Chapter 591 - 108-109

Chapter 108: A Talk With the President

As Manual looked over the collapsed remains of what had once been a grocery store, he couldn't help but feel despair. Around him were Musutafu's bombed-out remains, the streets covered in dust, glass, and bits of concrete. The bodies had been cleaned out, but blood still stained the streets. Across the street, a bomb squad was busy trying to disarm leftover explosives. It was all just a mess, and it didn't seem to get any cleaner.

For the last few weeks, the police, heroes, and the MSF had combed over the city. Yet every other day, they'd find another body. They'd go through a collapsed building and find another family of four. They'd find another leftover bomb or a building with civilians still hiding inside. It was tireless, never-ending work. Every so often, he'd hear someone yell, "We found another one!"

Then Manual would spot a dozen or so people rush toward the voice, and all start digging through the rubble.

"Come on, move it!" one person would always order.

"Gently damn it! We don't want the rest of this place to collapse," would always be the comment that followed. It was… it was disheartening that Manual had found a pattern in this madness. That he would always hear the exact same lines, over and over again, as they dug through the city. With a sigh, Manual turned away as a pair of heroes lifted a child out of the grocery store, followed closely by their parent.

The sheer depravity of it all still shocked him. Because all of this was the bare minimum he had expected. Manual could still remember his first day entering the city. He was one of the heroes called up to fight, but hadn't arrived until after the MSF got involved. So, almost everything he saw was only hours after the MSF advanced. He'd seen the crucifixions lining the streets, heroes' bodies laid bare for everyone to see.

He saw the pikes lined with heads, the pits filled with bodies, the people set alight on bonfires, and just… For an organization claiming it wanted to end suffering, the Ninth Circle made a lot of people suffer. And yet they kept attacking, over and over again. Eventually, Manual heard the sound of footsteps walking toward him. With a glance, he spotted a lone soldier walking toward him. Wordlessly, Manual gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and the soldier did the same.

"How's Pepper?" Manual asked, the soldier sighing in response.

"Better, had to fake another rescue though," the soldier replied, Manual shaking his head slowly.

"That the… third? Fourth time?" Manual asked downtrodden.

"Fifth," the soldier replied, "I think she should take a break after this. "Poor girl isn't handling any of this well."

Manual couldn't help but agree. As it stood, Pepper was a search and rescue dog that the MSF had brought in. She'd spent the last few weeks running into Manual from time to time, so the hero had come to like the animal. Unfortunately, most of the dogs being brought into Musutafu weren't doing too well. They were rescue dogs. So far, they hadn't done much rescuing.

By now, survivors were becoming rarer and rarer to find. All the dogs found now were corpses. And with the sheer number of bodies they kept finding, the dogs slowly became depressed. It was bad enough that several groups had to start staging rescues to keep the dogs' morale high. Manual couldn't help but wonder how many more times they'd have to do it. Before he could even ponder for long, though, a woman's ear-piercing scream rang out through the street.

On sheer instinct, Manual began booking it to the noise. Carefully, he ran past bits of rubble, trying to avoid tripping or stepping on anything dangerous. Rounding a corner to a vacant street, he soon spotted the source of the scream. Huddled near a small apartment complex was a crowd of civilians, with no more than six people. One, a balding man with a large leather coat, was currently holding a lone fish mutant against a wall.

"Freak! This is your fault!" the bald man cried out, a few yells of agreement from his buddies.

"P-please! Don't!" the fish girl begged, only for one of the men to slug her.

"I should slit your throat right now! Maybe that'd piss off your cultist buddies!" someone else yelled, with Manual soon seeing a knife pop into their hand.

"I-I'm not-" the girl tried to beg again, though no one listened.

"Just end this already!" a third man shouted, earning a cheer from the others, "Kill the mutie and let's go!"

By now, Manual had gotten close enough to intervene. Close combat may not be his forte, but he at least knew how to fight. However, he didn't think it would have to come to that. A few seconds after he arrived, the soldier from before had rounded the corner.

"Stop!" Manual called out, the group's eyes quickly turning toward him, "Stand down! All of you!"

To Manual's dismay, not much happened for a second. There was a mix of "oh shits" from some of the villains. But the rest didn't seem to care. If anything, he villain with the knife just turned toward him angrily. But then they spotted Manual's backup. The soldier ran up alongside Manual, quickly bringing up his service pistol.

"Drop the knife!" the soldier ordered, "Drop it now!"

For a second, the group looked between everyone. Mentally, they debated if they could take them in a fight, and the odds "seemed" in their favor. But they weren't for long. A second after the soldier joined Manual, another three popped up nearby. These ones were armed with rifles. With an angry grunt, the bald man stepped away from the fish girl. The girl, in turn, booked it, tears streaming from her eyes. With a sigh, Manual stepped forward, ready to apprehend the first of the villains.

Only to hear the smashing of glass echoing from another street. Smoke began rising into the air, the ring of a store's alarm went off, and Manual grumbled. Another band of looters.

The plan was supposed to be simple. Snake and Miller would land at the Reagan National Airport, and a limo would take them to the White House. They'd have a brief conversation with the President, possibly multiple times, and then they would leave. That was all this was supposed to be. But then, as the plane began to land, Snake caught sight of the one thing he hoped wouldn't be there. Sitting on the tarmac, and cordoned off by Secret Service, cops, heroes, and airport security, was a crowd of people.

Although the word crowd wasn't nearly as truthful as Snake would have liked. Because there had to be at least twenty to thirty thousand people at the bare minimum. It was just a sea of flesh. When the plane finally came to a stop, Snake spotted the limo he would be riding in, surrounded by people. Stepping out of the plane, Snake felt as if he had gone deaf, the jet's engines somehow having been quieter than the crowd.

"Snake! Will the Ninth Circle be dealt with soon?" one reporter asked loudly, nearly shoving a police officer.

"How many members does the cult have left?" another reporter demanded, shouting over the first guy.

"How did the MSF get its hands on American weapons?" a third requested, the questions barely legible as Snake quickly began walking forward. With Miller behind him, the two kept moving forward, ignoring each questions as best they could.

"Ex-heroes were reportedly in your ranks! Would you care to comment on this?" a fourth reporter asked, the limo coming closer.

"What are your opinions on Russia's growing aggression?" a fifth reporter would ask, as more questions kept coming.

"Will your technology be shared with the international community?"

"Just who is Snake?"

"Are you a US Army veteran?"

"Will we be safe?"

Mentally, Snake could only grumble as the questions went on. For a moment, he turned to look over the rest of the crowd. Until he froze. Standing amongst the crowd was a lone woman holding a little boy up on her shoulders. The boy held up a large cardboard sign. It was a good few feet away, so Snake had some difficulty seeing it. But written in bright green marker were the words "Thanks For Bringing Daddy Home".

Snake… Snake didn't know what to think about it. Slowly, he looked over the rest of the crowd, and began sawing similar signs raised up. All were similar in some form of fashion. Dotted with hearts and lines of praise. With photos of family or friends that the MSF had saved in Musutafu. And as Snake saw these signs, the cries of the reporters slowly died away.

"You showed those cultist bastards what's what!"

"You sir are a damn hero!"

"My brother was in Musutafu! Said he wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you!"

"Thank you! Thank you for saving me!"

"Snake! Snake! Snake! Snake!" the crowd eventually chanted, leaving Snake dumbstruck. He'd garnered praise before, be it in Outer Heaven, Colombia, or even Japan to some extent. But… it was shocking to see it here, of all places. The last time something like this had happened… was back in his world… back when he was Zero's poster boy…

"Seems you're famous," Miller eventually commented, stewing Snake out of his thoughts. With a shake of his head, Snake began walking again, this time faster than before. It took an eternity, but soon he reached the limo. Getting in quickly, Snake slammed the door shut behind him, as Miller sat down across from him. Looking out the window, Snake could still hear the crowd chanting. With a chuckle, Miller slowly began to slouch in his seat.

"Well, I'd call that an eventful arrival," Miller commented, with Snake grumbling to himself. After a few seconds, Miller spotted a minifridge sitting off to his side. Opening it, he found a few small drinks littered about. Some were alcoholic, most weren't. Not wanting to get too sloshed, he settled on grabbing a bottle of water. As he did this, Snake kept looking out the window.

"How did they know we were coming?" Snake asked, now feeling the limo lurch forward, "This meeting wasn't public knowledge."

Miller simply shrugged in response, while Snake watched as the police outside began to push the crowd back. MSF personnel Snake had brought along, meanwhile, paired up to escort the limo further.

"Obviously, someone leaked it to the press," Miller reasoned calmly, before taking a swig from his water. Snake didn't know how to feel about that answer. They'd barely been here an hour, and already things weren't going to plan. Again, looking out the window, he spotted more and more people crowding Washington D.C's streets. All watched as the small convoy of vehicles drove toward the White House.

"Doesn't change the facts, though," Miller soon added, "We're here to make a deal."

"Then, I suggest we better start learning our enemy," Snake pointed out, with Miller slowly nodding. However, he stopped when he fully registered the sentence.

"Still paranoid, are we?" Miller inquired, with Snake just staring back at him. Raising his brow, Snake motioned for Miller to hurry up, and his second in command relented.

"Alright, alright," Miller muttered, now pulling out his Idroid, "Here."

