Chapter 42: A New Revelation
The vents were dark, horribly so. The only traces of lighter were found by the occasional vent, but those were few and far between. Snake didn't know how long they had been moving, but he could have guessed hours. After a while, the two stopped for a moment to get a bear on their surroundings. It was deathly quiet as they rested, the only noise being their breathing. At that moment, Snake grabbed his Idroid and placed it on the vent.
Turning it on, the vents were quickly lit up. At the same time, Nagant shifted to look back at Snake, moving to grab something off her belt.
"Here," she said, passing him an old radio. It was rusted and old, a soviet design if Snake remembered.
"Grabbed it off one of the guards," she explained, Snake nodding in response. Holding it up, he turned it on and flinched back as the loud voice of the Showmaster spoke through it.
"What do you mean they're gone!?" he yelled out incredulously, with Snake turning down the radio's volume. After a few moments of nothing but cursing the Showmaster sighed, seeming to calm down.
"You know what, I should have expected this." Showmaster muttered to himself, "No one is called a legend for nothing. Still, where were they last seen?"
"The contestants were last seen in the decontamination, before disappearing into the vents," a voice replied robotically, yet sounding far too human. Snake could already see where this was going though and motioned for Nagant to move forward. She did so quickly, just as the Showmaster spoke again.
"Then what are you standing around for, burn them out!"
A bright light was slowly forming behind them as they kept moving forward, the smell of smoke following quickly. With the heat beginning to rise Snake found Nagant stopping for a moment before gunfire echoed in the vent. Seconds later she kept forward, before crawling out of the vent she shot open. Snake quickly followed behind, and the two landed in a dark room. Again, they stopped. Waiting for any noise to give them a warning.
Looking up, Snake found the fire burning past them before ultimately dying out. A great gust of wind blew through the vents extinguishing the flames.
"Anything?" The Showmaster asked over the radio, only to be met with silence.
"Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered quietly, "Paid all that money just to get him here. I'm definitely not getting that deposit back."
That last bit left Snake confused for a moment. Did he pay to get Snake here? Showmaster seemed to know he was coming, so that would explain the paid part. But who did he pay? Maybe it was his clients? But that didn't make sense either. With it not making sense Snake returned his focus to the radio.
"Alright, here's what I want you to do. I want more eyes on the contestants' quarters and the rest of you searching the premises. We go live in an hour so hurry, or you'll partake in my next event." Showmaster orders, with malice and annoyance present in his voice before the radio went silent. Seeing he wasn't going to get anything else from the radio, Snake put it away in his bag.
Looking back up, he held up his M4 and turned on its flashlight. It lit up the area quickly, displaying the confused form of Nagant, as she grabbed her flashlight. Shining it around the room, the two found the area to be a clinic of some kind, which was odd. The vents had led from a decontamination chamber to a clinic. They hadn't run into any filtration system either. So, either this place was poorly built, or someone had stopped maintaining it for a while.
Looking around, Snake began to lean toward the latter option. Cobwebs lined the corners of the clinics, all the cabinets and drawers were torn apart with their contents looted, blood stained the walls around them, and several bones littered the floor. Whatever bodies they belonged to had rotted away years ago, leaving only these horrid remains. Nagant let out a quiet shudder as the two kept looking, eventually finding the door out.
Silently, the two approached it. At least, they did at first. Snake had questions, far too many. But only one came up the most. Why didn't the guards bleed? It didn't make much sense, and Snake came to a stop. There were blood stains on the wall, he thought, but then whose blood is it? It could have been the prisoners, but they more than likely didn't get medical attention in the first place.
"Something wrong boss?" Nagant asked, also coming to a stop. He thought he could be wrong for a second, that the guards were normal, and Snake simply missed things due to the adrenaline. But everything about this seemed wrong.
"Back in the obstacle course, did any of the guards bleed?" Snake asked her. Nagant paused for a moment, before nodding carefully.
"Now that you mention it, no." she replied, "Barely noticed it during the fight, but I don't think any of them did."
Snake went quiet then, searching the room for a second time. He ran over every corner of the room again, finding bits and pieces of torn-up papers. None of them fit into a coherent report when he inspected them, but all bore the same word: Bogatyr. What it could mean he didn't know. It roughly translated to some kind of warrior, but that barely gave him any information.
"In your time in the HPSC, did the word Bogatyr ever come up?" Snake asked, walking back over to her. It was clear he wasn't getting any more info from the room at this point.
"Can't say it has," Nagant replied, "Then again my job didn't involve cooler side chit-chat."
Calmly Snake approached the door leading out of the clinic, as he thought over Nagant's response. He wasn't sure if the HPSC was involved in this, but it seemed like something they'd do. But with how old this place seemed, whatever it was that happened, would have occurred decades ago. He put those thoughts aside for the moment, before carefully opening the door. Outside the hallway was dark, but still had some light above. Every fifth bulb seemed to flicker the further down the hall Snake looked.
It seemed abandoned, but the sound of footsteps said otherwise. He pulled the door back, leaving it open just a crack to hear outside. The footsteps got closer before a squad of guards walked by. They looked lifeless up close. Their skin was pale and sickly, with an almost robotic expression on their faces. It was disturbing to look at as they walked by. Once they were gone Snake fully closed the door. The two remained in silence, thinking over what had walked by.
Ocelot paled as the doctor went over the autopsy in front of him. He begged, pleaded to be hearing things, that his eyes and ears had betrayed him. But it was pointless in the end.
"It took a lot of digging to find the cause of death, but we think we've narrowed it down." the forensic specialist explained, passing him a stack of photos. He went over them silently, his dread becoming worse as he kept looking. Yet he kept a calm face, hiding away his true thoughts.
"From what we see this appears to be a kind of retrovirus." the specialist continued, "It most likely altered Ghost Leopard's DNA, leading to the onset of a heart attack."
It was real. To Ocelot's horror, the specialist didn't stop talking. He hoped the specialist would shut up and never bring up this event again. But he didn't.
"It was rather peculiar too. For whatever reason the retrovirus only targeted Ghost Leopard. Makes me wonder how he contracted it. Because it almost seems artificial in a way."
This information could not be allowed to spread. That was Ocelot's immediate decision as he eyed the rest of the room carefully. There were no cameras luckily, as this facility was effectively an HPSC black site. Somewhere to ensure no one learned of Ghost Leopard's actions. But to think even one person knew of this weapon's existence was bad.
"We're going to begin testing in a few days, so we should have more information by then," the specialist continued, not noticing Ocelot grabbed a scalpel. No one would learn of this, no one. He wouldn't allow the HPSC to get ahold of a weapon like this.
"Really, this is quite fasci-"
Ocelot shoved the scalpel into the specialist's throat, quickly killing the man. With him dead, Ocelot turned to the main computer in the room. Wordlessly he grabbed a USB from his pocket and plugged it in. A gift from Strangelove, a highly capable virus designed to find and eliminate information. Ocelot could only hope the details of the retrovirus hadn't reached anyone else yet. As that happened, he turned away and eyed the room carefully. Walking around he grabbed whatever chemicals he could find, before pouring them all over the room.
Some were acidic and burned away at the floors and walls, bubbling away as they ate the material. Others didn't react, but Ocelot knew they were highly flammable. Finding the virus was finished in its purge, he unplugged the USB and began walking out of the room, quickly dropping a match behind him. The room was in flames in seconds, quickly burning away what evidence displayed the retrovirus's existence. He walked away silently, fully exiting the building and disappearing into a large crowd.
