Project: PARADIGM

Chapters

...And Into the Light
Agent Down
Frozen Encounter
Clear and Present Danger
The Chips are Down
Sewer Rat

...And Into the Light

A month after he reunited with his daughter, and here he was again: sneaking around and taking lives for the sake of family.

The man Sam Fisher was here for wasn’t literal family, but Victor Coste was a brother to him. And when he’d been kidnapped, he’d called in favors to get what he needed to bust him out.

Sam was wearing a duplicate set of the outfit he’d worn during the Third Echelon conspiracy, and with some of those favors he’d gotten his gear back too.

At the moment he was crawling along a pipe and watching as contractors – Black Arrow contractors specifically - patrolled the hallway outside the room Vic was supposedly being held. As soon as there was only a single sentry present he released his hands from the pipe and hung upside down, placing his hands on the man’s mouth and head. After a few seconds of muffled screaming, he passed out.

He’d been more focused on non-lethal takedowns lately, since having his daughter back had humanized him. The rage against her murderers had been what drove him a month before, and now that he had her back he felt relatively at peace.

When he was calm, he was merciful. When he was angry, he was brutal. And it took a lot of emotion for him to show anything perceptible, or a difference in his behavior.

Sam dropped down quietly and moved the body into the shadows, then returned to his inverted perch. Looking at the door, he jerked his head to put his sonar goggles over his eyes. There were a quartet of men inside and he memorized their positions before pushing his goggles back up onto his forehead.

He shot the fire alarm, and one of the smoke detectors. The alarm began to ring fiercely and water doused the entire level.

“Fuck! The camera’s fried,” Someone said from the other side.

“Washington, Adams, go turn off the sprinkler system. Jefferson, go to the security room and shut off the alarms.”

Three men rushed out of the room, their uniforms quickly darkening as they were soaked. After they were out of his sight, he dropped down and rushed inside to grab the remaining operative

“Vic, you alright?” He asked as he pried a Kevlar vest from the unconscious body.

“A bit thirsty, but I’m fine,” Vic shrugged. The vest was tossed his way and he caught it, putting it on and grabbing a submachinegun from the ground. “I hate to be the one to tell you the day needs saving, but-”

“There’s a high-yield EMP one floor down, I know,” Sam sighed. “They’re gonna detonate it out of spite after they take it above ground. Cause some chaos as one last middle finger.”

He’d gotten that information unexpectedly when he’d scared Vic’s location out of a guard. After finishing off the thug in question by choking him until he passed out and stuffing him in a locker, he’d sighed at having that duty thrust upon him again. As clichéd as it sounded, every time he thought he was out of the game something pulled him back in.

“How many guys are out there?”

“Half a dozen on this floor. Get to the elevator, go to the lobby, and Grimm will be waiting outside with some help. You need backup?”

“I’ve got this. These clothes might make me look a bit out of shape, but I’m still all muscle and I still shoot better than most guys I know. Just take care of that EMP and get home safely. I know Sarah’s probably worried.”

He grunted in agreement. His daughter had tried to convince him to let Anna Grimmsdottir and a few of her “friends” rescue Coste instead of him going personally. But he just couldn’t sit idly by while his enemies held one of his few remaining friends as a captive, so he’d come for him

“See ya topside,” Vic said with a nod, giving his MP5 a quick visual check before heading out.

Sam holstered his pistol and drew his SC3000. The weapon was fitted with a 2x magnification reflex sight and a laser sight, in addition to a suppressor and an enhanced stock. Before leaving the room, he peeked out with his sonar goggles. With no enemies in range of his scan, he left the room and headed further down the hallway.

A cylindrical object rolled into view, and he dove for a nearby metal table. The flashbang detonated and blew a thousand whistles in his ears. He ducked out immediately after and saw four Black Arrow goons heading his way.

“There’s Fisher!”

They opened fire with their MP5s, whose hollow-point rounds punched massive dents into the metal. Had they not been inclined to mushroom on impact, they’d have penetrated and likely killed him.

As soon as a lull in their fire caught his attention he popped out and fired a few short bursts with one hand while using the table to stabilize and using his free hand to reach for a grenade. Though none of the bullets found a target, the grenade that followed exploded before they could react and wiped them out. One of their helmets flew over Sam’s cover and almost hit him on the head.

“Some people just want it the hard way…”

He ran towards the elevator and called it up, reloading as he waited. When it opened, he pinged the area with his goggles to make sure nobody was waiting for him in it or above it. Assured that his way down was safe, he entered and pried open the grating on the ceiling before keying in the basement floor. He then crawled through the opening in the ceiling and waited atop the elevator as it descended.

As soon as it released a ding and the doors slid open, the interior was hosed with fire, justifying the former Splinter Cell’s perch. He tossed a sticky camera just past the doors and stared intently at his OPSAT. Two Third Echelon agents ceased fire and dropped their magazines to the ground as they reloaded.

“Fuck, he’s not here. It must’ve been a distraction,” Sam heard via the camera’s audio sensors.

“We’ll double-check the elevator and move on.”

The two agents proceeded towards the lift cautiously, but not cautiously enough to notice the payload at their feet. Sam pushed a button and a tiny flashbulb in the device activated, blinding them for just long enough that he could knock them both out. The bulbs were silent and multi-use, so he could disable nearby enemies’ most important sense without alerting others.

This isn’t right. There should be hundreds of these guys left, and a few dozen Splinter Cells. If they’re so dead-set on this, why the hell aren’t they putting more guys on this? If those two were just deserters who linked up with Black Arrow, they’d be wearing their uniforms. They’re here on business.

The answer was obvious. The facility, and the plan it was supposedly part of, were nothing but a distraction from something bigger. But even so, Sam couldn’t leave this thing lying around. Not when the people still here would likely try to use it anyway.

He opened the doors to the storage chamber the device was in. It was hardly empty, with several large crates of equipment. They obviously didn’t have enough space to give the weapon a dedicated place.

After approaching the device, Sam’s fingers began dancing across the keypad as he attempted to disarm it permanently. As it was, it had insufficient power to cause widespread damage, with only the built-in battery supplying energy. But as long as it still functioned, it could be hooked up to a generator and used. So he was altering the power distribution, as Grimm had once taught him to years ago.

Granted, that was with a much smaller device of a different design. He’d just have to cross his fingers.

The number “10” appeared on the screen. A number that began to go lower every second. He’d either made a mistake or used an outdated technique in trying to get rid of the problem discreetly. Arcs of lighting shot out from the weapon.

“Shit!”

The former SEAL ducked behind a large mass of crates and noticed a pink field form around him and his cover. It blocked out the bolts of electricity, and the space within grew brighter by the second, a humming intensifying as it did.

The pink glow grew to a nearly blinding luminosity before suddenly dimming. A moment later, the energy flashed and incapacitated Sam.

Agent Down

James Bond's vision darkened, his body becoming weak. The world became a 1960s B-Movie, and he was the camera. He was bleeding out, the marble floor of the lab being coated with the red wine of his body known as blood, and his dark green shirt being stained crimson and the liquid trickling down his cargo pants. Soon, he was going to die, but he figured it was going to be sooner as Carlos Venestaz, a South American Aerospace engineer and CEO of Astro, had a 9mm pistol aimed directly at the secret agent's head.

"What are you going to do?" Bond asked. "Kill me?"

Carlos let out a venomous laugh, one that mimicked numerous men that Bond had fought before. He grinned madly, "No, Mr. Bond. I think I'll find it better if you suffer!" He stomped on 007's ribs, the agent in question hearing one or two snap. He screamed in agony. "For you see, there is nothing you can do." He laughed once more.

