> Equestria Gear Solid: The Definitive Experience
>  by Posh
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1. Jamais Vu
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------






"If the universe splits without end, it's possible it could eventually recreate scenes from the past. And if those things played out differently, it wouldn't negate what happened in our reality – a paradox would simply mean another future. The following is one possible story in one possible universe, born of paradox, after paradox, after paradox..."






Few things got Solid Snake quite so solid as lying down on his stomach and creeping along the ground, even if the bulge in his crotch just made the process more uncomfortable. Sneaking was just what he was good at, and he liked doing it as often as possible, whether rain or shine. In today's case, it was frosty out, and the cold seeped into him through his clothes as he crawled through the bushes, preventing his crotch-serpent from reaching full solidity. It made for better sneaking, really, but part of him missed the sensation.

Snake's bandana fluttered in the cold morning breeze as he emerged into the open air and raised his binoculars. From across the white field, he observed the crowd of students making their way into Crystal Prep High, his breath misting in front of him. His spying was soon interrupted by a familiar ringing sound, so Snake lied down again to answer his phone.

"Otacon," he said in his characteristically growly voice. "I'm outside the site now. No sign of Metal Gear."

"Keep looking, Snake," said his friend of many years. "You've come this far. Don't give up now!"

"I... wasn't going to..." Snake mumbled. "Hrrr... Looks like the other students are all heading in for class."

"Well, you don't want to be late."

"Goddamnit, I know, Otacon." Snake ended the call in a huff and put his cellphone back in his pocket. "Why does he even call me?"

Packing his binoculars away, he stood up and emerged from the bushes. Looking down, Snake promptly noticed that he had gotten dirt all over his new Crystal Prep uniform. His first day in a new school, and he was already a mess. With a sigh, he trudged sullenly across the field to join the throng. This mission was off to an inauspicious start.





It wasn't long before Snake started getting weird looks, either because of the dirt, or the bandana that he insisted on wearing everywhere. Neither was exactly standard fashion in an uptight place like this. But Snake had never gotten along with his fellow teenagers, and he hadn't expected Crystal Prep to be any change of pace. It made no difference either way. He was here on a mission. He had to find Metal Gear. The consequences if he failed were too dire to think about.

Snake's eyes flitted between the other students as he walked through the halls. This felt wrong. It was too open, too exposed. Snake was always much more comfortable when he was out of sight, and preferably also crawling on the ground. Standing upright and walking out in the open was for jackasses; everyone in his family knew that. Except for his big brother, Solidus, who had been the most popular kid in school and the class president, but he was just... weird.

I miss my cardboard box, thought Snake. Stupid dress code.

His brooding distracted Snake from looking where he was going, and he ran straight into another student, a purple-skinned girl with her hair tied in a bun. She gasped and dropped her books, instinctively apologizing as she went to pick them up. Snake grunted something apologetic in turn, and bent down to help her.

There was an awkward pause when they both rose again, and the girl blushed slightly as he passed her one of her books.

"Um, thank you," she said, smiling at him.

Snake saw where this was going, and wanted no part of it, so he just grunted noncommittally and shoved past her.

"Wait!"

Damn it, now she was following him. Girls never knew when to leave him alone. This was exactly why he hated interacting with people face-to-face.  Phone calls and texts and internet chats were much easier. No faces involved meant no unwanted female attention. Otacon understood this; he never socialized in real life, and the girls never bothered him.

Snake quickened his pace to try to get away. Just as he turned the corner in hopes of escape, however, he spotted a thick crowd of students. Driven by his finely honed instincts for stealth, he backed away around the corner and pressed up against the wall. Unfortunately, this gave time for the purple girl to catch up with him.

"Hey!" she said. "I just wanted to know your na—"

Snake shushed her, and leaned out from cover to peek around the corner.

"Oh, are we hiding from someone?" the girl whispered.

"No." Snake's eyes snapped over to her. "We're not doing anything. Get lost."

"Oh..." The girl gave him a downcast look. "I'm sorry."

Just as she went to leave, Snake reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back over with a yelp.

"Wait," he said, pointing down the hall at a pair of students chatting away by their lockers – a reedy, pimply dork with a peachfuzz beard, and a small girl with platinum blonde hair and a bright, sunny smile upon her face. 

"Who is that?"

The girl looked at his hand with a blush, stammering. "I... uh..."

"Answer me, dammit!"

Yelling, as usual, worked, and she looked where he was indicating.

"...You mean that boy? That's Macbeth. President of the drama club. I don't know who the girl is, though. I think she's new here."

She was new. A transfer from Shadow Moses High, just like him. Snake would've recognized her anywhere.

Metal Gear.





To Snake's immense frustration and fury, he and the purple girl shared most of their classes, and she dogged his steps through all of them. She told him her name was Twilight, and even wrangled his own name out of him over the course of the day. That would've been bad enough, but then she made sure she sat next to him in every class they had together as well.

Their last course of the day was history. Snake had deliberately taken a seat at the back of the class to avoid the staring, judgmental gazes of his fellow students, only to end up being stared at all through class anyway. Fortunately, Twilight didn't talk, busy as she was with her rigorous note-taking. Unfortunately, she did keep trying to hold his hand.

The lecture itself was pretty boring too, which didn't help matters. The teacher was an overweight, uncharismatic old man with a thick accent, who took frequent breaks from his droning to polish his shoes and drink something from a hip flask.

"Today, we only have apocryphal accounts of the God-Emperor's reign," Mr. Granin slurred, dribbling clear liquor down his chin. "But most sources trace our modern practice of naming things after horses for no reason back to him. The God-Emperor's obsession with equestrian sports and breeding is referenced in the Biblia Discordia, dated seventy years after the end of his reign..."

It went on like that for the rest of the hour as Mr. Granin described, in detail, the God-Emperor's penile insecurities, and his dream of transcending the human body to become a well-endowed stallion named Bucephallus. When Snake finally escaped the classroom and its stench of vodka and shoe polish, the relief was one of the sweetest feelings he'd ever felt. Not even Uncle Ocelot's torture resistance training was that painful, and Uncle Ocelot got really into it in those sessions.

Twilight came up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"So... hey!" she said. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk earlier. I thought it might be nice to get to know each other!"

Snake shuddered. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to stick a gun in his own mouth and wipe his meme from the face of the earth.

"I'm not interested in anyone else's life," he grunted. "The only thing I want to know is where Macbeth is and what he's doing with Metal Gear."

"Oh." Twilight let go. "Well, doesn't that kind of imply an interest in their lives? If nothing else?"

Now Snake just wanted to hit her. But, dammit, she was right, and he signaled his agreement with a begrudging grunt.

"So, um... that being the case..." Twilight wrapped her arms around her midsection self-consciously. "Maybe we can go find him, together. Or even just hang out. If you want, I mean."

Snake turned his back on her. "I don't need a sidekick."

"I-I wasn't thinking in a sidekick sort of way. I was thinking more in a... you know..." She started mumbling. "Licking ice cream off each other's nipples sort of way."

"Ice cream?" Snake grunted, ears perking.

"I mean, hey!" Twilight pointed down the hall with a fragile grin. "It's Macbeth! A-And he brought a friend!"

!

Snake pulled open Mr. Granin's classroom door and hid behind it, pressing himself against the nearby row of lockers. With his free arm, he pulled Twilight close. She melted against him, shuddering rapturously.

"We should have else desired your good advice, which still hath been both grave and prosperous, in this day's council, but we'll take to-morrow." Macbeth's voice was high and nasal, and broken by pauses for snorts of breath. "Is't far you ride?"

"To the cherry farm?" an androgynous-sounding voice replied. "Not really. Could take me awhile to get there and back, though. You know how Hickory is."

"Goes Operator with you?"

"Nah. He doesn't travel well, I'm afraid."

"As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept all by the name of dogs. The valued file distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, the housekeeper, the hunter, every one according to the gift which bounteous nature hath in him closed; whereby he does receive particular addition from the bill that writes them all alike. And so of men."

"Uh. Yeah. Same here, man. Anyway, this is Mr. Granin's room, so..."

"To make society the sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself till supper-time alone while then."

"Sounds good! I should be home by 8; stop by, and I'll whip you up some homemade gallo pinto."

