By Hideo Kojima
I didn’t have a choice. They made me do it.
I haven’t wanted to make a Metal Gear game in at least fifteen years. I’ve told the story I wanted to tell and then some, but they keep dragging me back. They won’t take a chance with a new idea. A company that is unwilling to take chances is a company that is sure to fail. I tell them, but they won’t listen. The few good ideas they do have? They’ve stolen. From men and women that are free from the influences of money, societal pressures and any semblance of sanity at all, really. Free men like me. Like the idea I had for putting popular Konami video game characters on slot machines.
They laughed me out of the room. People whispered behind my back and I think I even heard Rebecca call me a jerk. Then come next September and oh, what do we have here? Castlevania slot machines. Wonder who thought of that, you pieces of shit? Did I get a bigger paycheck? Nope. Not only that, but when I complained about it, they moved me into a smaller office. One without a window, and they knew how much I liked to gaze longingly outside (a lot). They didn’t know who they were fucking with. I marched right down to the Better Business Bureau only to find that we didn’t have one in Japan, so I went on strike.
Going on strike, despite what popular movies would have you believe, is actually pretty easy. Mostly I would just nap at my desk a lot and occasionally close my door to masturbate. After a few weeks they wondered why they hadn’t heard from me and sent a man I’d never met before to speak with me. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I did not continue work on Metal Gear they would be forced to shut Kojima Productions down and make it without me. I didn’t back down. Nobody can make Metal Gear without me. I called their bluff.
The next day most of my employees didn’t come to work. When I called them at home they told me they’d been fired. The half that did come just hadn’t checked their messages or were there to pick their stuff up. I called Konami and couldn’t get past the automated teller. I tried to email their head offices and realized that I’d been blocked out of my own damn email address. I figured this was it. I packed up my stuff and went home. After 30 years this is how they treat me? Well, good riddance.
I spent the next six months with my family. I moved them up to a cabin in the north so we could get away from it all. Really got to know them. Making Metal Gear for the last three decades, I hadn’t really gotten the chance yet. They seemed pretty cool. We played a lot of board games, which was pretty fun at first, but got old quick. So I took up drinking. My wife wasn’t a big fan but my son was cool with it. I would always yell at his mom a lot and cry in front of his friends. Kids love that shit. After awhile it all started to be too much and I was getting ready to get back to look for work somewhere when Konami found me.
On my way to the local general store a black van started riding alongside me, which I thought was suspicious, but what was even more suspicious is when one of the gentlemen got out of the van, threw a black garbage bag around my head and dragged me into said van. That’s when the beatings started. First fists, then pipes and eventually even larger pipes. They hung me by my arms on a meathook attached to the roof of the van and at some point my shirt had come off. My abs glistening in the van’s forgiving dome light, finally, near morning, they said what they’d come there to say.
Metal Gear was fucked without me, just like I told them it would be. They needed me to come back and fix it. I spit in his face. He punched me like eight more times. Kind of wish I hadn’t spit in his face. Not really worth it. When he was done hitting me he pulled up an app on his phone that showed security footage of my family. It said it was being recorded live but that was impossible, because I was in the footage. They had a double of me. Apparently, sometime in the 80′s they had cloned me in case for some reason I wasn’t able to finish whichever Metal Gear I was working on. The plan only had one problem; the clone sucked at making video games. Unfortunately, he was great at pretending to be me, and this other guy was great at threatening to kill my family, so it looked like I was going back to making Metal Gear.
They brought me to my new office, a portable toilet facility with a laptop computer and Kiefer Sutherland waiting patiently. I tried to insist that I needed a development team but they just laughed in my face. They told me to get this done and get it done fast or they’d have my clone finish the job. So Kiefer and I went to work. We were a great team. I went into the whole thing thinking that maybe he could learn a thing or two from me, but you know what? In the end, I think I learned more from him. Either way, all this learning from each other was really cutting into our making a video game time and we had to ask for more time from Konami. They acted as though it was fine but the next day the man I didn’t know from before showed up and before we could even speak put a bullet in Kiefer’s skull. I couldn’t even recognize him as he tried to gasp for air through the hole in his face, still somehow alive but certainly not staying that way. Eventually he died in my arms and when I looked up the man was gone. I quietly went back to work, just like they knew I would. They were good.
Another thing they seemed to be pretty good at was fucking my wife, which they would stream live into my office every time it happened (every third Tuesday if the weather was nice and neither of them had anything to do in the morning). Not even she could tell the real me from him and it was a real bummer watching them go to town on each other. At least the guy kind of looked like me. When I wasn’t watching my wife have sex, they were streaming in videos of him raising my son. The bastards. Just when I’d started getting to know them both, too.
I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to make Metal Gear anymore. It was your damn idea. I don’t even understand what’s so goddam great about these games, anyway. I just stole the idea and main character from Escape From New York and basically did the same thing with it over and over again. Is this what you want your legacy to be? Metal Gear? I know I don’t. Not that I even care about legacies at this point. At this point, I just want out. Do what you want with my family, but I know you won’t do anything. What’s in it for you once I’m gone? Nothing. You’re just a company. You don’t want revenge. That doesn’t make you any money. No, you need me to make you Metal Gear and that’s the one thing I can take from you. So I’m going to wipe my hard drive, scrub the cloud of anything Metal Gear. Then I’m going to put a gun in my mouth because I don’t want to give you mother fuckers the satisfaction.
It’s my Metal Gear and I’ll destroy it if I want to.