You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him discover it in himself.
-Galileo Galilie

CHAPTER ONE

--Washington DC 1971 --

The aura of pine slowly evolved into the strong smell of cigarette butt and petrol fuel. The cloudy sky revolved into a black night sky lit up by street lamps and neon lights. The plane came to a bumpy halt and the two allies pulled their baggage out of the compartments above their seats. They began to make their way to the exits.

"Want me to carry any of your luggage, guys?" Arnold chuckled cheerfully, wiping a coffee moustache off his upper lip.

Big Boss frowned at the pilot and then carried on to the exit that let out life and invited a swirl of cool air. The large concrete airport had been closed off for governmental secrecy and for the public not to panic about Vietnam. Their path they were about to walk was going to be a tough one and a challenge beyond their past missions and experiences.

"You got anyone else apart from me for this mission, John?"

"From now on, it's Big Boss." The Boss's protege turned to Ocelot and took one hard look at him, then looked back and walked ahead. The slight breeze made him shiver in an uncomfortable frenzy. Ocelot looked confused with a sense of indecency.

The weather had changed slightly. Instead of raging winds, there was an awkward breeze drifting across the large city. David Arnold pushed in front of the two allies to unlock the doors of the airport. His ignorance was a nag on Boss's part. He didn't need this. The room became illuminated with the bright, intense yellow of the headlights. Three men stood in the room: The Secretary of Defence and two federal agents.

"Secretary Jackson, this is Adamska Romanovitch. He is my first recruit for the FOXHOUND next generation special forces. Codename-Ocelot." Ocelot shook the hand of Secretary Jackson with a smile, as Boss handed his rucksack to one of the guards and walked back to lock the doors to the runway.

"Pleased to meet you, Adam," The Secretary of Defence, David Jackson grunted, in a monotone voice that felt uncomfortable listening to. He was holding a piece of paper in his left hand. "I think this could be of use to you, Boss." The stout man called to Big Boss across the room, presenting the file to him.

Taking the file, Big Boss read out loud: "Jason Striker, expert in explosives and hand to hand combat…" Looking up, he examined David Jackson. "Are these soldiers who are available for FOXHOUND?"

"I would think so yes, they are the best of the best, Boss. We have also arranged your stay at the Carson Hotel…"

Big Boss examined the file once again and read out loud: "Roy Campbell: Green Berets?"

He folded the piece of paper in half and slotted it into his right pocket. "Are you sure these men are good enough for the job? I don't want anyone falling behind."

He took a support bandage from the guard at the side of the room and began to wrap his swollen thigh. Pulling out another cigar, he lit it and walked to the secretary of defence and sniffed.

"All you need to do is sign by each name you want to recruit, and we'll take it from there on in…" Silence interrupted as the former 'FOX' operative took a pen and signed along side the name Roy Campbell and Jason Striker and then handed the file back to his superior.

The political figure looked dismayed as he found only two names were signed.

"I'd think you'd need a dozen soldiers-"

"All we need is three more people."

"Well, where do you suppose we find the third person, Boss?" The FOXHOUND leader walked out of the room with Ocelot trailing behind and the secretary looked on in dismay.

These were the cold days of winter's touch in Washington. Boss had emerged from the jungle in high spirits-possessed of a new breadth of purpose-only to have the tranquil hand of destruction swipe the world he craved for from underneath his nose. He wanted a peaceful life soon, but the war had to keep raging until he could find solitude. People like Big Boss were under the arrest of the government in a way. For their abilities they were condemned to a life of pain and plague. But then blessed with a will to go on and a cure no one else could find. Bravery and boldness, a will of their own. No one could take something like that away from them.

But at this moment his mental conscious had tricked his body into easy submission. And when he tried to run or move, the curse his senses had been put on was abominable and misleading. Without a mental stability, the body cannot function properly, even with the best reflexes or the best strength a soldier could have.