Then came the sound of hands slapping together. "Don't worry," said the other voice. "I'll put in a good word for you, like always."

Macbeth went off down the hall, whistling a tune that made Snake growl with annoyance.

The Cure. How I hate The Cure.

Then the door pulled shut, leaving Snake and Twilight exposed in the hallway. "Thanks for getting that for me, man," said the other voice.

Snake immediately pulled away from Twilight and seized her by the shoulders. "Who was that, huh? Answer me!" He shook her once, hard.

"Harder," Twilight muttered.

"What?"

"Oh, uh." Twilight slapped herself and shook her head. "That guy with Macbeth was Trenton. A real jock type. He runs track, plays basketball, lacrosse – Principal Cinch is counting on him to be our ringer in the Friendship Games this year."

"Jock type, huh?" Snake released Twilight's shoulders and cupped his chin. "I'll bet he's a total asshole, on top of everything else."

"Not really. He's big into philanthropy, actually. When he's not tutoring freshmen and organizing fundraisers for the school, he volunteers at the animal shelter. Even adopted an old dog from there, too."

"Yeah, just like I thought. A total asshole." Snake stroked his bare upper lip, musing for not the first time about how cool he'd look with a mustache. "But what does he want with Mr. Granin?"

Snake cupped his hand against the door and leaned his ear into it, straining to hear the muffled sounds of conversation and shrugging off Twilight's hand when it found his shoulder.

"...Just saying, Mr. Granin, that he's a real nice guy, a good student, and he knows how to treat a girl. No funny stuff."

"I am hearing you, don't get me wrong, Trenton. But there is a reason I no longer let my daughter date. She is very precious to me, and all those rumors about her 'taking the Stinger like a champ,' hurt me. Because they hurt her, you see, and when she hurts, I hurt. And when she hurts, and I hurt, then the people who say the bad things, I hurt them, and then I lose my job."

"Sir... I'm just asking you to consider it. That's all. I don't want to see Metal Gear get hurt, either. She's a good friend of mine. Macbeth will treat her right, though. I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't genuinely believe that."

Snake's eyes widened. "That son of a bitch Macbeth is trying to steal Metal Gear! And Trenton's helping him!"

"Mm?" said Granin, voice rising in alarm. "What was that just now?"

"Oh, there are some kids out in the hall. Young couple fooling around. They're not hurting anyone."

Young couple. Snake's face burned. Of all the idiotic...

"Ah, I ought to write them up, but for you Trenton, I will let it slide. Now. Shall we pick up where we left off?"

"Absolutely; you know I love our book club. Now, according to Marx, socialism can be defined in the following ways..."

Snake pulled away from the door with a growl and slammed his fist into the locker hard enough to dent it. "Damn it! Even Granin's in on it! How high does the conspiracy go, huh?!"

Then he tore off down the hallway, trying to retrace Macbeth's steps.

"Wait!" Twilight called. "Where are you going?"

"To find Macbeth!"

"But won't you take me? With you, take me with you?" she hastily added.

Snake grunted to himself. "Fine! But keep up, or I'm leaving you behind!"

Macbeth had a head start on him, but Snake had speed and wits on his side. He hunched over as he moved, keeping his eye on the floor. Macbeth had left dusty footprints on the linoleum, from orthopedic shoes, by the look of it. What a loser. Didn't he know that those offered no tactical advantage whatsoever during stealth missions?

Snake sped along thus, not daring to look up, for fear that he might lose the trail – and then where would he be? Nowhere good, he knew that much for—

He bumped into something that felt and smelled like a butt, and fell backward. "Eargh!" he grunted as his back smacked into the floor. "What the hell?!"

The butt stopped mid-step. It was skinny, and meatless, and attached to a body that was equally skinny and meatless.

Snake's eyes narrowed. "Macbeth! Turn around and face me like a man!"

Macbeth's shoulders shook with laughter as he turned around, a bottle of nasal spray shoved halfway up one nostril. He squeezed the bottle slightly, snorting, and tucked it away in his back pocket. A mouth, wired so heavily with braces that Snake wondered how he kept from falling forward onto his face, grinned at him.

"Prithee, peace," Macbeth declared. "I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none."

Snake frowned. "The hell are you talking about? Speak English, you freak!"

Twilight's staggered breathing and footfalls echoed behind him. He felt her hands underneath his arms, squeezing his triceps slightly, and he let her guide him back to his feet before shaking her off.

"He is speaking English," Twilight wheezed. "It's from Shakespeare. He's in the drama club, remember?"

"He's gonna shake a spear at me, huh? Well, guess what?"

Snake reached into the back of his uniform pants and pulled out a gun, which he leveled at Macbeth's eye.

"I got something better than that."

"Snake!" Twilight hissed, hugging his arm frantically. "What are you doing? Do you want to get thrown out?!"

Macbeth stared down the barrel smugly. "Swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, brandish'd by man that's of a woman born."

"Swords, spears – make up your mind! Not that it matters either way. You shouldn't bring either to a gunfight."

Snake's finger traced over the trigger before squeezing.

A thin stream of water spurted from the barrel and struck Macbeth's cheek, making him jerk with surprise. A second splashed against his glasses. He blinked, removed them, wiped them off on his shirt, and placed them back on his face.

Twilight watched with burning cheeks.

"There," said Snake. "And there's a hell of a lot more where that came from, unless you stay away from Metal Gear."

Chuckling, Macbeth shook his head. "Avaunt! And quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!"

He turned, and continued to walk away, snorting another puff of nasal spray.

Twilight pulled a tissue from her uniform and wiped the end of Snake's squirtgun. 

"Look, you're new here," she muttered. "So maybe you don't know, but this is a zero tolerance school – a squirtgun is as bad as a real gun in the eyes of the law. You get caught with that, and you'll be facing expulsion. And that, um... that would be regrettable."

"Yeah," Snake grunted. "How else am I supposed to protect the purity of Metal Gear if I can't go to the same school as her?"

Twilight stiffened. "Yeah. Can't have that."

She tucked away the tissue with a sigh. Snake tilted his head curiously.

"How'd you catch up to me so fast, anyway? I ran pretty far, and I was goin' a mile a minute."

Twilight, her face blank, pointed stiffly down the hall. Snake turned to look at what she was indicating.

Fifteen feet away from them in the perfectly linear corridor was Mr. Granin's classroom.

Snake folded his arms with a grunt. "Well, it seemed further than that."
> 2. Accursed Snake Children
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"I was a North American fall webworm in my past life. Ah, those were the days... What were you in your former life?"






After a long and traumatic day, Snake looked forward to finally getting home and escaping the constant presence of Twilight. Unfortunately, it didn't look like she was going to give up that easily. Snake stopped outside the school only long enough to text Otacon and tell him to meet him later, and then he was off. But not minutes later, there she was again, hot on his trail.

"Hey!" she called, running down the street after him. "Wait up!"

Snake panicked. This one would take all of his training to evade. He immediately began running, pacing himself to maintain proper breathing and ensure that he could outlast his pursuer through sheer stamina – which, given her performance in the hallway earlier, didn't seem too difficult.

As soon as he was a decent way ahead of Twilight, running down a quiet residential neighborhood, he executed a tactical roll to break line of sight with her, placing himself behind a garden wall on someone's driveway. He quickly surveyed the landscape, and found what he was looking for: a perfect hiding spot.

Snake dove into the nearby garbage can and crouched inside.

Truly, he was a master of stealth.

Three minutes later, he peeked out from his hiding place to check if Twilight was still there. By some rotten luck, that was the exact moment she was passing the garden.

"Snake? What are you doing in there?"

"Hrrrrrm..."





Twilight was a relentless pursuer, easily thwarting all his evasion attempts. There was simply no way to elude her, so he begrudgingly let her follow him home after that, contenting himself with telling her to be quiet. On that count, at least, she obeyed his wishes, but having her there was still an embarrassment, a constant reminder of his failure as a stealth operative.

It was like dealing with Meryl from Shadow Moses High all over again. Granted, Twilight hadn't gotten quite as bad as her yet – Meryl would always rub up against him, sometimes while barely clothed, at every opportunity she had – but it was only a matter of time before Twilight's occasional hand-touches and "accidental" nuzzling became something far more tiresome.

Why did girls do stuff like that? It was so weird.

