The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

"Fabulous," replied Nika, succinctly.

He was surprised at Imanov's borderline congenial tone. Apparently murder made for cooperation.

He snorted as he had the thought. It was something Ilarion would have said, and meant.

Liadov caught Imanov's gaze and tossed him the book.

"There's a pen tucked in the flap, front cover. Make it legible is all I ask."

His eyes passed Andrei on his way back to the victim. The younger Isaev was looking noncommittal, arms crossed and leaning against the slanted rock wall to the side of the cave. A distance between himself and his best friend, and the sniper. They formed a too-quiet triangle that was almost palpable.

Irinarhov had all but said that Imanov hated him. Nika would have cheerfully asked him to join the club. Liadov had never been precisely sure why Ilya had such hostility toward him, but he assumed it had something to do with the company he kept.

That miasnik, he'd called Ilarion. He knew him only in passing, from casual visits when he'd gone home with Andrei to Leningrad, but he'd managed to take a sincere dislike.

Nika couldn't argue with that decision, even if he'd never truly been able to come by it himself.

He wondered how it was that someone as brash and mesomorphic as Andrei came by these adamant guardians, Ilarion notwithstanding. He certainly didn't seethe weakness or need- if anything, he exuded the nonserious irreverence of an fortunate son, who had been raised in a world without apologies and without uncertainty. By rights, his comrades should have hated him.

Not Imanov, perhaps. He'd been to the University, grown up well. But the sniper-

What friends we make in war, indeed.

Liadov had never been in the military proper, so perhaps he'd simply failed to understand the camaraderie of soliders. Perhaps when you dipped your hands in communal blood and drank from the same canteens, these social barriers dissolved.

He wondered if Irinarhov would ever figure out that the coolly efficient grey-coated man who'd come to tell them of his father's suicide in the prison camp was Andrei's father.

Or that-

He watched Rakitin's hands, as he lifted the eyelids of the man, searching for petichiae, little broken pinpoint dots of blood that hemmhoraged when someone was strangled or throttled for a long period of time.

"Anything?" he asked, to distract himself from thoughts of Lasha, which had crept back into his mind with the insistence of vines, sly tendrils curling and unfurling.

The rest of the body looked unusually pristine for a strangulation, but stranger things had happened.

He turned, in the pause before Polya replied.

"I need the cave spot-searched. Any takers?"

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ilya-imanov.livejournal.com

Make it legible.

Ha.

Ilya was glad he wasn't up for any popularity contests at the moment. Between Liadov and Irinarhov, he wondered if there were any bright spots on the horizon.

His eyes, also, quickly turned to Andrei, before he looked away again, realising he didn't want to make the associations by eye contact.

In Ilya's studies, a complete cut-off from whatever haunted a man could kill the negative feelings that came from someone's presence. Treat as though a stranger, and they lose their power to invoke emotions.

Besides, it wouldn't do to make things any more difficult for his friend.

Or himself, for that matter.

He took the pen and found a clean page, resisting all temptation to read any of the minute scribble. Whilst waiting for the investigators, he pointedly wrote a neat and wordy title, in almost schoolchild-perfect style.

It was as close as he could possibly get to writing "fuck you" without getting into trouble.

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Andrei was fluent in Ilya.

He saw his comrade lieutenant's lemon-mouthed expression, and the deliberate and mincing way he saluted Liadov's back, causing Ocelot to chuckle.

Isaev rolled his eyes, discreetly, and shook his head.

Nika had always been a mild, wry presence in his life, in contrast to the quasar-like intensity of his brother. He was given to hard justice at times, but was never malicious. And certainly he had no reason to antagonize Imanov.

"He didn't mean it like that," he hissed softly, in Ilya's direction. "He means it doesn't need to be perfect."

It was a lost cause, he knew. Ilya nursed his grudges at the teat of his discontent like baby kittens.

Andrei's mouth twisted slightly.

"I'll go," he said, at once, straightening and moving toward the entrance of the cave, which gaped like a maw, a dry and thirsty blackness clinging to the back of it, like an open throat.

Searching the cave wouldn't take long, and it would be a good break from the tension.

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Kassian had watched the investigators work with quiet interest.

He imagined that Liadov and Rakitin had to divorce themselves from the reality of bodies once being people. They had to train themselves not to wonder what the person had been like, or how frightened he must have been in his last moments of life.

