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M E T A L S O N S ===

NASTASHA ROMANENKO'S BOOK FAQ version 1.0

- Game Release Date: - Developed/Published by: - Console: Art Director: Music: Military Advisor: Producer / Director:

November 11th, 2001 Konami Sony Playstation 2 Yoji Shinkawa Harry Gregson-Williams Motosada Mori Hideo Kojima Imperator luis.imperator@gmail.com imperator171 (at GameFAQs boards)

- Author of the FAQ: a.k.a.

========================================================================== TABLE OF SECTIONS ________ / 0001 | ========================================================================== || Name || Section # || ========================================================================== || || || || Table of Sections || 0001 || || Version History || 0002 || || About Nastasha Romanenko || 0003 || || || || || || || || "The New York Mirror" || 0004 || || || || || "The Shocking Conspiracy || 0005 || || Behind Shadow Moses" || || || || || || -------------------------------|| ---|| || THE BOOK: || 0006 || || "In the Darkness of Shadow Moses: || || || The Unnofficial Truth" || || || -------------------------------|| ---|| || || || || Special Thanks || 0007 || || Contact Imperator || 0008 || || Copyright Info || 0009 || || || || ========================================================================== :: HOW TO NAVIGATE THE FAQ :: You have to highlight the code section, copy it, enter your browser's "Find" function, paste it there, and Find. If not working, then click the Find button again. Or simply highlight the code section and follow: CTRL+C, CTRL+F, CTRL+V e ENTER NOTE: If you are a Mac user, then, you should use: [Command] + C, [Command] + F, [Command] + V e ENTER

CONTRIBUTIONS AND CORRECTIONS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME IN THIS GUIDE. ==========================================================================

VERSION HISTORY ________ / 0002 | ========================================================================== Version 1.0 (01/15/2005) - HUGE Update - "The New York Mirror" added - "The Shocking Conspiracy Behind Shadow Moses" added Maybe the last update. I'll update it only if necessary or if some sugestion convince me.

Version 0.8 (01/12/2005)

- The FAQ is just born I've just started to write it, but I guess there will be only this version.

========================================================================== ABOUT NASTASHA ROMANENKO ________ / 0003 | ========================================================================== Name: Nastasha Romanenko Sex : Female Age : 30 Nationality : Ukrainian Height : 166cm Profile: 1970s - Born in Ukraine. 1986 - She and her family were showered by the radiation from the Chernobyl nuclear power plant disaster in Prypiat (A City 3 Kilometers north of Chernobyl). 1990 - After losing her parents, who participated in the cleanup at Chernobyl, she moves to the US. 1992 - Joins the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency). 1995 - Leaves the Bureau to become a freelance analyst. Writes for assorted information magazines and US Naval information magazines. 1996 - Attends the Canberra Committee, the world's first nationally hosted nuclear weapon abolition proposal group, as an advisor. Where you can talk to her: on Metal Gear Solid (Playstation, 1998) or Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes (GameCube, 2004) at codec frequency 141.52 Where you can find her book: This book is found inside Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (Playstation 2, 2001). Procede the following:

In the Main Menu choose "SPECIAL" (pressing circle) Click "Previous Story" Read the "The New York Mirror" article until the last page Then it will automatcally open the text "The Shocking Conspiracy Behind Shadow Moses" - Read it to the end and you should be able to view "In The Darkness of Shadow Moses: The Unofficial Truth" Same procedure at Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance (Playstation 2 / XBOX / PC, 2002/2003) -------------------------------------------------------------------------What? A game character writing a book? Yes, my friend. Kojima had this nice idea of exposing the view of someone who was inside of it all, and should be able to tell with details the events happened in that fateful day on that fateful place. If you are really a MGS series fan, you MUST read this book. Well, it is more readable here than on TV, I think. You can also print it, so it gets better to read. OK, folks. Enjoy the book! As much as you can. Feed yourself with every single detail descripted here. Here it goes!

========================================================================== "The New York Mirror" ________ / 0004 | ========================================================================== In the Darkness of Shadow Moses: The Unofficial Truth Author: Nastasha Romanenko Reviewed by: George Franklin

Some topics in the recent American past have the immediacy and the power that still engage our collective imagination. Names like, The Grassy Knoll, or Roswell , roll off our tongue with deliberateness reserved by most other nations for holy lands. With this new nonfiction account from Natasha Romanenko, Shadow Moses the scene of a nuclear siege two years ago is set to join their ranks. Official history states that the takeover of a nuclear weapons disposal facility on a lonely outpost in the Fox Islands, Alaska was the work of a radical right-wing group. Their demands for the release of group members incarcerated in federal penitentiaries were never met, and the incident was speedily resolved by the successful deployment of a commando unit. B.S the author asserts. Romanenko says that she served as an advisor to the Nuclear Emergency Search Team and deconstructs what she claims to be a cover-up story by the government with precision.

According to the author, Shadow Moses Island was nothing less than the U.S. Army s testing grounds for a top-secret weapon known as Metal Gear Rex, an all-terrain bipedal tank with advanced nuclear capabilities. As for the facility s takeover, Romanenko alleges that is was the U.S. military s own shadowy wet-works force, known as FOXHOUND that staged an armed insurrection in a bid for REX s possession. The government responds to this crisis by sending in a lone operative, a former FOXHOUND member known only by the code name Solid Snake, into Shadow Moses. His infiltration is aided by a remote mission control team consisting of an unidentified Colonel Campbell, a FOXHOUND medical chief Naomi, a radar and electronics expert Mei Ling (supposedly a teenager), and the author herself. Once on the island, Snake joins forces with Metal Gear s developer-turned-prisoner Otacon to eradicate the weapon of mass destruction. Among the other remarkable characters that make an appearance in Romanenko s expose is another FOXHOUND commando, a revolver-virtuoso called Shalashaska a.k.a. Revolver Ocelot. One of the most controversial allegations in the book deals with this figure s connection to a disavowed Russian militia led by a Colonel Gurlukovich. Romanenko paints a bleak picture of a thousand-strong, highly disciplined army with nuclear weaponry operating covertly within the American border. Even more irresistible to conspiracy scholars and students of recent history is her thinly veiled suggestion that the whole affair was planned from the beginning by certain forces inside the U.S. government. The U.S. Army and the usual suspect of federal agencies have issued a statement denouncing the book as a complete fabrication. However, with a number of detailed eyewitness accounts that back up the author s assertions cropping up daily on the Web, the denials serve more to enhance the book s growing reputation. Shadow Moses is an engrossing read for casual and serious reader alike, and promises to involve readers in a meaty debate over the truth of the matter for many years to come. Excerpted from the library review column All Booked Up , The New York Mirror.

========================================================================== "The Shocking Conspiracy Behind Shadow Moses" ________ / 0005 | ========================================================================== The Shocking Conspiracy Behind Shadow Moses by Gary McGolden The island of Shadow Moses lies due north of Alaska's Fox Islands, deep in the Arctic Circle. Above one of its rocky cliffs stands a cabin normally used for meteorological surveys, and it was here that I found myself, seated on a chair with my hands bound behind my back and a burlap sack covering my entire head. A blizzard rages outside, and the cabin was a dark, silent patch somewhere inside the storm. I could sense at least

four men around me. They had been interrogating me for what felt like hours now. The burlap sack is pungent with the traces of coffee beans. In the biting cold of the cabin, images of Brazil come to me unbidden; alleys coiled through with vivid, untended profusion of flowers, children with skin like frothy chocolate, sunshine capable of burning out the cornea, erupting between palm fronds. I can feel my sense starting to fail. The man in the front of me asks for the second, or the hundredth, time. "I'm going to ask you again. What's in the optical disc?" "Told you, I don't know. I just found it, okay?" "You're lying, you bastard!" A fist explodes into the pit of my stomach, bringing up a peanut butter sandwich of many hours ago along with the rusty taste of blood. The relentless beating and numerous knife cuts of the past hour have my whole body screaming with pain, but I refuse to tell them what they wanted. I had too much invested at this point, too many days of dangerous investigation into the story of a lifetime. There was no way I was going to give it all up at this point. "That's enough." A voice spoke up from somewhere in the back of the cabin. "We have the disk back. Just get rid of him so we can get out of this place." Even in my current sorry state, I was still a journalist. He had said, "We have the disc back." That meant that my hosts were the original owners of that optical disc. The last piece of the puzzle was in it's place; I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that everything recorded on the disc was true, and that the conspiracy I had suspected did in fact exist. At that moment, I heard a window shatter. The raging storm outside seemed to gain entry to the cabin in an instance, and I heard thin screams from the captors that encircled my chair. The next second, they had already fallen heavily onto the floor. The brief confusion ended before I regained enough presence of mind to even panic. Whoever was now here, whatever had happened, my tormentors were obviously out of commission. But now I could hear measured footsteps approaching across the floor. If this person had just saved my life, who was it? Or was I about to share the others' fate? The footsteps came to a halt in front of me, but strangely enough, I did not feel any sort of a presence nearby. The burlap was slowly lifted from around my head, pulled off by an unseen hand. The stinging night air cooled my face, and my eyes gradually regained focus in the darkened room. And I could finally see who it was that stood before me. Just out of the sight of most of its citizens, a massive conspiracy

determines the working of this nation. Weapons of mass destruction secretly developed by the military. Super-soldiers re-engineered into war machines through genetic manipulation. A killer virus that only targets specific individuals with deadly accuracy. Tanks that walk rather than roll, and carry a nuclear payload. A covert organization, the third and the most powerful political party, my encounter with which landed me in this chair in the Alaskan winter... All of these are a part of the truth I found sealed within the optical disc, and I intend to share what I have learned in the pages to follow. That includes everything I now know about our government, and the secret arena where an even greater power pulls the strings. This is the truth many have glimpsed but never dared to talk about. Everything detailed in this book actually happened, and after I lived it, my world was no longer the same safe place I knew. Neither, I promise, will be yours if you have the courage to keep going. It all began a month ago

THE POSTMAN RINGS A month before my dramatic escape from death on Shadow Moses, I was having late breakfast in my apartment in New York. Ever since and alien abduction episode in my childhood, I'd been plagued by a persistent ringing in my ears. A large patch of mud was my undoing. I slipped, fell and was knocked unconscious. When I came to, it was already dawn. Later, I was trying to see the bump on the back of my head in the mirror when I saw "IT" instead. A small hole, about the size of a pinprick, had been made behind my ear. You learn a little something when you watch as much TV as I did. There was no doubt that I had been abducted by a passing UFO, and had spent the hours while unconscious with alien beings! Unfortunately, no one in the area recalled seeing a UFO, and not a single person had the sense to listen to my story realize now that this was the day I decided to uncover truth for a living, and become a journalist. But back to the present day. It turned out that the ringing wasn't in my ear, but from the doorbell. The thing shrieked somewhere south of a baritone bat sonar, barely within the range of human hearing. Blame the mangling it took from a particularly displeased visitor. Outside the door was the mailman, and in the mailman's hand was a thick manila envelope. On the envelope was a label, addressed to me. A letter bomb! I pressed my ear against the envelope and concentrated hard. But not a tick from the thing. Of course, no one uses analog watches in bombs these

days. That's why they call it the Digital Age. In fact, why would there even be a watch in a letter bomb? The point is that the unlucky recipient opens it, and the bomb goes off. Which means that it's actually the completely silent envelopes that are dangerous. I knew that opening that flap would send my eggs to the big omelet in the sky, but you don't get to be an investigative journalist for thinking inside the box. I tore through the bottom of the envelope instead. *Riiip* No! The contents of the suspicious envelope dropped to the floor with lightning speed! In this world, you can never be too careful. Let this be a warning to you, readers: when circumstances compel you to open an envelope from the bottom, turn it upside down first. As a rule, I discovered, objects fall down, and this is what happened to the contents of my lethal envelope, straight down into a half-eaten depth of a delivery pizza forgotten on the floor. I don't recall when exactly this food item arrived on these premises, but the thing was definitely a museum piece by now. Fortunately, it wasn't a bomb but an optical storage disc, now liberally smeared with peanut butter. This disc was the kind that comes in a clear plastic casing, through which the rainbow sheen of the circular unit shone. I gazed into it awhile, thinking of the UFO from that fateful day. Anyway, I fished the optical disc out, noting the lack of a label. A quick wash at the sink got rid of the crud it had accumulated. The disc was drying by the window as I hunted through the now-harmless envelope for clues. A single sheet of Xerox paper was stuck to the inside and it read: "From the desk of MAX SMITHSON, Editor-in-Chief, MEGASURPRISE magazine I'm mailing you this optical disc that was sent to the edit department. It's right up your alley, see if you can turn up something more. We'll do a book if you get enough stuff together. This is your chance for a comeback, so don't screw it up." Max is an old friend, and used to manage most of my book deals way back when. We hadn't seen each other much since I gave up writing. Not that that he has the right to tell me about comebacks and screwing up, but I find myself growing excited by the prospect of writing another book. But there was a problem, and it was a big one. How the hell was I going to get the disc's content?

THE SHOCKING TRUTH WITHIN My next-door neighbor is a starving college student, and I hit him up for the use of his computer now and then. I banged on his door and screamed repeatedly until he scuffled up to the door half-asleep. Once inside, I

made a beeline for the piece of junk and stuck the disc into the drive. The icon appeared on the display with a gentle whir. The file name read: "In the Darkness of Shadow Moses". But an urgent click on the icon only brought up an error message. What nefarious scheme was this!? What secret encryption was preventing me from accessing the data!? I clicked again and again with the same result, and started to gnaw on the keyboard in frustration. The starving student comes running over, wailing about his equipment. He typed in some moon-man language, avoiding patches of my spit, and a frighteningly cheerful application startup screen appeared on the display. Then lo and behold, I finally laid my eyes on the dense mass of text, the contents of the disc!

At the very top it read: "'In the Darkness of Shadow Moses' by Nastasha Romanenko." The starving student was being scholarly and trying to read the text over my shoulder. I knocked him out with a punch to the solar plexus and devoured the file's content. It was like a blow to the head with a frozen tuna; my brain was reeling from the shock. The file was fill of wild stuff: top-secret conspiracies, incredible genetic experimentation, cold-blooded military deployment of classified weapons. This was the most incredible stuff I had ever come across.

THE UNOFFICAL FACTS ACCORDING TO THE DISC Most readers should be aware of the series of strange military actions involving an island father north of Alaska's Fox Island, some two years ago. The island was called Shadow Moses, and received a series of well-documented but never-explained visits of obvious significance. USS Discovery, an Ohio class ballistic missile submarine, was ordered away from its designated training area and was confirmed offshore of Shadow Moses Island. It joined an E-3C AWACS that had already and suddenly been deployed to the area, with none other than Jim Houseman, the National Security Advisor, aboard. Sixteen hours later, 6 F117 Night Hawks with full a payload took off from the Galena AFB for Alaska. Various theories were placed into circulation by the media at the time. Some journalists insisted it had been a foiled invasion attempt by a foreign state, other suspected a coup d'etat by a part of the U.S. military. I myself wrote an opinion piece for a magazine explaining that Shadow Moses was the Ellis Island for the "Greys." This diminutive grey race is after all the most famous of our alien neighbors, notorious for having secret bases all over planet Earth. But according to this file, we had all been off our marks. What had instead unfolded on Shadow Moses was the most major terrorist incident in history, and apocalyptic scenario born out of a government-developed superman project and a doomsday weapon of the same origin. On that fateful day, the nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses had suddenly been seized by an irregular operations squad called "FOXHOUND", aided by a group of next-generation super-soldiers. And what

they threatened was no less than a nuclear strike against the mainland United States! So how is it that we're still alive? Apparently we have a man known only as "Solid Snake" -- an his solitary infiltration of the disposal facility -- to thank for it. Believe it or not, this is only the tip of the iceberg as far as the Shadow Moses incident is concerned. This disc contains many more horrifying facts such as a major government conspiracy, a classified weapon described as a "walking nuclear-capable tank", and advanced genetic manipulation projects. Many of these hidden dealings were discovered by Solid Snake as he carried out his mission, and it is now my job to relate these facts to you the readers. But it is still a little too premature to do so? The content of the disc may after all be nothing more than fiction, or even a delusion. After all, who exactly is this Nastasha Romanenko?

IN SEARCH OF NASTASHA ROMANENKO A quick search of the Web turned up a few illuminating facts about this elusive writer. Nastasha Romanenko was at one point with the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency). At the time of the Shadow Moses incident, she appears to have been a freelance military analyst, having already resigned from the Agency. Nuclear and weapons technology would certainly be right up her alley, and in the disc she states that she took part in Solid Snake's mission support. Her exact role was as a member of NEST (Nuclear Emergency Search Team), providing field expertise via the radio. Her intimate involvement in the mission gave her a complete and clear grasp of the facts surrounding the case despite the government's successful cover-up. A look at Romanenko's curriculum vitae and body of papers makes her anti-nuclear stance more than obvious. That, along with all the other facts about this person, suggests that unless she suffered a sudden chemical imbalance or is plotting a second career as a Hollywood screenwriter, Nastasha Romanenko does not indulge in expounding conspiracy theories for its own sake. All very interesting. So where is Nastasha Romanenko now? I decided to give Global Elements Inc., the book's publisher a call. Below is a complete transcript of the conversation. Me: "Hello. Listen, you leftover carnival prize, what do you know about a woman named Nastasha Romanenko?" Whoever it was: "Hey, your village called. They want their idiot back. And watch your language, freak." Click. Clearly, they're hiding something. Why else the abrupt response and the hasty hang-up? I was on the trail of something important. Something dangerous. If the content of the disc was true, this Nastasha Romanenko was definitely the Woman-Who-Knew-Too-Much. Her life would be in danger, and she must either have gone to ground or was already dead. That brief telephone conversation spoke volumes: there was contract out on her life! If this was the price of speaking the truth as described in that disc, the picture was complete. But was everything she wrote really true?

I went back to my apartment and packed a bag. I was headed for Shadow Moses.

THE COLDEST PLACE I took a plane out to the northernmost domestic airport and went to see my cousin John-Dee. John-Dee is a hardcore Alaskan and a big-eye tuna fisherman. When I asked him to drop me off at Shadow Moses Island during one of his trips out to sea, he turned pale and a nervous tick started up at the corner of his eye. "Shadow Moses? Are you nuts? All the other guys say the place is crawling with the military. If you get even close to the shore they shine these huge searchlights in your face, and some of my buddies even got interrogated once!" I felt the sudden chill of fear along with a certainty that I was on the right track. "You're a wuss, you know that? Try being abducted by a UFO, that'll teach you what's really scary." "I got a family, you know? I'm not about to go messing around with The Man!" "OK, you get me as close as you can then. I'll swim the rest of the way." "Swim? You're gonna turn into frozen tuna treat." "Don't worry about that. I have an idea." We sailed out for Shadow Moses Island that day.

THE TRIP TO SHADOW MOSES It was colder than the dairy section and the boat pitched like a subway derailment on caffeine. I shook constantly from the cold, retched peanut butter into the sea, then downed some more to keep warm. A few days passed in this pleasant fashion until John-Dee, drawing lines on his charts, turned to me. "I'm sorry man, but this as far as I can go. If you really want to do this thing, you're going to have to find your own way." There were at least 20 miles to Shadow Moses according to the charts. But John-Dee was already a blubbering wreck, and I didn't have the heart to strong-arm him. I steeled my nerves. "It's okay. Help me get ready." The plan was brilliant. I'd gutted a super-size tuna and stuffed some inflated balloons inside, along with a small oil lamp to keep the interior toasty. I would cover the length of my body with the fish and dog-paddle

my way to the island. Any oxygen shortage could quickly be remedied thanks to the balloon, and my landing would appear to be nothing more than a large dead fish swept ashore. All I had to do was slip out of the tuna undetected and investigate the hell out of the place. Absolutely brilliant. I bore the fishy stink of the and walked to the edge of the even through the wetsuit, but into the sea. But right then, tuna skin with proper journalistic aplomb ship's deck. The Arctic wind was numbing I bade John-Dee a hearty farewell and jumped disaster struck!

Actually it was the tuna spine. Its bony mass conked me hard on the back of my head from the force of the landing. I tried to right myself, but I was jammed tight against the balloons. The tuna started to sink rapidly, and I kicked my legs wildly as about a gallon of seawater rushed into my lungs. To add insult to injury, the lamp fell over, shedding its cover. I could feel the heat of the exposed flame dangerously close to my face, and smell the singed hair. This is why I hate traveling. But after what felt like hours, I found myself ashore on Shadow Moses Island. Let's take a moment here to review what happened on the island on that fateful day. Romanenko's disc provides a complete answer. Shadow Moses was no ordinary weapons disposal facility, but served as a secret military training ground among other things. On that day, the wetworks commando unit known as FOXHOUND and the next-generation Special Forces group were conducting joint exercises. FOXHOUND is an "irregular" squad of elite soldiers, equipped and armed to the teeth with the latest technology. There were longtime -- and strictly behind-the-scenes -- players throughout recent history, engaging in sabotage, selective assassinations and other covert military operations. Wherever the United States could not officially intervene, whether it was a civil war, regional unrest or other types of low-intensity conflict, FOXHOUND was there. It's unlikely, however, that an average citizen has ever heard of them before; these commandos remain a top-secret government project. And then there's the next-generation Special Forces unit. This is a cutting-edge anti-terrorist force newly organized to cope with terrorist incidents specifically involving weapons of mass destruction typified in nuclear, biological, and chemical warfare. They drew heavily from former mercenary ranks, and are on a diet of rigorous VR training guided by the FORCE 21 concept. The result is combat capability, which is rumored to surpass even those of the Delta Force and DEV GRU (formerly known as Seal Team 6). Most frightening of all, these soldiers have supposedly been manipulated at the genetic level to increase their combat performance. They were the purebreds among the dogs of war, and they turned on their masters with a surprising demand. Having seized the civilians that were on hand, they demanded that the government turn over to them the body of FOXHOUND's founder and combat genius, the so-called "Big Boss." The government had 24 hours to comply or a nuclear strike would be initiated. But what would motivate them to make such a demand, and how did they intend to make good their threat of a nuclear launch? With these questions still unanswered, the government decided on a seemingly reckless course of action. For this daunting task of stopping a nuclear strike and freeing the hostages from the clutches of these ultimate soldiers, they sent in a single man. His name was Solid Snake --

no other than a former member of the now-renegade FOXHOUND and a legend among mercenaries for single- handedly bringing down the fortress cities of Outer Heaven and Zanzibar Land. Your reaction is probably one of incredulity. "Just one guy?" You may wonder. "They decided to gamble the future of the entire world on a single mercenary?" I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment. But there is more to this mission than meets the eye, as I was later to discover.

SOLID SNAKE'S REMOTE SUPPORT TEAM Snake was delivered to the island by USS Discovery, an Ohio class ballistic missile submarine. He may have been the lone field operative, but there was a distinguished mission control team in contact with him by radio. The overall control of the mission rested with Colonel Roy Campbell aboard the USS Discovery. As a former commander of FOXHOUND and Snake's CO during the 1999 Zanzibar Land standoff, he was forcibly called out from retirement to deal with this latest crisis. Also aboard the Discovery was Dr. Naomi Hunter, a genetic engineering expert with the commercial biotech firm ATGC Inc. She was in charge of FOXHOUND's gene manipulation program. Mei Ling, the architect of the mission's state-of-the-art radar and communication systems, was the third team member. Apparently something of an engineering wunderkind, she developed this next-generation communication technology while still as student at MIT. At the time of the mission, she may have still been in her teens. McDonnell Miller, a former FOXHOUND survival instructor, was the only land-bound member of the mission control team. Unlike the other four, Miller was working out of his home in Alaska at his own request. Lastly, Nastasha Romanenko, the author of "In the Darkness of Shadow Moses," rounded out the team as an expert on nuclear and other weapons of mass destruction.

WHAT TERRORIST ACTS WERE COMITTED HERE? THE HOSTAGES AND WHAT THEY TELL US The first task faced by Solid Snake upon his infiltration of Shadow Moses Island was the rescue of the hostages. Two of the captives in particular were considered top-priority, but neither survived the mission. Though Snake successfully freed both men, they died suddenly in an identical manner. At the time, the mission control team tentatively attributed the deaths to heart attacks -- a diagnosis that was to prove starkly incorrect. The first hostage was Donald Anderson, the head of DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), the R&D body of the U.S. Department of Defense. The organization is responsible for planning and overseeing

the development of new weapons technology. The other VIP hostage, Kenneth Baker, was the president of ArmsTech, one of the largest and most powerful defense subcontractors in the country. An overseer of the U.S.'s war technology and a powerful arms producer don't just happen to meet in an out-of-the-war military outpost. No one reading this account can fail to realize that these two had no business in a nuclear weapons disposal plant. And since neither Anderson nor Baker was in the habit of enjoying winter picnics, Romanenko's assertion that there was a new weapon secretly being developed on the island rings all the more true. According to her, there was indeed such a weapon, and it was close enough to completion to warrant a field test. But what exactly was this new weapon?

THE MOTHER OF ALL WEAPONS Metal Gear. I'm not sure it's a term that many of you have heard. I know it only as a kind of a journalistic urban legend while I was still a beat reporter. It was a phantom bipedal tank that moved with unprecedented speed across difficult terrain such as mountains, desert and swamps, firing nuclear warheads from locations that were previously impossible. Once this weapon rolled off the < assembly line, nuclear strikes could be made from almost any adverse terrain, and the tactical nuclear map for the whole world would be rewritten. This nuclear-capable bipedal tank is said to have lurked in the wings of both Outer Heaven of South Africa and Zanzibar Land in Central Asia. One theory holds that the development had progressed to a working prototype stage, but the weapon never materialized on the world arms stage. In a strange coincidence or a casual connection, it was none other than Solid Snake who saved the world from the threat of Metal Gear during both incidents. But history does indeed repeat itself, and the specter of Metal Gear rose once again -- in the state-of-the-art weapons development program of Shadow Moses Island. When I reached this point in the narrative, I suddenly checked myself. Wasn't Metal Gear's time effectively over? Ever since the collapse of the Soviet Union late last century, the idea of mutual assured destruction and the arms race to maintain this dangerous status quo had been fading into obsolescence. The START2 treaty signed by both superpowers had already started to chip away at the nuclear stockpile even back then. In fact, the disposal facility at Shadow Moses had been built to disarm and temporarily store many of these same warheads. With the very idea of nuclear weapons under serious scrutiny, why would the military invest in the development of a nuclear-capable tank? Or was there something more to this weapon?

THE NATURE OF THE BEAST Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Metal Gear REX, the newest of its kind. Almost forty-five feet in height, equipped with Vulcan cannons and laser array and shielded by a cutting-edge composite armor, rendering the unit practically impervious to even HEAT (High Explosive Anti-Tank)

warheads. And I haven't even gotten to the truly scary part of this thing. The crown jewel of this Shadow Moses Metal Gear was its rail gun technology. The gun was designed to fire nuclear warheads clear of the atmosphere, where they would automatically align themselves to the target and ride the optimal trajectory back down to Earth. "So what?" you may think. "There's a big fat missile flying in from the sky. Who cares where it came from? Just shoot the damn thing down." But here's the catch: You won't be able to find any of REX's warheads, let alone shoot them down. Don't believe me? The facts bear me out. Normally, ballistic missiles go through four phases from launch to impact. The first is the boost phase, which consists of the time between the missile's launch and the point at which it leaves the atmosphere and exhausts its supply of rocket propellant. Following the burnout, the rocket enters the post-boost pause that concludes with the separation of the reentry vehicle that contains the warhead. The third stage is the midcourse phase, in which the reentry vehicle separates and achieves a controlled descent back into the atmosphere. The warhead's reentry into the atmosphere and its arrival at the target mark the fourth and terminal phase. Current missile defense systems are alerted to incoming ballistic missiles by detecting the rocket burn during the missile's boost stage. However, Metal Gear's missile technology employs a rail gun rather than conventional rocket propulsion to achieve boost-stage acceleration. As a result, there is nothing for existing missile defense systems to detect. The rail gun's effectiveness is nothing short of amazing, with a range of over 3000 miles, rivaling that of mid-range ballistic missiles. It reliably homes in within 170 feet of the target 50% of the time, placing it in the same class as high-end ICBM's. The ability of a Metal Gear to conquer virtually all terrain means that the rail gun can launch a stealthy nuclear strike from almost any spot on the globe. This invisible attack would make it impossible for anyone to pinpoint the origin of a given missile even in the event of a strike. Without a clear aggressor to retaliate against, the concept of mutual assured destruction falls apart. Without the fear of MAD, the existing rules of nuclear non-engagement would no longer apply. It also wouldn't matter if the whole world knew that a nuclear missile would be launched from Shadow Moses Island; the missile defense system was helpless against the new breed of ballistic missiles. This was exactly what the terrorists counted on in unleashing Metal Gear REX and its all-powerful nuclear weapon against the world.

WHAT I FINALLY SAW INSIDE THE FORTRESS Anyway. I trudged through the cave, sweating under the weight of my trusty tuna. Soon, the rocks gave way to smooth walls and a row of bright lights. I had finally arrived -- this was no doubt the cradle of insurrections, that military facility which Solid Snake so brilliantly penetrated, the eye of

the storm that threatened to engulf the world! Fortunately, there was not a soul to be seen. I could, however, hear a faint cry amidst the whistle of the wind. "Gary, help me -- " I couldn't believe my ears. How could anyone on a remote island that I'd never visited know my name? I took a good cautious look around and saw a familiar figure among the steel pillars in the corner. It was -- John Dee! My cousin, who'd so carelessly pitched me overboard into the subzero water only few hours ago, was now sitting on the ground, tied to a post. What had happened? "Help, Gary -- " I trotted over to where he was calling pathetically, the tuna heavy on my back. He smiled weakly when he saw me. "What the hell happened to you, John-Dee?" I asked, crouching down next to him. "I dunno. Right after I let you off, this black helicopter came around." "A helicopter?" "Yeah. A kind of squarish black one. The next thing I know, I'm tied up here... Gary, why're you still wearing that fish?" Was there more to this as I'd suspected? Who was responsible? The military? Or that mysterious group mentioned in the disc, the one whose authority outstrips even that of the President of the United States? My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gunfire. I instinctively pulled the tuna over me again. "Gary, you gotta help me! Untie me, will ya!?" Where was the shooter? The bullets were wildly ricocheting off the posts, making it impossible for me to pinpoint the origin. If I stayed put, I was dead meat. What should be my next course of action? "Untie me, man! Gary!" "Don't call me Gary! I'm just a tuna!" I started to run, dodging bullets and sprinting up the stairs. I was unstoppable, speeding away like a gazelle in a large fishskin. Farewell, cousin John-Dee. There are responsibilities greater than your safety that I must shoulder. Mine is a high and lonely path.

SOLID SNAKE VS. THE ARMY OF DARKNESS Let's take this moment to review Solid Snake's footsteps. The nuclear weapons disposal facility that he had infiltrated was crawling with terrorists, and engaging the enemy was unavoidable. This was a battlefield, no mistake about it. Snake's progress had been impeded at every step by the patrolling squads

of super-"genome soldiers," and such formidable FOXHOUNDs as Psycho Mantis, the master of psychokinesis and mindreading, the chameleon -like Decoy Octopus, the chaingun-wielding giant Vulcan Raven, and Sniper Wolf, one of the best marksman in history. The following is a profile of individuals whose involvement with the government conspiracy seems to be the most intimate. The information should help make the terrifying truth about this case more clear. - Revolver Ocelot. An ex-Spetznaz, also known as "Shalashaska." After the collapse of the Soviet Union, he found lucrative contracts as a mercenary in conflict-ridden regions throughout the world. His activities led to his recruitment by the U.S. government, and his entry into FOXHOUND. As his code name indicates, he is a brilliant marksman whose preferred weapon is a revolver. Ocelot challenged Snake when he came looking for Kenneth Baker, the President of ArmsTech Inc. But the battle never reached the conclusion Ocelot wanted due to the sudden intrusion of the stealth camouflage-clad cyborg-Ninja. The Ninja's sword cut a deadly arc right through Ocelot's right arm, and Ocelot retreated in agony. The Russian sharpshooter also served as a liaison between his terrorist band and a Russian militia led by the renegade Colonel Gurlukovich. According to FOXHOUND leader Liquid Snake's master plan, the Russian militia would join them on Shadow Moses after the nuclear strike had been launched. They would then commence and all-out assault on the rest of the world from their safe retreat on the island. With nuclear missiles that could neither be detected nor defended against, over a thousand first-class Russian soldiers, next-generation genome commandos and the combat skill and tactical cunning of FOXHOUND, this new army's objective was nothing short of World War III. - The Ninja The mystery figure equipped with a reinforced exoskeleton and stealth camouflage confounded Snake as well as the terrorists with his superhuman strength and agility. His interest seems not to have been what was happening within the facility; evidence suggests that he was there solely to engage Snake in battle. It was through such an encounter that Snake realized the identity of the Ninja. His name had been Gray Fox, and he was supposed to have been killed by Snake, his best friend. This may seem surprising, but the dead coming back tom life is a fairly routine occurrence. There are examples throughout the world to prove the fact. When a Roland Grace's grave was relocated in 1952, there were deep gouge marks discovered on the inside of the Hungarian farmer's casket lid. It looked as though the dying man had tried to claw his way out of the coffin. On a brighter note, a Japanese man called Jin-emon Natakama walked out of a stalactite cave in 1914, a full ten years after he had gone missing while exploring the same cave. His family was doubly astonished to discover that he had apparently not aged a day since they last saw him. All this makes complete sense to me, and it should to you as well in a moment. Two words: pyramid power. I have no doubt that Gray Fox was forced to undergo the same revival process by military scientists in the course of their horrific genetic experiments. - Liquid Snake I know exactly what you are thinking as you hear the name of the man who led the Shadow Moses uprising -- and my answer is yes. Solid Snake, our hero, and Liquid Snake are none other than twin brothers.

They are not, however, twins in the usual sense. This is yet another manifestation of the U.S. military's dangerous love affair with genetic engineering. The two Snakes are fighting machines created through the so-called Project "Les Enfants Terribles"! The rumors that the government is attempting "mass-production" of super-solders are numerous and persistent. Just the other day, I came across something called "D-People-E-O," a humanoid combat droid. Development on the outer shell had gone off without a hitch, but the unit had to have a human being inside to function, which B>094 decreased its utility somewhat. The military finally realized the fact late in the game, and pulled the plug. There was also a plan to use a well-known psychokinetic's DNA material to breed an army of gifted soldiers. Unfortunately, someone pointed out that there is indeed no spoon -- at least not in a normal combat situation. Solid and Liquid Snakes, however, were successfully created from their "father" Big Boss s genetic material. They were literally born to be extraordinary soldiers, and it was no surprise that when they finally met, the result would be a titanic confrontation.

WHAT I SAW ON THE ROOF I hauled myself and the tuna up the steps, dodging the invisible sniper. The spiral staircase seemed to go on forever. Just as I was about to give up the climb, I saw the exit to the roof.

I pulled open the door and lurched into the faintly lit gloom. The subzero wind felt soothing on my overworked body. I laid the tuna down and sat down next to it, trying to catch my breath. The enemy may pursue me even here, but I had nothing left in me to run with.

I pulled out my hip flask of peanut-butter-and-bourbon, and took a long swig. The fiery liquid slid down my throat, hot and thick. Peanut butter is my Waterloo. When I was a kid, I was a wuss who couldn't eat peanut butter like other red-blooded children. One day, I decided to confront this weakness of mine, and put myself on a peanut butter overload; anything I put in my mouth had to have peanut butter on it. I piled the stuff on everything from chilidogs without onions -- my favorite dish -- to spearmint gum to my first girlfriend's lips.

The inevitable result was that I came to hate peanut butter. If I didn't much like it before, I now loathed it with abandon. If I could gather the entire world supply of peanut butter and dump it in the Bermuda Triangle, I would. As it is, all I can do is eat as much of the stuff as I can. Peanut butter, I will always hate you. How does that song go?

