.. What is this, I don't even. I never thought I'd find myself writing anything for Metal Gear, but I was seized by the claws of inspiration this afternoon and, well .. here's the end result. I hope I'm not the only one amused by it.

Also. Trailing Resistance members to find Big Mama = most annoying thing ever, y/n? And there is a lot of cursing because the Snake in my head curses more than anyone I've ever had to listen to. It's kind of amusing.

Standard disclaimers apply.

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Few things passed through his mind at times like these – it's fucking cold being one of them. I need a smoke being another. The ground was hard, wet, and he apparently hadn't noticed the puddle before he'd set down. Fucking figures, don't it?

The Resistance member he was tracking had found a guard uniform. Seemed to be passing himself off pretty well even without a weapon, but the fact remained that it was proving to be hell to keep tailing him and not get him mixed up with the other patrols in the area. Right now, the asshole was just standing there, in the middle of the goddamned street. Whistling.

At least it wasn't as bad as having Otacon twittering in his ear every five seconds about the goddamned signal interceptor. He didn't need it when the guy was standing right in front of him.

Now if he would just fucking move. He was an old man, after all. He didn't have all the time in the world.

He shifted a little, still crouched. A knee popped. Getting too old for this shit.

Minutes passed. If he hadn't thought the asshole would finally move if he chanced it, he would have taken a damn nap. Right there, in the middle of the street, beneath his cardboard box. Damn thing had been though hell and back, and still managed to stay in one piece. (Of all the ones he'd acquired, this one was his favorite. Plain cardboard. Unassuming.) He figured the guards had to be pretty stupid to overlook a rather conspicuous box sitting in the middle of a room half the time, but it had gotten him through some shit, so he couldn't complain.

An old man was allowed to be attached to his box, wasn't he?

Nevermind. His target was moving. Finally.

"... What's that?"

"A box?"

"Out here?"

Fuck.

He hadn't even noticed them until they were right on top of him. Studying his box. While the paranoid, camouflaged shit he was following slipped around the corner.

Sometimes, he really did think God hated him.

His finger flexed lightly around the trigger of his M4. (Custom job. Even Drebin had been impressed with the mods.) He briefly wondered if he should just go with the Mk. 2 just for the sake of discretion, but he figured, why the hell not? If he was going to carry it, he was going to use it.

When the edge of the box lifted? He smiled.

"Surprise, motherfucker!"

His other knee popped when he stood and started shooting. One guard fell from the first bullet while the other tried to crawl away. He put him out of his misery with a shot to the back of the head.

Really getting too old for this shit.