The CEO of Astro Corp. waved his hands, "Look around you Mr. Bond! My private military, 'The Phantom Regiment', is surrounding us! Even if you were to get up and push me around a little, you'd be shot down faster than you can blink."

As much as he hated to admit it, the madman from Chile was right. Even if he had the strength to get up, he would be swatted down by the pure power of those guns. The more he looked at the soldiers, however, the more they seemed out of place. For starters, a large amount of them had the expression of combat experience for many months maybe even years, while the others merely looked like men the agent tangled with on a regular basis. The other thing that made 007 wonder about the soldiers was how easily he was caught; for most encounters it took at least a few minutes at the very least for most of his adversaries to notice his existence in the base, but for Venestaz, it took mere seconds. He decided to voice his question,

"So Venestaz, how does one acquire such," he began searching for the word, "mentally trained soldiers for such a low price?"

Venestaz nodded, "Now THAT is an interesting story. Hopefully you'll lie down and let me tell it."
James glared daggers as the South American began his story. "You see, some time ago, I used to be a university professor. One day, I told my colleagues about an idea for an invention and I needed their input, but more importantly, their financial backing. This invention was to be a teleporter, a machine that can take you anywhere you want without wasting any gas or oil. It was revolutionary! Armies and countries would do anything to get their hands on the device!"

Carlos sighed, "But they scoffed at my idea, thought it was the silliest thing that they had ever heard!"

"I would hope so." Bond commented. "The idea of a device that can teleport you to places in an instant is just ridiculous."

Pretending to ignore the agent's comment, he continued. "So I left the teaching business and built a cooperation ground up. In mere years I became the CEO of the now proud and powerful Astro!

"Even after all of those years I didn't forget the scorn I received, and I most definitely didn't forget my design to change the world. I pulled a large sum of our money out of the stocks so I could work on my 'pet project.' It took months of hardship, you know; most days I went without lunch or dinner, being too absorbed in my own work for such breaks. When the teleporter was finally done, I couldn't help but to start the tests right away!

"I picked the brightest of my R&D team to be my guinea pigs. I picked two of them and sent them to rather short distances; one to right outside of the building, and the other to the nearby coffee shop to purchase my daily mocha. They both returned, not a single scratch on them, no extra limbs, no nothing. It was confirmed that the teleporter worked, or at least over short distances.

"That's when I decided to test it under severe stress. I was the test subject this time, and in case anything went awry, I would use the return device I had crafted; it's more efficient than the actual teleporter due to it being linked to an 'anchor' while the device itself has no such thing. The destination I picked was somewhere in Bolivia, a nearby country; I typed in the coordinates and stood in the teleporter."

Venestaz stopped his speech and took in a breath. "But that was when everything went wrong. The teleporter began to flash different colors, and I thought that it was going to explode, taking it's creator down with it; fate seemed to have a different agenda then her cousin, death. Instead, everything went black soon after the flashing.

"When I had come to, I was surrounded by a group of people forming a small circle around me. They began to bombard me with questions on how I got there, and where I came from. I answered the best I could while I surveyed my surroundings. All of the men surrounding me and I were trapped; we were locked behind a jail cell of some kind, and the return device refused to work. They had told me that the wardens of the place put up a electro magnetic field around the cells, disallowing any electronics in the 'prison'. I had asked them who they were and what they were doing in a place like this. They simply answered that as of now, we were locked in a United States Air Force Base in the state of New Hampshire; they also had the pleasantry to tell me that they were called Genome Soldiers, men of enhanced sight, sound, and mind.

"After being told of the horrible testing they had endured by their own government, I had enough and told them that I was going to get them out! By the looks in these men's eyes I could tell they were longing for battle again; to be free of this puny government and put in a higher seat of power none could ever imagine but me! Then I got to thinking; if I was to rescue these poor soldiers from captivity, I could build a private army to wipe out those who oppose me! I can use the teleporter to go to different seats of power to take out each political leader and party one by one. When every last country is cleansed by their previous leaders' filth, me and my army would rise above them and control the world's affairs with an iron fist!

"Before I engaged my plan, I made the soldiers in my cell and in all the cells around it to swear allegiance to me, and only then would I help them. They eagerly did as I ordered and we began our assault home!"

James let out a small yawn. One of those "Genome" Soldiers raised his FAMAS, most likely in alert. He began to glide his finger to the trigger, but Carlos, surprisingly, raised his pistol at the man. "Oh no you don't; you shoot, I shoot. He was merely tired. Let our poor captive yawn. He'll be asleep soon enough."

The soldier obeyed, but not after murmuring something under his breath. With that crisis adverted, Venestaz began telling of another. "In a matter of moments we knocked out the guard making his rounds around the compound, secured the keys and his weapon, and began to free the rest of the soon to be soldiers of fortune."

He lowered his head, "Sadly, we lost some of our comrades in the following firefight. Yet, their sacrifice was not in vain as we secured four extraordinary soldiers. Each one of them was horribly experimented on longer than all of the soldiers in the compound; though in compensation, they had gained supernatural powers that allowed them to pull off great feats; they had called themselves the "ExPats" a simple but great name, as they picked it after their country betrayed them. After one last grueling battle, we safely escaped the compound. Before the soldiers of the base came and gunned us down, the return device finally worked, and we were home safe.

"However, once we reached the lab, the soldiers began to bombard me with questions, wondering if we went forward in time or if I was a time traveler of sorts. I assured them that I was not, but they began to reveal compelling evidence; that it was 2010 when they were in that accursed patriot trap, and now my calender read 2013. I had asked them what the President of the United States was at the time, and they told me the man's name was James Johnson last they'd heard, though he tragically passed away a year prior, the office being run by the former Vice President. I found that odd, as the last time I had heard of the US, the president's name was entirely different.

"That got me thinking; what if I had just traveled to a new reality, one where these soldiers once fought? I was quick to dismiss it at first, but the evidence of it was staggering. In mere moments I came to except the fact that I traveled to an alternate universe, but when that fact slithered into my brain, I became ecstatic. I had just discovered a new universe all on my own! I shared my discovery with my newly acquired army which I have called 'The Phantom Regiment.' I thought it was fitting, as they are now are ghosts of their former selves, now wanting to haunt those who wronged them in the past. The soldiers were all baffled by this, but as I started to explain, they understood."

"So they bought all of this science fiction crap?" Bond asked, not even convinced of the teleporter's power.

"Of course they did." Venestaz answered coolly, "After all, every ounce of it is the truth."

He paused for a second, as if trying to regain his train of thought. After a quick moment of silence, he continued his tale, "For the next few weeks, I began entering obscure coordinates, each one taking me to bizarre universes but none of any seeming value or importance, at least none that I could discern within a few hours. At that moment in time, we were running drastically low on funds as I spent most of them on weapons, rations, and most importantly, new soldiers. We couldn't begin our assault on the world at that moment of time, for if we did, we would surely run out of resources in mere weeks, ending our campaign right when it was born.

"So I entered a last pair of coordinates I could think of, and when I, along with a few soldiers for protection, let the teleporter take us to our destination, it was as if Lady Luck smiled at us from a distance. As we explored this strange, new world, we began seeing things only kings and queens dream of: gems! Gems and precious minerals as far as the eye could see! The world was a very literal gold mine, and we surveyed as it's miners. We grabbed a few hundred gems for safe keeping and returned home, thankful that fate had once again saved us.

