Then, a voice. Not Otacon's. Not Campbell's.
"Octo-camo on my back, blendin' with the sorrow / Drebin says 'buy more,' I tell him, 'borrow, borrow, borrow' / Raiden rollin' with a sword, no jaw, all edge / I'm old, I'm gray, one more cigarette on the ledge."
It's his voice, but chopped and screwed.
"This is good... isn't it?"
Snake lights a cigarette. The smoke curls toward a cracked ceiling. "Because if I go into that microwave tunnel humming that beat, I'm gonna laugh. And if I laugh, I die."
Silence.
"Snake? Snake! SNAAAAAKE!"
He keys his codec. "Otacon."
The second verse kicks in, faster.
"Delete it."
Long pause.
"Dead-cell in my bloodstream, nanomachines hummin' / CQC with a ghost, feelin' numb from the come-up / Drebin poppin' pills, givin' monkeys the heater / Snake? Snake? SNAKE? Nah, call me the repeater."