"An anemone or clematis plant's juice can cause a rash. When pruning them, its a good idea to wear gloves."
The next morning saw Snake trudging grumpily through the halls of Crystal Prep with Twilight's uniform stuffed into a bag, slung over his shoulder. His camo index had been hovering at zero ever since he started at Crystal Prep, but simply having Twilight's uniform on his person dropped it into negative digits. Bad enough that he had to wear plaid; he had to carry around girl plaid on top of it all.
Snake had scouted Crystal Prep thoroughly during his preliminary recon of the school, well enough to have a good guess about where this "lab" was without having to ask Twilight for directions He rounded a corner, only to freeze at the sight of two students and a dog in the middle of the hall. He immediately ducked back into cover to avoid being spotted, and leaned out just slightly to eavesdrop on their conversation.
A kneeling girl with black-framed glasses and a tear-stained face stroked the fur of a big, fluffy blue dog, whose pointed muzzle and ears gave him a wolfish sort of look. The dog wore a red vest with "SERVICE ANIMAL" stitched into it in blue block letters. Holding the dog's leash was a tall, androgynous youth with a shaven head, the stubble tinted blue.
The girl sniffed and sighed. "I just don't understand why those jerks would pick on me that way. Especially that awful one with the gas mask. And where did they even get that much pig's blood?"
"From a local butcher, no doubt. Perhaps he didn't know what the stuff was going to be used for. But even if he did, I doubt any capitalist would pass up the opportunity to score a few quick dollars at the expense of the innocent. Especially someone whose trade benefits carnists, and harms defenseless animals."
Snake knew that voice, and that cold contempt for private enterprise.
Trenton. So that's what he looked like.
"He's such a psycho," the girl went on, pausing to giggle wetly as the dog licked a stray tear off her cheek. "A stupid, ginger psycho, and I hate him."
"I don't mean to invalidate your anger, but terms like 'psycho' are inherently ableist, and offensive to the neurodivergent. We need to be mindful of our language, even in situations like this," said Trenton, not unkindly.
What an enormous tool. There was only so much of that crap Snake could stand listening to.
Snake leaped out of cover, his hand instinctively flying toward his concealed squirt gun before he recalled Twilight's warning about the school's zero tolerance policy. Well, if it came down to a fight, then he'd just have to rely on his training in CQC to give him the upper hand.
"Hey!" growled Snake pointing angrily at Trenton. "You're that... uh... person! Who was with Macbeth!"
"Yeah, how can I—" Trenton stopped when he saw Snake, his eyes widening slightly with recognition. "Oh hey, it's the guy who was messing around with his girlfriend outside of Mr. Granin's class. How can I help you?"
"You can start by standing up and facing me. Like a man. And by taking back what you said about that weird purple girl being my girlfriend. She's not my girlfriend!"
The girl – who Snake noticed was a dead ringer for Twilight, distinguished only by their different skin and hair tones – grabbed Trenton's wrist. "Stay away from him! That's the kid who was with the gas mask guy!"
"What?" Snake blinked, his stance of righteous anger drooping somewhat in confusion. "Oh, so you're the – no no, that was my douchebag twin that messed with you. Liquid Snake. I'm Solid Snake. We're completely different. I don't even own a pair of fingerless gloves, for one, and for another—"
"Okay, let's just back this little confrontation up for a moment. Right?" Trenton carefully removed the girl's hand from his wrist and stood, keeping a tight grip on his dog's leash. "First off, I can forgive you for assuming my gender, since I assumed your orientation just a moment before – my bad, I apologize – but I really don't appreciate your masculinist language, or your adherence to stereotypical gender roles. So I'm gonna ask you to be more mindful of that in the future, alright? Second, you sound like you've got some kind of a problem with me, and I'm not sure what that is."
"You know damn well what my problem is." Snake stomped toward Trenton, the dog's limbs tensing and ears perking as the distance between the two boys shrank. "I know what Macbeth's up to, Trenton. And I know you're helping him – you and Mr. Granin both. I'm gonna give you one chance, and only one chance. Stay the hell away from Metal Gear!"
