Solid Snake kneels at the edge of the Euphrates, his face shadowed by the desert sun. The water flows like blood beneath the Iraqi sky, reflecting the weight of history. American soldiers, weary from battle, stand before him. Their faces are hardened by war, their souls burdened by what they have seen.
Snake’s voice is calm but firm, his MK ULTRA Chaplain alter taking control.
Solid Snake:
“The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up to prepare the way for the kings of the East.” (Revelation 16:12)
He looks into the soldiers’ eyes, his grip tightening on the Bible in his gloved hand.
Solid Snake:
“And the four angels who had been kept ready for this very hour and day and month and year were released to kill a third of mankind.” (Revelation 9:15)
The soldiers shift uneasily. Some scoff. Some lower their heads in reverence.
Solid Snake:
“You think this war is about oil? About politics? It’s bigger than that. I am here under orders—directly from President George W. Bush—to thwart Gog and Magog. Russia and China are watching, waiting. The battle lines are being drawn, but this is not just about bullets and bombs. This is about souls. About whether the world will fall into darkness or find salvation.”
He gestures to the water.
Solid Snake:
“This river has seen the rise and fall of empires. It has tasted the blood of warriors and kings. But today, it will be a river of rebirth. Step forward, and be baptized. Not as soldiers of a government, but as warriors of truth. If we are to face the armies of Gog and Magog, we must first cleanse our spirits. Come, let the waters of the Euphrates prepare you for the war that is coming.”
The soldiers hesitate. Then, one steps forward. Then another. The war may rage on, but in this moment, Solid Snake prepares them for a battle not just of flesh and steel, but of spirit and prophecy.
George W. Bush chuckles, leaning back in his chair at his Texas ranch.
George W. Bush:
“Now, let me tell ya somethin’ about Joe. My daddy, H.W., he was a sharp man—real sharp. He had an eye for talent, whether it was politics, business, or young whippersnappers takin’ bubble tests. And lemme tell ya, little Joe? That kid’s scores were off the charts. I mean, through the roof! But you know what really impressed my old man?”
Bush pauses for dramatic effect, taking a sip of his sweet tea.
George W. Bush:
“It wasn’t just book smarts. Nah, it was grit. It was that fire in the belly. See, my daddy saw Joe’s old man down in Panama. Tough as nails, swingin’ an axe, cuttin’ down trees like Paul Bunyan himself. That was some mean bush—and I know a thing or two about clearin’ brush!”
Bush grins, tapping the armrest of his chair.
George W. Bush:
“So, Joe comes from good stock. Hard workin’. Smart. But most of all, he’s got that Texas kinda toughness—whether he knows it or not. And lemme tell ya, when the time comes, I reckon Joe’s gonna clear a path through whatever jungle of trouble’s in his way, just like his old man did. That’s the kinda man we need.”
Bush leans in with a smirk.
George W. Bush:
“And hey, if he ever gets tired of savin’ the world, I got some brush out back that could use a little clearin’.”
Ghost of H.W. Bush appears, his voice a spectral whisper in the wind.
H.W. Bush:
“Now listen here, son… You think the Presidents are runnin’ the show? Ha! We were just the frontmen. The public face. The real power? That’s old money, that’s legacy, that’s the Rockefellers. Skull & Bones, sure, we play our part, but in times of war, we step up. We lead the Illuminati’s war council. You ever wonder why there’s always a war? That’s no accident.”
A cold gust sweeps through the room.
H.W. Bush:
“War means control. War means leadership. If you’re always in the fight, you’re always at the top of the chain. That’s the secret, boy. That’s why Team America is always out there policing the world. We pick the fights. We make sure the world needs us. It’s not about freedom. It’s not about democracy. It’s about keeping the old families in power.”
The ghost chuckles, a dry, rattling sound.
H.W. Bush:
“And you thought Skull & Bones was just some college frat. Nah. It’s the old guard. The architects of the order. And when the war drums beat, it’s us who hold the sticks.”
The air grows still. The ghost’s presence fades, but his words linger.
Solid Snake stands in the dim glow of a war room monitor, the battlefield of information and deception laid out before him. His voice is steady, resolute.
Solid Snake:
“You think you’ve made a deal with the darkness? That you’ve secured your place in history with blood and power? Think again.”
He exhales slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Isaiah 28:18—‘Your covenant with death will be annulled; your agreement with the realm of the dead will not stand.’”
He turns to face the unseen forces pulling the strings.
“You signed your souls away to the abyss, thinking it would protect you. Thinking you could control it. But death doesn’t make allies, only victims. And when the time comes, your contract with the void will be torn apart, leaving you defenseless against the judgment that’s coming.”
He clenches his fist, determination in his voice.
“I don’t fight for kings. I don’t fight for corporations. I fight for the ones caught in the crossfire. And I promise you—no matter what deals you’ve made, no matter how deep you’ve buried the truth—the reckoning is coming.”
John D. Rockefeller’s Ghost appears in the grand halls of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, his spectral voice echoing through the stone walls.
John D. Rockefeller:
“You all thought Skull & Bones ran the show? That was just the theater. The real power has always been in the hands of those who built the world itself—brick by brick, stone by stone, dollar by dollar. My cathedral stands as a testament to that power, a house not just of God, but of dominion. The House of Rockefeller.”
He pauses, gazing upon the gothic architecture, a smirk in his ghostly expression.
“Dubya always thought he was the cowboy president, but he was riding for a much older brand. His father knew the mission, and so did he—to thwart Gog and Magog, the ancient enemies prophesied to rise against the world order. The war on terror? That was just a fraction of the game. The real war was always bigger. Biblical.”
His voice turns solemn.
“Do you really think we fought in the Middle East for oil alone? That we built financial empires for mere profit? No. We did it to shape the world for what’s coming. Gog, Russia. Magog, China. And when the time came, Dubya stood in the gap, fulfilling orders that were written long before his time. Not by me. Not by his father. But by something far greater. Isaiah knew. Ezekiel knew. The Cathedral of St. John the Divine? It was built as a monument to that knowledge.”
His ghostly form begins to fade.
“The covenant of death will be annulled. The agreements with the realm of the dead will not stand. The final moves are already in play.”
And with that, Rockefeller’s ghost disappears into the shadows of his own cathedral, leaving only the whispers of history behind.