This investigation was becoming more confusing by the day as he despised what he had learned. The horror of this weapon existing at all made him worried, and he refused to let anyone know of this weapon's existence. For it was something created only, by the machinations of Cipher. A proposed idea Ocelot had only seen once but remembered like the back of his hand: FOXDIE.
"Rody, are you sure this is the right website?" Midoriya asked. Beside him, Rody scratched his head confused as the two looked at the computer. Now a bet was a bet after all, and Midoriya was too loyal of a friend not to follow through with it. So once the two had finished playing C&C, he went over to the website Rody was talking about. It was a completely normal website, nothing weird. It had models of every plane one could think of. Be it obscure Cold War jets, or well-known mediums of pop culture.
They were very high quality as well, which explained the large price tag on every model. An F-15 model costs around a thousand dollars, simply due to the material, hundreds of customizable replacement parts, and an included flight manual. Some were obviously cheaper than others, such as a model biplane. However, the one Rody was talking about, a model F-14, was thirty-eight million dollars.
"I uh, don't remember it being that expensive," he said chuckling nervously.
"How!? It costs forty thousand percent more than everything else!" Midoriya exclaimed, clicking on the model's page.
"Maybe it's a technical error," Rody guessed.
"I mean my allowance is large, but I can't afford this." Midoriya told him. And it was true. Helping soldiers around Mother Base tended to bring a lot of cash. That said, it did not bring thirty-eight million dollars.
"What about that one?" Rody asked, pointing out a different model F-14. It was cheaper than the one they were originally looking at. And by a lot too. Whereas the other model was incredibly overpriced, this one was much cheaper. Only four hundred dollars surprisingly.
"Huh, that could work," Midoriya stated, moving the mouse over to the purchase button. For some odd reason, he felt someone cry out in anguish. As if a dozen people suddenly lost their jobs. He shrugged it off though, before clicking the same-day shipping button.
"Cool," Rody stated, a look of excitement plaster on his face, "Wanna play Ace Combat?"
"You promise to keep quiet about the lore?" Midoriya asked, with a look of fond annoyance.
"I can promise nothing," Rody replied before he booted up the game.
It was shocking what one could learn from a ten-minute phone call. And that's what made Miller pissed. It had taken no bribes, no shouting, not even a fight, for the Polish President to send them the files. Instead, there was nothing but confusion on the other end, insisting that the information was ordered to be handed over. "My officers we're supposed to give you the report weeks ago," the President explained.
At first, Miller didn't believe him. But then the President said he would send over a copy of the files, and the copy arrived two minutes later. Every piece of information they would have ever needed for the mission was now in his hands. He was furious, thinking the Polish Government had been holding out on them for no damn reason. But then he said a few fated words.
"Kowalczyk said this was above our paygrade, so why the hell are we only seeing it now!?" Miller exclaimed angrily, only to hear a pause on the other end.
"Kowalczyk?" the President asked, concern laced in his question.
"Yes, the diplomat you sent us," Miller replied, his annoyance dying down temporarily. Slowly, he turned pale as the President responded.
"Kowalczyk was put under investigation for corruption charges weeks ago. Evidence was found of him leaking classified information to an unknown source,"
And then the conversation had ended, with Miller stuck in shock for a brief few moments. Nezu who was looking remarkably less tired, looked over at him.
"Is something wrong?" Nezu asked carefully, seeing Miller remove his glasses. The man rubbed his brow for a moment, his shock dissipating.
"It was a trap," Miller replied, his fury slowly coming back, "It was a damn trap the entire time!"
Angrily he turned over to the rest of the officers in the situation room. Pulling up the room's main screen he scanned over what assets were closest to Snake's general area.
"I don't care how many laws this breaks, I want any available forces heading for Snake's location!" he ordered loudly, the rest of the room now entering into a scramble. Nezu only watched on as Miller slumped back into his seat.
"And keep trying Snake's comms, see if we can warn him."
"Well, I assume something good came of that conversation?" Nezu mused, taking a small sip of his coffee. His face grew sour as it reached his lips, and he remembered why he stuck to tea. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures.
"I'll say. That entire area is an old Russian military base."
"Meaning whoever's there is well-armed," Nezu concluded, rubbing his chin with one hand.
"Worse, the files don't even explain what the base is. The Polish government isn't sure if it's a hidden missile silo, underground training camp, or who knows what." Miller explained.
"So, arms may be the least of our worries then," Nezu realized.
"And with the entire thing being a trap, we may have kicked a hornet's nest."
"Let's start from the beginning then. Who exactly are you dealing with?" Nezu asked, bringing his hand to his face.
"In the beginning," Miller stated, "we were approached by Kowalczyk posing as a diplomat on behalf of Poland. He hired us to take down a human trafficking organization but gave us no basic intel on anything."
"Which led to you asking me for a favor," Nezu deduced, "To which you found out Kowalczyk was possibly working for the people you were hired to eliminate."
"Emphasis on possibly. If it's him then the entire operation has been nothing but a setup. If not, then there's still the issue of him not giving us intel." Miller continued while passing Nezu his Idroid. In a quiet motion, Nezu turned it on and opened the files they were given.
"Well," he began, his eyes widening slightly, "I think Kowalczyk worked for them."
Miller looked over at the Idroid, finding a live broadcast being displayed. On the other end, a man in a crisp white suit was flaying Kowalczyk. The diplomat was bloody and beaten, with bits of skin peeling off him.
"I gave you what you wanted!" Kowalczyk yelled out in a panic, the scalp on his head slowly being pulled off his head.
"Did you now. Because our lovely viewers have no entertainment at the moment. For that, I'd say I wasted money on you!"
"It's not my fault he snuck away!"
"No, it isn't. But I need to make a reimbursement somehow!" the man in the suit turned back over to the camera. In a swift motion, he ripped the scalp off of Kowalczyk's head. The diplomat shrieked in pain as the man in the white suit tossed the scalp away.
"Now then, last week's game ended in a draw, so we will be having a rematch for you lovely folks at home, while our glorious assistant tries to find our lost contestants." the man in the suit explained, before stepping back. A couple of clowns walked into the shot then, dragging away Kowalczyk's flayed body. Thoroughly disgusted Miller turned over to Nezu, the rodent also disgusted.
"Where is this?" he asked.
"I'd assume the facility Snake entered." Nezu replied.
"He must be the lost contestant then," Miller deduced.
"Here's hoping he is," Nezu agreed.
"What is this on though?"
"I'm not sure," Nezu replied, "The file said it was some site on the dark web."
Soon a new pair of clowns stepped forward, placing a pair of knives on the ground. Miller didn't like where this was going. Then things began to connect. The word the man used was contestants. Not prisoner or product or anything else. He used contestants.
"It's a gameshow," Miller realized, "they kidnap people and force them into playing these games."
"Despicable," Nezu muttered, "To wonder what other horrors this madman has conceived, makes my blood boil."
"It could be anything. From what he seems to be implying this isn't even the main… event…"
Miller lost the words in his mouth as the contestants walked out in front of the camera. One was a thirteen-year-old boy. The other was a ten-year-old girl. Both had brown hair and were bloody. The girl could barely stand, while the boy's arm seemed to dangle at one side. Their eyes were red and seemingly dry, with the two looking at each other terrified. And then the man in the white suit spoke up.
