[Scene: A UN peacekeeping base in Africa. Solid Snake sits at a table with Nelly Furtado and the Kielburger brothers, Craig and Marc, reviewing their plan. A large screen behind them shows a paused image from Tears of the Sun.]
Solid Snake:
Listen up. We’re gonna show the kids of Africa Tears of the Sun. Not just for entertainment, but to show ‘em what real sacrifice looks like. The horrors of war, but also the hope that people can stand up and fight for what’s right.
Craig Kielburger:
It’s a powerful film, no doubt. But do you think it’ll resonate with them?
Solid Snake:
They’ve seen worse. They live worse. But we’re not just showing the film. I’m calling in the cast. Bruce Willis, Monica Bellucci—the whole damn squad. We get ‘em suited up in UN peacekeeper uniforms, and they come to your school, Nelly.
Nelly Furtado:
You’re serious? The kids will flip if they see Bruce Willis walk in dressed like a real soldier.
Solid Snake:
That’s the idea. If these kids grow up thinking nobody cares, they lose hope. We show ‘em that people do care—people with influence, people they see on screens.
Marc Kielburger:
And what about leadership? They need more than just a movie and celebrities.
Solid Snake:
That’s why I’m introducing them to their leader. The African Union President—Bkenyan Lewis.
Craig Kielburger:
Wait… who?
Solid Snake:
Bkenyan Lewis. A leader who actually gives a damn. He’s gonna speak to them directly, tell ‘em they’re not forgotten. Show them that Africa’s future belongs to them, not warlords, not corrupt politicians—them.
Nelly Furtado:
If this works… it could be something bigger than just a school event.
Solid Snake:
It will work. Because when people fight for something real, that’s when change happens.
[Fade out as Snake lights a cigarette, staring at the Tears of the Sun poster with determination.]
[Scene: A dusty field school under the blazing African sun. G.I. Joe Jukic stands before a group of Free the Children educators and volunteers, arms crossed, scanning the eager young students. Craig and Marc Kielburger listen attentively as he begins his briefing.]
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Alright, listen up. Y’all ever hear of cargo cults?
Craig Kielburger:
You mean those tribes in the Pacific that thought American soldiers were gods because they dropped supplies from planes?
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Bingo. They saw the wealth, the food, the tech, and thought, if we just build runways and wear headphones like the soldiers, the gods will come back and bless us again.
Marc Kielburger:
I get the comparison—these kids see the West as this land of unlimited resources. They think education is their golden ticket.
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Exactly. But here’s the thing—we can’t just drop books and expect miracles. If we don’t nurture their belief in themselves, all we’re doing is another version of the cargo cult. They need to see the real reward of knowledge, not just handouts.
Nelly Furtado:
So what do we give them? What’s the right kind of gift?
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Something small, something magical—something that always works on my nephews. A Kinder Egg.
Craig Kielburger:
A Kinder Egg?
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Think about it. It’s a mystery, it’s a reward, and it engages their curiosity. First, they get the chocolate—instant joy. Then, they crack open the surprise. A little toy, something they can build.
Marc Kielburger:
So it’s not just a treat—it’s a lesson.
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Damn right. They learn that effort brings rewards. That inside the hard shell of life, there’s something worth finding. The top students, the ones who earn it, get that lesson reinforced.
Nelly Furtado:
It’s kinda poetic.
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Poetic, yeah. And effective. Because you best believe when they see that golden foil, they want it. And they’ll work harder next time to get it again.
Craig Kielburger:
So, the new Free the Children incentive program—”Learn hard, earn a Kinder Egg?”
G.I. Joe Jukic:
Hell yeah. Start small. Because one day, they won’t be chasing chocolate. They’ll be chasing degrees, businesses, innovation. But it all starts here—with the right kind of reward.
[The group nods in agreement as the sun sets behind the school, casting long shadows over a future being built—one Kinder Egg at a time.]
[Scene: The Oval Office. President Donald Trump sits across from African Union President Bkenyan Lewis, a sharp-dressed, confident man with the aura of a statesman and the mind of a strategist. Behind them, flags of the United States and the African Union stand side by side. Cameras flash as the two leaders prepare for a historic conversation.]
President Trump:
Bkenyan, I gotta say—big things happening. Huge things. Africa? Tremendous potential. People don’t talk about it enough, but I do. And I’m telling you, with the right leadership—which, by the way, you’ve got—Africa could be the next great success story.
Bkenyan Lewis:
Mr. President, Africa is on the rise, but we need real partnerships, not just handouts. Investment, security, stability—these are the pillars of progress. That’s why the African Union is ready to work closely with the United States.
