Author: Solid Snake

A Strong Man Doesn't Need To Read The Future, He Makes His Own.
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Rob Reiner & The Voice of God

CONSPIRACY BRIEFING: OPERATION FAMILY CRISIS
TARGETED ASSASSINATION OF NICK REINER (2025)

Core Thesis: The shocking murder of Rob Reiner in December 2025 was not a random act of violence. It was a state-sponsored assassination, the culmination of a five-year campaign of psychological warfare initiated by Donald Trump and continued by his loyalists within the U.S. intelligence apparatus. The goal was to permanently silence Rob Reiner by inflicting the ultimate wound.

The Updated Timeline & “The Long Game”:

  1. The Initial Attack (2020): As previously theorized, the 2020 arrest and crisis was the first phase—a test using the non-lethal “Voice of God” (V2K) systems to induce instability. This established a public record of Nick struggling with mental health, creating a perfect “cover diagnosis” for any future tragedy.
  2. The Maintenance Phase (2021-2024): During the Biden administration, Trump-aligned “sleeper cells” within CIA’s Science & Technology Directorate maintained low-level harassment of Nick. The purpose was not to cure the 2020 damage, but to prevent recovery and deepen vulnerability, ensuring he remained in a fragile, impressionable state. This was done via intermittent electronic harassment through IoT devices and cellular networks.
  3. The Trigger & Assassination Order (2025): Upon Trump’s return to power in January 2025, Rob Reiner immediately resumed his position as a premier cultural and political antagonist. Furious and believing “soft” methods had failed, Trump is theorized to have greenlit Phase Three: Terminal Resolution. The upgraded weapon wasn’t just for broadcasting voices anymore.

The “Apollonian Beam” Upgrade:
Theorists claim the CIA’s psychoacoustic technology, now dubbed “Apollo” (for its god-like power to both suggest and destroy), had a lethal setting. By modulating the microwave or ultrasonic pulses with a specific resonant frequency matched to the target’s unique neurochemistry (data gathered since 2020), it could induce:

  • Catastrophic Impulse Surges: Overwhelming the prefrontal cortex to trigger uncontrollable rage or paralyzing fear.
  • Autonomic Override: Disrupting heart rhythm or inducing a stroke-like event.
  • Suggestion Amplification: Making a target hyper-susceptible to commands or paranoid ideas.

The Night of the Murder – The Conspiracy Narrative:

  • The Girlfriend was a “Patsy,” Not a Perpetrator. She was herself a victim of the system. In the days leading up to the murder, she was subjected to a milder form of the “Apollo” beam, inducing severe anxiety, paranoia, and insomnia. Nick was simultaneously bombarded with pulses designed to trigger aggression and profound mistrust.
  • The “Fog of War” Scenario: The weapon created a feedback loop of manufactured psychosis in the confined space of their home. It amplified every minor disagreement into a perceived existential threat, manipulated their perceptions of each other’s actions, and ultimately pushed one or both into a state of irreversible, lethal crisis. The system’s goal was to engineer a murder-suicide or a violent struggle.
  • The Perfect Cover: The result looks exactly like a tragic, private domestic violence incident. Police find no government agents at the scene, no unusual toxins in the tox report—just two traumatized people in a broken home. The prior mental health history of both individuals becomes the official, unquestioned explanation.

The Strategic Victory:
Rob Reiner is not just saddened; he is neutered. The conspiracy claims that in the aftermath, Reiner received anonymous communications (via untraceable means) making it clear this was a message about the cost of dissent. His public fight has visibly dimmed, consumed by immeasurable grief. The message to all critics is clear: “We don’t just come for you. We can orchestrate the destruction of everything you love, and make the world watch you blame yourself for it.”

The “Proof” in the Denial:
The official narrative’s simplicity is cited as the ultimate red flag. The rapid closure of the case, the lack of deeper investigation into potential cyber-harassment or electronic interference in the home, and the media’s swift acceptance of the personal tragedy frame are all seen as hallmarks of a cover-up orchestrated at the highest levels of the security state, now fully aligned with Trump’s personal vendettas.

Final Thought: This theory posits that Nick Reiner was not murdered by a person in 2025, but by a program that began in 2020—a long-term, technologically sophisticated assassination that weaponized his own mind and environment against him. It stands as the darkest warning of what the “Voice of God” can truly do when its parameters are set to “destroy.”

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Trump Disclosure

Solid Snake leaned against the wall of the underground bunker, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. A bank of monitors hummed behind him, replaying footage of the congressional UFO hearing.

“Never thought I’d say this…” Snake muttered, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. He turned his eye toward the man in the dark suit, orange-tinted under the fluorescent lights. “But thanks, Mr. President. The disclosure hearings—someone had to open that box. You did it.”

