstrated.
   Far away on Shadow Moses Island, Snake
was attempting to raise the shaken Kenneth
 Baker back on his feet. We could hear Snake
asking him about the nuclear launch code,
knowing the answer even as he spoke. Baker
painfully acknowledged that he had volun-
teered the information. His arm hung broken
and useless by his side, presumably Ocelot's
handiwork.
   According to Naomi Hunter's intelligence,
Revolver Ocelot had served as a Special
Interrogations Consultant in the Soviet gulags
 during his days with the Spetznaz. In other
words, he was an expert in torture. There was
no way that the weapons technology
executive, an untrained civilian, could with-
stand the techniques of coercion developed in
the cells of Lubianka. We now had con-
firmation that the terrorists possessed both
launch keys. The situation was more desperate
than ever.
   Baker's response to Snake's queries about
 the emergency override key was almost as
grim. He had entrusted a soldier, a woman who
had refused to join the mutiny, with it while
they had been sharing the cell. I caught
Snake's sudden murmur.
   "The Colonel's niece?"
    The "Colonel" was presumably Campbell,
and Snake seemed to know something I
certainly did not. I stole a glance at Richard,
but his expression was as closed as ever. He
 no doubt had known from the outset about the
presence of Campbell's niece on Shadow.
   Snake was pressing Baker, asking him
whether there was a way to stop the launch
without the override code. The executive gave
him a name: Dr. Hal Emmerich. If it were
indeed the case that the launch codes were in
hostile hands and the strike sequence had
been started, it stood to reason that the only
person who may know of a way to cancel the
 launch was the chief of Metal Gear's develop-
ment program.
As Snake promised to search out Emmerich,
Baker handed him a single optical disc. It
contained, he said, all the data from the
training exercise.
   What exercise data? He had to be referring
to the Metal Gear exercise. I saw Richard
raise his eyebrow sharply.
   Baker, oblivious to the frenzy of speculation
 he had remotely set off, continued.
   "There's no need to feign ignorance. You
were sent to retrieve this, and we both know
it."
   I was now even more puzzled than ever. If
Metal Gear was being developed on Shadow
Moses, surely the research data was backed
up somewhere outside of the ArmsTech lab.
Not only that, but why would the president of
the company have been carrying the data
 himself? I was apparently not alone in my
disconcertment. Snake took the disc, obviously
uncertain. It was clear that he, like myself,
had not been briefed on the existence of the
disc.
   The disc safely out of his hands, Baker's
tones became pleading.
   "You have to stop them. If the truth got out,
AT would be finished -- I would be
finished -- "
    "But Metal Gear technology is already a
known factor."
   "The core technology is, but that's not -- "
Baker trailed off, suddenly pale with pain. "Oh
God, what did you do to me...?"
   We could hear his labored coughing as he
gasped out.
   "It can't be... That thing. Damn Pentagon
bureaucrats... I get it now... You son of a -- "
   He tried to lunge at Snake, but reeled back
 in fresh wave of pain. Still clutching his chest,
he fell down, dead. It was too similar to the
last moments of Donald Anderson's life, and
the fact had not escaped Snake. He was
immediately on the radio with Campbell.
   "Colonel, you'd better be listening real well.
This one dropped dead too."
   Snake demanded an explanation, but neither
Campbell nor Dr. Hunter could provide an
adequate one.  Snake was clearly dissatisfied,
 but Campbell directed Snake to cooperate
with his niece, Meryl. The only way left to
prevent a nuclear strike was to obtain the
emergency override key, and the key was in
Meryl's hands. Snake walked away from
Baker's body in search of the elusive
commando.
  
   Kenneth Baker had been colluding with
Donald Anderson, the DARPA chief, to secretly
 develop a new Metal Gear on the govern-
ment's so-called Black Budget. My later
investigations revealed that regular payments
in the tens of thousands of dollars had been
made to the corporate account of a firm for
which Anderson's wife ostensibly acted as a
consultant. The ArmsTech payoff into this
dummy company had started several years
ago. The total amount is difficult to estimate,
but there is little doubt that Anderson had
 been bribed to the tune of an astronomical
sum.
   Even the government Black Budget had
limits, however. I recalled a rumor from some
years before the Anderson payoff started. The
CNO (Chief of Naval Operations) at the time
had a classified pet project, and the scuttle-
butt was that it involved the construction of a
completely new type of battleship. Just what
kind of a ship was never revealed, since the
 entire program fell apart after the CNO
suddenly passed away. The unexpected death
coincided with ArmsTech's launch of the Metal
Gear development program. The Black Budget
earmarked for the CNO's little project must
have been freed up by his death; the question
was whether it had been freed up for
allocation to the new Metal Gear development.
The manner of the CNO's death was officially
ruled a suicide, but I could not help recall the
 theories to the contrary that had made its
rounds back then.
   Whatever the background, Anderson and
Baker's deaths could not be a coincidence.
Anderson's dying words included a reference
to the Pentagon, and I was certain that there
was more to it than met the eye.
   "So now Baker is dead as well. Are you
looking into his medical records too?" I asked
Richard.
    "We'll do that. Just as a precaution." He did
not seem particularly disturbed. "It may have
been for the best, anyway. Having to babysit a
senior citizen with a broken arm sure wasn't
going to help Snake with his mission."
   "You haven't changed a bit, I see."
   "What?"
   "That bad-boy act of yours. You only talk
like an insensitive jerk to divert attention from
something. I wonder what you're hiding?"
    Richard turned away.
   "Nothing. There's nothing to hide."
  
   Having successfully made radio contact with
Meryl, Colonel Campbell's niece, Solid Snake
agreed to put off a rendezvous with her in
favor of rescuing Dr. Hal Emmerich, the chief
of Metal Gear development. He reached the
lab just as the Ninja was attempting to attack
Dr. Emmerich, and the two fighters
 immediately squared off.
   Snake and the Ninja launched into a silent
hand-to-hand combat, a balletic exchange of
blows that seemed almost to serve as a
private dialog. The fighting seemed intermi-
nable to us as we followed over the radio, but
just as in the last encounter, the Ninja
suddenly let loose an inhuman howl, and
vanished in the maelstrom of its ragged echo.
   It was our second encounter with the Ninja,
 and we were as in the dark about him as
ever. But Snake had recognized something
during their battle, and he raised Campbell on
the radio.
   "It's Gray Fox -- the Ninja is Gray Fox. I'm
100% sure."
   "That's impossible. You took him -- in
Zanzibar Land -- " We could hear the
perturbation in Campbell's voice.
   Naomi Hunter suddenly cut in.
     "Yes, he was supposed to have been killed.
But he wasn't."
   Dr. Hunter revealed that her predecessor at
the helm of FOXHOUND's genetic treatment
program, one Dr. Clark, had been conducting
human testing. Gray Fox, the alpha soldier of
FOXHOUND and the only member allowed the
FOX designation, was the subject. After he
had been shipped back from Zanzibar Land
mortally wounded, his superior physical
 abilities and combat skills had marked him as
an ideal test subject for genetic manipulation
and skeletal reinforcement experiments. He
was listed as killed in action, but kept alive in
a lab.
   I could not help but note with some surprise
the emotional tone in which the normally
collected geneticist described these events.
   When Snake asked why she had not volun-
teered the truth of the Ninja's identity earlier,
 Naomi had only a terse reply.
   "It was classified information."
   According to records she had seen, the
subject -- Gray Fox -- had died in an acci-
dental lab explosion two years ago. I turned to
Richard.
   "Is this true?"
   "What's true?"
   "The accident in the lab."
   "It's true. The cause of the explosion was
 never determined. Dr. Clark died in the
accident, and the only remains they could find
of Gray Fox were fragments of the reinforced
skeleton."
   "So Naomi wasn't the only one who knew
about this and didn't say anything."
   "It was classified information." Richard
mimicked.
  
   Snake secured Dr. Emmerich after the
 Ninja's departure. Amazingly enough, the
engineer had believed Metal Gear to be a
portable tactical missile defense system,
rather than a nuclear-capable tank. It was a
peculiar irony that the chief developer himself
had been unaware that the project was one of
offense, rather than defense.
   On discovering that he had been deceived,
Dr. Emmerich volunteered his expertise to
Snake. He mentioned his grandfather's
 involvement in the Manhattan Project, and the
ethical turmoil the man had carried with him
to the end of his days as a result. Ironically
enough, the older scientist's son, Hal
Emmerich's father, was born the day the
atomic bomb had found Hiroshima.
   "Three generations -- sometimes I wonder
if nuclear warfare is our personal albatross,
an inherited pathology."
   We could hear the pain and the regret in
 Dr. Emmerich's voice. He seemed genuinely
upset that the technology he had developed
purely for the furthering of knowledge and
betterment of mankind had been exploited for
weapons development.
   You may call me harsh, but I felt little
sympathy for him. Technological and scientific
innovation need not have direct bearing on
nuclear or virological research to contribute to
the making of weapons of mass destruction.
 After all, the Ninja was born of genetic engi-
neering and cybernetic research, which could
easily have healed a civilian rather than
improved upon a soldier. A scientist cannot
plead naivete to the practical products of their
own research. The consequences must be
anticipated, and the ethical burden of a newly
developed technology must ultimately rest
with the individual researcher. I wondered if
Dr. Emmerich would ever realize that onus.
    Freed from the laboratory where he was
being held, Emmerich cloaked himself with a
stealth camouflage of his own making and
promised to keep out of sight. With the stealth
camo, he could easily evade the terrorists'
surveillance.
   His rescued charge safe, Snake departed
for a rendezvous with Meryl.
  
   Snake's objective was to meet with Meryl
 and re-enter the launch code using her over-
ride key, outwitting the FOXHOUND psychic
Psycho Mantis all the while. To this end, he
headed towards the hangar where Metal Gear
was being stored.
   The best laid plans... Meryl was ambushed
on the way by the FOXHOUND sharpshooter
Sniper Wolf. Snake, attempting to rescue the
wounded commando, was himself captured.
   He was taken to the terrorist command post
 still unconscious, stripped of all his gear.
However, his cochlear-implant radio passed
unnoticed, and we could hear the terrorists'
conferring about the incapacitated operative.
We gathered from their talk that the prepara-
tions for the nuclear launch were complete.
Richard was unusually intent on identifying the
individual terrorists in the room.  From the
voices involved in the conversation, we
confirmed the presence of Sniper Wolf,
 Revolver Ocelot, and the leader of this
uprising himself, Liquid Snake.
  
