Metal Gear Wayne: Prologue

Author's note: This story is a crossover between Batman and Metal Gear. In some ways, Batman with his stealthy arts have inspired Metal Gear and other stories, thus it is only natural that we bring the two together.

Disclaimer: I do not own Metal Gear or the Batman franchise, though by God I wish I did. Special thanks must go to EZB for he is the one who's my Metal Gear encyclopaedia and my collaborator. He wrote the parts in this that chapter that star Solid Snake. So if I get sued for copyright, he's getting sued also. Just kidding.

Gotham City

Young Bruce Wayne rode in the back of the expensive Rolls Royce in utter silence. On his face was an uneasy expression. Awkwardness filled the vehicle. His butler Alfred did not at all like what was happening.

Influenced by the death of his parents, Bruce, now seventeen years of age, took it upon himself to learn how to fight.

At first he'd simply been content with the more reputable dojos and fight clubs, learning wrestling, karate, self defense and a few other fighting styles. It didn't take long for the orphaned billionaire to become dissatisfied with these kinds of places.

Bruce wanted to hunt down and fight men like the one who'd killed his parents. Every time he beat up some kid his own age in the ring, it was a hollow victory. They just didn't teach him the kind of stuff that he wanted to learn. He wanted to learn how to shatter a man's bones and use his thumbs to gouge out his attacker's eyes.

If he was going to have to become the greatest in the world, Bruce was going to have to look elsewhere for fighting lessons.

Enter the Narrows: the absolute worst part of Gotham City. Here was where the poorest denizens of Gotham City lived and most often died. That was where they were headed now, deep into the fetid, maggot infested heart of Gotham.

Alfred was Bruce's legal guardian and it was his job to see that the boy was raised well, but already he had a nagging suspicion that his young ward was going to grow up to be insane. With concern in his eyes, he looked at Bruce in the rear-view mirror. Bruce was a small boy for his age, with thin limbs and a head that was too large. This meek appearance belied an internal fire and lust for vengeance.

Choosing his words carefully, the butler took a left turn. "Master Bruce, are you sure that this is where you want to go?" He wasn't only referring to Bruce's choice of work out place.

Young Bruce snapped from his contemplative state. Like any seventeen year old, he had his doubts but he'd sooner lose teeth than show that doubt. "Of course, this is the best place for me to learn how to fight, Alfred."

The butler knew that he was going to lose this argument but he still had to try. "Why do you need to fight? Are you really planning to go out and fight every criminal in the city?"

Bruce leaned back, clutching at his cheap, no-name gym bag. He really didn't want to say it out loud, but he did want to go out and fight all the criminals out there. He'd find the criminals in their dens and slam their balls in the doors of their stolen cars.

Brilliant at his school studies, genius even, Bruce was still a socially awkward child that never seemed to know how to connect with people. For him, solace was found only in books on criminology and in combat.

The boy billionaire noticed that his destination was almost here. Through many sleepless nights, Bruce had discovered a great place to hone his fighting skills. It was a small, nameless club that was run by a former Special Forces soldier. The owner made his living by training gang bangers and mafia hit men, so during sparring matches there were virtually no rules.

Alfred finally stopped the vehicle a short distance from the club. It was an ugly concrete building that looked like it had been gutted by fire. One last time, the butler tried to sway the stubborn young man from his present course. "Please, Master Bruce, couldn't you reconsider taking rugby or something else to vent your aggression?"

Bruce held his bag tightly and opened the car door. He looked up at Alfred; his face was hard and emotionless but his eyes were large and sad. "I'm sorry, Alfred, but this is something I have to do."

"But you could be killed," protested the butler.

"But Alfred," Bruce whined like a normal teenager, "you said that if I kept my marks up I could do this. I have perfect marks at school!"

The loyal manservant to the Wayne family sighed and relented. The car door opened and Bruce stepped out. As he did this, Alfred pulled a gun out of the glove box and cocked it.

Bruce made it about five steps from the car when he was attacked by about ten drug addicts with a few regular muggers thrown in for variety. Alfred's eyes widened as he watched his ward beat the crap out of every single one of those dregs. It was always like this, coming to this club; you fought your way in and you had to fight your way out.

As much as Bruce had scorned the training places that the well-to-to attended, he had learned some very valuable skills in attack and self defence

Class was just about to start when Bruce ran in. Profusely he apologized to the head trainer. "Sorry I'm late."

The instructor just looked annoyed. Originally he hadn't meant to let in this pretty boy rich kid, but he couldn't say no to the kind of money he'd been offered. Like a flash, Bruce was in his workout clothes and ready to fight.

The instructor lit a cigarette and thoughtfully stroked the big scar on his cheek. "Okay, partner up, we're practicing more close quarter combat today."

He took a drag on his smoke and pointed at Bruce. "Because you're late and missed the warm up, you're going to go with our biggest, strongest member."

