Chapter Text
“Otacon, give me a SITREP.”
Solid Snake, legendary soldier and co-founder of the anti-Metal Gear NGO, Philanthropy, was in the middle of triple-checking his equipment as he was nestled between the towering kapok trees of the Lacandon Jungle. He unloaded and reloaded his SOCOM and his M9 with the smoothness and efficiency of someone who had done it countless times. He tested his knife, counted his ammo, and, most importantly, smoked one of his cigarettes.
Dr. Hal Emmerich, or “Otacon” (referred to as such almost exclusively by Snake, his closest confidant), the other co-founder of Philanthropy, hadn’t included cigarettes in his kit for this mission, or any mission for that matter, but somehow Snake always managed to smuggle a pack in at the last minute.
This was a rapid deployment, with no extensive briefing. Philanthropy had received an anonymous tipoff that an organization was in possession of plans for a new Metal Gear prototype, and that they had arranged to sell them to an “interested third party”, so time was of the essence. Whatever players were involved in this operation were not on the NGO’s radar, so Mei Ling, the recent MIT graduate who served as Philanthropy’s data analyst, and who had been part of Snake’s support team during the Shadow Moses Incident, had needed time to investigate them.
Snake examined the M9 for a fourth time, with more caution and scrutiny than he had shown for the rest of his equipment. Nastasha Romanenko was Philanthropy’s weapons analyst and member of the Nuclear Emergency Support Team, as well as the writer of an unauthorized tell-all book on the Shadow Moses Incident, the sales of which had helped fund the NGO. Nastasha and Otacon had modified a Beretta M9, the standard-issue pistol of the United States military, into a tranquilizer gun. Snake was certainly no stranger to killing, but he didn’t relish it and avoided it when he could.
This was Snake’s first operation using the modified M9. He trusted Otacon and Nastasha, of course; a tranq pistol was as complex as assembling a Lego set to the genius inventor of Metal Gear REX and a woman recruited to the Defense Intelligence Agency at 16. However, Snake knew relying too heavily on your weapons, especially ones you have limited experience with, was a recipe for disaster.
Snake heard Otacon’s voice through the codec, which stimulated the small bones in his ear to facilitate discreet communication.
Otacon began, using his classic expository voice, “Well, as you know, your objective is to infiltrate “La Villa de la Nube,” as the locals call it.”
“Cloud Mansion, huh?” Snake translated.
“I see your Spanish is as sharp as ever, Snake! Brushed up on the way?” Otacon’s fanboy-like admiration of the legendary hero had become far more subdued than it had been at the beginning of their relationship, but Snake could still hear it creep into his voice when the scientist discovered another entry into his best friend’s long list of skills.
“Part of Green Beret training was learning foreign languages. I try and keep it from getting rusty. I get some practice with Mei Ling and Nastasha, at least.” Snake didn’t mention that 90% of Mei Ling’s lessons were on Chinese proverbs, no matter how many times he tried to get her to help him refresh his memory on grammatical rules.
“Snake, you know it’s the 21st century, right? Real-time translation is no problem, even over the codec,” Otacon teased, likely knowing what the soldier’s response would be.
As expected, Snake said, “Not happening. The second I outsource my skills to technology is the day someone gets the better of me. Anyway, you were saying?”
Otacon sat up, seeming to collect himself. “Right! Mei Ling dug up information on this organization the tip mentioned. Apparently, they’re some sort of small mercenary group, mainly consisting of ex-military and former cartel members. They’ve been around for several years now, but they were mostly just hired for small-scale extortion, intimidation, armed robbery, and drug trafficking. Recently, however, their ambitions seemed to have skyrocketed. They’ve gone from two-bit thugs and legbreakers to a serious elite force. They call themselves “Los Bandidos”—The Bandits. Not very clever, I know, but don’t let that fool you; these guys know how to scheme. A few months ago, they managed to pose as the cartel and blackmailed a politician, Senator Juan Pérez, with proof of his corruption and association with drug traffickers.”
Snake interjected, “Blackmail? That’s it? You told me they were a serious threat, ‘FOXHOUND-level’. You said something about Metal Gear plans, not some run-of-the-mill extortion. Come on, there’s gotta be more than that.” Snake, for all his gruffness and sarcasm, was not the interrupting type. Sure, he’d ask questions, but he was certainly used to long monologues and information dumps. Clearly something was bothering the weathered warrior.
Otacon seemed taken aback by the interruption, but simply shook his head. “Of course there’s more to it than that. They didn’t just blackmail Senator Pérez…” Otacon paused, but not with his usual dramatic effect. Instead, the scientist seemed frightened.
“Snake, they…drained his body of blood and left him in the chair of the Senate President in the Senate Building, gavel in hand.”
Snake was silent. The man had seen plenty of atrocities in the field, but something about this one didn’t sit right with him.
“Snake? Are you there?” Otacon asked, sounding worried rather than frustrated.
Snake steeled himself and said, “I’m fine. Just adjusting to the high altitude. Go on.”
“…Okay.” Otacon pushed aside his concerns and continued, “Along with the body was a notice, apparently from Los Bandidos, explaining what they had done. It revealed that, somehow, the Bandidos managed to steal a substantial amount of money from the Bank of Mexico using Pérez’s identity and biometrics. Banxico immediately assessed their vaults, and, sure enough, hundreds of millions of pesos were gone.”
“How have I not heard about this? Sounds like big news.” Snake was as up to date on global politics as possible. As much as he loathed and distrusted both the media and the government, he still kept up with mainstream news from across the world. This was in addition to the classified communications of three-letter agencies that Philanthropy managed to acquire, and that Snake read like the morning paper.