With the quick press of a button, a small dossier was brought onto the device's hologram. Lighting up the limo, Snake got a good view of everything present. Normally, he would have reviewed this information earlier, however, the Intel Team had been in a major crunch for the last few weeks. Between finding Night Owl's guns, trying to find Ninth Circle bases, keeping tabs in Africa, and spying on the HPSC, the Intel Team was not having a good time. May need to give them a break, Snake mentally commented, before looking over the Idroid's hologram.

"Hmm, 88th President Alan Morrison Junior, son of 84th President Alan Morrison Senior. Elected in 2280 and sworn in on 2281," Snake muttered allowed, his eye going off the packet of info, "First ran as a House Representative for Colorado in 2265 during an emergency election. And was elected as a member of the… Usonian party?"

"Usonian?" Miller questioned, sharing Snake's confusion. For a moment, he began moving through other files, hoping to find anything of use. He couldn't be more grateful that the Intel Team had everything labelled.

"Here, political parties of the US," Miller eventually stated. Bringing the file up, Snake watched as the first few subfiles popped up. Looking at the subfiles, Snake couldn't help but feel surprised.

"Huh," was all he could mutter, as he read over the list of parties present. Miller shared his surprise, the man's eyes slowly going wide as he read everything present.

"As of now, the Usonian Party, the Young Progressives, the Frontiersmen, the Washington's Party, the Unionists, the Free Capitalists, the Greener America Party, the Preservationists, and the American Heroes Party," Miller muttered, soon taking another drink from his water. Eight. There were eight different prominent political parties. It was unbelievable.

This truly was not his world's United States of America. With his surprise wearing off, Snake looked over the file again.

"So the President is a Usonian," Snake commented, Miller quickly nodding in response.

"That's what it says," Miller replied, soon opening the Usonian Party's file, "The name was based on the ideas of Frank Wright, who envisioned a utopian America. However, it was shifted as the party changed policies over the years."

So idealists, Snake mentally muttered… he could work with that, possibly. Without a word, Miller began scrolling down, going over the party's policies. Most of it was what someone would expect of a political party.

"…pro small business, pro second amendment, pro regulations, pro environmental protections, pro free trade, recently pro military…" Miller trailed off, with Snake slowly nodding along. Nothing overly shocking stood out amongst the Usonians. They were a generic middle party. Again, Miller scrolled through the file, coming across more information.

"History, hmm… the party was created around 2096, near the beginning of the New Progressive Era and the end of the Quirk Riots," Miller muttered, while Snake raised a brow.

"Quirk Riots?" he questioned. It sounded to be from the Dawn of Quirks, or at least near it. With Miller thinking the same thing, he switched over to a more general history page.

"Uhhh… ah, here. A period of political violence in the 2090s during the Second Gilded Age…" Miller answered, before slowly trailing off as he looked toward Snake. This… this was going to take a long time to go through.

"...Scroll back farther?" Miller questioned, with Snake shaking his head.

"No. The history lessons for later," Snake replied, mentally grumbling to himself. It wasn't like they had time to go through centuries' worth of history. Especially when he could see topics listed as "The Reconstruction of the Antarctic", "Reclamation of Florida", or the "US Invasion of Haiti". With a sigh, Miller went back to the political party's page, allowing Snake to look over them again.

"What about the rest of these groups? Anything I should be worried about?" Snake questioned, with Miller looking back, unsure.

"I… don't think so," Miller replied, though he started opening up files to be sure. It gave Snake a somewhat greater knowledge of everything, as he watched info fly by. As it stood, the Usonian Party was the largest in the country, but it only had about 18% of the voting population on its side. The second largest was the Young Progressives Party, having been established a year before the Usonians.

As per the name, they were majority progressives. They supported stricter regulations on corporations, protections on the environment, greater school funding, etc. The third largest party was the Frontiersmen. The file said they were pro-small government, wanted low taxes, and valued small business. They were also apparently very protective of the environment… which Snake was beginning to see was a pattern. Aside from that, while Frontiersmen wanted a smaller government, they also wanted as heavy, if not heavier, regulations as the Young Progressives.

Up next was the Washington's Party, which, as listed by the file, did not officially exist. It was more a collective of politicians from different sides of the spectrum, who just did not believe political parties should exist. There was no party candidate or primary election. No unified party management of any kind. They were just all nonpartisan politicians combined together.

And since they were "founded" over a general dislike of political parties, everyone just started calling them Washingtons, off of the first President's Farewell Address. Then there were the Unionists, whose name also spoke for itself. Very anti-corporation, pro-government programs, etc. The Free Capitalists were also very self-explanatory, being the flip side of the Unionists. The Greener America Party was focused on climate issues, with the occasional policy on free trade. The Preservationists were dedicated to preserving American culture, history, and national parks, effectively acting as a party of bookkeepers.

Finally, there was the American Heroes party, the general law and order party. Overall, pro-hero in nature. The entire political scene was an odd mish-mash of groups with differing yet similar policies. The Frontiersmen both got along and hated the Free Capitalists. The Young Progressives both did and did not like the Unionists. And the Greener America Party and the Preservationists both hated and loved the Usonians and Washington's. So on and so forth.

It was all alien compared to the US Snake knew. Though… it probably should have been expected in one form or another. Most of the world had some kind of massive political change after the Dawn of Quirks. Glancing away from the hologram, with a calm, deep breath, Snake soon spotted the White House come into view. There, he saw the South Lawn getting closer by the second.

And of course, it was packed. Hundreds of officers, soldiers, heroes, secret service, and other government employees stood about. The closest Snake could compare it to was the ceremony held for when foreign leaders visited the US. However, that wasn't entirely accurate. Those ceremonies held a lot more professionalism. His plane would have landed at Joint Base Andrews and would have been greeted by the ceremonial guard of different US military branches.

He would have met the US Chief of Protocol while an Air Force band plays "Arrival Fanfare Number One". And that was just for the plane landing. Simply put, it seemed like an entirely rushed ordeal, as if not even the White House was expecting all this public attention. And they were now trying to make everything appear orderly and planned.

"Oh, seems we're here," Miller eventually muttered, the commander seeing the car drive up toward their destination. Feeling the limo come to a stop, Snake took a final deep breath. Better now than later, he reasoned.

"It's absurd!" one news anchor exclaimed, the noise filtering through one of Ocelot's ears and out the other, "They're treating him like a foreign head of state! Like this is some kind of diplomatic venture! Ignoring the fact that he isn't a head of state! He is a mercenary!"

"A mercenary with a ludicrously large military force! While I am not one to agree with all of President Morrison's choices, holding this kind of ceremony for a man in charge of possibly the world's largest standing PMC is the best course of action!" a different anchor shouted, with Ocelot simply grumbling. Unholstering one of his revolvers, he began spinning it around his finger carefully.

"Unbelievable. What does the President even hope to gain through this endeavor!? This… Snake has proven himself trustworthy for the moment, but his army is under contract with the Japanese government! What would happen if, say, Russia or Iran came around waving more money!?" the first anchor demanded, as Ocelot tossed his revolver into the air. It hadn't even been a day, and the meeting was somehow off to a rocky start.

But that didn't fully matter to Ocelot. After all, that was Snake's business to deal with. And Ocelot had other things on his plate. Number one being, the damn bird posing in front of a hundred fans. As right now, both he and Hawks were standing in Ground Beta's many streets, surrounded by civilians.

"Can you hurry up?" Ocelot couldn't help but mutter, the cowboy slowly glancing toward his feathered compatriot. Hawks just took another selfie with some fan in response, giving Ocelot a smug grin.

"Can't rush this kinda thing," Hawks replied calmly, while Ocelot switched off his earpiece, "Not my fault popularity makes me more approachable."

With a groan, Ocelot turned away, deciding to get back on task. At the moment, he and a dozen other HPSC officials were tasked by the government to investigate the MSF's treatment of civilians. There was no malicious reason, for the most part. The government just wanted eyes on the ground to keep up with the situation. This thought in mind, Ocelot soon found himself talking with an old woman, a clipboard held up in his hands.

"So, they've been treating you well?" Ocelot inquired, the old lady slowly nodding her head.

"I'd say so," the woman replied cautiously, "Food's been scarce a few times… but we're getting fed thankfully."

"And the soldiers, how are they?" Ocelot asked. Here, the woman hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Immediately, Ocelot took a quiet note of the reaction. For the most part, he already knew how the MSF was treating people. So to him, these interviews were mostly pointless. However, it was not a secret that a lot of soldiers did not like being in Japan. As such, these interviews also served a secondary purpose. Rooting out those who might try anything stupid.

"Fine for the most part… There was one though," the old lady answered, as Ocelot carefully wrote everything down, "Rude fellow, muttered something about being forced to help an enemy… I think… Can't remember his name unfortunately."

Quietly, Ocelot hummed to himself, a tad disappointed with the lack of information. It would have to do, though, until he could find anything more concrete.

"But positive for the most part," Ocelot stated, the lady again nodding her head. Stepping back, Ocelot gave her a quick nod as he slowly turned to find Hawks.

"Well, that's all, thank you for your time," he told her before quickly walking away. With that done, he soon spotted his hero companion lazily floating in the air. Slowly reaching him, Ocelot couldn't help but grumble, annoyed.

"Finally-" Ocelot began to call out, before Hawks shifted in the air and tossed him his clipboard. Catching it, Ocelot looked down to read over the thing. Slowly, he became surprised, as he found the entire questionnaire he'd been assigned had been filled out.

"How?" Ocelot questioned, his eyes slowly leaving the clipboard.

"Multitasking," Hawks replied with a smirk, while Ocelot scoffed.

