Metal Gear vamp: Rise of the Strigoi
Disclaimer: I do not own any intellectual properties within. This is a non-profit venture. Enjoy
This is a birthday gift for and the character Eren Sorrel is owned by her. There are two other chapters after this and I hope everyone enjoys.
A sour wind blew from across the Hudson River. Clouds covered the moon and no stars had a chance of being seen through the light pollution of the city of New Jersey. On this very night, a young girl not yet twenty walked through the corridors of a scummy strip club called Silvio’s.
Eren Sorrel pulled the winced and pulled the panties out of her crack. Licking her lips nervously, she tightened her grip around a bloody screwdriver. The red liquid rolled down the business end and down the handle, getting stuck between the young girl’s fingers.
Bending down, long curls of black hair fell down as Eren pulled off her six inch stripper heels. Stealth was what she was looking for, and if all went well tonight then she’d never do a pole dance again or suck for tips at “private” parties at this wiseguy owned joint.
Breathing deeply to calm herself down, Eren straightened up and let her feet be free. Tiptoeing towards the manager’s office, she began to murmur words of encouragement to herself. “Flash your tits, giggle, then into the jugular. Flash your tits, then into his eye,” her right hand went behind her back and her knuckles whitened with repressed rage.
A ripple of anger went through Eren’s fit swimmer’s body; she gritted her teeth and had to stop again. Like many Americans, she’d half-assed it many times for a paycheck. Like many more Americans, she’d taken shit and been abused by her boss in the name of a paycheck.
Scanning around, Eren saw an article thumb tacked to a cork board. A newspaper article from New York was commemorating the new owner of Valve and the online game store Steam after the mysterious disappearance of Gabe Newell. There under a big banner article was Eren’s own target, Tony Soprano; a made guy who’d made it to the top by first screwing over his family and killing his friends, now was raised to become one of the kingpins of the video game industry.
Even as a photograph, Tony’s little piggy eyes and forced smile filled her with revulsion and reminded her of all the evil in the world.
Leaning back, she closed her hazelnut eyes and took a deep breath. “If you do this right,” she whispered to herself, “You get to be Cinderella. You and Jan take the money and move to Mexico and fuck off forever.”
With that thought in mind, Eren banished the anger from her body and mind. Rage would only undo her in the last stages of her plan. This kind of opportunity only came along once in a lifetime. If she failed and was lucky, she’d go on stripping and robbing liquor stores with her boyfriend to pay the bills. If she was unlucky, the entire Jersey mob would take her and her BF Jan and eat their organs while they were still alive.
She let out a last sigh and moved the screwdriver behind her back. She took a moment to adjust her nipple tassels and work out the kinks in her shoulders.
Eren Sorrel smiled . . . and promptly forgot about her plan.
With a powerful blow, Eren kicked open the door to Tony Soprano’s office and charged into the room with blind psychotic hatred. She screamed at the top of her lungs and anime style strobe light effects lit up behind her. Clearing the room’s distance in one jump, Eren drove her screwdriver with both hands into Tony Soprano’s back and thrust six inches of steel through his heart.
Eren kept on screaming for a good thirty seconds, her whole body shaking with months, if not years of supressed anger. Finally her anger and her trembling subsided and she was left wondering if anyone had called the cops.
“Fuck,” Eren cursed to herself but it was doubtful that anyone would call the cops in a neighbourhood like this. If nothing else, she’d need her weapon.
Grabbing the Philips screwdriver, Eren tugged but found it stuck in the fat man’s heart. Gritting her teeth, she pulled a bit harder; shifting the big man’s corpse but still leaving her murder weapon stuck.
Repeated pulls only managed to shift the almost three hundred pound corpse.
Swearing, Eren reluctantly planted a foot on Tony’s office chair and pulled with her whole body. The screwdriver flew free with a loud, wet pop and the girl flew backwards.
“Ah-fuck!” Eren shouted out as she fell backwards, slamming into the water cooler and knocking it over. Many more colourful swear words and phrases spewed out of Eren’s mouth as she found herself splashed all over by the downed water jug.
The momentum of the pull had caused Tony’s corpse to fall out of its chair. A massive thud sounded out and the late gang boss looked at Eren with blank, empty doll’s eyes. Eren met the dead man’s gaze, noticing that there was a long, thing cut over Tony’s jugular and carotid arteries; blood had leaked into his white shirt collar and down his front.
Looking at the dead gangster, Eren said her goodbyes.
A wad of snot and spit hit Tony right between the eyes, bringing a small amount of joy to the fallen stripper.
A flicker of movement caught Eren’s eye and she found herself looking at her weapon. Dripping down the shaft wasn’t blood; it was some kind of sticky fluid the color of semen. Worse yet, there seemed to be thin white worms crawling down towards her hand.
Yelping Eren threw the contaminated weapon across the room; not wanting to see what the worms did when they reached her pale skin.
Helping herself up, Eren’s focus immediately settled down on a large palette covered by a tarp to the left of Tony’s desk.
Running over to it, the girl threw off the blue tarp and saw her hopes and dreams. Tony Soprano didn’t matter, the white worms didn’t matter and neither did the broken window.
There in front of Eren Helen Sorrell was a stack of money five feet wide and long and five feet high. An entire army of Benjamin Franklin’s looked up at her in congratulations.
Eren froze upon the sight of the giant stack of money. She stood frozen for a full eight seconds before her face split into a grin so wide that it hurt. A squawking, excited vocalization broke out of her and for the first time she was fourteen and freshly kicked out of home in Sacramento she started to cry.