President Trump:
Absolutely. And listen, nobody does peace better than us. We’re gonna help Africa secure its future—big league. No more endless conflicts, no more corruption draining the wealth. I mean, Africa’s got everything—resources, talent, culture—it’s a goldmine. But it needs leadership.
Bkenyan Lewis:
And leadership must come from within. The African Union isn’t looking for saviors; we’re looking for allies who respect Africa’s sovereignty while helping us unlock our full potential.
President Trump:
I like that. Strong leaders. Not like some of the folks I’ve dealt with—total disasters. But you? You’re a renaissance man. Smart guy. And American too! A real success story. I mean, you get both worlds—you know how to make things happen. That’s why I like you, Bkenyan.
Bkenyan Lewis:
And that’s why I’m here. The United States can play a key role in helping Africa build its future—fair trade, infrastructure, security cooperation. Not just charity, but real partnerships that benefit both sides.
President Trump:
That’s what I’m saying! No more aid with no strings attached—bad deal. We’re talking win-win, America First but also Africa First. And security? Let me tell you, we’re gonna get tough on terrorists, warlords, all those bad guys messing things up. Africa’s got to be safe if it’s gonna be great.
Bkenyan Lewis:
Security is key. If Africa can secure its borders, protect its people, and stabilize its governments, we’ll see an economic boom like never before. But we need to make sure we’re not just putting band-aids on problems—we need long-term solutions.
President Trump:
100%. And listen, I know business. I know deals. We bring in real investments, not just loans that bury countries in debt. Unlike, you know, some countries—(leans in, lowers voice) China—who just buy up ports and land and then own everything. Not happening on my watch.
Bkenyan Lewis:
Africa must remain in control of its own destiny. That’s why we welcome ethical investments—American investments. Let’s build roads, schools, industries—but let’s make sure it’s Africans who benefit, not just foreign corporations.
President Trump:
Bkenyan, I like the way you think. You’re a tough guy, a winner. Africa’s lucky to have you. And I gotta say—we are lucky to be working with you. The best is yet to come.
[They shake hands as the cameras flash. The partnership between the United States and the African Union has taken a bold new step forward.]
[Scene: A dimly lit briefing room at a UN peacekeeping base. A map of Africa is spread across the table. Solid Snake, Nelly Furtado, the Kielburger brothers, and Bkenyan Lewis sit around it. The door creaks open, and in walks Bruce Willis, looking older, a little weary, but still carrying the aura of a man who has seen it all.]
Bruce Willis:
Alright, Snake. I’m here. But I gotta tell ya… I don’t know if I can do this.
Solid Snake: (lighting a cigarette, not looking up)
What’s wrong, Bruce? You lose your nerve?
Bruce Willis: (chuckles dryly)
Nah, never had much nerve to begin with. But I am getting old. Doc says I’m not in the best shape. My body ain’t what it used to be.
Nelly Furtado:
Bruce, no one’s asking you to go full Die Hard on this. You just have to be there—show the kids that someone cares.
Bruce Willis: (rubbing his face, sighing)
I get that, I do. But look… this could be my last mission. I can feel it. I don’t have many more of these left in me.
Bkenyan Lewis: (nodding solemnly)
Then make it count.
[Bruce looks around the room. He sees the determination in their eyes. The mission isn’t about him—it’s about the kids. About Africa’s future.]
Bruce Willis: (exhales, then nods)
Alright. One last ride. If I go out, I go out doing something real.
Solid Snake: (grinning slightly)
That’s the spirit. Now, let’s gear up. We’ve got a mission to complete.
[The group nods, and Bruce cracks his knuckles, stepping into the fight one more time.]
Solid Snake and the Kabbalah Messiah
The war was over. Or at least, that’s what they wanted Snake to believe. He knew better.
Solid Snake stood atop a crumbling rooftop in downtown Manhattan, watching the flickering billboards below. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke from his cigar, eyes narrowing as a sleek black helicopter approached from the east. The message had been sent. Now it was just a matter of whether he would come.
The chopper landed with a precision only the government—or someone way beyond it—could pull off. The side door slid open, and out stepped a man Snake hadn’t seen in years.
John McClane.
Or, as the files had called him: Bowman.
McClane wasn’t just a washed-up cop with a knack for getting into the worst situations imaginable. No, the truth was much weirder. Bowman—the codename given to him by an off-the-books Pentagon black project—had been chosen. He was the one they had prophesied. The one who had stared into the Monolith, back in 2001, back when Snake was still tangled in the mess of FOXHOUND and Metal Gear conspiracies.
“Jesus, Snake,” McClane muttered, stepping onto the rooftop. “This better be good.”
Snake took another drag. “I need to tell you something. And you’re not gonna like it.”