The peace wasn't to last. When the two of them finally came to the Snake family home, Twilight started making mouth-noises again.

"Ooh, is this where you live? I didn't think I'd get to see it so soon! Are your parents in right now? I can try to be quiet if they are, but I'm sorry if in the heat of the moment I—"

"Shut. Up."

Without another word, Snake got down on his stomach and crawled into a ventilation shaft that ran below the house. Twilight, bewildered, shouted questions after him as he disappeared into its depths, but her voice was mercifully distant now. He smiled to himself; for once, he was glad that his father had banned using the front door and refused to give any of his sons a key until electronic personal area network technology could be perfected. Besides encouraging them all to learn proper stealth infiltration techniques, and pissing off Solidus, it was also a barrier to Snake being followed inside.

He emerged behind the living room couch, quietly sliding a grate out of his way and climbing up onto the carpet. Moving around the side of the couch, Snake surveyed the area, eyes darting between the fireplace, where Dad kept his antique 1960s radio, and the cabinets full of the skeletons of things Dad had devoured. When he thought it was safe, he emerged from view, standing to his full height and walking out into the open.

Immediately, a red-gloved hand grabbed him in a chokehold, and a knife came to his throat.

"Shpit it out!" said a voice that sounded like someone speaking through a mouthful of sandwich.

That didn't sound like his father. Dad didn't even like sandwiches.

"Uncle... Serval?" Snake grunted tentatively.

The knife retreated, and the man behind him grabbed Snake by the shoulders and whirled him around. Snake's eyes widened as he looked upon his uncle, wearing his father's old khakis and an eyepatch, facial hair trimmed to resemble Big Boss's beard

"Uhhhh..."

"I'm not your uncle, shon," said Uncle Serval, grinning at him. "I'm your father, Big Bosh. Shee?"

"Um... sure..." Snake slowly backed away, slipping out of Uncle Serval's grasp. "Uh... Dad... why are you...?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. How wash your day, shon?"

"It was... weird and uncomfortable. Much like this situation."

At that moment, Twilight also emerged from behind the couch, glasses askew and plaid skirt and shirt covered in filth from the vents.

"Snake, there you are!"

Uncle Serval immediately drew a water pistol and started squirting Twilight in the face.

"CONTACT!" he yelled.

Twilight wailed and screamed, swinging her arms about blindly as the water splashed her glasses. She collapsed on the floor behind the couch, and Uncle Serval ran behind to continue shooting her while she was down.

Snake shrugged and left the room.

Trouble always had a way of finding Snake, however, just as it did on his way up the stairs.

"Brrrrother!" Liquid said dramatically, spreading his arms wide atop the stairs.

"Urgh..."

An open jacket with ripped sleeves over a bare chest. Camo shorts that only went down to his knees. Black leather gloves with missing fingers, and matching combat boots. A conch hanging from his belt, and a seashell necklace. Bleach blond hair. Liquid had always tried his very best to look like as much of a douchebag on the outside as he was inside. Snake didn't think he'd succeeded yet, but that was only because the world of fashion simply had not advanced far enough to portray Liquid's full douchiness. If anything, he'd only succeeded in turning himself into the world's edgiest surf instructor.

Out of the frying pan, and into the smaller, dorkier frying pan.

"I heard girlish screaming, and hoped it was you." Liquid gave a smug grin. "But it sounds like our dear uncle caught some other rat in his trap. Did you bring over your girlfriend again, Snake?"

"Meryl is not my girlfriend!" Snake snapped.

"What's the matter?" said a creepy filtered voice. "Don't you like girls?"

Another boy had appeared at the top of the stairs, a redhead wearing a gas mask and a black leather jacket with sleeves far too long for him.

"Oh good," Snake grunted. "You're here too."

Liquid stepped down closer to Snake, getting right up in his face.

"Well, Snake? Don't you? Hmmmmm?"

"Pretty rich coming from you," Snake growled. "Why haven't you two fucked already and gotten it over with?"

"Because Mantis is asexual!" Liquid shouted. "You'd know that if you read his blog, like I do!"

Snake, eyes half-lidded, looked to Mantis, who in turn was now staring at Liquid.

"...Uh-huh."

Liquid waved him off. "Whatever, Snake! I'll deal with you later. Me and Mantis are going out to a party. We're going to pull some Crystal Prep girl's hair, and pour pig's blood over her!"

"Have fun," Snake grunted.

"You'll regret brushing me off one day, Snake!" Liquid growled. "Come on, Mantis, let's go. At least you know how to have a good time!"

"Can we stop for cherries along the way? I fucking love cherries."

Snake stepped aside. Liquid and Mantis held hands and descended the stairs together, the latter having to be careful to not trip on his enormous sleeves. Snake gagged and rolled his eyes as soon as they were out the door.

Soon after, a thoroughly soaked and red-faced Twilight emerged from the living room, a half-inflated balloon scotch-taped to her back.

"Your..." Twilight panted. "Your dad is... very energetic... I can... see where you get it from... heh heh..."





Twilight needed to dry off after her encounter with Serval, and Snake was all too happy to direct her to the bathroom. While she was gone, he could escape to his room for some brief respite. He doubted that Twilight was going to leave willingly any time soon, but at least she couldn't annoy him as long as she was in the bathroom. Plus, Otacon would be over soon. His brand of annoying was far less infuriating than Twilight's, and he would provide a much welcome distraction.

As always, Snake scanned his room as soon as he entered, drawing his water pistol and checking everywhere for spies. None in his closet. None under the bed. None in his bed. None clinging to the ceiling, or camouflaging themselves and hiding in plain sight. He lowered his weapon; it looked like he was safe.

Satisfied, Snake went over to his bedside cabinet and removed the false bottom in one of the drawers, revealing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Technically, he wasn't allowed to smoke at his age, and Liquid and Solidus would rat him out to their father instantly if they saw him, but he could get away with it in his own room; he had a lock, and he'd already confirmed nobody else was home. Besides Serval, anyway. But Serval would be cool with it, no matter what weird game he and Dad were playing.

Snake placed a cigarette between his lips and raised the lighter.

Then an arm reached around from behind and pulled him into another chokehold. Snake spat out his cigarette and struggled, but his attacker pulled him to the ground, and yanked him underneath a cardboard box, one he'd completely failed to notice during his initial check of the room. That could only mean it belonged to a greater master of stealth than even he. 

For a moment, his world was dark. Then there was the click of a butane lighter, and a flickering orange flame, and Snake found himself face to face with his father, Big Boss. The real one this time.

"Dad," Snake grunted, massaging his throat. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, son," Big Boss said casually, his own voice not nearly as growly as Snake's own. "I had to hide in your room; Liquid's smells like shit."

Snake squinted at his father. "...Why?"

"Well, Liquid's weirdo friend got him a severed pig's head last Christmas, and since your brother is so obviously gay for him, he refuses to throw it away, even though it's rotting and attracting flies now."

"Why do you need to hide at all?"

"Oh." Big Boss shifted awkwardly. "Um... I got a call from Ocelot. He says that Zero and some of my other old colleagues from Patriot International are lining up some sort of huge prank on me. I don't want to be hit by it, so Serval is acting as a decoy. Until further notice, he's your dad as well. We are both Big Boss. To distinguish us, you can call him Venom Dad, and I will be Naked Dad."

"I'm not going to call you that."

Big Boss's face fell. He folded his arms and grumbled.

"Damn kids... never go along with my ideas..."

His father had always been like this. For as long as Snake could remember, Big Boss had been a neurotic individual, shaped by a life of corporate espionage to become a paranoid lunatic, who had nonetheless helped Snake discover his own passion for tactical stealth. The old man was also more than a little bitter about his long string of business failures after leaving Patriot. He had made four different companies since then, all of which eventually went bankrupt for various reasons. Being a paranoid lunatic, Big Boss blamed their failures on Patriot.

"Well, whatever," said Big Boss, sighing. "How was your day, son? How was your new school?"

"It was weird and stupid and I didn't like it," Snake said bluntly. "The history teacher was a drunk communist, some weird girl stalked me all day, and everybody was wearing plaid."

Big Boss recoiled, a look of total disgust on his face.

"Plaid? Why are they wearing plaid? Don't they know that plaid is terrible camouflage in almost all situations?"