"And I-ai-ai will always hate you-u-U-u." No, that's not it. "Will always -- " It must be another song I'm thinking of. Can't remember. Snow is starting to coat my shoes. Where was my tuna? Oh, there it is, right next to me. Bright light in my eye. Now I remember what day it is -- June 24th. The anniversary of my UFO abduction. Why am I so sleepy? And what is that sound? It was a chopper. A squarish black one, and it was coming closer.

FOXDIE -- THE SECRET ASSASSINATION VIRUS If you recall, I wrote that the two hostages -- the DARPA chief Donald Anderson and ArmsTech president Kenneth Baker -- died of a heart attack while they were being rescued by Solid Snake. The actual cause of their death, however, was a specially engineered assassination virus called FOXDIE. FOXDIE is a retrovirus that kills was passed onto Naomi Hunter from way into its target's system, the practically a viral equivalent of only a select people; its development her predecessor. Once FOXDIE find its person dies almost immediately. It's spontaneous human combustion.

Dr. Hunter had injected Solid Snake with this virus, and as he unwittingly made contact with his targets one by one, they fell prey to the retrovirus' power. But the decision to infect Snake was not hers -that order in fact came directly from the Pentagon!

THE DEFENSE DEPARTMENT'S GOAL The true object of the DOD was to selectively assassinate the perpetrators of the terrorist uprising. All Snake had to do was to come into contact with the targets; the mission objectives he was actually given -- namely to stop the nuclear launch and rescue the hostages -- were nothing more than a smoke screen. By simply sending Snake in as a disease vector, the Pentagon stood to reclaim their expensive investments, Metal Gear and the bodies of the genome soldiers, with little risk of damage. The Pentagon also believed that FOXDIE would successfully cover up the incident by the virtue of its lethality. However, Naomi Hunter's reengineering of the virus cast grave doubts on the reliability of FOXDIE itself. Even though the nature of her manipulation was unknown, the Pentagon decided to take extreme measures to counteract this development.

THE BOMBER ON THE HORIZON Alarmed by the news of Dr. Hunter's tampering, the then-Defense Secretary Jim Houseman personally took over as the mission's commander and headed for Shadow Moses on an AWACS. Around the same time, a bomber took off from a base in Galena, Alaska, carrying a payload of surface-piercing B61-13 tactical missiles. The Defense Secretary had decided on a more direct approach to cover-up. Fighting nuke with nuke -- it was a rationale that smacked of a return to the arms race, and Snake was furious. He had already succeeded in destroying Metal Gear REX, and the terrorist incident was over for all intents and purposes. Was a nuclear air strike to be his prize for accomplishing all this? As it turned out, the air strike never happened. Somebody had countermanded Jim Houseman's orders. You may think that the only person with the authority to override the orders of the Secretary of Defense was his commander-in-chief, the President of the United States. But like most things in this account, the truth is far from obvious. The hand that stopped the nuclear strike was that of a shadowy secret society! But what kind of a group is it whose power outstrips even that of the American Presidency?

THE FACE OF THE ENEMY When I came to, sack on my head ends, I thought Arctic and died out a thing. I was sitting in a weather station cabin with a burlap and my hands tied behind my back. So this is the way it dimly. I haul myself all the way out to this pimple on the at the hands of an invisible executioner without finding

One of my captors moved in closer and started to rummage through my inside chest pocket. I cursed inwardly; this was where I carried Nastasha Romanenko's disc, the entire account of the Shadow Moses inside! My policy is, the best way to ensure that something doesn't get stolen is to have it with you at all times. Clearly, I needed to re-evaluate that one.

The man easily found and seized the disc. "What is this?" He demanded. "Whatever it is, it's worth more than you." I responded with as much menace and dignity as the burlap on my head allowed. "Well, well, that is something..." What followed was both highly tedious and painful, and nothing of great significance was said until that electrifying statement, "We have the disc back."

We've now come full circle since the start if my account, and caught up to the point where it originated. It was unclear how the disc had gotten to Max Smithson at MEGASURPRISE, but my captor's words indicated that the disc had originally belonged to them. Either that, or they were the ones who wanted it the most urgently. I took my courage in my hands and opened a dialogue with them. "You, you guys happen to be that secret society whose power outstrips even that of the American Presidency? Answer me, you artificial coloring on a cheap drugstore candy cane!" This had the exact effect I'd hoped for, namely to send them into a violent fit of rage. I must have hit pretty close to home. The contents of the disc were as good as verified -- this was indeed the secret society whose power outstripped even that of the American Presidency! In my delight, I hardly paid attention to the obscenities that were being screamed at me, nor to the distinct sound of a gun being pulled out of its holster. It was then that the cabin suddenly erupted into controlled chaos. It seemed only seconds from the time the window was smashed in to the moment I realized that my captors had been decimated and I was alone with my savior. Who was this human whirlwind? I was ready to lose my lunch from the curiosity and the terror. I could taste the peanut butter in my mouth, I could hear the enigma walk up to me, and lift the burlap sack off my head. I concentrated on the hammering of my heart for a moment, then slowly looked up. There was nobody there. I could see nothing, sense nothing. But someone was untying the ropes biting into my wrists. Invisible hands place themselves on either side of my head in a strange parody of a coronation. They deftly removed the bandanna I had earlier fashioned into a clumsy bandage for my bruised head; the faded piece of cloth was not my own, but a flotsam found on the beach. I reached for the unseen figure with my shaking hands, but with one quick flick of the bandanna, it was gone. But there were more surprises to come. As I gingerly moved my stiff body, I felt an unfamiliar bulk against my chest, and discovered the precious optical disc, miraculously recovered. Not only that, but there were enough backup copies to fill me with awe and pop the stitches on my flimsy pocket. I thought of my mysterious savior: possessed of superhuman fighting ability, invisible, and capable of burning discs in an instant. There was only one possible explanation. He had to be an alien, probably the little gray kind.

LIFE AFTER SHADOW MOSES

And so I came in from the cold to my hole of an apartment in New York, my trusty tuna beside me. The landlord mentioned that my neighbor, the starving student, had gone missing recently. It could be that I was nosing around the wrong information from his machine. If I ever see him alive again, I should apologize. I am currently banging out this manuscript on an antique typewriter. This is the truth as described on the optical disc, and as elaborated and verified by my own experiences on that fearsome island. As this account draws to a close, my thoughts dwell more and more on Nastasha Romanenko, the woman who risked everything by recording the facts of the incident onto this disc. I think it was her way of giving voice to the victims of this mission, the casualties of nuclear weapons throughout modern history, and to all the lives disrupted and damaged by an elaborate government conspiracy. Her will was passed onto a counterculture journalist in New York City -- that's me -- and the truth is now out there for all to see, just as she dreamed. Readers, the responsibility to disseminate the facts of the Shadow Moses incident is now yours. What will YOU risk to know the truth?

PUBLISHER'S AFTERWORD This nonfiction work was based on the factual account written by Nastasha Romanenko, a military analyst who allegedly took part in a secret mission to counter a terrorist incident on Alaska's Shadow Moses Island. Her account was published in its original, unabridged form as "In the Darkness of Shadow Moses" after the successful publication of this volume. Gary McGolden, the author, is a journalist and a nonfiction writer who is best known for his past bestseller, "The Telekinetic Powers of the Loch Ness Monster - The True Energy Source of UFOs". The details of McGolden's adventures on Shadow Moses remain uncorroborated, but there are serious doubts as to his tuna-aided landing on the island. There is in fact ample evidence that he was swept out to another small island several miles south of Shadow Moses and failed to realize that fact. McGolden has seemingly vanished into thin air following his manuscript's arrival at our humble offices. While this has been a source of great pleasure to our accounting department, I sincerely hope that this notoriously fickle but talented writer is hard at work on a follow-up to this volume. Though certain aspects of the book require further fact-checking, this alone should not dissuade you of the veracity of many of its main assertions, nor should you dismiss the contents of Nastasha Romanenko's disc outright. Instead readers should approach this account with an open mind and a sense of adventure, much as Gary McGolden did when he first received the disc in the mail. I should note, however, that Gary was mistaken about one thing. I never mailed him that disc. Max Smithson, Editor-in-Chief MEGASURPRISE Magazine

========================================================================== :: THE BOOK :: In the darkness of Shadow Moses: The Unnofficial Truth ________ / 0006 | ========================================================================== Written by | Nastasha Romanenko

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I dedicate this book to the casualties of Shadow Moses as well as to all those who suffered the tyranny of the nuclear weapons -- and to Richard Ames.

Nastasha Romanenko

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PROLOGUE Shadow Moses Island: XX XX N, XX XX W Even the local fishermen rarely venture to this outcropping of land. Yet the incident of all incidents took place on this remote isle, north of Alaska's Fox Islands. A number of confirmed facts undermine the U.S. government's denial of the entire affair. Among those are the sudden appearance of the Ohio-class

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nuclear submarine USS Discovery off Shadow Moses, far away from its designated position, and an official record that shows that a squadron of six fully-armed F117 Nighthawks departed from Galena Air Force base for Alaska a scant sixteen hours later. In another possibly related event, and E-3C AWACS on emergency deployment to the Alaska area is said to have had none other than the thenNational Security Advisor Jim Houseman as its on-board VIP. What exactly happened on Shadow Moses? There was no lack of rumors to account for this series of unusual military activities: an armed incursion, a coup attempt by a branch of the military and other theories made its way to the public table. I can state unequivocally that none of them came close to the truth. What actually took place was the single greatest terrorist incident in modern history. It was an act of political violence on a scale the world had never seen, a blow that threatened to send the Damocles' sword of nuclear warfare into a free-fall. Most significant of all, the attack stemmed from several so-called 'Black Projects' which the U.S. government had been conducting in top secret, away from public scrutiny.

I have in my hand two optical discs. One

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contains the entire record of events that took place on Shadow Moses Island that fateful day; the takeover of a nuclear weapons disposal plant by an armed group. Other key points of this incredible record are: - The identification of the perpetrators as the government's own genetically-enhanced next-generation commandos and a covert special forces squad, FOXHOUND, with a long dark history of secret intervention - The existence of one Metal Gear REX, a bipedal nuclear-capable tank whose development was one of the most classified projects of all time - The discovery of a massive government conspiracy - The activities of a former FOXHOUND operative who single-handedly took on this daunting situation and averted the crisis, a man who is known only by his code name: Solid Snake The other remaining disc holds the details of Project FOXDIE, a massive cover-up, which the U.S. government planned and executed in order to prevent exposure. There are, after all, forces within the U.S. government who seek to maintain the military power structure established in the last century, and will not hesitate to resuscitate the terror of nuclear arms in order to achieve that end.

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My intent is to expose their activity, and the entirety of the Shadow Moses Affair, through this book. Only then can we hope to free the coming generations from the damnosa hereditas of the 20th-century nuclear arms race.

I looked up from the mass of documents at the sound of the doorbell. On the monitor in front of me was a half-finished status report on the resurgence of nuclear arms development in a certain Middle Eastern state. The UNSCOM (United Nations Special Commission) had officially requested a survey by the UN weapons inspectors, and had been refused entry; tensions were once again running high in the Gulf. As a military analyst whose specialty was nuclear arms, I was under contract from a think tank to produce a study of the situation. It was due the day after the next, and interruptions were definitely not welcome. I ground out my cigarette in the ashtray and stepped out of the study. All visitors to my house are checked via a surveillance camera and then let in through the heavy gate. The property itself is

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surrounded by a high wall. It may seem like overkill for a beach community, but security is a necessity in greater Los Angeles, if only to keep out the legion of swimsuit-clad tourists. However, there was nobody to be seen at the gate. It was either a prank, or the camera was malfunctioning. Reluctant to investigate but feeling unsettled nevertheless, I headed back to the study and sat back down at the computer to continue my work. Just then, someone spoke behind me. "You always were a little careless." I spun around, kicking my chair over. There was a man standing at the entrance of the study, slouching in a well-tailored suit. "Richard!" He caught my eye and grinned. Ignoring my surprise, he strolled into the room, gazing around at the pile of books and papers. "And still as disorganized as ever." He shrugged his shoulders in a familiar gesture, triggering a wave of memories laced with bitterness.

Richard Ames and I were married, once upon a time. We were both young, and working for the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency). We spent much of our brief marriage in disagreement over virtually every issue, and just as I come to realize that our union was

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a mistake, he disappeared from my life. A while later, I received the paperwork for divorce from his lawyer. There was a generous alimony offer involved, which I refused. Not only did I find the thought of owing him anything intolerable, I also wanted to prove that he was not the only one who could walk away without an explanation. The divorce was finalized without us ever meeting face-to-face, and we were legally strangers once again. In the fire years since, I quit the DIA and became a freelance analyst. I had not seen Richard at all, nor even heard of his whereabouts.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded. After all, attempting to scale the wall or force the front door would immediately trigger the security system. But he refused to be ruffled. "If you're going to use a flimsy lock like that, may as well not bother. I'd recommend a more professional security setup." "Does the term 'breaking and entering' mean anything to you, Richard?" "You know law isn't my field of expertise," he replied nimbly and peered over my shoulder at the report on the computer display. "Radio isotope projectile separator... uranium-235 production feasibility for highspeed gas centrifuge... This must be about

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that Middle East nuke development. Look like your career is going well. That's great." I pushed Richard aside and asked him flatly. "What do you want?" He took a step back and regarded me with a slightly mischievous smile. "What, you afraid I came back to give us another chance?" He let the silence linger as if to relish my reaction. Then, suddenly formal, he continued, "It's an official request from the DIA." He place a folder on the desk. "I'm asking for your cooperation as a member of NEST." NEST stands for Nuclear Emergency Search Team, a group that operates on the Department of Energy budget. It was established in 1974 to provide technological support to the FBI in areas of intelligence, investigation, site securement, damage containment, and medical response during incidents involving criminal threats of nuclear weapon use. Call it a band of experts on nuclear terrorism, if you will. NEST consists of independently contracted scientists from federally funded research entities like Los Alamos and Lawrence Licermore, and military specialists from groups dealing with nuclear arms issues. I happen to be one of the latter group. Richard was opening the file folder. "You've heard of Shadow Moses Island, I assume."

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I nodded assent. I had indeed heard of the remote place, north of Alaska's Fox Islands. Though it was hardly public knowledge, the island was home to a nuclear weapons disposal facility

According to the terms of the START2 (Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty), the total number of tactical nuclear warheads owned by the U.S. and Russia were reduced to somewhere between 3000 and 3500 in the later decades of the twentieth century. The outcome was a massive number of warheads in need of disposal when there was already a shortage of storage space for radioactive materials. As a result, warheads had to be kept somewhere before they could be dismantled and their radioactive elements extracted for long-term storage. The Shadow Moses facility was the answer. It was the crystallization of the forces of nuclear proliferation, political engineering that gives preference to delaying a solution rather than producing one and a hidden military agenda to preserve what it could of the old nuclear stockpile.

Richard took out several photographs from the folder and handed them to me. They all appeared to be satellite captures of the nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow

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Moses Island, perhaps acquired from the NRO (National Reconnaissance Office). There were multiple human figures around the building structures. Richard broke the silence. "The disposal plant was seized by terrorists." I looked up sharply at the news, but his next words left me speechless. "And the ringleaders are FOXHOUND members."

An "irregular" team of the best commandos the military has to offer, armed with cuttingedge technology. That was FOXHOUND. The best of the best, and completely unknown to the public they ostensibly serve. Their function was to intervene in the kind of low-intensity conflicts the U.S. could not officially touch. They were the shadow soldiers of numerous regional conflicts and civil wars, shaping history with sabotage, selective assassination and other covert acts of war.

Richard had more to say. "It's not just FOXHOUND that's involved in this. FOXHOUND was conducting joint exercises with the nextgeneration special forces, and they're a part of the takeover as well."

The next-generation special forces is

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an aggressive anti-terrorism squad deployed to counter acts of political violence involving weapons of mass destruction such as nuclear, biological and chemical warfare methods. The combat philosophy is derived from the one used for Force 21, and most of the recruits come from a mercenary background. The men are intensively trained in VR environment, and their combat capability is estimated to be well beyond even those of Delta Force or the Night Stalkers. While the government categorically denies the accusation, there are persistent rumors that the men have been genetically enhanced to increase tactical advantage. FOXHOUND and the next-generation special forces. They were without a doubt the most skilled group of fighting men produced by the U.S., and they had hijacked a nuclear arsenal. Richard had more bad news. "There are also civilian hostages involved. Two of them happen to be the DARPA chief, Donald Anderson, and Kenneth Baker, the president of ArmsTech, Inc." The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency is the research satellite of the U.S. Defense Department, charged with planning and leading the development of new weapons technology; AT happens to be one of the top three defense contractors in the country. There is no such thing as a coincidence,

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especially the kind that involves the head of those two organizations meeting in an out-of-way nuclear weapons disposal plant. I decided to be direct with Richard. "There was something going on in that 'disposal' facility, I take it? Let me guess -a demonstration of a new weapon." "How should I know? Shadow Moses is also a prime Northern Lights observation locale, you know." Whatever Richard knew, he wasn't telling. But his evasiveness only confirmed my suspicions. Whatever was going on, this was no ordinary terrorist incident. With that in mind, I moved onto another point. "What are their demands?" "They want a body. Not just any corpse though -- they want FOXHOUND's founder, Big Boss. Legendary soldier, best fighting man of the twentieth century, the whole works." "His body? Why would they want something like that so badly?" "No idea, but unless they have it within 24 hours, they'll launch a nuclear strike," Richard glanced at the watch coolly, "So we have about 19 hours." "You don't seem too worried." "The DOD is already working on the situation." Just as I'd suspected. Richard always has a plan in place and the machinery in motion

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before opening up to someone else. All he asks from others is approval after the fact. "Shadow Moses is completely locked down. We had to rule out deploying an entire assault team. Instead, we're inserting a single operative to free the hostages and prevent the nuclear strike." "Impossible." "Possible -- for Solid Snake." Solid Snake...! The former FOXHOUND, a legend among mercenaries for single-handedly bringing down the fortress cities of Outer Heaven and Zanzibar Land. Yes, with Solid Snake in the picture, there was a possibility of success. But still... "USS Discovery, an Ohio-class nuclear submarine, is already in place with Snake aboard." So the plan was already a go. I looked Richard in the eye and held his gaze. "And what do I have to do with all this?" He grinned. "Snake may be a legend, but he knows jack about nuclear weapons. Which is why I'm asking you to be a part of mission support. We'll have you set up in no time." Right on cue, two men started to move a large piece of hardware, apparently communication equipment, into the study. Richard nodded towards the bulky load. "I'd like you to be available to Snake for

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consultation via satellite linkup." As soon as the equipment was in place, an engineer type started to make adjustments. I could see another group of men setting up a satellite dish in the backyard. They were all in civilian clothes, but not a few of them had the build and the oddly-fitting jacket that marked them as armed military personnel. Clearly, refusal was not an option. But there was still something that puzzled me. NEST has a small investigative team, SRT, on standby at all times for immediate response. They were stationed at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas, just over in Nevada. Clearly, they were the natural choice for this assignment. And if not the SRT, the DIA also had a number of qualified nuclear weapon specialists. Richard had started to direct his men on where to set up the equipment, but I interrupted him. "Why me?" He turned and answered without missing a beat. "I need people I can trust. There's too much at stake." It was a lie. The Richard Ames I knew trusted no one. But it was clear that whatever the reason, he did not intend to tell me. "It's a good thing I was in. What would you have done if I weren't?"