"It was truly an astonishing feat these two put up, managing to both make it to first place! So please give it up for the Beaufoy twins!"
An applause track was played over the video, the fake clapping going on for thirty seconds. Miller had visibly paled at this point, once the track came to an end. The man in the white suit walked over to the girl then, with a microphone in hand. He crouched down to her level, with the girl flinching back.
"Now tell me, little Annabelle, what do you want to say to our dear viewers?" the man asked, a mocking smile plastered on his face. The girl let out a small shudder as she tried to step back. The man's smile fell, a look of annoyance now replacing his mockery.
"The audience can't hear your mumbling so speak up!" the man exclaimed pulling her back to the microphone. Hesitantly the girl looked at it, terror clear in her posture.
"I-I w-want t-to go h-home."
"Don't we all. But see, that wasn't so hard now was it." the man stated, before standing up and walking over to the boy.
"And what about you Damien? Anything you'd like to say?" the man asked. He got a more immediate answer from Damien, the boy trying his best to sound tough.
"No,"
"Wonderful. Now while you both made it to first, I'm afraid there can only be one winner."
The clowns behind the kids pushed them forward, as the two looked down. They both paled, with fresh tears beginning to form in their eyes. Miller couldn't look away. He didn't realize it but everyone inside the situation room was now watching.
"Which is why I have devised an ingenious way to decide the winner. There is only one rule, whoever kills the other, wins."
Miller didn't think it was possible to get any paler, but he could feel all the blood drain from his face. Neither child moved, both too frozen in fear of what was said. The man in the suit sighed then, bringing a hand to his face.
"Fine, seems there's a second rule. If neither of you kills the other, I kill you both."
Annabelle remained frozen in fear, but the man's words snapped Damien out of his stupor. The man in the white suit saw this, and a smile came up to his face. Damien took a cautious step forward, his sister looking at him pleadingly. He didn't bother looking back at her. One of the knives was under his foot now, and he slowly picked it up. Annabelle stepped back, afraid of what was to come. But Damien didn't step forward. He looked up at her, giving her a teary-eyed smile.
Before stabbing the knife into his chest. Miller could only look on in shock as the boy's body fell to the ground. No one moved an inch, no one breathed, no one spoke. Annabelle ran up to her brother, fresh tears streaming down her face. She didn't get to him though, as the man in the white suit grabbed her arm. Mockingly he wiped away at his eyes as if he had been crying.
"Such an emotional display. It seems we have our winner. With such a sad outcome, the bid will start at ten million dollars. And remember, an extra five million gets same-day shipping." the man stated, passing the girl off to a pair of clowns. Annabelle kicked, screamed, and clawed at the clowns, trying desperately to reach her brother. It was for naught, as another pair walked over, and picked up the corpse of Damien. The situation room remained silent the entire time. The only noise was the animalistic growls of a furious Nezu.
The rodent principal had to do everything in his power to not claw into the table in front of him. Even if he did, no one would move a muscle to stop him. On the screen, a live feed of bids had popped up, with it already surpassing ten million dollars. Miller lingered on the man's words though. Same-day shipping? Maybe they had someone with a teleporting quirk. That didn't leave the girl with much time.
"Someone get a bid going," he ordered, the officers looking up at him in disgust and confusion until he explained further.
"That fucker said same-day shipping, which means if this bid ends that girl will be gone before we can do shit about it. So, get a move on it, now!"
The officers quickly scrambled, leaving Miller alone with his thoughts. As he pondered what he had seen, one thing became more prevalent. They needed to call Snake fast.
Chapter 43: A Growing Question
"I still can't understand it," Buffalo muttered as she walked next to Osprey, "Seven years in the MSF and you still choose fieldwork?"
"Well, thanks for making me feel old," Osprey replied with a small sigh, with Buffalo chuckling in response. It was hard to forget how long he'd been a soldier. Joined the MSF back in 1972, when the organization was first founded. Oh, how long ago it seemed now, he thought.
"Seriously though, you should have become a fucking General by now," Buffalo admonished while slugging Osprey in the arm, "And what you just hand over the opportunity to Cobra?"
"I just prefer fieldwork," Osprey told her, as Mother Base's airfield soon came into view. They walked at a brisk pace, a few soldiers saluting them as they walked. Sitting on the tarmac rested the large fuselages of two C-17s, and the one hundred and two paratroopers getting ready to board. In an orderly fashion, eight L-ATVs were being prepped outside, waiting for the order to load the vehicles onto the planes. They were strapped down the small platforms, with crewmen inspecting every part as they attached the parachute.
"Besides, I'm sure Cobra will do a fine job. Clerical work was always his thing after all." Osprey continued. Buffalo's only response was to shake her head. She knew there would be no convincing him, but she couldn't exactly blame him. Eventually, Osprey was spotted by the paratroopers, with one loudly pointing him out.
"Major Osprey sir!"
The rest moved to salute in turn but stopped as Osprey spoke.
"No, no, there's no time for that. We leave in five minutes!" he ordered loudly, "Focus on your equipment, and ensure everything is secured. Don't want you freezing your asses off out there."
The soldiers did as he commanded and got back to work.
"Still, all this work and you waste it on staying as a major," Buffalo commented, "At least tell me the pays good."
"It's good enough," Osprey replied, while quickly checking over his equipment. The most important of which being his radio and parachute.
"You gonna be good out there?" Buffalo asked, watching as the paratroopers started boarding the C-17s.
"We should be. The higher us said there should be a ten-minute window where the blizzard clears."
"Sounds lovely," Buffalo remarked sarcastically, "Only ten minutes of air support."
Osprey simply chuckled in response, before walking up to one of the C-17s. Buffalo, in turn, moved to get back to work, offering Osprey a small wave.
"Give 'em hell out there!" Buffalo called out, a small smirk on her face.
"Please, we'll make hell seem like paradise!" Osprey replied, before strapping into the C-17. With a calm breath, he looked over his watch and pondered the long flight ahead.
Snake silently removed the knife from a guard's neck, looking over the blade carefully. It was spotless, with not an ounce of blood on it. With a quiet sigh, he sheathed the knife and dragged the guard into a nearby closet.
"It still doesn't make sense," he muttered to Nagant as the two began moving through the hallway again. The vast majority of the complex was abandoned, with large sections being barricaded off. The further they went forward the more they found some activity. From what Snake could guess, the facility was massive, far bigger than previously thought. One would need an army to fully inspect every nook and cranny and it would explain why so much of it was falling apart.
There just weren't enough people to maintain this place. But the people who were here didn't make sense. Every living thing has something pumping through its veins. Now Snake had learned of some quirks that affected blood, but it was still there. It was still a fluid in the body, that kept the entire system functioning. But these guards had nothing.
"Think it's a quirk?" Nagant asked.
"Not sure what kind of quirk does this," Snake replied, "And besides, I don't think every guard here would have it. That said, I wouldn't rule it out as a possibility."
"Makes sense," Nagant commented, "Then again, they could already be dead."
"I don't think that's the case," Snake told her, as the Sorrow came to mind.
"It could be. They don't bleed, barely react to pain, and act entirely robotic." Nagant countered as the two kept moving forward. Coming up to an intersection in the hallway, the two paused for a moment. The hall going straight was blocked off, with a steel partition barricading the way. The right hall was lit up and somewhat cleaner than the rest of the base. Meanwhile, the left hall was pitch black and seemed lifeless.
"Any ideas?" Nagant asked as she looked between the two hallways. Snake thought for a moment as he did the same.