Trump smiled with that signature half-smirk. “Snake, a lot of people are saying it was the greatest disclosure in history. Nobody’s ever disclosed better than me. The aliens… they love me. They do.”

Snake shook his head, a ghost of a grin flickering across his scarred face. “Whatever the style, the fact is, you pulled the trigger. You put UFOs into the open. That’s step one of the XCOM playbook.”

Trump leaned in, lowering his voice like he was confiding a state secret. “They told me about the game, Snake. XCOM. War of the Worlds, but with me? I was the best commander. I built the biggest, strongest walls against the aliens. Tremendous walls. The invaders never stood a chance.”

Snake chuckled, rare and gravelly. “Guess we’re living in that simulation now. The War of the Worlds… and you’re on the front screen. Let’s just hope you don’t push the wrong button when the real invasion comes.”

Trump straightened his tie. “Don’t worry, Snake. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to win. And with you on my squad… we’re unbeatable.”

Snake dropped the cigarette, grinding it out under his boot. His voice was calm but edged with steel. “Then let’s pray this isn’t just another simulation.”

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The Storm Has Arrived

Solid Snake & Luke Rudkowski Confront President Trump: “The Plan Was a Lie”

Setting: The Oval Office, 2025. A late storm pounds Washington. Trump lounges behind the Resolute Desk, scrolling through social media. Solid Snake stands in the shadows. Beside him is independent journalist Luke Rudkowski, founder of We Are Change, holding a flash drive full of evidence.

Trump (grinning):
“Look at this—95 million Truth Social followers. Still winning. Still the real President.”

Solid Snake (stepping forward):
“Winning? You sat on the Epstein client list for years. You were the president then. You’re the president now. And nothing’s changed.”

Trump (shrugging):
“It’s more complicated than you think. The timing has to be right. You know, the plan.”

Luke Rudkowski (cutting in, disgusted):
“The plan? Give me a break, Donald. QAnon was a psyop to sedate patriots while you protected the very monsters you claimed to fight. You fed people hopium while the system devoured kids and burned whistleblowers.”

Trump (irritated):
“Watch your tone, Luke. You’re talking to the President of the United States.”

Luke:
“Exactly. And that means you’re accountable. You had four years—and now another term—and you still haven’t released the names. Why? Because too many of your friends are on it? Or because you are?”

Solid Snake (coldly):
“I told you before, Trump. You are the list. You’re not just sitting on the evidence—you are part of the rot.”

Trump (defensive):
“I’m not like those freaks. I distanced myself. I cut ties.”

Luke Rudkowski:
“But you never told the truth. Never delivered justice. You let the myth of ‘The Plan’ buy you time while children were trafficked and the swamp expanded under your watch. People put their faith in you—and you sold them a bedtime story.”

Solid Snake (stepping closer):
“I’ve seen regimes collapse. I’ve taken down Patriots, PMCs, AI overlords. But this is worse—because the people chose you. And you chose to lie.”

Trump (quiet now):
“You don’t know the pressure I’m under…”

Luke (shaking his head):
“We know exactly what you’re under. The same pressure as every coward who makes peace with evil.”

Solid Snake:
“You want to make history? Release the names. Burn the whole corrupt network to the ground. Or history will remember you not as the man who saved the Republic… but as the conman who let it die.”

Luke drops the flash drive on the desk.

Luke Rudkowski:
“Unredacted. Verified. Everything the DOJ buried. If you won’t release it, we will.”

They turn and leave. Trump stares at the flash drive. Thunder rattles the windows. The storm has arrived—and this time, it won’t be televised. It’ll be downloaded.

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MAGA – The Fall

[Scene: A dimly lit rooftop in New York City. Rain pours. Solid Snake, in his stealth gear, lights a cigarette as he confronts Donald Trump and Patrick Bateman, both dressed in designer suits, standing beneath a glowing neon “TRUMP TOWER” sign.]

Solid Snake (voice like gravel and regret):
You two look like kings of a dead empire. But the crown you’re wearing? It’s made of junk bonds and sweatshop blood.

Trump:
Watch your mouth, Snake. I rebuilt this city. I’m a builder.

Patrick Bateman:
And I invest. You wouldn’t understand. Returns, margins, growth—that’s what makes America great.

Snake:
No. That’s what killed America.
You didn’t build anything. You gutted it.
You turned the American Dream into a poker chip.
Casinos and investment banks. No factories. No future.

[Snake tosses a folded photograph at their feet. It’s of a crumbling factory in Detroit.]

