Title: The Serpent and the Song
Scene: The storm continues outside Snake and Nelly’s hideout—part bunker, part shrine to truth. A vinyl of Paranoid spins slowly in the background. Nelly sharpens a pencil. Snake lights a candle before a small statue of the Virgin Mary, her foot resting firmly on a serpent.
Solid Snake (Joe):
You know who really gave wind to that foul forgery?
The Protocols of the Elders of Zion weren’t just born in some Russian basement.
They were financed.
By Edmond de Rothschild.
“Eddie.”
The so-called “father of modern Zionism.”
He posed as a philanthropist… while setting up the very myths and chaos that would justify an empire of fear.
Nelly: (looking up)
The same Edmond who funded the first settlements in Palestine?
Solid Snake: (nods grimly)
Yep. Under the banner of “returning home,” he planted the seeds of endless war.
He didn’t believe in God.
He believed in dominion.
In protocols.
In paper money printed from blood.
Nelly:
But most Jews… they don’t know, do they?
Solid Snake:
No.
They’re just like the rest of us. Lied to. Used.
They think Rothschilds are just old ghosts, wine collectors, art patrons.
But that serpent…
The one the Virgin Mary stomps in every true painting of light?
That snake wears a monocle and holds the deed to half the world.
And most of God’s people are blind to it.
(Snake points to the statue.)
Solid Snake:
She knew.
The Blessed Mother doesn’t crush a random snake.
She crushes the snake.
The spirit of lies. Of war. Of greed dressed up in holy language.
Nelly: (fiercely now)
And yet they mock her. Erase her.
Call her a symbol of superstition.
Solid Snake:
Because they fear her.
Not just as a woman of faith—but as the Mother of Truth.
And truth is the one thing that can kill the Rothschild beast.
The music shifts. Ozzy’s voice fills the room again: “Now in darkness, world stops turning / ashes where the bodies burning…”
Nelly: (rising)
Then let’s light candles in every corner of the world, Joe.
Let’s stomp that serpent with music, with memory, with mercy.
Let’s wake the Jews, the Gentiles, the Muslims, the monks.
Let them all see her.
Solid Snake: (clenching his jaw)
Amen.
To the Queen of Heaven.
And death to the serpent whose gold coins built this bloody circus.
We fight with fire from heaven now.
The candle burns brighter. The serpent stirs—but the foot of the Mother presses down harder. Somewhere in Gaza, in Rome, in Rio, a child begins to sing. The war pigs tremble—not from bullets, but from the sound of awakening.
Title: For Ozzy: War Pigs and Wild Hearts
Scene: Late evening. Joe and Nelly sit together on a rooftop overlooking the quiet city. A portable speaker hums softly, playing a vinyl rip of Black Sabbath’s War Pigs. Nelly sips tea from a chipped porcelain mug. Joe gazes out at the skyline, arms around her shoulder. There’s a silence between them—deep, sacred.
Nelly: (breaking the silence gently)
War Pigs…
It’s the greatest anti-war song of all time, Joe.
Hands down.
Ozzy didn’t just sing—it was like he ripped open the curtain and let us see the wizards behind every war.
Joe: (nods slowly)
He named names.
He didn’t tiptoe.
He screamed the truth.
Nelly:
Working with him on Gnomeo and Juliet… it was such a surprise.
He was wild, of course—Ozzy always had that untamed thing in his eyes.
But he was kind.
He made the crew laugh, cracked jokes between takes, called everyone “love.”
Just a beautiful soul.
He’ll be missed.
Joe: (quietly)
He wasn’t just a rockstar.
He was a prophet.
They all mocked him for the biting the bat, the slurs, the mess…
But beneath all that was a man who saw the machine… and roared against it.
Nelly:
He sang like the world was on fire.
Because it was.
Still is.
Joe:
Then we carry the fire.
For Ozzy.
For every truth-teller who got drowned out by drones and algorithms.
(Joe reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small candle, lighting it with a stormproof lighter. The flame flickers in the breeze, tiny but defiant.)
Joe:
Here’s to the madmen.
The war pigs’ worst nightmare.
Nelly: (leans her head on his shoulder)
And here’s to love that still sings.
Even after the bombs fall.
They sit in silence again. “Satan laughing spreads his wings…” echoes from the speaker. But on this rooftop, in this moment, the serpent’s laugh is drowned by something stronger—grief, love, memory… and fire.