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.