Metal Gear Solid: A Bastardized Novelization

By Solid Steel Plectrum

Chapter 0: THE BRIEFING

Time: 7:06 A.M.

Location: Off the coast of Alaska

Subject: Briefing

"It's been a long time, Snake."

Snake looked up. Freezing and shirtless, sitting on a rock-hard bed in a surgically clean medical room, he wasn't exactly the picture of comfort. He looked tired and haggard. There were dark bags under his eyes. His head was pounding from the result of a failed keg stand at the local bar last night. God damn, those Alaskan bars had some hard floors.

Snake looked up, gritting his teeth in a very pained smile.

"Not long enough, Colonel."

Colonel Roy Campbell grinned, his lined, wrinkled face contorting like an imploding prune. "That's no way to greet an old war buddy, Snake."

Snake sighed loudly and held his head in his hands. Why in God's name was he here?

"Colonel, let's get this over with. What the hell do you want from me? And I'm flat broke, so if you're looking for a couple extra bucks to spend on a new Rascal, you've kidnapped the wrong guy."

The Colonel grinned once again. He enjoyed Snake's acidic comments, even if they directly insulted his age. He had a weird sense of humor.

"Now, Snake, I didn't kidnap you! We old wardogs like to call it 'armed guards forcing entry into your home and shoving nightsticks up your ass.' It's a military term."

Snake rolled his eyes and sighed again. It seemed hard to believe, but the Colonel had been this stupid as long as Snake had known him.

"Colonel, I was tossed out of my bed, beaten in the face with a billy club, Maced, stripped of all clothing, tied up, tossed in the back of a pickup truck, and then Maced AGAIN. I was then driven over 20 miles of bumpy Alaskan terrain, keep in mind I am stark naked now, untied, hit in the face with a billy club that had Mace ON IT, and finally was brought here. The only reason I have these shorts on is because a blind man sitting outside the door sold them to me for a nickel. Colonel, if that's not kidnapping, I don't know what is."

Campbell yawned and looked at his watch. How boring. Snake was always thinking about himself.

"That's a charming story, but we need to get the road on the show here. We're under a deadline."

Snake sighed again. Campbell's selfless mutilation of age-old sayings irritated him to no end. Road on the show? Was this man on drugs?

"Now, Snake, I would like to introduce you to someone. This is Dr. Naomi Hunter. She's chief of FOXHOUND's medical staff and an expert on gene therapy. You'll pretty much be her bitch for the next 24 hours."

Snake was about to say something in retaliation, but then his eyes fell on Dr. Naomi Hunter. He immediately shut up. She was attractive, slender, and looked like she could pistol-whip a senior citizen without blinking an eye. But maybe that was because her eyes never seemed to blink. The small, dark beads were cold, staring, and demanded attention. Snake would give them plenty of attention, all right. Stale, overused pick-up line type of attention.

"So Dr. Hunter, do you come here ofTOWPAJAMABANANAPHONES!"

Naomi withdrew a long, shining needle from Snake's arm. Smiling a satisfacted smile, she began rubbing alcohol on the area she delivered the shot.

"What's wrong, Snake? Don't like shots?" Her voice was soft, clear, and articulate.

Snake shook his head, mouth tightly closed and tears welling up in his eyes.

Colonel Campbell was still grinning that stupid-ass grin. He was probably enjoying it. Snake getting shots from attractive gene therapists was something else he found funny. Like I said, he has a weird sense of humor.

"Alrighty, Snake. Let's start the debriefing, shall we?"

Snake didn't want to hear the word "debriefing" ever again. Ever. "Yeah, let's get it over with."

Campbell drew himself up, slowly pacing back and forth like a lawyer dictating a letter to his secretary. Campbell kinda wishes he had a secretary. He needs someone to sort the spam out of his mail.

"Here's the deal, Snake. Five hours ago, an army of heavily-armed soldiers occupied Shadow Moses Island, a remote island off the coast of Alaska."

Snake snorted, skeptical. "Shadow Moses? Sounds like some kind of death metal band."

Campbell furrowed his brow. "Well, the original name was Cannibal Corpse, but it was changed. Then it was Iron Maiden Island. Eventually they just settled on Shadow Moses. Pretty bizarre actually. But I digress.

"The soldiers were Next-Generation Special Forces led by members of the unit FOXHOUND. They've given Washington a single demand. They say if their demand isn't met, they'll launch a nuclear weapon."

"A nuke? Where in God's name are you going to find a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness?"

Campbell smiled triumphantly. He looked like a pleased badger when he smiled triumphantly. A badger with testicular cancer.

"I thought you'd ask that! The base they took over is an old nuclear weapons storage facility. There are more nuclear weapons lying around than used condoms in Anna Nicole-Smith's apartment. NOT that I condone such things as prostitution."