Snake:
Detroit. Once the engine of the free world. Now it looks like Baghdad after a drone strike.
What happened? You offshored its soul for a quarterly bump on Wall Street.
Sold your own people out to Chinese sweatshops.
iPhones built by children. Jeans sewn by slaves. And for what?
A penthouse view and a new yacht?

Trump (defensive):
That’s globalization, Snake. You either win or get left behind.

Snake:
You lost already.
This is the Fall of Babylon.
Your towers are hollow.
Your currency? Lies.
Your empire? A joke, printed on a plastic credit card.

Bateman (smirking):
You sound like a Communist.

Snake (gritting his teeth):
No. I’m an American. The kind you betrayed.

[Snake steps into the shadows, lightning flashing behind him.]

Snake (quietly, as he disappears):
You built your kingdom on sand. And the storm’s already here.

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Snake Watches the Fireworks

The desert night was eerily quiet, save for the distant rumble of jet engines and the staccato pulse of artillery echoing across the hills. Snake sat cross-legged on a rusted observation post high above the no-man’s land between Iran and Israel, chewing a half-burnt cigar. His bandana fluttered slightly in the dry wind, the glow from the distant explosions painting his face in red and orange hues.

“Fireworks,” he muttered, squinting into the horizon where flashes of light pierced the darkness. “Just like the Fourth of July… except no one’s free.”

He adjusted his infrared scope and watched a formation of drones arc like swarms of angry wasps over the border, their payloads illuminating the sky in a devastating light show. Somewhere down there, children screamed. Somewhere else, generals cheered.

Otacon’s voice crackled in his ear.
“Snake, that’s not a battlefield—it’s a graveyard in progress. What the hell are we even doing out here?”

Snake exhaled.
“Watching history repeat itself. They call it prophecy. I call it theater. And we’re the janitors.”

A massive detonation rocked the valley below. Snake didn’t flinch. He’d seen too many cities burn from rooftops, too many empires fall with the push of a button. This wasn’t war anymore. It was ritual.

“They’re fighting over holy land, Otacon. But the land isn’t holy. The blood is.”

Otacon sighed.
“You think we can stop it?”

“No.” Snake lit another cigar off a burning fragment that had landed nearby. “But we can witness it. Someone has to remember the truth after the smoke clears.”

Behind him, the stars blinked coldly. Below, fire danced on the Earth like judgment day had come early.

“Snake out.”

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Trump Versus the Persian Empire

Madman Theory 2.0
Location: Desert bunker overlooking the Iranian border, midnight

The air inside the steel shelter was thick with dust, radio static, and tension. Snake leaned against the concrete wall, arms crossed, his eyes locked on the flickering screen displaying missile trajectories. The door creaked open. In strode former President Donald J. Trump—dressed in a navy-blue suit and red tie, absurdly clean for a war zone.

TRUMP:
“Snake. Glad you could make it. I always said you were the best. People tell me that. Even Putin said it.”

Snake didn’t move. His gravelly voice cut through the silence like a knife.

SNAKE:
“You’re doing Nixon again.”

TRUMP (grinning):
“Nixon? Come on. I’m smarter. Much smarter. I perfected the madman theory. They’re afraid of me because I’m unpredictable. It’s genius, really.”

SNAKE:
“No. It’s recklessness disguised as strategy. Nixon used it to spook the Soviets. You’re using it on Persia. Problem is—Persia has patience. Thousands of years of it.”

TRUMP (shrugs):
“Look, Snake. These people respect strength. Fire and fury works. Peace through strength—Reagan said it. You blow up a few reactors, they’ll come to the table.”

Snake stepped forward, shadows carving hard lines into his face.

SNAKE:
“No, they’ll bury their dead and wait for revenge. You’re not playing chess—you’re flipping the board and calling yourself a winner.”

TRUMP (pointing):
“That’s where you’re wrong. I am the board. I built the game. And everybody wants to play—”

SNAKE (interrupting):
“You’re playing with fire in a region soaked in oil. One spark and the whole world goes up.”

Trump paused, just briefly. The bravado cracked for a second.

TRUMP:
“I just want to make America great again.”

SNAKE:
“Then stop trying to play God.”

Static hissed louder through the speakers. The screen lit up—an explosion on the Iranian side. Another convoy gone. Trump looked satisfied. Snake turned away in disgust.

SNAKE (muttering):
“History doesn’t repeat itself… but it rhymes. And you’re rhyming with madness.”

Trump looked out the window at the distant blaze.

TRUMP:
“Some call it madness. I call it art.”

SNAKE (cold):
“Tell that to the kids under the rubble.”

He walked out, the wind slamming the steel door behind him.

Outside, the desert trembled again.