"With that out of the way, we entered more coordinates into the teleporter, starting the next phase; we needed financial backers, for anybody in our respective universes would obviously refuse to help us. We would use the gems we acquired as our bargaining chip as they can obviously regain the money they gave us.

"The fist pair brought us right where we needed to go. Arriving near an office, we struck a deal with the man in charge of the organization after we verified our story; as long as we supplied them with a cut of the profits, they would hand us greenbacks."

"That's it?" Bond asked.

"No." Carlos answered simply, "If we so desired they would also hand us their own special forces, making my army even more powerful. I told them that if I so required, I would ask for them."

"Well Mr. Bond, I did enjoy our time together, but I must go. After all, I have some gems to harvest." With that, Venestaz, along with his army of soldiers, marched over to the teleporter, and all disappearing with a flash and a bang.

James' vision was darkening even more rapidly; in a short time he'd pass out from blood loss, most likely die given the circumstances. He was using all of his willpower just to try and stay conscious, but he knew it would all be in vain. Before his flirtation with consciousness ended, he would've sworn he saw a strange blast of color, and then blackness.

Author's Note

This is hopefully the only exposition dump you guys would have to deal with. We'll make sure to make everything else bit sized.

Frozen Encounter

If there was one thing Solid Snake hated about Siberia, it was the cold. He could handle the heat of Africa fairly easily, but this chilled him to the bone and he despised it. His hand was almost shaking as he struggled to place a cigarette inside his mouth and light it, brushing against the beard he'd grown in the last few months. He let the smoke inside his body as it warmed him up. He didn't care what Otacon or anyone else said to him about how dangerous they were; all Snake cared about was that they were damned good.

After gaining more warmth, he checked his Soliton Radar on his nanomachine-projected heads-up display for guidance. The supposed location of the base was nearby, but all Snake saw was flat, white, and frozen wasteland. Taking out an empty magazine from one of his pockets attached to his dark blue insulative vest and chucked it a few feet; it hit the ground with a metallic clunk. He stomped one of his boots into the cold ground, and the only sound he received was the crunch of the snow.

Placing a finger on his ear, he activated his Codec and contacted his best friend, and co-founder of Philanthropy, Otacon.

"Otacon, this is Snake; I think I found an entrance to the base."

"Alright Snake, look for a hatch; find it and drop down to the base." Replied Otacon

"Copy that." He ended the Codec conversation and walked to where his empty magazine had discovered the entrance.

Brushing - or maybe clawing - the snow out of the way with his hands, when most of it had been cleared he began observing the ground. It didn't take long for Snake to discover where the metal looked different than the rest and pulled it up, and dropped to the base below the sub-zero earth.

Landing on the metallic floor of the base, Solid Snake quickly pulled out his suppressed SOCOM and looked around to see where he had landed. He could tell from the abundance of cardboard boxes and prolific amount of crates united that he was in the storage facility of the base. Otacon had told him that the new Metal Gear in the works was most likely a floor below him, so all he had to do was find an elevator. Checking his Soliton Radar once more, he saw that a red dot was approaching his location; an enemy was nearby, and he must've been doing some sort of routine check. Pressing himself against the boxes, he leaned his head a little to see what he was up against.

The guard was armed with a Mk 18 and attached to his left hip was a Glock 19. This was most likely his last post for today as he carried his weapon quite lazily. He began looking all around, passing his practically invisible adversary, and when he saw the roof's exit opened, he took out his radio and contacted his superior, informing him that the wind must've blown the door open and that there was nothing to worry about; he had never been so wrong in his entire life. Turning around he began to head out, but when he passed Snake the intruder leaped into action.

Rolling out of his position, he pressed his SOCOM against the guard's head yelling, "Freeze!"

The guard threw up his hands in the air, letting his carbine clatter on the floor. "Please don't shoot." He whispered with fear and panic filling him.

"Wasn't planning on it." The stealth master smacked his pistol as hard as he could on the guard's head, knocking him out cold. He checked the Mk 18 his prey dropped, and after seeing it was fully loaded put it in his makeshift inventory; if he got caught, he was going to need a weapon that can drive them back. Before heading out of the storage facility, he contacted Otacon, informing him of the successful infiltration.

"Good job, Snake, there's bound to be an elevator up ahead. Find it and descend to where the new Metal Gear is being held." His friend said and ended the call.

Heading out of the storage room, Snake froze. There was a crossroad up ahead, and to the right were two soldiers, facing one another and having a conversation of some sorts. Pulling out his M9 tranquilizer gun, he fired a shot at the head of the guard whose back was facing him. Right when the man in front of him caught notice of the intruder, Snake kicked the sleeping man's body at the guard, putting them both on the ground. After cocking his weapon, Snake gave the man some beauty sleep. As useful as it was, the M9 tranq pistol never cycled properly and he had to manually cock it in order to use it again; it was a major flaw he had yet to talk to Otacon about.

He only had to walk a few steps before he arrived at the elevator, but the doors of it refused to budge. He glanced at the elevator and let out a grumble. It was much like Big Shell's elevator in the cores, with it having identification of an actual guard or soldier to advance. They had to be awake and alive, so obviously Snake knew he couldn't use the sleepers, and he most definitely couldn't use himself. He began wandering the floor, and when he did, he didn't encounter any sentries; it must have been a skeleton crew.

After only a few minutes of exploring, Snake came across a door. When it opened, it revealed a guard relaxing on a chair, watching some sports. Snake assumed that his shift was either over, or just starting. He slowly raised his SOCOM up to the man's head and growled "You and me are going on a little walk."

The guard did as Snake commanded, and when they reached the elevator, he opened it for his kidnapper. Before Snake could even go into it, the guard turned and raised his carbine to open fire, the man of silence rolling away from the shots.

Luckily, before the man could radio for help Snake fired a round right into the attacker's skull, blood splattering against the wall behind him.

With a press of a button, Snake descended lower into the earth, oblivious of the abomination that awaited him below.

The first thing Snake did when the elevator reached it's destination was to contact Otacon one last time, telling him that he has finally reached the bottom floor of the building and he is ready to begin the last phase.

"Remember Snake," Otacon began. "We're dealing with a hijacked Metal Gear. What you need to do is destroy that thing before this rogue faction can unleash Armageddon, and do it by any means necessary."

"Otacon, the soldiers here sure as hell aren't Russian terrorists. Even they'd use domestic-made weapons. These guys are using modern western equipment. They don't seem to use military tactics either."

"Some kind of paramilitary force then. You think it might be-"

"The Patriots? Maybe. We know they're still in business, but I'm not sure what they'd want with a Russian Metal Gear when they can develop one of their own."

"True enough. Just be careful, it sounds like things are getting a lot more complicated."

Snake nodded. "Okay. I'll contact you again if anything comes up." And with that, the Codec call had ended, and he had began to walk to his destination, the door in front of him sliding open.

The room that was in front of Snake was the size of a hangar. It seemed on each side of the large area there was a door, meaning there were more ways for Snake to enter and exit. Pillars marked the edges of the room and held the roof in place.

However, the thing that made this room special wasn't it's architecture. It was it's occupant, one tall and wide skyscraper of black and chrome metal. There was no doubt that this was the Metal Gear he was sent in to destroy.

Along with it's gigantic size, the monstrosity also sported some unique features. On it's head it had a beak, as long and sharp as Death's grim blade, reminiscent of another super weapon named RAY. Attached to it's lengthy and flexible aerodynamic body were two large wings, each one containing a ducted propeller for flight, and seemingly able to fold neatly against the body. Eight mechanical legs marked the sides, each one able to fold against the body. To say the whole thing looked menacing would be a drastic understatement, resembling something out of a story book.