The haze of cigar smoke and paranoia had troubled Ocelot's mind as he looked around him in the vast space of the road Boss and Adamska were walking down. Ocelot had told Big Boss of a sniper under The End's training he had been informed of by 'The Boss' in the Snake Eater fiasco. And he was told she was of great loyalty of The End.

"Tell me where we find her." Boss had enquired; aware of the wisdom and absolute tyranny The End was capable of in sniper battle. And if his student was what he expected of, then it was going to be a hell of an effort recruiting her. They didn't have that much time left until they were going to Vietnam, so interrogating local suspects seemed the fastest approach at that time. She was located down south of the city.

Ocelot led the way down the roads. The air was rapid, cold and bitter.

"The 'Transatlantic' night club. We need to check the place out, most of the important mob leaders and gang members go there. They might have some information. " Big Boss was surprised at the knowledge Ocelot had of most of the areas in the America. One day he's in Quebec telling him of the largest Canadian Pine in the forest and then he's informing him of the different mob figures in Washington.

The buildings began to grow and the amount of people started to rise as they made their way through the dark. As they turned around the corner, Ocelot stopped Big Boss.

"It's just down here…" A large building lay ahead of them, and the erupting shouts of the crowds drowned out their attempts of communicating with each other. The large crowds were soon pushed aside by the two assassins and the entry became clearer to them.

An abnormally wide man stood in the entrance, with his arms folded and a large suit wrapping his body. His sunglasses reflected neon light and street lamps' glow into the eyes of Boss and Ocelot.

"You have to show your passes and then I'll let you-"

"We don't have to show you anything." Ocelot prodded his single action army in the chest of the large man, and stared into his sunglasses with remorse. The man simply looked away. "Lead us to your employer's office. Or I'll blow your fucking heart to dust." The man looked back and realised he was serious.

He eventually led the two operatives through the glowing interior. The disco ball blinded many in the temperate environment and the music deafened their ears but they simply kept on screaming and dancing until they had no more energy. None of them were going to hear or see anything Boss and Ocelot were going to do. The balcony's passage came to a halt, as they stood in front of a large caged door. Their captive grunted as he slid his pass card through an electronic device connected to the wall at the side.

"You tell them that we're here and you're a dead man, understood?" Big Boss pulled out his Colt 45 from his side holster and stepped to the side of the door. Ocelot followed Boss' lead and waited for the door to open. The door slid open with a slick; motorised sound and the large man walked into the room. A group of two Caucasian men stood at the door at the far side of the room.

"Are you clear?" The guards, both physically sound and well built mouthed, frowning at their overweight ally. Ocelot and Big Boss waited in silence at the two sides of the door, stalling for the exact time in which to strike.

"Are you clear?" The guard on the right called again, frowning harder and stiffly. The large man frowned back and tilted his head backward.

The guards realised his trauma and tried to land him off with a 'Okay, it's safe to walk through' line, to try and trick the two operatives into easy submission.

"On the count of three, one…two…" Gunshots erupted from the guards' assault rifles as they sprayed the doorway with spearheaded bullets. The large man jumped into cover behind a wooden table at the side of the room.

The return fire was less rapid; the two FOXHOUND operatives ended the battle quickly with four bullets each to the legs and abdomen of their enemies. Blood sprayed out of the legs in an unbearable collapse. And smeared the walls with crimson slime. Before the blood could stain, Big Boss ran over to the guard at the right hand side and used a bandage to suppress an amount of the bleeding. Going on to use some bandage to wipe the splatters of interior off the walls. Ocelot went over to their unwise captive and shot a hole in his right kneecap, causing screams of pain and agony from his lips. Boss turned round to his companion in alert.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" He shouted, advancing on the younger, less experienced of their alliance.

"If he dies, then how are we going to find our fifth recruit?"

"Relax, Boss. It's only a flesh wound-" Boss smacked the wall with his right hand, causing a great deal of pain to relapse his arm and opening flaps of dead skin on his knuckles; releasing a trickle of blood.