"So, their opinions?" Ocelot inquired, Hawks taking a moment to draw a feather from his wings.

"Positive so far," Hawks answered, now twiddling the feather through his fingers, "There's been the occasional conflict with some soldiers, but overall, people are being treated well."

So he was doing his job then, Ocelot mentally commented. The cowboy always knew Hawks wasn't lazy, there was a keen, calculating mind behind those eyes. But his constant false face cockyness nearly threw Ocelot off. He'd had to remind himself of Hawk's nature over and over again, just to ensure he never slipped up. With the info given, Ocelot turned back toward his own clipboard.

Looking it over, he counted the number of people left to survey. Mentally, he grimaced. Even with the rest of his Ocelots helping him, they'd be here for another four hours. And the sun was already beginning to set. At the bare minimum, they had a dozen apartment buildings left to go through, on just G block.

"Still surprises me how big this place is," Hawks muttered, the hero unknowingly voicing Ocelot's sentiment.

"Agreed," Ocelot muttered calmly, before slowly walking toward the next apartment. Hawks swiftly followed him, his feet now touching the ground as he walked alongside the cowboy. For a moment, he stayed silent, leaving Ocelot to look over his clipboard. But then he said something that made Ocelot's heart stop.

"...You know, I think there's a spy in the commission," Hawks commented, Ocelot having to hide his shock instantly. Stone-faced, he only glanced at Hawks for a moment, displaying a small hint of false curiosity.

"Oh?" Ocelot inquired, turning around fully to face the hero. Hawks, meanwhile, looked around the street uneasily before motioning for Ocelot to move. Cautiously, the two stepped into an alleyway, as Ocelot followed warily. If Hawks knew what he was, then going somewhere secluded would be a mistake. But if he didn't, and this was all a misunderstanding, then Ocelot had to play along.

Glancing around, Hawks continued talking when he saw the cost was clear.

"Think about it," Hawks slowly reasoned, his eyes flashing toward Ocelot's revolvers, "I did some independent research on the Ninth Circle a few days ago. Legally, they were dealt with years ago-"

"And yet they're still here. I know the file you're talking about," Ocelot interrupted, his arms slowly crossing together. Silently, he leaned back against a lone building's wall. Seeing this discussion was not about him, Ocelot mentally smirked.

"It was written years ago, and left to rot in an archive, under the belief that the fifteen-man cult couldn't rise again," Ocelot added, remembering everything in question. The HPSC's sheer incompetence when dealing with the cult was something he'd thought over endlessly. How could they have let a fifteen-man group grow into a militant force numbering in the thousands? It made him wonder if the Ninth Circle was even unique. The possibility of there being other large criminal groups that the Commission hadn't noticed yet was worryingly high.

Hawks, though, didn't seem to acknowledge this fact. If anything, the hero wanted to stick to the topic at hand.

"That's the thing, they really couldn't rise again," Hawks pointed out calmly, "The file's info was out of date, but they were effectively dead for years."

Quietly, Ocelot conceded that point, already knowing everything Hawks said to be true. Slowly, Hawks began walking around the alleyway, his feather still in hand.

"Someone brought them back from the brink, and I think they used commission resources to do it," Hawks rationalized, now pointing the feather around. There was nothing to actually point at, however. The gesture was simply a mindless movement as he moved around.

"Interrogation sessions with JSDF personnel found the cult bought their weapons. They didn't steal them, they bought them. Meaning the cult had illegally purchased billions of dollars' worth of equipment during the Massacre. No one acquires those kinds of funds that quickly without help," Hawks soon added, now pointing the feather at Ocelot. Quietly, Ocelot thought everything over.

Either Night Owl was getting sloppy, or someone else was finally beginning to piece things together. Truthfully, Ocelot didn't know if that was good or bad. Night Owl, for whatever reason, was the reason Ocelot was installed in the HPSC as a spy. And he'd brought the MSF to this world. And with Hawks unknowingly digging up info on Night Owl… then my cover could be blown, Ocelot mentally realized.

"You may be on to something," Ocelot eventually commented, nodding his head slowly, "The question is who'd support them."

Drawing one of his revolvers, he began doing one of his usual tricks. He tossed the revolver under his right arm, the weapon spinning in the air. Catching it with his left Ocelot soon spun it around his finger.

"They'd have to be decently high-ranking in order to gain access to HPSC funds," Ocelot soon added, with Hawks nodding along.

"Or be smart enough to pilfer them without anyone knowing," Hawks pointed out, right as Ocelot flipped his gun in the air. Watching the action, Ocelot could see Hawks thinking quietly. It made the cowboy uneasy, as he holstered his revolver quickly.

"You remember that saboteur the commission had to deal with a few years back?" Hawks asked, still thinking over some unheard story.

"You mean the old Vice President?" Ocelot asked in return, before shifting to the side.

"Yeah… I'm beginning to think it wasn't him," Hawks told him, with Ocelot mentally chuckling.

"Leadership was convinced it was him, but right now, I'm mighty suspicious of where they got the evidence," Hawks added, now having his feather drift back into his wings. Here, Ocelot stayed quiet for a moment. He is already close to the truth… but how much more should be revealed? If I say I know too much, then it'll be my head on the chopping block, Ocelot muttered.

However, Hawks seemed to have that unmistakable cunning. He'd find out the truth sooner or later. Yet… yet there was always something about Hawks that Ocelot found odd. It reminded Ocelot of a younger him, but… different. Part of Ocelot wondered if he could work with that.

"Well…" Ocelot started cautiously, his eyes glancing around the alley, "You didn't hear this from me, but you'd be right."

If Hawks had any true shock or surprise, the hero did a damn good job hiding it behind a smug grin.

"...I'm right?" Hawks eventually questioned, "You know I'm right? You know who the real saboteur is?"

"I've got an idea," Ocelot replied, holding up his hands defensively, "I'd have gone after him if I could. But the time to grab him ran out years ago."

"And why's that?" Hawks asked, as Ocelot mentally listed the reasons. His nuke, his small army of cultists, his now nonexistent supply of weapons, his rank in the HPSC, his unknown experiments still at play, or even the contacts he'd made with international criminal groups all came to mind. But none of this was said aloud.

"Let's just say he's acquired a doomsday protocol of sorts. Something that'll tear everything apart," Ocelot explained vaguely, with Hawks slowly looking back, annoyed.

"...Just who is the saboteur?" Hawks questioned, while Ocelot turned to leave the alley. Quickly, the hero followed him, and Ocelot held out the hero's clipboard. Grabbing it, Hawks saw Ocelot glance toward him one final time.

"Think about it," Ocelot told him, "Who stood to gain the most from the old VP's downfall?"

With that last bit of info, Ocelot walked off, leaving Hawks to think for a moment. As he left the alleyway fully, Ocelot looked around the street, ready to get back to work. That was, until he heard a voice call out to him.

"Excuse me? Ocelot, sir?" the voice asked, as Ocelot slowly recognized Yaoyorozu addressing him, "I was hoping to ask you something."

Curious, Ocelot turned to face the girl- is that a gun?

"Again, it truly is an honor to finally meet you," President Morrison told them, his eyes moving between Snake and Miller. It had taken some time to actually get the meeting started. But now they sat on the Oval Office's cream colored couches.

"The honor is all ours," Miller quickly replied, while Snake elected to stay quiet. Instead, he took a deeper look at the room around them. Which was… well, not fully what Snake was expecting. As was the time-honored tradition, most Presidents would change the decor of the Oval Office when sworn in. They'd bring in artwork, different carpets, drapes, desks, couches, chairs, or even wallpaper.

For Morrison's choice of decor, Snake couldn't help but notice a theme. For basic furniture, he'd kept the usual Resolute desk that most Presidents used. Off near the fireplace where everyone sat, were two cream colored sofas, with coral and eggshell white decorative pillows. Decorating the floor was a plain sunbeam style rug, made up of a variety of tans. Then there were the gold drapes hanging near the office's windows, alongside the plain tan striped wallpaper.

Though with everything listed, not much actually stuck out to Snake. If anything most of the items present were reused from previous administrations. The starbeam rug was from centuries ago, used in the George W Bush era, so were the golden drapes The wallpaper was back during Barack Obama's term, while the Resolute desk went back dozens of Presidents. The sofas appeared custom, but could have easily been some piece of reused furniture.

Then came the other decorative pieces. Up on the walls were George Washington by Rembrandt Peale and Abraham Lincoln by George Henry Story. With George Washington being above the fireplace, and Abraham Lincoln being to the left of it. After that came a black and white photograph of Ulysses S Grant, which sat to the right of George Washington. Behind Morrison's desk, and put into a glass case, was a copy of the Gettysburg Address.

However now, things began to stick out to Snake. There were no more photos of Presidents or political leaders. Instead Snake found "The Rocky Mountains, Lander's Peak" by Albert Bierstadt, "The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone" by Thomas Moran, "Niagara" by Frederic Edwin Church, "Blue Bonnet Field, Early Morning" by Julian Onderdonk, and "The Fall of the Cowboy" by Frederic Remington.

There was a photo of Zion National Park, of an Autumn sugar maple forest in Vermont, a snow covered forest in Alaska, and planters all over the office filled with Arizona Red Shades, Blue Bonnets, and pink godetias.

"The hospitality for one was very unexpected," Miller soon added, stirring Snake out of his thoughts.

"Very unexpected," he couldn't help but mutter to himself, the words unheard by everyone. Shifting on the couch slightly, Snake leaned forward a little as he looked toward Morrison.

