Snake stumbled into a clearing where the earth wept. A commandant’s voice boomed, "Disinfection showers, nothing more." Prisoners shuffled, eyes hollow, toward a concrete block camouflaged by overgrown thorns. The commandant’s laughter echoed: "Even the rats don’t see the truth."

Here, the gas chambers hid behind false foliage, their vents disguised as ivy-clad pillars 28. Zyklon B crystals hissed through ducts, a perverse mimicry of jungle rain. Snake’s vision fractured—memories of The Boss’ betrayal intertwined with SS officers barking orders. "Why can I see this?" he gasped.

A child’s hand thrust a crumpled note into his palm: