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I'm so proud of you
Such a clean shot: Between the ribs, though the lung, and out the back. Clean.
Just like I taught you
This pain, it’s incredible, but there's only one thing in my chest right now as I lay in the grass. It's the one thing I've always felt, amidst rubble and ruin or tanks and triumphs, from Stalingrad, to Torch, to Sicily, to Monte Cassino, to Overlord, to Saipan, to Iwo Jima, to Tselinoyarsk, to right here, right now.
Joy.
A terrible thing to feel, a terrible thing to be, but it is what it is, and I am what I am.
The thrill of battle, no matter how intense, is nothing compared to the understanding I have right now: I've made you into what you are today.
A wonderful man.
You've surpassed me. Proven that you're strong, loyal. A soldier.
What more could I ever ask for?
There it is: The soft rustle of your steps. I can make you out from here, but just barely. If the Sun was a touch lower, or the tree’s shadow a shred darker, I wouldn't see you. Not right now, not like this.
Because these flowers are in the way. A sea of white is drowning me right now. What a lovely place to become ashes.
But only for me.
The soft winds blow, and something new rises with them. It's terrifying, I think, but cherished nonetheless.
Peace.
The flowers will bloom soon. I can feel it. If only I can see that, see them become what they were always meant to be. Just that one last thing.
Please.
Because I won't be able to see you anymore, as much as that hurts.
Peace. Such a strange thing, and a stranger I've been to it, but it's glorious nonetheless. You’ve always been different as well, both your flaws and fortunes. What a man you are.
Your own, now.
Peace. Neither Joy nor Sorrow, nor Fury or Fear or Pain, and not the End. It surpasses all that. All them.
Just like you.
The microfilm is in my hand. Weakness overtakes me, numbness too. Never before did I think death would sound like this: The gentle silence of nature. Who'd guess Remarque was so right?
If only I had the strength to stand.
I'm sorry for your arm, your eye, for everything, but this is how it must go. I'll make it up to you as best I can, by giving back.
"Take this, keep it safe..."
And you do it, just like you've done everything else I've ever needed you to do.
Like a good son.
Even when I say otherwise, you always know what I really mean; what I really meant, rather, considering how close death is.
Even when I say otherwise, you know the truth deep down.
The microfilm is in your hands now, and this peace of mine is cemented; not elevated, but hardened. I’m certain you'll do what’s necessary, what I need you to: Get that microfilm back where it belongs, help mend the divisions in the Philosophers.
The world must be made whole again
"It's our... only hope."
The effort required to simply speak is staggering; few things have ever been this difficult. But I find the strength nonetheless, just like you do.
Yes, grab my gun too, examine it. Your confusion and surprise are clear to me even in this haze.
Good, see. See that I’m loyal to my mother to the end, just as you are to yours.
"A patriot? Why are you giving me this?"
Because, I've given everything to you.
Everything.
And now I'm running out of things to give
I had three things left when you shot me between the ribs, through the lung, and out the back. The microfilm and my rifle are yours now.
As the Three Magi gave, I give to you, my boy.
"Jack..."
There's only one thing of mine that I have left to offer.
My life.
You're becoming your own man now, and that, as a mother, is what I want more than anything else. No matter how much it hurts.
Even if it kills me.
"Or should I say, Snake?"
Our time is coming to an end, but that doesn't make me sad. The fact it could ever end means it began, and I'm eternally grateful, in this brief moment, for that.
Besides, my end doesn’t scare me, because it's not really 'my end', but your beginning.
Look at you now. Look at what my life has wrought, what my long dying accomplishes, what my end will make you into! I'm happy I can say-
"You're a wonderful man."
Oh, what I'd give to have you by my side till I bleed out, to see you wrench out one last smile for me as red fades to black. But that's not how this is going to play out. I can't let it be that way.
For so long I've waited, yet now I'm forced to rush things along.
Because the world needs you more than I do. It must be made whole again. You have to live, and so you have to leave, as soon as possible.
Because the MiGs are coming, and the bombs with them.
But I can't ask you to go. Not because I know you wouldn't while I'm alive, even though that's true, but because I don't have the strength to say it.
Cowards die a thousand deaths, they say. So be it. Let me die them all, so long as you live.
There's one way to see to that.
"Kill me. Kill me now!"
I may be at peace, but that doesn't mean I’m without pain. Our last moment, our last memory. Too short. But so is everything else.
"Do it!"
There’s no easing my hurt. I don't think I can ease yours either, but as a mother, I must try.
"There's only room for one Boss, and one Snake..."
Neither of us shed a tear. Why we hold back, I don’t know, but it feels right.
Everything about us always felt right.
And now I've finally accepted an awful fact: I won't get to see the flowers bloom.
Just like I won't get to see you.
Not because I don't have enough time. No, the question was never about that.
It's because you're all waiting for me to die.
That's okay. I don't need to see to believe. I know they'll be beautiful, just like you'll be.
Flowers are always beautiful.
It reminds me of a poem. An old one, written before I was even born.
In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow
From a soldier in a Great War,
Between the crosses, row on row,
Who lost a friend, who felt grief,
That mark our place; and in the sky
Who tried to find a reason for it all,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
And ended up dying in the course of it.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
Soft winds blow.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
Petals wave farewell.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Leaves rustle.
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
The Sun is high.
In Flanders Fields.
I'm so proud of y-