Metal Gear Solid: Guns of the Patriots by Project Itoh

Author:Project Itoh
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4215-5087-9
Publisher: Haikasoru
Published: 2012-06-02T04:00:00+00:00

That day, the earth was quiet.

A world once filled with the ceaseless gunfire of manufactured revolutions found a moment of peace. All across the surface of this big blue marble we call home, wars fell silent, as if mankind’s wholesale butchery against his fellow man had been nothing more than some distant lie.

In Africa, in the Middle East, in Russia, and in Southeast Asia, soldiers all across the globe looked up to the skies.

What happened? they must have wondered. Their weapons, along with those of their compatriots and their enemies, suddenly locked and became inoperable. The bewildered combatants fiddled with their rifles before ultimately giving up and retiring from the front lines. A few with naked guns were still able to fight, but their opponents only folded and surrendered with their arms in the air.

In all the varied combat zones across the world, soldiers falling back to their bases looked up to the heavens. In some places, they looked up to the blue, cloudless sky, while in others they saw countless stars, but all were filled with the same feeling—even those of no faith.

Had God, or some godlike being, descended upon Earth?

Had we angered Him with our foolish ways?

Sure, even with their guns disabled, they could still have done battle with hatchets and bayonets, even knives, but to most of the soldiers killing another man at close range with their own hands was unimaginable. Even only a small fraction of front-line troops in World War II ever fired at the enemy.

Even when their own lives were in immediate danger, people tended to avoid shooting one another. The Vietnam War saw the development of new training methods to condition soldiers to overcome the natural resistance to shooting, but many of them suffered for it after their return home. Psychological damage threw their lives into ruin.

That day, not one single fighting unit anywhere in the world attempted to fight by bludgeoning skulls or thrusting blades into hearts. All conflict had ceased.

I was in the cargo bay of Nomad, concerned about Snake’s condition. He had already started to recover from the mission, but half of his face was badly burned, and his airway, ravaged by the smoke and the intense heat, sent out an endless torrent of coughs and phlegm.

A call came in on the monitor. I accepted the connection, and Colonel Campbell appeared on the display. A woman—off-screen, probably Rose—was just finishing straightening his tie. The conjugal display stirred up a flash of irritation in me. Sunny remained tirelessly at Raiden’s side. His dialysis and treatment would still take a little while longer.

I asked the colonel, “How’s the White House responding? And the public?”

“The president has yet to make an official announcement. But the media are starting to pick up on it.”

Between coughs, Snake added derisively, “He probably thinks he can still keep information under control.”

Despite his dilapidated state, Snake’s mind was still sharp. And yet at times I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—to see my friend possessed of the will to fight, to see him even now attempting to fulfill his duties.

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