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.