groznyj_grad | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

ATTN: Col. Volgin, whoever else wants to join...

It was early in the afternoon before the hovercraft occupying most of laboratory number 307 was in one working piece again. Fixing things, the cosmonaut mused, was almost as satisfying as destroying them. To take something previously useless and coerce it to function again…

Phobos and Deimos would be along soon to collect it, and return it to its proper hangar.

He shook the thought from his head as he shut the door and scanned the hallway for any signs of life through his gold-hazed view of the world. Everything was as quiet as he had expected to find the narrow corridor -- no one ever visited, except for the Krasnogorje flame thrower unit…

…Or the Ocelot soldiers, who had came to call earlier. To retrieve crimson scarves, and bring interesting, if not infuriating, news.

…Or the welcome visitor from beyond the grave. The Sorrow, long departed, was a welcome sight.

And, the Fury thought, deliberately lingering on the top step of the narrow staircase, the expected presence of the Ocelot unit had seemed far stranger than the appearance of a deceased comrade. Such things were mundane to individuals as unique as the Cobra Unit. Ghosts and reanimated dead, holding conversations with hornets and the spectacular view of falling back to earth.

…Or men who bent electricity to their whims.

Ocelots soldiers were fantastical creatures, surreal in the way they believed in reality.

The Fury laughed to himself as he descended the stairs, with characteristic heavy footsteps and clank of his jet pack. Volgin. Something about the Colonel was amusing to the point of maniacal delight. Something was likeable about the man, despite his obvious excessive hubris.

Perhaps his lust for experimental technology.

Maybe it was his temper, and his common violent outbursts. It was enjoyable to see someone so willing to give in to their rage.

Or perhaps it was the Colonel’s willingness to fund the cosmonaut’s special weapons projects that made him so likeable.

Either way, it delighted the Fury to find Volgin lingering about on the second floor, outside the empty office of Ivan Raikov. How predictable. He was out of place under the harsh fluorescent lighting, a man like Volgin seemed to belong only on a battlefield.

“Colonel,” he began with a brief salute, stopping on the second step from the bottom. “If I may have a word with you…or is this a bad time?” He had several words in mind, right at the top of his list were fucking kraut and son of a bitch and kill the lying bastard, but he remembered Major Ocelot’s words -- the kid had promised it would be much more rewarding to let Volgin deal with Krauss’ gross abuse of power.

Still, it nagged at his conscious. He would have honestly rather left the lying German with a few broken bones and third degree burns over ninety percent of his body.

Swallowing his pride and saluting Volgin was quite possibly the greatest insult of all to the cosmonaut's dignity, but a neccicary evil.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Colonel!"

Ocelot's boots slapped rapidly on the linotile, punctuated by truncated chinks of his spurs.

He drew up, saluting sharply.

"I've recieved confirmation through CODEC, sir. The Ocelot Squad has apprehended your scientist. Mostly intact," he added, with a smirk. "They need a helicopter transport to bring him back to base. One of Krauss's little lizards shattered his leg with a love bite."

He flinched distastefully.

"According to Charushkin, it's compound."

He glanced at the Fury, and back up to the Colonel, who stood mildly by like a towering monument to The Glory of Work. Legs apart, jaw set and lifted. He doubted it was even conscious.

"I apologize for the interruption," he averred, crossing his arms.

The Fury remained silent as Volgin spoke. The Colonel had made one fundamental mistake, one terrible mistake in judgment: The Cobra Unit was not on his side, as he claimed. They fought for Voyevoda, not for politics or country.

For love, and the Fury finally understood something of what Volgin had meant.

But to the cosmonaut, Volgin’s definitions of hero and villain seemed so limited by specific actions or what side one chose to fight for. He did not seem to realize that there were no sides, no boundaries, only opposing ideas. “Everything is relative. The victors write the history books. If you want to be remembered as a hero, be certain you can win the war.”

The final question struck him as strange: the answer should have been obvious, especially to a man like Volgin, so devoted to his own personal mission in life.

“I continue to arise each morning because I am not dead, and I still have a mission to complete. The earth is still flammable, is it not?”

By flammable, he more truthfully meant overpopulated by men who fit his personal definition of evil, but flammable still, and in dire need of purification by fire. Humanity itself was a cardinal sin worth punishing for all eternity in a pit of flame and brimstone.