"Right?!" Snake shouted. "They may as well be shouting to the enemy 'hey, here I am, squirt me!'"

For some reason, saying that reminded him of Twilight.

"Philistines," Big Boss spat. "We'll speak no more of them. What about your mission? Is that going well?"

"I'm working on it..." Snake muttered. His right leg was buzzing from being squatted on, so he swapped it out with his left. "Some asshole called Macbeth, and his guard dog, Trenton, are trying to make a move on Metal Gear."

"Ooh," said Big Boss with a sympathetic grimace. "That doesn't sound good. You'll want to do something about them."

"Me and Otacon are already on it. He'll be around in about five minutes."

"Good." Big Boss nodded. "Glad to hear, son. But for real, as soon as this Macbeth is out of the way, you get in there, and you destroy Metal Gear."

"Ew, dad!" Snake cringed.

"I did not spread all those rumors about her taking the Stinger just so that you could not give her the goddamn Stinger! I'm fed up with this friendzone beta orbiting shit you've been doing until now. It's not working; women are denser than lead, and they don't pick up these signals. You just gotta tell her you want to smash, and then you smash. Simple as that."

"Dad, gross! She's like a sister to me! I'm just doing this to try to protect her!"

"Pfffft." Big Boss rolled his eye. "What, are you gay or something?"

Snake tried to say something, but he was quickly cut off by Big Boss's cell phone ringing. Grumbling, his father fished it out of his breast pocket and answered.

"This is Big Boss."

"Hello~" a breathy female voice replied. The volume on the phone was cranked to maximum, and Snake could hear every sensually breathed word as clearly as if it were being breathed sensually into his own ear.

"Oh hey, Luna," Big Boss said nonchalantly. "What's going on?"

"Mmm, nothing. I just got home, and I'm all alone in this big, empty house..."

"Your sister ditch you again?"

"Oh, let's not waste valuable time discussing her," the husky-sounding woman tittered. "You know how she feels about the two of us talking. Thankfully, she's away for the weekend on school business, giving me the place all... to... myself."

"Wow. Sounds pretty lonely."

"Well, funny you should say that – I was feeling a little lonesome. Maybe a big, rugged, handsome, one-eyed, bearded gentleman could come along and help me... fill some empty space?"

Big Boss gave his son a questioning look, but Snake just shrugged in response.

"I don't follow," he eventually replied.

"I'm saying that I want you... to come over and give me some... company," the husky voice purred.

"Well, sure, I guess. I don't have anything else to do."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll give you something to do," the woman moaned delightedly. "Oh, and bring the sneaking suit~"

"Why? We going on a mission, or something?"

"Oh yes. A little two-person op called Operation Snake Eater. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds a little strange, actually, but I'm sure it'll make sense in context. I'll be by in ten for the mission briefing. Over and out."

Big Boss ended the call with a sweep of his thumb.

"Sorry, son, I have to go take care of this. I have no idea what this woman has in mind, but it sounds urgent."

Big Boss killed the lighter and lifted the edge of the cardboard box. Without a word, Snake rolled onto his belly and slithered out from underneath it, while Big Boss went back inside and crouch-walked out of the room with the box still concealing him.

Snake looked around his empty room and sighed. "I miss when mom was around..."

He went over to pick up his own lighter and cigarette, lying on the floor nearby. His father had apparently missed them in the chaos, for which he was incredibly grateful. But no sooner had Snake put the cigarette back in his mouth than he heard incredibly whiny yelling downstairs.

That sounds like someone I know.

He ran back downstairs as quick as he could, and found Uncle Serval choking Otacon to death, the second time in less than ten minutes that he'd violently attacked some nerd that came into Snake's home.

"Hey." Snake gave Serval a stern glare.

With a sheepish look, Serval reluctantly eased his grip. Otacon slipped loose and fell to his knees, clutching his throat and gasping for breath like a drowning man finally returning to the surface. At least he wasn't pissing himself. This time.

"D-Dr. Serval?" Otacon stammered as he looked up at the man standing over him.

"Who ish Dr. Sherval?" Serval said loudly, making a show of looking all around the room. "I shee no Dr. Sherval here! Jusht me, Big Bosh!"

"Ignore him," Snake grunted. "He's helping my father with some convoluted plan."

Otacon followed Snake out of the room, still massaging his neck where a bruise was now forming. He readjusted his glasses and looked behind him as they ascended the stairs, as if afraid that Serval would attack again.

"Snake, I don't understand. What exactly are they doing?"

"It doesn't matter," Snake muttered. "Stupid dad things. You know the kind."

"I don't actually; my father killed himself."

"God, I envy you."

"Um... okay, so... the mission, then. What did you learn from following Metal G— Oh."

Snake and Otacon both came to a stop on the landing at the top of the stairs, where they ran straight into Big Boss dragging an unconscious purple girl. Twilight was clad in one of the Snake family's trademark black sneaking suits, and even wore one of Big Boss's eyepatches. He stared at the two of them like a deer in headlights. Otacon stared back, utterly bewildered, but Snake didn't have it in him to be surprised anymore.

"...I can explain," said Big Boss.

"Let me guess," Snake grumbled. "You found her in your room playing dress-up, took her for a Patriot spy, and knocked her out?"

Big Boss grinned widely. "Yes! Exactly! She's the one Zero sent to prank me! Or, at least, I think she is. Why else would she be doing that in my room?"

In all likelihood, Twilight had probably just mistaken Big Boss's room for Snake's, and decided to be a creepy stalker in the wrong man's wardrobe. Still, this presented an opportunity to rid himself of her, at least temporarily.

"Can't argue with that logic," said Snake. "Make sure you get the suit back before you hide the body."

"Don't worry, I'll strip her in the back of my van before I drop her in the dumpster. Anyway, I'm off to Luna's now. Seeya later, son! Have fun with your friend!"

Otacon continued to stare as Big Boss dragged the unconscious Twilight past them and down the stairs, her head bumping on every step. Snake just grunted in exasperation and headed into his room, flopping down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Otacon came in shortly after.

"What was that all about?" he asked, pointing a thumb behind him.

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

"...Oh, I see. The Meryl problem again, huh, Snake?"

Snake gave a rumbling sigh and pulled a pillow over his own face.

"Well, I know just the thing to cheer you up," said Otacon as he took off his backpack and rummaged through. "I was able to skip class this afternoon, and I took the time to do some research on Crystal Prep High for you at the library. I found this article on—"

"Otacon, I'm not in the mood today," said Snake, throwing the pillow off his face. "Can we just skip the talking this time and make out already?"

Otacon sighed and rolled his eyes, climbing onto the bed and straddling Snake. "Only for you, Snake."





The high-pitched chirp of Snake's ringtone woke him abruptly, and he rolled over to pick his phone off his nightstand. An unknown number, calling at 2:35? Who could that even be?

Snake took the call and lifted the phone to his face. "'Iss Snake," he mumbled groggily. "Wuss happ'?"

"Why did I just regain consciousness in a dumpster, Snake?"

Snake slapped his forehead. "Because you're literal garbage. How the hell did you get my phone number?"

"It was in your dad's contacts. I lifted his phone while he was, um... squirting me." She giggled. "Impressed?"

Twilight was using Venom Da— Uncle Serval's phone? Then why didn't the call register as his? Serval must've been using another burner – it was so hard to get a read on that guy sometimes.

"Any moron could've lifted that phone off of him; he keeps it in a pouch on his chest like some kind of douchebag jogger. Now shut up and leave me alone."

"Hey, I was actually calling because—"

Snake ended the call before she could finish her sentence and groaned. Bad enough that Twilight knew where he lived, and that they had classes together – now she could call him whenever she damn well pleased. This situation with her was getting more and more intolerable. Still, hopefully, she'd be able to get the hint this time and—

The phone rang again, and Snake's jaw clenched as he took the call. "I told you to leave me alone, dammit!"

"This is actually business, not pleasure. For once. I was trying on one of your dad's form-fitting sexy catsuits – you know, out of curiosity – when I lost consciousness. I think someone stripped the suit off of me, because I woke up just now completely naked. All my clothes are still at your place."

Snake frowned. "How'd you manage to sneak a phone out? How do you still have it, if you got stripped?"

"...Women have more hiding places than men?"

Snake looked quizzically at his phone.