   What little I knew of Liquid Snake was
troubling, and it came entirely from a slim file
folder Richard showed me just prior to
mission commencement. The man with the
same designation as Solid Snake was
recruited into FOXHOUND after Solid Snake's
departure from the unit. His fighting skills
 were formidable, and he quickly rose to
leadership position in FOXHOUND's field
operation team. His real name, place of origin
and other information remained classified.
Only a single photograph accompanied the
documents, and I had not been able to contain
my astonishment at the sight of it.
   "It's not a mistake. That IS Liquid Snake,"
said Richard, echoing my thoughts.
  "But -- how?"
   The face in the photo was the spitting
image of Solid Snake.
   "I wouldn't know. But once the two Snakes
run into each other, something may come out."
His words were noncommittal, but Richard's
tone spoke volumes.
  
   And now, the two Snakes -- Solid and
Liquid -- had indeed come face to face. But
 Liquid had little to say.
   "So long, brother." He called out before
turning and walking away. The voice was full
of hatred, but there was also something in it
that seemed to confirm and gleefully
anticipate another meeting. Why this was so
was as mysterious to me as the reason he
called Solid Snake "brother." I would not find
out the truth until a little later.
   What awaited Snake after his brief
 encounter with Liquid was Ocelot's KGB-
tested "interrogation" techniques. Ocelot
apparently had no interest in extracting
information, but rather appeared to be
enjoying the acts of torture for their own
sake. Snake's ragged gasps echoed from the
radio in the silence of the control room.
The heart rate and other physiological data
transmitted by his nanomachines graphically
demonstrated the extent of his suffering.
 All we could do was listen and wait.
   After Ocelot was done, the battered Snake
was taken to a cell. Campbell soon established
radio contact with him, but Snake had some
hard questions for his former CO instead.
He had realized that Metal Gear was a nuclear
delivery system, and for once, Campbell was
at a loss for an answer.
   "So you did know about this all along..."
Snake rasped out bitterly.
    Campbell continued to be silent. It was all
the confirmation Snake needed.
   "You should have told me."
   "...I'm sorry."
   "Pawns don't need to know, is that it?
You've changed." Campbell had no rebuttal to
Snake's barbs.
  
   According to Campbell, even the President
had apparently been unaware of the existence
 of Project Rex until the day before. To make
matters more complicated, he was due to
meet with the Russian president the following
day for the formal signing of START3.
   The treaty stipulated further reduction of
the nuclear arsenal, picking up where START2
left off. The agreement would reduce the
number of Russian and American tactical
ballistic missiles to somewhere between two
thousand and twenty-five hundred, and the
 signing was a historic event that had been
made possible by long and arduous process.
If the fact that a new nuclear weapon was
being developed by the United States were
made public, there was a significant chance
that the signing would never take place.
Worse still, the loss of confidence in
America's commitment to non-proliferation
could create international turmoil.
   The government clearly had every
 reason to keep the situation under wraps,
and there were ample indications that the
terrorists had counted on the fact. The
timing of this takeover as well as the
twenty-four hour deadline said as much.
   Campbell continued to plead his case with
Snake.
   "Snake, you've got to stop them."
   "Sing it to someone else."
   "You're the only hope we have."
    "All right then, tell me what this new war-
head is about."
   "I told you, I don't know."
   "I don't believe you."
   "..."
   "If the situation is so desperate, why don't
you accept their demands? Give them Big
Boss' body. It's just a corpse."
   "That's not an option..." Campbell was
floundering under the barrage of Snake's
 questions.
   "Is there a reason you can't comply with
that demand? A reason you haven't told
me?"
  Naomi broke in as Campbell fell silent.
   "The President's passed a number of
policies that severely restrict genetic engi-
neering on humans. He can't afford to have
the public know about the military's use of
genetically-enhanced soldiers."
    "Is that really all there is to it?"
   Campbell did not reply.
  
   I received a call from Snake soon after.
Captive, alone in enemy territory, unable to
trust his own mission controllers to tell him
the truth -- there was little I could say to
help a man in Snake's situation.   "Capture
does not mean defeat. Stay vigilant for a
chance to escape, and don't give up."
    I had doubts about the effectiveness of
these words coming from someone with no
combat experience, but it was the best I could
offer. We had no choice but to trust in Snake's
abilities.
   As I closed the radio channel, I caught
Richard studying me.
   "Yes?"
   "You're very -- passionate about this job."
   "Do you object? It's the job you forced on
 me, after all."
   "No, but I admit that I'm a little jealous."
   "Ah, the jealousy act. Yes, I know that one
too."
   Richard averted his eyes.
   "I wouldn't call it an act. If -- no, forget it."
He lit a cigarette. Chesterfield. The same
brand as Humphrey Bogart.
   "You still smoke the same brand."
   "You know me. Once I decide I like
 something I can't kick the habit. Cigarettes,
line of work, woman -- everything." He didn't
look at me as he replied.
  
   The torture was conducted again and again,
solely for the purpose of breaking Snake. He
held out each time, but his strength was
steadily ebbing, and the voice we heard over
the radio was growing more labored.
   "Naomi, talk to me. I need something to
 distract me."
   "What do you want me to talk about?"
   "Anything."
   "I'm not good at finding things to talk
about..."
   "Tell me about yourself."
   "About me...? That's not so easy."
   "You got any family?"
   "...It's not a very happy story."
   "I don't have any family -- I guess there
 was one person, someone who called himself
my father."
   "Where is he?"
   "Dead. I killed him."
   I was even more taken aback by what
Campbell volunteered next.
   "You're talking about Big Boss."
   "What? Big Boss was your -- ?"
   "No reason you should have known."
Campbell elaborated to Naomi. "It was six
 years ago, in Zanzibar Land. Snake and I are
the only ones who know about it now."
   "Oh God -- was Big Boss really your
father?" Naomi still seemed disbelieving.
   "That's what he said, and that's all I know."
   "You knew and you still killed him...?"
   "Yeah."
   "Why?" Naomi asked fiercely. There was a
pause before Snake answered.
   "Because that's what he wanted. And what I
 wanted."
   "But it's still -- patricide."
   "Yeah. I know. My personal nightmare
too..." Snake's voice was the faintest we had
heard.
   "Is that why you left FOXHOUND?"
   "Maybe. I can't deny that it felt good to lose
myself. It's easy to do that in Alaska..."
   After a moment of silence, Naomi confided
in a low voice.
    "I don't -- really have a family of my own
either. I have a brother who put me through
college, that's it. He's not a biological
brother -- and a lot older than me."
   "Where's he now?"
   Naomi's reply was deeply pained.
   "He's gone..."
   There was deep sorrow in her voice, and, I
thought, something more.
  
    "A stepbrother who put her through
school -- I wasn't told about that." Richard
muttered. There was suspicion in his voice,
and, puzzlingly enough, a hint of anger.
   I opened the personnel profile on Naomi.
   Naomi Hunter. Born New York City, 198X.
Ph.D. in genetics. Recruited by the industry
giant ATGC soon after completing doctoral
program, moved to California's so-called
Biotech Bay area. Led several genetic therapy
 programs, until recruited by FOXHOUND to fill
the post of chief geneticist as a result of her
accomplishments in this field. Parents died in
car collision when Naomi was two years old.
One brother, ten years her senior, a U.S.
Marine. Killed in training-related accident
when Naomi was seventeen.
   Richard thought for a minute, then scribbled
something in his notebook. Summoning one of
his men, he tore the page out and handed it
 to him.
   "Wire this message to the skipper of USS
Discovery. And make sure Campbell doesn't
know about it."
   "What are you plotting now?" I knew even
as I asked that Richard would not respond.
  
   The torture was repeated time and again,
but Snake managed to take advantage of the
guard's waning vigilance and escape. The
 location and the fate of his fellow hostage,
Meryl, eluded us.
   Evading the intense manhunt that followed,
Snake still refused to stray from the course
that led to the Metal Gear hangar. What drove
him? Guilt for Meryl's capture and an urge to
avenge her? A sense of duty to the mission?
The will to stop the carnage of a nuclear
strike? None of them seemed to apply to
Snake. He was an enigma. We could do little
 but watch over him as he ran, wounded and
exhausted.
   After successfully taking on Sniper Wolf as
she reemerged for an ambush, Snake closed
in on the Metal Gear hangar only to discover
Vulcan Raven blocking his way. The giant
FOXHOUND operative, armed with a fighter-
plane Gattling gun, was a daunting enemy.
In the end, however, Snake eventually
prevailed.
    The stricken Raven, leaning against the
wall, started to speak as Snake approached
him.
   "There are some breeds of snakes that
nature never intended... I think you and the
Boss belong to one of those. Go and settle it
with him... I'll be watching how it ends."
   The dying Raven then dropped the
bombshell.
   "I'll give you one clue. The man who died in
 front of you wasn't the DARPA chief. It was
Decoy Octopus -- one of us FOXHOUNDs. He
was a master of disguise... I guess the Grim
Reaper was the only one he couldn't fool."
   "Is he dead?"
   Raven did not answer Snake's sharp query.
Snake tried another tack.
   "Why go to all that trouble and impersonate
Anderson?"
   Raven smiled faintly.
    "That's all the clue you're going to get.
Everything else, you'll have to figure out
yourself."
   A few minutes later, Vulcan Raven died.
  