By that he was referring to the three hundred pound Mafia hit man named Roberto Zaphino, who had killed over forty people when he was still in high school.

Undaunted by one of Carmine Falcone's thugs, Bruce got into fighting stance before Roberto. Roberto just laughed.

Insects chirped and shrieked loudly in the surrounding bush. Birds too added to the symphony of noise that was the jungles setting. One would think that even with the grand orchestra of noise, accompanied by the lavish terrain of thick bushes and thick trees, anyone could sneak, undetected in the undergrowth. A fallen tree had recently created an opening to the thick jungle. Rays of sun shot down into the damp floor of the jungle. Smaller, faster growing plants had taken root.

A single frog leapt up into the air. Its green color kept its fast movements obscured as it landed on the vine covered log. A loud croak bellowed out from its vocal sack. It was hungry. Its eyes found several tasty flies, all themselves looking for food. It followed their movements only for a fem moments though. Something else in the jungle caught its attention. In its eyes a being, tall enough and loud enough to be a threat, was approaching. It turned its attention to the being.

A man stepped out. His face was obscured with a mask, exposing his eyes. Grey-blue eyes peered out and around the area. The figure was also clad in camouflage combat getup- jacket, boots, pants, even the knife he held by his gun was camo'ed. Taking a step on a loud, dead root, he made his presence known with a loud snap. Several birds took flight and he gasped, raising his silenced pistol upwards. He sighed, only to mentally curse himself for making more noise. It was bad enough that he had broken the twig, or branch, or whatever he had stepped on, but it was also bad enough that he sighed out loud.

Gingerly he took several more steps, just staying out of the rays of light. A loud croak caught his attention. His gun again raced towards the point of origin, and found a small tree frog staring at him. He resisted sighing loudly, and told himself to relax. He could keep alert without shooting at everything that made a sound. Checking the surrounding area, he finally stepped into the light. It was now hot and buggy, but if he stayed put for too long, he might be found. The frog turned and jumped away as he stepped closer.

"Heh. I'd eat you if I hadn't already had a Big Mac," the man chuckled. He stepped onto the log with one foot.

A foot swung out from under the log and tossed his balance off. Falling backwards, the man landed painfully on the back of his head. His eyesight swimming, he glanced up, only to find pressure on his chest.

"Never speak, unless interrogating a hostage," a man, also camouflaged, but wrapped in vines, stated. The one on the ground grunted and tossed the foot away, rolling to the right. He stood up, and gripped his gun. No one shoved him down and got away with it.

The enemy had been expected the pistol. As it was pointed right for him, he wove an arm around the gun and arm, grasping the shoulder while forcing the gun upwards. The attacker slid a boot around the mans foot and again forced him to collapse downward. The gun clattered away under the log.

"Pistols are great, but in C.Q.C," the man started again," a knife works better," the first man again got up and thrust his knife at the attackers chest. The attacker immediately grasped the hand and twisted it. The man had to drop it. "and what do you do if you loose both weapons?" The man stood up and tried punching the leg, growling in anger. "Don't loose your focus!" A kick to the jaw had the man fall back into more bushes.

He stood, and took the mans words this time and applied them. He steadily arose and approached, ready for combat. The attacker this time struck for his face. The man tried to step aside, only to meet a kick to the ribs. He was able to grab the leg however. Triumphantly he held it, only to spot the attacker, steadily keeping his balance. The man made a grievous error- he had done nothing but root himself, and present his attacker with a great target- the side of his head. Just as he predicted, the attacker leapt up, his leg still being held, and planted the face of his foot cleanly in the cheek of the man.

He fell, unable to see clearly, or even think. Several moments passed before he spotted the attacker holding a gun down on him.

"Bang, you're dead, David."

"Damn it!" he grunted the man, who ripped off his head piece. Thick, brown hair fell out, sticky with sweat and precipitation. The man who would one day be called Solid Snake stared up at the man who beat him. He hadn't lowered the gun. "I'm getting sick of this bullshit," he said in a fit of anger.

Actually, man wasn't the right word for it. At seventeen, he was only a boy, a greenhorn compared to the other man.

"You want this to be over as soon as possible," the man, who hadn't removed the mask," which makes you rush your actions. Rushing is what makes you impatient, which in return," the man lowered his gun, and pulled his mask off," dead."

"Right, boss, right. I get you," David sighed as he relaxed. Above him, the great Big Boss stared down on him. With an eye patch and a single blue eye, graying hair with several strands of Brown still left, the legendary soldier, and leader of FOXHOUND offered a hand to his trainee. It hadn't been long since David had joined.

"Snake, you're a good fighter. You know that. But if you keep making these irrational decisions on the battlefield, you'll find yourself one day in a position like this. Only, it wont be me holding a gun down on you, and I doubt they will help you back up for another round," Big Boss stated to Solid Snake, the codename given to David, as he helped him up.

