~Hmm, it's been a while. TOO long. I've had plenty of ideas, but none that would carry out to a full blown story. I need help with this, actually. I want at least a good 5 or 7 short fics. Any ideas are welcome. I have a 2nd chapter in mind, but eh. Still needs "umph".

Quite obviously, I own nothing. Except my sporadic thoughts.

Let's see how this goes...

A crisp breeze billows through jarred windows in this particular Manhattan loft in late fall. Tuesday morning to be exact, brings headlines in fine print of; upcoming shows and galleries for the artist at heart, international news of breakthrough advancements and entrepreneurs making billions or losing zillions in busy business days. Topped off with a hearty muffin and warm vanilla cappuccino with a hint of caramel.

A sigh escapes a warm breath of someone who showered and dressed quite casual for a relaxing day. Calloused hands grasp a cup of Joe and its soothing vitalization meets lips and engulfs the soul. Eyes close as pure joy captures and energizes. A light thud hits the table and shuffle of newspaper lands while the scuffle of a chair scoots back. Footsteps near the warmth of the morning sun from the window. Eyes peer down from the 7th floor upon the people living their routines.

A once tranquil look is replaced with a scour.

And a grunt.

"Damn it."

Hands shove fiercely into a pocket, reaches a phone and quickly dials a number. Anticipation mixed with rising anger while mentally counting three rings before the other end picks up.

"…David."

"…Hal."

A long pause.

"Otacon."

"Snake."

Another long pause.

After excruciating minutes of silence and exchange of names, our Legendary Mercenary's temper gets the best of him. Hands clenched into tight fits and shakes violently at his sides, he let out a growl.

"I've tried to do this mindless charade by prancing like a…like a…civilian." Snake spat out the word like hate and he shuddered. "I honestly can't continue this anymore. I. Hate. Being. Normal. Do you know what it's like? I have to be ordinary and do ordinary things. What is this lie? I thought I wanted this, but I can't take it. I NEED CARNAGE!"

Laughter is heard on the other end of the call. Snake stopped and arched his eyebrow in annoyance.

"Do you find amusement in my dismay?"

"No…No." Otacon was trying to calm his laughter. "It's just…that is really funny. I thought you didn't like the fighting. Is it because you're not in Alaska? You know, you need to be surrounded by people, not dogs. It isn't healthy for the human psyche."

Snake clenched his teeth. "My psyche is just fine. Since when did you get a doctorate in diagnosing me of all people? That is just absurd. Or wait, did you hack—"

"Snake?"

"Otacon?" An angered grunt replied.

"I haven't found anything new yet. And I don't think we should discuss our personal matters over the phone. Just get some rest and enjoy your vacation, okay?"

"Wait, Otacon!—"

The line went dead and Snake is in disbelief. Did he just hang up on him? Did his so called best friend tell him to suck it up and wait for intel? Well, not verbatim, but almost.

Now what was he supposed to do? He can't take the open air of a peaceful Tuesday morning in Manhattan like a normal New Yorker. He missed the terrains of Alaska, the blissful serenity, wildlife, his home, and his kids.

Gosh.

Otacon was right. He treats his dogs as humans.

"Well, they are…Ugh."

He set his phone on the table and sat down again. He rested his chin on his palm while gazing out forlornly at nothing worthwhile. The great Legendary Mercenary, reduced to this? Waiting for action?

That isn't a good sign.