Metal Gear Rising 1 Apr 2026

“Then they picked the wrong world.”

She landed silently. Cocked her head. Spoke in a child’s whisper.

“Grey Circuit,” he repeated. “Another ghost from the war economy.”

He hadn't drawn his HF Blade.

“Doctor,” Raiden said, voice flat. “Tell me this isn't what I think it is.”

Raiden allowed a smile — sharp, joyless, wolfish.

Not once.

Raiden stood. The ship groaned beneath him, tilting further. Somewhere below deck, secondary reactors were going critical.

Raiden stood on the hull of a sinking rogue PMC carrier, one foot planted on a shredded radar dish, the other on the head of a dismantled Gekko. Its hydraulic fluid bled black into the waves below. Behind him, smoke rose from the ship’s bridge in thick, oily ribbons. Before him — thirty meters of steel deck littered with sparking limbs, severed armor plating, and the twitching remains of a dozen UG graded combat drones.

Raiden lunged.

“Let’s dance, Jack the Ripper.”

He didn’t look back.