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"You have to be somewhere. We would have located you." "I'm sure you would have." "So are you in?" I took a deep breath. "Of course." I don't enjoy being a pawn, especially Richard's, but I had no intention of standing by while nuclear terrorism was in progress. A nuclear strike takes an untold number of lives, all in a blink of an eye, Adults and infants, women and men, it kills indiscriminately. If there was a chance that I could do something to stay the hand on the nuclear button, I had to do it. "So everything is set..." Richard slapped a fist into the other palm.

"Insertion was a success. Snake is on Shadow Moses." Richard walked into the study with the update he'd just received from one of his men. The study was almost unrecognizable, thanks in part to the racks of communication hardware. Cables snaked across every square inch of available space, and engineers and DIA agents were coming and going in controlled chaos. The place looked like what in now was -- a temporary mission control room. Richard laid a hand on my shoulder. "You should be hearing from him soon.

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You're clear on how to use the radio?" I nodded assent.

While the engineers were busy setting up the equipment, I had been briefed on its use as well as the mission. Snake had been delivered to the general area of Shadow Moses Island by USS Discovery, and Ohio-class nuclear submarine. He was then ejected from the submarine on a swimmer delivery vehicle (SDV), which he abandoned once within the range of underwater listening devices located near the disposal plant. He would swim the rest of the way, in the freezing cold Bering Sea water. This last leg of the insertion struck me as nothing short of suicidal until I learned that Solid Snake was outfitted with a state-of-theart sneaking suit and had been injected with a compound designed to prevent the onset of hypothermia. In addition, while Snake would be the only field operative involved, he would be in radio contact with a support team during much of the mission. The members of this support team drew from a wide range of backgrounds. The mission control officer was Colonel Roy Campbell, who would remain aboard the USS Discovery. I knew him by reputation alone. He was a former FOXHOUND commander, and

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Solid Snake's CO during the quelling of the 1999 Zanzibar Land uprising. He had retired soon after, but from the looks of things, he had been called out of retirement for this mission. Dr. Naomi Hunter, a genetic engineering expert on a temporary assignment from the gentech giant ATGC, was also on the team. She had apparently been leading the bioengineering program for FOXHOUND. Richard matter-of-factly confirmed that both FOXHOUND and the next-generation special forces had been undergoing genetic manipulation to enhance their combat capability. I have a difficult time grasping what we have come to -modifying a person's essential genetic structure for the sake of creating a better soldier. Also aboard the Discovery was Mei Ling, the inventor of the new radar and communication system deployed for this mission. She was something of an engineering wunderkind, an MIT student who managed to turn the current protocol of secure communication completely on its head. The last of the support team was McDonnell Miller, a former survival instructor for FOXHOUND. Unlike the rest of us, he had volunteered his services upon receiving news of the incident on Shadow Moses. Like myself, he was working via satellite linkup from his

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home in Alaska. The five of us were more than equipped to support Snake from our respective areas of expertise, but Snake was still the lone field operative and the mission was a desperate one. Despite that, Richard maintained that this was the most workable plan produced by the DOD situational analysis. In hindsight, perhaps I should have suspected something then. The signs of a conspiracy were there, cleverly disguised as it was in a seemingly reckless mission plan. But we failed to see it, and both Solid Snake and I were to regret out folly bitterly.

"It's time Nastasha," Richard called out as the call signal came on. The line was already live as I nodded to him and took my position. I could feel myself growing keener, more on edge. "This is Nastasha Romanenko. Good to meet you, Solid Snake." "You the nuke expert that the Colonel was talking about?" The voice that responded over the radio was, above all things, calm. Here was a man operating alone out of a deeply hostile territory, and I could sense nothing resembling tension or impatience in his tone. Instead, it was as level and unruffled as someone

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answering a routine telephone call at their office desk. Impressed, I continued on. "Correct. If you have any questions about nuclear technology, all you need to do is ask. My department is military analysis, so I should be able to provide support with weapons information as well. I was called into this mission as a Nuclear Emergency Search Team (NEST) consultant, and I'd like to emphasize that my cooperation was freely given. I have no intention of allowing any nuclear strikes on my watch, let alone the rogue kind. Let me work with you on this one." "...You get to the point fast, don't you?" "There's a missile that's about to fly. A nuclear strike can never be someone else's problem, and I'm not good at standing around twiddling my thumbs... Not that I can do little more than advise in this case." That fact was all too obvious. Snake was the one who was putting his life on the line in Alaska, and I was safe and sound in California. All I could do was talk over the radio. Snake's voice became less abrupt. "It may not seem like much, but it's enough. No one's asking you to come out here and fight. That's my job... Anyway, Nastasha, I'll be counting on your help." It was strangely comforting voice, a voice that inspired trust.

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"Same here." As I answered, I resolved to myself to do everything in my power to help him complete this mission. "The nuclear weapons disposal plant on Shadow Moses dates back to 2002. It was built solely for the purpose of temporarily storing nuclear warheads slated for disposal..." I started to brief Snake on the background of the disposal facility, running through the points he needed to know.

My first short exchange with Solid Snake ever, I was beginning to understand why he was called the man who "makes the impossible, possible." The icy clam in the face of insurmountable difficult, the absolute confidence, made it suddenly seem possible that he would pull off this deadly mission. He had the power to make me believe. I grew conscious of Richard's gaze. "What?" "Oh -- just that you have a kind of glow about you when you're working. I like it." "A glow? Funny, you used to call it workaholism in the past. You found it very unappealing, I recall." "Time flies. People change their minds." "It's called nostalgia. You'll dislike it again soon enough." "Perhaps..."

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Richard continued to look at me. Solid Snake certainly managed to live up to his reputation. He adroitly wove his way through the enemy's patrols and infiltrated the nuclear weapons disposal plant, where he made contact with Donald Anderson, the DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) director. Throughout the mission, we had radio monitoring capability over Snake's every movement thanks to his internal nanomachines. It was through this access channel that I learned a shocking fact. Donald Anderson -- discovered in solitary confinement by Solid Snake -- confirmed that the terrorists had full nuclear capability, and that Shadow Moses Island was the site of a field exercise for Metal Gear.

Metal Gear. The very mention of that name sent me reeling. It was the ultimate weapon, a nuclear-capable bipedal tank that could launch a rapid and accurate nuclear strike from virtually any terrain, from mountains to marshlands to the desert dunes. It could bestow the dubious privilege of initiating a mission strike from sites that were previously out of the question as launch locations. For that very reason, analysts had long predicted that if brought to fruition, Metal Gear technology would rewrite the tactical map of the

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world. The are speculations that this Unholy Grail of weapons development was being pursued late last century in the South African fortress state of Outer Heaven, then in the ultra-nationalist sovereignty of Zanzibar Land in Central Asia. One source went so far as to claim that a working prototype had been produced, but the weapon never made it onto the world military stage; instead, it was destroyed by a special forces operative. The squad in question was FOXHOUND, and the operative was a man codenamed Solid Snake. I briefly wondered if it were some strange quirk of fate that had brought Snake into this latest incident, but I knew Richard too well. Snake had to have been called in because of his past battles. Whoever had planned this mission had been thorough, and the more I realized the fact, the less I liked it.

A few years ago, I interviewed a highranking DOD official and led the conversation to the subject of Metal Gear. His response at the time was that the U.S. had very little interest in developing a weapon like Metal Gear (not that he officially admitted that such a thing as the Metal Gear existed - on a purely a hypothetical level, IF such a technology were available). With the collapse of the

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Soviet Union, nuclear arsenals built to enforce the idea of mutually assured destruction had lost its justification, and the deterrent argument was losing ground. In the current "multilateral world order rife with smaller regional powers" as he put it, development priority lay with cruise missiles and smaller weapons with lower lethality that could be carried by stealth bombers. He also went on to note that Metal Gear, with its affinity for rough terrain, would be extremely difficult to discover and destroy. Hence, it was the perfect nuclear strike system for rogue states. He was deeply concerned that if such non-democratic sovereignties were to get a hold of Metal Gear technology, the resulting upset in the balance of military power would lead to a massive rupture in world order. It was a fear that I myself shared. An artifact of the Cold War. The devil's candy, created by nuclear proliferation. That was what Metal Gear seemed to be. So why was this weapon, a cutting-edge technology that was politically long-obsolete, being developed once again on American soil? It was possible that the Defense Department wanted to restore last century's nuclear strategy to the national agenda. Or did this new Metal Gear have something that set it far

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apart from Metal Gear as I knew it? Anderson had more to say. Metal Gear's launch key consisted of two separate passwords, one held by Anderson himself and the other by Kenneth Baker, the president of ArmsTech. Anderson's own password was already in the terrorists' hands, and he feared that the same was true for Baker's. A renegade FOXHOUND psychic, codenamed Psycho Mantis, had literally read Anderson's mind and obtained the key. The bottom line was that the terrorists could activate Metal Gear and launch the missile whenever they pleased. The worstcase scenario had come true. However, Anderson revealed that there was still a way to prevent the nuclear strike. Kenneth Baker alone had the emergency override key that could be used to reenter the launch code and cancel the missile launch. Even if the terrorists had already completed preparations for a strike, the override would reverse the process. His only hope now riding on obtaining the override key, Snake attempted to leave the cell area with Anderson in tow. We heard the terrible cries over the radio at the same time Snake did. Anderson had suddenly started to clutch at his own chest in agony, and before we could even recover from our initial shock,

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he was dead. Dr. Naomi Hunter, monitoring the situation from onboard USS Discovery, tentatively diagnosed the cause of death as a heart attack. Snake walked out of the cell alone in search of Kenneth Baker, leaving behind what had until recently been Donald Anderson, chief of DARPA.

"All right, what exactly is going on here?" I confronted Richard as soon as I confirmed Snake's safe departure. "You know the situation. There was a Metal Gear field exercise being conducted on Shadow Moses. FOXHOUND and the nextgeneration commandos were in charge of the exercise, and now they're threatening to use the Metal gear to launch a nuclear strike." "Apparently, I didn't know about that particular situation." "If you say so." I glared at Richard, but he didn't turn a hair. He knew as well as I did that I could not abandon the mission. Even if I did refuse to cooperate further, there was an entire group of DOD personnel around me that would not permit that to happen. I briefly closed my eyes and brought the recent events into focus again. "What happened to Anderson? Why is he

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dead?" This time, I could see a trace of a reaction in Richard's eyes. "It's hard to say from our end. Naomi thinks it was a heart attack but -- I'll have his medical records pulled just in case." He turned and left the study, presumably to give orders to that effect. The sounds and the voices being broadcast from the radio told me that Snake was moving deeper into the complex in search of Kenneth Baker.

Snake found the ArmsTech president in one of the underground levels. Kenneth Baker was bound to a steel girder along with multiple packets of C4 explosives. Before Snake could free Baker, he came face to face with the originator of this trap: a FOXHOUND operative called Revolver Ocelot. It seemed that he had anticipated Baker's rescue attempt upon receiving news of Snake's arrival. According to Naomi Hunter, the former director of FOXHOUND's genetic manipulation program, Revolver Ocelot is a former Spetznaz. He moved into OMON (Otryad Militsii Osobogo Naznacheniya, the Interior Ministry riot squad, AKA Black Berets) and the SVR (the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service) -- a successor to the KGB's First

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Chief Directorate -- after the collapse of the Soviet Union, but was unable to adapt to the new regime and dropped out. He cut a swath through the world's hot spots as a mercenary before being recruited by FOXHOUND. As his codename indicates, Ocelot is a master marksman with a marked preference for revolvers. We could hear the gun battle between Snake and Ocelot over the radio. Ocelot was using an antique Single Action Army revolver against Snake's SOCOM pistol. The first Single Action Army Revolver was manufactured in 1873. A small number of them are still in production today, but strictly for collectors and antique weapon fanciers; using this outmoded weapon for live combat is unheard of. But Ocelot seemed to invest the vintage gun with diabolical powers. He would purposefully fire against walls and the floor, weaving a tight web of ricocheting bullets around Snake, gradually hamming him in. All we could do was silently monitor the battle. However, Snake was slowly but surely gaining the upper hand by dodging the ricochets and exploiting the revolver's lengthy reload window. Finally, just as Snake was about to deliver the decisive blow, an explosion rang out. "My hand!" Ocelot's scream came a second later, followed by more explosions.

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"What the hell is going on!?" Richard cried. The controller in charge of the data sent in by Snake's nanomachine started a running commentary. "We don't know yet, I'm seeing a life sign other than those of Snake, Ocelot, or Baker." Explosions continued to boom out over the radio. "The unidentified fourth subject is knocking down girders. No sign of firearm use! Whatever it is, it's moving fast!" The controller's voice rose with excitement. "The speed is well above anything a human being should be able to handle." The situation was chaotic. I could make out Ocelot's voice through the roar of collapsing metal. "Stealth camouflage! Someone left a job only half done... As for you -- we'll continue this later!" It seemed Ocelot had left the area. The explosions went on one after the other as girders crashed to the ground. In the midst of the collapse, Snake confronted what we could only guess was the fourth life sign. "Who are you?" "I'm like you... I have no name." It was not human, but an artificial machine voice that answered. In spite of the metallic

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tones, there seemed to be in that voice an unspeakable pain. Baker's labored groans could be heard over the conversation. "You have a reinforced skeleton -- !?" Suddenly, the possessor of the metal voice let loose an animal howl. The shattering scream set the communication speakers screeching, and I instinctively covered my ears to shut out the maddened sound. The cry went on and on, then cut out as abruptly as it had begun. In the ringing silence, the controller's voice floated out, thin and hollow. " -- the fourth subject has disappeared." The words brought us out of a state of shock. "Can we track him?" "Negative. He's vanished, no traces." "Collect as much data as you can." "I have the full results on information relayed by the nanomachines. There's an electromagnetic pattern that resembles a stealth camouflage signature." "Stealth camo and reinforced exoskeleton..." Richard muttered, deep in thought. "Not everything is happening according to plan, I take it?" I inquired with some sarcasm. "It's within acceptable deviation. The mission will go on as planned."

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For a split second, his eyes betrayed his disquiet; then he quickly recovered his characteristic arrogance. "You just concentrate on your job." Snake had called the fourth life sign the "Ninja." I could not help but wonder about the identity of the name's bearer, and what it was that accounted for the superhuman abilities he had just demonstrated. Far away on Shadow Moses Island, Snake was attempting to raise the shaken Kenneth Baker back on his feet. We could hear Snake asking him about the nuclear launch code, knowing the answer even as he spoke. Baker painfully acknowledged that he had volunteered the information. He arm hung broken and useless by his side, presumable Ocelot's handiwork. According to Naomi Hunter's intelligence, Revolver Ocelot had served as a Special Interrogations Consultant in the Soviet gulags during his days with the Spetznaz. In other words, he was an expert in torture. There was no way that the weapons technology executive, an untrained civilian, could withstand the techniques of coercion developed in the cells of Lubianka. We now had confirmation that the terrorists possessed both launch keys. The situation was more desperate than ever.

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Baker's response to Snake's queries about the emergency override key was almost as grim. He had entrusted a soldier, a woman who had refused to join the mutiny, with it while they had been sharing the cell. I caught Snake's sudden murmur. "The Colonel's niece?" The "Colonel" was presumably Campbell, and Snake seemed to know something I certainly did not. I stole a glance at Richard but his expression was as closed as ever. He no doubt had known from the outset about the presence of Campbell's niece on Shadow. Snake was pressing Baker, asking him whether there was a way to stop the launch without the override code. The executive gave him a name: Dr. Hal Emmerich. If it were indeed the case that the launch codes were in hostile hands and the strike sequence had been started, it stood to reason that the only person who may know of a way to cancel the launch was the chief of Metal Gear's development program. As Snake promised to search out Emmerich, Baker handed him a single optical disc. It contained, he said, all the data from the training exercise. What exercise data? He had to be referring to the Metal Gear exercise. I saw Richard raise his eyebrow sharply.