"What, seriously?" Trenton held up his free hand placatingly. "Look, I don't know if you're into her, or if you're just super protective. But, respectfully, I don't think it's any of your business who Metal Gear spends her time with. Or who Macbeth spends his time with, for that matter. So how about you calm down, and the two of us can have a mature conversation about this? Like grown-ups?"
"There's just no reasoning with someone like you, is there?" Snake took a menacing step forward, reaching to grab Trenton's collar with his left hand. "Fine, we'll do this the old—"
The dog snarled and lunged forward, sinking its teeth into Snake's forearm.
Snake shouted in a mixture of shock and pain and immediately staggered backward, trying to push the dog's mouth off his arm. The girl screamed and wilted; Trenton tugged on the dog's leash, snapping and yelling and trying to get it off of Snake.
Their combined efforts finally succeeded, and Snake was left to nurse his slightly bloodied forearm. Lucky for him, he had his sleeves rolled up, otherwise he'd be out a uniform shirt. Trenton had the dog on a short leash in his left hand; his right arm was cradling the now-hyperventilating girl.
"I'm so sorry about that," Trenton babbled. "Operator's never done that to anyone before, you gotta believe—"
Snake silenced him with a vicious stare and powered past him, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hand.
Twilight greeted Snake with a shy smile, which vanished immediately when she saw the bite on his arm.
"What in the name of Bucephallus happened to you?" she gasped, immediately taking his arm in her hands to inspect the wound.
"Trenton happened. Him and his dog." Snake pushed the door open and shoved past Twilight, unslinging the bag and dropping it to the floor. "Who, it turns out, is just as big of an asshole as he is."
"That's weird. He's so mellow and good-natured whenever he's on campus for therapy events. I mean, he doesn't like Spike, but he's great with students. Even Cinch tolerates him, and she barely lets me keep Spike around."
She gestured at a little purple dog sleeping on a chair in front of her computer, the ends of his nose and tail touching together and his paws twitching intermittently. A melancholy, jazzy tune hummed from the lab computer's speakers; a woman's voice, husky and sultry like the woman from the phone, sang along.
"I see your eyes/I feel your pain/I feel your sadness inside of me/Open your heart and smile for me/You are not the only one afraid to fall in love."
Twilight rushed to switch it off, waking the dog in the process. He yawned, glared sleepily at her, then rolled onto his other side and went back to sleep, smacking his lips groggily. Then Twilight reached for a nearby shelf, seizing a rag and a plastic bottle marked "WISKEE."
"The bite doesn't look too bad," she said. "I think we can skip taking you to the nurse. Or, you know, a trauma surgeon. Heh. But all the same, we should probably at least disinfect and wrap it. So..."
Twilight poured a generous amount of WISKEE into the rag and approached Snake.
"Stick out your arm?"
Snake did as he was asked, though he grumbled and growled and grouched grumpily. "Shouldn't you be using something a little more – OW! – a little more sterile? Bandages and sutures, maybe, instead of moonshine and an old rag?"
"I don't have sterile bandages and sutures," said Twilight as she pressed the rag against the bite. "It's not like I get a lot of lacerations just puttering around the lab. A really bad splinter, one time, but that's about it."
Twilight wrapped the rag around Snake's arm and tied the ends of it together tightly, smiling up at him when she was finished. The most he gave her was a grunt and a half-hearted nod before stepping away and looking around the room.
"So... this is where the magic happens, huh?"
Twilight chuckled. "I know you don't mean that literally, but I actually have been performing some research on a mysterious force that defies quantification – one which I, with a moist barrel of caveats, have tentatively started referring to as 'magic.' See, back in the fall, my instruments started picking up anomalous readings. I've been trying to trace them for weeks, but I think they're coming from the next town over—"
"Uh-huh. That all sounds about as interesting as my brother's slam poetry." There was a table at the back end of the lab, under which was the old still that Twilight had referenced. Sitting on the table was an assortment of beakers and other science-y looking things that Snake didn't know the names for.
He knew what a Petri dish was, though. Twilight had a bunch of them, and inside them were some strange-looking samples: thin, neon orange lines projecting radially from a bright white spot in the middle of each dish. Beside the Petri dishes was a flask – an Erlensomething flask, Otacon would have called it if he were there – whose contents glowed the same brilliant shade of orange as the samples in the Petri dishes.
Snake made a half-interested noise at the set-up.