Or nitrogen tetroxide, as it were.

The Fury acknowledged Ocelot with a nod and a smirk at the crisp salute. Volgin was, in his opinion, undeserving of such reverence.

“You’re not interrupting anything.” he said finally, “just idle talk about the nature of the universe, mankind, what constitutes good and evil, the existence of God, and love…” he trailed off, noting the disturbed expression on the Major’s face, and unsure if it was the subject of conversation of the idea of being eaten by a smiling gavial.

Fifty, fifty.

The hovercraft pilots insisted it was great fun to toss a hand grenade into a gavial’s gaping maw and watch the guts rain down like macabre confetti. They had a running tally of who killed how many, and made a real competition of it.

“I am amazed there are any of those beasts left to devour scientists.” The cosmonaut said offhandedly, then looked to Volgin. “I should be off. I have long list of preparations for tonight’s… experiment, and so little time to actually prepare. Have fun with your scientist.” He knew by the way Volgin was smiling that the unfortunate scientist would not survive to see daylight, and not because of the saurian love bite.

Volgin waved a dismissive hand at Ocelot's apology. After the words that had come out of Ocelot's mouth earlier today, a mere interruption was the least he had to apologize for, though Volgin had decided to let the other matter go.

He'd almost forgotten about it entirely in fact, though seeing Ocelot reminded him of it.

But no matter. He chalked it up to the impetuousness of youth.

"That was fast," he said. "Tell your men good work. Go ahead and arrange for the helicopter to bring him back here immediately, and alert Dr. Khostov that there's an emergency."

Privately, Volgin thought that the scientist got what he deserved. Running into the jungle was a very stupid thing for a supposedly very intelligent man to do.

He knew they needed each and every scientist they had to complete the required work in a timely fashion, but Volgin needed traitors away from the project much more than he needed the work on Shagohod completed right away.

Ah. He would have to ask Sokolov how important the man was, and if they could get by without him, Volgin would just execute him publicly, as an example of what happened to those who tried to leave, presumably to defect.

Yes. That would help morale. He nodded to himself.

"Krauss' little machinations are proving to be quite the irritation today," he said aloud thoughtfully, almost as if speaking to himself. "I suppose I'll have to talk to him about it later, now that I have...more information."

Volgin still looked irked, and Ocelot mentally cursed himself for assuming the Colonel knew anything about the supremely stupid thing he'd done the night before.

Too bad it had seemed like such a good idea to his body.

Not like Raikov had any soft thoughts about him, anyway. It had been physical, and he'd probably been thinking about the Colonel the whole time anyway.

Ocelot scowled, but smoothed his face into an officer's alignment once more.

"Colonel," he said. "Permission to investigate the weapons hangar after I do so." He paused. "I don't trust that Snake she's brought along one bit. Nor that woman you're bedding, either."

Fucking possible enemies was one thing, but Ocelot knew that Volgin, like himself, was a pragmatist. The Shagohod must be protected at all costs.

Ocelot had no mission now but his own. And he hadn't decided exactly where the chips would fall yet.

Best to maintain the staus quo.

Volgin frowned.

"Woman I'm...?"

For a few moments, he had no idea what Ocelot was talking about. But then he remembered: the blond secretary they'd acquired yesterday, along with the Shagohod. Sokolov's lover.

He shook his head. "I hadn't had a chance to try her out yet," Volgin said, offhandedly. "I don't really have time right now."

Not even for Ivan. And if he didn't have time for Ivan, there was no way he was going to make time for some stupid whore instead.

He shrugged monolithic shoulders. "I had been thinking about giving her to Krauss, but..." he rumbled, a scowl darkening his brow, "...now that's definitely not going to happen. Why, Major?"

Volgin regarded Ocelot narrowly. "Do you have reason to believe she's a spy? Perhaps I should just kill her, and save ourselves the trouble."

The Boss' protégé, however, would be far more problematic. Volgin had no doubt that the Boss herself was loyal, and dedicated to her duty. The legendary soldier would do anything to fulfill her mission, he was certain of it. But this Snake, on the other hand, might very well be suspect, and the Boss herself might be too attached to realize it.

At the very least, they needed a great deal of proof before going to the Boss and explaining any suspicions.

"But I don't want to hear any baseless accusations against the Boss' apprentice, Major," Volgin reprimanded. "Unless you have something solid against him, I suggest you watch what you say."