Snake took a cautious step forward, stopped, and looked above and around him. He could see three cameras, each one ready to film and alert any guards in the building of his whereabouts. Grabbing and raising his SOCOM, he fired three shots, each one disabling one of the common annoyances on his missions. Holstering his silenced pistol, Snake began to creep into the main section of the room, being cautious as to trip any visible alarms. Upon reaching the metallic monster, Snake began to get out the tools he would need to destroy the Metal Gear.

Suddenly the doors surrounding him slid open, and soon the room was flooded with soldiers, each with either a FAMAS or a Mk 18 in hand, ready to fire at a moments notice, guns pointed at the hero. Not wanting to make any sudden movements, Snake raised both of his arms up. He knew he was outnumbered and fighting them would be suicide.

Damn! I must've tripped a silent alarm. I was too careless.

There was then something that surprised Snake. The room began to echo with a sound, one that everybody knows well enough to detect it: clapping. Moving his head to the side, he saw that he and the company that surrounded him was being approached by a man dressed in a peculiar mix of military fatigues and biker attire. Both of his hips held a holster, the holsters carrying two hand cannons known as Desert Eagles. He continued clapping until he was in the center of the circle in front of Snake. He coughed and began to speak.

"Hello, Snake." He greeted, his deep voice laced with venom. "Long time no see."

Snake said nothing, merely staring at his captor and his unit. The man tilted his head. "You don't remember me?"

Again, silence was his answer. He thought for a moment and smirked. "I'm sure you'll remember me and the boys around us when I tell you this: Think back five years ago, Snake."

The gears in Snake's brain began to turn and rotate. Back in 2005? That was the year...

His eyes were now wider than they once were. He looked around to the men with the weapons, and back to the man in front of him claiming to know him. Suddenly it all clicked in. "Five years... Shadow Moses? You guys are the Next-Generation Special Forces?!"

The man chuckled. "WERE the Next Generation Special Forces. We go by a new name now." He pointed a thumb back to himself. "I am Deagle, member of the elite group known as the Ex-Pats!"
"And this," He motioned his hand around the miniature army, featuring the soldiers Snake had fought minutes ago. "Is The Phantom Regiment!"

"How did you guys escape that Air Force Base in New Hampshire?"

"By our new leader of course." Deagle replied. "You see, we were ready to give up, ready to be experimented by our terrible government. When all hope was lost, he appeared to us and led us to victory!

"That wasn't all he did; he gave us a new home and a new conflict. After learning about the new chemical-based Metal Gear NECROS being developed by the Russian government as a deterrence, he sent us to this frozen rock to hijack it. Now we are prepping it, ready to take it back to him in his own universe so we can begin our campaign on Equestria!"

Snake tilted his head. "HIS own universe?"

There's no way he came from a different universe, it just doesn't add up.

"It does sound insane doesn't it? The sad thing for you is that it is very much true. You see, back in his universe the year is 2013, nearly three years ahead of our time, but in many ways they're less technologically advanced."

Deagle raised both of his hand cannons at Snake, fingers on the triggers. He smirked. "How about it Snake? Why don't you die an honorable death instead of dying like a dog?"

Grabbing his SOCOM from his holster, Snake pointed it at his adversary. "Let's dance."

The two stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Deagle fired both of his pistols once, Snake barely dogging them, the target being one of the unfortunate soldiers caught in the crossfire, the two bullets impacting with such force he got knocked back a few feet. The other soldiers, not wanting to be used as target practice, quickly ran amuck trying to find cover from the duelists.

Shots rang out one after another in succession like a thunderous typewriter hammering away at the keys. However, none of them seemed to connect and soon they were both out of ammunition.

Taking cover behind one of the pillars, Snake checked the ammo in his pistol. He had two shots left. diving out from cover he fired his weapon, both shots missing his target drastically. Throwing his pistol on the floor, Snake ran towards Deagle. He could see him putting his Desert Eagles in their holsters; either he too was out of ammo or he wants to fight honorable.

Whatever the reason, Snake got the first blow in on him, his fist connecting with his opponent's nose.

Wiping the blood away, Deagle charged at Snake, kneeing him right in the ribs. Snake clutched them in agony as Deagle raised him in the air and began wailing on him. After a few seconds, Snake couldn't see out of his right eye, it being bloodied and bruised up. He was tossed to the ground like a ragdoll, and he didn't have the strength to get up. This would most definitely be his final fight.

Deagle let out a venomous laugh. "Don't worry Snake, we're going to have more fun in hell! I'll catch you there in a few years." Bringing his wrist up to his face, he pressed a button. Suddenly, Metal Gear NECROS roared to life and slowly advanced towards Snake, dead set on crushing him.

One of it's monstrous feet hovered over Snake and came down on him.

Everything went black.

Clear and Present Danger

Your Majesty,

Given the rising tensions with the Griffon Kingdom and their allies, as well as the chaos surrounding the disintegration of the Diamond Dog Confederacy, I believe we need a form of defense beyond our existing law enforcement and your Royal Guard.

You commissioned the University’s think tank to analyze and devise methods of dealing with these crises, and we’ve devised and experimented with a solution.

Now, for a moment we shall ignore present threats. Given that the major threats of the last century could not be defeated by the Elements of Harmony, even on the one occasion you were able to force a bond with them, another line of defense is advisable.

I am not proposing we build an army – as I know you abhor the concept – or a gendarmerie or even a militia of citizens to call upon in times of need.

We’ve known of parallel universes unlike or own for a decade now, and my colleagues and I have perfected a way to selectively remove specific individuals from their own universes and bring them to us; in light of these individuals representing specific concepts, we’ve dubbed it Project PARADIGM. Initial testing, which has been kept secret by casting memory spells on the candidates before returning them, proves that we can bring heroes to us.

These heroes we may bring however, are limited to those that exist within a decade of our time, regardless of what universe they’re from. This is because time is relatively constant even as space is divided. Still, many have technology greater than our own, and when asked, our candidates seemed universally willing to help on reasonable conditions.

With your permission, we will begin preparations to create a list of candidates to call upon should we ever need them, and form a more permanent system to maintain the project.

Sincerely,
Professor Cosmic Rift
-Letter sent to Her Majesty Princess Celestia, dated 903 A.N. Retrieved from Canterlot Archives.

***

Sam Fisher came to in a hospital bed. The room was a clean white and smelled of antiseptic, though there were no signs that he’d been operated on, he wasn’t hooked up to anything, and wasn’t wearing a hospital gown. To his right and left were curtains that blocked his view of any other patients, and another one in front of him kept him visually isolated. He sat up and groaned, noticing a bruise on his abdomen that hadn’t been there before.

I feel like I just got punched out by Superman. I must’ve hit something after that EMP went off.

Ignoring the pain, he got out of bed and stepped on a footlocker. Opening it, he found his clothes and Casio watch. Next he opened the curtain before him and saw a cluttered desk was in front of him. It was covered in information that upon closer inspection contradicted what seemed reasonable.

Pictures of unicorns, pegasi, and "normal" ponies –which is what he assumed they were due to their relatively small size and equine appearance – with coats, eyes and manes of all colors. A calendar that read “April 5th, 1003 AB”, with a subtext saying that “AB” meant “After Banishment”. Tools and lab coats seemed to be designed for quadrupedal use. Dozens of small signs indicating he wasn’t anywhere he knew, in a place populated by the same creatures in the pictures. The details were too much to allow any other conclusion than that he was on another world, and that thought was topped off by a globe too drastically different to be Earth.

