He liked to think his heart inviolate, like a fortress hidden in the Arctic wastes, protected from any infiltration both by its remote location and its frigid climate, nothing but wolf tracks marring the land's desolate perfection. But it was always easier to keep invaders out than quell an uprising from within. Sometimes the want surged within him like meltwater flooding a river, washing away all defenses, sweeping aside anything that might hold back the relentless torrent.
Saluting Big Boss, he tried to make it look half-hearted. But John could always tell. That lone eye always saw straight through him.