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Baker, oblivious to the frenzy of speculation he had remotely set off, continued. "There's no need to feign ignorance. You were sent to retrieve this, and we both know it." I was now even more puzzled than ever. If Metal gear was being developed on Shadow Moses, surely the research data was backed up somewhere outside of the ArmsTech lab. Not only that, but why would the president of the company have been carrying the data himself? I was apparently not alone in my disconcerntment. Snake took the disc, obviously uncertain. It was clear that he, like myself, had not been briefed on the existence of the disc. The disc safely out of his hands, Baker's tones became pleading. "You have to stop them. If the truth got out, AT would be finished -- I would be finished -- " "But Metal Gear technology is already a known factor." "The core technology is, but that's not -- " Baker trailed off, suddenly pale with pain. "Oh God, what did you do to me...?" We could hear hid labored coughing as he gasped out. "It can't be... That thing. Damn Pentagon bureaucrats... I get it now... You son of a -- "

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He tried to lunge at Snake, but reeled back in a fresh wave of pain. Still clutching his chest, he fell down, dead. It was too similar to the last moments of Donald Anderson's life, and the fact had not escaped Snake. He was immediately on the radio with Campbell. "Colonel, you'd better be listening real well. This one dropped dead too." Snake demanded an explanation, but neither Campbell nor Dr. Hunter could provide an adequate one. Snake was clearly dissatisfied, but Campbell directed Snake to cooperate with his niece, Meryl. The only way left to prevent a nuclear strike was to obtain the emergency override key, and the key was in Meryl's hands. Snake walked away from Baker's body in search of the elusive commando.

Kenneth Baker had been colluding with Donald Anderson, the DARPA chief, to secretly develop a new Metal Gear on the government's co-called Black Budget. My later investigations revealed that regular payments in the tens of thousands of dollars had been made to the corporate account of a firm for which Anderson's wife ostensibly acted as a consultant. The ArmsTech payoff into this dummy company had started several years ago. The total amount is difficult to estimate,

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but there is little doubt that Anderson had been bribed to the tune of an astronomical sum. Even the government Black Budget had limits, however. I recalled a rumor from some years before the Anderson payoff started. The CNO (Chief of Naval Operations) at the time had a classified pet project, and the scuttlebutt was that it involved the construction of a completely new type of battleship. Just what kind of a ship was never revealed, since the entire program fell apart after the CNO suddenly passed away. The unexpected death coincided with ArmsTech's launch of the Metal Gear development program. The Black Budget earmarked for the CNO's little project must have been freed up by his death; the question was whether it had been freed up for allocation to the new Metal Gear development. The manner of the CNO's death was officially ruled a suicide, but I could not help recall the theories to the contrary that had made its rounds back then. Whatever the background, Anderson and Baker's deaths could not be a coincidence. Anderson's dying words included a reference to the Pentagon, and I was certain that there was more to it than met the eye. "So now Baker is dead as well. Are you looking into his medical records too?" I asked

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Richard. "We'll do that. Just as a precaution." He did not seem particularly disturbed. "It may have been for the best, anyway. Having to babysit a senior citizen with a broken arm sure wasn't going to help Snake with his mission." "You haven't changed a bit, I see." "What?" "That bad-boy act of yours. You only talk like an insensitive jerk to divert attention from something. I wonder what you're hiding?" Richard turned away. "Nothing. There's nothing to hide."

Having successfully made radio contact with Meryl, Colonel Campbell's niece, Solid Snake agreed to put off a rendezvous with her in favor of rescuing Dr. Hal Emmerich, the chief of Metal Gear development. He reached that lab just as the Ninja was attempting to attack Dr. Emmerich, and the two fighters immediately squared off. Snake and the Ninja launched into a silent hand-to-hand combat, a balletic exchange of blows that seemed almost to serve as a private dialog. The fighting seemed intermonable to us as we followed over the radio, but just as in the last encounter, the Ninja suddenly let loose an inhuman howl, and vanished into the maelstrom of its ragged echo.

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It was our second encounter with the Ninja, and we were as in the dark about him as ever. But Snake had recognized something during their battle, and he raised Campbell on the radio. "It's Gray Fox -- the Ninja is Gray Fox. I'm 100% sure." "That's impossible. You took him -- in Zanzibar Land -- " We could hear the perturbation in Campbell's voice. Naomi Hunter suddenly cut in. "Yes, he was supposed to have been killed. But he wasn't." Dr. Hunter revealed that her predecessor at the helm of FOXHOUND's genetic treatment program, one Dr. Clark, had been conducting human testing. Gray Fox, the alpha soldier of FOXHOUND and the only member allowed the FOX designation, was the subject. After he had been shipped back from Zanzibar Land mortally wounded, his superior physical abilities and combat skills had marked him as an ideal test subject for genetic manipulation and skeletal reinforcement experiments. He was listed as killed in action, but kept alive in a lab. I could not help but note with some surprise the emotional tone in which the normally collected geneticist described these events. When Snake asked why she had not volun-

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teered the truth of the Ninja's identity earlier, Naomi had only a terse reply. "It was classified information." According to records she had seen, the subject -- Gray Fox -- had died in an accidental lab explosion two years ago. I turned to Richard. "Is this true?" "What's true?" "The accident in the lab." "It's true. The cause of the explosion was never determined. Dr. Clark died in the accident, and the only remains they could find of Gray Fox were fragments of the reinforced skeleton." "So Naomi wasn't the only one who knew about this and didn't say anything." "It was classified information," Richard mimicked. Snake secured Dr. Emmerich after the Ninja's departure. Amazingly enough, the engineer had believed Metal Gear to be a portable tactical missile defense system, rather than a nuclear-capable tank. It was a peculiar irony that the chief developer himself had been unaware that the project was one of offense, rather than defense. On discovering that he had been deceived, Dr. Emmerich volunteered his expertise to Snake. He mentioned his grandfather's

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involvement in the Manhattan Project, and the ethical termoil the man had carried with him to the end of his days as a result. Ironically enough, the older scientist's son, Hal Emmerich's father, was born the day the atomic bomb had found Hiroshima. "Three generations -- sometimes I wonder if nuclear warfare is out personal albatross, an inherited pathology." We could hear the pain and the regret in Dr. Emmerich's voice. He seemed genuinely upset that the technology he had developed purely for the furthering of knowledge and betterment of mankind had been exploited for weapons development. You may call me harsh, but I felt little sympathy for him. Technological and scientific innovation need not have direct bearing on nuclear or virological research to contribute to the making of weapons of mass destruction. After all, the Ninja was born of genetic engineering and cybernetic research, which could easily have healed a civilian rather than improved upon a solider. A scientist cannot pleased naivet to the practical products of their own research. The consequences must be anticipated, and the ethical burden of a newly developed technology must ultimately rest with the individual researcher. I wondered if Dr. Emmerich would ever realize that onus.

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Freed from the laboratory where he was being held, Emmerich cloaked himself with a stealth camouflage of his own making and promised to keep out of sight. With the stealth camo, he could easily evade the terrorists' surveillance. His rescued charge safe, Snake departed for a rendezvous with Meryl.

Snake's objective was to meet with Meryl and re-enter the launch code using her override key, outwitting the FOXHOUND psychic Psycho Mantis all the while. To this end, he headed towards the hangar where Metal Gear was being stored. The best laid plans... Meryl was ambushed on the way by the FOXHOUND sharpshooter Sniper Wolf. Snake, attempting to rescue the wounded commando, was himself captured. He was taken to the terrorist command post still unconscious, stripped of all his gear. However, his cochlea-implant radio passed unnoticed, and we could hear the terrorists' conferring about the incapacitated operative. We gathered from their talk that the preperations for the nuclear launch were complete. Richard was unusually intent on identifying the individual terrorists in the room. From the voices involved in the conversation, we confirmed the presence of Sniper Wolf,

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Revolver Ocelot, and the leader of this uprising himself, Liquid Snake.

What little I knew of Liquid Snake was troubling, and it came entirely from a slim file folder Richard showed me just prior to mission commencement. The man with the same designation as Solid Snake was recruited into FOXHOUND after Solid Snake's departure from the unit. His fighting skills were formidable, and he quickly rose to leadership position in FOXHOUND's field operation team. His real name, place of origin and other information remained classified. Only a single photograph accompanied the documents, and I had not be able to contain my astonishment at the sight of it. "It's not a mistake. That IS Liquid Snake," said Richard, echoing my thoughts. "But -- how?" The face in the photo was the spitting image of Solid Snake. "I wouldn't know. But once the two Snakes run into each other, something may come out." His words were noncommittal, but Richard's tone spoke volumes.

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And now, the two Snakes -- Solid and Liquid -- had indeed come face to face. But Liquid had little to say.

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"So long, brother." He called out before turning and walking away. The voice was full of hatred, but there was also something in it that seemed to confirm and gleefully anticipate another meeting. Why this was so was as mysterious to me as the reason he called Solid Snake "brother." I would not find out the truth until a little later. What awaited Snake after his brief encounter with Liquid was Ocelot's KGBtested "interrogation" techniques. Ocelot apparently had no interest in extracting information, but rather appeared to be enjoying the acts of torture for their own sake. Snake's ragged gasps echoed from the radio in the silence of the control room. The heart rate and other physiological data transmitted by his nanomachines graphically demonstrated the extent of his suffering. All we could do was listen and wait. After Ocelot was done, the battered Snake was taken to a cell. Campbell soon established radio contact with him, but Snake had some hard questions for his former CO instead. He had realized that Metal Gear was a nuclear delivery system, and for once, Campbell was at a loss for an answer. "So you did know about this all along..." Snake rasped out bitterly. Campbell continued to be silent. It was all

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the confirmation Snake needed. "You should have told me." "...I'm sorry." "Pawns don't need to know, is that it? You've changed." Campbell had no rebuttal to Snake's barbs.

According to Campbell, even the President had apparently been unaware of the existence of Project Rex until the day before. To make matters more complicated, he was due to meet with the Russian president the following day for the formal signing of START3. The treaty stipulated further reduction of the nuclear arsenal, picking up where START2 left off. The agreement would reduce the number of Russian and American tactical ballistic missiles to somewhere between two thousand and twenty-five hundred, and the signing was a historic event that had been made possible by long and arduous process. If the fact that a new nuclear weapon was being developed by the United States were made public, there was a significant chance that the signing would never take place. Worse still, the loss of confidence in America's commitment to non-proliferation could create international turmoil. The government clearly had every reason to keep the situation under wraps,

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and there were ample indications that the terrorists had counter on the fact. The timing of this takeover as well as the twenty-four hour deadline said as much. Campbell continued to plead his case with Snake. "Snake, you've got to stop them." "Sing it to someone else." "You're the only hope we have." "All right then, tell me what this new warhead is about." "I told you, I don't know." "I don't believe you." "..." "If the situation is so desperate, why don't you accept their demands? Give them Big Boss' body. It's just a corpse." "That's not an option..." Campbell was floundering under the barrage of Snake's questions. "Is there a reason you can't comply with that demand? A reason you haven't told me?" Naomi broke in as Campbell fell silent. "The President's passed a number of policies that severely restrict genetic engineering on humans. He can't afford to have the public know about the military's use of genetically-enhanced soldiers." "Is that really all there is to it?"

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Campbell did not reply.

I received a call from Snake soon after. Captive, alone in enemy territory, unable to trust his own mission controllers to tell him the truth -- there was little I could say to help a man in Snake's situation. "Capture does not mean defeat. Stay vigilant for a chance to escape, and don't give up." I had doubts about the effectiveness of these words coming from someone with no combat experience, but it was the best I could offer. We had no choice but to trust in Snake's abilities. As I closed the radio channel, I caught Richard studying me. "Yes?" "You're very -- passionate about this job." "Do you object? It's the job you forced on me, after all." "No, but I admit that I'm a little jealous." "Ah, the jealousy act. Yes, I know that one too." Richard averted his eyes. "I wouldn't call it an act. If -- no forget it." He lit a cigarette. Chesterfield. The same brand as Humphrey Bogart. "You still smoke the same brand." "You know me. Once I decide I like something I can't kick the habit. Cigarettes,

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line of work, woman -- everything." He didn't look at me as he replied.

The torture was conducted again and again, solely for the purpose of breaking Snake. He held out each time, but his strength was steadily ebbing, and the voice we heard over the radio was growing more labored. "Naomi, talk to me. I need something to distract me." "What do you want me to talk about?" "Anything." "I'm not good at finding things to talk about..." "Tell me about yourself." "About me...? That's not so easy." "You got any family?" "...It's not a very happy story." "I don't have any family -- I guess there was one person, someone who called himself my father." "Where is he?" "Dead. I killed him." I was even more taken aback by what Campbell volunteered next. "You're talking about Big Boss." "What? Big Boss was your -- ?" "No reason you should have known." Campbell elaborated to Naomi. "It was six years ago, in Zanzibar Land. Snake and I are

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the only ones who know about it now." "Oh god -- was Big Boss really your father?" Naomi still seemed disbelieving. "That's what he said, and that's all I know." "You knew and you still killed him...?" "Yeah." "Why?" Naomi asked fiercely. There was a pause before Snake answered. "Because that's what he wanted. And what I wanted." "But it's still -- patricide." "Yeah, I know. My personal nightmare too..." Snake's voice was the faintest we had heard. "Is that why you left FOXHOUND?" "Maybe. I can't deny that it felt good to lose myself. It's easy to do that in Alaska..." After a moment of silence, Naomi confided in a low voice. "I don't -- really have a family of my own either. I have a brother who put me through college, that's it. He's not a biological brother -- and a lot older than me." "Where's he now?" Naomi's reply was deeply pained. "He's gone..." There was deep sorrow in her voice, and, I thought, something more.

"A stepbrother who put her through

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school -- I wasn't told about that," Richard muttered. There was suspicion in his voice, and, puzzlingly enough, a hint of anger. I opened the personnel profile on Naomi. Naomi Hunter. Born New York City, 198X. Ph.D. in genetics. Recruited by the industry giant ATGC soon after completing doctoral program, moved to California's so-called Biotech Bay area. Led several genetic therapy programs, until recruited by FOXHOUND to fill the post of chief geneticist as a result of her accomplishments in this field. Parents died in car collision when Naomi was two years old. One brother, ten years her senior, a U.S. Marine. Killed in training-related accident when Naomi was seventeen. Richard thought for a minute, then scribbled something in his notebook. Summoning one of his men, he tore the to him. "Wire this message to the skipper of USS Discovery. And make sure Campbell doesn't know about it." "What are you plotting now?" I knew even as I asked that Richard would not respond. Page out and handed it

The torture was repeated time and again, but Snake managed to take advantage of the guard's waning vigilance and escape. The location and the fate of his fellow hostage,

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Meryl, eluded us. Evading the intense manhunt that followed, Snake still refused to stray from the course that lead to the Metal Gear hangar. What drove him? Guilt for Meryl's capture and an urge to avenger her? A sense of duty to the mission? The will to stop the carnage of a nuclear strike? None of them seemed to apply to Snake. He was an enigma. We could do little but watch over him as he ran, wounded and exhausted. After successfully taking on Sniper Wolf as she reemerged for an ambush, Snake closed in on the Metal Gear hangar only to discover Vulcan Raven blocking his way. The giant FOXHOUND operative, armed with a fighterplane Gattling gun, was a daunting enemy. In the end, however, Snake eventually prevailed. The stricken Raven, leaning against the wall, started to speak as Snake approached him. "There are some breeds of snakes that nature never intended... I think you and the Boss belong to one of those. Go and settle it with him... I'll be watching how it ends." The dying Raven then dropped the bombshell. "I'll give you one clue. The man who died in front of you wasn't the DARPA chief. It was

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Decoy Octopus -- one of us FOXHOUNDs. He was a master of disguise... I guess the Grim Reaper was the only one he couldn't fool." "Is he dead?" Raven did not answer Snake's sharp query Snake tried another tack. "Why go to all that trouble and impersonate Anderson?" Raven smiled faintly. "That's all the clue you're going to get. Everything else, you'll have to figure out yourself." A few minutes later, Vulcan Raven died.

Richard was chagrined. "So that's how it was. They had us completely fooled." "Why would Octopus impersonate Anderson?" I asked. "I don't know. Maybe to get information out of Snake." "That would mean that they knew Snake was coming." Richard stubbed out the cigarette without answering. His face was expressionless, but I knew exactly what he was thinking. We had a leak. While Richard and I were talking, a call was made to Snake. "Snake, it's me -- "

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"Master?" Snake answered. It was apparently Master Miller. "I need to talk to you about Naomi Hunter. Turn the monitoring off -- " Miller had barely finished his instruction before Campbell cut in. "What about Dr. Hunter?" Miller made an exasperated sound. It was clear that he had not intended Campbell to hear what he had to say. "Colonel, is Naomi there?" Snake asked. "No, she's trying to catch up on her sleep." "Okay..." Campbell turned his attention back to Miller. "What were you saying about Dr. Hunter?" "All right. Maybe it's better that the Colonel hears about this now." Miller said resignedly. "Go on," urged Snake. "That's not the real Naomi Hunter you're working with, Colonel." "What!?" Campbell raised his voice, astounded. Miller continued coolly. "Naomi Hunter does exist. Or rather, she did. She went missing in the Middle East some time ago. This impostor must have gotten a hold of her identity somehow." There were a number of ways to obtain someone's Social Security Number and commit an identity theft, certainly. But Dr. Naomi

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Hunter an impostor -- ! "Who is she really then!" Campbell was agitated, but Miller remained cool as ice. "Probably a spy." "A spy!" "Yes -- sent in to ensure this mission's failure." "Are you saying she's one of the terrorists?" Campbell's tone was disbelieving, but Snake backed up his former instructor. "I don't want to believe it either, Colonel. But it's true that she's a FOXHOUND personnel..." "...So it would not be surprising if she took part in this insurrection." Campbell finished dully, as though Snake's words had crystallized his own doubts. "Or she could be working for another organization," Miller suggested. "Another -- ? No, that's not possible..." As Campbell trailed off, Miller spoke up, his tone ruthless. "Take her into custody, Colonel." "What!" "It's clear that Naomi Hunter is working against us. Interrogate her and find out what her objective is." "If she really is their spy, we're in serious trouble..." Campbell murmured. Miller pounced on the gravity of the

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Colonel's tone. "What are you talking about?" "N-Nothing in particular..." Campbell tried to recover himself. "Campbell, did you give her access to some other line of classified information?" "..." Campbell remained silent, but Miller pressed on. "Does it have anything to do with the way the DARPA chief or the ArmsTech president died?" "Look, I don't know what you're talking about." Clearly, Campbell knew something. It was equally obvious that he had no intention of revealing what he was privy to. Perhaps sensing that fact, Miller dropped the pursuit abruptly. "In any case, it's too dangerous to retain her in the mission." "H-hold on a minute. She is an integral part of this mission. In fact, we can't afford to proceed without her," Campbell was being too insistent about Dr. Hunter's value. I had to wonder if it was indeed the case that he had trusted her with highly classified information. Snake was also suspicious. "More secrets, Colonel?" "Give me time. I'll have her background and movements re-checked..." That was all

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Campbell could say. "Hurry. Find out what she wants as quickly as possible," Miller was unrelenting. "...Of course." Campbell agreed reluctantly. "Snake, just give me some time." "Time is something I wasn't give a lot of." Snake growled bitterly.