Sam cleared his mind of all the emotions that whirled in his head. Disbelief, worry, wonder, fear, curiosity, and anger gave way to logic and reasoning. He was on a new world, and he’d have to figure things out on his own.

Okay, probably best I don’t piss anyone off.

Vic definitely made it out okay, and Sarah… She’ll understand why I had to go in for him.

To his right and left were a pair of other divisions of the ward marked with the faces of two other men. It hit him that his picture corresponded with the area he’d woken up in. That meant two other people besides him were there, so maybe he wasn’t entirely alone.

He pulled back a curtain to reveal a fit, sleeping Caucasian man in his late thirties. He had a brown beard and a mullet – one of the few he’d seen that didn’t look bad – as well as a pair of boxer-briefs on. Some small scars were present on his body, as well as a few larger ones. The man didn’t seem injured, however.

After a few seconds of weighing his options, Sam decided to wake him up. He tapped the man’s shoulder and noticed him stir a little, then open his blue eyes.

“Morning. Get dressed and we’ll talk.”

“What the hell?” He moaned in a gravelly voice, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Like the man who woke him, he stepped on a footlocker when he woke up. He opened it to reveal a suit that looked about as tight-fitting as the one Sam used to wear, albeit in gray instead of black.

The former Splinter Cell left the “room”, and waited for his nameless cohort to emerge. It felt like ten minutes, though it might’ve been his eagerness to communicate with another human being about their situation that got him so uncharacteristically anxious. He was checking his watch when he heard the man behind him ever so faintly and turned to face him. His suit was indeed tighter fitting than Sam’s was, and he’d put on a bandanna.

“Kept you waiting, huh?”

“I wasn’t really missing much. I think there’s one other guy. After he gets dressed, I’ll show you guys something and we’ll do introductions.”

Behind the final curtain was a ruggedly handsome man with blonde hair and a fresh pair of stitches. The man in the sneaking suit got him up and showed him his clothes. He ran his hand along his stitches and felt the shirt, as though he were surprised whatever caused the wound hadn’t affected the fabric.

After he got dressed, he spoke up.

“A bit quiet aren’t we?” He remarked in a British accent.

Sam merely grunted. Waving them over to the desk, he showed them all the evidence of them having left their world. The pictures of ponies, the texts, the objects clearly designed for non-human use, and the unfamiliar geographic representations of this new world.

They took it relatively well, externally at least, although since they weren’t talking much to begin with there was less for him to go on when making that judgment. For all he knew, they were panicking internally, something he’d barely avoided himself. It’d take serious effort to remain calm and rational.

“I think some introductions are in order. Bond. James Bond.”

Sam and the man in the sneaking suit looked at each other for a moment, their eyebrows raised in disbelief. Then they remembered where they supposedly were, and independently concluded that they were probably from different realities. It would’ve been a hard pill to swallow in almost any other situation.

“Sam Fisher.”

“Solid Snake.”

“Alright. Bond, Snake, c’mere.”

Sam showed them over to the desk in the room and indicated the various pieces of evidence that supported his theory of being on another world. They each pointed out additional details, furthering that notion. All things considered, they were all taking it surprisingly well.

“Yes Mr. Director, I’m happy to say they’re all going to be fine,” A male voice said outside the room. He sounded pleased with himself.

A peach-colored pony in a doctor’s coat led a larger navy blue, unicorn stallion in a fitted business suit into the room.

“I’m glad. We’ll need them for-”

“Need us for what?” James asked, interrupting him and drawing both ponies’ attention.

“I didn’t expect them –I mean you – to recover so soon, I-” The doctor stammered

“We brought you here,” The one he called “Mr. Director” said flatly. “I had you taken from your own universes before you were killed.”

“Why would you abduct us from our own universes? What the hell do you have to gain from that?”

“My nation has something to gain, gentlecolts. Or rather, it would’ve lost something if I hadn’t. And so would you. Believe me, we wouldn’t have done something this drastic if I thought there was another way.”

“Go on,” Sam, outwardly cool about the whole situation. James and Snake glared at him, but Sam was interested to hear his explanation.

“A few weeks ago, my country was attacked. A device of some kind caused an outbreak of black pox that wiped out a town of 1,014 ponies.”

“A bioterrorist attack?” Snake repeated.

“Officially, it was a freak accident, and after a period of mourning, Equestria returned to normalcy. In response, Princesses Celestia and Luna gave in to the pressure of some within their inner circle to form a way to combat these threats. They signed the Royal Equestrian Security Act into law.”

“So they head this country?”

“Yes, they do, and Luna has recently begun to assist her after returning from a thousand years of banishment. Celestia has led this nation herself for over a thousand years and seen regimes rise and fall, and never once used aggression or a military entity of any kind. No militia, self-defense force, or gendarmerie. The only armed force in Equestria is the Royal Guard, who protect her, her sister, and the city of Canterlot. But times are changing and the world is becoming more and more dangerous, making the means that once kept the peace insufficient to deter all forms of aggression. Their magic, and the Elements of Harmony, are no longer enough.”

Disbelief at her claims of longevity and magic were tempered by the absurdity the situation had to begin with. The men kept their mouths shut.

“The Royal Equestrian Security Act did many things, but two hold relevance here. One was that it formed the Clandestine Security Agency, which is still in its infancy and is being assisted in its growth by allied nations; it’s not yet ready, and adjusting to the techniques and technologies the Griffons have given us is challenging. Most ponies aren’t ready to take lives.”

“And the second?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It reactivated an old program originally intended to use magic to bring heroes to Equestria, should we ever need them. You three are the fruit of that program. When this crisis ends, my leaders and I promise to return you to your respective realms, just after you left them.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need more assurance than just your word. I’ve been used for ‘good’ more than a few times,” Snake growled.

The Director nodded. “I figured you wouldn’t budge, and I don’t blame you. I’ll take you to the Princesses to let you have some reassurance. Follow me.”

“S-sir, they’re not ready to be moved yet,” The doctor protested as the four of them walked out of the room.

“Try and stop us,” Sam replied coldly.

The suit led the humans out of the ward and into the next room, an office filled with a mish-mash of old and modern technology haphazardly organized within what must’ve been a dungeon or safe room once. It really did seem like the CSA was just formed a few weeks before.

“Right now, we’re directly under Canterlot Castle. These passages were designed as a refuge for the upper echelons of the Equestrian government in case Canterlot were ever attacked and would be used to protect them until allied nations came to our aid. They were recently used during much of the Nightmare Moon incident. Our first choice was actually the crystal caves also underground, but we couldn’t find a way into the place.”

“And the safe room leads straight to the throne room,” Sam reasoned as they neared a staircase.

I hope these stairs aren’t too long.

They ascended for several minutes before reaching a chamber. Surprisingly, not one of them was winded. Sam worked hard to keep his SEAL physique at age 54, and he assumed the other men did too for theirs, though they had the advantage of youth.

And those ponies called me a hero. I’ve got too much red in my ledger for that. I don’t know about Snake, but Bond isn’t exactly clean either.

The Director knocked on the door at the other end of the empty room and pressed an ear against it. After a few moments, he led the three men onwards.

They opened the door for the trio to reveal a grand hall, with stained glass windows and a magnificent red carpet. A larger winged unicorn, or alicorn, rested upon a throne made of gold and marble, lined with purple silk cushions. Her coat was alabaster, eyes were violet, and her mane was a multicolored mass that flowed in the absence of wind. She wore a golden crown and necklace, as well as matching horseshoes.