An awkward silence filled the room. Snake coughed. Naomi stared fixedly at a speck of dust on her fingernail.

"Er, right," the Colonel said, slightly embarrassed. "Let me tell you about the hostages, then."

Campbell produced from his suit pocket three photographs.

"The first and perhaps most important hostage is Donald Anderson," the Colonel said, handing Snake a photograph. "He's the DARPA Chief, and is therefore a very important man."

Snake was staring at the photograph. "Uh, Colonel?" he said hesitantly. "Is the DARPA Chief Donald Anderson supposed to look like Revolver Ocelot in a Speedo? And why does it say 'From Ocelot, XOXOXO' in red pen?"

The Colonel turned beet red and snatched the photo back from Snake.

"Er, top-secret confidential reasons. You weren't supposed to see that. In fact, I'm not even supposed to have it. You know what, it's not even mine. Just never mention it to anyone, ever. For fuck's sake, let's just forget the photographs. They're shitty anyway."

Campbell tossed the photos away in a huff. Naomi, though she was used to swearing (The Sopranos was her favorite show), was surprised at the Colonel's outburst. He was usually a very controlled man. The only time she ever saw him lose his cool was when his Segway broke after he ran over an albino mouse that was crossing the street. He got pretty mad and even swore revenge on the dead mouse's family. "Cut you little fuckers up like Angus beef," he had screamed at the red and white lump of mouse innards. "Go back to Africa, you cocksuckers!"

Naomi sighed. That was a long time ago. Well, if you consider two days ago a long time.

"Colonel," Snake said, his gravelly voice making Campbell and Naomi's throats hurt just by hearing it, "let's get a move on. You said we're under a deadline."

Campbell swallowed some aspirin. "You're right, Snake, we are on a deadline. A deadline…to DEATH! Bwahahahahaaaaa."

The silence could have killed an ox.

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Ahem, well, yes. Where were we? Ah yes, the hostages. Well, as I already told you, Hostage number one is Donald Anderson. The next hostage is Kenneth Baker, president of ArmsTech. He's old and probably doesn't have any of his real teeth anymore."

Snake chewed a fingernail. "Pretty important hostages, I guess. But neither of them are hot and female. So what's my incentive?"

Campbell raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear me? The terrorists have the ability to launch a nuke! These hostages know the launch codes! If they—"

Snake raised his hands. "Woah, woah, woah Colonel. I hear you. Nuclear warfare and such. Important stuff. It's just that none of these hostages resemble Marisa Tomei. And that's a problem for me."

The Colonel looked at Snake disbelievingly. Naomi rolled her eyes so hard she almost pulled a face muscle.

"Well, um…" Campbell scratched his head. "Oh yes, I have a niece that's also being held hostage there. She's not really a top priority but she is pretty attractive, so—"

Snake pepped up a little.

"Pretty attractive, you say? Compare her to a celebrity for me."

The Colonel glanced around uneasily. This was kind of awkward.

"Er, well, Snake, she is my niece, so, um…I don't really feel comfortable objectifying her like this, so, um…"

There was a pause. Naomi was trying hard not to snort disbelievingly. Snake was looking up at Campbell anxiously.

Campbell sighed. "Jessica Alba, I guess. Just a little bit."

If Snake was a dog, his tail would have been wagging furiously.

"Jessica Alba? Oh man Colonel, that's pretty awesome! If you don't mind me saying so."

Campbell sighed again. "Well, if it gets you excited for the mission, I suppose it's worth—"

"I am pretty excited now, Colonel! When can I leave?"

Both Naomi and Campbell looked up at Snake sharply in alarm. A couple minutes ago he was being a sarcastic prick. Now he seemed almost cheerful.

"Well, there are still things we have to go over, Snake. This is a briefing, you know."

Snake looked kind of disappointed. "Well, alright. I guess." He was kind of sinking back into pessimist mode again. "Let's get this over with," he sighed.

The Colonel glanced at his watch. Holy shit-on-a-stick! It was almost eight! They needed to get going. Campbell's coffee break was at 8:15. He was enormously cranky if he didn't get his coffee.

"Listen, Snake, we're short on time, so I'm going to give the situation to you in a nutshell."

Snake snorted. "Coffee break coming up?"

Campbell frowned. "Yes. Anyways, about the mission.

"Your job is going to consist of a few things: number one, rescue the aforementioned hostages. Number two, collect information about the shit going on inside the base, because we don't have the faintest clue. And number three: basically do anything we tell you to. I am in total control of this operation. So just in case you have to like…oh I don't know…disable some sort of Metal Gear or something along those lines, don't be surprised. Ahem."

Snake was barely listening. "How am I going to eat on this mission? I doubt I'm going to have time to hunt for walruses."

Naomi stepped in. "Well, Snake, remember that shot I gave you? The one you almost started bawling over? Well, that shot contained something I like to call nanomachines."