"What's the deal?" I said to Richard. "Is Miller right about Naomi?" "I don't know, to be honest. It's obvious there were things in Dr. Hunter's past that I didn't know about. I'm having them go over her background again." Richard was visibly upset, a rare occurrence. I suddenly wondered there had been something between him and Naomi. Richard lit a cigarette and continued in a more composed tone. "But if what Miller said about Naomi is true, it raises questions about him in turn." "Why do you say that?" "He's supposed to be in his cabin in Alaska." "So I hear." "How did he manage to find out so much about Naomi -- by himself and from the middle of nowhere -- when the DIA investigators couldn't?" Richard called one of his men over and ordered them to look into

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Miller's activities. "You check up on even one of your own?" I asked as the agent hurried away. "How do you know he's one of our own?" Richard shot back, blowing a stream of smoke. "Should I assume you don't trust me either?" "You're the one who doesn't trust me. Never have." He said quietly, and ground his cigarette into the ashtray.

Snake had finally reached the Metal Gear hangar, and stood in the shadow of the machines fifty-foot-tall bulk. But considering Metal Gear's state-of-the-art composite armor and Snake's limited arsenal, it was improbable that he could destroy the tank while evading enemy patrols. The most practical avenue of attack was to re-enter the launch code using the override key and thereby cancel the scheduled nuclear strike. As Snake methodically searched for the code entry interface, Emmerich radioed in. He had been making himself useful by breaking into Baker's protected files. From these, he had pieced together the true nature of Metal Gear and its prototype warheads. According to Emmerich, the weapon used a

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built-in rail gun to fire the ballistic missiles clear of the atmosphere. The missile would then automatically realign itself, and reenter the atmosphere on its designated trajectory toward the target. I understood exactly what all this meant, and the knowledge left me cold. Normally, ballistic missiles go through four phases from launch to impact. The first is the boost phase, which consists of the time between the missile's launch and the point at which it leaves the atmosphere and exhausts its supply of rocket propellant. Following the burnout, the rocket enters the post-boost phase, which concludes with the separation of the reentry vehicle that contains the warhead. The third stage is the midcourse phase, in which the reentry vehicle separates and achieves a controlled descent back into the atmosphere. The warhead's reentry into the atmosphere and its arrival at the targets mark the fourth and terminal phase. Current missile defense systems detect incoming ballistic missiles by scanning for the rocket burn that takes place during the missile's boost stage. However, Metal Gear's missile technology employs a rail gun rather than conventional rocket propulsion to achieve boost-stage acceleration. As a result, there is nothing for existing missile defense systems to

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detect. The rail gun's effectiveness is nothing short of amazing, with a range of over 3000 miles, rivaling that of mid-range ballistic missiles. It reliably homes in within 170 feet of the target 50% of the time, placing it in the same class as high-end ICBM's. The ability of a Metal Gear to conquer virtually all terrain means that the rail gun can launch a stealthy nuclear strike from almost any spot on the globe. This invisible attack would make it impossible for anyone to pinpoint the origin of a given missile even in the event of a strike. Without a clear aggressor to retaliate against, the concept of mutual assured destruction falls apart. Without the fear of MAD, the existing rules of nuclear non-engagement would no longer apply, and the world would fall into chaos.

Snake had a few things to say to Campbell after learning the truth. He knew as well as anyone that if the fact that the U.S. had been developing a new breed of nuclear weapons were made public on the eve of START3, negotiations would break down and U.S. would suffer a devastating embarrassment. "Did you know about this, Colonel?" "I really am sorry, Snake."

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"You really have changed..." "I won't offer any excuses..." "Snake, you've got to hear this," Dr. Emmerich broke in, ignoring Campbell. "The new missiles were complete in simulation only. That's why they had to perform this exercise -- to get field data that would back up their simulation results." "How did the exercise go?" Snake asked. Emmerich's reply was discouraging. It seems to have gone better than they expected, but I can't find any of the data. There isn't a trace of the thing on the entire network. You'd think it's backed up somewhere, but zilch." "It's on the optical disc that Baker gave me." "You mean you still have it!" Campbell exclaimed hopefully. "No, Ocelot took it." Snake replied bitterly. It must have happened when he was a hostage. Did this mean that Ocelot had known of the existence of the exercise data beforehand? "This doesn't look good..." Campbell murmured, deep in thought.

I glared at Richard. "You knew about this too, didn't you?" "Knew what?" "The small matter of this new nuclear

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weapon technology." Richard shrugged. "If I'd told you, would you have cooperated? You probably would have tried to leak it to some media contact. And that would have forced out hand..." He left it at that. Would he have had me killed "in the interest of national security"? Something like that, I supposed. In the world Richard inhabited, preserving secrets always merited higher consideration than human life. But I was a privy to that secret now. What would happen once the mission ended? I left a chill go down my spine as I considered the possibilities. Richard was quietly puffing on his cigarette. He had too many men with him, working for him every moment. There was no way I could simply walk out of this house. But I had something up my sleeve as well, and I was not about to let myself be exploited without a fight. I looked over at my PC. The screen saver had kicked in, and geometric patterns flitted across the dark monitor. I slipped my PDA into my pocket and headed for the bathroom to send some mail.

One of Richard's men trotted over with a slip of paper. Richard studied it, and after some consideration, raised Campbell on the

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radio. "What can I do for you, Major Ames?" Campbell's tone was openly hostile, but Richard paid no heed. "Colonel Campbell, I'd like you to start interrogating Naomi Hunter." "Interrogate her? What are you talking about?" Campbell said sharply. "There are suspicious points about Dr. Hunter's background, as you've heard. I've therefore sent one of my men over there to talk to her, but she seems reluctant to cooperate." Richard lit another cigarette. "But she's taking a nap." The Colonel insisted. "Actually, she's not." "What?" "In reality, she's been taking into my agent's custody." "How -- dare you!" Campbell barked angrily. Richard was unfazed. "If, as Master Miller charged, Naomi Hunter has falsified her identity and is in communication with the enemy, there are serious repercussions. I trust you understand." "FOXDIE..." Campbell groaned. FOXDIE? This was something new. This mission was like an onion, with layer after layer of secret intent. "She won't talk to my agent. She may talk to

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you. Find out from Naomi who she is and what her objective is." "Absolutely not. I don't take orders from you. And I'm having Dr. Hunter freed immediately." "What makes you think you can do such a thing?" replied Richard, exhaling a cloud of smoke. There was a long silence. "Who exactly the hell are you?" I could head the barely suppressed rage in Campbell's voice. "The DIA wouldn't have the authority to send a man into a Navy submarine and hold someone prisoner." Richard did not answer. Campbell continued. "And that's not the only thing. Nothing has been done through the usual channels, including the way you induced Snake and I to cooperate. This mission isn't even official business, is it? So who else can mount such a major operation..." Campbell suddenly broke off, as though struck by something. "Is it possible that -- the Patriots?" He murmured. Richard ignored Campbell's outburst. "Does it matter what I am? It doesn't change the fact that your life, not to mention your precious Meryl's life, is in my hands. Isn't that right?" This time it was Campbell's turn to be silent.

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I had never suspected that his participation in the mission had been arranged by force. The Colonel was literally fighting for his, and his niece's, life. "Think it over carefully, Colonel," Richard's voice was the coldest I had ever heard. There was no reply from Campbell. "And Snake has no need to know about any of this; we need his full cooperation at this point. Just tell him that Naomi was a terrorist spy and was apprehended while sending them a coded transmission." "Do you expect me to betray a friend, keep him in the dark?" Campbell objected furiously. "A friend? Are you referring to Snake?" Richard smiled coolly. "Do you really think he considers you a friend anymore?" He had hit a sore spot; Campbell had no answer. Richard moved in for the kill. "You've already lied to him too many times." "Against my will, under your threats!" Campbell was roaring, but Richard barely seemed to register his anger. "Certainly, but that's not an issue. You were, after all, giving him false information and relaying false orders to him of your own accord. Then there's FOXDIE..." I could almost see Campbell grinding his

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teeth in frustration and rage. "Do you still have the right to call yourself his friend?" There was nothing Campbell could say. "You will cooperate with us. Understood?" "Understood..." The transmission ended.

"Who are the 'Patriots'?" Richard looked away towards another direction at my query. "What are you talking about?" "Don't B.S. me." He turned towards me. His gaze was icy. "Nothing you need to know about. By the way, not that I need to remind you, but don't mention to Snake things that don't concern him." "And if I do...?" Richard's stony silence answered my uncompleted question. I was too far into this business, and suddenly seemed to sense danger everywhere. "What do you intend to do with me once this mission is over?" "Nothing." "Don't expect me to believe you." Richard allowed himself a brief, oddly said smile. "I suppose I can't."

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In the meantime, Snake was inching towards the launch code entry interface. At that point, he received a call from Master Miller. "Snake, we need to talk about Naomi Hunter." "The Colonel's looking into that." "Turn the monitoring off." "All right, it's off. Mission control is out of the loop. You want to tell me what this is about?" Snake believed that he had switched us off, but I could still hear everything. Radio malfunction? I guessed not. Someone had made sure that nothing could get past mission control, ever. I had a more than good idea who that someone was. But Master Miller obviously did not. "Sorry about that. I didn't want Campbell to overhear." "What is this about?" Snake repeated. "I have a contact at the Pentagon. He told me that a new -- assassination tool had been recently developed under DIA guidance." I looked over at Richard, but he pretended not to notice. "Assassination tool?" Snake was asking. "Snake, have you ever heard the term FOXDIE?" I tensed. There was that word again. First Richard, then Campbell, now Miller.

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"It seems to be a virus that can target specific individuals. I don't know the details." Miller continued. Richard remained expressionless next to me. "So? What are you getting at?" Snake raised his voice slightly, sounding annoyed by Miller's roundabout methods. "They share common features." "What shares common features?" "The deaths. The ArmsTech president and the DARPA chief -- or I guess I should say Decoy Octopus. They both died of what looked like a heart attack, right?" "Yeah?" "Well, it seems that a death by FOXDIE virus looks like a case of heart attack." After a moment, Snake spoke up. "Are you saying that Naomi was the one who set this up?" "Snake, think. Did Naomi give you any kind of a shot?" "The nanomachines..." Snake murmured. Snake had in fact been injected with nanomachines and anti-hypothermia compound before the start of the mission. Was Miller suggesting that there was a killing virus in the mix as well? "One thing's for certain: she's in the best position to perform this kind of sabotage. But

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we still don't know her motive or objective..." "What about the Colonel...?" Snake asked after a lengthy silence, his tone brooding and full of doubts. "I don't know. And I don't think he's interrogated her yet either." "All right. I'll ask him."

Once he was off the radio with Miller, Snake called up Campbell. "Colonel, any new developments with Naomi?" "I've -- just had her taken into custody." "What?" Snake said incredulously. "She was sending a coded transmission to an Alaskan location. I don't want to believe it but -- she's definitely one of the terrorists." Campbell sounded anguished. "Are you sure?" "There's very little doubt. She's being interrogated right now." "What kind of interrogation?" "I don't want to resort to force, but we don't even have thiopentothal on hand..." "Let me know if you learn anything." Unaware of the machinations behind this latest development, Snake ended the communication. I longed to tell him the truth, but knew that Richard and his men would never allow that to

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happen.

Despite his growing doubts, Snake continued to penetrate deeper into the hangar. He had almost reached the code interface when a call suddenly came in. "Snake, can you hear me? It's Naomi..." "Naomi!?" Snake exclaimed in surprise. "What are you -- !" Richard tensed and leaned forward. "I managed to get to another transmitter. The Colonel and the others haven't noticed yet." Naomi whispered rapidly. "Naomi, is it true? What the Colonel says?" "...yes. But not everything I told you is a lie. Some of it was the truth." Her voice was sorrowful. "Who are you really?" "I don't know. I don't know what my parents looked like even, or what they were called. I bought the name I use, the whole identity, with hard cash. Remember I told you why I was so fixated on genes? That was the truth." "Because you wanted to know who you were. That's what you said." "Yes... I don't know what I am. My ethnic background, age..." "Naomi -- " There was a pause before Naomi started speaking again in a rush.

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"I was picked up in Northern Rhodesia, in the 80's, I was an orphan." "Rhodesia? During all the guerrilla warfare?" "Zimbabwe used to be a British colony, you know. There was a sizable Indian population there then. Maybe that's where I get the color of my skin, but I'm not even sure of that." "Naomi, why dwell on the past? If you can understand who you are now, isn't that all that really matters?" "Understand what I am myself? No one could ever understand me, least of all myself," Naomi's voice was suddenly defiant. "I was always searching for myself, alone. Until I met my brother and Him." "Your brother?" Snake asked. "Yes. Frank Yeager." "What did you say?" Snake was taken aback. "He was a child soldier too. He found me almost dead of starvation on the bank of the Zambezi and fed me from his own small ration of food." Child soldiers. It is not rare for children to participate in war as combatants in many of the most conflict-ravaged regions of the world. This is especially true for those developing nations where minors account for the majority of the entire population. A harsh

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regimen can and does turn innocent children into the most brutal of soldiers. In many cases, various drugs are used to numb the natural fear response. The result is an marks them out for posting to the frontlines of the fiercest battles and to scouting duties in the minefields.

"Yes, the man you destroyed is my brother. Frank Yeager, my only family." Naomi said quietly. "That's impossible -- Gray Fox is your brother? Snake could not hide his perturbation. "We managed to survive hell together, all because he protected me. He was everything to me. He was the only witness to my existence, and the only one who made me feel like a real human being." "Gray Fox brought you to the States?" "No. We met -- Him in Mozambique." "Him?" Something seemed to click within Snake. "You mean Big Boss?" "Yes. He led us here, finally made us free. But Frank went with Big Boss, back to the wars. And when he came home to me, he was -- " Naomi broke off. The silence spoke of smoldering anger, of irreparable loss. "I promised myself that I would get you. You broke my brother, you as good as killed him.

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That's why I joined FOXHOUND. Because I knew that I would run into you sooner or later..." "Well, you've got your chance now." Snake seemed to be taking all this in stride. He was no doubt accustomed to being the target of the enmity of others. "Yes -- I've waited two years, you know." "Just for a chance to kill me?" "Exactly. Two whole years, waiting for you and no one else. Yearning for revenge. It's almost like being in love." "You still hate me?" " -- I wouldn't say that." There was a trace of hesitation in Naomi's voice. "There are some things about you that I misunderstood." "Was it -- did you kill your predecessor? That geneticist who was using Gray Fox for his experiments?" "You mean Dr. Clark? No, it was Frank that killed him. I covered up the whole thing, kept my brother safe." A uneasy silence fell. "Is the Ninja -- Gray Fox -- here to kill me?" "I don't think so. Frank is here to fight you, nothing more. I couldn't make sense of it at first, but I think I know now. A kind of a duel. He lives only for that, I think." "Fox..." Snake murmured, as though

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remembering the man who had once been his comrade. "Tell me something, Naomi," he said a short while later. "It's about FOXDIE, isn't it?" she said in a low, pained voice. It's a retrovirus. Kills only the designated person by first infecting the macrophage. FOXDIE is engineered with an oxygen chain that responds only to a specific DNA pattern." "The oxygen is what recognizes the target DNA sequence?" "Once the recognition oxygen responds, FOXDIE repurposes the macrophage's cellular structure to create TNF-alpha," Naomi had regained her old calm as she fielded Snake's question. "What does that mean?" "It's a type of cytosine -- a peptide that triggers cell death. The TNF-alpha travels through the blood stream to the heart, where it binds to the receptors of cardiac cells." "And that causes a heart attack?" "The affected cells undergo rapid apotosis. And then the owner of that heart - dies." "Apotosis -- I remember that. Programmed cell death for damaged cells," Snake murmured. The tense silence descended once again. "Naomi -- "

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"Yes?" "I know you programmed me to die." "Naomi remained silent. "Do I have any time left?" Still no answer. "Naomi, you have every right to take my life. But I can't die just yet. I still have work to finish." "You have to listen -- I'm not the one who decided on the use of FOXDIE," Naomi burst out. "Not -- you?" "It was a part of the mission plan to infect you with FOXDIE. I wanted to tell you that..." Naomi broke off, then suddenly made up her mind to continue. "I'm not being honest with myself." "Naomi?" "What I really wanted to tell you was -Snake -- I -- " Naomi was struggling for words when suddenly, a male voice barked behind her. "Freeze! Step away!" "No!" Naomi cried out sharply. She must have been spotted by one of Richard's toughs. I could hear the sound of a scuffle over the radio. "Snake..." With that last gasp, Naomi faded out of earshot. "Naomi!?" Snake called out but it was Campbell that answered him.

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"Snake, I can't permit you to communicate with Naomi." "What are you talking about!" "She's officially out of the mission!" "What did you do with her? How was infecting me a part of the plan? Colonel, let me talk to her!" "I can't do that, Snake. She's been confined." "Colonel -- you sold me out, didn't you!" I could hear the rage in Snake's voice. "Don't waste your energy thinking about things you can't change," Campbell said, his voice carefully guarded against any emotion. "Stopping the Metal Gear is your first priority, don't forget that."

"I can't believe Naomi was Gray Fox's foster sister..." Richard murmured bitterly. "Are you happy? You know who she is now after all." "I wouldn't say that." Richard's expression was complex. "She said she wasn't the one who deployed FOXDIE." I decided to risk putting out a feeler. Richard said nothing, and that told me everything I needed to know. "It was you, wasn't it?" "Yes..." I was taken aback by his ready admission. "FOXDIE was one of my projects."