"Finding the prisoners is our priority," he began looking over at the right hall, "Which would likely mean they're being held in the more maintained part of the base."
He shifted his gaze over to the left hall, examining it curiously.
"However, we might get more info from the left hall. Possibly get a clue as to what happened here."
"We splitting up then?"
"Maybe,"
"Well, I'll take the left then." Nagant stated before walking over to the other hall, "I'll radio in if I find something."
Snake silently nodded in response, before walking over to the right hall. It was empty for the most part, like the rest of the facility. But every so often he was forced to duck into a nearby room as a couple of guards strolled by. He would do this five different times before finding something different with the next few guards. All of their equipment and clothes were the same as the other guards, but they seemed more alive. One guard had his eyes a pure white with no pupil and his posture was relaxed and calm. The other was a bit more rigid and robotic but acted far more alive than the others. Even stranger they were talking.
"Do we really have to go down there?" the rigid guard asked as the two walked by Snake, not noticing the door was cracked open.
"Of course, we do. What you too chicken?" the other guard mocked.
"I prefer practical." the rigid guard countered, "I mean for fucks sake, Gregory went down there a week ago, and I haven't seen him since."
"Gregory always had two left feet and lacked any sense of direction." the second guard retorted.
"True, but Alexander didn't. And he's still been missing. I swear if the pay wasn't so damn high, I would have quit weeks ago."
"You act as if there's a boogey man down there."
"I know there isn't, but some of the shit down there is just unnerving."
"Oh yeah, a couple of flasks and beakers, how scary."
"Ugh, Fuck you,"
Snake watched as the two walked by, slightly confused as to what they were discussing. How deep was this facility? The entrance's elevator had taken them down far, but there were even lower levels. It was odd, but the guards themselves were odd. Thinking quickly, Snake aimed his M4 through the crack in the door. In two shots he shot the rigid one in the leg, and the other in the head.
"Fuck!" the guard called out falling to the ground. He moved a bit reaching for something Snake couldn't see. So, he moved quickly, opening the door fully and walking over to the guard.
"Freeze," he ordered, the guard complying instantly. Carefully Snake crouched down and searched the guard's person. On his waist was his radio, which Snake quietly confiscated. With it secured Snake kicked the guard's rifle away and also took his sidearm. The guard effectively disarmed; Snake moved to hide the other guard's corpse.
"Move and your friends won't find enough of you to bury," he told the guard. Quietly he picked up the corpse and carried it off to the room he was hiding in. As he did so, he felt something trickles onto his hands. He paused for only a moment, his eye inspecting the blood on his hands. These guards were different. He got over it quickly though and hid the body in a nearby closet. Snake then went back out and dragged the other guard into the room. Checking the hall one last time, Snake closed the door and took out his knife.
"You're not like the other guards," Snake noted, brandishing the knife at the guard.
"Mind telling me why that is?" he asked, bringing the knife forward.
"I uh, I don't know what y-you mean," the guard replied, with Snake glaring at the man.
"I could show you what I mean," Snake told him, bringing the knife to the guard's hand.
"W-wait wait! I really don't know! The freaks were here when I was hired!" the guard quickly yelled out.
"Explain," Snake demanded.
"I've been working with these guys for a month or two now. And in all that time, half of the guys here never uttered a word. I've never seen them eat; I've never seen them drink. Hell, I don't think the bastards even sleep."
Snake pondered the words for a moment, as Nagant's previous assumption began to seem more likely. It couldn't be possible, but it seemed to be gaining more merit. Especially as the guard kept talking.
"Oh! And every Thursday, they disappear off into the lower levels of this place and we don't see them or the boss again till the next morning."
"These lower levels, how do they get to them?"
"Well, uh… there's an intersection in the hallways not far from here. One of the halls is pitch black, and if I remember correctly there's an elevator at the end of it."
Nagant would have more than likely found it, Snake thought. So, he filed it away as something to cover later when she reported back. There was still the matter of the prisoners though.
"And the prisoners? Where are they?" Snake demanded, bringing the knife away from the guard's hand, and bringing it up to his throat instead.
"...You take a right out in the hall, then keep going until you see a sign that says Mess Hall. Once you find it take another right and they'll be at the end of the hall."
Wordlessly, Snake knocked the guard out when he finished talking. The like he did with his compatriot he hid him in the closet. All the while he reflected on the information given. Not all of the guards bled, but the question remained, why didn't they? The rest of the guards were mercs for hire or random thugs picked up off the streets. But what of the others? The ones that didn't even seem human? He could only hope Nagant was finding answers.
This was harder than Nagant thought. The flashlight she had barely lit up the way in front of her. So, she had to move slowly for what felt like an eternity. She heard the occasional crunch of glass under her boots, explaining what happened to the lights. But it didn't explain what else she was stepping on. Occasionally Nagant's foot would land on something slippery or sticky, leaving her to wonder what it was. With the reputation this place was getting from her, it was either blood, some odd chemicals, or water.
Oh, how much she begged it to be water. But she kept forward, reaching the end of the hall and finding a lone elevator. The only indication it was there, was the small, illuminated arrows representing up or down. Seeing no other option, she pressed the first button. Quickly the elevator came up and opened its doors. It was just as dark as the hallway, but the buttons were at least glow-in-the-dark. There was only one floor working though, and she didn't know enough Russian to understand what it meant.
Nagant pressed it regardless though, keeping her M18 at the ready. When the elevator reached the floor, she inspected the area carefully. With slow methodical steps, Nagant found what she thought was a hallway, was in actuality a large room. I wonder if there's a light switch, she thought, her hand tracing a nearby wall. After a bit of searching her hand found it, and she quietly flicked it on. She would regret it almost immediately.
The room lit up quickly, displaying a massive laboratory. The ceiling had to be almost thirty feet high and the room itself seemed to stretch for miles. The walls appeared to be reinforced with large steel girders and were a bright white reminiscent of the padded cell of an insane asylum. Then there was the equipment in front of her. Large vats dotted the open, some with bodies, others with nothing.
They were grotesque and disfigured horribly, with odd mutations and growths along their bodies. It was hard for Nagant to look at, with how many of them there were. Everywhere she looked she could see more vats, stretching as far as the room did. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Nagant pressed forward. In the middle of the room was a central computer system, which Nagant walked over to quickly. Turning it on, she immediately realized her search would be difficult.
All the text was in Russian, and the only word she knew was goodbye. With annoyance, she rubbed her face as she thought up her next move. Calmly Nagant looked back around the room, inspecting the vats more thoroughly. At that moment an odd thought struck her. She aimed her sidearm at the closet vat and fired. It shattered its glass and ripped through the head of the body inside it. The pieces of glass fell to the ground along with the body.
Standing up Nagant moved for a closer look, where she confirmed her suspicions. The body had no blood. Curious she shot another vat and found that body didn't bleed either. It was a shocking connection, but one that brought a question. The guards upstairs don't bleed, but they don't share the same deformities as the bodies in the vats. They looked more normal if somewhat pale and lifeless. They didn't have the third mushy flesh arm growing out of their back, or an extra eye on their heel.
With a sigh, Nagant turned back over to the computer. She didn't understand a word, so guesswork would have to be done. So, she began clicking away, while continually checking her surroundings.
