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The newly installed “lift system” on the command platform was little more than a glorified gantry crane, lowering a thirteen-by-nine-foot platform down to water level. It served as both an embarkation point and an emergency evacuation area. In April, when temperatures aboard the metallic structure exceeded 90 degrees, it doubled as access to the sea-their very own “beach,” as Miller had called it. Ocelot had voiced more than a few objections about allocating funds to what he considered a structural vulnerability during his last inspection, but as the heatwave dragged on without mercy, even he found himself reconsidering.
That night, sleep eluded him. He lay shirtless beneath the sluggish spin of his desktop fan, angled directly at his chest, yet still felt suffocated by the heat. He could have taken a pill or two, but oral sedatives had long since stopped working on him. Frustrated, he put on a pair of slippers and left the room. Outside, the world was at a standstill, as if the oxygen had been siphoned from the air. The sea lapped drowsily below, its usual fury spent.
Ocelot lit a cigarette-menthol, it was a pack stolen from EVA-and watched night lights on the surrounding platforms blink red against the vast, ink-black ocean. Sweat clung to his skin. He could have used a shower, but water in the communal bathrooms was cut off after a certain hour to conserve supply. Aside from the oppressive heat, it was a peaceful night. One he might have enjoyed in silence - had a familiar voice not called out to him, to his detriment.
Kazuhira Miller- nude save for a towel wrapped around his waist- was surprisingly upbeat for such a late hour. Ocelot frowned at the idea of the Diamond Dog recruits seeing their Executive Officer in such a casual state of dress - or rather, undress. It was poor optics. He bit his tongue and refrained from voicing his disapproval, to prevent any long-winded monologues about the values of MSF and their anarchic organisational structure.
“Didn't think I'd bump into you at this late hour” Kazuhira told him, and that was one thing they definitely had in common. Running into his so-called “business partner” wasn't on Ocelot’s bingo card for the evening.
“It's the heat”. He grumbled. “Can't sleep”.
“Well, since you’re up, you should come with me” Miller suggested, his eyes glistening under the tungsten half- light. “I’ll show you something that’ll blow your mind”
Hopefully not literally, Ocelot thought as he followed Miller across the platform, to the dark edge of the deck, and onto the lift that led to sea level. Not that Miller had anything to gain from killing him- quite the contrary in fact, he had a lot to lose and Ocelot liked to think that he was well aware of the fact. Miller pressed a couple of buttons and the lift began its descent. It was a strange experience glimpsing the underbelly of the iron colossus they inhabited, hazy moonlight bouncing off the smooth metal surface. It looked like the carcass of a great beast, bloated, floating upside down in the ocean.
Once they were at water level, Miller removed his towel with no preamble, letting it drop to the floor. The single spotlight fixed above the control mechanism, painted his pale skin a warm orange hue; he was naked as the day he was born.
“Jesus Christ, Miller” Ocelot protested. “Is that you wanted to show me? You could have worn a swimsuit”
Kazuhira scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t planning on having you here gawking at my ass”
“Alright, so what is it I am supposed to be gawking at instead?” Ocelot demanded, his impatience growing.
Kazuhira grinned at him over his shoulder. “Watch this”
Then he plunged into the water, and for a few blissful moments there was silence again. Ocelot squinted at the distance. Just outside the spotlight circle something flickered. It was an otherworldly blue light shining from within the water, and it enveloped Kazuhira’s dark silhouette as he came up for a breath, laughing like a madman.
“You see this??” he yelled excitedly.
“Bioluminescence” Ocelot explained, “It is produced by single-celled algae called dinoflagellates. When the algae is jostled while suspended in water-”
“Who cares!?” Kazuhira cut him off. “Are you seeing this shit?? Come on, get in!”
“No” He refused. “Unlike you, Miller, I am not as easily impressed with a commonly occurring natural phenomenon. I’ve travelled a lot for work; I’ve seen far more interesting things in my life”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
Ocelot thought it through for a moment. “A nuclear explosion” he said flatly.
“Of course” he thought he heard Miller grumble.Then louder: “Can you enjoy something for once in your life?”