From what Sam could tell by her facial expressions, she was curious. And yet a slight narrowing of the eyes indicated this was unpleasant for her, from a moral standpoint if what the Director said was true. She tried to appear regal and friendly, and she succeeded in projecting that air for the most part.

These ponies were sufficiently human-like that he could apply his decades of experience to dealing with them. That was an asset he enjoyed having.

Another one of similar stature sat to her left. This one was navy blue, with a mane that flowed similarly but showed the stars of the night sky instead. Her apparel was made of a curious black material, with moonstone insets shaped like a crescent moon.

The way she shot a brief look of worry and disapproval at her sister when he and his acquaintances entered suggested a disagreement between them, likely over either the CSA or the humans’ arrival, perhaps both.

Day and night motifs. Celestia is the white one and Lune is the blue one. There’s some conflict between them over us.

The Director led them in front of her and knelt, as did James, probably because he had a queen himself. When Sam and Snake failed to do the same, Luna’s horn glowed for a moment and she glared at them.

“Kneel,” He whispered at them. They still didn’t comply. Sam couldn’t speak for Snake, but he personally resented the idea of showing submission to royalty, especially the implication that they were worth more as people than non-royalty.

“Director,” Celestia said calmly, smiling just a little.

“Your Majesty,” The spook began, standing back up. “The three candidates arrived successfully. We confiscated most of their equipment. After I entered the ward to find them awake, I explained the situation and they requested your assurance that when their work is done they could return.”

“Ma’am, we’re all glad you retrieved us before we were killed. But-” James began.

“We understand completely. You have our word of honor that should you survive and succeed, we will return you to your own worlds,” Luna said icily, not even omitting the danger they’d face. That concept was met with a mixed reaction from Celestia, who quickly changed the subject.

“I believe some introductions are in order,” She said in a pleasant tone, as though the previous conversation had never happened. “I’m Princess Celestia, and this is my sister Princess Luna.”

“Bond. James Bond. MI6 now, but I held the rank of Commander in the Royal Navy.”

“Sam Fisher. I was in the NSA’s Third Echelon division before I retired from field work. I was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy SEALs before that.”

“Solid Snake. Used to be a First Lieutenant in the Army’s FOXHOUND unit, took the same way out as Sam.”

Inwardly, part of Sam wondered why he was barely angry at being dragged back to battle for a third time that month. First there was the coup attempt, then rescuing Vic just last night, and now he was in a new world where he had to fight an enemy he knew nothing about. But then, if he was anything short of extremely furious, he’d still be in control.

“It was with great reluctance that I authorized this provision of the Royal Equestrian Security Act a month ago. I ordered you to be brought up here when you woke up because wanted you to know that this isn’t something my sister and I take lightly, but with the danger my little ponies face, it was a necessary evil,” Celestia explained, somber. “You must understand, we’re mainly a peaceful nation, with no experience with these kinds of activities. We’ve called in help from other nations, but we needed our own response immediately.”

“My sister considered hiring freelancers or borrowing agents from another nation, but without belief in a system they defend or love of that nation they are doomed to fail, and foreign agents always have their own agendas regardless of any loyalty to their allies. I advised that we instead wait until next month for our first operatives to be ready. As you can imagine, I’m not entirely fond of this idea,” Luna added disdainfully, making no effort to conceal her feelings on their presence. “You at least, are bound to the task of helping us, though I have little confidence in your abilities.”

“Forgive her. My sister does not trust easily, and she returned only two years ago from a millennium of isolation, making her… Antisocial. ”

The Director cleared his throat. “Gentlecolts, the magic we used to search for our heroes found you three, and I must assume that was for a reason; we needed resourceful, talented individuals and you three obviously fit the bill. But PARADIGM is a secret unit; as far as the public is concerned, you three are just strangers in a strange land. Only Princesses Celestia and Luna, and the CSA know about you. The Captain of the Guard, the Royal Guards themselves, and the Elements of Harmony do not know about you, nor can they be allowed to know why you’re here,” He explained.

“And our gear?” Snake asked.

“We have it stored nearby. Oh, and when we grabbed Fisher, something threw off the teleportation field and enlarged it, so he happened to come with a dozen crates of human equipment. It’s all in the armory, and we’ll take you there now.”

The suit led them back downstairs and through a series of tunnels. Meanwhile, Snake pulled out a pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth before offering one to Sam. He held up a hand.

“I told my daughter I’d quit.”

“You have a kid?”

“Yeah, but she… She doesn’t need me anymore.”

It’s the other way around, really. With Grimm’s people and Victor’s people protecting her too, I guess I’m just the training wheels that make her feel comfortable. I’m the one who needs somebody to latch onto.

“Well, I don’t think she’ll mind in this case.”

Sam shrugged and took one, which Snake lit after his own.

“Do you have our first assignment?” James asked. “I’d rather know what I need ahead of time.”

“We’ve got a few leads on an attack here in Canterlot and we were hoping you could check them out. We’ll keep an eye on you, and see how this goes. Think of it as a trial run.”

“Alright. What’re we dealing with?” Snake asked.

“We’ve got two leads. A suspicious shipment was sent into the city recently, and we think it’s been moving through the confines of the catacombs and sewers under the city. A lot of criminal activity down there. Those tunnels even lead to the area surrounding the Canterlot Railroad, so there’s a possibility of an attack there.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” The operative said.

“There’s also some chatter in criminal circles about the National Dessert Competition and the competitors coming via train. Normally, we’d ignore something like that, but there’s some unusual activity going along with it. And since Princess Celestia herself will be there, we’re concerned there might be an attempt on her life.”

“A two-pronged attack is what you’re getting at. An attack that could destroy the Canterlot Railroad with the passengers on the train, and an attempt on the life of one of your leaders.”

“Exactly.”

The four of them arrived in the armory. It was a large, drab-looking room with the same stone walls as the rest of the castle and several crates spread around. Sam recognized them as having been in the building he raided not long before, in the same room as him when the EMP went off.

The electromagnetic field might’ve disrupted the magic that had snatched him and caused it to grab the crates as well. That fit with what the Director said earlier.

EMP radiation disrupts magic. That could be useful.

The spook opened three smaller crates, carrying what they’d had with them when they were teleported.

Sam grabbed his backpack, threw his goggles in it, and holstered his Five-Seven. He also took his OPSAT and earpiece, donning the latter and mounting the former on the diagonal strap of his pack. He left the rifle inside, since he’d be working mostly undercover. A few magazines went in his pockets, and more in his backpack.

Snake left a blue vest and thick kneepads in the crate and grabbed a few grenades and gadgets, tucking them into his suit’s pouches and belt. He then removed a Mk 23 and holstered it, grabbing several magazines. He took a suppressed M9 as well, and some magazines holding strange-looking ammunition.

Bond took a phone, hygiene kit, pack of gum, and a pair of sunglasses from his trunk, tucking them all away neatly.

“I lost my gun before you rescued me,” James said. “You said something about snagging all of this equipment with Sam?”

“Yes. You can take whatever you want from it,” The Director replied.

The agent nodded and opened one of the crates and checked several drawers before finding one with pistols in it. He grabbed a P99QA 9mm, loaded it, took a few magazines, and hid them on his person.

Their new boss gave them a more detailed briefing, and the three men chose their assignments. Snake would chase the suspicious shipment through the catacombs, tunnels and sewers beneath Canterlot. Sam and James would pursue leads on a potential assassination attempt, starting with a few informants in the vibrant entertainment district.

It was time to go to work.

The Chips are Down

“Please, have a seat, We have much to discuss.”

