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[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

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.

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[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"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."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

"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.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"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.

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

"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.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

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."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

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.