"Now then, let's not beat around the bush," Snake commented, with Morrison quickly nodding in agreement.

"Right, let's," Morrison replied, his hands soon motioning to himself, "So, I, on behalf of the United States Government, would like to open up greater relations with the MSF."

"Dictating?" Snake inquired while a pair of aides soon placed a document on the oak table in front of them. Miller was the first to grab it, and he held it to himself for a few seconds.

"Well, as of right now, the Secretary of Defense is recommending we hire your troops as advisors, along with possibly buying some of your equipment," Morrison explained, before Miller passed Snake the paper, "Along with answers to certain questions.

Looking over the paper, Snake found it to be very bare bones. As Morrison said, the paper detailed possible advisor roles and weapons purchases. Practically nothing else was written down. Which Snake struck as odd, but he chalked it up to a negotiating tactic. Morrison was holding off from the more grand-scale arrangements, until something more basic was reached.

"I was also hoping for more… collaborative efforts," Morrison quickly added, as Snake set the paper back down, "The world is becoming a very turbulent place. I… I hope I'm wrong, but the age of peace seems to be coming to a close. Should that time arrive, I believe it is in both our interests to work together."

Here, Snake couldn't help but utter a "hmm". Was this "their" interests, or was this the US's interests? It earned a quick, confused look from Morrison, but it was gone a few seconds later.

"Those interests being?" Snake asked, already suspicious of everything.

"I'd assume global security," Morrison reasoned, with Snake quietly conceding. Slightly. Who's to say they didn't have differing opinions on what global security meant.

"I… I've read up on your group's actions in Japan. And as far as I can tell, you have done some major good over there," Morrison soon explained, with Snake feeling Miller slowly turn toward him.

"Tales of soldiers going out of their way to help those trapped in a besieged city. A tale of heroes," Morrison continued, with Miller chuckling lightly.

"We're flattered, but we're not heroes, Mr. President," Miller told him, with Morrison shrugging.

"No, but it's admirable," Morrison argued calmly, "I don't think a PMC that does the same things you do even exists."

Morrison chuckled then, causing Snake to cautiously squint.

"I mean, you have Polish representatives personally vouching for you. And all it tells me is that you're a man who cares for the common good," Morrison explained, with Snake not fully expecting his words. Nowak never told him the Poles were vouching for them.

"It's why I want to make a deal with you," Morrison quickly added, while Snake stayed quiet. It… it still didn't feel right to fully trust him, or this government. And so far, all he'd heard was what the US got out of a deal.

"...And what do we get from this?" Snake inquired, before motioning to the paper on the table, "I'd like to have some more concrete terms if you would."

"Concrete… that won't be an issue," Morrison cautiously replied, a look of… something striking his face. Snake almost assumed it was worry, but worry for what? Swiftly, though Morrison was handed a fresh piece of paper, this one fully blank. Grabbing a pen from the oak table, he began to write out a few different ideas.

"For right now, we could start with simple economic benefits," Morrison began, now holding the paper out for Snake to see, "Should it be needed, the US Government would be willing to fund more lucrative projects the MSF undertakes. For example, Musutafu is likely boring a hole in your wallets. We can allocate whatever funding, equipment, personnel, or whatever else you may need to help aid the city."

Again, Snake could feel Miller's eyes dig into him as they heard the prospect. He wasn't wrong, though; the Musutafu endeavor was getting increasingly expensive. More so than Outer Heaven, taxpayers liked. With Japan being a US ally, they likely wouldn't have as much of a public outcry if they sent another billion dollars. But Snake still wasn't convinced.

"If that's not enough, we're willing to open up a possible share on US intel services, easy access to American dockyards for repairs or refueling, and collaborative research endeavors," Morrison added, hoping to sweeten the deal a little. Yet Snake couldn't help but think back to the beginning of this offer.

"...You said before you wanted answers," Snake pointed out, with Morrison quickly nodding his head.

"That… would be correct," Morrison replied, the man slowly folding his hands together.

"And they couldn't wait to be answered at the UN meeting?" Snake inquired, while Miller grumbled next to him.

"They couldn't," Morrison replied, "For one, I was hoping to learn more about the MSF's origins."

Of course he was, Snake mentally remarked.

"You're both rumored to be American citizens, and other rumors suggest you specifically served in the US army. But… legally, the two of you don't exist," Morrison further explained, "In every government archive we have, the two of you are never mentioned once. Why?"

Wordlessly, Miller and Snake turned toward each other. Both knew something like this would come up eventually.

"I'm afraid that's classified," Snake answered, earning a small sigh from Morrison.

"I expected as much," Morrison muttered, before he carefully shook his head, "What about your previous operations? An organization of your size doesn't just pop up one day. You've had to be around for years. Why is this the only time we're learning about you?"

"That is also classified," Miller answered, earning a small moment of silence from Morrison.

"...Is there anything the two of you would be willing to discuss?" the President asked cautiously, with Miller thinking for a moment. Snake, however, had an immediate answer.

"No," Snake replied quickly, causing Morrison to pause.

"...Unfortunate…" Morrison muttered, before unfolding his hands and gesturing toward Snake, "Then I'm sure we can work out some other items."

Quietly, Miller nodded, ready to speak up as some idea came to his mind. Leaning forward, the blonde began reaching for the paper still on the table.

"If I may-" Miller began to say, before Snake interrupted him.

"I'm not sure we can," Snake stated calmly, his words unintentionally cold, "As it stands we'll need time to think over everything you've said so far."

When he finished talking, Snake knew Miller was giving him an angry look. Morrison, meanwhile, looked between the two, shocked. Perhaps Snake had been a bit too abrupt, but he wasn't going to agree to anything yet. This meeting was just to get a feel of everything. To better understand the current administration. Soon Morrison turned away, his eyes finding the watch on his wrist. After a moment, he looked back up.

"...Yes, yes let's," Morrison agreed, while Miller again grumbled, "I have some documents I need to go over. Will… noon tomorrow suffice?"

Slowly, everyone stood up from the couches, as Morrison held out his hand. Carefully, both he and Snake shook before Morrison and Miller did the same.

"It will," Miller muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing over to Snake. Without another word, the two soon walked out of the Oval Office, with MSF personnel following closely behind. With a groan, Miller glanced toward Snake, annoyed.

"What the hell was that?" Miller demanded as Snake glanced back at him.

"Our way out," Snake replied with Miller now glaring.

"We were starting to get somewhere," Miller argued, Snake now shaking his head.

"No, we weren't," Snake replied, causing Miller to groan again.

"Why are you being like this?" Miller questioned, Snake now coming to a stop. Turning toward Miller, Snake found himself glaring back at the man.

"You know why," Snake muttered, Miller now bringing a hand to his brow.

"Well, it's beginning to get annoying," Miller pointed out, "You need to calm down before you do something stupid."

Something stupid he says. This entire meeting is stupid, Snake mentally countered. The only reason they worked with the Japanese government was out of necessity. Not trust. There was no reason to try to work with the US, yet Miller kept pushing him to try. And for what? Shaking his head, Snake turned away, ready to keep walking. Only for someone to call out to them.

"Gentlemen!" the voice asked, sounding old and gravelly, "A word before you go."

Turning around, Snake spotted an African American man walking toward them. He appeared relatively old, at least mid to early fifties. Parts of his hair were graying, and his chin was dotted with a faint stubble. When the man reached them, Snake cautiously motioned for his personnel to step out of the way.

"You are?" Snake questioned, and the man soon held out his hand.

"Jonathan Barnes, Secretary of Defense. I'd like to have a quick chat."

Chapter 109: A History Lesson

When the Secretary of Defense had approached them, Snake wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Part of him suspected it had to do with the MSF… strategically transferring equipment to alternative locations. But that turned out to be wrong. A "quick chat" ended up becoming a trip to the Pentagon. Now he, Miller, and Barnes all sat in the Secretary of Defense's office, the entire thing reeking of suspicion.

It looked like a regular office but was adorned with small memorabilia of sorts. Odd and random tiny trinkets. A small NASA pin, a pen from the Department of Agriculture, a flag from the Capitol building, a badge from the FBI, a t-shirt from the CIA, a jar of dirt from the Department of the Interior, a gavel from the Department of Justice, a 5.56 round from the US Army, a medical mask from the CDC, a sticker from the FDA, and nearly a hundred other items.

There had to be at least one item from every single agency and department in the US government. It was astonishing, and instantly told Snake something was off. Barnes, for his part, busily opened up a mini-fridge hidden next to his desk.

"Can I offer the two of you anything?" Barnes inquired, his hands reaching into the fridge, "Scotch, vodka, gin?"

Quietly, the secretary pulled out a small glass from his desk. Dropping a few ice cubes inside, he soon poured out a small bottle of bourbon.

"No, we're good," Miller eventually replied, causing Barnes to shrug.

"Well, more for me," Barnes commented, now setting the bourbon bottle onto his desk. Cautiously, Snake continued to look around the room. Aside from the odd memorabilia, nothing stood out. Though there was an ashtray on his… hmm…

"May I?" Snake inquired, slowly pulling a cigar from his pocket. Seeing the action, Barnes simply nodded before leaning back in his office chair.

"Oh, go right ahead," Barnes answered, with Snake quickly popping the cigar into his mouth. Within a second, a lighter was in his hand, and the cigar was soon lit. Quietly, Snake took a few puffs, ignoring Miller's dissatisfied glances. But he didn't linger on Snake for long. Instead, the commander's gaze swiftly turned toward Barnes, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"Did Morrison offer something else?" Miller asked as Barnes waved him off.