To dwell on those things would be overwhelming. He had learned similar techniques in order to keep himself sane after shooting people in the head, but still, it wasn't the same.

"I'll go too," he said quietly, moving to join Isaev.

It surprised him that more people had not volunteered. Kassian thought that being anywhere-but-here would be a popular idea right about now, though perhaps wandering around in the caves ranked a little lower than lingering while Lieutenant Rakitin examined the corpse of what had once been a man in more ways than one.

Kassian glanced back at the body, but only for a moment, looking at the perfect, clean cuts on the corpse's limbs.

He wondered about that, how the killer had done it, what he had used. He wondered if Rakitin had already figured that out, or if the pathologist wondered about that too.

Wondering wasn't an Ocelot's duty, though, and definitely not a sniper's.

Imanov was better suited for that, he thought, glancing over at the squad's second, who studiously did not look in his direction, head bent over Liadov's metal notebook, writing something.

Kassian had a hard time imagining Imanov as a student and sitting at a desk at University, writing notes, he supposed, or listening to professors. Through no particular lack of intellectualism on Imanov's part, though. He didn't think Imanov was stupid.

Other things, maybe, but not that.

Kassian just had no idea what University was like. It was an opportunity he never would have had, even if the war hadn't come, and the Red Army hadn't knocked on his door that winter evening.

Without the military, Imanov could be sitting in a classroom right now. Kassian would probably still be working at the factory.

Or in the gulags, he mused.

Isaev would be -

Kassian took in a breath. It didn't matter. They were here now.

He glanced at Isaev, and nodded, drawing his Makarov as they went, just in case.

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He watched as Andrei shrugged, casting an indolently confratory glance to the sniper. Glad for the company, ambivalent about the task itself.

Isaev had a peculiar glow to him, like a Soviet maladaptation of Helios. He left a patina of mangled sunshine in his wake.

Nika knew that inexplicable trait. The mannerisms were different but not alien. Even apples that rolled into other pastures eventually femented into sweet, dark vice.

Liadov frowned slightly, but hid it, turning back to the body.

The sniper accompanied Isaev like a domovoi, he thought, a loyal, vengeful shadow. Kind and protective to its own household, but a peril to anyone who would cross them. An indifferent spirit to all neighbors.

For a moment, he was reminded of himself, when he and Alexandrich would work cases in Leningrad. Shadow makes sunlight, as an artist had once told him. You can't capture or depict the sunlight- you can only suggest it, outline it, reinforce it with its own foil.

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Ippolit let voices and movement slide to the corners of his attention. Some Ocelots were going to investigate the cave. Captain Irinarhov, and Isaev, the one who could kill a man without leaving a mark.

Whoever had done this hadn't left much more, in the initial act of murder itself. Subtlety at the base, followed by ostentation.

Rakitin examined the body, careful to avoid the razor wire. The limbs ended in clean severance, as though they had been cut with a butcher knife and impossible strength.

"Not a scratch, aside from the postmortem," he said. "I'll have to do the autopsy before I can tell you anything. Drowning is possible. Our murderer went out of his way to get a clean kill."

A wave of sorrow numbed him, welcome ice pressed against the unneccesary parts of his mind.

"For the sake of a blank canvas, perhaps."

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"This one was too pretty to ruin," mused Nika, studying the dead boy's face. "Or maybe he never meant to disfigure Molokov's face. Perhaps that was the explosion."

He frowned.

"Whatever the case, he certainly wasn't killed here."

Nika frowned, after a moment, trailing hs fingers through the pale blond locks.

Slightly damp.

"Can you smell that? Cologne. And his hair seems to be...freshly washed."

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"Cologne?" smirked Ocelot, from behind them. "Fancy. Krauss likes cologne, as I recall."

So did Volgin, or at least aftershave.

So did Ivan, though Ocelot refrained from mentioning it.

A discreet sniff of his own chest elicited a scowl.

Apparently, he wore it by association.

Great timing, he thought, with a silent snort.

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"Could be," Rakitin agreed. "The damage was too extensive to tell."

Nothing but scraps of charred flesh and cartilage clinging to the skull. The closest a person could come to being erased while having enough to leave behind.

"Maybe the greenhouse was a mistake," Ippolit said absently. "He could have been hiding Molokov's body there and intending to use it for something like this as soon as he got the opportunity."

Left unspoken was the possibility of others being similarly stored. Waiting in darkness as they spoke.