"Oh!" Twilight chirped, bouncing over. "I see you've noticed my wolbachia experiment."
"Wolbachia?" Snake echoed.
"A little pet project I've been working on. Wolbachia's a common genus of bacteria which, in some cases, can be used to treat parasitic infection. Nematodes, cestodes, lung-devouring vocal chord bugs – wolbachia's good for all of them, even more effective than nanotherapy. The samples themselves are courtesy of Dr. Code Talker at Shadow Moses High."
"Code Talker?" Snake looked at Twilight. "The old Navajo guy who smokes too much?"
"...I guess?" Twilight blinked and cocked her head. "How do you...?"
"I used to go to Shadow Moses High. Dr. Code Talker was my bio teacher. He was pretty cool, I guess. Too stoned out of his gourd to really teach us for longer than a couple minutes at a time, though." Snake shuddered. "Still a better teacher than Professor Skull Face. Used to hear all kinds of rumors about that guy."
"Yeah, he offered me an under-the-table deal on a drum full of stem cells in addition to the wolbachia I was getting from Dr. Code Talker." Twilight rubbed the back of her head nervously. "He wouldn't say where he got them from."
"From his back alley 'clinic,' no doubt. Stuff goes missing from Nurse Hunter's infirmary on a daily basis – bandages, gauze, coat hangers. Most of it turns up in the school dumpsters after a while, and it's an open secret that Professor Skull Face is behind it. He keeps getting away with it, though – he has just the right connections with just the right people to avoid indictment."
Twilight balked. "And this is an actual school? Staffed by actual people?!"
Snake shrugged. "Food was decent, at least. Not a lot of schools where you can get tsuchinoko in the cafeteria."
"...I don't wanna think about it," said Twilight with a shudder. "Anyway, one of the side-effects to wolbachia treatment is infertility, which, needless to say, makes it somewhat... er... impractical as an over-the-counter parasite treatment. Over the course of my experiments with that energy from Canterlot High, however, I've succeeded in harnessing some sort of substance with solar properties, which yields interesting results when combined with the wolbachia cultures."
She pointed at the E-something flask. "By exposing the wolbachia to the substance in the flask, I've created a new strain which I'm hoping can be used as a fertility treatment, to counteract the sterility effects of the original wolbachia strain. Long-term, I'm hoping to create another strain that can treat parasites without the accompanying loss of fertility."
"How's that going?" Snake muttered detachedly.
"So far, all I've succeeded in doing is creating a strain which kills parasites, but also jump-starts the mating impulse, while still rendering test subjects infertile," said Twilight, oblivious to Snake's inspection. "I tested it on myself to see if I could get rid of a nasty case of—"
"Vocal chord parasites?" asked Snake, turning around.
"No. Scabies." Twilight raised her hands and waggled her fingers. At Snake's alarmed expression, she quickly amended her statement.
"Don't worry, the wolbachia cleaned them all out of me. I didn't just transfer a bug-colony to your arm."
"As far as you know," Snake growled.
"Trust me, the treatment's currently working as expected. I know that because I haven't had my period in, like, three months. And because of, um..."
Twilight folded her hands behind her back and blushed, looking downward.
"...Other stuff."
Snake rolled his eyes. "Right, well. On that illuminating note, I have gym class in five, and I'm gonna be late as it is, so—"
"What? No, we have gym on alternating days."
"Yeah. And?"
Twilight narrowed her eyes. "And it's Tuesday."
"Yesterday was Tuesday."
"No it... wait, was it? How much time did I lose in that stupid dumpster?" Twilight smacked her forehead and groaned. "Oh, I'm very very late, aren't I?"
"Think we established that already."
That got a snicker out of Twilight. "You know, it's like you said; we're both pretty far behind schedule. Maybe we could save time by..."
Twilight stepped over to her computer and switched on the sexy jazz soundtrack again, then turned to Snake with half-lidded eyes.
"...Changing in here? Together?"
The music swelled, reaching a crescendo, the woman's voice crooning her plea.
"Dance with me again, and walk this way/Don't be afraid to love again."
Snake looked at Twilight with an expression of unfathomably deep disinterest, and walked out of the laboratory without a word.