I don't get it, he thought.

"Anyway, for now, I should be alright; I can fashion a makeshift dress out of this old garbage bag, and the dumpster's close enough to my place that I can make it home in a couple of minutes. But I still need that uniform back, so... if you could bring it by my lab tomorrow morning, I'd be really grateful."

"Lab? You have a lab?"

"Well... more of a closet that I've turned into a lab. I think someone used to make moonshine in here, because there was an old still with half a tank of corn mash, and a couple plastic bottles with suspicious fluid."

"Sorry I asked," Snake grunted. "Fine, I'll bring you your damn uniform. But you better leave me alone after that."

"Right, okay, great. Thanks. And, um..." She hesitated, stammering when she spoke again. He could practically hear the blush in her voice. "Y'know, i-if you saw something you wanted to keep... l-like, my underwear... as a souvenir? You're welcome to—"

Snake threw his phone against his wall, shattering it into pieces and leaving a rectangular dent. No matter – he'd steal Solidouche's before going to school in the morning.
> 3. Twilight's Slutty High School Wolbachia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"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!"
> 4. Snake's Revenge
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Even my patience has its limits. I just can't leave it to you any longer. I'll do the fighting! You can just go home!"






It was after lunch by the time Snake returned to Twilight's lab-closet, a bulging backpack slung over one shoulder. He found Twilight waiting for him inside, dressed in a labcoat and blushing profusely as Killjoy draped herself around her. She separated herself from Killjoy as soon as she noticed him, and ran over with an eager grin on her face. Snake stopped her in her tracks with a glare.

"Way to kill the mood," Killyjoy mumbled sullenly. "Dick move, Dick."

"Um..." Twilight went back to her desk and came back to Snake with a brown folder. "Killjoy and I got the photos you asked for. Mostly we just pulled them off of MyStable..."

Snake opened the folder and flipped through. Inside were dozens upon dozens of photos of Principal Cinch, almost invariably in the middle of shouting or making an angry face.

"Perfect," Snake grunted.

"What about you?" asked Killjoy. "You get whatever you were after?"

"Mostly," Snake grumbled. "I couldn't convince Otacon to drop out of class and run across town with his laptop and scanner to help with this, but I did get what I needed from home."

He turned over his backpack and emptied it onto the table. Glossy magazines spilled everywhere, piling up and tumbling onto the floor. Twilight took one with a shaky hand, and blushed as she stared at the topless woman on the cover. She opened it up and started flipping through.

Killjoy let out a long whistle. "Damn, these are vintage. Good taste, Tallywhacker."

Snake frowned. "They're not mine. My dad keeps them in his closet for distracting enemy combatants on missions."

Killjoy snickered. "Sure he does."

"Yeah, he does. That's what they're for. Why else would he have them?"

"Oh gosh," said Killjoy, grinning. "You're actually serious, ain'tcha, Hard-On?"

Snake opened his mouth to respond, but Killjoy cut him off.

"Now, not that this isn't great, but what've you dumped all this seventies porno on us for?"

"You got any scissors or glue?" asked Snake, turning to Twilight.

She didn't immediately hear him, engrossed as she was in the magazine. Snake had to snap his fingers next to her ears.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure. Uh... top drawer on the desk." She waved him off and went back to reading.

Snake was already there, rifling through the drawer until he found the scissors and an old gluestick.

"Wait..." said Killjoy. "Are you suggesting we...?"

Snake tossed her the gluestick. "I'll cut the faces out of the photographs, you stick them in."





After so long standing out in the open, talking with people, and wearing plaid, it felt good to be undertaking a stealth mission again. Snake was supposed to be in class right now, and on top of that he was carrying contraband material, so it was paramount that he wasn't seen. And if he was spotted while breaking into Trenton's locker, the whole game was up.

So Snake was careful. He took his time. He employed all of his training, and crawled slowly on his stomach, inspecting every inch of Crystal Prep's hallway floors. It was the only way to ensure that nobody in the classrooms would see him. However, the hallways were long and open, and had no good hiding spots, so this time, Snake also employed lookouts.

Twilight and Killjoy kept pace behind him, walking upright like a couple of morons. But at least they would see anybody approaching before Snake would, and he could probably hide behind them, or crawl away while they distracted the witnesses.

Finally, they came to Trenton's locker, and Snake reluctantly climbed to his feet.

"Aww," said Killjoy. "Over already? Sparkle here was enjoying the view."

"There'll be time to study my stealth techniques later," said Snake. "The magazines."

Twilight opened up Snake's backpack, and fished out all of Big Boss's vintage porn. After over an hour of work, they had significantly altered hundreds of magazines, sticking Principal Cinch's face over that of every prominent model on every page. It was amazing what one could accomplish with good direction and teamwork. Although he would never admit it outwardly, Snake had never been so proud of himself as this exact moment.

Drawing Killjoy's skeleton key, Snake turned to Trenton's locker and opened it up. Inside, it was basically what he expected.

A cork pinboard on the inside of the door displayed old Soviet propaganda posters, alongside countless flyers for various charities and after-school groups and events. In the locker itself, Trenton kept the usual school supplies, along with a laptop, a pile of extra flyers for some local animal shelter, and a stack of books. Most were about feminism and gender roles, but there were also several copies of the Communist Manifesto, and one dog-eared copy of a book by someone named Ramón Gálvez Mena.

"Alright, lemme have it."

Twilight passed him the pornography, and Snake stuffed them into the locker until there was hardly space for anything else. Then, just for good measure, he threw in his water pistol as well, before closing the locker back up.

"Time?" Snake asked.

Killjoy checked her watch. "Still twenty minutes before next bell."

Snake nodded, and turned to Twilight. "Are you ready to be useful for once?"

"Yes!" she said, practically jumping on the spot.

"Good. Go to Dean Cadance, tell her that you saw contraband materials in Trenton's locker, and get her to search it. You have clout with her, don't you?"

"O-Oh..." Twilight stammered. "Well... yes... but I'm not sure I feel comfortable lying to Cadance. I mean, she's going to be my sister-in-law one day, and—"

"Whoa, really?" Killjoy's eyes widened. "You've been holding out on me, Sparkle. You didn't say Shining Armor was your big bro."

Twilight blinked. "You know him?"

"Yeah! Well, I know of him. He arrested my own brother once for public urination. He pick-pocketed Shining's cell phone on his way out of the precinct, and there were all these pictures of him and Dean Cadance on it. Lots of just Cadance alone, too. Even a couple where she was wearing clothes."

"...Do you still have it?"

"Christ, are you going to help or not?!" Snake thundered.

"Okay, I'm going!"





The students of Crystal Prep buzzed through the halls, milling about beside their lockers, while Snake and Killjoy kept watch on Trenton's locker from an empty classroom nearby. Having Killjoy around was markedly different from putting up with Twilight; she wasn't constantly touching him, or rubbing her parts up against him, or whispering directly into his ears in strange and ticklish fashion. She was an odd girl – not like other girls at all.

Finally, after an interminable amount of waiting, Twilight came down the hall, with Dean Cadance and Trenton in tow, the latter hobbling along on a pair of crutches with his knee in a brace. Someone else was with them, too, quite unexpectedly.

"Shit," Snake hissed, ducking out of sight. "What's Cinch doing here?!"

"Never mind why," said Killjoy with a devious grin. "This'll be even better."

"...Certainly hope your knee recovers in time for the Friendship Games," Cinch was saying to Trenton. "Though we needn't worry about losing to Canterlot High School under any circumstances, your presence on the field of play will guarantee an especially humiliating victory over that dreadful Celestia and her great blue strumpet of a sister."

"Principal, I'm happy to play for you and all, but I wish you wouldn't make racial remarks or slut-shame—"

"What he means to say, Principal Cinch," Cadance said, interrupting Trenton before he could invoke sex politics in casual conversation for no reason. "Is that I'm fully capable of resolving this matter myself. All due respect, what are you doing here, exactly?"

Cinch tilted her head back to literally look down her nose at Cadance. "I want you to buy me tacos later."

They came to a stop at Trenton's locker. Twilight turned to them, smiling shakily. "So... yeah, here we are. Trenton's locker. Where all those contraband materials are."

Twilight pumped her arm once for emphasis, chuckling nervously.