Ocelot was tempted to continue arguing just on principle, but the truth was, he would do anything to get some reprieve from the heat. The ocean, thousand of kilometres deep where they stood, was the only refuge available. So he took the rest of his clothes off and jumped in, swimming towards Miller. The temperature was surprisingly high for such depth, but the water was still a relief against his overheated skin.
“You know this is a defence mechanism, right?” he pointed out as he swiped his fingers through the glowing blue haze, watching it flare to life. “It views us as predators, so it’s attracting something bigger- a predator higher up in the food chain”.
“Hope you’re a fast swimmer then” Kazuhira dismissed, unimpressed.
“I’m Spetsnaz” Ocelot replied. “I’m a fast everything”
Miller bit back a laugh. “Sure hope you aren't, for your sake”.
Ocelot rolled his eyes. “Are you a fast swimmer?”
Miller dipped his head into the shimmering light, then surfaced again. “Don’t need to be. I think I’ll just drown you. Use your body as shark bait.”
“If you weren’t completely uneducated, you’d know that sharks respond to movement” Ocelot pointed out. “So while you’re busy trying to drown me-”
He was rudely interrupted by a splash of water, square in the face. Miller snickered like a mischievous child, drifting lazily out of reach.
“блять!” Ocelot cursed under his breath. “You’re dead”
He wasn’t lying about his swimming abilities; with three powerful strokes, he caught up to Miller, taking hold of his ankle as he attempted to flee. Miller twisted sharply, pulling in his leg along with Ocelot, to grab a fistsful of his hair and press his head underwater. Dislodging himself by way of a well-delivered kick to Miller’s stomach, Ocelot came up to draw in a rushed breath, then sank into the water again just in time to dodge Miller’s oncoming hook. What an inspired strategy- he thought dryly- keeping him out of breath until he surrenders. What Miller failed to account for, yet again, was Ocelot’s training. He could hold his breath way longer than his opponent assumed.
Blue sparks ignited around them as Ocelot surged forward, wrapping his arms around Miller’s waist and dragging him under. His body flush against the other’s back, he locked his legs over Miller’s thighs and reached to trap his flailing arms. In this arrangement, they sank slowly together in the infinite darkness, a blue trail shining at their wake, like the tail of a comet. Miller naturally tried to fight him the entire time, his body tensing and spasming as he struggled to break free. His cheek pressed between the man’s shoulderblades, Ocelot listened to the frantic beating of his heart. His own heartbeat was a slow, regular rhythm. He looked around and smiled to himself; were it not for the algae, he wouldn’t even be able to make up from down- there was only darkness far as the eye could see. Darkness and silence. He hadn’t felt peace like that since he could remember himself.
Then of course Kazuhira Miller was there to ruin it; Ocelot felt his muscles twitch, his body spasm in his arms, and realised his business partner-comrade, whatever- was about to go into hypoxic shock. It was time to head back to the surface. Ocelot hauled Miller back onto the lift platform; he was unresponsive, so he tilted his head up, pinched his nose and pressed their mouths together, breathing air into his lungs. He was about to check for a pulse when Miller jerked upright, convulsed by a violent coughing fit as he expelled seawater. When he was done, he looked accusingly at Ocelot, that familiar scorching rage returned to his gaze.
“What the hell is wrong with you??” he croaked.
Ocelot smirked. “Thought you wanted to play”
Miller certainly had more to say, but the fight had drained out of him. He hissed something unintelligible-and probably not too flattering- and collapsed onto his back against the metal grating. Ocelot watched from the corner of his eye as his chest rose and fell in uneven intervals, struggling toward rhythm. Perhaps he should apologise, pretend he’d lost control. He still had a week left at Mother Base, and he’d rather not spend it with Miller breathing down his neck out of spite.
“You’re fucking insane,” Miller muttered at last, turning his head to look at him.
“Mm” Ocelot shrugged. “Maybe”.
He grabbed the discarded towel and roughly dried his hair before tossing it back. Miller caught it, then let it fall beside him, brushing wet strands from his forehead instead with his hand. His gaze-now softened- was trained on Ocelot, eyes tracing the lines of his body. Ocelot had seen that look before, bold and unashamed, directed at him. Most interestingly, he’d noted, it usually followed an explosive argument or a heated sparring session.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked lightly.