   Richard was chagrined.
   "So that's how it was. They had us
completely fooled."
   "Why would Octopus impersonate
Anderson?" I asked.
    "I don't know. Maybe to get information out
of Snake."
   "That would mean that they knew Snake was
coming."
   Richard stubbed out the cigarette without
answering. His face was expressionless, but I
knew exactly what he was thinking.
   We had a leak.
   While Richard and I were talking, a call was
made to Snake.
    "Snake, it's me -- "
   "Master?" Snake answered. It was
apparently Master Miller.
   "I need to talk to you about Naomi Hunter.
Turn the monitoring off -- "
   Miller had barely finished his instruction
before Campbell cut in.
   "What about Dr. Hunter?"
   Miller made an exasperated sound. It was
clear that he had not intended Campbell to
 hear what he had to say.
   "Colonel, is Naomi there?" Snake asked.
   "No, she's trying to catch up on her sleep."
   "Okay..."
   Campbell turned his attention back to
Miller.
   "What were you saying about Dr. Hunter?"
   "All right. Maybe it's better that the Colonel
hears about this now." Miller said resignedly.
   "Go on," urged Snake.
    "That's not the real Naomi Hunter you're
working with, Colonel."
   "What!?" Campbell raised his voice,
astounded. Miller continued coolly.
   "Naomi Hunter does exist. Or rather, she
did. She went missing in the Middle East some
time ago. This impostor must have gotten a
hold of her identify somehow."
   There were a number of ways to obtain
someone's Social Security Number and commit
 an identity theft, certainly. But Dr. Naomi
Hunter an impostor -- !
   "Who is she really then!" Campbell was
agitated, but Miller remained cool as ice.
   "Probably a spy."
   "A spy!"
   "Yes -- sent in to ensure this mission's
failure."
   "Are you saying she's one of the terrorists?"
Campbell's tone was disbelieving, but Snake
 backed up his former instructor.
   "I don't want to believe it either, Colonel.
But it's true that she's a FOXHOUND
personnel..."
   "...So it would not be surprising if she took
part in this insurrection." Campbell finished
dully, as though Snake's words had crystal-
lized his own doubts.
   "Or she could be working for another
organization." Miller suggested.
    "Another -- ? No, that's not possible..."
As Campbell trailed off, Miller spoke up, his
tone ruthless.
   "Take her into custody, Colonel."
   "What!"
   "It's clear that Naomi Hunter is working
against us. Interrogate her and find out what
her objective is."
   "If she really is their spy, we're in serious
trouble..." Campbell murmured.
    Miller pounced on the gravity of the
Colonel's tone.
   "What are you talking about?"
   "N-Nothing in particular..." Campbell tried
to recover himself.
   "Campbell, did you give her access to some
other line of classified information?"
   "..." Campbell remained silent, but Miller
pressed on.
   "Does it have anything to do with the way
 the DARPA chief or the ArmsTech president
died?"
   "Look, I don't know what you're talking
about."
   Clearly, Campbell knew something. It was
equally obvious that he had no intention of
revealing what he was privy to. Perhaps
sensing that fact, Miller dropped the pursuit
abruptly.
   "In any case, it's too dangerous to retain
 her in the mission."
   "H-hold on a minute. She is an integral part
of this mission. In fact, we can't afford to
proceed without her." Campbell was being too
insistent about Dr. Hunter's value. I had to
wonder if it was indeed the case that he had
trusted her with highly classified information.
   Snake was also suspicious.
   "More secrets, Colonel?"
   "Give me time. I'll have her background and
 movements re-checked..." That was all
Campbell could say.
   "Hurry. Find out what she wants as quickly
as possible." Miller was unrelenting.
   "...Of course." Campbell agreed reluctantly.
"Snake, just give me some time."
   "Time is something I wasn't given a lot of."
Snake growled bitterly.
  
   "What's the deal?" I said to Richard.
   "Is Miller right about Naomi?"
  "I don't know, to be honest. It's obvious
there were things in Dr. Hunter's past that
I didn't know about. I'm having them go over
her background again."
   Richard was visibly upset, a rare
occurrence. I suddenly wondered there had
been something between him and Naomi.
   Richard lit a cigarette and continued in a
more composed tone.
    "But if what Miller said about Naomi is true,
it raises questions about him in turn."
   "Why do you say that?"
   "He's supposed to be in his cabin in
Alaska."
   "So I hear."
   "How did he manage to find out so much
about Naomi -- by himself and from the
middle of nowhere -- when the DIA investi-
gators couldn't?" Richard called one of his
 men over and ordered them to look into
Miller's activities.
   "You check up on even one of your own?"
I asked as the agent hurried away.
   "How do you know he's one of our own?"
Richard shot back, blowing a stream of
smoke.
   "Should I assume you don't trust me
either?"
   "You're the one who doesn't trust me. Never
 have." He said quietly, and ground his
cigarette into the ashtray.
  
  
   Snake had finally reached the Metal Gear
hangar, and stood in the shadow of the
machine's fifty-foot-tall bulk. But considering
Metal Gear's state-of-the-art composite
armor and Snake's limited arsenal, it was
improbable that he could destroy the tank
 while evading enemy patrols. The most
practical avenue of attack was to re-enter
the launch code using the override key and
thereby cancel the scheduled nuclear strike.
   As Snake methodically searched for the
code entry interface, Emmerich radioed in. He
had been making himself useful by breaking
into Baker's protected files. From these, he
had pieced together the true nature of Metal
Gear and its prototype warheads.
    According to Emmerich, the weapon used a
built-in rail gun to fire the ballistic missiles
clear of the atmosphere. The missile would
then automatically realign itself, and reenter
the atmosphere on its designated trajectory
toward the target.
   I understood exactly what all this meant,
and the knowledge left me cold.
   Normally, ballistic missiles go through four
phases from launch to impact. The first is the
 boost phase, which consists of the time
between the missile's launch and the point at
which it leaves the atmosphere and exhausts
its supply of rocket propellant. Following the
burnout, the rocket enters the post-boost
phase, which concludes with the separation
of the reentry vehicle that contains the war-
head. The third stage is the midcourse phase,
in which the reentry vehicle separates and
achieves a controlled descent back into the
 atmosphere. The warhead's reentry into the
atmosphere and its arrival at the target mark
the fourth and terminal phase.
   Current missile defense systems detect
incoming ballistic missiles by scanning for the
rocket burn that takes place during the
missile's boost stage. However, Metal Gear's
missile technology employs a rail gun rather
than conventional rocket propulsion to achieve
boost-stage acceleration. As a result, there is
 nothing for existing missile defense systems to
detect.
    The rail gun's effectiveness is nothing short
of amazing, with a range of over 3000 miles,
rivaling that of mid-range ballistic missiles. It
reliably homes in within 170 feet of the target
50% of the time, placing it in the same class
as high-end ICBM's. The ability of a Metal
Gear to conquer virtually all terrain means
that the rail gun can launch a stealthy
 nuclear strike from almost any spot on the
globe.
    This invisible attack would make it
impossible for anyone to pinpoint the origin of
a given missile even in the event of a strike.
Without a clear aggressor to retaliate against,
the concept of mutual assured destruction falls
apart. Without the fear of MAD, the existing
rules of nuclear non-engagement would no
longer apply, and the world would fall into
 chaos.
  
   Snake had a few things to say to Campbell
after learning the truth. He knew as well as
anyone that if the fact that the U.S. had been
developing a new breed of nuclear weapons
were made public on the eve of START3,
negotiations would break down and U.S. would
suffer a devastating embarrassment.
   "Did you know about this, Colonel?"
    "I really am sorry, Snake."
   "You really have changed..."
   "I won't offer any excuses..."
   "Snake, you've got to hear this,"
Dr. Emmerich broke in, ignoring Campbell.
"The new missiles were complete in simulation
only. That's why they had to perform this
exercise -- to get field data that would back
up their simulation results."
   "How did the exercise go?" Snake asked.
 Emmerich's reply was discouraging. "It seems
to have gone better than they expected, but I
can't find any of the data. There isn't a trace
of the thing on the entire network. You'd think
it's backed up somewhere, but zilch."
   "It's on the optical disc that Baker gave
me."
   "You mean you still have it!" Campbell
exclaimed hopefully.
   "No, Ocelot took it." Snake replied bitterly.
    It must have happened when he was a
hostage. Did this mean that Ocelot had known
of the existence of the exercise data before-
hand?
   "This doesn't look good..." Campbell
murmured, deep in thought.
  
   I glared at Richard.
   "You knew about this too, didn't you?"
   "Knew what?"
    "The small matter of this new nuclear
weapon technology."
   Richard shrugged.
   "If I'd told you, would you have
cooperated? You probably would have tried
to leak it to some media contact. And that
would have forced our hand..." He left it at
that. Would he have had me killed "in the
interest of national security"? Something
like that, I supposed. In the world Richard
 inhabited, preserving secrets always merited
higher consideration than human life.
   But I was a privy to that secret now. What
would happen once the mission ended? I felt
a chill go down my spine as I considered the
possibilities.
   Richard was quietly puffing on his cigarette.
He had too many men with him, working for
him every moment. There was no way I could
simply walk out of this house.
    But I had something up my sleeve as well,
and I was not about to let myself be exploited
without a fight. I looked over at my PC. The
screen saver had kicked in, and geometric
patterns flitted across the dark monitor.
   I slipped my PDA into my pocket and
headed for the bathroom to send some mail.
  