Cinch narrowed her eyes at Twilight. "Thank you, awkward young girl. What's your name again?"

"It's... it's Twilight Sparkle. Remember? We've spoken a few times before—"

"Yes, yes, away with you now, Spickle-Spackle. We've received an anonymous tip that there are contraband materials in this locker."

"But Principal, I was the one who—"

Cadance put her hand on Twilight's shoulder, and a look of understanding passed between them. Twilight gulped and shuffled away, joining Snake and Killjoy in their classroom. Snake silenced her with a cold glare before Twilight could start making mouth-noises at him.

"Splendid. She's gone." Cinch nodded to Cadance. "Open the locker, if you please."

Trenton awkwardly pivoted toward Principal Cinch and Dean Cadance, his crutches rattling as he tried to align himself properly. "With respect, ma'am – ma'ams – this really isn't necessary. I mean, you both know me, right? You know I wouldn't keep any contraband materials."

Cinch coughed into her hand and wiped it on Cadance's shoulder. "Dean Cadance?"

Cadance looked at her shoulder and shuddered, slumping. "The school can and will investigate any and all reports of student contraband possession, no matter how frivolous or improbable."

"But Dean Cadance, that doesn't make any sense. Why would you investigate this, of all things, and not the kid who kicked my knee in?"

"We have our reputation to consider, Trenton," Cinch snapped haughtily. "The antics you students get up to during gym class are nobody's concern but your own. Possession of contraband, however, reflects poorly upon the school, which means it reflects poorly upon me, and I will not abide anything which reflects poorly upon me. Now."

Cinch looked sternly at Cadance. "The locker, if you please."

Cadance dug into her pocket for a keyring, sighing as she did. "Coulda lived abroad in Paris. Coulda been a model. But nooooo..."

She unlatched the locker and pulled the door open, and was immediately bombarded by a tsunami of pornography – a pornogrami – that forced her and Cinch to stumble backwards. Trenton, hobbled by his injury, couldn't move out of the way in time – he was knocked onto his back and buried up to his neck in erotic material.

"What in the world...?" Cadance stooped to retrieve one of the magazines. Holding it lengthwise, she unfurled a centerfold that made her eyes widen.

"Oh. Oh my."

Cinch snatched the magazine out of her hand and shoved it into Trenton's face. "Explain yourself!"

"Uh..." Trenton squinted. "It appears to be a picture of a woman. And three men. On a bed shaped like a—"

"Why do they all have my face on them?!"

"It's not just that one, ma'am. They're all like that." Cadance sifted through the magazines covering Trenton, occasionally picking up one and flipping through its pages, trying to suppress a smirk. "The range of content here is impressive. Playguy, Playgal, AnthroGal, Animal Husbandry Monthly, Equestria Daily..."

A dark look crossed Cinch's face. "Do you mean to tell me that Trenton has been producing and stocking pornographic material, of many varieties, all edited to have my face on the participants?"

"It certainly seems that way." A snicker escaped Cadance, and she cleared her throat to hide it. "Of course, this isn't funny at all. Not funny one bit. Ma'am."

"Indeed it is not." Cinch stood to her full height and folded her arms, towering over Trenton and staring down at him like an angry colossus chiseled from a very wrinkly stone. "Well, young Trenton, it appears I was wrong about you. All along, I thought you were an upstanding, socially conscious member of the student body. Who knew that it was all a front for a pornography hoarder?"

"Okay, there's a lot about your language that I find offensive, starting with—"

"I'm not finished." Cinch laced her arms behind her back and shut her eyes. "Of course, we both know that there's only one proper course of action now."

Killjoy and Snake exchanged a look of excitement. Twilight just looked at them with a half frown.

Cinch nodded at Trenton. "I need to congratulate you."

Cadance's face blanked, and she stood up to look at Cinch.

"Beg pardon?" she and Trenton said in unison.

"Your taste is impeccable," said Cinch with an oily smile. "I must admit, you've an unconventional way of expressing your interest in me, but I can't fault the results – it's driven you to make substantial improvements upon a wide array of pornography. Why, who wouldn't want to gaze upon my angrily screaming face whilst in the throes of orgasm?"

Cadance peeked inside of the locker again. "Principal Cinch, I'm really not sure that's the appropriate response to something like this..."

"Pish-posh," said Cinch, waving away Cadance's concern. "There's certainly nothing in the Crystal Prep school charter that covers this, and I see no reason to take action against young Trenton here. But the next time you hunger for some... material... I advise you to go directly to the source."

She tried for a sexy wink, but it only made the entire left side of her face contort ghoulishly.

Snake felt his heart splash into his stomach and fling a massive tidal wave of acid upon his organs. "That bitch is gonna let him off scot-free," he hissed. "We were so close, too! We never planned for Cinch being here!"

"Wait a moment," said Killjoy, patting him on the shoulder. "It's not over. Not yet."

"I'm afraid we're not finished quite yet, Principal Cinch." Cadance emerged from Trenton's locker, a look of anger on her face. "Look what else he's been keeping in here."

She held up her hand – pinched between her thumb and index fingers, as though it were encrusted in fecal matter, was an orange-tipped, transparent squirtgun.

Cinch's face darkened again. She whirled on Trenton, pointing angrily at the squirtgun. "What is the meaning of this, Trenton?!"

"I don't know," Trenton moaned. "I can't lift my head enough to see what's going—"

"A squirtgun! A squirtgun, on my campus!" Cinch bent over to shove her face directly against Trenton's. "The school charter may not cover producing and storing pornographic depictions of faculty, but it most certainly does cover the possession of firearms and firearm-like objects! As you should well know!"

Trenton paled. "But Principal Cinch, I – none of this was me! The porn, the gun – I don't even own squirtguns! I tried to get a measure on the state ballot to ban their ownership on a federal level, for Marx's sake!"

"I don't want to hear your lame excuses," Cinch hissed, spraying Cinchy spittle all over Trenton's face. "This betrayal is beyond the pale – and after I let you parade your mongrel around, to boot! In accordance with Crystal Prep's zero-tolerance policy regarding firearms, depictions of firearms, non-functional firearm replicas, and toaster pastries bitten into the shapes of firearms, I hereby expel you from Crystal Prep, effective immediately. Get the hell off of my campus!"

She stomped away from Trenton. "Come, Cadance. I need those tacos now more than ever."

"Right away, ma'am." Cadance flung the squirtgun onto Trenton's porn-cairn, narrowing her eyes disgustedly at him. "You make me sick."

"But it wasn't me!" Trenton called after her as she chased Cinch down the hall. Tears ran down his face. "I was framed, dammit! By the same kid that broke my knee! That girl is in cahoots with him! Why won't anyone listen to me?"

Trenton lay, broken and weeping, beneath a pile of pornography. Students who passed by him refused to lend a helping hand when they noticed the squirtgun on his porn-pile. Most snorted, or gave him dirty looks. A few spat in his face.

So ended Trenton's career at Crystal Prep.

Around the corner of the classroom door, Snake and Killjoy exchanged a high five.

"Job well done, Throbbing Manhood," Killjoy crowed. "We nailed that son of a bitch like a messiah on Calvary."

"Couldn't have done it without you." Snake closed his hand around Killjoy's and shook it vigorously. "You're pretty good at this stuff. Y'know, for a girl. Could have a promising career in tactical espionage."

"Uh..." Snake felt Twilight tugging on his sleeve, and he turned to stare menacingly at her.

"What?" he snapped.

"Just... for the record, it was Macbeth that you were after, right?" She released Snake's sleeve. "How does getting Trenton expelled factor into that?"

Snake wanted to shout at her for being an absolute goddamn idiot waste of space – yet again – but when he thought about it, he could come up with no appropriate answer for her.

He looked at Killjoy, who shrugged. "I got nothin', dude."

"Hmm..." Snake leaned against the wall, his arms folded and his head tucked in thought. "Kills me to say it, but the girl's got a point. Getting Trenton kicked out of school is all well and good, but we're no closer to completing my real mission: Stopping Macbeth from obtaining Metal Gear. And with that communist ball that Trenton mentioned coming up... we're running out of time to stop him."

"...How about we just kick his ass?" Killjoy suggested.

Snake looked at her, a smile spreading across his face.