At Liadov's suggestion, Rakitin leaned forward and sniffed cautiously. He had thought the faint scent belonged to one of the soldiers in the vicinity, someone with an odd sense of style. But Liadov was right. The corpse smelled of cologne. And little else.

"Well preserved," Rakitin said, his nose wrinkling like a cat's.

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Snake preferred being on the move. He hated sitting still, and he hadn't done much else since he'd climbed up in that helicopter and flown through the looking glass. Just sat around and waited for The Boss to tell him what to do.

Maybe that was why she'd left.

Not a word. Just gone, and all trace she'd ever been there with her. Just like ten years ago. That time she'd come back, eventually.

Nothing a sensible man could call warning at all, but Snake had had a feeling something might happen. It'd been plain to see that she had plenty of mission objectives of her own back at the bridge, and since then her tacit avoidance of anything important in private conversation made it clear that Snake wasn't on the list of Need-To-Knows. If that was how it was, that was how it should be. The Boss didn't do things without damned good reason.

She had been distant the last time they met to practice CQC, the last time he had seen her. It was more than her usual taciturnity, and she had stalked off after throwing him flat on his back only a few times. That was days ago.

Snake still had his mission, a nice, simple one; find Sokolov. The details might get a little more complicated. Like how to get him out of there when Snake didn't have so much as radio contact with home base. He had no leads where to look, and he couldn't exactly ask around. So far, he'd given the Russians no reason to trust him.

He wasn't altogether sure that he should.

It had seemed like a good idea to lay low for a while after the greenhouse explosion, let the fervor die down some. Whatever it was he needed to do, getting himself turned into a convenient scapegoat wouldn't get it done. However, if he became a target for retribution, he doubted it would be under any kind of official orders. Volgin wasn't the kind who killed somebody for no reason. He was just the kind whose definition of "reason" was a lot broader than most people's. It was an important distinction.

True to his resolution, Snake had spent the past few days crawling through the weapons development lab. It didn't take 20/20 vision to see that the Shagohod was an important piece in this game.

And now there were severed limbs showing up like mushrooms after acid rain.

Hell of a time to be the guy who always carries a knife.

When the All Personnel had been sounded earlier that night, it hadn't taken much deliberation to decide to tag along. Snake wasn't sure if he counted as personnel - hell, he wasn't sure what he was - but it couldn't hurt to follow at a discrete distance and maybe learn a little bit more about what was going on here.

The sudden floodlight from the helicopter made him squint, trying to discern the shape it illuminated. The first he made out was that something was very, very wrong.

"The hell is that?" Snake said aloud.

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Kassian stood to Isaev's right and slightly behind, holding his flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other, wrists crossed to illuminate his line of sight.

"I need to tell you something, once we're clear," he murmured.

This wasn't the time for talking, not when the killer could be nearby, though Kassian doubted it. He guessed that Liadov probably wanted them to search the cave to see if the killer left anything else, either purposefully, or inadvertently.

Sound echoed. He could hear Liadov's voice trailing after them, then Ocelot's, then Rakitin's. Strangely distorted, but still recognizable. Kassian wondered how far the caves went.

Ahead, the passage split into a lazy ram's head shape, the left branch curving back the way they'd come, the right heading straight.

He glanced at Isaev and shrugged, then nodded toward the right.

Kassian paused to make a scrape on the wall with the butt of his flashlight. Wouldn't do to get lost if the cave system proved complex.

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Andrei frowned as they ventured deeper, and the brilliant light of the helicopter's flood faded away, stopping to stuff his beret in his pocket and put on his head-mounted flashlight. It was standard issue, similar to the ones used by miners.

Thinking of the mines made him shudder, and the headlamp made him think of the mines. A life he'd never want. A death certain and on its heels in a fast fifteen or maybe twenty years.

He turned his eyes toward Irinarhov.

"Something?" he said, idly. "Why not tell me now? Might improve the mood."

He didn't argue with Kassian's directional choices. He didn't have a lot of fight in him at exactly that moment.

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"It won't," Kassian said shortly.

Isaev wouldn't like it at all, in fact, but he deserved to know.

They continued down the right branch. Slowly, and with the vaporous realization of something missed rather than noticed, Kassian became aware that the man at his side moved without making a sound. Intellectually, he knew stealth was Isaev's forte, and he'd been surprised by Isaev before, but he'd never been so impressed by footfalls that made no discernible noise as he was in this narrow, enclosed space.