And who you say it in front of, he mentally added.

His gaze slid infinitesimally in the Fury's direction as a warning to Ocelot. Snake was not one of the Cobras, but he was still one of the Boss' sons. There might be some familial loyalty there, and besides, it was impolitic to say in front of anyone else.

"That's how rumors get started. And I'm sure you've had your fill of those today."

Ocelot smirked, this time at himself.

He'd been fairly certain the Fury was out of earshot when he mentioned Snake, but Volgin had a point, in his earthbound way.

"Point taken, Colonel," he said, wryly. "I'll bite my tongue around company more often."

He was beginning to think he'd have to bite it around Volgin too, if the rumors didn't die down.

"Something tells me that giving that woman to Krauss would be the worst punishment you could devise for him," Ocelot said, obscurely. "I have no solid proof, Colonel, but I have a very bad feeling about her."

He paused.

"That demure act." He scowled. "It rings about as true as Ivan's."

Volgin would know what he meant. It wasn't an insult, but a fact. Raikov was no delicate flower, despite his coyness.

He heard Ocelot’s accusations loud and clear as he rounded the corner, but the Fury did not care enough for the new blood to defend his honor against the Major’s distrust.

Because, he thought to himself, twisting gloved fingers around the handle of his flamethrower in nervous habit, Volgin shouldn’t trust Snake. Or Voyevoda.

The cosmonaut was not even sure he trusted the Boss, though he had every bit of faith in her, and nothing but the utmost respect. Trust was an impossible thing until he was certain of her motivations. It was all too suspicious, too sudden: abandoning the country she loved, defecting, striking a deal with someone like Volgin. Something was wrong about it. It went against her very nature.

Either way, the Fury knew that he and the others would stand by her no matter what, even if it meant following her to a certain death. He was not sure about Snake, but considered himself an excellent judge of character: the kid was average, if not a bit apathetic. Not Cobra material yet, but he had potential, however hidden it was.

As he stepped out into the bright afternoon, the Fury made a mental note to corner Voyevoda later and try to gain more information on her true motives for ‘defecting.’

Until then, the blue sky was a welcome reprieve from the harsh fluorescent lighting, even if it was tinted amber through his helmet. For now, he needed to find Lieutenant Io, and speak with him about the Krasnogorje patrol’s first real ‘mission’ in months, and give orders to bring the Composition 4 down from the mountainside armory. Destroying the old German’s prized greenhouse wasn’t much of a mission, but the unit would find it much more agreeable than patrolling the same mountain pass day in, day out.

Destruction and chaos was always preferable to the same boring routine.

Volgin nodded in farewell as the Fury left. It had been an odd conversation, and he had the slight suspicion that the Fury might be insane.

He tried to shrug it off.

Regardless, Volgin felt confident that the Fury would do what the Boss told him to do, and that was enough for his purposes.

He turned his attention to Ocelot, and his expression soured. He didn't like what Ocelot had said about Ivan. Not so much for the truth of it - Volgin was under no delusions that his Vanya was a saint - but rather for the fact that Ocelot seemed to know Ivan well enough to talk about him in such a manner.

Well. They were rankmates, after all, and Volgin allowed that they were probably also friends. Volgin's work kept him busy, and he couldn't expect Ivan not to socialize. It would be tantamount to keeping a wild bird in a narrow cage and denying it the sun.

But in spite of the impudent words, Volgin could acknowledge that the content of what Ocelot said had some validity.

He frowned in thought, scars pulling tight. "Hmm, do you think so?"

Volgin was inclined to trust Ocelot's judgment, actually. He thought about it some more. "Yes. I think perhaps I will give her to Krauss, then. If she is a spy then all of Krauss' schemings will keep her busy, and vice versa."

Not that he wanted even the appearance of doing Krauss a favor, but that part, at least, couldn't be helped.

"Let me know if you notice anything suspicious," he continued, though he dropped his voice. "Particularly about the Boss' apprentice. He seemed too quiet too me."

"I will," he muttered. "Believe me."

He twirled his gun, slowly, thoughtfully.

"Colonel," he said, "there's going to be a little...reconstruction...on Major Krauss' greenhouse tonight."

He paused.

"Your new comrade was none too pleased about Krauss' manipulation. And to tell the truth, I'm not either."

He scowled.