Kazuhira scoffed. “Guess it’s the lack of oxygen messing with my head”.
Not so bold afterall.
“Well, try not to get too excited”
“You ain’t all that cowboy” Kazuhira shot back with a smirk.
Ocelot shuffled closer, lying down next to him. The steel grating of the deck was unpleasant against his naked skin, but he finally felt like his body temperature was at an acceptable level. The platform swayed gently to the flow of the waves, a hypnotic, comforting sway. The night sky above Mother Base was often impressive; a spectacular display of celestial bodies, constellations and sometimes nebulae that slashed across the brilliant tapestry like scars. That night, the sky was hazy, the moonlight dull- no doubt owing to the spike in humidity.
“So?” Kazhura asked. “What did you think?”
“About what?”
“The bioluminescence! Pretty cool, huh?”
Somehow despite his near-drowning, his spirits were still higher than normal. Ocelot studied his profile, the persistent upturn on the corner of his lips and wondered if this was the man John had fallen for. Hyperbole was hard-wired into his every cell; he lived life like a theatrical actor, all feeling amplified for the world to see. Just as his grief was cavernous and loud, so his joy was radiant, childlike and infectious. Ocelot was the polar opposite; for him, survival meant control. Emotion was measured, contained, subordinate to reason.
“Who’s staring now?” Kazuhira’s voice disrupted his thoughts.
But Ocelot was no coward.
“Not a bad view, if I’m being honest”
Kazhuhira let out an indignant huff in response, and promptly looked away. This blushing virgin act was ridiculous from someone who - according to John himself - had at one point worked his way through half the MSF staff, women and men alike. Ocelot was pleased with himself - largely because his flirtatious comment had killed the previous conversation and he no longer had to discuss the wonders of shiny plankton with the world’s most impressionable Executive Office. He didn’t get to enjoy the silence long, because once his embarrassment had seemingly fizzled out, Kazuhira spoke again:
“Hey Ocelot” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head. “What’s your name?”
“You just said my name” he replied wearily. “Was your brain so deprived of oxygen in the few seconds you were underwater?”
“You know what I mean” Kazuhira insisted. “Your real name, the one your mother gave you”.
“That’s classified”
Kazuhira groaned in annoyance. “Oh come on. You know mine. It’s only fair”.
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why do you want to know?”
He heard the man exhale slowly at his side. The waves below splashed softly once against the platform and withdrew.
“Nevermind” Kazuhira said; it sounded colourless and hollow.
He never asked a second time.
The blood pooling across the cabin floor shimmered in sickly purples and greens, reflecting the blinking fairy lights on the plastic tree Kazuhira Miller had decorated for Christmas - and evidently hadn’t bothered to dismantle. He wasn’t one for festivities, not while Ocelot knew him, and so he surmised that the decorations must have been for someone else’s sake.
Ocelot felt himself sway, his step unsteady as he walked over to where Kazuhira lay. No - not him, it was the room that swayed gently, wasn’t it? Just like that lift platform,suspended between the bowels of the earth and the firmament above.
He’d orbited death all his life; dealt in it, treated it like an old friend. Death didn’t suit Kazuhira Miller. He’d never be so still, so empty. Gloved fingers stroke carefully through his blood-soaked hair; he kept it long these days, despite the fact that it was obviously thinning. He wouldn’t regret this. The things Ocelot regretted in his life could be counted in one hand.
There were nights when he could still hear the hum of the generators, the swell of the waves below. He could almost taste the salt, the sweat gathering on his lip. Much of it he’d already forgotten, inconsequential as it was to his plans, to the endgame. How many summer nights had passed since? He’d lived a thousand different lifetimes, fought a thousand battles and spoken a thousand lies, but never again would he get to swim among the stars -all because Kazuhira Miller wanted to show him.
In the folklore of many different cultures, a name holds certain power: it influences fate and character; it is a contract between the human world and what lies beyond. It is also a vulnerability. To know someone’s true name is to hold something over them, which is why in some corners of the world it is guarded carefully, lest it be claimed by malicious spirits, or vengeful ghosts.
There was one regret after all.
So just before leaving the remote cabin, Ocelot leaned down next to Kazuhira's ear and whispered four words.