He could hear his own footsteps, the soft grind of bootheels on the cave floor, but from Isaev, nothing.

Kassian remembered what Isaev had told him about his former CO, this Major Rys, who was a bigger man than Isaev yet knew how to walk through the world and make no change upon it.

At the time, he'd thought it to be hyperbole, but Isaev probably stood a good one hundred and eighty-seven, eighty-eight centimeters himself, and had a good fifteen kilos on Kassian, but if Kassian didn't know better, he'd say he walked with a ghost.

He glanced to the side, briefly. Isaev's steps were simultaneously careful and effortless. His natural gait, Kassian realized, only slightly exaggerated in the field.

Abruptly, Kassian paused.

He heard the softest of noises ahead. So did Isaev, from his reaction.

Like a whisper, perhaps. Or maybe a splash. The air around them did feel more humid, and warmer.

They held still, briefly exchanging a glance. Kassian strained his hearing, and heard the noise again. It sounded intermittent, like rain.

Isaev cocked his head and started forward again, and Kassian immediately followed. Their flashlight beams illuminated rock face, then fell away to darkness.

They slowed. Beyond, the passage opened up into a natural cavern that echoed with soft sounds, the drip of moisture and sizzle of steamy water. They shined their flashlights into every corner of the cavern, but saw no one.

After a moment, Isaev nodded, pointing his light to Kassian's right.

There, churning and bubbling in the back of the cave, sat one of the hot springs Isaev had promised to show him one day.

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"Fuck me blind," remarked Isaev with a quiet whistle. "Missed this one."

It was hardly a sensible statement. There were literally hundreds of crevices and caverns in the mountain cradle that housed their fortress, and likely untold mineral aquifers as well.

He paused, then sauntered around the side of the pool, looking down, shining his light onto the water.

"Any other time I'd say it was a beautiful night for a dip," Andrei drawled, wryly, pulling off his glove.

He knelt briefly, trailing his fingers through the water.

In the swath of his candlepower, the water was clear against the smooth-worn stone, looking almost like liquid amber.

"Not exactly how I envisioned this," he added, irreverently, trailing his gaze upward across the pool, intending to meet Kassian's, but finding it waylaid by something out of place.

Something. An object, lying at the bottom of the pool, still and reverent.

Andrei pointed.

"Captain," he said, sharply, veering into myopic and dutied focus. "Can you see what it is from your vantage?"

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Kassian lowered his flashlight to let the beam cross-illuminate the water.

There, in the center, something glittered like metal. Gold, to be exact.

"It's a ring," Kassian said, stepping forward. "Can you get it?"

He put his gun down and set his flashlight on the ground, balancing it on the end to illuminate the cavern, then took a square of soft grey cloth from one of his field pouches. Kassian used the cloth for cleaning his rifle, but it would do well enough to hold evidence.

It could be that the ring had nothing to do with the body, but Kassian doubted it.

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Isaev shot him a wry twist of his lips and jumped into the water.

It hit him at mid-thigh.

He bent to retrieve the ring and grinning, caught Irinarhov by the hand, shoving it onto his finger.

"Of course I can get it," he admonished, rolling his eyes. "What kind of a question is that?"

A little oversized, he thought, amused, if it fit over the sniper's hand, glove and all.

Although Irinarhov had surprisingly slender hands, like a pianist. Those delicate wrought instruments of death.

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"I meant - " Kassian started, but he broke off, trying to look stern while fighting a smile.

That didn't work so well, he was certain.

Kassian looked at the ring that Isaev had stuck on his finger.

A plain band of gold and obviously meant to be worn by a much larger man than he. Or at least, a man with much larger hands.

Carefully, he took the cloth and pulled off the ring, folding the square several times, then tucking it away in a breast pocket.

"This could be evidence," he finally said, but when he looked back, Isaev was still standing in the water.

"You make me want to get in there with you."

As close as they had become, it amazed him sometimes that Isaev still had the power to disarm him with a gesture, a word, an offhand comment...

...or an entirely brazen act that made Kassian's chest flutter.

"Zverskiy youbar'," he muttered, then stepped into the water with a small splash. Kassian leaned up into Isaev and caught his mouth with a kiss.

He kept it brief, but thorough, and only pulled back slightly.

"We're not doing anything else in here."

Half-breathless, his lips brushed Isaev's.

