[As they struggled, Volgin roused as finally his vision cleared and the rest of his senses were stable enough to register his surroundings. His limbs were shaking in the aftershock of his own electricity being used against him.

It was a struggle to "hold" his internal charge. It was a struggle against his trained, disciplined soldier's resolve against every natural impulse of his body to release, like a frightened piss. It was a struggle, but he could finally move and still hold in the dangerous lightning that had ravaged the bodies of so many other men before him.

The giant Soviet saw the two men on the floor, and he moved on the energy granted from his rising rage. He could feel his soaked clothes, heavy and cold against the insulative wrappings around his body. His cold, numb legs shivered under his weight. His old ankles and hips were choosing this time to complain of their age against him. He did not want to hear it. He almost fell in his corrective shuffle.

But, his gaze was transfixed on the two men: His world was tearing Ocelot apart. ]