"One shot can make the difference, Ocelot. One shot. If you waste it on your own sick hobby, then it could result in your death. Don't make the same mistake again." Turning to the rocking, bleeding exterior of their captive, Big Boss took the card out of his right pocket and held it up to Ocelot.

"It's not that big a deal, John." Before Boss could get to the door to the next room, he turned again to Ocelot. His eyes signified an ignorance he couldn't bare.

"…If you die on the mission, it will be that big a deal…By the way, you're going to have to help this guy walk the rest of the way." Swivelling around, they carried on through the night-club with Ocelot behind his 'superior'.

The large corridor in front of them was a good place to stop and catch their breath for a second.

"Permission to press for information, Boss." Ocelot retorted, looking toward the far side of the corridor. He erupted his words with a sense of indignity.

"Permission granted. Get as much information from him as possible. And don't think of trying to torture him." His hand raised to his eye-patch and patted it softly. The bearded face followed with a sinister grin. Ocelot retracted his Single Action Army out of his right holster and pointed it to the head of their hostage and smiled as he pulled out his second Colt out of his left holster. He loaded the gun and rotated the barrel gradually, smiling at his victim.

"Let's play a game of Russian Roulette, shall we?

"People like you know won't have any idea of what that is. It doesn't matter. I like it when that happens. It creates a more of suspense in the atmosphere." Ocelot spun the handgun around his finger and took a shot at the floor. The weapon failed to release a bullet from its nozzle. Nonetheless, he put the gun to his nose and took a huge whiff of its smell.

"I love the smell of cordite. You know, that sulfery smell? You must of smelt how gunshots are, right?"

The sweaty, bleeding bodyguard from outside trembled as Ocelot started to spin each handgun alternatively to his index finger on each hand. Ocelot stopped the two handguns, pointed them toward their prisoner and looked to Boss. Boss looked back and nodded affirmatively.

"What's your name, and where are you from?" Ocelot growled at his target.

"…My…my name is…Carl, and I come from New York."

"How appropriate. I hate New Yorkers…" His eyes looked down to Carl's stomach. "How much do you weigh, Carl?"

"Wha…what?" His face trembled fiercely, and his eyes were full of salt water. Boss looked over to Ocelot. He didn't approve. But, everyone had their own way of doing things.

"I hate men who question me. That's two minus points." Sniggering softly, he clicked the right handgun's trigger at his stomach. A small yelp came from Carl's throat, and he began to move his body back by his arms.

"So, Carl. Not the punctual one? I bet your about nineteen stone. Say, ever heard of a woman named Kitanya Hiroshima? Japanese, likes to kill people.

"…No…" Carl shivered, looking fearfully at Ocelot.

"No? Are you lying to me, Carl?" Ocelot advanced closer to Carl, pointing his two handguns at his kneecaps.

"Well, it looks like there'll be hell to pay. I'm going to shoot your legs. Everyone needs his or her legs, Carl. Even someone like you: fat and lazy." Ocelot pressed his fingers on the triggers of the two handguns. Luckily for the hostage, they were only clicks of empty rounds. Carl screamed at the handguns, shielding his face with his hands.

"Where's your boss? What's her name?" Ocelot smiled, slowly bending down and pressing the weapon against his nose. Carl squeaked and breathed heavier. The agitation his hostile possessed became greater and greater.

"Take a good whiff, it's the last smell you'll ever have before I splatter your brains over this nice, comfy, concrete floor." Boss looked over again and walked toward the hostage. There was no time for delay.

"Let's do things my way." Boss retorted, pulling out his colt 45. His hand grabbed at the scruff of the neck of the hostage and went down to smack him hard in the face, right across the cheek.

"Where is your boss!" Big Boss bellowed, spraying saliva over Carl's face. He had become a nervous wreck.

"V…Vixen's upstairs…Black Vix…" He soon passed out, and Boss became mobile once more as he began to run to the stairs.

"Clear the way! Get those people away from the night-club!"