Crystal Prep's gym uniforms were starchy and scratchy, yet – mercifully – without a trace of plaid, being a simple combination of white T-shirts and maroon-colored shorts. All other considerations in mind, they were the most comfortable things Snake had worn since arriving at his new school, simply by virtue of that one fact.
He was assembled on the Crystal Prep basketball court, a cavernous indoor space of polished tile and well-varnished wooden bleachers. Accompanying him were twenty or so other students who fidgeted in their scratchy, starchy uniforms – except for Trenton, the tall, sinewy freak, who looked perfectly content standing with Macbeth and Metal Gear. The furtive looks that those two teenagers occasionally shot one another made Snake's insides coil like a cobra poised for the kill.
As did Twilight, who kept reaching out to encircle her arms around his midsection from behind. Snake was pondering whether he could get away with doing something violent and physical to deter her, once and for all, from putting her weird girl-touches all over him. The coach, a ponderously fat, bald man leaning against a rack of basketballs, certainly didn't seem like he'd care.
"Alright, you twats," Coach Cain drawled in a bored English accent. "The name of the game is one-on-one basketball. One of you twats will compete with another twat to score baskets. You'll each try to take the ball away from the other to... uh..."
He suddenly sighed. "Look, you all know how to play basketball, right? Just fill in the damn rules for yourselves."
"Way to be, Coach!" called a girl from the bleachers. She was seated at the top, but stretched her legs languidly across the next two rows. Her arms were spread to either side and a lollipop stuck out from the corner of her mouth. "You keep finding ways to limbo underneath the bar, no matter how low I set it."
"What are you even doing here?" the coach snapped back. "Drop-outs aren't allowed on campus."
"Up yours, CC." The girl grinned and pushed a swoopy lock of fiery orange hair out of her face. "We both know you're ain't about to do anything about it."
Coach Cain sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know what, I can't even force myself to care. Do whatever you want."
The middle-aged Englishman turned to address his students again. "You'll do this in pairs – first one to three points wins, then we'll pick another pair. Lather, rinse, repeat. First up we'll do Trenton and, uh..." He glanced at the list of smudged, faded names written in cheap ink on his wrist.
"...Sugarcoat, I guess."
The group parted to make way for Trenton, who met Snake's eyes briefly and offered him a tiny grin. To anyone else, it might have been an olive branch, an offer of friendship. But Snake was trained in tactical espionage, and he knew what looks like that meant.
It was a challenge. And he was going to rise to it, and put that son of a bitch in his place.
Sugarcoat stepped out of the crowd, but Snake moved more quickly, shaking off Twilight's latest attempt at rubbing her chest lumps all over his back and shoving Sugarcoat out of the way. The girl stumbled backward, but was caught by one of her friends – the blue-haired one; Snake didn't know her name – before she could fall over.
"What the hell is your problem?!" she snapped as her friend helped her regain her footing. "Coach Cain, you saw that, right? This jerk just shoved me out of the way!"
"Eh?" Coach Cain squinted at Sugarcoat, then at Snake, and shrugged. "Whatever. He clearly wants it more than you do. Should've shown more hustle, Shug."
"Hustle?" Sugarcoat clenched her teeth, balling her hands into fists. "I don't think I need a lecture on 'hustle' from a hairless, overweight, middle-aged gym teacher who probably couldn't even run a hundred yards without suffering a fatal heart attack."
The blubbery Cain nodded at her. "That's nice, kid. Back in line and wait your turn."
Sugarcoat growled and stomped out of the gym, ranting profanely to herself as she went. The girl on the bleachers craned her head to watch her go.
"...Nah, she don't got a booty," she said to herself.
Coach Cain picked up a basketball and tossed it in the general direction of Snake and Trenton, and was already walking away before the ball first bounced against the floor. "Now, while you're all playing, I'm gonna be standing over here, immersed in the greatest hits of 1999. Don't bother me unless someone's hurt. And even then, there'd better be blood, or there'll be hell to pay."
The coach settled in the gym's doorway, leaned his back against the frame, and pulled out a battered old Walkman and a pair of headphones. He put them on, thumbed a button on the Walkman, and began nodding his head in time to his music.
Trenton and Snake moved onto the court, Snake settling into a defensive position with the basket directly behind him. Trenton had the ball in his hands, and dribbled languidly, his blue eyes fixed in a deceptively friendly glare on Snake.