"No, no," Barnes replied, soon taking a swig from his glass, "Can't say this has anything to do with him."

Grumbling, Snake soon glanced at Miller, the two now having a quiet conversation. If Morrison didn't have anything else to say, then whose authority was Barnes acting on? None of this was clearly authorized, and this was a big mistake. Rather quickly, both he and Miller stood up.

"We're done then," Snake announced, swiftly turning to the door. With Miller on his heels, he reached out and grasped the door's handle.

"Oh, come now, stay," Barnes told them, the sound of glass clinking against wood following. With a glance, Snake had found Barnes set down his glass, and now carefully clasped his hands together.

"I insist. Or do the words Outer Heaven not ring any bells?" Barnes inquired, Snake and Miller now freezing in place. Cautiously, Snake turned around fully, his eye falling on Barnes's face. The Secretary of Defense looked back at him calmly, the man motioning for them to sit back down. Slowly, Snake and Miller complied, unsure of what to do. Warily, Snake took another puff from his cigar.

"...What do you want?" Snake demanded while Barnes picked his glass back up.

"To have a conversation," Barnes replied, now taking a swig from his glass. With a deep breath, the man savored the flavor of the bourbon. Gently placing the glass back down, Barnes again clasped his hands together.

"I've heard bits and pieces of your meeting with the President. I assume talks aren't going well," Barnes commented, with Snake nodding back.

"You'd be correct," Snake muttered, as Barnes sat up in his chair.

"As it stands, I don't find you or this government trustworthy enough to work with," Snake added, removing the cigar from his mouth. Holding it between his fingers, Snake dropped bits of ash from the cigar onto the tray. At the same time, he wondered just what kind of situation they found themselves in. Barnes had let them bring MSF personnel along, but they were in the Pentagon for crying out loud.

In a sense, they were outnumbered and surrounded on practically all sides.

"Currently, you're only proving my point," Snake argued. Barnes merely nodded in agreement.

"Perhaps," Barnes commented, "Your hesitance is not misplaced, though."

…What? Keeping his face stone cold, Snake couldn't help but feel surprised. It was somewhat vindicating to hear next to Miller, the commander, also trying to hide his shock. But… it was still surprising. He would have expected Barnes to go on about the potential greatness that the MSF and the US could do together. The whole political spiel of trying to convince or force him into a deal.

But… to say that he was right… Snake didn't fully trust what that meant. Rather somberly, though Barnes turned away from them. The older man glanced toward a small photo on the wall, a sigh escaping his lips.

"The things I've seen this country do," Barnes muttered, Snake's eye following the secretary's. Spotting the photo, Snake found it difficult to make out anything. Half of it was burnt to a crisp. In the still-intact half, an African American woman was standing alongside three kids. Behind them was a large purple and green mardi gras float. But aside from that, Snake couldn't see Barnes anywhere in the photo.

"Oh?" Snake slowly inquired, seeing that Barnes turned away from the photo. With a light chuckle, Barnes leaned back in his chair again.

"Consider this a secret I give out sparingly," Barnes told him, Snake raising his brow, "But I'm old, Snake. Real old."

Snake would have thought otherwise. Miller was about thirty-eight, Snake was forty-nine, and Barnes looked to be a few years older than both of them. Not by much, but enough to show a visible difference. What with the greying hair, the more frequent wrinkles, and the calloused skin. But then Barnes proved him wrong.

"Been around since the Dawn of Quirks," Barnes revealed, Snake now finding it impossible to hide his surprise. Miller, at the same time, went slack-jawed. It didn't fully seem believable, but then Snake's eye went back to the photo on the wall. It was barely distinguishable, but at the bottom of the photo, written in pen, was a date Snake hadn't noticed. The date? March 1st, 2033.

"You're immortal?" Miller couldn't help but question.

"So it seems," Barnes replied uncaringly, as if the concept had become more of an annoyance, "Haven't died yet, not sure when or if I will."

Mentally, Snake ran the math through his head. Without an exact birthdate, Barnes's age wasn't clear. But no matter what, the man had to be centuries old. Still looking at the photo, Snake found that Barnes was actually in the photo. He was one of the kids. He couldn't have been older than twelve when it was taken.

"But none of that matters," Barnes eventually stated, dragging Snake out of his thoughts.

"Like I said, your hesitance is not misplaced," Barnes pointed out, the man grabbing his glass of bourbon.

"Tell me, what's your…. General knowledge of American history? From the Dawn of Quirks to now?" he inquired, taking a quick drink from his glass, "Can't find your school records anywhere, so…"

His uncertainty was at least a little comforting to Snake. To know there were things even an immortal didn't have knowledge of. Glancing over at Miller, Snake found the commander pondering the question carefully.

"Our knowledge is rather limited," Miller answered, with Barnes nodding back.

"What's that have to do with this?" Snake asked in return, Barnes now shrugging.

"For right now? Consider it the ramblings of an old man," Barnes replied, leaving Snake quiet. It seems that history lesson would be happening now, Snake mentally remarked. After another swig from his glass, Barnes took a moment to clear his throat. Feeling this was going to take a while, Miller quietly motioned toward the secretary's mini-fridge. Wordlessly, Barnes pulled out another glass and filled it with bourbon. Once that was done, Miller sat back silently.

"Now, there was a whole lotta crap going on during the Dawn of Quirks, but let me tell you, it's not like how people assume," Barnes slowly began, the man shifting into his seat.

"The chaos it brought was slow, methodical. The world didn't just explode into anarchy," Barnes explained, "Hell, most of the chaos wasn't even caused by quirks themselves. The majority of quirks back then were too weak to do much."

Quietly, Snake begged Barnes to move on, both he and Miller already knowing this. A grand societal collapse couldn't happen immediately because one child started to glow. Nezu's findings on Africa's history just corroborated everything Barnes was saying. But then Barnes kept going.

"All the crimes and villains didn't happen immediately. Took years. The first crime committed with a quirk didn't even happen until 2033. Even then, the perp was only thirteen," Barnes muttered, with Snake's eye soon widening. That… that was a bit harder to stomach. The first crime ever committed with a superpower was done by a child.

"No," Barnes stated coldly, "The cause of all the chaos was the uncertainty quirks created."

With a sigh, Barnes leaned back in his chair, soon staring up at the ceiling tiredly.

"When they first started popping up, scientists all over the globe began trying to study them. For years, they poured every ounce of research into learning about these new abilities," Barnes added, stretching slightly as he tried to get comfortable.

"What they found, was that quirks made no damn sense," Barnes pointed out, "Quirks, plain and simple, defied the rules of physics, the rules of nature, and the rules of reality. The only grounded scientific data scientists could find was that quirks were genetic."

Understatement of the year, Snake mentally commented.

"Now, of course, this fact causes chaos. Quirks broke the very notion of science. They just appeared with no explanation as to why and how. Science couldn't explain why they worked, and slowly more quirks began to pop up around the globe," Barnes explained, both Snake and Miller slowly nodding along.

"In those times, a lot of people turned toward one select thing," Barnes muttered tiredly, "Religion."

Somehow, Snake didn't feel he was going to like what came next.

"To many, it was the only source of info that could explain these new abilities. For some sects of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, quirks were touted as blessings from god. Gifts sent down to those he'd ordained," Barnes went on, the older man still staring up at the ceiling.

"In other sects, they were the spawn of the devil, demons, or whatever evil one could think of," Barnes muttered, a cold, sorrowful look filling his eyes. Shaking his head, Barnes looked back down toward Snake.

"In this burgeoning era of uncertainty, chaos, and fear, along with a rapidly growing belief in the End Times, I'll let you guess which sects became the most popular," Barnes stated, with Snake stifling a surprised look. That… that was not entirely unexpected. In times of crisis, the worst in everyone tends to take hold. This was no different.

"Buddhism, meanwhile… they… eh, I can't remember what they did. Or Hindus. Most folk religions, though, did the same thing as the Abrahamic ones. Quirks were some supernatural blessing or curse," Barnes added on, the secretary of defense now bringing a hand to his chin. He quickly waved the thought off, though, staying focused on his goal.

"In the end, the beginning of society's downfall was started by a series of rampant witch hunts, and ensuing counter witch hunts," Barnes explained coldly, the older man tracing over the palm of his left hand, "Hundreds were killed under the assumption they had a quirk."

"And remember, at the time this was happening, around the 2030s, most quirked people were kids," Barnes couldn't help but grumble, a faint anger coming to his eyes, "Not even teens yet. They were at a bare minimum of ten years old."

Again, Snake had to stifle his surprise. He expected more from the modern world, much more. This kind of thing was something one would read about in the 1500s. But this… back then, the 1970s would have been seventy-three years ago. It would have been a century from the Civil Rights Era… and yet there would be witch hunts.

"But when it comes to kids, they tend to lash out when pressured. Or do desperate things," Barnes soon added, again dragging Snake out of his thoughts.

"In April 2034, one kid snuck onto a cargo ship with his friends. Hoping to travel and see the world," Barnes explained tiredly, "That kid had a quirk that effectively made his hands mini blow torches."

Pausing for a second, Barnes turned to drink from his glass again. He took a few small sips, seeming to prepare himself for what came next.

"The ship's crew inevitably found him, but the kid tried to run. In an attempt to hide, the kid began cutting into parts of the ship," Barnes continued, saying, "And unknowingly, he cut into the ship's fuel tank."