Ocelot tiredly looked up at the gates of UA, the man slowly getting closer to the entrance. He had spent hours ensuring no one learned of FOXDIE's existence. Through all that time he couldn't pin down the culprit, yet he had two theories so far. The first was that someone in this dimension had been able to create it, which seemed unlikely. If it was then the HPSC would have personally taken control of the project, and diverted billions to it.
But there wasn't any sort of paper trail pointing towards that theory. Sure, it could have been an independent scientist or maybe a villain organization that struck gold. However, that didn't explain why it was being used to target HPSC reps, nor did it explain who was using it in the first place. Which left theory two. One Ocelot thought was all the more plausible, and all the more terrifying. Night Owl's experiments were bearing fruit. He didn't have an exact answer but the technology to travel to other dimensions gave Night Owl the capability.
He could jump and grab the research documents, steal a sample of FOXDIE, or kidnap the scientists who made it. The possibilities of what could have occurred were near limitless. Without evidence, however, he couldn't prove this to be true. So, he decided to get some help. Nezu was a smart little rodent, after all, Ocelot reasoned, so finding something should hopefully be quick.
So, as he walked through the gates, he went forward to the main building. The halls of the main building were somewhat crowded as the students rushed to get to class. Many stepped out of the way as he walked forward, the rumor that he was Snipe out of costume still prevalent as ever. He genuinely didn't understand why it was still around after all this time. Ocelot kept moving forward though, soon reaching Nezu's office. Calmly he knocked on the door and waited for the rat to respond.
Nothing. After thirty seconds he knocked again. Still nothing. At that point, Ocelot began weighing his options. He could barge into his office, which was more than likely booby-trapped with enough C4 to kill a tank, or he could check the teachers' lounge. The choice was obvious. So, he turned around and walked over to the teachers' lounge. Once he arrived, he walked in, one of his revolvers spinning in hand. At the moment only two teachers were there, Eraserhead and Present Mic.
The former was given a flawless impression of a corpse in a sleeping bag, while the latter sat loudly talking to the former.
"How is it you've run out of students to expel? We had three different gen ed classes!"
"None of them had potential," Aizawa replied tired, still not leaving his sleeping bag. "None of them? Sho, you expelled eighty-"
"Seventy-nine," Aizawa interrupted.
"Seventy-nine students, and you mean to tell me only one had potential!?"
"Yes."
"What's this about?" Ocelot asked, deciding to make his presence known. Mic turned over to him quickly a little surprised by his sudden appearance.
"Eraser expelled another class," he explained calmly, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Again? What's the fourth class this year? He asked, walking over to the two teachers.
"It is. You hear the part where I said we had three gen ed courses?" Mic asked to which Ocelot nodded.
"I say had because we've been forced to make a fourth."
"Geez, I know some of those kids had their head in their ass, but all of them seems extreme."
"I'll reenroll them once the lesson sets in, as per the HPSC's new requirement."
"Where you'll expel them again once UA becomes a charity, right?" Ocelot asked, taking small delight as Mic froze. Aizawa sat up from his spot, giving Ocelot an accusing glance.
"How did you… it was Nezu."
"Who else would he talk about this with?" Ocelot replied with a chuckle, "But I assume I'm correct with my assumption."
"Not necessarily," Aizawa replied, "If they've learned what I'm trying to teach them, then they'll stay enrolled. If not, then they're staying in gen ed."
"Somehow I don't believe that," Ocelot muttered. At first, he held a small amount of respect for Aizawa. He was a man showing his students the dark reality of the world, a drill sergeant of sorts. However, the more he came to visit the more respect he lost. Especially when it came to his students "experiencing death". That statement alone was what swayed Ocelot. To think he could compare an expulsion, to the watching friends and allies die in the field, or the tormenting heat, cold, and disease hundreds of the MSF's best had to go through on the daily.
"Are you going to keep heckling my methods, or was there something you needed?" Aizawa then asked, disinterested in keeping this conversation going.
"Well, I was looking for the rat," Ocelot answered.
"Oh, he left hours ago. Didn't tell anyone why though," Mic told him, with Ocelot sighing in return.
"So much for this trip then," Ocelot muttered, beginning to stand back up.
"Actually, before you go," Mic spoke up, "You mind helping us with something?"
Aizawa looked over at his friend, his face remaining emotionless but the displeasure all but clear.
"We got a new exercise for the students tomorrow, and Eraser won't be available due to a scheduling issue," Mic explained with Aizawa quickly interrupting him.
"I told you; I'm not going to it." Aizawa countered.
"It's required for your license." Mic rebuked.
"It's illogical and wastes time." Aizawa retorted, "And besides I'm perfectly healthy."
The pile of thrown-out coffee grounds told Ocelot otherwise, but he remained silent as the two teachers bickered.
"You still have to go," Mic told him, quickly turning back to Ocelot before Aizawa could speak up again.
"So, I was wondering if you would be willing to take his place for the day?"
"Me… the unlicensed HPSC rep with no teaching experience," Ocelot questioned.
"I'd normally do it myself, but unfortunately I won't be available either," Mic explained further. Ocelot thought over the proposal for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He didn't have anything to do now, and he needed Nezu's help pursuing his next lead. So, he ultimately had nothing to do except wait. At least this would give him something to do.
"Sure, I guess," Ocelot replied.
"And with that ladies and gentlemen, our bid comes to an end! I would like to congratulate our lucky buyer, Malcolm Stuart Faraday! In just one short moment your prize should arrive!" the Showmaster boosted over the screen. Miller could only stare at the man in disgust as he turned over to the feed for the security cameras.
"Everyone ready over there?" he asked over the radio, watching the dozen soldiers stand in position. With the MSF's purchase, it felt disgusting to even think about it, they gave the Showmaster a set of coordinates. Its location? A small outpost out in Nigeria. The girl would be teleported to them, hopefully with the teleporter accompanying her, and they would get her to a medic.
"Affirmative sir," the soldiers replied in unison. All guns pointed at the exact spot they had given the Showmaster. With the confirmation, Miller turned back over to the Showmaster's broadcast, where the loud boisterous man continued to talk.
"Now, unfortunately, we can't seem to find our esteemed guests. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I promised all you lovely viewers a grand show and I could not keep my promise. But fear not! This is only a delay! In the meantime, I bring forth today's next challenge, a good old family-friendly favorite, the Floor Is Lava!"
The screen switched over to a large obstacle course filled with a molten substance.
"Disclaimer all the lava present is in actuality melted steel to better encapsulate the slime-like attributes lava normally possesses in media! That said please stay tuned, while we gather up this round of contestants! Oh! And to Mr. Faraday, your product should be arriving in three, two, one! And again, congratulations on your purchase!"
The sound of gunfire was immediately heard on the security cameras next to Miller. He turned over finding the soldiers surrounding who he assumed was the teleporter. The man was clutching his wounded arm as it gushed blood on the floor. Nearby another soldier was cradling Annabelle, while a medic came over to tend to her.
"Target secured sir," a soldier informed him.
"Good. Get him interrogated now and keep all eyes on him. If he even flinches you shoot him."
"Understood. You heard the commander! Get his ass out of here!"
Miller slumped back into his chair then, the hours that had passed now weighing heavily on him. The fact that they had managed to get Annabelle out of there provided a small amount of energy at least. Still, he was far too worried about the next "game" the Showmaster was getting ready. It was clear the man hadn't found Snake or Nagant, so he could hope they could stop him quickly. Or at the very least hold him off until backup arrives. As he reflected on this, he could feel the sudden rage radiating off of his rodent companion.