Otacon explained, “It was all kept under wraps. As far as most people know, Senator Pérez just disappeared. The most popular conspiracy theory is that it was a cartel killing, some sort of shady business. Things like that aren’t impossible there, even if such a high-profile target would be extremely unlikely. Information about his death and the notice were only spread amongst high-ranking officials in the Mexican government, as well as federal investigators assigned to the classified case. The Bandidos had to have known something so grizzly and humiliating for the government would be hidden by the authorities. Maybe they just wanted to strike fear into the powers that be, send some sort of message. Whatever the case, it’s certainly gotten the full attention of everyone who knows about it.”
“Where does Metal Gear come into the equation?” Snake pressed.
“Well, that’s the problem: We really don’t know. All we received was an anonymous message, very light on details. ‘Los Bandidos have plans for a new Metal Gear. They are selling it to a buyer in 72 hours.’”
Snake waited, expectantly, for a few moments, then said, “That’s it?”
Otacon sighed, ”That’s it. I didn’t want to brief you until we had the full picture, but we couldn’t find more than that, aside from Mei Ling using satellite imaging to locate their HQ. I know you have the same questions that I do. How did some militia acquire the most classified documents you could think of? Who are they selling it to? And who in the world sent that message? I wish I knew more than I do, Snake. But that’s all the information we have for now.”
Snake was dissatisfied and frustrated with the briefing. He was all too used to limited information, but in the past, limited information had led to him being used and betrayed by his superiors. The man kept quiet, though; he knew voicing his frustrations to Otacon wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. So, instead, he began his nighttime trek through the rainforest.
Snake had been deployed in Iraq during the war as part of the U.S. Special Forces, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with outdoor operations, but he certainly didn’t have as much experience as his “predecessor”, Big Boss. While the latter feasted on wild tree frogs and rats, the former was far more accustomed to military rations. Not that cold frankfurters drowned in a mystery liquid were much more palatable, but they were certainly more convenient.
Regardless, plenty of Snake’s infiltration skills still applied in the wilderness. Blending in, masking every noise you can, being on constant alert—all of it was universally applicable. He just had to adjust to the many noises of nature and the mild pricking of every thorn he crawled over.
Finally, he arrived at La Villa de la Nube. The mansion was situated amongst the trees, almost camouflaged by the jungle. No signs or paths led to it, and no Zapatista farms or Maya villages were nearby. He took out his binoculars and surveyed the structure. It was beautiful and constructed for someone with discerning taste, and was clearly well-maintained despite its age; it was obviously built far before the Bandidos existed, but some modern fixtures like lights (which were all turned on since it was almost midnight) and cameras were present, likely added by the organization. The stained glass windows indicated that there were three floors, but there was likely an attic and a basement as well. The exterior of the villa was a wraparound veranda and terrace, connected by stairways and surrounded by railings.
Patrolling the outside of the villa, which had two levels, were about a dozen armed guards. “Los Bandidos,” Snake thought to himself, “and well prepared for combat, at that.” The soldiers’ outfits were solid dark green, with all the accessories of a modern battle dress; body armor, bandoliers and satchels, helmets, etc. They were armed with G3 battle rifles, the weapon of choice for the Mexican Army. These mercenaries meant business, even outside of active combat. As Snake began taking a full count of the guards and surveying all entry points and hiding spots, he called Otacon on the codec.
“Otacon, do we have any information on the leader of the Bandidos?”
“No…but if you want my theory, I think there had to have been some sort of…’change in management’. I mean, how else do you go from some small-time militia to a Machiavellian private military with insider political information and the wherewithal to pull off a nine-figure heist, and maybe even acquire the plans for a Metal Gear? It just doesn’t make sense…unless someone new is pulling the strings.”
Snake just grunted in response. Internally, he fully believed Otacon’s theory. Not just because of his ally’s genius, however, but because of the message. A week ago, Snake received an encrypted message entitled SNAKE EYES. The encryption had been simple enough that he was able to decode it without Otacon’s help. The message read:
“Hello, my soon-to-be acquaintance. How unfortunate is it that we haven’t met yet? Truly tragic. They call you the ‘legendary hero Solid Snake’. I don’t doubt your prowess; you single-handedly brought down Big Boss and dispatched FOXHOUND when all cards were stacked against you. Anyone idiotic enough to underestimate you is quickly made a fool of…in combat. But I wonder just how clever you are, hero. What happens to a snake that can’t bite, can’t constrict, can’t fight? How do they adapt and overcome a challenge more complex than simple violence? That’s what I would like to find out.
Dr. Emmerich will soon present to you a new mission, sourced from an anonymous tip. Accept it. Make no mention of this message. Dr. Emmerich resides at your headquarters, correct? Nastasha Romanenko is in London for a conference, is she not? Young Mei Ling’s family is in San Francisco, aren’t they? Don’t panic, my snake. All is well. Just leave this conversation as a little tête-à-tête. As a show of my goodwill, the code is 0228. You’ll know when you need it.
I look forward to ‘meeting’ you, Solid Snake.”
It tortured Snake to harbor a secret from his trusted partner. But the prospect of Philanthropy coming under fire due to Snake’s actions tortured him even more. So, as the soldier often did, he attempted to handle everything himself, and kept quiet about the message. The identity of the sender, who Snake suspected to be the leader of Los Bandidos, was unknown. Snake did know one thing for sure, though:
He would make whoever threatened his allies pay.