"Your arm looks okay," he said. "I'm really sorry about what happened with my dog. I took him right home – you won't be seeing him on campus anymore, I promise."
"I don't give a shit about your dog, Trenton," Snake grunted. "And your promises mean nothing to me."
"I see you're still insisting on this overt, completely uncalled-for hostility." Trenton sighed. "That was a really rude thing you did to Sugarcoat, by the way. I understand that you have a problem with me – I even understand why, to an extent – but projecting that anger onto Sugarcoat was just—"
"Are you gonna talk, or play ball?" Snake smirked. "Or maybe you're talking because you can't play ball, and you know it. Competition's just a stone's throw away from capitalism, right?"
Trenton's eyes seemed to flash with a cold light. He inhaled deeply through his nose, took a long step backwards, coiled his legs, and threw the ball in a swift, perfect arc. It sailed over Snake's head and sank into the basket without striking the headboard or the basket's rim.
Snake watched, dumbfounded, as it bounced against the floor and rolled to a stop at his feet.
"Friendly competition is not irreconcilable with the liberatory aims of Marxism," said Trenton, stepping past Snake to assume his position in front of the basket. "One-nothing, by the way. Three-nothing, if this were a real game."
Snake, grumbling, picked up the ball and stepped back to the three-point line. His physical training and experience in stealth and CQC meant nothing here – as much as he might have enjoyed ragging on Trenton, Big Boss had never seen fit to teach any of his children about ball-related sports. His mother had tried to teach him baseball... or something about bases, anyway... but it hadn't actually stuck.
Trenton stayed where he was, spreading his arms and legs, still smiling that damned smile.
Snake narrowed his eyes. It was high time he wiped that smile off his face.
He charged forward with a growl, keeping the ball bouncing with slow, awkward pats on its surface. Mid-dribble, however, Trenton swept past him and caught the ball, looping around to the three-point line while keeping the ball bouncing in a perfectly rhythmic cadence.
"Can I give you some free advice?" he asked.
"Can I give you my dick? To suck?" Snake roared back.
"Your not-girlfriend over there might take issue with that," Trenton chuckled. "You've never played basketball before, have you? I see what you're trying to do, but dribbling the ball in a way you've only heard about, in the middle of a game – even an informal game like this one – isn't a good idea. You need to absorb the kinetic energy of the ball as it bounces upward, rather than just smacking it. That's really more of a baseball technique. And you'd need a bat to do it properly, anyhow."
"Rrragh! Shut up already!" Snake charged toward Trenton, but he spun out of the way, bouncing the ball through Snake's legs and swiftly bounding over to intercept it before it could fly out of bounds.
"And don't telegraph your moves so much on offense," Trenton continued. "Try and mix it up a little more – try and fake me out. Make like you're gonna go left, but go right instead. Don't be afraid to experiment."
Snake lunged, but Trenton darted out of the way, toward the basket, and leaped, dunking the ball through the hoop to the cheers of the other students. Snake turned, red-faced, to glare at them – they were all screaming, applauding, laughing at him. The only one who wasn't was Twilight, who wore an expression of worry. Or of pity.
Behind her were Macbeth and Metal Gear, however – both cheering on their mutual friend. And holding hands. With their fingers laced together.
Trenton tossed the ball lightly into Snake's open arms and stood in front of the basket. "Two-nothing now. Hey, seriously, show me what you got this time, alright? We can talk about your form and technique, and maybe try to—"
Snake tossed the ball roughly into Trenton's stomach; he caught it and looked at Snake warily.
"...Okay then. Guess I'm playing offense again."
They settled one last time into their respective positions. Snake stared Trenton down, daring him to make the first move.
"What's your angle here, Trenton?" he growled. "You've got some kind of plan to help Macbeth seize Metal Gear, and you're working with the faculty to make it happen. What's the endgame, huh? What are you really after?"
"I seriously think you're blowing this out of proportion," Trenton insisted. "If it'll help, though, then I'll level with you. I'm organizing the annual People's Liberation Revolutionary Ball. Macbeth likes Metal Gear, and Metal Gear likes Macbeth, but neither of them really knew the other, and Mr. Granin doesn't want his daughter dating in school. They asked me to be an intermediary between each other, and to help smooth things over with Mr. Granin. That's all."