Turning toward him, he found Nezu endlessly scrolling through all the files the Polish government had sent them.
"Find anything interesting?" Miller asked tiredly as he watched Nezu move.
"Oh, most definitely. On an unrelated note, do you have anything human-shaped I can rip to shreds?"
"That bad?"
"Oh no, no, no, no, no, it's much worse," Nezu replied handing over his Idroid.
"This, forgive my language, mother fucking son of a bitch, has been broadcasting his show for over a decade. So again, I must ask if you have anything I can tear apart, as I fear I may do something rash if not done soon."
"Ballistics dummies, third floor," Miller replied, scrolling through Nezu's Idroid. The rat silently thanked him before walking out of the room at a brisk pace. All the while Miller could feel his blood boil as he scrolled. Hundreds of episodes were listed on the dark web, with thousands of views and millions of dollars in donations. It was horrendous the further he went, and war crimes were becoming more justifiable by the second. With a deep breath, Miller stood up with the sudden urge to shoot something.
"Cobra you're in charge until I get back," he ordered stepping out of the room. Out in the hall, he walked quickly to the closest firing range he could find. That was until he accidentally ran into someone. Miller's anger slightly dissipated when he heard Midoriya briefly cry out in pain. Looking down he found the kid moving to stand back up, rubbing his nose as he did so.
"Ah, sorry kiddo. Didn't see you there." Miller said, looking over Midoriya carefully.
"It's ok. Only hurt for a second," Midoriya replied calmly, before looking up at you.
"Is something wrong? Midoriya asked curiously, seeing the mad state Miller was in.
"Nope, just going to blow off some steam," Miller explained, as he started to walk again. Midoriya followed behind him quickly, a curious look on his face.
"Is it with dad?"
"Something like that," Miller told him, "The contract we're on has us a bit on edge. It's nothing you need to worry about though."
"Are you sure? Maybe I can help!"
"I'm sure," Miller replied, as the two then entered the firing range. Carefully Miller grabbed his M18 and aimed it down range. He fired repeatedly, quickly emptying the gun's magazine. Then in a quick motion, he reloaded and did it again. Midoriya watched as he did so, before walking to the stall next to his. There Midoriya pulled out his M1911 and fired as well. While he did so, Miller stopped shooting. Once Midoriya had emptied his magazine, Miller looked out at the kid's target.
"How about this," Miller began with Midoriya looking over curious, "A nice little challenge between you and me. Whoever gets the most headshots wins."
A smile graced Midoriya's face, and Miller was glad he wore sunglasses everywhere. Yet as it started bright, it shifted to something more mischievous and determined.
"You're on!"
Miller smiled in response, as the two took aim and fired.
Chapter 44: A Few New Questions
"No offense rookie," Eagle began his face all red with tears in his eyes, "but this shit is terrible."
Grizzly sighed in response before turning around. He picked up Eagle's plate as some other soldiers in the room chuckled.
"Let's add it to the growing list," Grizzly replied tossing out his sixth attempt at a Texas Sheet Cake. It would be easy, he thought, after all, it's just a couple of eggs and chocolate. How hard could it be? The sentiment didn't last long as his baking attempts mounted. The first one had too many eggs… no sorry correction, it had too many eggshells. Grizzly was only glad it had been Eagle to eat it, and not him.
The second attempt ended in the cake being thoroughly burnt, with it being as hard as a rock. They elected not to eat it and instead moved on to his third attempt. This one drew the attention of the rest of the platoon, with several of them coming to watch. Then came the fourth, fifth, and now sixth try, where he mistook the salt for sugar.
"Out of all the hobbies you could have chosen, you picked cooking," Ape commented.
"I thought it would be fun," Grizzly replied, throwing out the remains of his sixth attempt.
"Oh, it's fun alright," Ape told him, taking a few pictures of Eagle's face. The sergeant noticed and tried his best to hide, but it was futile.
"I better not see that on a holiday card," Eagle stated, now trying to grab Ape's phone.
"You did the same to me last year," Ape countered, "Consider this karma."
"Karma, eh? Well, if I'm going to suffer from karma then I'm going all out!" Eagle replied, a smirk now plastered on his face. He stopped trying to take Ape's phone and instead grabbed his own.
"Gather round boys!" Eagle called out as the roles quickly switched, with Ape now trying to grab his phone. He was too late though, as Eagle pulled up the first photo. The room immediately busted out laughing as the picture loaded in. Grizzly who was busy taking his seventh attempt out of the oven almost dropped it when he saw the picture.
What was so funny? Well, it was of Ape dangling off the side of a FOB, with the only thing holding him up being his pants leg wrapped around his ankles.
"Alright! You've made your point," Ape muttered, though one could see he was also chuckling. The two put their phones away as Grizzly set down his seventh attempt at a Texas Sheet Cake. Somewhat cautiously, Eagle wafted the scent of it.
"Smells good," he commented, "Good sign."
With utmost caution, Eagle cut away a small piece of the cake. He examined it carefully, looking out for anything he might miss. A couple of soldiers sitting nearby talked as he did so.
"Twenty bucks says it gives him food poisoning."
"Please, have some hope. Forty for it tasting fine."
Hesitantly he brought it up and ate it. He chewed for a few seconds, waiting for the inevitable drop in quality that would make him gag. But nothing occurred.
"Hmm, not bad," he commented, quickly taking another bite. Grizzly silently cheered as he grabbed a clean fork, deciding to see for himself. Ape did the same as a few other soldiers joined in.
"Could use a bit more chocolate, otherwise it's pretty good," Ape stated while giving Grizzly a friendly pat on the back.
"What he said." Eagle agreed before looking around the room, "It's got nothing on Coyote's sheet cake, but it's a close second."
"Speaking of, where is Coyote?" Ape asked.
"Beats me. Flamingo said he wasn't feeling well, so maybe he's back in his quarters." Grizzly replied, moving back over to his small kitchen. Call it pushing his luck, but he wanted to make another cake. At least that's what he was going to do before Ape grabbed his shoulder. Turning over to look at the Lieutenant, he found the man's face laced with worry.
"When was this?"
"Couple hours ago, why?"
Ape didn't respond, instead booking it out of the room. Grizzly stood there confused before the others stood up and followed him. It was worrying to see but Ape had broken out into a full sprint, nearly shoving past other soldiers in the halls. It was surprisingly hard to keep up with him, but Grizzly managed. Eventually, they came to a stop outside of Coyote's quarters. Ape knocked on the door, pleading for any sort of response. He was met with silence, so he knocked again this time louder. Again, no response.
"Eagle, over here. We're busting this down." Ape commanded, with Eagle quickly doing so. The two rammed against the door, denting it slightly before it finally came down. The soldiers' eyes scanned the room, searching for anything inside.
"Coyote!" Ape called out, stepping inside the room. He didn't get very far, only having to look up to find Coyote.
"Ah hell," Eagle muttered, his eyes glued on Coyote's dangling corpse. The others outside remained silent, with only Grizzly entering the room. It was a gruesome sight to behold, one that made Grizzly gag. No one moved for a few minutes, too enwrapped in the sight in front of them. The lingering silence plagued their minds as Ape walked over to Coyote.
"Let's get him down," he said calmly, a hint of sadness clear in his voice. Grizzly walked over to him, catching Coyote before his body could fall onto the ground. Ape did the same, grabbing Coyote's legs. Eagle meanwhile searched the room, finding a lone piece of paper on a small coffee table.