"The German might be useful, but mark my words- he's sowing dissention in the rows." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "You know how the European swallow raises it's young."

Ocelot narrowed his eyes.

"I have a feeling he's got a mind to sneak into your nest, Colonel, and shove out your ideals."

"Reconstruction?" Volgin frowned, and started to ask, but then thought better of it.

"Never mind, Major, I don't want to know." He shook his head. "But if you see Ivan before I do, make sure to warn him to stay away. I'll deal with the aftermath later."

Let the Fury have his fun, then. Volgin was sure that Krauss would come whining to him about it in the morning. And then to appease Krauss, Volgin would give him the woman, and that would keep the German occupied for a while.

Krauss had certainly been at the center of a lot of trouble today. It made Volgin think about Granin.

"Cuba," he muttered, but then at Ocelot's blank look, he explained. "Granin came to me today. He said the Cubans had invited him to come help with some scientific project or another. I don't recall. And then I went to see Krauss, and he happened to mention the same thing to me, and asked if he could go along as well."

Volgin frowned, slowly. "To Cuba."

On one hand, Volgin would be glad to have Krauss and his machinations away from his base, but on the other...

...it was what Krauss wanted.

"I wonder what he's trying to get away with," he mused, aloud.

"Cuba?" muttered Ocelot, with an incredulous scowl and inward twist of his brows. "Why would anyone want to go to that hell hole?"

It didn't make sense to him, but then, he'd never considered anything beyond the Shagohod, and Sokolov's...

Ocelot's eyes narrowed.

"The plans," he declared in a low voice. "Granin's prototypes. The ones you dismissed," he added, with a glance at Volgin's monolithic visage.

He was frowning, almost endearingly, and Ocelot waited gamely for Volgin to join him in epiphanygrad.

The trains of thought might be slow to arrive, but they ran on time, and once they met their destination they pulled in full steam.

Ocelot however, found his impatience creeping upward, as more of the implications sunk in- exactly what Krauss was planning with the disillusioned engineer.

"Don't you see?" he exclaimed, eyes wide and affronted. "They're going to build his machines. They're going to build another Groznyj Grad out there in the fucking jungle."

They intended to give the Shagohod a run for its money.

Hah.

They intended to.

If they made it to Cuba.

Ocelot was beginning to feel a little solidarity welling up in his breast. They thought they could slip this victory out from under Volgin, from him? From this old whore Mother Russia?

Old whore she was, but she was their old whore. No one else was allowed to fuck her.

"Colonel," he said, "Let me take down Graniny-Gorki."

"What?" Volgin thundered.

He gaped at Ocelot for a few moments, then firmly shut his mouth.

It all made sense, except...

"But how could they possibly pay for it?" he asked with a sharp frown. "Granin and Krauss don't have the kind of resources I do."

In fact, no one did.

Volgin knew that the sheer amount of wealth at his command made him the most wealthy person on the face of the planet. When he thought about it in such terms, even he was impressed, though mostly, he didn't think about it.

There was only so much money could buy, after all. All the money in the world wouldn't be enough to let an idiot rule it.

"That can't be. Unless..."

Volgin trailed off, jaw working. The scars pulled and tightened on his cheek like live snakes, writhing.

"Unless he intends a coup. He'll need to steal everything."

But no, Volgin thought, that didn't make sense. If it were a coup, then why not just take over Groznyj Grad itself? It would be far easier than getting a new base constructed, and finding all of the personnel, and all of the other myriad attending headaches that came with it.

He knew.

Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know, Ocelot...I'm not convinced that's what's going on. Even for Krauss, that's a bit extreme. As is destroying Graniny-Gorki."

And besides, if destruction on that scale was going to happen, Volgin wanted to be the one who got to do it.

"Colonel," Ocelot said firmly, meeting the eyes of the giant man without hesitation. "I know the Major is an old friend, but old friends are just new enemies waiting in the wings."

He shook his head, scowling, ticking his gun back and forth in his hand as he ruminated, trying to find a way to explain the unsettling feeling he had about the whole Granin idea.

He had started pacing, as he thought, and he finally looked up, raising his hands in frustration.

"I don't know, sir. I can't put my finger on it. But I know enough not to ever trust a German, especially not an ex Reich officer."

Ocelot shook his head.

He'd always liked Krauss, as a comrade. It was unfortunate that he might be running his own program.