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"And Naomi?" " -- Was a top-notch professional. The FOXDIE research had hit a brick wall when she pitched herself to us. She'd somehow heard that we were looking for a genetic engineering expert. As soon as she joined the team, the project took off in a major way." Richard paused, then plunged ahead. "I assigned her to lead the development effort. When the virus was finally engineered, it was she that named it FOXDIE." "What I thought was dedication to the work was actually thirst for vengeance. She didn't let that slip, not once." He murmured ruefully. I knew what his relationship had been with Naomi when I studied his face. "You were seeing her." "She was using me." He corrected and gave a hollow laugh. At that point, one of his men came tearing over. After an urgent whisper, Richard's face grew grim. "What happened?" "Master Miller wasn't Master Miller." Richard was visibly shaken. "What?" "The man I sent to investigate Miller just reported in. He found Miller murdered in his home, up in Alaska." "Who was it that we were talking to then -- !" But there was no one who could

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provide an answer to that question.

Around the same time on Shadow Moses, Snake had finally made it past the enemy's defenses and successfully re-entered the launch code. But something was amiss: as the code was accepted, an alarm was triggered. "Launch code entered," An electronic voice intoned. "All systems ready. Standby for missile launch." Snake stared around him, aghast. "No! I just overrode the launch authorization!" He cried. His questions were answered by an unexpected source when a radio call came in. "Thank you, Snake." It was Miller -- or rather, an impostor who had taken the murdered man's identity. "The launch preparations are now complete. Nothing can stop Metal Gear now." "Master, what's going on!" "We're very grateful to you. Not only did you bring the key, you just entered the launch code for us as well." "What?" "We never did get his part of the code from the DARPA chief. Even Mantis' abilities couldn't break through, and Ocelot managed to kill Anderson off before we could try anything else..."

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As Snake listened in horror, "Miller" continued. "You see, we couldn't launch the missile. Not even a warning shot. We were dead in the water, with nothing to back up our demands." "Master, what are you saying?" "With the launch code out of our reach, we had to fall back on another plan. We decided to have you work for us, Snake." "What?" "Having Decoy Octopus impersonate the DARPA chief was a part of it. We were trying to extract information from you but -- FOXDIE got to him first." "Miller" said savagely. "Are you saying this whole thing was fixed?" Snake asked through clenched teeth. "And it was all to get me to unlock the launch sequence..." The terrorist's mocking laugh rang out. "Did you think you got this far thanks to your own abilities? Think again." "Master, what about you? Are you a spy?" The other continued as though he had not heard Snake's question. "But everything is ready for the launch now. Once they get a taste of the new warhead, the White House will have to hand over the antidote. And they'll have nothing on us anymore, ever again." "Have nothing on you? What do they have

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on you now?" "The Pentagon's already accomplished what it set out to do with you. It happened right there in that torture chamber. You're the only one who's in the dark. It's not fun, is it, Snake?" He sneered. "Who are you!?" "I'll tell you -- if you manage to get to me." "Where are you?" "Very close, Snake. Very close." Campbell suddenly broke in. "Snake, that's not Miller!" "Hello Campbell. It's a little late for that," the impostor said mockingly. "Master Miller's body was discovered at his home. He's been dead three days. We didn't know sooner because the communication was down. According to Mei Ling, the transmission is originating inside that base." "Then who are you?" "You've been talking to me all along -- " The man responded. " -- Snake." His voice suddenly changed, and I knew who it was. So did Snake. "Liquid" Snake broke off communications, and started to run.

Metal Gear had already been activate by the time Snake reached it. Liquid was about to climb into the pilot's seat when Snake called

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out to him, the barrel of his SOCOM pointed straight at Liquid. "Liquid!" "Are you going to shoot your own brother?" Liquid remained languid. "Why did you impersonate Miller?" "To manipulate you, of course." Liquid said conversationally as though the two were discussing the weather. "It worked too. You did exactly what we needed you to do." Snake's indignity was compounded by Liquid's next comment. "I'm sure your master at the Pentagon agree." "Why do you keep mentioning them?" "You don't even question the orders that you're given any more, hm, Snake? Where's your pride? A warrior, reduced to a pawn." Liquid sighed exaggeratedly. "All this -stopping the nuke, rescuing hostages -it's a charade." "Charade?" Snake was taken aback. "All the Pentagon wanted was to effect a meeting between us." Liquid explained, obviously enjoying Snake's reaction. "That's how the ArmsTech president and Decoy were gotten rid of." "Can't be..." "Actually, it can be. The point was to selectively kill us off and retrieve our

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extremely expensive genetically engineered corpses along with Metal Gear. You were sent in by the Pentagon merely as a FOXDIE vector!" Snake was in shock. "That's -- insane. And Naomi -- was she working with the Pentagon all along...?" "That's what they thought. But she it seems she wasn't quite as soft as they read her to be." "What do you mean?" "I have ears at the DOD. Naomi apparently managed to make some tweaks to the virus right before the mission. Her motive and objective are unknown." I heard Richard's impatient grunt beside me. "Is that what you had Naomi arrested for? To discover why she did what she did?" Snake challenged. "Very good. It's disappointing that it was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill revenge scheme. But we still don't know what kind of changes she introduced to FOXDIE." Liquid fell silent for a moment, then continued. "But enough of that. I've already added FOXDIE antidote to my list of demands to Washington." "There's an antidote?" Snake asked in

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surprise. "There should be. Hunter would be the only one to know but even that may not be necessary." "Why not?" "You've successfully infiltrated the facility. We've all been infected with the execution virus according to their plan. Octopus and the ArmsTech president died of it for certain. But neither myself nor Ocelot -- not to mention you -- have shown any signs of infection..." "You're saying there may be a flaw in FOXDIE's targeting program." "Who knows. But as long as you're healthy, I'm safe. We share the same genetic code after all." "So we are -- " "Twins, yes. But not in the ordinary sense. We're the flip sides of a counterfeit genetic coin. 'Enfants terrible'..." Liquid's voice grew hoarse with anger. "You lucked out. They handpicked all of our father's superior traits for you." Snake was silent. His father, Big Boss, was a part of the past he wanted to leave behind, a past tainted by the crime of patricide. But Liquid was not finished. "Everything that was undesirable, I got. Or should I say that I was everything undesirable. Left over -- from the creation process that

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was designed to produce you. The only reason I came into being was so that you could be born." "How could I be the superior -specimen?" "Oh, but you are. And I'm the dregs. You couldn't begin to understand what it was like starting out life as genetic garbage!" The hatred and rage in Liquid's voice shook us, and left Snake speechless. "But it was me that out father chose." Liquid said slowly and purposefully. "Is that why you're obsessed with Big Boss? Some kind of twisted love?" "Love? Hatred, my brother. He chose me knowing that I was biologically inferior. Now I'm about to pay him back for that crime!" Liquid laughed, mocking Snake's bewilderment. "You couldn't understand that either. Someone who got the chance to kill his own father wouldn't! You managed to deprive me even of that revenge. But I will accomplish what our father dreamt of and never achieved. That's how I'll kill him -- by surpassing him." Liquid ended his proclamation by leaping into Metal Gear's cockpit. Snake fired a burst from his Socom, but the bullets ricocheted off Metal Gear's armor. "Damn!" Snake gnashed his teeth as Liquid

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called out mockingly from the cockpit. "Snake, count yourself lucky. You get to die by the greatest weapon the world has ever seen. It's the least I can do for my brother." Metal Gear, already in activation mode, started to stir. A high-pitched noise, like the whine of a turbo engine, began to sound as Liquid's voice boomed out of the amplifier, "I'll give you an advance showing of what the rest of the world will learn soon -- that the 21st century will belong to a devil they don't know!"

Metal Gear struck at Snake like a living thing. Its state-of-the-art composite armor was virtually impregnable to all but high-yield explosives like HEAT (High Explosive AntiTank). But Dr. Emmerich had advised Snake to take out the radome and knock the sensors offline in a bid for survival. Snake struck again and again, but he was fighting a difficult battle, given Metal Gear's immense firepower and agility. Finally, one of Metal Gear's huge feet lashed out towards Snake in a crushing blow. "It's time to die, Snake!" Liquid called out. The foot hit the floor with a deafening crash. Snake, however, had escaped. Someone had pulled him out of the foot's path at the last second.

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"Get out of here now!" The voice was a familiar one. "Grey Fox!" Snake cried out. The Ninja -- or rather Gray Fox -launched a fiery arc towards Metal Gear, destroying the radome. The tank froze in confusion for a second, and Snake and the Ninja found cover during that brief lull. "Why, Fox? Why are you helping me?" "I'm a captive, Snake. Death is my prison You're the only one who can release me..." Gray Fox replied, his voice clear and sane. "Fox, don't involve yourself in this business anymore. Think about Naomi. She's destroying herself trying to avenge you..." "Yes... Naomi..." "You're the only one who can stop her," Snake urged, but Gray Fox's reply was discouraging. "No, I can't..." "Why not?" "I'm the one that killed her parents." Gray Fox's stark words stunned Snake. "I was just a child myself, and I couldn't stand to kill her too. I took her with me because it was the only way I could think of to assuage the guilt. I raised her to satisfy my half-baked conscience, but she gave me the love and respect I didn't deserve -- called me her brother."

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"Fox -- " "We may have looked like a happy little family, but I was terrified every time she looked me in the eye -- that she would see the truth. Tell her for me, will you? Tell her that I'm the one who took her family from her, not you."

Many former child soldiers are permanently traumatized by their horrific war experiences. It was possible that Gray Fox's compulsions -whether it be taking in his victims' orphaned child or returning again and again to the battlefields with Big Boss -- had its roots in his childhood scars. "There you are!" Liquid called through Metal Gear's speakers. A concentrated volley of Vulcan cannon fire followed, the rounds closing in on Snake and the Ninja. "It's almost time to finish this," Fox cried. "I'll slow him down!" "Fox!" Before Snake could stop him, Gray Fox leapt out into the open and went for Metal Gear. We could hear the roar of Metal Gear's Vulcan cannon. Gray Fox's reinforced skeleton gave him a faster reflex, and he dodged the volley. But the next second, his body had been plucked up by Metal Gear's massive jaw. "Fox!" Snake's shout reverberated

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throughout the hangar. Metal Gear's engine revved louder and Fox's reinforced skeleton creaked audibly. "How long will his bones hold out? Hm, Snake? Are you going to abandon him?" Liquid taunted. But Fox was far from dead. "A cornered fox is one of the most dangerous animals!" Laser fire burst from Fox's right arm and Metal Gear's radome exploded. Liquid was now blind, since Metal Gear's cockpit was completely sealed from the outside. "They didn't give you a Fox rank for nothing, old comrade. But this is where it ends!" Liquid's unamplified voice called out. He had apparently discarded the cockpit hatch to use his own eyes and ears in lieu of sensors. The next thing we heard was an explosive crash. Was Gray Fox now under Metal Gear's foot? My fear was confirmed by the ominous and unmistakable sound of Fox's reinforced exoskeleton creaking under pressure. At the same time, we heard Fox's gasping voice. "Finally -- I can finally die, and with you as my witness. After Zanzibar Land they took away the fight from me... I wasn't dead but didn't... didn't feel alive. So futile... for such a long time. But finally it's over..." Fox's voice was down to a whisper now. "Snake! We're not just tools for politicians

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and generals! All I did with my life... was fight... but at least it was my choice... Goodbye, Snake." With a dull crunch, his reinforced skeleton finally gave away. "FOX!!" Snake screamed. Liquid laughed. "He was a fool. It was over the moment he begged for death." He ground Fox's battered corpse underfoot with Metal Gear, then bellowed. "Do you get it now! You can't protect anyone, let alone yourself! Die!" Metal Gear's Vulcan cannons roared into action. But with all sensors offline, the fire lacked it's previous accuracy. Robbed of his old friend and comrade, Snake gave free rein to his rage. Taking up a Stinger missile launcher, he fired at Liquid, sitting exposed in his cockpit. It was a direct hit; even the composite armor could not protect against a shot that penetrated into the cockpit itself. It's piloting system destroyed, Metal Gear abruptly spun out of control and pitched towards the ground with a deafening screech. A massive explosion followed seconds later. Snake, caught in the blast, was bodily thrown across the hangar and knocked unconscious.

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Snake was still out cold, but his radio was was online. We could hear smaller explosions from the wreck of the Metal Gear, and the sound of flames greedily sucking up the leaking fuel. Snake showed no signs of coming around. A few minutes later, a sound of footsteps emerged from the general chaos. It was moving towards Snake. There was a faint murmur. "Snake -- it's not over yet." It was Liquid's voice. "Snake!" I yelled into the radio, but Snake did not stir. "Isn't there anyway to wake him?" I asked Richard, but he shook his head. Liquid had reached Snake's side, and to our surprise, picked up Snake's limp body. He started to carry Snake, heading in the direction of Metal Gear's prone form. We listened, helpless, in a tense silence. It was Snake's battle; there was next to nothing we could do. Liquid had now climbed onto Metal Gear's back, where he carelessly laid Snake down. He apparently planned to simply wait for his adversary to regain consciousness.

"So -- " Liquid said. Snake was still out of action. "I know you're listening. You have a radio implant in this one." It was clear that Liquid

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was talking to us. "You think you've pulled off FOXDIE. Think again. You're never going to kill me with a thing like that. Never." The knowledge that he was already infected with the killer retrovirus made no difference to Liquid Snake. It was a force of will that commanded respect. "You have no idea how excited I am -knowing that you're still out there. Revenge is a candy I've been deprived of too many times..." The hatred in Liquid's voice was chilling. "You -- 'Patriots'...!" At that moment, Snake let out a groan. He was starting to surface. "He's almost ready. Listen, all of you. When I've settled the score with this one, I'm coming after you next. I'm going to end your miserable lives in a way that'll make even the Reaper's stomach turn..." "I'll look forward to it," Richard murmured starkly. Snake groaned again. He was apparently awake.

"Still a light sleeper, huh?" Liquid said to Snake conversationally. "Liquid -- you're alive?" "You won't get rid of me, not as long as you're breathing."

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"Sorry your insurrection was a bust," Snake commented. "Do you think that I'll give up my fight just because we've lost Metal Gear?" Liquid had lost none of his confidence. "Your fight? Snake shot back. "What's your real objective here?" "To make sure that the age of warriors comes again. Warriors like us, Snake." "That's Big Boss's pet delusion all over again." "No, his legacy!" Liquid exploded at Snake's words. "All throughout the Cold War -- during the times of turbulence -- the whole world wanted us. Gave us our due. We were needed!" He fell silent, as if to mourn for the days that were no more. "That's all changed. Hypocrisy and fraudulent peace are replacing warfare. There is a terrible emptiness that comes from losing and arena for your gifts. And the terror that you will become a dinosaur, no longer useful. You must know that fear better than anyone." Snake had no reply to Liquid's entreaty. I wondered whether Liquid's words had found their mark. "The prototype nuclear warheads will provide me with the leverage to acquire my campaign funds. The funds will make more

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global acts of terrorism possible. Violence begets violence, and this complacent world will erupt into confusion. Violence, mistrust and conflict will compound each other and create more hatred -- and our sphere of usefulness, the ecosystem of war, will grow larger and larger." "As long as human beings are around, there will always be war, somewhere in the world." Snake argued. "There's no need to create more." "It's a question of balance," Liquid responded in a flash. "The balance that our father fought for..." "And that's the only reason you need to do this?" "It's more than enough for me. And for you too." "That's not the kind of thing I want. Not now, not ever!" Liquid laughed at Snake's dogged refusal. "You're lying. Why do you think you're here? You've been lied to, betrayed by your own team. But you still wouldn't abandon the mission. Why?" Snake could not answer. "I'll tell you why," Liquid continued. "Because you enjoy it. The thrills. And the kills." "No, that's not -- !" Snake was struggling

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for words, but Liquid cut in. "Are you going to deny it? You've killed dozens of my men today." "But that was..." As Snake faltered, Liquid laughed in contempt. "Every time you delivered the kill shot, your face brightened up." "No!" "There's no reason for you to deny your own killer instincts. That's what we were created for, after all." "What we were -- created for?" It was all the encouragement Liquid needed to reveal the details of a secret project known as "Les Enfants Terribles."

It was the 1970s. The U.S. had not yet awoken from the nightmare of Vietnam War when a plan was hatched by key figures in the government to artificially create the ideal soldier. The man selected to serve as the genetic template for the project was the most famous living mercenary of the time, Big Boss. Big Boss was, however, incapable of reproducing, a result of past war injuries. As a result, his body cells were harvested for a cloning attempt. In addition to the existing "analogue" cloning protocol, the program incorporated the so-called "super-baby" technique.

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The super-baby technique involves carefully dividing the fertilized egg who's nucleus had been switched with that of the donor cell. The result is usually eight zygotes which are then implanted in a surrogate's uterus. Six of the embryos are strategically aborted over a period of time in order to boost the growth of the remaining two. "We started out as octuplets." Liquid relfected. "Octuplets..." Snake was clearly taken aback. "Six of our brothers were killed so that we could be created. We've been causing death and destruction even before we breathed outside air." "That left the two of us. Two zygotes that shared the same DNA. But there was one more sacrifice to be made. One of the embryos was engineered to manifest the full potential of its genetic makeup -- at the expense of the other one, which was purposefully relegated to the bottom of the curve. You are what you are, Solid Snake, thanks to the death and deprivation of your brothers!" Liquid surveyed the stunned Snake and smiled. "But if you think that I'm the only sibling you have left, think again." "What?"