"Found a note," he stated, carefully picking it up.
"What's it say?" Ape asked. Eagle didn't respond for a second.
"He… he killed a kid," Eagle replied. His face had gone pale as he read through the note. It detailed his events back in Nigeria to a tee, something no one had gotten Coyote to talk about.
"It was back in Nigeria, during the shit show with the heroes. He killed a sidekick thinking they were an adult." Eagle continued, with Ape already seeing where it was going.
"Damn it," Ape muttered, mentally berating himself for not seeing it sooner. He tried his best to take care of those under his command, and yet he missed Coyote. It made it hard to look into the deceased's lifeless eyes. So, with a sigh, he had Grizzly close them, before walking out to take Coyote to the morgue.
Nagant couldn't understand a word that was being said, but the message she was getting through the security tapes was clear. After an hour of randomly clicking files, she had managed to find a folder of videos documenting experiments. The results were gruesome. The first video displayed a young man strapped to a table, with a scientist injecting him with some unknown substance. The man would thrash about violently for a few seconds, before dying.
The second video started almost the same, only with a young woman instead of a man. She was strapped to the table, injected, and then died. Another three videos would document the same results. Which brought her to the sixth video, where it got more interesting. A man with a mutant quirk, that had a keyboard imbedded in their right arm, was injected and lived. The man was let off the table and moved to stand up. The scientists said something, and then the man's hand started sparking.
Electricity flew off the man's hand, hitting everyone in the room. It became a violent electric storm burning everything around before the man collapsed. The surviving scientists would check the man's body, only to find him dead. However, the video didn't end with the man's death. The scientists picked up his body and placed it in one of the vats next to Nagant. She looked up from the screen and turned over to the specific vat, finding the man's body still floating inside it.
Nagant couldn't tell how long ago these videos were, but it disturbed her to see the man was still here after all that. Focusing back on the videos, the next one was almost identical to the last. A man with flames for hair was injected, lived, and died as his body turned into water. This would go on for a dozen other experiments, each one more gruesome than the last. One man would be fine, then a leg would grow out of their spine. Another became surrounded by ice and suffocated. A third became paper thin and accidentally tore themselves in half.
It was horrifying, but Nagant was beginning to see a pattern. Every death involved a quirk. Why, she couldn't tell. But something about it seemed off. Then came the next video, where all the previous steps occurred except with a new one. In this video, they brought back the body of the first test subject. The body was placed on the table and injected. Then the scientists waited. Five minutes would pass before the unthinkable occurred.
Blood began to seep through his mouth, eyes, and ears. It pooled on the ground around him dripping off the table. Ten minutes would pass before the man's body had run out of blood. It didn't make sense. The experiments recorded were days sometimes months apart. Meaning by then most fluids from the body would have more than likely run dry. Cautiously a scientist would approach the man and gently poke it with a pencil. Almost robotically, the man began to stand back up. As it did so the scientists began to panic as guards began flooding into the room.
The doors were locked down as the guards held the now-standing body at gunpoint. The body didn't move though, only standing still. Soon a scientist would say something in Russian, with the body sitting down. The scientist would say a few more things, most likely orders, with the man following them all. It stood up, ran in a circle, jumped, and slammed its head against the floor. The last action left a red stain on the tile below. Then the video ended, with every video after showing the same display as the last.
A corpse was brought in, injected, and stood back up. Over and over and over again. Nagant ended up scrolling past hundreds of the files, her face growing pale as the number kept getting higher. Eventually, she found two pieces of information they told her just how terrifying this was. The first was a date. The day wasn't important, and neither was the month. All that mattered, was that all these experiments took place in 2110. Roughly a hundred and sixty-eight years ago.
A hundred and sixty-eight years and these corpses were still up and about. That thought alone was terrifying for Nagant and led to her looking out at the hundreds of vats surrounding her. Maybe they were what kept the bodies from falling apart. In truth, she didn't know. But then came the second piece of information, in the form of an audio log. This audio log was dated only a few days after the first test subject was brought back to life. Now, everything in this base was Russian.
The technology, the personnel, the guns, the uniforms, everything. So, when Nagant played the audio log, she was not expecting Japanese.
"Log 77-202. After last week's debacle, I had hoped I had gotten somewhere in my experiments. This does not seem to be the case, as even after the revitalization of subject number one, a second quirk still is not present. The gene modifier Dr. Matvei provided seems to be inadequate in its purpose. I am unsure if that is the case, or if something else is needed to give the test subjects a second quirk.
To make sure, tomorrow I will personally go over subject number one's genetic code to see if the quirk factor has been manipulated in any way. If yes, then we are missing some key components. If not, then we will need to redo Dr. Matvei's formula. Now there is one thing that still perplexes me, the reanimation of the corpse itself. Well, I say reanimation, but subject number one is still in fact deceased.
He bears no pulse, no blood in his veins, not even a thought going through his mind. By all definitions he is dead. Yet he can listen and follow basic commands as if he were still alive. It was Dr. Rodion's idea to inject the corpse, and none of us considered it a plausible idea. But he was the son of the base's commander, so we went through with it anyway. Boy was this a surprise. However, my colleagues view this as a lost cause, a side effect of the solution's administration. I beg to differ. We'll only know for sure tomorrow."
Nagant sat in silence as the log came to an end. All of this was to give someone a second quirk. For what reason she could only guess, but it wasn't exactly hard. This was a military experiment, and one could already see what the military would want with secondary quirks. But why was the log in Japanese? Maybe the scientist speaking was Japanese, but then why was he helping the Russian military?
Clicking around on the computer she brought up the next log, this one also in Japanese.
"Log 77-203. Dr. Matvei's formula has appeared to affect subject number one's quirk factor. This effect is that the quirk factor is destroyed, along with several other vital portions of human DNA. It explains why all the subjects would suddenly die after the explosion of quirk use. It was the last remnants of their quirk going haywire as it died out, like a wounded animal trapped in a corner. It's disappointing, to say the least.
Dr. Matvei's formula was marketed as what would bring forth the military's super soldier. Instead, it's the propaganda shill I always thought it was… maybe. I'm not entirely sure as it did bring subject number one back to life. So, it has some viable uses in the scientific community, but to give one a second quirk? That doesn't seem plausible. However, the very fact the serum had any effect on the corpse at all gives me some small idea.
Tampering with the quirk factor of an already living person seems to always end up with death, so why not test it on an already dead body? We might not be able to alter the DNA of a dead body, but there might be other ways of giving it a quirk. After all some colleagues of mine heard rumors about someone being able to give and take quirks back home. I think it's a load of horseshit, but some rumors carry a seed of truth."
The prisoners were right where the guard told Snake. What the guard left out, however, was the four of his buddies standing guard. Two were dressed as clowns, with AK-74Ms in hand. The other two wore more casual business attire and had AKS-74Us as their main weapons. All were smoking and standing about lazily, not even bothering to check their surroundings. Quietly Snake began thinking up his plan of attack. While the hallway was lit up, it wasn't the best.
It was leagues better than what Nagant had gone down but still shoddy. Better yet, none of the guards appeared to have night vision. So, as he listened to the guards talk, he aimed his silenced M4.
"Can't believe the big man's got me wearing this shit." one of the clowns muttered, slightly tugging at his clothes. It was all one outfit that didn't fit exactly right.
"Be grateful," one of the suits told him, "I heard some of the guys got suits ridden with diseases they'd never heard of before."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, poor bastards didn't realize they caught something until it was too late."
