If that glare gets to Big Boss, he doesn't show it. Not that it did, anyway, even though he can very much feel the weight of it. Miller can glare at him all he wants, but they did share history and no amount of seething is going to make that fact go away. John realizes that Kaz must still be feeling sore about the old company, that maybe talking about it is just putting salt in festering wounds. After all why would a soldier, an battalion XO of all people, go around on a crutch and let that coat sleeve flap around like a banner of pride?
Because that person was Kazuhira Miller, full of fire and passionate about everything he did. Boss knew without a doubt that Kaz could've had prosthetics made for him, but must have refused them in a fit of emotional outburst. In remembrance.
John knew that right now wasn't a good time (might never be), but he wanted to grab the man and tell him to straighten up. It was time to get over it. John, after all, had spent nine years trapped in the nightmare of MSF's downfall. Sometimes the exact memory of it, the fire and smoke in the helicopter assaulting all of his senses. Sometimes a different iteration; both of them going down with their proverbial ship, watching Kaz die, feeling himself die. The horrible reality of what had happened would always haunt him, but at least talking about the better parts of 1974 helped.
"Continent?" John has the audacity to crack a smirk at the question. Not because he believes Kaz is being ridiculous, but because the situation continues to be ridiculous. "We've got bigger problems than that. Namely the people who brought us here. They're calling themselves gods."
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Because that person was Kazuhira Miller, full of fire and passionate about everything he did. Boss knew without a doubt that Kaz could've had prosthetics made for him, but must have refused them in a fit of emotional outburst. In remembrance.
John knew that right now wasn't a good time (might never be), but he wanted to grab the man and tell him to straighten up. It was time to get over it. John, after all, had spent nine years trapped in the nightmare of MSF's downfall. Sometimes the exact memory of it, the fire and smoke in the helicopter assaulting all of his senses. Sometimes a different iteration; both of them going down with their proverbial ship, watching Kaz die, feeling himself die. The horrible reality of what had happened would always haunt him, but at least talking about the better parts of 1974 helped.
"Continent?" John has the audacity to crack a smirk at the question. Not because he believes Kaz is being ridiculous, but because the situation continues to be ridiculous. "We've got bigger problems than that. Namely the people who brought us here. They're calling themselves gods."