Snake looked up at Naomi slyly. "I thought I was supposed put tiny swimming things inside of you."

Naomi gritted her teeth so hard it hurt. God, sometimes she hated men.

"Charming. Now, as I was saying, these nanomachines will provide you with nutrition, adrenaline, focus, and sugar. They also contain an anti-freezing peptide that will prevent your bodily fluids from freezing in the Arctic conditions."

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Thanks for that, Naomi. But we really do need to get a move on."

Naomi shrugged submissively and sat down.

Campbell cleared his throat again. "Now, finally Snake, I think you should know who you're up against. FOXHOUND has changed since you last heard about it."

Snake laughed. "How much could it have changed? It's not like the members have names and abilities reminiscent of comic book characters. What, does one have 'psychic powers?'" He laughed again. "Oh boy, that's rich. I bet there's even one with superhuman strength that carries a massive automatic gun, right?" He was now chortling to the point of tears. He finally stopped, snorting. "Ohhh boy, am I funny. Psychic powers, that's a riot."

The Colonel coughed loudly and shuffled his feet. "Well, um…actually, Snake…"

Snake's face was stone. He stared at the Colonel. "Aw, hell no."

"Hell yes, actually. Let me read off the names of the FOXHOUND members to you. No comments until the end, please.

"Revolver Ocelot is the interrogation specialist. He dresses like a cowboy and refuses to use any gun except a Colt Single Action Army. He has pinpoint accuracy and is a bit of a loony.

"Psycho Mantis has powerful psychic abilities. Kind of like Miss Cleo but on steroids. And he doesn't charge per minute, either.

"Sniper Wolf is the team's sharpshooter. She can stay focused on a target for weeks without moving. She also has a great rack and wears a shirt with this huge slit down the front. It's pretty hot.

"Vulcan Raven is a shaman. He's kind of like The Thing but more human. He carries this huge fucking gun around that he ripped off a helicopter I think. He's obsessed with ravens.

"Decoy Octopus is a plot device, fuck him.

"And finally, the leader: Liquid Snake."

Snake, half-asleep, jumped at the sound of his name.

"I'm here. I didn't do anything. …Wait, did you say Liquid Snake? Who's that?"

The Colonel handed a photo to him. "This is Liquid Snake. He has a nutty British accent."

Snake was looking at the photo with disgust. "Man, that is one ugly motherfucker! Look at that face, it's enough to make you puke! That nose is just so long and pointy, it's disgusting! He looks like he got hit with the entire Ugly Tree! Yikes!"

There was a grand pause. "Uh, Snake," Campbell said. "That's your twin."

Snake 's face was expressionless. "Oh." Another long pause. "Well, maybe he's not so bad-looking after all. Pretty hot, actually. Not that I'm saying he's hot. I'm not gay. At all." Pause number three. "You know what, forget about it. Let's move on, Colonel."

"Ok, Snake," he said, wanting to move away from the previous topic, "I think you understand the mission objectives, the situation, and how much this is riding on you. You ready to head out?"

Snake took a long look at the Sneaking Suit hanging on the wall next to him. It looked shiny, especially the ab part. The big collar on it was sexy. Damn, he could pick up a lot of chicks in that beast.

"Colonel, can I keep the suit when I'm done? Well you know, if I get done. Cause I might die. But seriously, can I keep it?"

Colonel rubbed his temples. He needed his coffee.

"Yes, Snake. You can keep the suit. Just say you accept this mission. Quick."

Snake stood up. His ass was number than plastic. "I accept this mission! God my ass is numb."

Campbell looked relieved. "Alright, good. You'll head out in an hour. More mission details will be explained to you in that time period, things like the team and the Codec and other assorted shit. But I gotta go now. So, uh…bye."

He dashed out the door like a deer with its ass on fire.

Snake looked around the room. Only he and Naomi were left. Naomi was sitting down, reading "Getting Revenge for Dummies."

Snake smiled crookedly again. "So, Naomi," he said greasily, "it's just you and—"

Naomi interjected. "Shut the fuck up, Snake."

"Kay."

He sat down again and sighed. What was he going to do for another hour? Out of the corner of his eye he saw the photo of Liquid Snake. He's an ugly motherfucker even if he's my twin, Snake though. What's different about him than me?

Then it clicked. Snake noticed Liquid's long blonde hair. He reached up and felt his long brown hair. That shit's got to go, he thought.

He spied a scissors on the desk next to the bed and began to go to work.

Naomi heard the trimming noises and stopped reading. "Snake," she asked. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to be mistaken for the leader of the terrorists." Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Oh. Alright." She paused. "Don't cut yourself, then." She resumed reading.

As the dry clumps of dark hair fell around him, a single question entered Snake's mind.

How the fuck am I doing this without a mirror?