"Makes sense. This place is old as fuck, and you mean to tell me the head honchos did some spring cleaning."
"That's what I'm saying. I mean half the obstacle courses here haven't been cleaned in weeks!"
Snake fired then, breaking a bulb above one of the clown's head. It shattered instantly with bits of glass falling onto the man. The guards swore for a second as the clown tried to get the class of him.
"Shit! See what I mean! This place is a fucking hell hole."
With the area dark, Snake quietly approached the guards. It was hard to see, but he didn't want to use night vision yet. Not with all the guards so clumped together. Once he got close enough to the guards, he grabbed the first one he could reach. Snake wrapped his arms around the guard's throat and covered his mouth, before quietly dragging him away. The other guards didn't notice, instead still talking amongst each other.
"Hey, you good?"
"I think so. Can't feel any cuts but I don't want to risk ruining my hand."
"Anyone got a flashlight?"
"Nope."
"No."
The guards waited for a fourth response, unaware that Snake had slit his throat further down the hall. The guard was dead in seconds with Snake quickly sneaking back over to the group.
"Yo Pavel, this isn't the time for games. Do you have a flashlight?"
Snake remained quiet as the guards waited, quickly grabbing a second guard. He dragged him away as well before killing him quietly.
"Pavel stop fucking around, answer me."
With the second guard unconscious Snake snuck back over to the last two. This was where it could get risky. Grab the wrong guard, and the other immediately knows something's up. So carefully he puts on his night vision goggles and holds his knife ready. In one quick fashion, he stands up and slashes at one guard's throat. The knife tears through flesh effortlessly with Snake then quickly turning toward the final guard.
The last guard, seeing the faint glow of Snake's goggles, moved to aim his gun. Reacting fast Snake stabbed his knife into the trigger guard of the gun, locking the trigger into place. At the same time, his other hand grabbed the barrel of the rifle and yanked it out of the guard's hand. The guard stunned for a moment, began moving for his sidearm, only for Snake to twist him around quickly and put him in a chokehold. The last guard struggled fiercely but ultimately fell unconscious.
With the guards disposed of, Snake removed his knife from the rifle and moved over to the door. Taking a deep breath, Snake carefully cracked open the door and found a brightly lit room. The walls had a dull concrete hue with small chalk drawings on the bottom. The drawings would have been cute in any other context but here they were disturbing. They displayed homes, stick-figure families, a dog or cat, and playgrounds. It made Snake's blood boil as he looked at the rest of the room.
The only beds provided were the concrete floor with a couple of popped inflatable mattresses. The only bathroom was a pair of buckets off in the corner that was now stained after possibly years of use. And he could see the kids. Hundreds of them. Teary-eyed and afraid, wearing what must have been the clothes they had when they were taken. And then Snake heard a voice, speaking out in the room.
"This better be good, I was just about to call this episode's contestants." the Showmaster muttered, with a guard in a suit standing next to him. In the Showmaster's hands was a comically large list with a grim message for Snake. All of it was a list of names, names he suspected were the children's. But something felt off looking at the Showmaster. He could see he was there, but it felt like he was looking at nothing.
"W-well s-sir, you asked for a status report." the guard stuttered out, trying to stand as far away from the Showmaster as possible.
"Oh right, I did. Well tell me then, is our guest star ready?" the Showmaster asked.
"A-about that…"
"You still can't find him!?" the Showmaster interrupted. The man turned and walked up closer to the guard. The guard in turn stepped back as he stuttered out his response.
"W-we searched the upper levels, a-all that's left is the middle and lower levels s-sir!"
The answer didn't calm the Showmaster as he continued to get closer to the guard.
"The fuck am I paying you for!? I give you all this time, money, and equipment and you can't find him! This isn't rocket science you know. It's a glorified game of hide and seek! And… you know what, forget it."
A gunshot rang out across the room then with screams soon following after. It took every fiber in Snake's being not to jump in immediately and start firing immediately. It would have been suicide to do so as he peered out around the room again. Behind the Showmaster were a dozen other guards all with a lifeless look in their eyes. Looking back at the Showmaster he found an MP-443 in his hand, the barrel still smoking.
"Now then back on task," Showmaster muttered looking back over at the list in his hands.
"I'm sorry to say our lovely guest will not be accompanying you in this next game. I know, I know, and I'm sorry. I know how excited all of you were at the chance to meet him, but we are going to have to move on. So, the following people are to participate in this game," Showmaster stated before bringing the list closer to his face. He pretended to read it for a second before facepalming with a chuckle.
"Actually, why did I bother with a list? Egg on my face I spent an hour writing it, heh. Anyways all of you are to participate or be shot."
The guards moved as he said so, beginning to round up the kids to move. The children didn't resist as they did so. Seeing what little time Snake had, he prepared to throw out a flashbang. If he was fast, he could eliminate the guards and the Showmaster right here. Removing the pin from the flashbang, he cracked the door open a little more and tossed it inside. It bounced across the floor a little before erupting into a loud cacophony of light and sound.
Quickly Snake barged through the door, M4 at the ready as he fired at the first guard he could find. The others stumbled out clumsily as they tried to find Snake. Yet throughout it all, he could hear laughter. The loud boisterous laughter of the Showmaster.
"Ha ha! Seems I was wrong! Get them to the B Room quickly! And someone bring me a camera!"
Snake turned to face the Showmaster, seeing as the man tried his best to locate Snake. Without a hint of mercy, Snake shot him, the 5.56 rounds punching straight through the man's head. The Showmaster's body fell to the ground then, right as the guards began to regain their vision. Half of them followed the Showmaster's last command, that being to escort the children out. The other half focused on Snake, firing everything they had at the merc.
They were terrible shots luckily, but it forced Snake to run about the room to avoid getting shot. As he did so he set his M4 to full auto, holding down the trigger as he cut a swath into the opposing guards. The guards didn't die though. Bullets punctured their lungs, hearts, arms, and stomachs tearing up their torso, but they fought on. Seeing this Snake changed tactics and switched his M4 to a single shot. Aiming for one guard's head he fired, the round going through its skull like a knife through butter.
The guard fell over dead finally, allowing Snake to focus on the other five. It was tiring as he shot them, having to be slow enough to hit but fast enough to dodge. And it was taking too long, far too long. The other guards had already led a third of the kids out of the room and were dragging away the… Showmaster's… body… That left Snake confused, as he shot another guard dead. He hoped Nagant had found any information on these things because they didn't seem to realize their leader was dead. Snake couldn't let those thoughts distract him though, focusing back on the last four. He killed two more with precise shots but missed the last two guards.
At that time his M4 clicked empty, forcing him to reload. However, the guards had the same issue, as they were forced to stop firing. Noticing this, Snake changed tactics and charged forward. He drew his knife stabbing it into the throat of the closest guard as the other stood still. It barely reacted to Snake's actions before trying to hit Snake with his rifle's stock. Snake ducked under the attack swiftly, pulling his knife from the first guard's neck.
With his knife free he thrust it forward, stabbing through the guard's jaw and into his skull. But it was too late. The kids were gone, and Snake turned to look at the door they were escorted through. In what was a once empty hallway, came dozens of fresh guards ready to replace their brethren. Furious, Snake ran back out the door he entered. If he could loop around somewhere, he could catch up to the children. As he did so, he looked back to where he had killed the Showmaster and found not a trace of blood on the ground.