FissionMailed

It was perhaps the last place Fox had expected to find himself during his exploration of the nexus. In hindsight, that was probably foolish of him. But it was strange, to find FOXHOUND's HQ—no, merely a clever replica of it—just as he had left it some two, three years ago. The same, but also unusually empty, like a husk, like the shell of some dead thing.

He moved through the building silently and cautiously, more out of habit than necessity. There was nobody there to be wary of, though the lockers in the barracks were still full, and the equipment in the tech labs still running, and files were still sat open on Colonel Campbell's desk. It was as though it had been frozen in time. Big Boss's quarters were exactly as they had been after Operation Intrude N313. Nobody had wanted to touch their ex-CO's possessions, perhaps out of some lingering sense of respect— or fear. It was difficult to tell one from the other, sometimes.

His own quarters had at least been tidied from the state he had left them in. Broken furniture replaced. Scattered papers and flecks of ash cleared from the floor. All the damage he had done on the night of his defection, in his frustration and anger at finding himself backed into a corner, had been wiped away. Everything back as it should be. Almost everything.

He closed the door behind him, slid into the new chair behind his old desk. It felt at once familiar and strange, like a well-worn jacket which no longer fit quite right. The stash of cigars he had claimed from Big Boss's room had been tucked away neatly in one of the desk drawers. He turned the case over in his hands, smoothed a thumb over one worn edge. Why would anyone go to such trouble with the little details? Inconsequential things. What did they stand to gain? What was the point of all this?

Pocketing the cigar case, Fox rose to his feet. He would collect some supplies, and then head back to his current base. There was nothing else here for him. Hadn't been for years.