Snake: In the wake of Shadow Moses, I've learned one vital fact: the most important part of heroism is making bad-assed-ness look effortless. Take, for instance, my casual flick of the cigarette before leaping off the George Washington Bridge.

Snake: (THUD)

Snake: Oof. Uh, I meant to do that.

Ocelot: Ahh, the puppet dances into my clutches. Albeit in a surprisingly clumsy manner.

Otacon: Snake, you're in. Now let's pedantically recap trivial details of our lives for the sake of the audience.

Snake: Yes, definitely. I'd hate for this sequel to fail to uphold the standard set by the first game for stilted, unnatural dialogue.

Otacon: These days, everyone in the world has their very own Metal Gear. Nations, Rotary Clubs, Boy Scout troops, dotcoms, you name it. The Marines are working on a means by which to counteract the spread of Metal Gear by building a bigger Metal Gear. And our job is to embarrass them into stopping.

Snake: I'm sorry, I'm already lost here. Did you say dotcoms have Metal Gears? So, like, people who don't think Amazon's overnight shipping is fast enough can have their order launched instantly by an electromagnetic rail-fired chain gun? And why are we trying to prevent the Marines from combatting widespread nuclear proliferation?

Otacon: We're PHILANTHROPY! We fight Metal Gears! Even the noble Metal Gears that fight other Metal Gears. It's like "Circuit Breaker" from the old Transformers comics, see. She hated all Transformers, even th--

Snake: Forget I asked. Wait. Look, the ship's already been hijacked.

Otacon: Ooh, do you think it's another fringe group with illogical goals and a stupid name in all-caps? Maybe AVALANCHE!

Snake: No, I'd bet Russians, based on the old guy's haircut. Well, that and the furry cap he's wearing with a red star on it. Also, the Russian firearms and helicopters they're using.

Otacon: Wow, you're a real pro, Snake. But I bet you still need me to explain how to shoot your firearms! In excruciating detail!

Snake: I'm a hardened killer and you're a pants-pissing nerd whose idea of combat efficiency is getting an 85% hit ratio or better in Galaga. Fine, whatever, babble away. In the meantime, I'm going to do pull-ups or collect dogtags or something.

Gurlukovich: Olga, be safe.

Olga: But daaaaddy! I want to be a fearsome terrorist too!

Snake: Hands up! Oh geez, put 'em back down. It's 2010. Haven't you European chicks learned about Nair yet?

Olga: This unit is my family! In this country of liberty! I was born a Russian! I will die as something or another! This is a meaningful speech! Pay attention while I'm trying to kill you!

Snake: I have no idea what you're going on about. Here, have some tranquilizers.

Otacon: Hey, Snake, I have a confession.

Snake: Dammit, Otacon, how many times do I have to tell you? Love can grow even on a battlefield, but not between us.

Otacon: No, no, not that. It's that I sent you on a life-or-death mission aboard a terrorist-infested tanker based on an anonymous tip from someone with the same initials as my sister - E.E.

Snake: Oh good, thanks for risking my life on a baseless hunch. Did you check to make sure it wasn't actually an e.e. cummings poem that someone emailed to you?

Otacon: Snake, look out! The terrorists have rigged it so that if someone accidentally walks through this area, the entire ship explodes, everyone dies, and they can't complete their objective.

Snake: So nice to see that we're not the only ones who undertake high-stakes missions without the benefit of common sense.

Ocelot: Sorry about having to kill you in cold blood, random terrorist guy. I just needed to reassert that I really am an evil badass.

Otacon: OK, now it's time to take pictures of Metal Gear and email them to me! These will provide irrefutable evidence that the Marines are up to no good. After all, you couldn't possibly forge digital photos like these!

Dolph: Greetings, men. Welcome to my speech, which has very carefully been crafted to impart maximum information and myraid tantalizing foreshadowing to gamers without relaying any actual spoilers. Now, let's yoga!

Ocelot: I'm claiming this weapon for the Patriots.

Dolph: Well, I know New England hasn't had a championship season in years, but do you really think stealing a nuclear battle tank is going to help?

Ocelot: No, fool, the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo!

Dolph: What? But what use could a line of the Japanese syllabary have for a Metal Gear?

Gurlukovich:' All of this is beside the point, which is that Ocelot doesn't share my dream of reviving Mother Russia to some imaginary former state of glory and power. I hate that! I hate you!

Ocelot: Oh, just shut up and die. In fact, that goes for the rest of you.

'Marines:' OK, so now he's just an old guy with an empty revolver. Should we take him, or just stand around gawking?

Ocelot: You should have taken me before I blew up the ship, fools. Guh? My hand!

Magic Hand: Yo! Snake! Whassup!

Snake: Holy smokes, Metal Gear is being hijacked by Señor Wences!

Magic Hand: No, silly, I'm you! I'm your shadow! Y'know - Liquid Snake. You thought you killed me a dozen times over, yet I manage now to live beyond the grave as a talking skin graft!

Snake: Amazing. This is either an exciting new frontier in science, or a landmark event for stupidity.

Metal Gear: ROAR

Marines: AAUGH!

Metal Gear: ROAR

Marines: AIIIEEE!

Metal Gear: ROAR

Marines: NOOO!

Metal Gear: ROAR

Marines: (Glub, glub)!

Metal Gear: ROAR

Snake: Is this wanton destruction going to last much longer? I've got a plot to advance, there.

Magic Hand: You're old and weak! Suck seawater, loser!

Snake: (Glub, glub).

Magic Hand: Ha ha! Since you weren't able to beat me with a handgun while I commanded the most powerful weapon on earth, you're clearly inferior to me. Those other dozen times you've beaten me were just practice, see.

Ocelot: Hello, nefarious behind-the-scenes manipulator whose name shall go unspoken until the plot dictates? Our plan is working out perfectly. Except for the part where my hand took over my soul and taunted Solid Snake for what seemed like hours. But, eh, details.