Let's destroy the Shagohod [Jonn + Blue]

[blueraccoon]

"Yes, they bought our story. I don't think they'll be making a fuss. The secondary alert has been lifted as well. And the Soviets still haven't discovered my true identity. They have no idea that I've been triple-crossing them."

Click.

"Major Zero? What is this? Oh, okay. Leaving FOX huh? Somehow, I'm not surprised. Yeah, I knew that legacy was a fake. Patriots? You must be a busy man. Oh, really? I'll be there."

Click.

It wasn't really too difficult to catch a plane to America- it's only a ticket away. Normally, residency would be a problem- especially when you're a triple agent that isn't an American citizen. However, thanks to a few connections of his, that was all set up for him. A nice, little apartment in Washington. Right under the capitol's nose. How ironic.

He didn't really have much to pack- as a soldier, one never really have too many belongings besides the clothes on one's back and the gun in one's holster. And when he arrived in his new apartment, he was more than glad to see that it was already furnished for him. He had to hand it to the Americans, they did a good job kissing ass when they want you to help them.

It took a total of two days for the entire transaction to occur- and that left Ocelot a very bored man. After the excitement of several world powers clashing against each other, going back to normal reality was almost out of the question. So needless to say, when Ocelot heard that the war hero, Naked Snake, was invited to the White House, he went to go see.

The White House had some tough security, but Ocelot would be no soldier if he couldn't get past it. He managed to sneak in just in time to see Snake be awarded a medal of honor. And in time to see him deny the CIA Director a handshake. The Russian smirked at the sight. "Stubborn bastard."

The next few days were uneventful with a few calls from Major Zero here and there, filling him in on the future of The Patriots and other possibilities. Naturally, Ocelot was interested. Anything for some action and hell, he needed to find something or someone worthy for his loyalty. He no longer believed in Mother Russia.

He was told to stay inside as much as possible but after a week passed by, Adam couldn't take much of it anymore. He was still young and to hell like he was going to waste it sitting around some American apartment. And that's when the thought hit him. The Boss was buried nearby, wasn't she? He had heard talk of her undying loyalty to the Americas throughout her missionâ?¦ and hell, she was one of the strongest soldiers he had ever met. Why not pay a visit, it couldn't hurt. Plus, who else would visit a practically unmarked grave of whom people believed to be a traitor?

A soft sigh escaped the gunslinger's lips as he changed out of his sleep clothes into a neat, white dress shirt and black slacks. Hell, he even put on a tie for the woman. She should be proud. It was a lot different from his GRU uniform and beret, but at least it was formal enough to visit a fallen ally. If she even considered him as one. It wasn't too long of a walk- it took only an hour and a half on foot simply because he wasn't quite sure where to go and he took a few wrong turns. Like any man, he was too stubborn to ask for directions. Plus, his English wasn't too great- sure, he could speak it but his accent was still heavy. And he could barely read the language, too- he often confused their godforsaken letters with his cyrillic alphabet. What a pain in the ass. It took another twenty minutes for him to find the grave of The Boss and when he did, he saluted the stone before placing a stray flower on the grave. He had picked it up along the way- so he figured he might as well leave it on the grave site.

"You were pretty good."

 

[Jonn]

Buck up.
And take a shower for God's sake. Look at yourself. You're pathetic.

That's what The Boss would say to him, a frown crawling across her face. While everyone else seemed to have moved on with... well, living, John hadn't. He was in the same place he found himself every Friday morning, come rain or shine, resting against the hood of his car in the round of the National Cemetery. Out as far as he could see, were nothing but rows and rows of immaculate, white stone that marked the resting place of those who died in the service of corrupt politicians. John took another deep pull from the cigar at his lips, letting the smoke dissolve in an angry mess in front of his face. People didn't change...

You didn't "adjust" to civilian life when you were grew up like John did. For most people, yeah, getting shot in the eye would have been cause enough to quit. To hang up their uniform for good and go into... politics... But not Jack, no. He contemplated the possibility for maybe a second in time, and disregarded it. If he was only good at fighting (and he knew damn well he was), then that's what he was going to do.

That's what she would have wanted, right?

She was on that hill over there, on one of the nameless markers they gave to John Does whose bodies had been too mutilated to tell to whom it belonged. It was impersonal, anonymous, but he wouldn't forget where she was. Section 10, row 17, column 54.

In memory of a patriot who saved the world 192X - 1964.

"Hrm." They didn't even know when she was born... John flicked the butt of his extinguished cigar from his fingertips and reached to fish another from his pocket. He looked somehow bloodshot, despite his eyes not being red, and he not being drunk. Maybe it was the outfit. He'd gone with slacks and a dress shirt that was a bit rumpled on the collar with the first button undone, and opted out of the tie. It looked like he'd slept in the whole thing, honestly, which was all-too likely. His coat jacket was strewn across the hood, serving as a carpet for the elaborate bouquet of flowers he came to offer her.

This was around the time when he'd muster up the gall to push himself from the hood, smooth out his shirt, and pay his mentor another visit. But as he caught sight of another man at her marker, he faltered in his movements, drawing his brows together. He didn't recognize the guy from this far back. Nonetheless, John would wait until he was gone. While he was waiting, he made to light up that new cigar of his, giving a slightly irritated sigh.

 

[blueraccoon]

It was a true pity, really. After surrendering her life for the good of her country, they didn't even have the decency to even put a name on the grave. Hell, even 'The Boss' would have sufficedâ?¦ it's not like the common person would know who in the hell 'The Boss' wasâ?¦. Speaking of, what was her real name? He had never been told- but then again, code names were more commonly used than real ones. Even for him, he'd be quicker to answer to 'Ocelot' than 'Adamska'.

He frowned, brushing his fingers over the top of the tombstone. It was almost unreal for such a legendary soldier to be taken down- he was sure she put up a damned good fight for Snake. He may have not known the woman all too well, but he was close enough to know that she wouldn't just give herself up so easily. He was certain that she made sure to teach Snake a true lesson before she died- probably the most important one she'd ever give, being that it was her last.

It must have been terrible, taking away one of the most influential person in your life. He wasn't quite sure what her relation to Snake was, but he was certain they were close. Their combat styles were almost identical and he could recall Volgin saying that she had made him a soldier. And a damned good one, as much as Ocelot would be pained to admit it.

Ocelot was lucky- he never knew his parents and he was raised by Volgin and the GRU. He had no attachments to anyone and the closest person he was to- if you could even call it close- was Volgin. And Snake had already taken care of that. He never liked the guy, anyway.

Well, enough of that. He paid his dues to the woman and it was about time that he should be heading back- Zero had a tendency to call at the most inconvenient times and if Adamska wasn't answering the phone, the bastard would get suspicious of the teen's journeys outside of the house. The soldier turned around, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shuffled his feet along the path back towards the gates leading outside of the cemetary. However, there was someone there- strange, he was just standing there. However, it wasn't until he drew nearer that he recognized the face.

Snake.

And oh, what a mess he looked. Ocelot had to keep himself from snickering at the man. Poor bastard. He looked so clean and proud just a few days ago while being awarded in the White House. It seemed as if after all that pomp and circumstance, John had kept himself shut away.

A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he rose his hands as a gesture to prove that this time, he was not here to settle the score. Though if need be, he still had his beloved revolvers. Twelve shots.

"Big Boss, huh? A heavy title for you, John."