He needn't say more, as Snake instantly got the picture. But say more he did.

"The ship blew up in a matter of seconds. The entire crew was killed, the dock the ship was stationed at was heavily damaged, and bits of debris ended up causing a million dollars in damages," Barnes explained, causing Snake to look back shocked.

"The media at the time didn't have the full story, but it didn't matter. In a matter of hours, the web was flooded with stories of a terrorist attack killing hundreds," Barnes grumbled angrily, his hands clenching tightly.

"Quirkism spiked, and as a response, the first true villains came to rise," Barnes muttered, "Trust in global security was at an all-time low, and just kept falling. By December of 2034, the global economy had effectively shut down. As many believed, it was too dangerous to ship goods between countries. Instantaneously, the world was plunged into a second great depression."

Quietly, Snake couldn't help but build a parallel of events. A complete shutdown of the global economy, caused by insurmountable chaos. The exact thing Night Owl wanted, and what the Ninth Circle was achieving.

"Over a period of thirteen years, unemployment in the US rose to thirty-two percent. GDP dropped by seven trillion dollars, inflation rose, crime continued to increase, and the people became desperate," Barnes added, slowly painting Snake an ever-worsening picture.

"Desperate enough, they began cashing in on US debt. Because back then, the majority of US debt holders were domestic. And all of them were very suddenly strapped for cash. Now they wanted their money back. Money the US couldn't pay back," Barnes explained, soon clicking his tongue.

"Funding for programs was cut across the board, but it wasn't enough. Come 2039, the US would be effectively bankrupt. To the point where they invaded Haiti," Barnes continued, slowly bringing his hands to his brow.

"They marketed the endeavor as reestablishing order in the country," Barnes told them, "In truth, they moved in to bleed the country dry of anything valuable. Of course, Haiti isn't exactly a wealthy nation. So it was followed by raids into the Dominican Republic, attempted invasions of Cuba, secret black ops in Greenland, and temporary seizure of the Panama Canal."

Barnes couldn't help but grumble then, now removing his hands from his brow.

"Needless to say, this brought forth global condemnation from allies abroad," Barnes stated, "Which only got worse when France invaded Algeria again, and a whole heap of new European conflicts broke out."

"Relations were severed, and economic woes got worse. By the time the Depression had ended in 2048, the US was in an almost unrecoverable stage. Simply put, the economy had stopped falling but hadn't done much else. People were still dirt poor, and the wealthy had bought up almost everything during the depression. Effectively, in 2050, the US entered a second Gilded Age," Barnes continued, with Snake becoming more and more displeased. During the second Gilded Age, the US government fell into a state of anocracy. It was controlled by an overly corporate elite, who'd built up a series of oligopolies across the country.

During the Depression, the majority of smaller businesses found it impossible to keep up. Their accounts were drained dry, and they were left bankrupt. Where the larger corporations would soon come in and buy them up. Many called for antitrust laws to be used, but none were for decades. After all, there was technically competition. It just was between two megacorporations.

Any attempt to protest was met with violent reprisal under the guise of un-American language. Attempts to vote in new politicians ended in abject failure, as they almost always replaced one corrupt President with another. Food was too expensive, healthcare was too expensive, and housing was too expensive. Gone was the modern American middle class, as four to five generations were forced to live in the same home as their great-grandparents. Assuming they still even owned the home.

All the while, anti-quirk sentiment began to become… complicated. For many, the 0.000001% of quirked people were still tearing apart city blocks. The rest were busily trying to keep their heads down like everyone else. But repressions kept coming for all of them. A civil rights leader by the name of Alfred Harrison was arrested in 2052 under fraudulent corruption charges.

The first quirked congressman, Keith Wenders, was assassinated in 2053. And between 2054 to 2060, a group of extremists would launch the first Quirk Purge. Thirty thousand people would die in the chaos. Protests would break out and last for nearly ten years. Ultimately culminating in countrywide martial law from 2080 to 2089. For forty years, the American people struggled to get back on their feet.

For forty years, they fought to reclaim what was taken away from them. All while the rich elite sat atop, gorging on their wealth. And nothing the public did worked. Nothing, peaceful that is.

"It was a dark time in this country's history," Barnes muttered grimly, leaving Snake concerned, "Whether it was necessary or not, I couldn't tell you. But in 2091, a villain attacked the Capitol building."

With a tired groan, Barnes leaned back, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Half of congress was killed, a third of the living were crippled, another third resigned from their positions," Barnes told him, "That attack marked the beginning of the Quirk Riots."

The violence lasted from 2091 to 2096. Because by now, the country was fed up with everything. They were called the Quirk Riots because the first violent actions were led by quirked individuals. Led by people sick of the constant repression. Non-quirked people would join them, but quirks became ingrained with the riots' identity. It was at this time that the first vigilantes started popping up, fighting both villains and the system at large.

Government buildings were bombed, city infrastructure was torn apart, corporate headquarters were raided, and CEOs were held hostage. It was tried and true chaos. And Snake could see what Barnes meant. The country was rapidly heading towards a revolution, if not a second civil war. And if that war broke out… Snake didn't know what would happen. Almost all revolutions in history ended in failure.

With all the violence and bloodshed, the US could have easily fallen into something worse. However, it also came with an unfortunate benefit. The previously corrupt Congress was now dead, crippled, or quit. The Republican and Democratic parties were dead. They had no one they could run for office. Through all the political violence came one singular chance to get things back on track. To both avoid a full-scale revolution and rebuild the US from the ground up.

In an attempt to quell the chaos, still surviving politicians tried to push through reforms. Of which most were token in nature. But with the sudden vacancies in Congress, the public did everything it could to get fresh blood into the system. And through those attempts, came the creation of the Young Progressives and the Usonians. Marking 2097 as the start of the New Progressive Era.

Around June 3rd of 2097, Congress passed the First Quirk Rights Act. A few years later, in 2100, the voting system was upended from the ground up. With the first-past-the-post system being replaced with a new ranked-choice system, along with the removal of the Electoral College. And in 2108, the first quirked President was elected. Multiple oligopolies were broken apart, housing costs began to decrease, and the standard of living began to rise again. By 2140, the New Progressive Era had come to an end.

With the home front becoming stabilized, the US would soon focus its efforts back on the outside world. For one distinct reason.

"And you know, funny thing, climate change didn't just stop happening," Barnes muttered aloud, "It didn't wait a hundred years before starting up again. During all this madness, the climate just kept getting hotter. To the point that the world's worst fears came true."

"In a matter of years, global sea levels rose dramatically. The last of the Antarctic ice sheet melted away. It got bad enough that all of Florida was submerged underwater," Barnes explained, again causing Snake to go wide-eyed. Last the man had checked, Florida was very much not underwater. The idea that it had been before and that this was just a casual fact was a tad bit concerning.

"It was the largest environmental disaster the world had ever seen," Barnes continued, ignoring Snake's surprise, "Seed banks thankfully kept most plant life from dying out. And were it not for a single billionaire wanting to build his own Noah's Ark mega-zoo, it would have been very likely that hundreds of animals would have gone extinct too."

Snake half expected that last part to be a joke. Because… a Noah's Ark mega-zoo? It just screamed improbably on so many levels. And then Snake saw Miller pull out his phone. Slowly, the commander turned the screen toward him and revealed a photo of a giant wooden boat sitting in the middle of Kentucky. It was real. Miller then pulled up the website, leaving Snake even more dumbstruck.

The founder of the museum had apparently heard the word of god call down to him. To which god ordered him, like Noah, to build an ark with every animal. Only it wasn't two of every animal, it was a hundred. The verification of the claim was still being debated. But ignoring it, the founder had been a surprisingly loud advocate for quirk rights. Even led a Christians for Quirks movement. Compared to the rest of the Second Gilded Age's mess, it was nice to see a small sliver of human kindness.

The zoo was also shockingly well built- oh, it even has its own quirked animal rights charity- nope! Back on topic!

"There is no understating how bad this was. New York City was underwater, Washington D.C. had to be abandoned, and the capital was relocated to Colorado- which did I forget to mention that? I did, didn't I?" Barnes asked suddenly, with Snake slowly nodding his head.

"You did," Miller confirmed, with Barnes then shrugging.

"I think you get the picture by now," Barnes commented, with Snake believing he did. In truth, he did not. Along with global flooding came an increase in natural disasters. The frequency and destruction of tornadoes and hurricanes went up dramatically. Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, California, Colorado, Utah, and parts of Texas were hit with decade-long droughts. Which were then met with increased wildfires across the Northern, Western, and Eastern US.

The rest of the world wasn't fairing much better either. Hundreds of cities had to be abandoned around the globe. Saint Petersburg, Stockholm, Venice, Istanbul, Odessa, Copenhagen, London, and Brussels were all in ruins. In some cases, a country only existed in name. Denmark was pretty much wiped off the map, along with Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. That was just in Europe.

Needless to say, this had become an immediate problem once the US was back on its feet. So in 2141, the beginning og the Re-Globalization Era, the US began trying to rebuild old diplomatic relations.

"It took decades to rebuild relations with former allies," Barnes commented, "But rebuild we did."

"We became the dominant power again, if only because no one took our spot," Barnes pointed out, making some sense to Snake. China had fallen into civil war years earlier, Russia was supposedly stuck in conflicts with its neighbors, Africa was still dealing with the warlords, South America was in economic ruins, and Europe just didn't have the money. In a sense, the US fell out of its chair and didn't sit back down for a century.