   One of Richard's men trotted over with a
slip of paper. Richard studied it, and after
 some consideration, raised Campbell on the
radio.
   "What can I do for you, Major Ames?"
Campbell's tone was openly hostile, but
Richard paid no heed.
   "Colonel Campbell, I'd like you to start
interrogating Naomi Hunter."
   "Interrogate her? What are you talking
about?" Campbell said sharply.
   "There are suspicious points about
 Dr. Hunter's background, as you've heard. I've
therefore sent one of my men over there to
talk to her, but she seems reluctant to
cooperate." Richard lit another cigarette.
   "But she's taking a nap." The Colonel
insisted.
   "Actually, she's not."
   "What?"
   "In reality, she's been taken into my agent's
custody."
    "How -- dare you!" Campbell barked
angrily. Richard was unfazed.
  "If, as Master Miller charged, Naomi Hunter
has falsified her identity and is in communi-
cation with the enemy, there are serious
repercussions. I trust you understand."
   "FOXDIE..." Campbell groaned.
   FOXDIE? This was something new. This
mission was like an onion, with layer after
layer of secret intent.
    "She won't talk to my agent. She may talk to
you. Find out from Naomi who she is and what
her objective is."
   "Absolutely not. I don't take orders from
you. And I'm having Dr. Hunter freed
immediately."
   "What makes you think you can do such a
thing?" replied Richard, exhaling a cloud of
smoke.
    There was a long silence.
    "Who exactly the hell are you?" I could hear
the barely suppressed rage in Campbell's
voice. "The DIA wouldn't have the authority to
send a man into a Navy submarine and hold
someone prisoner."
   Richard did not answer. Campbell
continued.
   "And that's not the only thing. Nothing has
been done through the usual channels,
including the way you induced Snake and I to
 cooperate. This mission isn't even official
business, is it? So who else can mount such a
major operation..." Campbell suddenly broke
off, as though struck by something. "Is it
possible that -- the Patriots?" He murmured.
   Richard ignored Campbell's outburst.
   "Does it matter what I am? It doesn't
change the fact that your life, not to mention
your precious Meryl's life, is in my hands.
Isn't that right?"
    This time it was Campbell's turn to be silent.
I had never suspected that his participation in
the mission had been arranged by force. The
Colonel was literally fighting for his, and his
niece's, life.
   "Think it over carefully, Colonel." Richard's
voice was the coldest I had ever heard.
   There was no reply from Campbell.
   "And Snake has no need to know about any
of this; we need his full cooperation at this
 point. Just tell him that Naomi was a terrorist
spy and was apprehended while sending them
a coded transmission."
   "Do you expect me to betray a friend, keep
him in the dark?" Campbell objected
furiously.
   "A friend? Are you referring to Snake?"
Richard smiled coolly. "Do you really think he
considers you a friend anymore?"
   He had hit a sore spot; Campbell had no
 answer. Richard moved in for the kill.
   "You've already lied to him too many
times."
   "Against my will, under your threats!"
   Campbell was roaring, but Richard barely
seemed to register his anger.
   "Certainly, but that's not an issue. You
were, after all, giving him false information
and relaying false orders to him of your own
accord. Then there's FOXDIE..."
    I could almost see Campbell grinding his
teeth in frustration and rage.
   "Do you still have the right to call yourself
his friend?"
   There was nothing Campbell could say.
   "You will cooperate with us. Understood?"
   "Understood..."
   The transmission ended.
  
   "Who are the 'Patriots'?"
    Richard looked away towards another
direction at my query.
   "What are you talking about?"
   "Don't B.S. me."
   He turned towards me. His gaze was icy.
   "Nothing you need to know about. By the
way, not that I need to remind you, but don't
mention to Snake things that don't concern
him."
   "And if I do...?" Richard's stony silence
 answered my uncompleted question. I was too
far into this business, and suddenly seemed to
sense danger everywhere.
   "What do you intend to do with me once this
mission is over?"
   "Nothing."
   "Don't expect me to believe you."
   Richard allowed himself a brief, oddly sad
smile.
   "I suppose I can't."
    In the meantime, Snake was inching towards
the launch code entry interface. At that point,
he received a call from Master Miller.
   "Snake, we need to talk about Naomi
Hunter."
   "The Colonel's looking into that."
   "Turn the monitoring off."
   "All right, it's off. Mission control is out of
the loop. You want to tell me what this is
about?"
    Snake believed that he had switched us off,
but I could still hear everything. Radio
malfunction? I guessed not. Someone had
made sure that nothing could get past mission
control, ever. I had a more than good idea
who that someone was.
   But Master Miller obviously did not.
   "Sorry about that. I didn't want Campbell to
overhear."
   "What is this about?" Snake repeated.
    "I have a contact at the Pentagon. He told
me that a new -- assassination tool had been
recently developed under DIA guidance."
   I looked over at Richard, but he pretended
not to notice.
   "Assassination tool?" Snake was asking.
   "Snake, have you ever heard the term
FOXDIE?"
   I tensed. There was that word again. First
Richard, then Campbell, now Miller.
    "It seems to be a virus that can target
specific individuals. I don't know the details."
Miller continued.
   Richard remained expressionless next to
me.
   "So? What are you getting at?" Snake
raised his voice slightly, sounding annoyed by
Miller's roundabout methods.
   "They share common features."
   "What shares common features?"
    "The deaths. The ArmsTech president and
the DARPA chief -- or I guess I should say
Decoy Octopus. They both died of what looked
like a heart attack, right?"
   "Yeah?"
   "Well, it seems that a death by FOXDIE
virus looks like a case of heart attack."
   After a moment, Snake spoke up.
   "Are you saying that Naomi was the one
who set this up?"
    "Snake, think. Did Naomi give you any kind
of a shot?"
   "The nanomachines..." Snake murmured.
   Snake had in fact been injected with nano-
machines and anti-hypothermia compound
before the start of the mission. Was Miller
suggesting that there was a killing virus in the
mix as well?
   "One thing's for certain: she's in the best
position to perform this kind of sabotage. But
 we still don't know her motive or objective..."
   "What about the Colonel...?" Snake asked
after a lengthy silence, his tone brooding and
full of doubts.
   "I don't know. And I don't think he's interro-
gated her yet either."
   "All right. I'll ask him."
  
   Once he was off the radio with Miller, Snake
called up Campbell.
    "Colonel, any new developments with
Naomi?"
   "I've -- just had her taken into custody."
   "What?" Snake said incredulously.
   "She was sending a coded transmission to
an Alaskan location. I don't want to believe it
but -- she's definitely one of the terrorists."
Campbell sounded anguished.
   "Are you sure?"
   "There's very little doubt. She's being
 interrogated right now."
   "What kind of interrogation?"
   "I don't want to resort to force, but we
don't even have thiopentothal on hand..."
   "Let me know if you learn anything."
Unaware of the machinations behind this
latest development, Snake ended the commu-
nication.
   I longed to tell him the truth, but knew that
Richard and his men would never allow that to
 happen.
  
   Despite his growing doubts, Snake
continued to penetrate deeper into the
hangar. He had almost reached the code
interface when a call suddenly came in.
   "Snake, can you hear me? It's Naomi..."
   "Naomi!?" Snake exclaimed in surprise.
"What are you -- !"
   Richard tensed and leaned forward.
    "I managed to get to another transmitter.
The Colonel and the others haven't noticed
yet." Naomi whispered rapidly.
  "Naomi, is it true? What the Colonel says?"
   "...yes. But not everything I told you is a lie.
Some of it was the truth." Her voice was
sorrowful.
   "Who are you really?"
   "I don't know. I don't know what my parents
looked like even, or what they were called. I
 bought the name I use, the whole identity,
with hard cash. Remember I told you why I
was so fixated on genes? That was the truth."
   "Because you wanted to know who you
were. That's what you said."
   "Yes... I don't know what I am. My ethnic
background, age..."
   "Naomi -- "
   There was a pause before Naomi started
speaking again in a rush.
    "I was picked up in Northern Rhodesia, in
the '80s. I was an orphan."
   "Rhodesia? During all the guerilla
warfare?"
   "Zimbabwe used to be a British colony, you
know. There was a sizable Indian population
there then. Maybe that's where I get the color
of my skin, but I'm not even sure of that."
   "Naomi, why dwell on the past? If you can
understand who you are now, isn't that all that
 really matters?"
   "Understand what I am myself? No one
could ever understand me, least of all myself."
Naomi's voice was suddenly defiant.
   "I was always searching for myself, alone.
Until I met my brother and Him."
   "Your brother?" Snake asked.
   "Yes. Frank Yeager."
   "What did you say?" Snake was taken
aback.
    "He was a child soldier too. He found me
almost dead of starvation on the bank of the
Zambezi and fed me from his own small ration
of food."
   Child soldiers. It is not rare for children to
participate in war as combatants in many of
the most conflict-ravaged regions of the
world. This is especially true for those
developing nations where minors account for
the majority of the entire population. A harsh
 regimen can and does turn innocent children
into the most brutal of soldiers. In many
cases, various drugs are used to numb the
natural fear response. The result is an
obedient killing machine whose "bravery"
marks them out for posting to the frontlines
of the fiercest battles and to scouting duties
in the minefields.
  
  "Yes, the man you destroyed is my brother.
 Frank Yeager, my only family." Naomi said
quietly.
   "That's impossible -- Gray Fox is your
brother?" Snake could not hide his pertur-
bation.
   "We managed to survive hell together, all
because he protected me. He was everything
to me. He was the only witness to my
existence, and the only one who made me feel
like a real human being."
    "Gray Fox brought you to the States?"
   "No. We met -- Him in Mozambique."
   "Him?" Something seemed to click within
Snake. "You mean Big Boss?"
   "Yes. He led us here, finally made us free.
But Frank went with Big Boss, back to the
wars. And when he came home to me, he
was -- " Naomi broke off. The silence spoke
of smoldering anger, of irreparable loss.
   "I promised myself that I would get you. You
 broke my brother, you as good as killed him.
That's why I joined FOXHOUND. Because I
knew that I would run into you sooner or
later..."
   "Well, you've got your chance now." Snake
seemed to be taking all this in stride. He was
no doubt accustomed to being the target of
the enmity of others.
   "Yes -- I've waited two years, you know."
   "Just for a chance to kill me?"
    "Exactly. Two whole years, waiting for you
and no one else. Yearning for revenge. It's
almost like being in love."
   "You still hate me?"
   " -- I wouldn't say that." There was a trace
of hesitation in Naomi's voice. "There are
some things about you that I misunderstood."
   "Was it -- did you kill your predecessor?
That geneticist who was using Gray Fox for his
experiments?"
    "You mean Dr. Clark? No, it was Frank that
killed him. I covered up the whole thing, kept
my brother safe."
   A uneasy silence fell.
   "Is the Ninja -- Gray Fox -- here to kill
me?"
   "I don't think so. Frank is here to fight you,
nothing more. I couldn't make sense of it at
first, but I think I know now. A kind of a duel.
He lives only for that, I think."
    "Fox..." Snake murmured, as though
remembering the man who had once been his
comrade.
   "Tell me something, Naomi," he said a short
while later.
  "It's about FOXDIE, isn't it?" she said in a
low, pained voice. "It's a retrovirus. Kills only
the designated person by first infecting the
macrophage. FOXDIE is engineered with an
oxygen chain that responds only to a specific
 DNA pattern."
   "The oxygen is what recognizes the target
DNA sequence?"
   "Once the recognition oxygen responds,
FOXDIE repurposes the macrophage's cellular
structure to create TNF-alpha." Naomi had
regained her old calm as she fielded Snake's
question.
   "What does that mean?"
   "It's a type of cytosine -- a peptide that
 triggers cell death.  The TNF-alpha travels
through the blood stream to the heart, where
it binds to the receptors of cardiac cells."
   "And that causes a heart attack?"
   "The affected cells undergo rapid apotosis.
And the owner of that heart - dies."
   "Apotosis -- I remember that. Programmed
cell death for damaged cells." Snake
murmured. The tense silence descended once
again.
    "Naomi -- "
   "Yes?"
   "I know you programmed me to die."
   Naomi remained silent.
   "Do I have any time left?" Still no answer.
   "Naomi, you have every right to take my
life. But I can't die just yet. I still have work to
finish."
   "You have to listen -- I'm not the one who
decided on the use of FOXDIE." Naomi burst
 out.
   "Not -- you?"
   "It was a part of the mission plan to infect
you with FOXDIE. I wanted to tell you that..."
Naomi broke off, then suddenly made up her
mind to continue. "I'm not being honest with
myself."
   "Naomi?"
   "What I really wanted to tell you was --
Snake -- I -- " Naomi was struggling for
 words when suddenly, a male voice barked
behind her.
   "Freeze! Step away!"
   "No!" Naomi cried out sharply. She must
have been spotted by one of Richard's toughs.
I could hear the sound of a scuffle over the
radio.
   "Snake..." With that last gasp, Naomi faded
out of earshot.
   "Naomi!?" Snake called out, but it was
 Campbell that answered him.
   "Snake, I can't permit you to communicate
with Naomi."
   "What are you talking about!"
   "She's officially out of the mission!"
   "What did you do with her? How was
infecting me a part of the plan? Colonel, let
me talk to her!"
   "I can't do that, Snake. She's been
confined."
    "Colonel -- you sold me out, didn't you!" I
could hear the rage in Snake's voice.
   "Don't waste your energy thinking about
things you can't change." Campbell said, his
voice carefully guarded against any emotion.
"Stopping the Metal Gear is your first priority,
don't forget that."
  