Newark, New Jersey
An old man with no shirt turned off the open sign at the old, rundown pawn shop. Grinning, the old man ran one hand through his white Einstein hair and the other adjusted the glass eye in his left socket.
Turning around, the elderly man grinned and muttered to himself as he walked through the aisles of his shop. With much joy and surprising energy for a man of his years, the old man lovingly gazed over each rack of guns, swords, knives, bows and other toys.
Turning off the last set of lights, the old man laughed. “No more buying from chain snatchers. No more selling guns to street toughs. No more fencing.” With a creak of his old bones, the man ripped off his shirt to reveal stunningly muscular physique. “No more wearing shirts!”
Laughing merrily, the old man kept on adjusting his glass eye; no matter what he did the damn thing kept on sliding forty five degrees off. It made him look like he was either going to proudly announce that he was special or murder someone with his own hands.
The old man threw stomped on the remnants of his shirt and moved behind the till. Pulling back a hidden lever, a section of the wall slid back to reveal a solid steel vault door burnished in silver.
Handling the lock on the door, the old man continued to celebrate with himself. “It’s the end of the world as we know it and James Sears (that’s me!) feels fine!”
The thousand pound plus steel door opened up and Mr. James Sears started to walk down a corridor made of old brick and crumbling concrete. The lights went on with an embellished flick of each finger. There were weapons here, just like above; but there was one key difference.
“Silver,” James whispered, running his fingers over the silver knives, silver bullets and silver bombs. Everything was fondled lovingly and James licked his lips as he did so. “Silver,” he purred.
In his own private dungeon, James glided towards a shrine at the back of the room. Hundreds of candles and Christmas lights shone brightly. Concentric rows of ammunition of various calibres and brands stood around a photograph of a Kurdish woman with bleach blonde hair and cleavage that was as outrageous as her massive sniper rifle.
James dropped to his knees and like flipping a gate open, his elation turned to sadness. Tears formed in his one eye. Self-consciously, he shut the lid over his glass eye; embarrassed to show his defect to one he’d loved so much. “Feristeh, Wolf, it’s James. I’m sorry we had to come to this. I’m almost glad that you’re not here so you don’t have to hear the things I would have promised to you when you were alive.”
“It’s been difficult after what we went through at Shadow Moses. For a while I lost my mind. I pursued Snake and Ocelot instead of the true mastermind behind our misfortune. I knew the legend of the strigoi for a long time but I never was able to grasp the true nature of them until my body had begun to age and fail like it has.” Tears poured freely from his one eye and James’s hands trembled. “I almost wish you’d never met me; then you might still be alive.”
“All too late I started to track down the phantom that’d been behind it all. Too late I discovered that the shadow I was chasing was not one of the patriots or a member of any such group or cabal. No, as far as I can tell, the deaths of Foxhound, the demise of Big Boss and outer Heaven even MannCo’s Gravel Pit wars are all the results of the grand gambler.”
James’s hands clenched as he went along with his classic Metal Gear style monologue. “Like some people know, it began with the boss; the mother of modern special forces. During and after the Second World War, she brought vigilante justice to war profiteers on the allied side who had sold their services to both sides. No hard evidence was ever brought up connecting her, but the people she made enemies of care nothing for justice or due process.”
“And then something happened to the most insignificant of people in the worst of places. A woman named Caroline went missing. Caroline was submissive and cowardly, but without her brains and scientific skills, her master Cave Johnson and his company Aperture science would have folded decades prior. And the one day Caroline went missing.”
James stirred and opened his eyes, glancing over to a heart in a jar. “Her disappearance was never reported to authorities, but when she returned she was a different woman. Cave Johnson disappeared shortly after; vanished, gone, poof! She took legal ownership of the company while at the same time, a quarter of the board of directors died under mysterious circumstances. Everything was liquidated to the tune of billions. Caroline took the money and spread it around the CIA and other government agencies; effectively buying them and all their agents and assets, including the then Major Zero and Naked Snake.”
“Before she died, the Boss left detailed files on Caroline and on the government agents in her pocket. Those files were lost during the Groznyy Grad incident but I found them. I found the Boss’s account of the vampires; Feristeh.”
James stood up, walking towards the heart and brushing the dust off it. “Caroline herself was nothing more than a shell; a vessel for something darker—something less and more than human.”
“The trail has been cold for more than half a century,” James explained to the heart, his fraying psyche switching his audience. “After the sons of liberty incident, files were destroyed, government personnel by the thousands were liquidated; the so called Patriots were eliminated to a man. But the apparatus they built stands and under new ownership.”
“Do you hear me, brother?” he spoke to the heart, “She’s come back, the shadow that I’ve been chasing all these years. She’s operated behind the scenes, killing anyone who could stop her, paying off anyone who would obey and staying to the shadows. But now there’s a plague spreading through New York City and it’s crossing over the river. People go missing at night and day by day the plague grows exponentially. Governments fall into chaos as their leaders bicker with each other while MannCo steps in to fill the need for government services after a century long war over gravel.”
“She’s bought all the human support she needs. But now Glados is ready to launch her great crusade. She’s launched her grand design while my body fails and my allies are dead; but she’s going down, one way or another. Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies!”
James began to unscrew the lid of the jar and held his hand over it. Maniacal grin returning with full force, he withdrew a large combat knife from a shelf and cut his thumb with it. Holding his bleeding hand over the jar, drops of crimson fell in. The effect was instantaneous, from out of the human heart, white worms started to slither out and consume the human plasma.
“Yes, Glados, Liquid Snake has come out to play.”