Macbeth was strutting out Crystal Prep's front door, whistling that obnoxious tune by The Cure to himself. Snake was pressed up against the wall beside the door. Macbeth missed him completely.

Tactical espionage wins the day again, he thought proudly. Then he rushed forward and shoved Macbeth down the front stairs.

Macbeth squealed as he rolled down the steps, striking the ground with a groan. Before he could say a word, Killjoy leaped out of hiding and began kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. Macbeth curled to protect himself, only for Snake to start kicking him in the kidneys from behind.

"This is what you get!" Snake snapped. "This is what you get for trying to steal Metal Gear!"

"I don't know who you are or why I'm doing this!" Killjoy shouted. "My therapist says I have anger management issues!"

"Same here!" Snake growled.

"Of all men else I have avoided thee!" Macbeth moaned, absorbing Snake's and Killjoy's blows like a well-tenderized steak. "But get thee back; my soul is too much charged with blood of thine already!"

"And stop talking like a weirdo, goddammit!" Snake shouted, punctuating it with a powerful kick to Macbeth's neck. "Say that you'll stay away from Metal Gear! Say it!"

"I-I'll stay away from Metal Gear!" Macbeth whined.

"Louder!"

"I'LL STAY AWAY FROM METAL GEAR!"

Snake finished, panting, with a final kick to Macbeth's ass. Killjoy, however, kept pummeling his stomach.

"Now say 'a dud?!'" she snapped, grinning wider with every blow. "Oh, and 'we've managed to avoid drowning!' Oh! And—"

"Killjoy." Snake folded his arms. "C'mon. Don't overdo it."

"Huh? Oh. Right." Killjoy stopped kicking, frowned, then kicked Macbeth one last time for good measure. "Ooh, right in the ascending colon."





The People's Liberation Ball went on without Trenton's funding or involvement, held inside Crystal Prep's gym. Fittingly for a Communist ball, there was no food, no furniture, and the decorations were all made from turnip-based paper. There was no DJ, and no music, and the only refreshment provided was a very large bowl of gazpacho that Mr. Granin brought, which sat untouched in the middle of the floor.

It was the greatest social outing that Snake had ever attended. Clad in his sneaking suit, with Otacon on one side, Killjoy on the other, and Twilight nowhere in sight, he watched the rest of the attendees mill around awkwardly.

With particular focus on one girl.

Metal Gear sobbed into Mr. Granin's chest. With one hand, he patted her lovingly; with another, he drank deeply from his vodka flask.

"Curse that Macbeth for standing you up," he slurred, dribbling vodka onto Metal Gear's head. "And curse Trenton for making it possible for him to hurt you! Cannot believe I was ever believing that squirtgun-having, pornography-hoarding, Cinch-fucking son of a Rockefeller."

"H-H-He said h-h-h-he'd m-m-meet me here, a-and that w-w-we'd read sonnets together, a-a-and that I was more lovely and temperate than a summer's day, a-a-and... oh, daddy!"

"There, there, beloved. Never shall you be hurt like this again. I've sent word to my old friend, Dr. Chrysalis, from OKB Zero. She runs Pavlov House for Making Education to Little Girls. Is all-girls school, in Belarus, where no boy will ever be breaking your heart. You will be starting next month."

Metal Gear sagged against her father, screaming brokenly. Granin took another swig of vodka.

"Hear that, Otacon?" Snake said, turning to his friend. "Mission accomplished."

"But was it worth it, Snake?" Otacon looked into his friend's eyes, adjusting the glasses on his face. "When the dust's settled, and the bodies are counted, what did we really lose? And what did we gain in turn?"

"Also," Killjoy muttered, squinting at Metal Gear's backside. "D'you think she's miserable enough for me to score with her? 'Cuz, I mean... that is a booty. Like, damn."

"You're both nuts. We've stopped Metal Gear from falling into the wrong hands. That's what matters."

"You're a regular philanthropist, Snake," Otacon said dryly.

"You're a regular—"

Suddenly, something purple and annoying slumped against Snake's back. He froze, his eye rapidly twitching, as Twilight moved around to his front and draped one arm around his neck. With her free hand, she lifted a flask to her lips and took a long drink, before wiping her mouth with a sleeve.

"Snaaaaake!" she whined, swaying slightly. "Look, I don't know if it's teenage hormones, or the wolbachia experiments, or this alcohol that I stole from Mister Granin for courage, or just good ol' fashioned low self-esteem, but I've been doing a lot of thinking lately..."

"Um... is she old enough to be drinking?" Otacon whispered.

"...And I think... fine... If you're more into Killjoy than me, I'll settle for a three-way!"

"Whoo, Sparkle," said Killjoy, grinning. "Look, not that I wouldn't love to, but—"

"I mean, I could!" Twilight shouted, far louder than was appropriate, before taking another sip from the flask. "I'm not that into girls, but if you want, I'd totally be up for it, if you'd just please take me now!"

Snake's boiling rage was so intense, steam looked about to come out of his ears.

"Goddamn it, HOW DO YOU NOT GET BY NOW THAT I LIKE MEN?!" Snake grabbed Twilight by the shoulders and shook her violently. "I LIKE DICKS! DICKS! How is that not obvious to you?!"

Twilight blinked, cheeks burning. "I... Really?"

"I've sucked Otacon's cock so many times, my spit could impregnate! My asshole is so wide, I could guide a Nikita missile through it! My name literally means 'erect penis'! Seriously, Killjoy picked this up within minutes of meeting me! How are you still this oblivious?"

She stared at Snake, mouth agape.

"Oh my gosh... that's incredibly hot."

Snake lunged at her, frothing at the mouth. Twilight shrieked and jumped back, dropping her flask, as Otacon and Killjoy ran in to restrain him. They were just barely able to hold him back, and Snake clawed at the air in front of him and tried to grab her.

"Let me at her! I'm going to snap her neck!"

"Snake, stop it!" Otacon shouted. "It's not worth it!"

"Yeah, calm down, Erect Penis!" Killjoy added. "Don't do anything you'll regret!"

Snake stopped struggling, and they let go. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, while Otacon put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you calm now?"

"Yes..." Snake grunted. "Goddamnit, Otacon."

Twilight, distinctly more sober than before, stood a more respectable distance away now. She stared blankly at them, eyes darting back and forth, until Mister Granin wandered over.

"What is of happening over here?" he slurred, until his eyes lowered to the floor and zeroed in on the dropped flask. "Wait a minute... How did you kids get this?!"

Twilight immediately turned and ran, disappearing through the door and leaving Snake, Otacon, and Killjoy with Granin.

Snake groaned. "First thing tomorrow, I'm transfarring back to Shadow Moses High."
> Epilogue: Like a Damn Fiddle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"TRAINING WILL HAVE TO BE POSTPONED IF WE ARE INVADED BY UFOS"






Transfarring turned out to be the second thing he did the next day. The first thing he did was get a restraining order against Twilight.

The brief time Snake spent at Crystal Prep was not in vain. Granin wasn't the only one with a connection to this "Chrysalis" character. Big Boss had apparently met her once in Afghanistan, during a business conference in the vicinity of OKB Zero – both were trying to stash an executive in the same porta-john. They bonded immediately over their shared passion for tactical espionage. In his own words, while he had gone back after going black, the temptation not to was very strong. Snake didn't get it.

At Snake's request, Big Boss got back in touch with her, to check up on Metal Gear's status. She assured him that Metal Gear remained safely unmolested all through the winter. With his father's help, Snake sent her a care package over Christmas, a collection of the works of Shakespeare, since she apparently liked Macbeth's nerd shit. Reportedly, she broke down in tears and relentless sobs of happiness.

Snake assured himself of a job well done.

Now it was springtime, and Snake was back to the usual routine. Shadow Moses High was the same as he'd left it, full of weirdos that he had to sneak by to avoid seeing, just how he liked it. Big Boss continued to be a raving nutcase at home, constantly jumping at shadows in fear of Patriot pranks. Uncle Ocelot came by the house once or twice, and Snake strenuously avoided eye contact with him at all times.

But one thing was different now. Snake had brought back a new friend from Crystal Prep.





"I'm in position," Snake whispered from underneath his cardboard box. "What's your status?"

Killjoy's voice replied on the phone.

"I'm just outside the lobby, Solid Dick. No sign of Neither-Erect-Nor-Flaccid Dick yet."