   "I can't believe Naomi was Gray Fox's foster
sister..." Richard murmured bitterly.
    "Are you happy? You know who she is now
after all."
   "I wouldn't say that." Richard's expression
was complex.
   "She said she wasn't the one who deployed
FOXDIE." I decided to risk putting out a feeler.
   Richard said nothing, and that told me
everything I needed to know.
   "It was you, wasn't it?"
   "Yes..." I was taken aback by his ready
 admission. "FOXDIE was one of my projects."
   "And Naomi?"
   " -- Was a top-notch professional. The
FOXDIE research had hit a brick wall when
she pitched herself to us. She'd somehow
heard that we were looking for a genetic
engineering expert. As soon as she joined the
team, the project took off in a major way."
   Richard paused, then plunged ahead.
   "I assigned her to lead the development
 effort. When the virus was finally engineered,
it was she that named it FOXDIE."
   "What I thought was dedication to the work
was actually thirst for vengeance. She didn't
let that slip, not once." He murmured ruefully.
   I knew what his relationship had been with
Naomi when I studied his face.
   "You were seeing her."
   "She was using me." He corrected and gave
a hollow laugh. At that point, one of his men
 came tearing over. After an urgent whisper,
Richard's face grew grim.
   "What happened?"
   "Master Miller wasn't Master Miller."
Richard was visibly shaken.
   "What?"
   "The man I sent to investigate Miller just
reported in. He found Miller murdered in his
home, up in Alaska."
   "Who was it that we were talking to
 then -- !" But there was no one who could
provide an answer to that question.
  
   Around the same time on Shadow Moses,
Snake had finally made it past the enemy's
defenses and successfully re-entered the
launch code. But something was amiss: as the
code was accepted, an alarm was triggered.
  "Launch code entered." An electronic voice
intoned. "All systems ready. Standby for
 missile launch."
   Snake stared around him, aghast.
   "No! I just overrode the launch authori-
zation!" He cried. His questions were
answered by an unexpected source when a
radio call came in.
   "Thank you, Snake." It was Miller -- or
rather, an impostor who had taken the
murdered man's identity. "The launch prepa-
rations are now complete. Nothing can stop
 Metal Gear now."
   "Master, what's going on!"
   "We're very grateful to you. Not only did
you bring the key, you just entered the launch
code for us as well."
   "What?"
   "We never did get his part of the code from
the DARPA chief. Even Mantis' abilities
couldn't break through, and Ocelot managed
to kill Anderson off before we could try
 anything else..."
   As Snake listened in horror, "Miller"
continued.
   "You see, we couldn't launch the missile.
Not even a warning shot. We were dead in the
water, with nothing to back up our demands."
   "Master, what are you saying?"
   "With the launch code out of our reach, we
had to fall back on another plan. We decided
to have you work for us, Snake."
    "What?"
   "Having Decoy Octopus impersonate the
DARPA chief was a part of it. We were trying
to extract information from you but -- FOXDIE
got to him first." "Miller" said savagely.
   "Are you saying this whole thing was
fixed?" Snake asked through clenched teeth.
  "And it was all to get me to unlock
the launch sequence..."
   The terrorist's mocking laugh rang out.
    "Did you think you got this far thanks to
your own abilities? Think again."
   "Master, what about you? Are you a spy?"
   The other continued as though he had not
heard Snake's question.
   "But everything is ready for the launch now.
Once they get a taste of the new warhead, the
White House will have to hand over the
antidote. And they'll have nothing on us any-
more, ever again."
    "Have nothing on you? What do they have
on you now?"
   "The Pentagon's already accomplished what
it set out to do with you. It happened right
there in that torture chamber. You're the
only one who's in the dark. It's not fun, is it,
Snake?" He sneered.
   "Who are you!?"
   "I'll tell you -- if you manage to get to me."
   "Where are you?"
    "Very close, Snake. Very close."
   Campbell suddenly broke in.
   "Snake, that's not Miller!"
   "Hello Campbell. It's a little late for that,"
the impostor said mockingly.
   "Master Miller's body was discovered at his
home. He's been dead three days. We didn't
know sooner because the communication was
down. According to Mei Ling, the transmission
is originating inside that base."
    "Then who are you?"
   "You've been talking to me all along -- "
The man responded. " -- Snake." His voice
suddenly changed, and I knew who it was. So
did Snake.
   "Liquid" Snake broke off communications,
and started to run.
  
   Metal Gear had already been activated by
the time Snake reached it. Liquid was about to
 climb into the pilot's seat when Snake called
out to him, the barrel of his SOCOM pointed
straight at Liquid.
   "Liquid!"
   "Are you going to shoot your own brother?"
Liquid remained languid.
   "Why did you impersonate Miller?"
   "To manipulate you, of course." Liquid said
conversationally as though the two were
discussing the weather. "It worked too. You
 did exactly what we needed you to do."
   Snake's indignity was compounded by
Liquid's next comment.
   "I'm sure your masters at the Pentagon
agree."
   "Why do you keep mentioning them?"
   "You don't even question the orders that
you're given any more, hm, Snake? Where's
your pride? A warrior, reduced to a pawn."
Liquid sighed exaggeratedly. "All this --
 stopping the nuke, rescuing hostages --
it's a charade."
   "Charade?" Snake was taken aback.
   "All the Pentagon wanted was to
effect a meeting between us." Liquid
explained, obviously enjoying Snake's
reaction. "That's how the ArmsTech
president and Decoy were gotten rid of."
   "Can't be..."
   "Actually, it can be. The point was to
 selectively kill us off and retrieve our
extremely expensive genetically engineered
corpses along with Metal Gear. You were sent
in by the Pentagon merely as a FOXDIE
vector!"
   Snake was in shock.
   "That's -- insane. And Naomi -- was she
working with the Pentagon all along...?"
   "That's what they thought. But she it seems
she wasn't quite as soft as they read her to
 be."
   "What do you mean?"
   "I have ears at the DOD. Naomi apparently
managed to make some tweaks to the virus
right before the mission. Her motive and
objective are unknown."
   I heard Richard's impatient grunt beside
me.
   "Is that what you had Naomi arrested for?
To discover why she did what she did?"
 Snake challenged.
   "Very good. It's disappointing that it was
nothing more than a run-of-the-mill revenge
scheme. But we still don't know what kind of
changes she introduced to FOXDIE."
   Liquid fell silent for a moment, then
continued.
   "But enough of that. I've already added
FOXDIE antidote to my list of demands to
Washington."
    "There's an antidote?" Snake asked in
surprise.
   "There should be. Hunter would be the only
one to know but even that may not be
necessary."
   "Why not?"
   "You've successfully infiltrated the facility.
We've all been infected with the execution
virus according to their plan. Octopus and the
ArmsTech president died of it for certain. But
 neither myself nor Ocelot -- not to mention
you -- have shown any signs of infection..."
   "You're saying there may be a flaw in
FOXDIE's targeting program."
   "Who knows. But as long as you're healthy,
I'm safe. We share the same genetic code
after all."
   "So we are -- "
   "Twins, yes. But not in the ordinary sense.
We're the flip sides of a counterfeit genetic
 coin. 'Enfants terrible'..." Liquid's voice grew
hoarse with anger. "You lucked out. They
handpicked all of our father's superior traits
for you."
   Snake was silent. His father, Big Boss, was
a part of the past he wanted to leave behind,
a past tainted by the crime of patricide. But
Liquid was not finished.
   "Everything that was undesirable, I got. Or
should I say that I was everything undesirable.
 Left over -- from the creation process that
was designed to produce you. The only
reason I came into being was so that you
could be born."
   "How could I be the superior --
specimen?"
   "Oh, but you are. And I'm the dregs. You
couldn't begin to understand what it was like
starting out life as genetic garbage!" The
hatred and rage in Liquid's voice shook us,
 and left Snake speechless.
   "But it was me that our father chose."
Liquid said slowly and purposefully.
   "Is that why you're obsessed with Big
Boss? Some kind of twisted love?"
   "Love? Hatred, my brother. He chose me
knowing that I was biologically inferior. Now
I'm about to pay him back for that crime!"
   Liquid laughed, mocking Snake's
bewilderment.
    "You couldn't understand that either.
Someone who got the chance to kill his own
father wouldn't! You managed to deprive me
even of that revenge. But I will accomplish
what our father dreamt of and never achieved.
That's how I'll kill him -- by surpassing him."
Liquid ended his proclamation by leaping into
Metal Gear's cockpit. Snake fired a burst from
his Socom, but the bullets ricocheted off Metal
Gear's armor.
    "Damn!" Snake gnashed his teeth as Liquid
called out mockingly from the cockpit.
   "Snake, count yourself lucky. You get to die
by the greatest weapon the world has ever
seen. It's the least I can do for my brother."
   Metal Gear, already in activation mode,
started to stir. A high-pitched noise, like the
whine of a turbo engine, began to sound as
Liquid's voice boomed out of the amplifier,
   "I'll give you an advance showing of what
 the rest of the world will learn soon -- that
the 21st century will belong to a devil they
don't know!"
  
