Snake plugs the device into his ear. A dusty, compressed beat drops—a loop of helicopter rotors and gunfire syncopated to a wobbling 808.
"Otacon sent it," Dez grunts, wiping rain off his goggles. "Says it's a 'psychological operations file.' Codec's too risky."
"...So you liked the hook?"
"This is good... isn't it?"
Then, a voice. Not Otacon's. Not Campbell's. mgs4 rap file
"What? Why?"
Beat. The rapper comes back one last time: Snake plugs the device into his ear
Snake pulls the earbud out. He looks at the MP3 player. He looks at the rain-streaked window.
"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." "Says it's a 'psychological operations file