Just out for a walk.

Snake stayed in his position, even though he knew he was in trouble. Yet, he had learned one trick all those years of training. He had learned how to slow his heart rate so much that it had seemed like it had stopped. He used this trick now.

A Nightkill clone looked at Snake, and checked his heart rate. "He' dead!" he informed the other clones. The main Nightkill walked over. "Good." he said. "He'll make a tasty meal." hee said.

Just then, Snake awoke and stabbed the clones in their faces with his katana swords very quickly and had the tips at nightkills neck. He was so quick that he did all this in less than half a minute.

Nightkill was pissed. He transformed into his more powerful form- Doomsday! The creature shot out some tentacules, and grabbed Snake's arm. Snake felt the creature absorb his energy.

"Who's winning now, bitch!" the monster screamed. Unlike Nightkill, this creature was insane.

Snake may not be strong, but he was flexible. So Snake flexed out of the tentacles grips and cut them in half. He then shoved four grenades in nightkills mouth and stabbed his eyes.

(That was so godmodding bro.)

Nightkill regenerated his eyes, and spat out the gernades.

(sorry)

"Giving up yet!?" Snake asked.

Doomsday laughed. "Give up?" he asked. "This is one of the best fights I've been in!" he said, turning his arm into a sword.

(Ok, now thats god modding.)

Snake wasn't scarred, but he was concerned. All he could think of to do was the one thing he hoped he wouldn't have to do. He pulled out the namonomicons, the book of the extremely dead, and read from it. The line that he read from raised the dead. The reason why Snake hoped he wouldn't use the book is because the undead wouldn't listen to anyone and they were extremely strong.

A click sounded behind Doomsday's head, which should be a familiar sound to any grow up human being, since it was the sound of a shotgun being cocked. "Do you feel lucky, punk?" A voice said. The voice belonged to a rather tall man, who looked like some sort of gothic cowboy; long black coat, black hat, black teashades, long hair, greyish beard. He had appearantly snuk up to Doomsday/nightkill and pointed a rather short shotgun at him. The black apperation could shoot him at point black...uh...blank, but awaited an answer.

((Spartan is actually right, Night, you don't have that power anymore. But Snake can't summon any undead creatures, since he's got no necromancy skills.))

(Oh, dang, I forgot. But shifting arms into swords was something I did before. Ah, well.)

Doomsday blinked. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"Karma. At the moment Bad Karma. Act wisely and I might turn into Good Karma." Karma said. Karma smelled like tabbaco and whisky, a strange thing for a religious concept of ethical retribution by predeterment circumstances. "So which one of you dipshits called me?" He continued as he looked over Doomsday's shoulder (or whatever the fuck he has) to Snake.