Kassian pushed his tongue at the scabbed cut on Isaev's lip, and imagined he could taste blood.

"Maybe later, though."

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"Whatever you say, Captain Irinarhov," Andrei said, with a lilt of his brows. "I'm at your disposal, seeing as you technically outrank me."

He was being playful, but mindful of restraint, the solemnity of circumstance.

Something about the sniper's unstudied diktat pleased him, showed the authority granted not by rank but by life.

We're not doing anything else in here.

Pronouncements that Andrei would accede to, despite their "magnum frater" overtones.

He liked that part of Kassian. The part that betrayed the sagacity of his years, and the authority it conferred.

As he stepped out of the pool, he turned his head to breathe against Irianrhov's ear.

"But we're doing everything later."

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A shiver ran through Kassian, and he almost turned his head to catch Isaev's lips again, but he managed to hold back.

Not the time, not the place, he had to remind himself.

Isaev always made him want to forget.

"Deal," he murmured, absently running his tongue over his lips as he climbed out of the hot spring.

Kassian supposed he might regret jumping in the water later, when they left the warmth of the cave and went back out into the chill of the night, but he certainly didn't now, he thought, still flushed from the water, and the kiss.

Then again, he might not regret it later, either. It would give them an excuse to be excused from duty, at least long enough to change their uniforms.

He remembered how it had been the night of the greenhouse explosion, after Ocelot had excused them from duty. It felt different this time, and he wasn't sure why. It was less personal, perhaps, because Isaev didn't have to examine the corpse as he had before. And perhaps the initial horror of the first body had inured them somewhat to the second.

It was still sobering, but it didn't feel like the world was closing in.

Thinking about duty made him frown after a moment, and he paused to scoop up his gun and flashlight.

"Alexandrich," he called, before Isaev could exit the cavern. "I have to tell you something."

Isaev paused, looking back, expression curious and mild. Kassian didn't especially want to kill the mood, but it was better he confessed sooner, rather than later.

"I'm not sure why Imanov didn't say anything to Ocelot earlier, but he saw someone sneaking around by the outbuildings, before the ALL PERSONNEL went out. I think he got into a scuffle, but the person got away. He didn't seem to want to give me much detail."

He paused, frowning, contrite. "I wasn't there to back him up, comrade. I'm sorry."

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Andrei stopped, the ground rustling beneath his boot.

It was a faint sound, but in the stillness it carried all the portent of an avalanche.

"He...he seemed fine," he said, bewildered.

Bewildered as to why Imanov wouldn't have told him, as to why-

"He's all right, then. No damage."

It was fairly mild as combat went, a mere scuffle- but the idea that Imanov might have touched the killer, possibly earning himself a place as target next-

Andrei's voice lowered.

"Was he wearing his balaclava?"

Then Isaev remembered the last words Kassian had said, the ones that must have cost him something to utter.

"...you..." he broke off, shaking his head.

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"He had it on," Kassian said immediately, following Isaev's line of reasoning.

If it had been the killer that Imanov tangled with, it would be better that Imanov be only an anonymous Ocelot to him, not man with a face that could be recognized later.

"He's all right. No damage," he added. "And he came away with a scrap of fabric from the struggle. It could be useful."

He looked away, back to the pool.

"Ocelot had ordered me to stay with the MENTs. Imanov and I discussed it, and agreed he'd stay outside to keep an eye on the building while I went inside with them, but as I look back on it, we shouldn't have split."

Kassian shook his head. He didn't spend a lot of time in self-recrimination, but he could acknowledge his errors in judgment. That had been one, regardless if anything had happened or not.

He fell silent, then glanced back at Isaev, meeting his gaze, his dark eyes solemn and steady.

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Andrei shook his head.

"And he didn't call for backup. Believe me, I know how he is."

A sigh that felt like it came from his viscera, and his hand shook slightly as he ran it back through his hair.

"I know him very well. Every inch."

After a moment he shrugged.

"He made the call. Your job is to protect the MENTs, and then your brother. It's not your fault."

He raised his eyes and pushed a half-smile.

"I don't know why you're confessing with that look on your face. That look of infinite sorrow."

Andrei snorted.

"Even if you could cover the world with that Mosin-Nagant, Kasya, you can't vanquish a man's worst enemy without shooting him in the process."

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Kassian felt his shoulders relax.

He nodded.

"All right. I just...wanted you to know what happened, in case he doesn't tell you."