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"The genome soldiers. They were bred from our father's DNA too. The only difference is that they're not analogs of him like we are." Liquid went onto tell an astonishing story. The Human Genome Project, concluded late last century, the "Les Enfants Terribles" Project and the intensive study of Big Boss' genetic samples had led researchers to many of the secrets of the so-called "soldier genes." The isolated traits for initiative, discipline and other tactically desirable characteristics had been secretly integrated into the genetic structure of next-generation special forces soldiers. "All those commandos you murdered on this base were your brothers." "The genome soldiers -- !" "Incomplete creatures, certainly, forcibly grafted with a piece of Big Boss' genetic sequence. But still family. They share in the family dysfunction too - their lives also cost someone dearly." "How so?" "Human experiments." Liquid hissed angrily. According to Liquid, the military had secretly started "treating" its men with the soldier gene when the 1991 Gulf War broke out. The unexplained "Gulf War Syndrome" among the returning personnel was apparently one of the gene therapy's unfortunate side

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effects. "That means that those Gulf War Babies born to vest are -- ?" Snake asked, stunned. "Exactly. Our earliest siblings." "And the next-generation special forces were the finished product?" "Finished?" Liquid sneered. "Hardly. They're defective. We all are. On a path to extinction, if you will!" "What did you say?" "You ever heard of the law of biological asymmetry? There's a natural tendency towards left-right asymmetry. On the other hand, species that ran out of genetic diversity and are on path to extinction start showing complete symmetry. That's what's happening to the genome soldiers. And to us." Snake stared at Liquid in bleak shock. "Every one of us is dying on a genetic level. The question is when the decline will start. That's why I need out father's body, to get some answers." "You expect me to believe," Snake asked, "that you demanded Big Boss' body so you can save yourself and the genome soldiers?" "Siblings start out life competing, but they always band together against outside threats. Why do you think that is?" Liquid waited for Snake to respond, but the latter said nothing.

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"It's because they share your genes, and by helping them, the chances of your genes making it to the next generation are bettered. Natural selection favors nepotistic species. The instinct to help our own kind is an inherited trait." "Your DNA is ordering you to help these genome commandos?" Snake said skeptically, but Liquid agreed in reverential tone. "No one can go against their genetic destiny. We were born for the sole purpose of recreating our father's DNA in its basest and most ideal incarnations. I will follow my destiny -- and surpass it. I can break my own biological curse, and that's why I'm going to kill you, Solid Snake..." He spoke quietly, but it was clear that he meant every word. He suddenly called out in a different tone. "Look behind you!" "Meryl!?" Snake exclaimed. Meryl was apparently lying behind Snake. I guessed that she had been brought there before Liquid had carried Snake onto the roof. "Is she alive?" "I wouldn't know. She was definitely breathing a few hours ago, though. She kept calling your name, over and over again." Liquid said coolly. "Meryl..." "She's a fool to fall for a man who doesn't

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even have a name." "I do have a name." "No, you don't. And no past and no future! That's the way it is for us!" Liquid shouted. "The only thing we do have are instructions written in our father's genomes!" "Liquid, let Meryl go!" "After we settle things between us. We're just about out of time." "Are you talking about FOXDIE?" "No, then Pentagon. It seems that the DOD came to a decision when they heard about Metal Gear's destruction. They're not even interested in a Bondar report at this point. Ask your shadow Campbell if you want. He likes to listen, doesn't he?"

Snake raised Campbell on the radio. "Colonel, can you hear me?" "I'm here." "What's the Pentagon up to? You'd better tell me, Colonel." "The Defense Secretary's personally taken control of the mission. He's on a AWAC heading your way." "For what?" "An air strike." Campbell replied bitterly. "WHAT?" "That's not even the bad news. A bomber just took from the Galena AFB. It's carrying

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the B61-13 surface-piercing missiles." "Christ, Metal Gear's already been destroyed." Snake raised his voice. "Doesn't the Defense Secretary know that?" "He knows. But because of Naomi's betrayal, he no longer has any faith in FOXDIE's effectiveness. Your taking out Metal Gear means that the threat of nuclear strike has been removed, and he's free to ensure a direct and complete cover-up of the whole affair." " -- By blowing up all the evidence and everyone who knows anything sky-high with a nuclear bomb." Snake finished angrily. But Campbell's next words were unexpected. "Don't worry, Snake. I'll halt the air strike." "What?" "It may be a technicality, but I'm still the field controller for the mission. If I call in an order to halt the strike, it should wreak enough havoc with the chain of command to buy you some time. Use it to get out of there." Richard called one of his men over and muttered an order. There was little doubt that it was for Campbell's arrest. Snake and Campbell, ignorant of the roomful of ears who were listening in on their exchange, were still talking. "Colonel, you know what would happen to you... ?"

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"It's all right, Snake. But you should know something. There was a top-secret internal investigation being conducted into FOXHOUND these past few months. Meryl was transferred out to Shadow Moses the day of the insurrection -- as a hostage to ensure my cooperation." "What a -- " Snake broke off in disgust. "Now, go Snake." "Are you sure about this? You'll lose everything you've worked for." "I'm sure. And this way, I get to keep the things that are really important -- and that I would otherwise lose." "Colonel -- " "All right, I'm putting in an order to halt the strike. This is the point of no return... What the hell!?" Campbell gasped. It seemed that Richard's men were trying to restrain him. The only thing we could hear over the radio were gunshots and unintelligible noise. I was once again a helpless spectator of a life-or-death struggle. Mei Ling burst in abruptly, as though she had seized the microphone. "Snake!!" "Mei Ling, what happened to the Colonel!" "I don't believe this -- !" "Tell me what's going on!"

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"Snake! The Colonel!" Mei Ling's voice was lost in the shower of static before she could reveal more. Instead, an unfamiliar male voice started to speak. "This is Jim Houseman, Secretary of Defense. Roy Campbell was just relieved of duty." "Let me talk to Colonel Campbell!" "He's been arrested for compromising national security. He'll be charged with treason." "That's insane!" "No, it was Roy Campbell who was insane if he truly believed that he had any real say in this mission." "You -- !" Snake was seething, but Houseman went on nonchalantly. "The nuclear strike will go forward as planned. The sea will take care of what little there is left. It's what the President wants." "So this an executive order?" "The Presidency of the United States is a very, very busy job. Let's just say that I take full responsibility for this strike." "How are you going to explain to the media why you dropped a nuke on American soil?" "Don't worry, there's a cover story ready. A band of terrorists took over the Shadow Moses facility, and were extremely careless with their nuclear missile."

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"You'll be killing your own genome commandos -- all the researchers too." "Donald is already dead..." Houseman suddenly said with genuine sorrow in his voice. "So you didn't plan on killing the DARPA chief after all." Snake asked. "He was my closest friend." "And the rest of the poor bastards stranded here aren't, so to hell with them, is that it?" "That depends. If you transfer the contents of the optical disc over to me, there may be room for negotiation." "What disc?" Snake feigned ignorance, but Houseman was not so easily put off. "The disc that contained the full exercise data. Donald was supposed to personally bring it back." "I don't have it..." "Hm. That's unfortunate." Houseman said calmly. "The fact remains that the two of you are a liability. You belong to an age no one cares to go back to, and you have the potential to needlessly embarrass this great nation. No, you cannot be permitted to ever leave that island. Take the time until the air strike to catch up. Then rest in peace -- you are a ghost of the Cold War, after all." The transmission ended.

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"So there's no way out for either of us," O heard Liquid laugh as he approached Snake. "We'll settle the score before the cavalry arrives." Snake rose to his feet. "You've taken everything from me," Liquid said. "And I will reclaim it all -- including my rightful biological heritage -- right here." The two Snake's closed in on one another. The final battle was about to begin.

Snake and Liquid had engaged each other in a fierce hand-to-hand combat, but Richard had other things to attend to. He had one of his men open a radio channel. "Yes, what is it?" I realized with surprise that the person he had called was none other than the Secretary of Defense Jim Houseman. "An air strike was an unwise decision." Richard sounded displeased. "With a nucleararmed Stealth bomber airborn, a complete cover-up is no longer an option. 'They' are not happy with this." "It's the only way to destroy the evidence. The results will bear out the correctness of my decision." "There will be no results. I've already aborted the air strike." "How -- dare you...!" Houseman started to

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roar, then suddenly petered out. He no doubt had remembered the powers-that-be that stood behind Richard. "What do you intend to do then?" He asked with barely suppressed rage. "There is another viable way to salvage the situation." " -- Make me take the fall? I don't think so!" Houseman's voice shook with fury. Richard sighed exaggertedly. "You don't think so? It seems, Mr. Secretary, that Colonel Campbell is not the only one who 'truly believed that he had any real say in this mission.'" "What are you saying?" I heard the sound of scuffling on the other end. "Hey, what do you think you're doing! Get your hands off of me!" Houseman had apparently been restrained. It was exactly the same scenario that had played out during Campbell's arrest. "You have several choices," Richard explained with something resembling pity. "It's up to you which ending this particular story has. I myself would suggest a quiet retirement from public life..." "You'll pay for this, Ames. I swear to God..." Houseman spat out as he struggled vainly against his captors. "Personally, I don't condone rough

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measures. I hope you'll come to the same decision." Richard ended the call.

The transmission from Shadow Moses was still active. Liquid's dying scream tore through the speakers. "Looks like things are wrapping up nicely over there," Richard murmured. Richard cleared all of the personnel out of the study. We were now alone. I could hear Snake and Meryl over the wires. It seemed that he had succeeded in rescuing her in time. "Now the question is, what am I going to do with you?" Richard said as he turned away from the radio. The time had come for me to make my movie; I walked up to my computer. "This machine has been recording everything that went on in this study and relaying it out to a remote location. Once there, the data was immediately back up on an optical disc. It was no bluff. It was just a more covert version of a real-time remote conferencing system. Because of my work, I frequently must acquire information from such unsavory types as black-market arms dealers and Mafia members who specialize in plutonium smuggling. The recordings were my standard

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insurance policy. "I've already sent a message to the collocation administrator. He'll give the disc to my media contact if he can't get in touch with me by a certain time." That had been the mail I'd secretly sent from my PDA earlier. "If anything happens to me, the contents of the disc will be all over the world." But Richard was unfazed. I started to feel apprehensive as he calmly lit another cigarette. "You mean this disc?" He took out a shining optical disc from his inside jacket pocket and slid it into my PC's drive. A few quick clicks of the mouse and the playback started. I stared at the slightly grainy footage, horrified. The audio seemed overly loud in the silent room. "You should be hearing from him soon. You're clear on how to use the radio?" Richard's voice was raspy in playback, but it was definitely the data I had secretly collected and sent out. "How...?" "You shouldn't underestimate me," Richard said as he ejected and pocketed the disc. "Everything in this house has been vetted and monitored since the operation started. Nothing got in or out without my knowing about it -- including electronic signals. That

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e-mail you sent from the bathroom never got to its destination." He'd seen right through me. With that realization, I felt strength leaving my body. The game was up. "But even if you had managed to get this data out into the world, that wouldn't have guaranteed your safety. No one would have believed yet another conspiracy theory, least of all the press." "Your -- people would have made sure of that, I'm sure." Instead of answering, Richard stubbed out his cigarette and slid his right hand inside his jacket. There was an awkward bulge there, in the clean line of his tailored jacket. It was where he kept his gun holstered. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I was slowly backing away from Richard, and I did not even realize the fact until my back hit the wall. There was no way out. "Are you really prepared to kill me?" I could not hide the tremor in my voice. "You should know the answer to that." He said quietly, looking me straight in the eye. The he pulled his hand out from under his jacket, and I instinctively shut my eyes.

But even after what felt like an eternity, the muffled shot and the pain I was expecting did

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not come. I warily opened my eyes, and saw what was in his hand. It was not a gun, but a disc. "Everything you ever wanted to know about FOXDIE." Richard walked up to me and placed the disc in my hand. "As I said, a recording of what took place in this room won't guarantee your safety. There's no solid proof, just talk. It can easily be denounced as a fabrication and covered up." "But the FOXDIE data is a different story," he continued. "This disc contains everything about that project, from its origins to the names of every individual involved. As long as you have this as an insurance, they won't be able to touch you." "Why, Richard?" He did not answer my question. "You'd better get out of here quickly. Your car's just out back." "What about you?" "That's not something you need to worry about." "But -- " "You don't need me, Nastasha. And I have things to take care of." "Why are you doing this?" I asked again. "You'll figure it out someday. Do what you have to do all right?" He suddenly held me close and put his lips on mine.

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As we broke apart after a long kiss, he whispered in my ear, "I wanted to do this again, just one last time." Then he gently eased me away. "Now go. Hurry." There was gravity in his voice that allowed only one response. I nodded, and sped out of the room. That was the last I ever saw of Richard Ames.

After I fled from California, I went into hiding. There has been no sign of pursuit, for now. The terrorist incident on Shadow Moses Island came to a conclusion with the destruction of Metal Gear and the death of Liquid Snake. The United States government, however, has not yet officially acknowledged the incident. The roster of the dead included Liquid Snake, Psycho Mantis, Sniper Wolf, Decoy Octopus and Vulcan Raven. Revolver Ocelot's body was never recovered, but his personnel file was closed with notation, "Missing in action." FOXHOUND had, in effect, been decimated. The survivors from the nextgeneration commando unit were all removed to the Peace AFB in New Hampshire, ostensibly for training. As far as I know, they remain prisoners there to this day. The government has repeatedly denied allegations

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of genetically engineering super-soldiers, but rumors that the research continues remain persistent. The deaths of Donald Anderson, the DARPA chief, and Kenneth Baker of ArmsTech ended the development of a new Metal Gear. The Metal Gear REX unit itself had been all but completed under Hal Emmerich's leadership, but my source at Lawrence Livermore indicated that the rail gun warhead delivery system had not been fully operational. Apparently, there had been some serious issues with the rail gun's targeting accuracy. This was no doubt the reason Baker had entrusted Snake with the exercise data, and Jim Houseman, the Secretary of Defense, had so aggressively pursued its whereabouts. The data is now lost, and the development program has been closed down. I dare to dream that the new nuclear delivery system will never see the light of day. A few days after the incident, I heard on the news that Houseman had shot himself. The suicide was attributed to a temporary nervous breakdown related to job stress. Supporting statements from family and subordinates were widely aired. The air strike order for Shadow Moses was glossed over as an unfortunate evidence of the late Defense Secretary's unraveling mental state. I remembered

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Houseman's words from the final hours of the mission, and thought I knew what had really happened. He had refused to take the fall, and paid for the defiance with his life. The record of the Shadow Moses Incident and the FOXDIE data disc that Richard gave me are still under my vigilant guard. The FOXDIE program data covers Naomi's careful analysis of the unauthorized reconfiguration she had made to the virus. The information showed that Snake was indeed one of the targets for the deadly retrovirus, but the incubation period had been changed to a wildcard value. Even Naomi herself did not know when the virus would awaken within Snake. It must have been the best revenge she could think of, condemning him to live in this fearful limbo. Colonel Roy Campbell was released after the Defense Secretary's own arrest, and is once again enjoying his retirement. Mei Ling also made it safely out of the mission, and is back in academia. Dr. Hal Emmerich did not return to ArmsTech following his rescue from Shadow Moses. His whereabouts are unknown, but there is some indication that he made his way to England where he has family members. Snake and Meryl appear to have successfully made it off Shadow Moses Island. I could

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however find no traces of them; I hope that the same is true for those who have an interest in seeing them silenced. Naomi Hunter was formally taken into custody after the incident's conclusion. Three weeks later, as she was undergoing debriefing in a certain facility, she escaped. She has not been heard of since. Official were closedmouthed about the circumstances of the escape, but inquiries into other quarters elicited the fact that someone had broken Naomi out of the base. I know of only one person who could have breached the base's tight security and successfully led someone to freedom. And then there was the matter of Richard Ames. I called in a favor and had an inquiry made to the DIA about one Major Richard Ames. The Agency's response was that there was "no DIA personnel fitting that name and description." Buying my safety and freedom had been a costly act for Richard. It was then that I decided to go public with what I knew. By exposing the conspiracy, I may be putting myself in renewed danger. But I am through with being a spectator, and objective bystander. The powerlessness I felt watching Snake's solitary war on Shadow Moses has

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been a bitter wake-up call. This time, I am determined to make a stand. This is my war now -- to tell the truth about what happened on that island. That is my responsibility and privilege as a survivor, and a cause for which I am prepared to give my life.

========================================================================== SPECIAL THANKS ________ / 0007 | ========================================================================== I would like specially to thank: [ YOU!!! ] Dear reader, you're the reason for this FAQ to exist [ Rob McGregor ] He's spent lots of hours of work writing the book's text, thanks so much [ |Ninja| - Zelda.com.br ] Who helped me how to find the book inside the game. I was withtout the game in my hands at the time. [ The Metal Gear Solid Archive ] http://www.hostultra.com/~tumgss/index.php [ Metal Gear Zone ] http://mysite.freeserve.com/mgzone/index.html ========================================================================== CONTACT ________ / 0008 | ========================================================================== How to contact Imperator. It's not that hard, you should try: 1. E-mail: luis.imperator@gmail.com

2. Reading other FAQs written by me: http://users.ign.com/about/luis.imperator

========================================================================== COPYRIGHT INFO ________ / 0009 | ========================================================================== This FAQ is mine and you're supposed NOT to steal it. There's no problem on using it for personal/private use. You may download it, store in your computer, and even print it. BUT it may NOT be placed on any web site or otherwise distributed publicly without advance written permission. Use of this guide on any other web site or as a part of any public display is strictly prohibited, and a violation of copyright. All trademarks and copyrights contained in this document are owned by their respective trademark and copyright holders. I AM NOT the owner of above trademarks and copyrights, probably Konami and its affiliates are. All the material has been written by Luis Fernando "Imperator", and NOT copied from any other source without giving the due credit. This FAQ is only authorized for show at: - www.gamefaqs.com and its affiliates - www.gamespot.com - www.neoseeker.com - games.channel.aol.com - www.gamefly.com - www.ign.com - www.supercheats.com If you find it anywhere else, please, let me know. For any questions, comments and donations, please email-me: luis.imperator@gmail.com You can find me at GF boards as "imperator171" I expect this FAQ has helped you in a way. Enjoy the series!!

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| | _____ ______ ________________ _/ |_ ___________ | |/ \\____ \_/ __ \_ __ \__ \\ __\/ _ \_ __ \ | | Y Y \ |_> > ___/| | \// __ \| | ( <_> ) | \/ |___|__|_| / __/ \___ >__| (____ /__| \____/|__| \/|__| \/ \/ :: Writing FAQs since 2004 :: http://users.ign.com/about/luis.imperator ========================================================================== Copyright 2005 Luis Fernando