"The first item on the agenda was getting the climate back under control. Now with the technology of the time, the entire idea just wasn't feasible," Barnes explained calmly, "It would have taken decades to design a solution. By then, we'd have lost too much time."

"So the world turned to quirks," Snake quietly noted, with Barnes nodding in response.

"Hoping to spur global cooperation again, the US proposed an unprecedented plan," Barnes added, "The US wanted to begin the largest megaproject the world had ever seen. A project bigger than I-Island itself. The Reconstruction of the Antarctic."

"In preparation for the project, the US enlisted the help of over a hundred nations. Across the US, meanwhile, the government began recruiting every single vigilante they could find, seeing the possibility for something groundbreaking. And in the flooded remains of Rhode Island, they formed the hero system," Barnes stated, with Snake slowly gaining a realization. This was where the public obsession with heroes started.

This whole mess of villains, the climate, the political corruption, this was where the obsession stemmed from. An almost apocalyptic world being dragged out of hell by a band of heroes. By a band of vigilantes. For as corrupt as the system was now, the heroes of the past had carried some serious weight. There was a reason they had become so ingrained in everyday life. It also gave Snake a clearer idea of what happened to the global military budget and why it went to heroes.

"Now, licensing the first heroes, quirks became a desperate facet of modern life. The more combat-oriented were sent to keep the peace at home and to try and bring hope. The others, meanwhile, were assigned to reclamation efforts," Barnes continued, now sitting back up from his chair, "In the end, Antarctica's reconstruction took thirty trillion dollars, forty years of work, and a million different terraforming quirks, but it was done."

Snake couldn't help but gasp at the money spent. But if anything, that was mere pennies. Thirty trillion dollars to rebuild a continent. Were it not for quirks, Snake was sure that number would be leagues higher.

"Further trillions were spent taking back cities across the globe, along with fully trying to establish order. As the US launched the Second War on Terror, Drugs, and the First War on Crime, in 2142 and 2143 respectively," Barnes added, taking a final sip from his glass, "It was a global effort to combat the rise of villains, reestablish global trade, and bring back the old order of peace. Each war's effectiveness was debatable in the long run, each one ending in 2160. But the world, for once, was back at an age of semi-stability."

With that, Barnes went quiet. The secretary reached under his desk again and pulled out the bottle of bourbon from his fridge. Pouring himself a second glass, the man could only watch as Snake sat quietly in thought.

"Your point?" Snake inquired curiously, earning a sigh from Barnes.

"The point is this country and its history are complicated. But so are all nations' histories. It's done a lot of bad throughout the years. It's done a lot of good," Barnes replied calmly, while Snake took a puff from his cigar.

"You're right to be hesitant to trust us, for whatever reason," Barnes conceded, "But this isn't the same America you've dealt with. Even if it was, who's to say things can't change?"

Waving his hand in the air, Barnes took a sip from his drink.

"I can barely attest for myself, or even half this administration," Barnes told him, with Snake raising a brow, "I can, however, attest for Morrison."

"He's an unfortunate rarity amongst politicians. One who actually wants to do something good in the world, even if he's a bit of a bum," Barnes clarified, with Snake hmming in response.

"All he wants is the best for the American people and the world. And he believes a deal with the MSF is the best course of action. I'm inclined to agree with him," Barnes explained, again leaning back in his chair.

"Big, big things are coming our way," Barnes added, "You know it, I know it, and Morrison knows it. Soon, this peace we have between major powers will be gone."

Snake quietly dreaded that possibility. Because the only way it would start, would be because of Night Owl.

"It won't come to that," Snake quickly told him. Barnes merely sighed back.

"One would hope. But call me pragmatic," Barnes countered, "Besides, like it or not, we'll end up working together regardless. What with you and the Poles having such good relations. A deal now would just make this much easier."

Quietly, Snake thought over everything that had been said. All the history Barnes had rambled about. He thought back to his own experiences in life, his own biases and choices. And… Miller had been right. To some extent, Snake had been wrong. The Boss's death still haunted him, but… a deal was the best course of action… but…

"...I'm sorry, but the answer is still no," Snake hesitantly told him, before stamping his cigar out on the ashtray.

"If you know about Outer Heaven, then I don't doubt you know the rest of the world's business," Snake pointed out, with Barnes slowly nodding. It would have been impossible for him not to know. The man was immortal, he'd seen hundreds of years' worth of history. He'd experienced it all. He had to of known.

"Which means you're either part of or know of the Japanese HPSC's actions. So even if I could trust Morrison, I can't trust you, the CIA, the FBI, the DOD, or whoever else we'd be working with," Snake added, ignoring the grumble coming from Miller. For a second, Barnes stayed quiet before eventually chuckling.

"Heh, well, you're not wrong," Barnes conceded, holding up his hands defensively.

"A whole lot of people would have to go," Barnes noted, again fishing through his desk. There, he pulled out a small notebook. Carefully, he slid it across the desk, the boot stopping near Snake.

"I think we can work with that, though," Barnes stated calmly, while Snake looked at the notebook. Warily, Snake picked it up and opened it. The very first page was nothing but a chart filled with names, along with a dozen different words. Assault, murder, rape, fraud, bribery, and a hundred other crimes were listed, along with page numbers. Snake's eye widened in surprise.

"What's this?" Snake inquired, a tinge of hope lining his tone.

"Oh, nothing much," Barnes replied, before taking a sip from his glass, "See, it's like I said before, I'm old. I've been around for a long time, and I've been in government for just as long."

"I've served in over forty administrations from the lowliest position in the Department of Housing and Urban Development, to now Secretary of Defense," Barnes added, a smug grin coming to his face.

"And in all that time, there was a lot of secret talk going on. Oh, if these walls could speak," Barnes commented, as Snake selected one of the listed page numbers and flipped through the notebook.

"Back then, I was treated as a joke," Barnes went on, "Someone most politicians and bureaucrats could ignore."

Landing on the page in question, Snake felt himself freeze in shock.

"After all, I was a hundred-year-old senile black man, who'd barely gone to school. To any experienced politician, I was dumb as dirt. So, they did whatever they pleased, thinking I was unaware," Barnes stated smugly, his finger now tapping his temple, "But I knew what they were doing. I knew all along."

Again, Barnes chuckled, now leaning forward onto his desk.

"Because the neat thing about being immortal is that I've got a lot of time on my hands. With which, I can do whatever I please. Study whatever I please. Learn whatever I please," Barnes told him, "And in all that time, I kept a list of every dirty deed I could find."

And true enough, the page Snake had chosen was lined with evidence. Loads of it. The person he'd selected was random, possibly a senator of some kind. But the entire page was a dossier detailing a dozen different crimes, from accepting bribes to treason. It was a golden opportunity.

"If that's true, why didn't you reveal this before?" Snake asked, finding it a little suspicious.

"Time wasn't right," Barnes replied with a shrug, "But now, with the whole world panicking, now the time is right."

Standing up from his seat, his glass in hand, Barnes walked toward Snake. Taking another drink, Barnes held out his hand and eyed Snake quietly.

"You make that deal with Morrison, and I guarantee every name on that list is going to have an unfortunate week," Barnes told him. Snake looked back at him quietly. A million thoughts ran through his mind, half telling him this was some kind of trick. Yet Snake stood up from his seat and took a deep breath. A smirk took hold of his face, and Snake quickly shook Barnes's hand.

"You know, they could charge you with treason for this," Snake pointed out, watching as Barnes shrugged.

"Eh, let them," Barnes replied confidently, "I'm willing to bet the court of public appeals will see things my way."

Morrison couldn't help but pace in the Oval Office. Yesterday's meeting had been… worrying. There was still time for talks, Snake and his personnel wouldn't leave until Wednesday. But… Morrison wondered if it actually mattered.

"I blew it, I don't know how, but I blew it," he muttered aloud, as he slowly cupped his hands over his face. Maybe he'd been too aggressive. Maybe he'd offered terms that only benefited the US. Maybe he wasn't aggressive enough. Something was done wrong, but what? Across the room, Mary just looked back at him quietly, two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Things like this take time, Mr. President," Mary pointed out, with Morrison sighing.

"I know that, but it just… it seemed like Snake didn't want to be here to begin with," Morrison told her. He wasn't blind, the man had made it very clear he had other tasks in mind. If not outright hostility, that Morrison was hoping would go away. His second in command seemed more reasonable, thankfully. Meeting with Morrison had probably been his suggestion to begin with. As Morrison thought this over, Mary took a sip from her coffee.

"The ceremony might have been off-putting, but it was a rushed job," Mary argued, with Morrison shrugging. She was probably right. They either should have gone all in or not at all. But someone had leaked the meeting to the press, so it resulted in a rushed half-measure.

"Do you think a formal gift of some kind would help- no, no. The terms I gave them must have been too aggressive… how though…" Morrison went on, before dropping onto one of the Oval Office's sofas. At the same time, Mary looked down in quiet pity. Walking over, she passed him the other cup of coffee in her hand, which Morrison quietly took. There had to be something he missed. Some offer he failed to give.

Then again, maybe this entire effort was pointless. Morrison could, in all likelihood, be trying to appease someone who just didn't care. Which Morrison quietly dreaded. Cutting ties now would possibly save face. He'd given it the old college try but couldn't come to an agreement. Yet he just couldn't bring himself to. Eventually, someone knocked on the Oval Office's hallway door.