"So you manipulated Granin to get his backing for your little conspiracy. Because you knew Macbeth never stood a chance without his approval!"
"Uh... that's an awfully paranoid way of putting it." Trenton blinked. "I'm sorry, dude. I know you like Metal Gear, but she and Macbeth are just starting out something new, and I don't think that either is into polyamory. You just gotta move on."
Snake's fists clenched "Move on?!"
"Yeah, move on." Trenton's voice sounded frayed and irritated. Finally, the facade of friendliness was slipping away. "That girl over there, with the glasses? She's cute, she's smart, and she's all up on you. You could probably have something really special with her. Hell, ask her to the ball if you want; it'd be great to see you both there. Don't let an opportunity like that slip away because you're too hung up on someone else to see what's right in front of you."
Something in Snake's mind broke.
Trenton finally heaved a sigh and gripped the ball between his hands. "Okay. Let's get this over with."
He charged toward the basket, dribbling the ball in front of him in that maddeningly perfect way of his. This time, though, Snake was ready. His mistake had been to try and match his raw skill and talent – in basketball, he never stood a chance. But Trenton knew nothing of tactical espionage. And he certainly knew nothing of CQC. Or even CQB.
Snake knew how to handle people like Trenton.
As soon as he drew within range, Snake lashed out with a kick, driving his foot right into Trenton's kneecap. Cartilage snapped and bone shattered, and Trenton stumbled and fell forward onto his stupid face, skidding until his head touched the basket's pole.
The cheering and yelling abruptly died, and the gym was deathly quiet. Then Snake stomped forward, toward Trenton's prone body.
"That'll show you," he crowed. "Now, once and for all: stay away from Metal—"
Trenton suddenly flipped onto his back, sat up, and drove his fist so hard into Snake's gut that his vision blacked out for just an instant. He didn't even feel his body collapse against the floor.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?!" Trenton screamed. "You kicked me in the knee! In my fucking knee! Marx's beard, I think you dislocated it! Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"
Metal Gear and Macbeth were on either side of Trenton, both taking an arm and pulling it over their shoulders. Snake felt someone kneeling behind him and pulling his head onto her lap. He didn't need to look up to know who.
"Coach Cain!" Metal Gear cried to the blubbery man in the doorway. "Coach Cain, Trenton's hurt! This asshole just kicked him right in the kneecap!"
Coach Cain doffed his headphones and glanced at the scene on the basketball court. "Anyone bleeding?"
Metal Gear exchanged a look with Macbeth. "Uh, not that I—"
Cain slipped the headphones back on and resumed nodding to the music before Metal Gear could answer.
Macbeth swore under his breath and glared at Snake. "The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to Heaven or to Hell."
"Don't," Trenton managed to gasp between groans and sobs of pain. "Don't hurt this guy, please. I shouldn't have even hit him. He's acting out because he's emotionally distraught – we need to understand his pain, not add to it."
Snake looked at Trenton, gobsmacked.
"You are such an enormous tool!" he wheezed.
Metal Gear and Macbeth hoisted Trenton, supporting his weight while balancing him on his uninjured leg. Together, they turned and hobbled toward the door, the rest of the class filing out after them to see their injured champion to the nurse.
Twilight stroked Snake's hair and forehead. "How do you—"
"Get off," Snake growled, pushing Twilight's hand away from his face. He tried to stand, only to feel a sharp pain shoot through his stomach, sending him to his knees. "Gotta go after him... gotta finish the job..."
"Or you could relax, until you can walk under your own power." Twilight pulled Snake to his feet, and he leaned reluctantly against her as she guided him to the bleachers. "Easy now."
"...Fine." Snake took a seat, keeping an arm around his stomach. "But only because it'll stop your nagging."
Twilight chuckled and took Snake's other hand in her own. "I'll take what I can get."
Laughter rang out from above them, from the girl at the top of the bleachers. "You two sure you're not a couple? 'Cuz you sure as hell act like one."
Snake flushed and yanked his hand away from Twilight. He glared at the girl. "Mind your own damn business."
"I am minding my own damn business." The girl grinned. "I'm in the business of doing terrible things to Trenton, which puts you and I on the same page."
