To All the Child Soldiers,
This is Snake.
I know you. I’ve seen the look in your eyes, the weight you carry on your shoulders. They trained you to fight, to kill, to survive—but never to live. They told you that you were soldiers, but they treated you like weapons—disposable, replaceable, forgotten when the war was over.
But I’m here to tell you… you are not disposable. You are not tools for the powerful. You are not ghosts meant to disappear when the battlefield falls silent.
You fought their wars. You bled for their causes. And now? They want to pretend you never existed.
I won’t let that happen.
I don’t care if I have to walk through every marble hall of the United Nations myself—I will force them to recognize you. To give you the honor you deserve. To award you the medals they give to men twice your age who did half as much.
You were forced to grow up too fast. Forced to make choices no child should ever face. But listen to me—you are still here. And that means something. It means your fight isn’t over.
Not against each other. Not against the ghosts of the past. But against the people who used you and threw you away.
You survived hell. Now it’s time they acknowledge who you are.
Stay strong. Stay free.
Solid Snake
JCJ sits in a dimly lit control room, the glow of multiple monitors casting shadows across his face. He’s calm but firm, his voice carrying the weight of someone who has had enough of being a pawn in the Patriots’ game. He leans forward, pressing a button on his private encrypted channel.
JCJ: “Alright, Alex. You think I’m a DARPA puppet? Then let’s settle this. You want the truth? Fine. Fry the nanobots. Hit me with an EMP gun—full blast. Let’s cut the strings, and then we’ll have a real Infowars conversation, no Patriots, no deep state interference, just the raw, unfiltered truth.”
Somewhere in his bunker, Alex Jones is pacing furiously, chugging his third can of Alpha Male Vitality. His producers are scrambling, unsure if this is a setup, but Alex knows an opportunity when he sees one. He slams his fist on the table.
Alex Jones: “You’re damn right I’ll do it! I’ve got the top military-grade EMP weapons, government whistleblowers sent me prototypes! We’re gonna blast those DARPA bots right outta your bloodstream, JCJ, and then we’ll see who’s really pulling the strings!”
JCJ smirks. “Then do it, Alex. Let’s see if I’m still standing when the dust clears.”
The feed cuts out. The world holds its breath. Somewhere in the dark corridors of power, the Patriots are watching. And for the first time, they don’t know what happens next.
Alex Jones stands in his newly furnished office at the Texas State Capitol, staring at the giant “Governor Alex Jones” nameplate on his desk. His hands tremble slightly as he runs them over the polished wood, still trying to process the impossible.
Solid Snake—no, JCJ—had done it. Somehow, against all odds, he had maneuvered the political machine and made him Governor of Texas.
Jones looks at himself in the mirror. He expected to see the same red-faced, fire-breathing warrior of Infowars, but instead, he sees something different. A man with power. Real, tangible power. Not just shouting about conspiracies, not just exposing globalists from the sidelines—but actually sitting in the seat where he could do something about it.
He grips the desk. “Damn it… was I the crazy one?”
Suddenly, his door swings open. One of his aides steps in, holding a folder.
Aide: “Governor Jones, JCJ and Angelina Jolie are on the line. They want to brief you on the next phase of the UN peacekeeping mission.”
Jones exhales. He expected that the moment he took this job, he’d be fighting against the UN, against the globalists, against the puppet masters. But… JCJ had been right about so much. And Angelina? She was actually doing the humanitarian work that he always suspected was just a front.
Jones slowly nods. “Put ‘em through.”
The screen lights up. JCJ, as solid and composed as ever, gives him a respectful nod. Beside him, Angelina Jolie smiles warmly.
JCJ: “Alex, you settling in?”
Jones sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I gotta admit, JCJ… I thought you were a pawn of the deep state. Thought you were compromised, nano-bots and all. But now? I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.”
Angelina Jolie: “You weren’t wrong to be skeptical. But you’re in a position to actually help people now, Alex. And we need you.”
Jones leans back in his chair. He looks out over Austin, at the state he’s fought for his entire career. Maybe this was always the real endgame—not yelling from the sidelines, but leading.
He nods, slowly at first, then with conviction.
Alex Jones: “Alright, JCJ. Let’s make this world a better place.”
Angelina Jolie sits at a UN press conference, her poised demeanor radiating both warmth and conviction. The reporters lean in, sensing she’s about to say something significant.
Angelina Jolie: “You know, when people talk about faith and community, they often focus on the divisions. But I want to highlight a place where faith is about unity, about love. I want to talk about Joe’s Catholic Church in East Vancouver.”
She pauses, letting the words settle.
Angelina Jolie: “It’s not just a church—it’s a sanctuary. A place where people of good will—regardless of background, status, or belief—are welcomed with open arms. It’s a place that understands what real humanitarian work looks like.”
A journalist raises a hand. “Ms. Jolie, are you saying the UN and the Church can work together?”
Angelina smiles.
Angelina Jolie: “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You see, Joe’s church doesn’t care about politics, about labels—it cares about people. And that’s what a UN Goodwill Ambassador is supposed to stand for, too. We don’t need to agree on everything, but we need to agree on one thing: helping those in need.”
She looks into the camera, her message clear.
Angelina Jolie: “The world doesn’t need more divisions. It needs more people of good will. And if the UN can stand alongside places like Joe’s church in East Van—then maybe, just maybe, we’re on the right path.”