[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.