He supposed he shouldn't have been concerned that Isaev think him purposefully negligent when it came to Imanov's safety.

Isaev knew him better than that.

He knew Isaev better than that.

Isaev's eyes looked dark under the glare from his flashlight.

"I know he's your friend. I'll do my best," Kassian said, slowly, like a promise.

Kassian still wanted to talk to Imanov, to clear the air with him, even though he wasn't sure it would help. He had to try, though.

But perhaps not tonight, he thought, remembering Isaev's earlier words.

His mouth tipped up, and he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Isaev's arm, briefly. Brotherly, but affectionate.

"Shall we head back? We still have to check the other branch."

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Andrei nodded.

"Davai."

They started back the way they'd come, studying the walls and floor of the cave in case they'd missed anything vital. Retracing.

This time they veered down the other trunk of the corridor, which proved to be somewhat longer and slightly sloping downward.

It came to a definitive end, a dead one. A sheer facing, facing them.

Andrei trained his secondary flashlight along the wall, but Kassian had shined his directly ahead.

"Lend me your beam, comrade," he heard the sniper whisper, in his rough, low tone.

Isaev automatically complied, as if that voice was hardwired to him.

"It's got to be Molokov," Irinarhov said grimly.

Andrei's lip curled briefly, unwittingly.

"Poor bastard."

In the track of their crossed lights stood a macabre little pyramid, a wigwam of limbs cantilevered into a pyre.

Hands seemed to be expressively reaching, feet supporting.

Had it been cast in plaster instead of flesh, it might have made a fantastic concept for the support of a modernist coffee table.

As it was, however, what they beheld was only a sick offering to a godless land.

He clicked on his CODEC.

"Major," he said. "Tell the MENTs we got something. Down in the cavern system. Left branching fork to its ultimate conclusion. Area's secured. We'll stand ground and wait."

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"Jesus fuck!" yelped Ocelot, whirling around and drawing his gun.

His finger was on the trigger and it was already aimed- only the sense of a logical question penetrating his mind halted the depression.

A split second reaction, and in the end all it meant was that he was staring at the artless, scruffy face of that American instead of a smoking black hole where his face used to be.

Ocelot scowled, unsure he'd made the right choice.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

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Liadov looked up at the outburst, and saw the American and the Major engaged in what looked like a schoolyard standoff.

He rolled his eyes and went back to watching Rakitin grope the corpse.

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"You should pay more attention to your surroundings," Snake advised mildly, before his attention was pulled to the object standing at the center of the tableau like a twisted passion play.

The analogy proved more apt than he had intended.

A dismembered corpse, strung up like a diorama of a psychopath's dream.

The pathologist from Moscow lifted its face with businesslike delicacy to examine the neck, dictating notes to an Ocelot.

If the eyes had been open, they would have been looking right at it.

"That's one of the Shagohod's mechanics," Snake said.

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There was a very long pause.

"The what?" asked Nika, delicately. He fingered a mess of curls aside so that Rakitin could get a better look at the kid's throat. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that name. Did we miss something on our tour?"

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Ocelot gritted his teeth and raised the gun again.

"You're going to be a real thorn in my ass, aren't you," he hissed, and tapped his CODEC.

"Colonel," he muttered, dropping his voice to a subtone. "Your American stray dog just let the cat out of the bag on Sokolov's project. In front of the MVD. Do you want me to deal with him?"

From:

heartofthunder.livejournal.com

Volgin hadn't really wanted to answer his CODEC.

He and Ivan were -

Well. They weren't really doing anything, yet.

It was the yet that made him grit his teeth, but Ocelot's message made his eyes widen.

"He did what? How does he even - "

Volgin broke off. Of course the Boss' protege would know about the Shagohod, if she'd seen fit to tell him, which apparently she had.

This, he had the feeling, would blow his evening, and not in the good way.

"No, Ivan, not now," he muttered, sighing.

There was a thumping noise in the background.

"Untie me, will you? This is something I have to deal with."

He cleared his throat. "I'll handle the MVD, Ocelot. Direct any questions they might have about the Shagohod to me. I'll meet them in my office when you return. As for the American dog..."

Volgin paused. "Make sure he understands his place here, though not in front of the MENTs. Nothing permanent, understand me? We can't have the Boss getting upset. But another blunder like that, in front of the wrong people..."

Electricity snapped, and the line went to static for a few moments.

