Otacon tell us about the first time you shot a firearm. Did Snake teach you?
It was cold. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, Snake’s hands up and over his, barely a touch but just enough to combat the chill whipping against their faces in the Alaskan wilderness. The other man had loosened his hold considerably since the start of their session, but his chin remained comfortably propped on the hacker’s shoulder, his face forward and presumably concentrated. Otacon hadn’t bothered to look at the time, more interested in steadying the shake in his hands and heart.
“Run through that again. You’re getting there.”
“O-okay.”
They used to run through all sorts of scenarios. What would happen if someone came through the door, the window, the ceiling. Snake made it a point to prepare his partner well for the task of aiming, if not evading. If anything, he appreciated Snake’s patience and silent understanding of his moral code when it came to the trigger and the things that followed. Knowledge for the worst, and hope for the best. That was the idea.
“I wasn’t exactly a whiz at it, but Snake’s always been good for that kind of thing. He taught me enough to get out of a jam if the situation ever came to it.” Otacon then shrugged, feeling strangely quiet today.