She stood up, cracked her neck, stretched out her legs, and bounded down the bleachers to plop down beside Snake.
"Name's Killjoy." She set her lollipop between her molars, bit down hard, and shattered the thing into sugary shards. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"I'm Twilight Sparkle," said Snake's annoying purple hand-holding tumor. "And this is—"
"No one cares what your name is." Snake nodded at Killjoy. "Solid Snake. What's your grudge against Trenton?"
"Nothing in particular. He's just such a tool, y'know? Always spoutin' off about 'Karl Marx' this, and 'ethical capitalism' that." Killjoy snorted. "Shit, the whole reason I dropped out was because I couldn't stand his preaching anymore."
Twilight raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a very trivial reason to drop out of secondary education altogether."
"Who said anything about quittin' school? I go to charter now." Killjoy quickly looked Twilight from head to toe and winked. "Oughta come join me, Sparkle-Sparkle. Bit of a chair shortage, so y'might have to sit on my lap, but we can make it work."
Twilight face turned beet-red and she looked at her feet, mumbling.
Reducing Twilight to a red-faced mess and shutting her up with a single comment? Snake decided that he liked Killjoy, despite not being able to fully parse her meaning.
How much work could she possibly get done with Twilight on her lap?
"Now, I'm all for fuckin' over that commie prick," said Killjoy, reaching down the front of her gold T-shirt and pulling out another lollipop. "But you gotta go about it just so, see. Kicking in his knee? Funny, and effective, but inelegant – risky, too, with so many witnesses around. You lucked out with Coach Cain; he's so apathetic that I doubt he can even be bothered to fill out the paperwork naming you as the culprit, and without a teacher's testimony backing it up, anything that Trenton or his friends accuse you of is officially just hearsay."
"Seriously?" Snake grunted. "The hell kind of system is that?"
Twilight cleared her throat. "Crystal Prep doesn't really champion for student rights the way other schools in the county do, public or private. The only member of the faculty who really seems to care about the student body is Dean Cadance. The rest are just here for a paycheck."
"Yeah, you might'a noticed that most of the faculty around here give zero shits about their jobs or their students," Killjoy added. "Hell, Mr. Granin's a drunk, and he used to make nuclear missiles for the Soviets. Or so I'm told."
"In short," said Twilight. "The word of a student means nothing without the word of a teacher behind it, and none of the teachers care enough to even give their word in the first place. If you'd done it in front of Dean Cadance – or even Mr. Granin, since he and Trenton are friendly – then they'd be mandated and motivated to expel you from school. But since you did it in front of Coach Cain..."
"...I'm gonna get away with it?"
"Precisely, mon ami." Killjoy slapped Snake on the back hard enough to sting. Snake liked the way it felt. "So you got a free potshot in. But that's just the beginning, Solid Dick. You really wanna take that prick down, then you gotta hit him where he lives."
Snake leaned toward Killjoy, and Twilight leaned toward Snake. Snake shrugged Twilight away. "Go on," he said.
Killjoy reached down her shirt again and produced a keyring with a single key, its head marked with a skull.
"There's this kid at my school, Steel Wool – kind of an edgelord, but he also happens to be a gifted keysmith." She twirled the key between her fingers. "I had to pawn every CD I owned, and half my brother's fabergé egg collection, but I was able to scrape together enough cash to pay him for this. It opens any locker on campus – just slide it in and give it a good twirl. A method which, I've found, works well in many situations, regardless of context."
Killjoy winked again at Twilight, who blushed and looked at her feet with even greater intensity. Then Twilight frowned and looked up as a thought seemed to occur to her.
"Wait, why did you commission your friend to make a skeleton key in the first place?"
"I was gonna hide dead weasels in the lockers of people I didn't like. Mostly Trenton, but I had half a mind to do it to Cinch, too – leave her a surprise in that liquor cabinet that she thinks no one knows about." Killjoy scoffed. "Tell me I can't brew whiskey in the janitor's closet, will you..."
"And did you do that before you dropped out, or after?" Twilight pressed.
"Commissioned the key before. Dropped out before it was finished." Killjoy shrugged. "What can I say? I've never really been one for the long game."