Both James Bond and Sam Fisher agreed, taking a seat on one of many plush seats that were laid out in the casino manager’s office. It took them a few hours to find the Sweet Sixteen Casino, as it was one of the last places on their list in the vast Entertainment District of Canterlot. They showed Gale, the manager, their slip of paper that the Director gave them, holding things only the man they were looking for knew. It just so happened that this was the griffon they were looking for.

Through the nauseating smell of strong smoke intertwined with stiff alcohol and cheap perfume, they followed his bodyguards into his office. The griffon, with his black and white feather combination, and his serene emerald green eyes, seemed nice enough. Hopefully he’d last longer than most informants Bond has dealt with in the past.

Gale sat in his own soft chair, placing his talons on the desk, asking, “What do you guys need to know?”

Bond crossed his legs, brought his hands together and questioned, “What do you know of the assassination attempt?”

Gale uncorked his whiskey bottle and poured himself a glass. He offered a drink to both of the secret agents, but they declined. Sam doesn't drink on the job and Bond already had his vodka martini. Unlike most other times, James didn’t think he needed the booze. Gale nursed the drink as he spoke, “I do know the assailant isn’t just some anarchist. These humans are professionals.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at this statement, “Humans? I thought we were the only ones.”

Gale waved a talon at the ex-NSA agent, “No, there might be few of you here, but you guys do have your own country, remember?” Sam and Bond looked at each other and shook their heads. Gale pauses for a brief moment before continuing with, “Anyway, they came in a night or two ago. It’s difficult to remember when you’re living the good life.”

“Are they working for any organization?”

The manager shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine, though they all came out of the same car and had the exact same clothes. When they got out, they were unloading parts of something and bringing it into the Canterlot sewer system.”

“So what we know is true,” Sam muttered under his breath. He shook his head and asked, “One more thing before we leave. Do you know when the assassination attempt will happen?”

Again, Gale shrugged, “Sorry friends, that I do not know. Though if they do it, it will probably happen when the contestants arrive for that Culinary Competition happening today.”

Before the two agents could even say thank you, two gunshots echoed around the room, and Gale slumped over in his chair, breathless. The two bodyguards held Beretta 92’s in talon, setting their sight on the two guests. Sam and James got out from their seats and dove behind Gale’s desk before a flurry of bullets impacted it. When they could pull out weapons of their own, the bodyguards had already left the office and began to make their way out of the casino.

Bond and Sam vaulted the desk and began to sprint. These two must be working with the people responsible for the assassination attempt happening today. With any luck, they could catch and interrogate them.

When they left the casino, the street branched out to them, and saw the two assailants split ways, melding into the seeminglessly ocean of ponies. They looked at each other and silently nodded. Bond would go left, and Sam would go right.

James Bond was wondering how he could even find this griffon. After all, there was nothing noteworthy about him, he seemed like a perfectly normal gun toting lion eagle hybrid. He would have to look very closely in the-

A sound of thunder echoed across the filled streets of Canterlot, now becoming more and more sparse. James sighed to himself. Or I can just go over there. His jog broke into a sprint as he hurried to where the weapon roared to life at and pulled out his P99. The street was vacant, save for Bond on one side and the griffon assailant, dark smoke streaming off his pistol like a river and any civilians on both sides of the street. Luckily, nobody seemed hurt. The avian’s wings, stretched and grew and began to flap, kicking up dirt and took to the sky. 007 saw the monstrous bird take to the sky and pulled out something. A package of dental floss. Without any thought he chucked it at the griffon and it landed neatly on the bird’s back.

Q Branch had once told him how they work on practical gadgets now, though someone forgot to give the memo to the guy who made his weaponry for his outing in South America. Back at London, there’s bound to be someone laughing his ass off knowing he gave him the most insane gadgets, one of them being a package of floss that worked as a mini time bomb and when it detonated it roped up the target in floss. Luckily for Bond, he had it on him and was able to throw it quite well. Take that old age!

Within a few seconds, the package detonated and the griffon sailed to the ground covered in mint-green floss, hitting the road and dropping his Beretta, the weapon skitting towards the secret agent. Bond pocketed his P99 and casually walked over to the griffon and yanked him towards him, “I’m going to ask you one question,” Bond said, his voice icy. “When is the assassination happening?”

The griffon laughed madly, “Even if I did, you’ll be too late. In one hour the Canterlot railroad will explode, taking the contestants, and the Elements of Harmony, with it. And when that happens, your precious leader will take a bullet to the head! In fact, our sniper is getting into position as we speak.”

Before James could question the assailant any further, he passed out, probably due to the impact of him hitting the street. He pulled out his phone and scrambled to call Snake, seeing how his mission was going. Hopefully he was almost done.

A gravelly voice came to life with a hint of urgency, “Hello?”

“Snake, this is Bond. How are you with the bomb?”

“I found it. It’s right under the railroad. Problem is I ran into some trouble and it’s going to take a while for me to take out these goons.”

“Well, hurry up. It’s set to go off in a short time. We found our informant and now we need to take out the assassin and maybe learn who’s responsible. Bond out.”

James began to fiddle with his phone, and when he found Sam’s number, he dialed it, “Sam, this is Bond, have taken care of your assailant?”

“Yeah,” Came the rather baritone voice on the receiver. “Knocked him out and stuffed him in a dumpster. Told me when the bomb is going off and when the assassination was going to happen. You?”

“Took care of mine too. I need you to leave him there. I’ll take these two griffons and take them to HQ for interrogations. You are going to have to take out the assassin considering how close you are to the castle.”

“Will do. Sam out.”

Jerome Martinez placed his Yalguzag sniper rifle on the concrete floor of one of the many roofs of Canterlot with an almost childlike grin. He’d been on assassination missions before sure, but not when his target was a leader of a nation. To say he felt honored wouldn’t be doing him justice.

He peered through his scope, his sadistic grin still present. This leader may be a pony, but that didn’t mean he could take her lightly. He lost a lot of gigs judging a book by their cover. Even still, she’s probably on high alert and with all the guards concentrated on her he didn’t want to take the shot. Not yet anyway. The bomb below the train station was scheduled to blow in two minutes when the contestants arrived, causing everybody to look at the wreckage and carnage of the explosion, not their leader getting a 7.62mm round through her head.

He began to calculate the shot. For him, the winds seemed tame and he wouldn't have to deal with any glare due to this roof being canopied. When he was satisfied with how it looked, he place the crosshair right below the leader’s head and awaited the explosion. Except that it never came.

Martinez frowned. The boss must’ve hired some incompetent goons to set up the explosives. He glossed his gloved finger over the trigger. He never stopped when his hand was ready to fire when his fingers were barking for blood. Except right now when he heard someone’s, something’s, footsteps behind him.

It didn’t take long for Sam to find the roof with the terrorist’s assassin there. After all, knowing a thing or two about snipers helped him know about the best vantage points for setting up and he knew he must be blocking out the harsh midday sun. He checked a few canopied roofs, and only one had a sharpshooter laying on it, sniper in hand, looking at his prey. Quickly he dropped down to the roof and began to creep up on the man.

However, he must’ve heard his footsteps as the assassin stood up and wiped his sniper to him and fired. Luckily Sam was able to dodge the bullet and run towards the killer. The assassin must’ve forgotten his sniper was bolt action as when he tried to fire, no bullets came out. This gave Sam the chance to hit him in the side and send him crashing to the ground. Huffing, the killer pulled out his sidearm, a suppressed .45, and fired, the bullets quickly coughing out of the instrument of death.