   Metal Gear struck at Snake like a living
thing. Its state-of-the-art composite armor
was virtually impregnable to all but high-yield
explosives like HEAT (High Explosive Anti-
Tank). But Dr. Emmerich had advised Snake to
take out the radome and knock the sensors
 offline in a bid for survival.
   Snake struck again and again, but he was
fighting a difficult battle, given Metal Gear's
immense firepower and agility. Finally, one of
Metal Gear's huge feet lashed out towards
Snake in a crushing blow.
   "It's time to die, Snake!" Liquid called out.
The foot hit the floor with a deafening crash.
   Snake, however, had escaped. Someone had
pulled him out of the foot's path at the last
 second.
   "Get out of here now!" The voice was a
familiar one.
   "Gray Fox!" Snake cried out.
   The Ninja -- or rather Gray Fox --
launched a fiery arc towards Metal Gear,
destroying the radome. The tank froze in
confusion for a second, and Snake and the
Ninja found cover during that brief lull.
   "Why, Fox? Why are you helping me?"
    "I'm a captive, Snake. Death is my prison.
You're the only one who can release me..."
Gray Fox replied, his voice clear and sane.
   "Fox, don't involve yourself in this business
anymore. Think about Naomi. She's destroying
herself trying to avenge you..."
   "Yes... Naomi..."
   "You're the only one who can stop her,"
Snake urged, but Gray Fox's reply was
 discouraging.
   "No, I can't..."
   "Why not?"
   "I'm the one that killed her parents." Gray
Fox's stark words stunned Snake. "I was just
a child myself, and I couldn't stand to kill her
too. I took her with me because it was the
only way I could think of to assuage the guilt.
I raised her to satisfy my half-baked
conscience, but she gave me the love and
 respect I didn't deserve -- called me her
brother."
   "Fox -- "
   "We may have looked like a happy little
family, but I was terrified every time she
looked me in the eye -- that she would see
the truth. Tell her for me, will you? Tell her
that I'm the one who took her family from
her, not you."
  
    Many former child soldiers are permanently
traumatized by their horrific war experiences.
It was possible that Gray Fox's compulsions --
whether it be taking in his victims' orphaned
child or returning again and again to the
battlefields with Big Boss -- had its roots in
his childhood scars.
   "There you are!" Liquid called through
Metal Gear's speakers. A concentrated volley
of Vulcan cannon fire followed, the rounds
 closing in on Snake and the Ninja.
   "It's almost time to finish this," Fox cried.
"I'll slow him down!"
   "Fox!" Before Snake could stop him, Gray
Fox leapt out into the open and went for Metal
Gear. We could hear the roar of Metal Gear's
Vulcan cannon.
   Gray Fox's reinforced skeleton gave him a
faster reflex, and he dodged the volley. But
the next second, his body had been plucked
 up by Metal Gear's massive jaw.
   "Fox!" Snake's shout reverberated
throughout the hangar.
   Metal Gear's engine revved louder and Fox's
reinforced skeleton creaked audibly.
   "How long will his bones hold out? Hm,
Snake? Are you going to abandon him?"
Liquid taunted. But Fox was far from dead.
   "A cornered fox is one of the most
dangerous animals!" Laser fire burst from
 Fox's right arm and Metal Gear's radome
exploded. Liquid was now blind, since Metal
Gear's cockpit was completely sealed from the
outside.
   "They didn't give you a Fox rank for nothing,
old comrade. But this is where it ends!"
Liquid's unamplified voice called out. He had
apparently discarded the cockpit hatch to use
his own eyes and ears in lieu of sensors.
   The next thing we heard was an explosive
 crash. Was Gray Fox now under Metal Gear's
foot? My fear was confirmed by the ominous
and unmistakable sound of Fox's reinforced
exoskeleton creaking under pressure. At the
same time, we heard Fox's gasping voice.
   "Finally -- I can finally die, and with you
as my witness. After Zanzibar Land they took
away the fight from me... I wasn't dead but
didn't... didn't feel alive. So futile... for such a
long time. But finally it's over..."
    Fox's voice was down to a whisper now.
   "Snake! We're not just tools for politicians
and generals! All I did with my life... was
fight... but at least it was my choice...
Goodbye, Snake."
   With a dull crunch, his reinforced skeleton
finally gave away.
   "FOX!!" Snake screamed. Liquid laughed.
   "He was a fool. It was over the moment he
begged for death." He ground Fox's battered
 corpse underfoot with Metal Gear, then
bellowed.
   "Do you get it now! You can't protect
anyone, let alone yourself! Die!" Metal
Gear's Vulcan cannons roared into action.
But with all sensors offline, the fire lacked
its previous accuracy.
   Robbed of his old friend and comrade,
Snake gave free rein to his rage. Taking up a
Stinger missile launcher, he fired at Liquid,
 sitting exposed in his cockpit. It was a direct
hit; even the composite armor could not
protect against a shot that penetrated into the
cockpit itself. Its piloting system destroyed,
Metal Gear abruptly spun out of control and
pitched towards the ground with a deafening
screech. A massive explosion followed
seconds later.
   Snake, caught in the blast, was bodily
thrown across the hangar and knocked
 unconscious.
  
   Snake was still out cold, but his radio was
online. We could hear smaller explosions from
the wreck of the Metal Gear, and the sound of
flames greedily sucking up the leaking fuel.
Snake showed no signs of coming around.
   A few minutes later, a sound of footsteps
emerged from the general chaos. It was
moving towards Snake. There was a faint
 murmur.
   "Snake -- it's not over yet." It was Liquid's
voice.
   "Snake!" I yelled into the radio, but Snake
did not stir. "Isn't there any way to wake
him?" I asked Richard, but he shook his head.
   Liquid had reached Snake's side, and to our
surprise, picked up Snake's limp body. He
started to carry Snake, heading in the
direction of Metal Gear's prone form.
    We listened, helpless, in a tense silence. It
was Snake's battle; there was next to nothing
we could do.
   Liquid had now climbed onto Metal Gear's
back, where he carelessly laid Snake down.
He apparently planned to simply wait for his
adversary to regain consciousness.
  
   "So -- " Liquid said. Snake was still out of
action.
    "I know you're listening. You have a radio
implant in this one." It was clear that Liquid
was talking to us.
   "You think you've pulled off FOXDIE. Think
again. You're never going to kill me with a
thing like that. Never."
   The knowledge that he was already infected
with the killer retrovirus made no difference to
Liquid Snake. It was a force of will that
commanded respect.
    "You have no idea how excited I am --
knowing that you're still out there. Revenge is
a candy I've been deprived of too many
times..." The hatred in Liquid's voice was
chilling. "You -- 'Patriots'...!"
   At that moment, Snake let out a groan. He
was starting to surface.
   "He's almost ready. Listen, all of you. When
I've settled the score with this one, I'm
coming after you next. I'm going to end your
 miserable lives in a way that'll make even the
Reaper's stomach turn..."
   "I'll look forward to it," Richard murmured
starkly.
   Snake groaned again. He was apparently
awake.
  
   "Still a light sleeper, huh?" Liquid said to
Snake conversationally.
   "Liquid -- you're alive?"
    "You won't get rid of me, not as long as
you're breathing."
   "Sorry your insurrection was a bust," Snake
commented.
   "Do you think that I'll give up my fight just
because we've lost Metal Gear?" Liquid had
lost none of his confidence.
   "Your fight?" Snake shot back. "What's
your real objective here?"
   "To make sure that the age of warriors
 comes again. Warriors like us, Snake."
   "That's Big Boss's pet delusion all over
again."
   "No, his legacy!" Liquid exploded at
Snake's words. "All throughout the Cold
War -- during the times of turbulence -- the
whole world wanted us. Gave us our due. We
were needed!"
   He fell silent, as if to mourn for the days
that were no more.
    "That's all changed. Hypocrisy and
fraudulent peace are replacing warfare. There
is a terrible emptiness that comes from losing
an arena for your gifts. And the terror that
you will become a dinosaur, no longer useful.
You must know that fear better than anyone."
   Snake had no reply to Liquid's entreaty. I
wondered whether Liquid's words had found
their mark.
   "The prototype nuclear warheads will
 provide me with the leverage to acquire my
campaign funds. The funds will make more
global acts of terrorism possible. Violence
begets violence, and this complacent world
will erupt into confusion. Violence, mistrust
and conflict will compound each other and
create more hatred -- and our sphere of
usefulness, the ecosystem of war, will grow
larger and larger."
   "As long as human beings are around, there
 will always be war, somewhere in the world."
Snake argued. "There's no need to create
more."
   "It's a question of balance," Liquid
responded in a flash. "The balance that our
father fought for..."
   "And that's the only reason you need to do
this?"
   "It's more than enough for me. And for you
too."
    "That's not the kind of thing I want. Not
now, not ever!"
   Liquid laughed at Snake's dogged refusal.
   "You're lying. Why do you think you're
here? You've been lied to, betrayed by your
own team. But you still wouldn't abandon the
mission. Why?"
   Snake could not answer.
   "I'll tell you why," Liquid continued.
"Because you enjoy it. The thrills. And the
 kills."
   "No, that's not -- !" Snake was struggling
for words, but Liquid cut in.
   "Are you going to deny it? You've killed
dozens of my men today."
   "But that was..." As Snake faltered,
Liquid laughed in contempt.
   "Every time you delivered the kill shot, your
face brightened up."
   "No!"
    "There's no reason for you to deny your own
killer instincts. That's what we were created
for, after all."
   "What we were -- created for?"
   It was all the encouragement Liquid needed
to reveal the details of a secret project known
as "Les Enfants Terribles."
  