He almost hoped it wasn't true. Good comrades were hard to come by, and the Major class didn't need any more dwindling.

A self-mocking smirk threatened to bloom and was suppressed as quickly.

The last thing he needed was more rarified air in the company of Raikov.

"All right," Volgin finally said.

He fished in his pocked and took out a bullet, toying with it idly. It was true, yes, Krauss was an old friend. He had known him for quite a while. But it absolutely did not mean that Volgin trusted him.

Certainly not as far as he could throw him, which was, admittedly, at least a meter.

He paced in the hallway, his gaze settling on Ivan's nameplate. Absently, he reached out to touch it, brushing his fingers across the face as if removing a fine layer of dust.

Volgin knew he had to think about the future and the long-term. Beyond merely the completion of his plans, which were now tantalizingly within reach.

He turned back to Ocelot abruptly. The Major almost looked startled.

"I want you to find out what's going on with Granin and Krauss," he told Ocelot. "I want proof. I told Granin to get me this letter he received from Cuba, and that I'd have to think about it afterward. That will give you time to look into the matter, and confirm your suspicions."

Volgin held out his hand, and offered the bullet to Ocelot. "I know it's not your area of expertise, Major, but since you brought it up, you should be the one to look into it. Let me know what you find. And if you're right, I'll let you conduct the interrogations and executions yourself."

He was nothing if not generous to those who did their jobs well, after all.

Ocelot took the bullet and closed his palm around it.

It was warm. Even through the kid leather of his gloves, he could feel it. A little more heat, a little more power. and Volgin could have discharged it. It was one of his favorite parlor tricks, using the conduits in his gloves to fire off live shells as he held them between his fingers.

Impressive, but inaccurate.

Although not as much accuracy was needed, with five shots coming off at once.

Ocelot had been riled over Krauss and thoughts of the Cuban question, but his concern turned abruptly toward more localized matters when he noticed the Colonel making love to Ivan's brass nameplate like a schoolgirl drawing hearts in the margins in of her history book.

That had unsettled him, shot his mind back to the night before, and how he could have used that nameplate to remind him who he was dealing with and what kind of trouble he was imagineering for himself by being a randy young bastard.

But nothing had quite prepared him for Volgin's graciously blithe offer to let him vivisect and snuff his own comrades.

Despite his love of guns, Ocelot had no great love of torture. It hardly seemed sporting, and it always made him queasy. He attended when required. Only Ivan got exemptions from the most cherished part of Volgin's work. Ocelot always wondered why, if the Colonel was so enamored of his own freakish abilities and punishing fists.

Volgin claimed it was an acquired taste.

"Give me a year," he said, in his oddly fond way. "I'll make a Russian out of you yet."

By Russian, of course, the Colonel meant sadist, but the Colonel rarely considered encompassing conceptual words like that unless that unless they were taught to him by Raikov.

The Major always had his shapely nose in some book or another, when it wasn't being dragged off behind his cock like the rest of his body, like an old woman with a bear on a leash.

Ocelot managed a smirk.

"Thank you, Colonel, but I trust you to deal with Krauss and Granin in your inimitable way. Provided, of course, that there actually is anything going on."

There was always the possibility, however slight, that Krauss' perfidy didn't extend to dreams of taking over Groznyj Grad.

But Ocelot doubted it, with well-worn skepticism.

"The Fatherland will always find it's match in the Motherland, Colonel, and her sons."

Volgin sighed in disappointment; he'd always thought that Ocelot had such potential. That one day, he'd see the light.

There were just occasions when there was nothing that could make a man feel better than crushing someone's skull.

"Very well," he told Ocelot. "In any case, I'll let you watch."

Ocelot could acquire a taste for torture, Volgin thought. He recognized it in the detached, reluctant curiosity he'd seen in the young Major's eyes on occasion when he was attending in the interrogation room.

Bullet holes were always the same, after all. There were plenty of other ways to perforate the human body that left entirely different marks and blood splatters on the floor.

He shrugged. "If there is something going on, of course. You're correct."

Volgin wondered for a few moments if their suspicons were true. He would hate to see Krauss go.

Ah, the sacrifices of command.

Offering Ocelot a nod in parting, Volgin turned to go. "Report to me what you find out, Major, and we'll go from there."

He left Ocelot in the hall, and resumed his search for Ivan.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only