It took a turn. As snow fell calmly, the air lay still and the ground went undisturbed, a seasoned soldier completed his objectives, alerting not a soul to his presence. Together we crept through Shadow Moses eliminating adversaries exercising unwavering restraint and inflexible discipline. This was Snake’s axiom. This was my axiom.
When the ideals I believed to be so integral to this experience were questioned, they were answered in a manner entirely unforeseen. They were answered by art.
Snake and I watched as a blade danced through the air like a painter’s brush dances across its canvas. We watched as the perfect palette of Shadow Moses, a controlled mixture of calm whites and clear blues, was violated with sheer red.
The blood we had worked so hard to avoid shedding now embellished the walls as the bodies of our enemies lie choking on their final words. The blade, the brush, the artist danced down the corridor and around a corner, and although we followed, I alone turned that corner. Solid Snake did not.
Before me stood an alien assailant whose axiom strayed far from the ideals imparted unto me by Solid Snake. Where we were organised he was spontaneous. Where we were calculating he was uncoordinated. Where we quiet were he was cacophonous.
The unnamed artist had performed reckless dissections of the enemies I had worked so tirelessly to surpass and demonstrated a ruthless disregard for the discipline I had worked so intently to maintain.
My partnership with Solid Snake was irreparably fractured. No longer did I want to spare the lives of the soldiers that would so readily turn their weapons on me. No longer did I want to exercise restraint and dispatch these soldiers silently.
I didn’t want to be Solid Snake. I wanted to be that guy. I wanted to be Grey Fox.