Frank Jaeger (Gray Fox) vs. a female opponent

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The version of Gray Fox (from "Metal Gear Solid") in this story is the one BEFORE he became a Cyborg Ninja. At this point, he's just a badass soldier/warrior/blade expert.

Throughout all his life, his identity had been chosen by others. In Mozambique, he was simply known as "The Frank Hunter", due to his techniques (approach somebody with the open frankness of an innocent 10-year-old, then butcher them like the Predator). Or "Frank Jaeger", since, at the age of ten, he only spoke German. When the CIA had him for their 'Perfect Soldier' project, they called him Null, since technically, he was off the grid, and constantly a blank slate, due to those damned memory-wipes.

After joining FOXHOUND in the early 80s, he'd been given the code-name "Gray Fox", due to being the only individual to get a perfect score on the entrance exam. The only member of the agency to ever receive the title of Fox, he did his damndest to uphold the title. Whether in the wilderness or a military base, his talents were feared and/or respected by virtually anybody who survived meeting him.

The only exception to this rule, of course, was his foster sister, Naomi Hunter. To her, he was just 'Frankie'. Looking after her after he'd killed her parents in the Rhodesian Civil War was his way of staying on the light side. She was currently attending a boarding school; they still stayed in touch whenever possible.

Strolling into the highly-advanced gym, Frank passed a mirrored wall, pausing for a moment to assess his reflection. He wasn't an exceptionally tall man, just at the five-eleven mark, but his pale, slender body was nearly all muscle. He was pushing forty, but except for a few lines near the eyes, at times, Frank still looked younger. It might've had something to do with his ethnicity: his high cheekbones and slightly slanted gray eyes showed his half-Vietnamese blood; the pale blond hair reflected his German side.

Multiple small scars decorated his face; the worst damage, caused by several mercs trying to mutilate him back when he was a child soldier, was barely noticeable now. Reconstructive surgery had seen to that. Clad in black, loose-fitting BDUs, a machete was strapped to his belt, with a few extra smaller blades hidden throughout his clothing.

Normally, this training area would look like a cross between the Holodeck and a scene from a James Bond flick; this time of day, however, it was practically empty.

"Fox, good to see you here," a harsh voice claimed. Turning, he saw his commandant walking into the room. Even with the dim lights, the gray hair and eyepatch were quite visible.

"Big Boss, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be off teaching your 'son' some more of your CQC methods."

"How'd you find out?" The older soldier shook his head. "Never mind; I don't wanna know. Anyway, David's currently attending Survival School; Miller's teaching a class of five of them this week."

"Well, if he makes it through without crying, then I'll know he's definitely your boy." Despite his reputation as the Drill Sergeant From Hell, Master Miller was tough, and Big Boss's second-in-command with Militaires Sans Frontieres back in the 70s, but well-respected. "Anyway, did you want me for something, sir?"

"Yes, actually. I have somebody who wants to get some hand-to-hand combat practice. I told her about your expertise, and she insisted on fighting you." Big Boss glanced down at Fox's belt with his good eye. "No weapons, though. Just hand-to-hand."

"Certainly, Big Boss. Only a fool trusts their life to a weapon." He removed his equipment belt and tossed it aside. Reaching into his pockets, he removed the rest of his blades. "Bring her in, and I'd be glad to spar with her."