   It was the 1970s. The U.S. had not yet
awoken from the nightmare of Vietnam War
 when a plan was hatched by key figures in the
government to artificially create the ideal
soldier. The man selected to serve as the
genetic template for the project was the most
famous living mercenary of the time, Big Boss.
   Big Boss was, however, incapable of
reproducing, a result of past war injuries. As
a result, his body cells were harvested for a
cloning attempt. In addition to the existing
"analogue" cloning protocol, the program
 incorporated the so-called "super-baby"
technique.
   The super-baby technique involves carefully
dividing the fertilized egg whose nucleus had
been switched with that of the donor cell. The
result is usually eight zygotes which are then
implanted in a surrogate's uterus. Six of the
embryos are strategically aborted over a
period of time in order to boost the growth of
the remaining two.
    "We started out as octuplets." Liquid
reflected.
   "Octuplets..." Snake was clearly taken
aback.
   "Six of our brothers were killed so that we
could be created. We've been causing death
and destruction even before we breathed
outside air."  
   "That left the two of us. Two zygotes that
shared the same DNA. But there was one
 more sacrifice to be made. One of the
embryos was engineered to manifest the full
potential of its genetic makeup -- at the
expense of the other one, which was purpose-
fully relegated to the bottom of the curve. You
are what you are, Solid Snake, thanks to the
death and deprivation of your brothers!"
   Liquid surveyed the stunned Snake and
smiled.
   "But if you think that I'm the only sibling you
 have left, think again."
   "What?"
   "The genome soldiers. They were bred from
our father's DNA too. The only difference is
that they're not analogs of him like we are."
   Liquid went onto tell an astonishing story.
The Human Genome Project, concluded late
last century, the "Les Enfants Terribles"
Project and the intensive study of Big Boss'
genetic samples had led researchers to many
 of the secrets of the so-called "soldier genes."
The isolated traits for initiative, discipline and
other tactically desirable characteristics had
been secretly integrated into the genetic
structure of next-generation special forces
soldiers.
   "All those commandos you murdered on this
base were your brothers."
   "The genome soldiers -- !"
   "Incomplete creatures, certainly, forcibly
 grafted with a piece of Big Boss' genetic
sequence. But still family. They share in the
family dysfunction too -- their lives also cost
someone dearly."
   "How so?"
   "Human experiments." Liquid hissed angrily.
   According to Liquid, the military had
secretly started "treating" its men with the
soldier gene when the 1991 Gulf War broke
out. The unexplained "Gulf War Syndrome"
 among the returning personnel was apparently
one of the gene therapy's unfortunate side
effects.
  "That means that those Gulf War Babies born
to vets are -- ?" Snake asked, stunned.
   "Exactly. Our earliest siblings."
   "And the next-generation special forces
were the finished product?"
   "Finished?" Liquid sneered. "Hardly.
They're defective. We all are. On a path to
 extinction, if you will!"
   "What did you say?"
   "You ever heard of the law of biological
asymmetry? There's a natural tendency
towards left-right asymmetry. On the other
hand, species that ran out of genetic diversity
and are on path to extinction start showing
complete symmetry. That's what's happening
to the genome soldiers. And to us."
   Snake stared at Liquid in bleak shock.
    "Every one of us is dying on a genetic level.
The question is when the decline will start.
That's why I need our father's body, to get
some answers."
   "You expect me to believe," Snake asked,
"that you demanded Big Boss' body so you
can save yourself and the genome soldiers?"
   "Siblings start out life competing, but they
always band together against outside threats.
Why do you think that is?"
    Liquid waited for Snake to respond, but the
latter said nothing.
   "It's because they share your genes, and by
helping them, the chances of your genes
making it to the next generation are bettered.
Natural selection favors nepotistic species.
The instinct to help our own kind is an
inherited trait."
   "Your DNA is ordering you to help these
genome commandos?" Snake said skeptically,
 but Liquid agreed in reverential tone.
   "No one can go against their genetic
destiny. We were born for the sole purpose of
recreating our father's DNA in its basest and
most ideal incarnations. I will follow my
destiny -- and surpass it. I can break my own
biological curse, and that's why I'm going to
kill you, Solid Snake..." He spoke quietly, but
it was clear that he meant every word.
   He suddenly called out in a different tone.
    "Look behind you!"
   "Meryl!?" Snake exclaimed. Meryl was
apparently lying behind Snake. I guessed that
she had been brought there before Liquid had
carried Snake onto the roof.
   "Is she alive?"
   "I wouldn't know. She was definitely
breathing a few hours ago, though. She kept
calling your name, over and over again."
Liquid said coolly.
    "Meryl..."
   "She's a fool to fall for a man who doesn't
even have a name."
    "I do have a name."
    "No, you don't. And no past and no future!
That's the way it is for us!" Liquid shouted.
"The only thing we do have are instructions
written in our father's genomes!"
   "Liquid, let Meryl go!"
   "After we settle things between us. We're
 just about out of time."
   "Are you talking about FOXDIE?"
   "No, the Pentagon. It seems that the DOD
came to a decision when they heard about
Metal Gear's destruction. They're not even
interested in a Bonder report at this point.
Ask your shadow Campbell if you want. He
likes to listen, doesn't he?"
  
   Snake raised Campbell on the radio.
    "Colonel, can you hear me?"
   "I'm here."
   "What's the Pentagon up to? You'd better
tell me, Colonel."
   "The Defense Secretary's personally taken
control of the mission. He's on an AWAC
heading your way."
   "For what?"
   "An air strike." Campbell replied bitterly.
   "WHAT?"
    "That's not even the bad news. A bomber
just took off from the Galena AFB. It's carrying
the B61-13 surfacing-piercing missiles."
   "Christ, Metal Gear's already been
destroyed." Snake raised his voice. "Doesn't
the Defense Secretary know that?"
   "He knows. But because of Naomi's
betrayal, he no longer has any faith in
FOXDIE's effectiveness. Your taking out
Metal Gear means that the threat of nuclear
 strike has been removed, and he's free to
ensure a direct and complete cover-up of
the whole affair."
  " -- By blowing up all the evidence and
everyone who knows anything sky-high with
a nuclear bomb." Snake finished angrily. But
Campbell's next words were unexpected.
   "Don't worry, Snake. I'll halt the air strike."
   "What?"
   "It may be a technicality, but I'm still the
 field controller for the mission. If I call in an
order to halt the strike, it should wreak
enough havoc with the chain of command to
buy you some time. Use it to get out of there."
   Richard called one of his men over and
muttered an order. There was little doubt that
it was for Campbell's arrest.
   Snake and Campbell, ignorant of the
roomful of ears who were listening in on their
exchange, were still talking.
    "Colonel, you know what would happen to
you...?"
   "It's all right, Snake. But you should know
something. There was a top-secret internal
investigation being conducted into FOXHOUND
these past few months. Meryl was transferred
out to Shadow Moses the day of the
insurrection -- as a hostage to ensure my
cooperation."
   "What a -- " Snake broke off in disgust.
    "Now go, Snake."
   "Are you sure about this? You'll lose
everything you've worked for."
   "I'm sure. And this way, I get to keep the
things that are really important -- and that I
would otherwise lose."
   "Colonel -- "
   "All right, I'm putting in an order to halt the
strike. This is the point of no return... What
the hell!?"
    Campbell gasped. It seemed that Richard's
men were trying to restrain him. The only
thing we could hear over the radio were gun-
shots and unintelligible noise. I was once
again a helpless spectator of a life-or-death
struggle.
    Mei Ling burst in abruptly, as though she
had seized the microphone.
   "Snake!!"
   "Mei Ling, what happened to the Colonel!"
    "I don't believe this -- !"
   "Tell me what's going on!"
   "Snake! The Colonel!" Mei Ling's voice
was lost in the shower of static before she
could reveal more. Instead, an unfamiliar
male voice started to speak.
   "This is Jim Houseman, Secretary of
Defense. Roy Campbell was just relieved of
duty. "
   "Let me talk to Colonel Campbell!"
    "He's been arrested for compromising
national security. He'll be charged with
treason."
   "That's insane!"
   "No, it was Roy Campbell who was insane
if he truly believed that he had any real say in
this mission."
   "You -- !" Snake was seething, but
Houseman went on nonchalantly.
   "The nuclear strike will go forward as
 planned. The sea will take care of what little
there is left. It's what the President wants."
   "So this is an executive order?"
   "The Presidency of the United States is a
very, very busy job. Let's just say that I take
full responsibility for this strike."
   "How are you going to explain to the media
why you dropped a nuke on American soil?"
   "Don't worry, there's a cover story ready. A
band of terrorists took over the Shadow
 Moses facility, and were extremely careless
with their nuclear missile."
   "You'll be killing your own genome
commandos -- all the researchers too."
   "Donald is already dead..." Houseman
suddenly said with genuine sorrow in his
voice.
   "So you didn't plan on killing the DARPA
chief after all." Snake asked.
   "He was my closest friend."
    "And the rest of the poor bastards stranded
here aren't, so to hell with them, is that it?"
   "That depends. If you transfer the contents
of the optical disc over to me, there may be
room for negotiation."
   "What disc?" Snake feigned ignorance, but
Houseman was not so easily put off.
   "The disc that contained the full exercise
data. Donald was supposed to personally
bring it back."
    "I don't have it..."
   "Hm. That's unfortunate." Houseman said
calmly. "The fact remains that the two of you
are a liability. You belong to an age no one
cares to go back to, and you have the
potential to needlessly embarrass this great
nation. No, you cannot be permitted to ever
leave that island. Take the time until the air
strike to catch up. Then rest in peace -- you
are a ghost of the Cold War, after all."
 The transmission ended.
  