McClane sighed. “I never do.”
Snake flicked the cigar away. “You’re the new Messiah, Bowman.”
McClane stared. “What?”
Snake continued, voice low and steady. “Kabbalah. The real Kabbalah, not the Hollywood red-string nonsense. The one that runs through everything—the code, the patterns, the cosmic intelligence. You saw it, back in ‘01. The Monolith. The transformation. You went through it, didn’t you?”
McClane’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he muttered, looking away. But Snake saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes.
“Yeah, you do,” Snake said. “You went in a man. Came out… different.”
McClane clenched his fists. “I just did my job.”
Snake shook his head. “No, you transcended. And now, the world’s looking for a new leader. A real one. The old order—the Patriots, the secret cabals, the ones running everything from the shadows—they’re gone. The battlefield’s shifting, Bowman.”
McClane sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t do messiahs, Snake. I drink, I shoot bad guys, and I try not to die.”
Snake smirked. “Yeah, well, neither did Moses. Neither did me.”
McClane exhaled. “So what’s your play?”
Snake stepped forward. “I’m giving you the intel. All of it. Every hidden file, every suppressed archive, every black-site experiment the world’s ever done trying to unlock the secrets of the Monolith and the Kabbalah. Free of charge.”
McClane raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you give out intel for free?”
Snake’s face hardened. “Since now. If I ever start charging… if I ever sell knowledge, you depose me. You bring back Berg. Put him in charge of the Kabbalah network. No profiteering. No manipulation. Just the truth.”
McClane shook his head. “And what do you get out of this?”
Snake smirked. “Peace.”
McClane chuckled. “Yeah, right.”
Snake turned, walking toward the edge of the rooftop. The city stretched before them, neon lights reflecting in the rain-slick streets below. “The world doesn’t need another war hero,” he said. “It needs someone who understands what’s coming next.”
McClane looked at the sky, silent. The weight of destiny pressing down on him.
Snake disappeared into the shadows.
McClane muttered under his breath.
“Yippee-ki-yay, Kabbalah-f***er.”
Solid Snake and the Kabbalah Messiah – Part II
McClane exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The neon skyline pulsed around him, but his head was already pounding.
“Listen, Snake,” he muttered. “I don’t know what kinda hallucinogens you’ve been microdosing, but I ain’t your messiah. And I sure as hell ain’t signing up for some Kabbalah cult crap.”
Snake just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.
McClane sighed. “You know what I hate about all this mysticism bulls***? It’s always some greedy bastard at the top selling ‘divine wisdom’ for the low, low price of everything you’ve got.” His voice dripped with venom. “That Rabbi Berg guy? Yeah, I know all about him. Took Madonna for a ride, turned Kabbalah into a damn fashion trend. You think I want any part of that?”
Snake raised an eyebrow. “Berg’s not the point, Bowman.”
McClane scoffed. “Oh, he’s the point, alright. Guys like him sell fake enlightenment to desperate rich folks while the real truths stay locked away. You really think I give a damn about cosmic secrets?” He pointed a finger at Snake. “You wanna know what I want? Money. Cash in my hands, a good drink, and for my ex-wife and daughter to finally appreciate me instead of treating me like some washed-up loser.”
Snake took a slow drag of his cigar. “That all?”
McClane glared at him. “Yeah. That’s all.”
Snake smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”
McClane didn’t answer.
Because deep down, he knew Snake was right.
Solid Snake and the 144,000
McClane squinted at Snake through the haze of city smog, arms crossed. “Lemme get this straight. You’re looking for 144,000 messiahs? What, you think you’re John the Baptist now?”
Snake took a long drag from his cigar. “Half male, half female. Five percent non-binary. A global network of warriors, thinkers, and builders. No kings, no corporations, no cults. Just action.”
McClane snorted. “Sounds like a zero-waste reality show.”
Snake exhaled smoke. “That’s not far off. This world’s burning, McClane. You seen the news? The red tides choking the oceans? Rivers running poison red? That ain’t prophecy—it’s chemistry. The whole ecosystem’s going down the crapper, and the people in charge? They’re too busy selling snake oil to stop it.”
McClane rubbed his temples. “So what, you want me to be your poster boy? Walk on water, change water into non-toxic water?”
Snake’s voice hardened. “I want you to step up. You spent your life playing the lone wolf. Fine. But this isn’t about you. It’s about the next generation. We either build something new, or we let this whole planet turn into a graveyard.”
McClane looked away, jaw tightening. The old instincts kicked in—the part of him that always wanted to walk away, let someone else handle it.
But deep down, he knew Snake was right.
“…I work alone,” McClane muttered.
Snake smirked. “Not anymore.”