"We're seriously doing another one?" Snake stated, sitting down on the log. It was now the sixth time that Snake had tried to sneak up on Big Boss and defeat him using Close Quarters Combat, or CQC. "This stuff gets dull after a while," he stated, just as Big Boss lit a cigarette.

"You mean defeat?" Big Boss clarified," surly you don't mean combat?"

"Well, fighting is always different, but walking around forever, looking for you is hardly what I call fun, Boss," Snake spat a wad of spit into the bushes," I don't think guards will be waiting in the bushes for someone to come sneaking by."

"You would. And you are probably right. Guards don't need to because they have firepower and usually a clear sight from their position. But imagine for a second… you were wrong," Big Boss stated. "Assuming that the world operates on what we call 'normal' is foolish. On the battlefield, there is no normal: only what is, and what isn't. I just proved to you that, yes, someone could hide in the bushes for your arrival."

"Well I don't think sneaking through trees tops like a monkey will get me anywhere," Snake huffed as he watched jealously as Big Boss enjoyed his smoke.

"You are missing the point, still!" Big Boss growled, facing the sitting operative," you must be aware for anything, at all times. This clearing could have been used as an ambush! Or maybe landmines!"

"Not landmines," Snake argued," there was a tree frog on the log. I don't think a frog like that would have come near if people were messing around." Big Boss gave him a tired look, and sighed, smoke trailing out from his mouth dramatically.

"Snake, I cannot teach you how to think. I can try all I want, and I may influence you in time… but if there is one thing I must get through your skull before you go on mission is a strong sense of will."

"Will?" Snake asked," what good is will on the line of battle?"

"Will is everything. The will to go one for days on a mission with only raw foods, like that frog you saw, or the birds, even certain flowers… the will to wait, patiently for a patrol to arrive at a checkpoint, alone, for you to interrogate… the will to fight; the will to continue on. It is the power of ones will that defines the weak," Big Boss glared down at the staring soldier," from the strong."

Snake swallowed the words with difficulty. It was hard to imagine that the old man standing above him had beaten him only with the power of will. But then again, there had be moments during the day he had known it was Big Boss and not a random soldier that held back his decisions. He closed his eyes for a moment. The bruises on top of bruises still hurt, but if Big Boss was right, he had to give it a shot. He stood.

"Are you ready for one more? Perhaps you will take my words a little more seriously," Big Boss stated, flicking away the burnt out cigarette.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just want to kick your sorry, old, ass," Snake retorted. Big Boss smiled.

"Remember… will. It is will that really separates the weak and the strong," Big Boss stated as Snake walked past him, and into the bush.

"We'll see about that, Snake said over his shoulder, and suddenly pulled out a smoke of his own, and lit it as he walked away into the dense terrain. Big Boss blinked and checked his front pocket. The Cigarettes were gone.

"Son of a bitch stole my smokes," Big Boss mumbled," he can do alright when he wants to."

Young Bruce Wayne wasn't feeling so good. His handsome face was covered with bruises and one eye was completely swollen shut. The hit man for the Falcone family had totally schooled Bruce in the art of doing bad things to another person.

While Bruce could beat up ten muggers, this hit man had totally outclassed him, not only in sparring but in the physical conditioning. Despite his massive bulk, he'd still beaten Bruce in the wind sprints; much to the young Wayne's humiliation.

It didn't matter to Bruce that this guy weighted two thirds more than his weight or that he was a full decade older, he didn't like to lose. The boy billionaire carefully kept his bilious anger hidden.

He was going to have a dandy of a time explaining theses injuries to the school authorities. They'd probably think that Alfred was the one hitting him.

The instructor gave everyone an unsentimental farewell. "Next practice is tomorrow at the same time; we're doing weights. Now get the fuck out of here."

As he headed towards the changing room, Bruce nearly walked into Roberto. The giant Sicilian assassin leered at Bruce, showing off a mouth full of missing and gold teeth. The man's nose, broken multiple times, twisted like a road map.

He'd come to gloat over his victory; putting the young pup in his place. He didn't realize that Bruce cared about none of it. He didn't care that Roberto could lift a small car or that he was with the biggest mob in town or any of it. All Bruce saw was a big wall of flesh that needed to go down.

Bruce breathed in slowly and blinked his eyes owlishly. Without warning, he threw himself into a perfectly executed Tai Kwon Do kick and kicked the guy right in the fanny knockers.

The huge hit man howled in pain like a wounded seal and went down like melted wax. Roberto groaned and cried for a second and then put his hands to his now useless jingle bells. As he lay there feeling sorry for himself, Bruce stepped on his head getting to the change room.

Bruce Wayne did not like to lose

That's a wrap folks. Young Snake and Batman :) Aren't they the best? Next chapter we'll flash forward to the present and get things running. While you're here, if you're interested in a good X-Men crossover, try Captain Lycan's Hellsing X. Trust me, it's a blast.

Ta

Master of the Boot