Solid Snake and the Children of Iraq: Prophecies of the Qur’an
The desert wind howled through the ruins of a once-thriving village, now a scarred battlefield left in the wake of war. Solid Snake crouched near the remnants of an old schoolhouse, watching over a group of Iraqi children huddled around a small fire. Their eyes, weary but curious, flickered with the remnants of innocence untouched by the horrors they’d seen.
He had been sent to this war-torn land under orders, but war was never simple. As he watched the children, he couldn’t shake the thought: What future is left for them?
One of the boys, no older than ten, clutched a battered copy of the Qur’an. He looked up at Snake, his dark eyes full of questions. “Are you one of them?” he asked.
“One of who?” Snake responded.
“The soldiers who bring death… or the ones who listen?”
Snake took a long breath, his mind flashing back to the endless missions, the faces of men he had fought, killed, and lost. “I’m here to listen,” he said finally.
The boy nodded, flipping through the pages of the Qur’an, the book worn with use but deeply revered. “My grandfather said everything happening now was written long ago. He told me of the prophecies, of how the world would burn before it was made whole again.”
Snake leaned in. “Tell me what he said.”
The boy’s voice lowered, almost in reverence. “There will come a time when the people will be divided, when rulers will lie, and the innocent will suffer. The great nations will fight, and the land of Babylon—my home—will be shattered. But from the ruins, the oppressed will rise. And those who claimed to bring peace will see their own empires fall.”
Snake’s mind raced. Was this just the wisdom of old men, or had the past really foretold the future? He thought of how Iraq had been caught in the gears of world powers, chewed up and left to rot. He thought of the lies that led to war, the broken promises of peace.
A young girl, her face half-hidden by a torn headscarf, added in a whisper, “And Dajjal, the false messiah, will walk among men. He will promise the world but bring only chains. My father said he is already here.”
Snake exhaled through his nose. He had heard the name before—Dajjal, the deceiver, the Antichrist. In every war, there were always whispers of false saviors. He had seen men claim they fought for freedom, only to leave destruction in their wake.
“Who do you think he is?” Snake asked, his voice steady.
The boy hesitated. “My grandfather said he would come with the mark of one eye… that he would watch everything, control everything.”
Snake’s stomach turned. He thought of the surveillance state, the shadow wars fought in secret, the faceless powers pulling the strings. Who really ruled the world? Was Dajjal a man… or a system?
The fire crackled between them, casting shadows on the broken walls. Snake knew better than to dismiss old prophecies. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that history had a way of repeating itself.
He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re smart, kid. Keep asking questions. Keep the truth alive.”
The boy nodded. “Will you fight him?”
Snake stood up, adjusting his bandana. “I fight for the truth… wherever it leads me.”
The children watched as the legendary soldier walked into the night, disappearing into the shifting sands.