Sitting up on the couch, Morrison took a deep breath and readied himself for what was to come. Swiftly, the door opened, and Snake, Miller, and his small entourage were escorted inside. The two main men sitting down, Morrison soon found Snake seemed… different. The quiet aggression was, oddly enough gone.

"Mr. President," Snake calmly greeted, the man carefully clasping his hands together, "I believe we may have gotten off on a rocky start. Previous biases have been at the forefront of my mind lately, so I must apologize."

Morrison kept his surprise quiet as Snake slowly shifted forward.

"If you would, I'd like to go over some of your previous proposals again," Snake commented, the words slowly registering to Morrison. It took a moment, but a wave of relief fell over the President. A friendly smile took hold of him as Morrison looked back at Snake.

"That can be done," Morrison replied, with discussions finally beginning properly.

"In other news, the Ninth Circle has launched yet another attack this week. Just yesterday, amid MSF and US talks, the cult launched a surprise attack on Kadena Air Force Base. Reports suggest the villains used L16 81mm mortars to attack the base in a quick hit-and-run. Roughly fifteen people were killed, another forty were injured," a news anchor rambled on, "As of yet, there has been no comment from the US Government. However, the base's commander touted the attack as a gross failure of military preparedness and defensive practices."

Annoyed, Shigaraki grumbled as the news played on, the noise filtering through a small earbud he had. The Ninth Circle, he thought dryly, that's all they ever talked about nowadays. By now, Shigaraki couldn't exactly blame them. Every other week, it seemed the cult had blown up another bridge or shot their way through another subway station. But it bugged him a lot. The League of Villains was practically a forgotten name.

A group that showed up once, put All Might on the back foot, and then was forgotten about. Well, that wouldn't be for long, Shigaraki thought to himself. Slowly, he turned to his side, stepping out of the bombed-out alleyway where he had hidden. Looking out across a wide open street, he quickly spotted his target: Musutafu's docks. Slowly coming into port, in the dead of night, was a large cargo ship.

Currently flying the German flag, the ship was one of many sent to supply Japan with aid. One could only wonder what was aboard, as Shigaraki counted all the containers present. There had to be hundreds, possibly thousands. Filled with foodstuffs, auto parts, construction materials, money, clothes, and even medical supplies. Next to Shigaraki, Volcano gave out a low whistle.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?" he commented, as Shigaraki stayed quiet.

"A lot of possible goodies," Gust Boy muttered nearby, "Might take a while to grab it all."

"We'll take only what we need, and then we'll leave," Shigaraki stated, as he slowly started scratching the back of his neck. Truthfully, the League could spend hours grabbing loot from the ship. But that wasn't feasible in the long run. Why? Well, the answer was rather simple, as Shigaraki swiftly ducked back into the alleyway. Above them, an MSF helicopter ran over the area with a searchlight. Nearby, the aircraft's drone escorts flew about, examining the areas the helicopter missed.

As it stood, the entire port was under the MSF's occupation. A regiment of soldiers stood guard, and they were, unfortunately, very well armed. Out of the corner of his eye, Shigaraki spotted Kurogiri's familiar vortex beginning to form. Slowly, the villain appeared, along with the League's newest member. Someone Shigaraki had taken to calling Shikabane. The villain in question was a rather… well… unique individual. He was a "gift" from Sensei after all.

For right now, he wore a kabuki mask to hide his face, stylized with lightning bolts and spatters of blood. Aside from the mask, he wore a plain black jumpsuit, with a large hoodie obscuring the rest of his head. And overall, Shikabane was much shorter compared to everyone else. In fact, his height was comparable to… what was that NPC's name… Mustard. It was comparable to Mustard.

"How many?" Shigaraki eventually asked, watching as Shikabane shifted in place tiredly.

"About twelve tanks total. Along with twice the number of IFVs, a few dozen mortars, another dozen attack helicopters, and a hundred other ground vehicles," Shikabane replied bored, "Lotta drones too."

No mention of artillery, Shigaraki noted. Must be somewhere nearby, though, for immediate support. Looking back, Shigaraki counted over the villains already assembled. In terms of heavy hitters, the League didn't have much. So far, their best options were Volcano, Gust Boy, Dusty Ash, Kurogiri, and Shigaraki himself. Shikabane would have to be seen to know where he fell.

The rest, however, were low-level street punks. So, for standard villains, the League would be outmatched. The keyword, being standard villains. Turning back around, Shigaraki spotted Shikabane leaning against the alleyway's wall.

"Nothing but nobodies over there," Shikabane muttered, with Shigaraki mentally groaning, "Could handle this entire dock by myself."

Sure, Shigaraki sarcastically thought, before turning back toward Kurogiri.

"Kurogiri?" Shigaraki inquired, the living void looking back.

"Everything is in position," Kurogiri replied, while Shigaraki again scratched the back of his neck. Slowly, a manic smile began to take hold of him, a laugh escaping him.

"Then, game on," Shigaraki muttered and watched as Kurogiri disappeared. Seconds later, Shigaraki could spot a dozen portals pop in above the docks. In the blackness of night, they were nearly unnoticeable. But that didn't last long. For mere moments later, the first nomu dropped through the portal. It started slowly, but soon a stream of the monsters began to fall from the sky.

It didn't take long for chaos to follow. Almost instantly, Shigaraki heard the sound of gunfire break out. Sirens started up, as attack helicopters flew back toward the docks. He could even hear the loud bang of a tank gun firing. With the attack now underway, Kurogiri's portals disappeared from the sky and slowly reappeared in the alleyway. Stepping through, Shigaraki was now out of the alleyway and on the cargo ship.

Looking around, Shigaraki found some of the MSF had gotten aboard. A machine gun squad busily firing down at the nomu from the ship's deck, didn't notice as Shigaraki snuck up behind them.

"[Come on! Come on! Die already!]" one soldier yelled out, holding down the trigger on his machine gun. On the weaker tier nomu's, the bullets tore the monsters apart with somewhat ease. The middle tiers took a minute to fully die, needing nearly fifty rounds to put them down, but the upper tiers? They just didn't die. Desperately, soldiers fired everything they could into the monsters, only to watch as nothing penetrated.

When one soldier finally brought up a .50 caliber machine gun, he could only watch as the nomu shrugged off every shot. It didn't get hurt until a tank shot it with its railgun. Where half the nomu's body was torn straight off. The soldiers celebrated for a moment, only to watch as the nomu's legs reformed, and the beast stood back up. It then rushed forward, ripped the turret off the tank, and used it to crush a squad of eight.

"[The hell are these things!?]" another soldier yelled, firing the last of his mag into a weaker grey nomu. At the same time, a mid-tier nomu flew up and tried to claw his face off. Were it not for a large mutant slugging the beast and emptying his M2 Browning into the monster, he would have died.

"[Ugly bastards! Shut up and fire!]" a third soldier ordered, watching as a winged nomu slammed into an attack helicopter above them. Nearly instantly, the craft began to tumble out of the sky before crashing to the ground.

"[Tiger!]" a soldier would yell out in desperate horror. By now, Shigaraki was right behind the squad. Swiftly, he reached out and grabbed the first soldier he could by the throat. In seconds, the man began to decay, his vocal cords dying before he could scream. Yet his buddies soon noticed Shigaraki, as their compatriot's dust drifted by them.

"[Contact!]" one would yell out before Shigaraki rushed forward and shoved him off the ship. With two down, the final two soldiers quickly stepped backward, their weapons raised and ready. Quickly, Shigaraki began thinking up a plan, only for a pair of lightning bolts to fly past him. The first struck a soldier in the chest and fried him inside and out. The second missed, but was close enough to ignite the ammo in the second soldier's gun.

The weapon exploded in his hands, peppering the man with bits of metal. With both dead, Shigaraki turned to find Shiabane standing behind him.

"I'm bored," Shikabane muttered aloud, "I told you, all these punks are worthless nobodies."

"Then I'm sure you won't have an issue, clearing the ship of NPCs," Shigaraki told him, annoyed, before quickly walking off. With a scoff, Shikabane walked away, with the sound of crackling lightning following. Soon, Shigaraki found himself staring up at the mountainous stack of shipping crates the ship held. While the nomus kept the MSF busy, the rest of the League boarded the ship.

Now, villains quickly began tearing open shipping crates.

"Come on! Get it open!" Volcano ordered as Shigaraki spotted him forcing open a large crate. Inside, he found boxes labeled as fragile. Possibly carrying medical equipment, Shigaraki noted.

"Where's the cash?" a villain would question, only for another to yell back, "Leave the money! Grab only what we need!"

Quietly, Shigaraki began looking over the crates. When Giran had provided them the info for this ship, there was one crate in particular he'd pointed out. After a few minutes, Shigaraki found the crate in question. Ever so carefully, he reached out and began decaying the crate's door. When he created a big enough hole, Shigaraki stepped into the crate and examined everything.

Inside, like the other crates, were hundreds of boxes. Forcing one open, Shigaraki couldn't help but smile. Because, along with humanitarian aid, the ship was also carrying the one thing the League desperately needed: weapons. Inside this box was a stack of G36 rifles. All were donated to the Japanese Police force in the hopes of combating the Ninth Circle. Next to it was a box of Remington 870 shotguns, another box of H MP7s, and an assortment of sniper rifles. Stepping back, Shigaraki soon noticed the wisp of Kurogiri pop in next to him.

"Kurogiri, grab everything," Shigaraki ordered, smiling widely.