Stealth is My Weapon
It was a bright and cheery dawn for the public, a nice warm day in July of 1971. The sun shined brightly as it emerged from the small clouds in front of it, forming a beautiful cocktail of oranges, reds and blues in the clean sky.
For one resident of the Earth it was different…
Big Boss was staring at the floor as he walked down the corridor of the FOX unit of the CIA, thinking. He thought a lot; about things like society, war, and most of all, how the world and people were meant to have ended up.
His feet made no sound on the squeaky floor, as it was a natural reaction because of the many times he had practiced it and put it to use.
Under the eye-patch of his right-eye was stinging again. It happened about five times a day, and it was becoming irritating to look through a single eye and not see the full picture. The bastards who did this to him paid the price.
Slowly in front of him the door for the shooting range slid to his left, filling his lungs up with thick smoke from inside it. There was a peculiar feeling that all air in the dull, square room was absent.
Or maybe it was, thought Big Boss, maybe there was actually no such thing as air. It was hard to be sure of anything in the business he was in. Everything he had encountered, everything he had fought for was absurd. Who could believe that the dead could actually be raised and walking again? That a man had hornets living inside of him? If he told anyone, they'd laugh disgustedly at his so-called "Child like fiction" and go and tell him to write a novel about it.
Big Boss sighed as he looked around the horrible, dull room, and lazily let the stenches of cordite enter his nostrils.
He hated what he was good at, firing a bullet, intending to kill somebody. He always thought that guns, bullets etc. were not meant to be developed. The substances in them were probably supposed to be used for shelter, to light a fire, or possibly they were meant to do nothing in particular. Not killing somebody painfully. They are not fun; they were made for killing people quickly. He always thought that killing was something to do for survival, and killing animals for food for you and your family. Killing wasn't something you did because somebody was getting to you, or were in your way.
Yet he stayed at FOX, because the killing that he himself did, was to help the lives of others. One kill he made, saved ones life. But the person, or a lot of the time, people, who he saved with weapons or just bare hands, didn't know who he was, and that he had done so. Therefore, they couldn't repay him.
As he entered, he realised that an annoying young recent recruit named Bill Stratsney spotted him, dropping the M16 rifle that was shaking in his hand and ran over to Big Boss, almost tripping over himself.
Bill Stratsney was young, possibly only just leaving his teens. He had short blond hair, and was so skinny, he looked anorexic. Stratsney looked at Big Boss's uniformed appearance and smiled. He was standing in front of a legend!
"B-Big Boss... I-it's an H- Honour to speak with a living legend as yourself."
Big Boss did not speak. Instead he gently strode over to the gun rack, and pulled out a Colt .45.
He was sick of the comments such as "Legend" and "Hero".
The real heroes don't kill; they just save people from burning buildings and arrest people who have done something wrong. They don't kill.
Slowly and cat-like he cocked the pistol that lay in his right hand. Stratsney continued.
"I...Y-you're the ah-reason I joined Fox!"
Finally Big Boss' gruff voice spoke, as he hung up a paper target, with a black silhouette of a man with a pistol in his hand.
"Is that so?"
Stratsney nodded. Big Boss pressed the red button to his right, and the target moved backwards, away from the two agents.
"Well then resign... you won't last long as a murderer."
"W-"
Stratsney was cut off by the firing that Big Boss was commencing at the paper. Stratsney looked closer at the wooden target. All the bullets that were fired from Big Boss went exactly into the illustrated head of the target. Stratsney had to comment on it.
"How d'ya do that?"
Big Boss didn't look at him. He just spoke.
"Years of practice... but to you, I need to warn you that it is a last resort. You only use it if your cover is blown. Stealth is the greatest weapon of all... A rookie like you wouldn't last long if you were spotted."
Stratsney growled and walked off. Big Boss didn't like the manner of what he had just been saying to Stratsney. But it would make Stratsney stronger by giving him the "I'll show you" attitude and making him try harder.
Big Boss heard the door slide open again, but didn't pay attention until he heard the words muttered with a British.
"Hello, Jack"
Big Boss spun round to see Major Zero.
It was almost impossible to tell Zero's age. His hair was a very dark blond-grey colour and his face was slightly scarred on the left side. He was showing few wrinkles in his ageing face and wore his trademark black suit and tie.
Big Boss was almost certain that Zero was going to offer him a new mission.
"This way please."
Now he was certain. Blowing away the smoke from his .45, he placed it down on the table and approached Major Zero. He asked.
"Mission?"
Major Zero raised an eyebrow.
"How'd you know?"
Big Boss thought that it would be best to not answer the question. To save a lot of clumsy explanations. Zero turned and walked down the corridor, Big Boss followed.