Sam pulled out his Five-seven and concentrated fire on the man’s hand. When a bullet finally connected, he dropped his .45 in pain and held his hand, trying to control the blood flow. This gave the former Third-Echelon member enought time to punch the assassin in the face and send him reeling once again to the ground. Holstering his weapon, he picked up the man and said menacingly, “Who are you working for?”

“Go to hell.” The killer spit into Sam’s face, which prompted him to punch him again.

“Who are you working for?” Sam’s rather calm voice was rising.

“I’m not telling.”

“Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

“Forget it. I won’t tell you anything.” The terrorist turned his head away from Sam.

“Are you crazy?” Sam asked. “We’re on the fourth floor.”

The assassin gulped. “What do you mean?”

“You know it’s not true, that you go unconscious before you hit the ground. You see it comin’ the whole way.” Sam began to drag the man until they got on the edge of the roof. He hovered the body over it.

“You wouldn’t!” The assassin screamed at the agent.

Sam smirked. “You wanna convince me not to?”

“Fine, fine I’ll tell! Just don’t kill me,” the assassin took a deep breath, “The man’s name is Venestaz. Carlos Venestaz. South American. Does that answer your question?”

Sam smiled. “Almost,” He grabbed the assassin’s head and hit the right pressure point to incapacitate him and placed his unconscious body on the floor of the roof.. He’d have to bring him in to HQ for questioning like the griffons. But right now he could rest a little easy knowing they’re first mission was complete, but he knew it wasn’t over. It can never be this simple.

Sewer Rat

Drip. Drip. That, accumulated with the constant sloshing of the murky water, were the only sounds Solid Snake heard as he meticulously made his way through the Canterlot Sewer system. This solitary time wasn’t so bad, as he let his mind wander to current events, more specifically his teammates.

Sam seems like he’s in the same boat as me and looks like he can handle this. But Bond? He’s not cut out for this; we’re dealing with terrorists, not some opulent idiot who built a space station.

He let this thought stay in his mind until he came across a fork in the road. He walked ahead and glanced at both entryways. The left yielded a dead end, and the right seemed to go on. He started to go through the right, though if it too led to a dead end, he would have to backtrack to a previous fork in the road, and he might be too late.

Snake got on the concrete walkway the moment it sprouted up. Luckily for him the right way was, well, the right way. This proved to be another desolate corridor. He was wondering if he was ever going to find these terrorists.

Until he spotted four shadows, two looking like they were working together in holding some sort of thing, that is. Snake advanced a little further and pressed himself against a wall jutting out, ready to listen to the four passing by him.

“Where are we taking this?” One of the object carriers wheezed.

“To all the other shit.” One of the rifle wielding terrorist responded, “When this bad boy goes off, goodbye to the Elements of Harmony and the Princess and hello to a new regime!” The four began to laugh as they marched on.

So this is part of the bomb The Director talked about. I’d better follow them so I can take down this whole group. If I just took these guys down, they’ll send more goons to collect this bomb part. Better safe than sorry.

Slowly but surely Snake stalked the terrorists, making sure to stick to what little shadows he had. Every once and a while one of the bomb carriers would almost see the ex-FOXHOUND agent, but he’ll just chalk it up to his eyes playing tricks on him. When they reached their destination, Snake couldn’t help but marvel.

Almost a dozen humans scurried along the water and concrete like a bunch of worker ants. Snake now just stood there, thinking. He came to the conclusion that watching them from the ceiling was his safest bet. It would allow him to see and hear them, and also allow him to get the drop in. He began to climb the concrete wall.

The only thing the griffon by the name of Briggs could do was smile. The Phantom Regiment’s plan was going off without a hitch. The easiest part was going into to sewers, as they looked like run of the mill construction workers carrying what seemed like supplies to fix a “leaky pipe.” Now, after four of his soldiers returned, the bomb was complete. When the train was in position, their reign of terror will begin.

“Sir!” Briggs turned to see a soldier running toward him. It was one of their scouts sent to keep the train on close supervision.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“By the looks of it, the train will be arriving in six minutes.” The scout reported.

“All right men!” Briggs yelled, “Get packed up! We’re priming the bomb for six minutes and getting the hell out of here!”

The soldiers saluted him and began grabbing what they needed. At this point, nothing could go wrong. That is, until he looked up and saw a human staring at him and descended on him.

Solid Snake jumped down from his ceiling hiding place, elbowing the griffon in the throat and punching him for good measure. Pulling out his SOCOM, he made his gun cough a bullet, taking out the scout with a new hole to breath out of.

He saw the other terrorists scramble for their weapons, which gave him time to pick up the fallen scout’s AK-74u. Quickly he hid behind a pillar and checked the clip. After seeing he was fully stocked, he pulled his head away and opened fire on the pseudo construction workers, taking out a good amount of them before they retaliated. As his pillar began to be chipped away he felt his ear vibrate. Now’s not the time!

Nonetheless he answered with a hint of urgency, “Hello?”

A british voice answered. “Snake, this is Bond. How are you with the bomb?”

He let out a slight sigh of annoyance. Why couldn’t it have been Sam? “I found it. It’s right under the railroad,” He answered quickly. “Problem is I ran into some trouble and it’s going to take a while for me to take out these goons.”

“Well, hurry up. It’s set to go off in a short time. We found our informant and now we need to take out the assassin and maybe learn who’s responsible. Bond out.”

Knowing that this pillar wouldn’t protect him for long, Snake rolled out and fired the rest of his clip, turing one of the last terrorists to swiss cheese. Seeing the last one drop his weapon and run, Snake pulled out his Socom and fired twice, hitting the grunt’s legs and causing him to collapse in the shallow water. Walking to the man and putting the suppressed muzzle to his head and pulling him up, Snake growled, “How do I stop the bomb?”

“You have to pull the green wire.” The grunt stammered.

Slowly Snake walked to the bomb, keeping his weapon set on his new buddy’s head. He looked at the bomb and let out a breath of awe. The thing was hulking and silver. In fact, it looked like a cryo pod in one of those sci-fi movies he watched with Otacon. Gingerly removing the main plate, he looked at the large collection of wires clustered together. When he found the green wire, he quickly pulled it and looked at the timer.

It didn’t stop. Why the hell didn’t it stop?! He saw the timer go from three minutes to one minute. He turned to the terrorist and guided his finger to the trigger. The terrorist began to laugh. “Long live the Phantom Regiment!”

The grunt picked up his pistol and held it to his head. It spoke once.

Snake pressed his hand to his ear and yelled, “Director! The bomb is going to go off in one minute! How the hell do I diffuse it?”

“Hold on, I’ll bring our bomb expert on the line.” The Director spoke calmly, almost not phased by this news.

In a millisecond, the silence was filled with a sweet female voice, “Snake, my name is Shrapnel. I’m the bomb expert of the CSA. What does the bomb look like?”

“It’s a big one, shaped like a cylinder.” Snake explained, “And the inside’s packed with wires in four different colors. The green one’s pulled, the others are red, blue, and yellow.”

“Pull the yellow one.” She said calmly. Snake did as she said, and the timer disappeared. “How much time was left?” She asked.

“You don’t wanna know.” Snake replied.

“Well, whatever time was left, you still need to head back. We have two griffons ready for interrogation brought in by 007. We’ll bring a clean up crew to fix what damages were caused in the sewers.” He paused for a moment. “Are you alright, Snake?”

“Yeah,” Snake replied, “Just had to deal with some people with explosive personalities.”

Author's Note

We were wondering if you guys would like to see a chapter posted right when it's finished and gone through editing or if you would rather have three chapters posted whenever they were all finished.