"And if you have this key," Snake interjected. "Then why haven't you used it to carry out your horrible weasel-plan?"
"Oh, I could do it any time I want. Just that something always comes up to distract me. Like, I was gonna last week – had the weasels for it and everything – but my bro Jingles scored tickets to Slaygirl! The Musical, and I can't say no to that, can I?"
"I mean, you probably could have," said Twilight. "You sound like you have trouble prioritizing and maintaining focus. Those could be symptoms of a few different disorders. ADD and ADHD come to mind."
"Whaddaya know? Smart and cute." Killjoy turned and grinned at Snake. "Hey, Cock, you're not doin' anything with her – you mind if I have a spin?"
"I— that—" Twilight stammered and sputtered. "I do not— I am not—"
"You can do whatever you want with her, as long as you keep her out of my hair." Snake stood up – the pain in his gut wasn't gone, but it was far less severe than it had been – and extended his hand toward Killjoy. "And as long as you give me that key."
Killjoy dropped the key into Snake's waiting hand. "Careful with that now, with great power, yadda yadda yadda. You'll have to supply your own weasels, though."
Snake thought about that – Liquid apparently had a pig's head in his bedroom. Who knew what other carcasses he liked to hoard? There might be a weasel somewhere underneath all the unwashed laundry and Mantis's spare sweaters and jackets.
I already know where he keeps his squirt guns, thought Snake. Hidden panel in the closet that he thinks no one knows about. Just like where Dad keeps all his—
And then it occurred to him that this plan had far, far greater potential than Killjoy seemed to realize. The nascent beginnings of a grandiose scheme began percolating in his head, and he – quite uncharacteristically – grinned.
"I gotta run," he said to Killjoy. Then he looked at Twilight. "Do me a favor – keep our new friend here company until I get back."
"What?" Twilight paled. "Snake, I have class after this, and – and she keeps... looking at me!"
"Only 'cuz you're easy on the eyes, Sparkle-Sparkle." She laced her arm through Twilight's and pulled her close. "You go do your thing, Meatstick; me an' her, we'll hang out here, have us some girl talk time. Won't we?"
"Snake..." Twilight whined.
"Quit complaining." Snake waved her off. "You wanna be useful, right?"
"I..." Twilight sighed and nodded. "If this'll make you like me more, then—"
"It can't make me dislike you any more. Probably. I'll text you later with instructions."
Snake headed for the door, his mind working through the possibilities. He'd have to call Otacon, make sure he still had that Adobe subscription, unless he'd gone ahead and just pirated the whole creative suite. And he needed to make sure he still had that scanner. The other materials, he could get from his own home, but Otacon would need to come through, unless they wanted to do things the old fashioned way.
Before he could pass through the gym's doors, a meaty hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop.
"Snake. Wait a moment."
Snake shrugged off Coach Cain's hand and turned to regard him. The older man had a frown that wrinkled his face and three of his four chins, and his eyes were misty. His headphones strained against the bulging flesh of his neck fat; the muffled sounds of 1999's greatest hits blasted against his skin.
"What do you need, Coach?" Snake grunted. "Can we make it quick? I got somewhere I need to be."
"...I knew your father, you know," said Coach Cain. "Big Boss. We worked together, at Zanzibar Enterprises, for many years. I was in Mergers and Acquisitions. He was in the corporate espionage division."
"Uh, that's..." Snake fumbled for something to say. "Very interesting, sir."
"I wanted him, you know." Cain looked seriously at Snake. "I always wanted him. Him and his body. I wanted to feed on his tree frog. I wanted to open his survival viewer, and inject my antivenom into him."
"Coach, I don't—"
"Sexually, son. I wanted him sexually. Do you understand?" He gripped Snake's arms and leaned in closer, until they were almost nose-to-nose. "You need to understand. I wanted him sexually. Sexually."
Snake fidgeted, freeing himself from Cain's grip. He suddenly became aware of how Cain's eyes kept drifting over his sweat-stained clothes, drinking in the way that they clung to his well-toned body.
It was time to leave.
"I have to go. There's a... dog-sledding contest that I'm supposed to... help... cater."
He stared blankly at Coach Cain for a few awkward seconds before sprinting out the door.
"Remember what we talked about!" Coach Cain called after him. "Remember it, lad!"