   "So there's no way out for either of us," I
heard Liquid laugh as he approached Snake.
"We'll settle the score before the cavalry
arrives."
   Snake rose to his feet.
   "You've taken everything from me, " Liquid
said. "And I will reclaim it all -- including my
rightful biological heritage -- right here."
    The two Snakes closed in on one another.
The final battle was about to begin.
  
   Snake and Liquid had engaged each other in
a fierce hand-to-hand combat, but Richard
had other things to attend to. He had one of
his men open a radio channel.
   "Yes, what is it?"
   I realized with surprise that the person he
had called was none other than the Secretary
 of Defense Jim Houseman.
   "An air strike was an unwise decision."
Richard sounded displeased. "With a nuclear-
armed Stealth bomber airborne, a complete
cover-up is no longer an option. 'They' are
not happy with this."
   "It's the only way to destroy the evidence.
The results will bear out the correctness of
my decision."
   "There will be no results. I've already
 aborted the air strike."
   "How -- dare you...!" Houseman started to
roar, then suddenly petered out. He no doubt
had remembered the powers-that-be that
stood behind Richard.
   "What do you intend to do then?" He asked
with barely suppressed rage.
   "There is another viable way to salvage the
situation."
   " -- Make me take the fall? I don't think
 so!" Houseman's voice shook with fury.
Richard sighed exaggeratedly.
   "You don't think so? It seems, Mr.
Secretary, that Colonel Campbell is not the
only one who 'truly believed that he had any
real say in this mission.'"
   "What are you saying!" I heard the sound
of scuffling on the other end. "Hey, what do
you think you're doing! Get your hands off of
me!"
    Houseman had apparently been restrained.
It was exactly the same scenario that had
played out during Campbell's arrest.
   "You have several choices." Richard
explained with something resembling pity.
"It's up to you which ending this particular
story has. I myself would suggest a quiet
retirement from public life..."
   "You'll pay for this, Ames. I swear to God..."
Houseman spat out as he struggled vainly
 against his captors.
   "Personally, I don't condone rough
measures. I hope you'll come to the same
decision." Richard ended the call.
  
   The transmission from Shadow Moses
was still active. Liquid's dying scream
tore through the speakers.
   "Looks like things are wrapping up
nicely over there," Richard murmured.
    Richard cleared all of the personnel
out of the study. We were now alone. I
could hear Snake and Meryl over the wires. It
seemed that he had succeeded in rescuing her
in time.
   "Now the question is, what am I going to do
with you?" Richard said as he turned away
from the radio.
   The time had come for me to make my
move; I walked up to my computer.
    "This machine has been recording every-
thing that went on in this study and relaying it
out to a remote location. Once there, the data
was immediately backed up on an optical
disc."
   It was no bluff. It was just a more covert
version of a real-time remote conferencing
system. Because of my work, I frequently
must acquire information from such unsavory
types as black-market arms dealers and Mafia
 members who specialize in plutonium
smuggling. The recordings were my standard
insurance policy.
   "I've already sent a message to the collo-
cation administrator. He'll give the disc to my
media contact if he can't get in touch with me
by a certain time." That had been the mail I'd
secretly sent from my PDA earlier.
   "If anything happens to me, the contents of
the disc will be all over the world."
    But Richard was unfazed. I started to feel
apprehensive as he calmly lit another
cigarette.
   "You mean this disc?" He took out a
shining optical disc from his inside jacket
pocket and slid it into my PC's drive. A few
quick clicks of the mouse and the playback
started. I stared at the slightly grainy footage,
horrified. The audio seemed overly loud in the
silent room.
    "You should be hearing from him soon.
You're clear on how to use the radio?"
Richard's voice was raspy in playback, but it
was definitely the data I had secretly collected
and sent out.
   "How...?"
   "You shouldn't underestimate me," Richard
said as he ejected and pocketed the disc.
"Everything in this house has been vetted
and monitored since the operation started.
 Nothing got in or out without my knowing
about it -- including electronic signals. That
e-mail you sent from the bathroom never got
to its destination."
   He'd seen right through me. With that
realization, I felt strength leaving my body.
The game was up.
   "But even if you had managed to get this
data out into the world, that wouldn't have
guaranteed your safety. No one would have
 believed yet another conspiracy theory, least
of all the press."
   "Your -- people would have made sure of
that, I'm sure."
   Instead of answering, Richard stubbed out
his cigarette and slid his right hand inside his
jacket. There was an awkward bulge there, in
the clean line of his tailored jacket. It was
where he kept his gun holstered.
   Cold sweat trickled down my back. I was
 slowly backing away from Richard, and I did
not even realize the fact until my back hit the
wall. There was no way out.
   "Are you really prepared to kill me?" I
could not hide the tremor in my voice.
   "You should know the answer to that." He
said quietly, looking me straight in the eye.
   Then he pulled his hand out from under his
jacket, and I instinctively shut my eyes.
  
    But even after what felt like an eternity, the
muffled shot and the pain I was expecting did
not come. I warily opened my eyes, and saw
what was in his hand. It was not a gun, but a
disc.
   "Everything you ever wanted to know about
FOXDIE." Richard walked up to me and placed
the disc in my hand.
   "As I said, a recording of what took place in
this room won't guarantee your safety. There's
 no solid proof, just talk. It can easily be
denounced as a fabrication and covered up."
   "But the FOXDIE data is a different story,"
He continued. "This disc contains everything
about that project, from its origins to the
names of every individual involved. As long as
you have this as an insurance, they won't be
able to touch you."
   "Why, Richard?"
   He did not answer my question.
    "You'd better get out of here quickly. Your
car's just out back."
   "What about you?"
   "That's not something you need to worry
about."
   "But -- "
   "You don't need me, Nastasha. And I have
things to take care of."
   "Why are you doing this?" I asked again.
   "You'll figure it out someday. Do what you
 have to do, all right?" He suddenly held me
close and put his lips on mine.
   As we broke apart after a long kiss, he
whispered in my ear, "I wanted to do this
again, just one last time." Then he gently
eased me away.
   "Now go. Hurry." There was gravity in his
voice that allowed only one response. I
nodded, and sped out of the room.
   That was the last I ever saw of Richard
 Ames.
  
   After I fled from California, I went into
hiding. There has been no sign of pursuit, for
now.
   The terrorist incident on Shadow Moses
Island came to a conclusion with the
destruction of Metal Gear and the death of
Liquid Snake. The United States government,
however, has not yet officially acknowledged
 the incident. The roster of the dead included
Liquid Snake, Psycho Mantis, Sniper Wolf,
Decoy Octopus and Vulcan Raven. Revolver
Ocelot's body was never recovered, but his
personnel file was closed with the notation,
"Missing in action." FOXHOUND had, in effect,
been decimated. The survivors from the next-
generation commando unit were all removed
to the Pease AFB in New Hampshire,
ostensibly for training. As far as I know, they
 remain prisoners there to this day. The
government has repeatedly denied allegations
of genetically engineering super-soldiers, but
rumors that the research continues remain
persistent.
   The deaths of Donald Anderson, the DARPA
chief, and Kenneth Baker of ArmsTech ended
the development of a new Metal Gear. The
Metal Gear REX unit itself had been all but
completed under Hal Emmerich's leadership,
 but my source at Lawrence Livermore
indicated that the rail gun warhead delivery
system had not been fully operational.
Apparently, there had been some serious
issues with the rail gun's targeting accuracy.
This was no doubt the reason Baker had
entrusted Snake with the exercise data, and
Jim Houseman, the Secretary of Defense, had
so aggressively pursued its whereabouts. The
data is now lost, and the development
 program has been closed down. I dare to
dream that the new nuclear delivery system
will never see the light of day.
   A few days after the incident, I heard on the
news that Houseman had shot himself. The
suicide was attributed to a temporary nervous
breakdown related to job stress. Supporting
statements from family and subordinates were
widely aired. The air strike order for Shadow
Moses was glossed over as an unfortunate
 evidence of the late Defense Secretary's
unraveling mental state. I remembered
Houseman's words from the final hours of the
mission, and thought I knew what had really
happened. He had refused to take the fall, and
paid for the defiance with his life.
   The record of the Shadow Moses Incident
and the FOXDIE data disc that Richard gave
me are still under my vigilant guard. The FOX-
DIE program data covers Naomi's careful
 analysis of the unauthorized reconfiguration
she had made to the virus. The information
showed that Snake was indeed one of the
targets for the deadly retrovirus, but the
incubation period had been changed to a
wildcard value. Even Naomi herself did not
know when the virus would awaken within
Snake. It must have been the best revenge
she could think of, condemning him to live in
this fearful limbo.
    Colonel Roy Campbell was released after
the Defense Secretary's own arrest, and is
once again enjoying his retirement.
   Mei Ling also made it safely out of
the mission, and is back in academia.
   Dr. Hal Emmerich did not return to
ArmsTech following his rescue from Shadow
Moses. His whereabouts are unknown, but
there is some indication that he made his way
to England where he has family members.
    Snake and Meryl appear to have success-
fully made it off Shadow Moses Island. I could
however find no trace of them; I hope that the
same is true for those who have an interest in
seeing them silenced.
   Naomi Hunter was formally taken into
custody after the incident's conclusion. Three
weeks later, as she was undergoing debriefing
in a certain facility, she escaped. She has not
been heard of since. Officials were closed-
 mouthed about the circumstances of the
escape, but inquiries into other quarters
elicited the fact that someone had broken
Naomi out of the base. I knew of only one
person who could have breached the base's
tight security and successfully led someone to
freedom.
   And then there was the matter of Richard
Ames.
   I called in a favor and had an inquiry made
 to the DIA about one Major Richard Ames. The
Agency's response was that there was "no
DIA personnel fitting that name and des-
cription." Buying my safety and freedom
had been a costly act for Richard.
   It was then that I decided to go public with
what I knew.
   By exposing the conspiracy, I may be
putting myself in renewed danger. But I am
through with being a spectator, an objective
 bystander. The powerlessness I felt watching
Snake's solitary war on Shadow Moses has
been a bitter wake-up call. This time, I am
determined to make a stand. This is my war
now -- to tell the truth about what happened
on that island. That is my responsibility and
privilege as a survivor, and a cause for which
I am prepared to give my life.