"...way, just... with him."

The line returned to normal.

"...understand? And what's happening there? Did you find the body?"

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"We have the body," he confirmed. "And a tentative identification. The MENTS are molesting the corpse as we speak."

Ocelot cracked his knuckles.

"Understood on all counts, Colonel."

He switched off the channel and angled his gun at Snake with a deep scowl.

"You," he declared. "You and and I have business after this is over. Don't you dare stray."

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Now that was a reaction Snake hadn't been expecting. A gigantic tank with nuclear capabilities that must account for a sizeable chunk of the military's development budget could hardly be much of a secret. If the Shagohod was something he was supposed to pretend to ignore, The Boss would definitely have said something.

The MENT had asked him a question, but Snake's internal hierarchy of priority tended to default to the man pointing a gun at him.

"Shouldn't wave that thing around unless you're planning on using it, kid," he said in a tone of friendly advice.

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"Believe me, I would like nothing better than to use it," snapped Ocelot. "You'd make a beautiful corpse."

He clicked the safety on and holstered the gun with an unnecessarily florid twirl, to dispell some of the wish to fire.

"Unfortunately, the Colonel disagrees. Don't ask me why. I think you're a barbarian and a relic."

He turned to Liadov and Rakitin.

"You. Volgin wants you to report to him for debriefing on this...security breach."

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"Hmm?" Rakitin said, looking up from his examination. "Neck is clear and unbruised," he said in aside to the Ocelot taking notes. "No signs of strangulation."

From Liadov's tone, something significant had been said. Ocelot's response corroborated the hypothesis.

A shiver ran down the back of Rakitin's mind at the prospect of reporting to the Colonel.

He ran the past minute of background conversation through his mind and was disappointed to detect little of consequences, but for the possible identification. Whatever a 'shagohod' was, unless it could kill a man without a mark and detatch his limbs, Rakitin didn't see how it was relevant.

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Snake's mouth quirked. The kid could never resist the opportunity to show off.

"You don't have what it takes to kill me," he said.

Ocelot had stepped close to threaten him. Something in the air caught Snake's attention. He sniffed experimentally.

"..are you wearing cologne?"

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Ocelot's eyes bloomed open, incredulous.

"No!"

He backed up a pace and crossed his arms, glowering.

"It's an artifact of proximity," he muttered. "Occupational hazard. What fucking reason would I have to wear cologne around this pit?"

Ocelot's eyes narrowed.

"And all it takes to kill anyone is a gun," he said. "There's nothing special about that."

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Snake crossed his arms.

"If all it took was a gun, I'd be dead by now."

Something about the kid's tone made him pause.

Snake's eyebrow rose.

"Proximity to what?"

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"The local flora," stated Ocelot, shortly. "Some of it can be habit forming."

He smirked coolly.

"You haven't met the right man with a gun yet. That's all."

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"Be careful with that," Snake warned. "The good-looking ones around here are usually poisonous."

Personally, Snake preferred to stick to fauna. The plants weren't often worth the effort. Golovas were pretty good, but something about them made him uncomfortable.

Snake smirked back.

"I guess not."

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Ocelot paused, then snorted.

"We're all poisonous."

He holstered his gun and spread his hands presentationally, leaving them that way.

"Well," he said. "Isn't this a multicultural moment."

After a moment he frowned.

"Are you sure this man was a mechanic in the weapons hangar? You've seen him?"

They would talk about how the bastard had been in a position to see him later.

Doing his job, Ocelot supposed. His job, that effectively should have ended when the Boss ditched him in this pretty blue corner of hell.

But Snake looked irritatingly like one of those Young Pioneers who was determined to orienteer his way through the course, with or without his mentor.

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"Yeah." Snake nodded, looking hard at the corpse. "I know I've seen him before. I don't know his name. You should ask some of the other mechanics."

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As NIka watched, mildly amused, Ocelot's head jerked up and his hand clamped to his head.

He listened for a minute, then muttered a terse, "On my way."

"Drop your necrophiliac funtime, boys," he declared, turning his gaze on Rakitin and Liadov. "They've got something in the cavern."

Liadov glanced at Rakitin.

"Let's go."

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"Right," Rakitin nodded, lowering the dead man's chin to lay against his chest in an aspect of sorrowful repose. "I'm at the limits of what I can learn without an autopsy anyway."

He, Liadov, and the Ocelot Major proceeded deeper into the cave.

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