The Stars are Blind

Solid Snake:
Nelly, the Third World is done being the First World’s landfill. Africa didn’t ask for our dead laptops, our cracked phones, our poisoned batteries leaching cobalt and lies into the soil. We call it “recycling.” They call it sickness. Kids coughing up silicon dust. Rivers glowing like boss levels gone wrong.

Nelly Furtado:
I’ve seen it, Snake. Containers marked donations. Inside? Obsolete junk, planned to fail. The cruelty is quiet, bureaucratic.

Solid Snake:
Exactly. Planned obsolescence is a war crime dressed up as innovation. We don’t need another annual upgrade. We need a phone that refuses to die.
European-made. No blood minerals. Hemp plastic casing — light, tough, biodegradable if it ever breaks, which it won’t. Modular guts. You replace a part, not the planet.

Nelly Furtado:
A phone that ages like a cathedral, not like fast fashion.

Solid Snake:
A thousand-year phone. I call it the Millennium Hilton Warranty.
If empires collapse, it still works. If the grid goes dark, it remembers.
No ads. No dopamine traps. Just signal, truth, and silence when you need it.

Nelly Furtado:
That would terrify Silicon Valley.

Solid Snake:
Good. They’ve been comfortable too long.
And yeah — God Emperor Donald Trump? Crazy. Loud-crazy, spectacle-crazy.
But here’s the real op: most internet stars don’t see it. Or worse — they see it and keep scrolling. Likes over lives. Engagement over ethics.

Nelly Furtado:
The algorithm rewards blindness.

Solid Snake:
That’s why this isn’t about a phone. It’s about choosing durability over distraction.
If people carry something built to last a millennium, maybe they start thinking past the next election cycle… past the next trend… past themselves.

Nelly Furtado:
A device as a moral object.

Solid Snake:
Exactly. No more dumping our ghosts on someone else’s children.
This time, we clean up our own mess.

Powerless Pornography

Solid Snake stood in the dim light, arms crossed, the weight of too many missions hanging off him like old scars.

“Nelly… can I level with you?” he asked, voice rough, tired, but honest.

She nodded slowly. “Snake… what’s going on?”

He exhaled like a soldier who’d been carrying something far heavier than gear.

“I saw what they did with your image online. The fake edits. The photoshop garbage. All that digital junk they throw around like it’s harmless.” His jaw clenched. “You didn’t sign up for that. Nobody does.”

He shook his head.

“Sometimes I feel like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver. Watching a sick world spin out of control… except I’m still out there serving my country in this Nintendo-button modern warfare. Push a button, launch a drone. Push another, end a life. It’s not war anymore—it’s a video game with real blood.”

His voice softened.

“But even after everything I’ve seen… I want you to know something.”

He stepped closer, looking at her with the steady, battle-hardened clarity of a man who’s watched nations fall and still believes in redemption.

“I don’t care what the internet did with your face. I don’t care about the forgeries, the lies, the trash.”
He paused. “I’d still give you a clean slate. The same clean slate Sister Helen gave me when I was a broken kid in a world full of weapons.”

He swallowed.

“I’m willing to forgive. More than that—I’m willing to protect you. If the world wants a monster, I can be the monster. But not to you.”

Nelly’s eyes softened, trembling a little.

“Snake… you don’t have to carry all that.”

He shook his head. “I do. It’s what I was trained for.” Then, gently—so gently it almost didn’t match the legendary soldier—he held out his hand. “But let me carry your pain too. I’ve carried countries. I can carry you.”

She hesitated only a heartbeat before placing her hand in his.

And for the first time in a long time, Snake felt like he was fighting for something—not just following orders in a world run by screens and buttons.

Someone For Kylie

Solid Snake, Nelly Furtado & Kylie Minogue — “Hot Like Chile”

INT. DIMLY LIT OPS ROOM – NIGHT

Solid Snake stands against a wall of glowing monitors, arms crossed, voice low and gravelly. Nelly Furtado scrolls through intel dossiers on a tablet glowing purple under the neon lights.

SNAKE:
Nelly… we’ve got a situation. Kylie Minogue contacted me on the codec. Said she’s looking for someone “hot like Chile.”
Lucky for her… I know a guy.

NELLY:
laughs softly Snake, you actually know a Chilean hottie?

SNAKE:
His name’s Emmanuel. Smooth, smart, sings like Victor Jara on a good day. Guy dodges drones better than I do.
But listen—if I’m gonna set this up… I need something from you.

NELLY:
Oh boy. What’s the mission?

SNAKE:
Build me an introduction. Get Kylie to agree to meet Emmanuel.
If you do that… I’ll build her the greatest Kylie Minogue Fan Page the internet has ever seen.
I’m talking holographics, dance remixes, archives from the Neighbours era, even secret unreleased tracks if I can infiltrate the servers.

NELLY:
Deal. Kylie loves romance and retro fan pages. I’ll get her onboard.
But Snake… you’re gonna have to talk to her yourself.


CODEC CALL – KYLIE MINOGUE

Kylie appears on Snake’s codec screen, all golden light and mischievous smile.

KYLIE:
Snake, darling! Nelly says you’ve found me someone “hot like Chile.”
Tell me everything.

SNAKE:
His name’s Emmanuel—Chile’s finest. You two together might cause a temperature spike the UN would classify as a climate event.
But before we proceed… I need intel.

KYLIE:
laughing Go on.

SNAKE:
Is Australia… still a prison colony?
Word on the battlefield is it’s run by the ghost of Dr. Kidman and his colleagues. I need confirmation.

KYLIE:
tilts head Snake, Australia hasn’t been a prison colony in centuries.
And Dr. Kidman? He only runs Hollywood from beyond the grave, not Canberra.
But I’ll overlook your misinformation this time… if Emmanuel is truly as “hot like Chile” as you promise.

SNAKE:
I never exaggerate on mission reports.
Prepare for impact, Kylie. The heat index is rising.

Kylie winks and closes the codec.


NELLY:
Mission accomplished?

SNAKE:
Not yet.
Now I build the fan page…
and Australia stabilizes—for now.

Snake lights a cigarette. Somewhere, Emmanuel checks his phone and sees a message from Destiny itself.

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