"Keep looking. Otacon, you got a view of the office?"

"I've remotely hacked into the building's surveillance cameras, Snake. I've got eyes everywhere inside Patriot."

"Hrrr... Can you see me?"

"Um... You're in the closet with the unconscious janitor, right? Under that cardboard box?"

Killjoy snickered over the call.

"Taking out the guards and moving the bodies is just as valid a tactic as sneaking by!" Snake snapped, grateful that Otacon couldn't see his chagrined blush.

"Sure it is, Baloney Pony," said Killjoy. "We could all learn from you."

Snake grumbled. He was a master of stealth, no matter what they said... even if the janitor was napping, rather than rendered unconscious by Snake's flawless close-quarters combat technique...

What Otacon doesn't know can't hurt him, Snake thought.

"Snake!" Otacon said suddenly. "On the cameras, it's... Liquid!"

"Liquid?!"

What was Liquid doing here? He was the wrong brother!

Otacon gasped. "And it looks like he has Mantis with him, too!"

"Ah, shit," Killjoy hissed. "Sorry, Snake. Flaccid and Flappysleeves must've slipped past me."

"It's not your fault, Killjoy. Liquid has had all the same stealth training as Snake. This is counter-espionage on a level we weren't prepared for."

"Damn it, Otacon, get a grip!" Snake shouted. "Where is he? Is he in the building already?!"

"He just came out of the elevator on the seventh floor! He's heading your way! If you hurry, you might catch him, Snake!"

Snake threw off his cardboard box and jumped over the janitor. Sneaking over to the door, he nudged it open and peeked around the corner.

One way down the hall lay the office where an unassuming employer of Patriot International was waiting to interview Solidus. The other way led to Liquid and Mantis, and a confrontation that Snake wasn't sure he was ready for. Raising his water pistol and assuming a CQC stance, Snake crouch-walked down the corridor. Every time he passed another office, computer room, or storage closet, he'd look inside and perform a quick room-scan in case he was seen, even though, since he was a master of tactical espionage, there was no way in Hell any of the unsuspecting employees would have noticed him.

"Hey, you hear about that security breach?" said someone in one of the rooms Snake passed. "Apparently, some kid's been spotted running around the building with a squirt gun."

Snake cursed Liquid's name as he edged along the wall. Of course that buffoon would get himself noticed...

He stopped at a corner when he heard approaching footsteps. Two pairs of boots. He was outnumbered. Was he ready for this?

Snake took a breath to steel himself, and jumped out from cover, raising his gun.

"Freeze!"

They stopped in their tracks inches away from Snake. Liquid's eyes widened, and he raised his hands in surrender. Mantis was merely startled, and flapped his ridiculously long sleeves at Snake, but otherwise he did nothing.

"Snake!" Liquid said venomously. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Snake grunted.

"Tch." Liquid lowered his hands and crossed his arms. "I'm here for Solidus. I read our dear brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrother's emails, and found that he had a job interview here today."

"Why didn't you go to dad? You know he'd be furious at Solidus working here."

"I know, but that wouldn't stop him from landing the job. Besides, you know there's no way Father could hate Solidus any more than he already does."

Touché, thought Snake.

"Me and Mantis had a better idea." Liquid thumbed his nose and grinned devilishly. "We're going to ruin his interview."

"Ruin his interview?" Snake lowered his squirt gun. "Otacon and I had the same thought."

Liquid looked slightly taken aback by that. He raised one eyebrow.

"We were going to throw dead weasels at him," he said softly.

Mantis hefted up a burlap sack that Snake hadn't noticed until now, opening it to reveal at least a dozen weasels with flies buzzing around them.

Snake reached behind him, and removed a carton of eggs from a concealed pouch.

"And we were going to pelt him with rotten eggs."

In that moment, Snake felt a true bond with his brother, and a warm stirring in his heart. For all that he and Liquid had despised one another over the years, and all that they had done to hurt each other, it was always their hatred for Solidus that brought them together. He was just such a tremendous tool.

"Uh... orders, Man Shaft?" said Killjoy.

Snake raised his phone to his lips. "Killjoy, come upstairs. Otacon, keep watching through the cameras. We're going to ruin Solidus's interview together. As a family."

"This is the gayest shit," Mantis hissed through his mask.





And ruin Solidus's interview they did. When he finally stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor, he barely made it five steps down the hallway before Snake, Killjoy, Mantis, and Liquid hit him with a hail of rotten eggs and dead animals. He growled and shouted, and a piece of eggshell even got caught in his eye, causing him to scream and run around blindly in a way that was most amusing, until he tripped and fell on the carpet.

"Take that, Solidus!" Liquid crowed, taking an egg from Snake and throwing it at Solidus as he writhed on the floor. "Who's the perfect son now?!"

"You call yourself a Snake?!" Snake yelled, running up and kicking him in the ribs. "You don't even have tactical stealth training, loser!"

"I'll bet you don't even know who GC and MCR are!" Mantis cackled, slapping Solidus in the face with rapid flaps of his sleeves.

"I lash out to compensate for my insecurity and self-loathing!" Killjoy shouted, punctuating Snake's assault with a stomp to Solidus's groin.

They beat a hasty retreat soon after, taking the stairwell to avoid any more encounters with Patriot staff, and sneaking out through the front lobby by the tried and tested method of cardboard boxes. Killjoy joined Snake under his, while Liquid and Mantis shared another.

"Sure is snug in here," Killjoy whispered as they crept beneath the notice of an underpaid help desk worker. "How do you not get cramps?"

"I do. Constantly. They're worth it."

Finally, the group reconvened in the plaza outside. The Patriot Building towered over them, but the midday sun shined down on the bustling square. Otacon waited for them on a nearby bench, laptop in hand, a bunch of pigeons gathered around his feet. They fluttered off as Mantis, Killjoy, and the twin Snakes approached.

"I saw it all," said Otacon, standing. "I doubt Solidus will ever complete the interview in that state."

"A job well done," Snake grunted. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"That's flattering, Snake, but you had it well in hand. You and Liquid. With the two of you together, there's probably nothing you couldn't accomplish. You didn't need me for that."

"Geez, I was just being polite."

A distant booming sound coursed through the air. Snake inclined his head eastward. Across town, in the direction of the noise, dark clouds gathered.

"What was that?" Snake growled inquisitively.

"I don't know," said Otacon. "There was another one just like it when you were all in the building."

"Oh well, I'm sure it's noth—"

Suddenly, Snake froze. As did everyone. For a moment, the world went completely and utterly still. He felt as if he were solid stone, unable to move no matter how much he tried. He couldn't even feel his muscles struggling against whatever force was stopping him. It was as if all his nerves were completely dead, but he could still feel the same sensations he'd felt at the moment of freezing.

Struggling, he finally moved his eyes. They darted between Otacon and Killjoy, who were both also as still as statues. There was no noise in the city. Everything was dead.

What's going on?! Snake thought. It's like time has stopped!

Suddenly, a slender purple hand slid around Snake's waist. He mentally shrieked as it turned him around, and he found himself face to face with some dark, winged monstrosity. A giant, ethereal horn grew from its forehead, and it wore giant, ethereal, stupid-looking glasses on its annoying, stupid face.

Snake's eyes widened in terror as he recognized the twisted, infuriating, scantily-clad form of Twilight Sparkle.

"Guess what, Snake?" said Twilight, grinning at him. "I stopped time for everyone but you and me! You can move now."

Snake felt his limbs go slack, and he stumbled as he unexpectedly regained control of his movement. The first thing he did was draw a water pistol and try to squirt the demon in front of him. The water sizzled upon contact with her, and she chuckled darkly.

"I've discovered power, Snake! True power! Magic, and a whole world full of it, ripe for the taking! No restraining order can stop me now!"

Snake turned and ran. There was nothing else for it. He couldn't fight this creature. Nothing could.

She appeared in front of him in a flash of light, as though from thin air. Lunging forward, Twilight knocked Snake to the ground. Then she was upon him, pinning his arms with her bare hands. He tried to fight back, but she was impossibly strong now.

Twilight leaned in, her face almost pressing up against Snake's.

"And the best part?" she whispered. "With magic, I can finally fix the infertility problem."

Snake whimpered.

And that's how Sunny was conceived.