Faced with Duncan's question, John did not look surprised in the slightest. Compared to the complete Metal Gear saga that had evolved over nearly thirty years in his dream memories, what he had released so far was merely Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain alongside a single companion comic. There was still an enormous amount of lore, history, and hidden narrative left untouched.
Moreover, the Metal Gear series itself had never been a straightforward story. Its timeline was fragmented, layered with conspiracies and shifting perspectives. Different Snakes, different bosses, different ideologies, it was intentionally confusing at times.
"Villain? Who exactly is the villain?" John leaned back slightly and looked at Duncan with a faint smile. "Skull Face? Eli? Miller? Or maybe BIG BOSS himself?"
Duncan instantly froze. Wait… wasn't he the one asking the questions here? Why was the question suddenly being thrown back at him? He hadn't developed the game, so how was he supposed to answer that?
Fortunately for him, John did not leave the silence hanging for too long before continuing on his own.
"In reality, the Metal Gear series isn't just anti-war," John said. "Inheritance is one of its core themes as well. Every character carries their own beliefs and pain. The entire story is wrapped in layers of deception, political manipulation, and personal tragedy. There's rarely a true distinction between justice and evil. In the end, there are only winners and losers."
He paused briefly. "And sometimes, even the truth itself no longer matters. What matters is whether someone can continue living while holding onto their beliefs. Miller, BIG BOSS, The Boss, Paz, Skull Face… every so-called hero or villain has their own standpoint and their own reasons."
"For example, Skull Face wanted to spread biological weapons and nuclear deterrence across the world. To outsiders, he looked like nothing more than a madman. But those people never lost what he lost, nor did they experience the same phantom pain he carried."
"The real BIG BOSS also suffered from his own phantom pain. Back when he was still a loyal patriot, he was ordered to personally kill his mentor. That act earned him the title of BIG BOSS, but it also shattered something inside him. That pain never disappeared."
"Just like Skull Face, he eventually tried to create a paradise for soldiers, an army without borders. That was his way of resisting the pain." John's tone remained calm, but every sentence carried an unusual weight.
"War destroyed them, so they came to hate war itself. Yet at the same time, they could never truly escape it. They each tried to change the world in their own way, hoping to silence the phantom pain haunting them. Miller's phantom pain was Skull Face. But revenge alone could never cure it. Once Skull Face died, that hatred simply shifted toward BIG BOSS instead."
"And Venom Snake…" John smiled faintly. "The moment he was forced to kill the comrades who once fought beside him, he had already become a new BIG BOSS. Because by then, he too possessed his own phantom pain."
As John explained the deeper themes behind Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain, Duncan's expression constantly shifted. At times, he looked as though he had suddenly achieved enlightenment.
At other moments, he appeared completely stunned. The emotional changes on his face perfectly resembled those of an obsessed, die-hard fan hearing hidden lore revealed for the first time. But the truth was far less glamorous.
Although Duncan had completed Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain and spent dozens of hours in it, he had basically treated the game as a pure military sandbox. Sneaking around with high ratings? Impossible. That word simply did not exist in his dictionary.
His entire playthrough consisted of calling in supply drops, driving tanks directly into enemy positions, planting mines everywhere, and turning every mission into a battlefield.
As for the deeper narrative, symbolism, and philosophical themes? He had barely paid attention. After all, he was only responsible for reviewing articles, not writing them personally. During gameplay, his attention had mostly been focused elsewhere. More specifically, on Quiet, especially her stockings.
Of course, there was absolutely no way he could admit that out loud. So after displaying the full extent of his professional acting skills and pretending to deeply understand everything John had said, Duncan decisively changed the topic to something safer and more explosive.
"General John," Duncan quickly asked, "the cinematic presentation in Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain feels completely different from traditional games. Even compared to Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes, the camera work and cutscene direction are on another level. I heard you even spent time studying film directing professionally?"
"Actually, a large portion of the cutscenes and CG sequences were produced by Mr. Koch," John replied with a nod. "As for directing, I wouldn't say I studied it professionally. It's more than I felt developers should at least understand the fundamentals."
"You don't necessarily need to become a real movie director, but understanding cinematography, framing, pacing, and visual storytelling helps tremendously when communicating with the team. More importantly, it helps us create the exact feeling we want players to experience."
From there, John smoothly transitioned into discussing the artistic differences between games and films, cinematic language in interactive media, and even his thoughts on the future evolution of game storytelling.
Naturally, all of these ideas originated from the countless classic games stored within his dream memories. If the person talking with John right now had been Steven instead of Duncan, the two of them probably could have talked endlessly for hours.
Unfortunately for Duncan, he barely understood half of what John was saying. Yet he still had to maintain an attentive expression while pretending to follow along. Interrupting would be rude, and not interrupting was torture.
At that moment, Luna, who had been quietly observing from the side, clearly noticed Duncan's growing distress. She gently coughed before smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere.
"Would you be interested in touring our studio?" she asked with a smile.
The moment those words entered his ears, Duncan felt as though a drowning man had suddenly grabbed onto a lifeline.
"Yes! Absolutely!" he answered almost instantly.
His reply came out so quickly that it sounded like he had rehearsed it beforehand. He was genuinely afraid the topic might somehow drift back toward cinematic theory if he hesitated even a second longer.
Meanwhile, John looked slightly disappointed after being interrupted. There was a certain satisfaction in passionately explaining complicated concepts to someone who clearly understood nothing. Especially when that person still had to maintain a serious expression, nod thoughtfully, and occasionally reveal looks of shock and enlightenment. It was surprisingly enjoyable.
John had clearly discovered that pleasure today. Did Duncan truly understand any of it? Of course not. But that hardly mattered; John had never expected him to understand in the first place. He simply wanted someone to listen.
While Duncan continued conducting his exclusive interviews with the various members of the development team, the entire gaming industry had already turned its attention toward the newly launched online mode of Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain. Players everywhere were overflowing with excitement.
However, many professionals within the gaming industry sensed something rather strange, especially those involved in online operations and live-service systems. The online mode of Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain felt… unexpectedly low-profile.
Compared to PixelPioneers Games' previous titles, whether it was The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, Resident Evil 2, or even Red Alert, the company had always attached enormous importance to online functionality and long-term operations.
Yet this time, "Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain" seemed different. Far fewer resources appeared to have been invested in its multiplayer systems.
To industry insiders, the entire mode gave off an oddly neglected feeling. It did not merely feel unsupported; it felt as though it had been dragged straight out of a scrapyard and casually patched together. Countless people within the industry quietly discussed the issue in private.
Still, ordinary players did not care about any of that. For them, the online mode had only just launched, and every mechanic still felt fresh and unfamiliar. And unfamiliarity itself was often the source of excitement.
Most multiplayer games were at their most entertaining when nobody fully understood the optimal strategies yet. Once every tactic became standardized and every player learned the routines, the magic inevitably faded.
At this stage, however, the online mode of Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain was still in its golden period. To many, it genuinely felt so addictive that they could play it forever.