Under the gray drizzle of Vancouver, a lone figure stands near the SkyTrain tracks, bandana tight, voice low but urgent.
Solid Snake:
“This isn’t a battlefield… but people are still falling every day.”
You walk past them. Headphones in. Eyes down. Another body folded against a storefront on East Hastings. Another human being treated like background debris.
Snake exhales.
“I’ve seen war zones. This isn’t one. No bombs. No gunfire. Just something quieter… indifference.”
He kneels beside a man shaking in withdrawal.
“You don’t need to fund someone’s addiction. Nobody’s asking you to. But you can still act.”
From down the block, Joe steps forward — hands in his coat pockets, carrying a thermos and a few sandwiches.
Joe:
“I call these my peace walks.”
He nods toward the tents and worn-out doorways.
“Not protests. Not politics. Just walking with purpose. Helping where I can. A coffee. A sandwich. A blanket. A conversation. Sometimes just listening.”
Snake watches him hand a sandwich to a woman wrapped in a rain poncho.
Joe continues:
“You don’t have to fix the world. Just don’t walk past it.”
Snake gives a small approving nod.
“That’s how resistance starts,” he says quietly. “Not with weapons. With conscience.”
Joe turns back to the street.
“Peace walks,” he repeats. “Because if we can’t bring peace to our own sidewalks, what are we even talking about?”
The rain keeps falling.
But now two figures are walking instead of one.