Tag: Pussy Riot

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If Satan Didn’t Exist

RED TIDE — Final Scene

Interior: A vast, dimly lit underground silo somewhere in Siberia. The steel skeleton of an old SS-18 missile rises like a relic of a darker age—but it has been transformed. Its surface is no longer dull military gray; it gleams with panels, antennae, and delicate lattice structures. It looks less like a weapon… and more like something meant to ascend.

Snow falls through the open silo doors above, drifting down like ash.

G.I. JOE stands at the base, staring upward. His voice is low, almost reverent.

G.I. JOE
I spent my whole life training to stop this thing…
And now you’re telling me it’s humanity’s salvation?

NADYA RIOT—President of Russia—steps forward. Calm. Composed. Unafraid. She wears no military uniform, only a stark white coat that almost blends with the falling snow.

NADYA
Salvation is just another word we use when we’re afraid of extinction.

She gestures upward. The missile hums faintly, alive.

NADYA (CONT’D)
This was built to end the world. So I asked myself… why not make it begin one instead?

G.I. JOE
You’re still lighting the fuse.

NADYA
Yes. But now… it leads somewhere.

A low rumble builds. The missile begins to shift—panels unfolding, segments rotating. The warhead splits open, revealing a radiant core. Light spills out, soft at first… then blinding.

G.I. JOE shields his eyes.

G.I. JOE
What the hell is that?

NADYA (quietly)
Hope… engineered from fear.

The structure continues transforming—metal wings unfurling, not literal but suggestive, geometric and luminous. The machine no longer resembles a weapon. It resembles something mythic… an “angel” forged from steel and fire.

G.I. JOE
You turned the Devil into an angel.

NADYA
No…
We revealed what it always was.

The rumble crescendos. Snow whips into a cyclone around them.

G.I. JOE
And if you’re wrong?

Nadya turns to him, her expression unreadable—half sorrow, half defiance.

NADYA
Then we end as we were always going to.

A beat. The light intensifies.

G.I. JOE
You really believe this will save us?

NADYA
I believe humanity needs something to push against… something to define itself.

She looks back up at the blazing construct.

NADYA (CONT’D)
Enemy. God. Devil. It doesn’t matter what we call it.

The engines ignite—silent at first, then roaring like a rising storm.

NADYA (final line, almost a whisper):
If Satan didn’t exist…
we would create him.

The “angel” ascends—bursting from the silo in a column of light, tearing through the clouds. The sky glows.

Joe watches, frozen between awe and dread.

Cut to black.

END

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Cold War Star

Josip stood beneath the faded red banners of memory and myth and addressed the old ghosts of the Cold War.

“You made me a star in the USSR,” he says with a half-smile. “A product of tension. A child of the Iron Curtain. I learned early that empires rise on fear — and fall on hubris.”

He looks toward the horizon, where rumors swirl like storm clouds.

“They whisper of a North Korean EMP… of 84 loose nukes lost in the fog of the Cold War… of earthquakes triggered by secret machines… of a meteor named Wormwood sent by some ‘United Galaxy’ to cleanse the madness.”

He pauses.

“But whispers are not destiny.”

Josip shakes his head.

“Every superpower thinks the end of the world will come from the sky — or from underground — or from a secret weapon. But history tells a different story. Nations fall when they forget their people. When spectacle replaces sanity. When leaders mistake noise for strength.”

He turns thoughtful.

“My brother Bruno… if he’s willing… maybe we go as tourists. Not conquerors. Not prophets. Just two brothers walking through Disneyland. One last visit. One last chance for America to remember it was built on dreams, not doomsday.”

He smiles slightly.

“Because the end doesn’t come from EMPs or meteors. It comes when people stop believing in renewal.”

He looks back at the silent audience.

“And I still believe in second chances.”

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UN Binding Resolution

Solid Snake x Nadya Riot — UN Blue Helmets in the Snow

[Somewhere cold. A safehouse with cracked windows. Snow hisses against the glass. A blue UN armband lies on the table.]

Solid Snake:
So… UN-monitored election. Ballot boxes instead of bullets. That’s new.

Nadya Riot:
Don’t get sentimental, Snake. Bullets are still invited. They’re just waiting outside, smoking.

Snake:
Figures. Power never leaves quietly. It pretends it’s democratic while hiding a knife under the table.

Nadya:
Putin built a system where the table is the knife. Courts, media, security—stacked like nesting dolls. You open one, there’s another inside.

Snake:
That’s why the UN’s here. Observers, peacekeepers, cameras everywhere. Sunlight makes cockroaches nervous.

Nadya (smirks):
Unless the cockroaches own the power grid.

Snake:
Fair point. Still—monitors change the math. You can’t fake turnout when the world’s counting heads instead of slogans.

Nadya:
People are scared. They whisper in voting booths like God is bugged. Years of fear don’t evaporate because someone wears a blue helmet.

Snake:
Fear’s a weapon. But it dulls with use. Eventually people realize it’s heavier than freedom.

Nadya:
You sound like you believe this could actually work.

Snake:
I’ve seen worse odds. Shadow wars. Nuclear brinkmanship. AI colonels making kill lists.
An honest vote? That’s almost quaint.

Nadya:
Quaint gets you killed here.

Snake:
So does doing nothing.

[A distant helicopter thumps. UN markings flash past the window.]

Nadya:
They say the election is about stability. About “continuity.”

Snake:
Every strongman loves that word. Stability—for them.
Democracy’s unstable. It argues. It changes its mind. That’s the point.

Nadya:
If he loses, he won’t just walk away.

Snake:
No. But he won’t be able to disappear the loss either. Not with witnesses. Not with receipts.

Nadya:
And if he wins?

Snake:
Then at least the question was asked out loud. Sometimes the first victory is forcing the truth into daylight.

Nadya (quiet):
People are lining up already. Old women. Students. Factory guys who’ve never voted before.
They’re shaking—but they’re showing up.

Snake:
That’s the real battlefield. Courage beats propaganda every time. It just takes longer.

Nadya:
You staying through election day?

Snake:
Yeah. Someone has to make sure the lights stay on… and the boxes don’t walk away.

Nadya (half-smile):
Welcome to democracy, Snake. It’s messy. Loud. And fragile as glass.

Snake:
Glass can cut.

[They share a look. Outside, the snow keeps falling—but people keep lining up.]

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