Stillman: Well, just one bomb left for each of you guys. You already know my entire life story, so now I guess it's time for my shocking revelation.

Plisken:Huh, just like old times.

Raiden: OK, fine. Lay it on us, gimpy.

Stillman: That's precisely it! I'm not really crippled! I've been fooling you all this time - for five years, I've been living a lie, pretending I had my leg blown off. I even managed to trick family, and my doctors. But I didn't lose my leg, really. Oh, how deep is my shame, how bitter the knowledge that --

Plisken: Thank god this is the last bomb. Now we can go home and not have to listen to this guy's blather anymore.

Stillman: No, wait, it's a trap!

Plisken: I don't suppose you could have mentioned that about five seconds sooner, huh? It's up to you now, junior.

Raiden: Me? But I'm allergic to suicidal courage.

Stillman: Don't worry, I'll talk you through this with my last dying moments.

Raiden: Say, wouldn't you be better off spending these last few seconds of the countdown by defusing the bomb instead of just talking about defusing it?

Bomb: BOMB!

Raiden: Sniff... he was the best self-pitying old guy I ever knew. Oh well, back to business.

Colonel: Nice going, Raiden. We're certainly lucky that a talentless rank amateur was able to succeed where the master of explosive ordinance disposal failed.

Fortune: My name is Helena Jackson. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

Raiden: Uh, if you say so.

Fortune: Hey, you're not That Guy To Whom I Must Refer With Pronouns For Purposes Of Plot Ambiguity! Better kill me quick, or I'll revert to bad goth poet mode.

Raiden: Egad! Suck lead, witch!

Fortune: Deaths. I die a thousand of them. All in my mind, for my body can never die. Oh, to bathe in a lake of burning fire to sear my flesh from my bones!

Raiden: Colonel, please, make her stop. Is there some sort of second controller trick I can use here?

Colonel: Sorry, Raiden, it looks like you're stuck listening to this crap until the elevator comes down. Incidentally, you also have 400 seconds until Fatman blows up the entire facility.

Vamp: My turn! Strange, I don't remember my forehead coming with ventilation as standard issue.

Fortune: Oh miserable woe! Curséd am I, whom death follows as a loyal handmaiden - walking a step behind, embracing all around me, but never sharing with me the sweet release of her touch.

Raiden: You just keep go right ahead with your poetic self and your dead lover. Me, I'm gonna go save the environment from a madman! Captain Planet would be proud.

Fatman: Welcome to your very first true boss battle! I'm sure you're expecting great things after reading all about Solid Snake's endeavors and his amazing showdowns...

Raiden: Yeah! This is gonna rock!

Fatman: ...but instead, you get a clumsy fat guy on roller skates, dropping annoyingly hard-to-spot bombs and talking to seagulls. Laugh, and grow fat!

Raiden: What, is that supposed to be your catchphrase? Like "Live long and prosper" or something? Because it sucks.

Fatman: Ugh, I die.

Raiden: Hey, aren't you going to tell me your life story now? Or explain a few tantalizing tidbits of the overall plot? Or something?

Fatman: No, but I'll let you do a crevice search on me to find a few pounds of plastique.

Ninja: That reminds me of an urban legend I once heard about a fat woman who died, and when they did an autopsy on her they found perfectly-preserved Twinkies under the rolls of her fat. Here, have a cell phone, so I can share more great anecdotes like this with you.

Raiden: Oh good, this 1998-vintage phone will certainly be a vast improvement over that clumsy, outdated Codec technology we both use. You're Mr. X, I presume?

Ninja: Sure... right. Mister X. I bring you no real information or revelations, merely a message from the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo.

Raiden: What? You mean that song the Smurfs sing?

Ninja: Look, stop trying to think for yourself. The terrorists have a nuclear bomb and they're killing hostages. So go stop them, puppet boy.

P.S., Metal Gear.

Colonel: We have no reason to believe anything this suspicious character tells us, and no clue to his motives. So I vote we do exactly as he says!

Rose: Hey Jack, it turns out Solid Snake is dead, and someone chopped off his right arm. Probably because they were lonely and needed a magic hand to talk to.

Raiden: Well, at least we can count on Plisken!

Colonel: Do not rely on that man.

Raiden: Do you have something against him?

Colonel: I did not have relations with that man.

Raiden: Colonel, is there a problem?

Colonel: Define "is."

Raiden: Hello. My magical sound detector which filters out everything except heartbeats and important conversations tells me that you're Mr. Ames.

Ames: And my powers of observation tell me that you're an ignorant putz. Nice to meet you!

Ocelot: Boss, we've hired a bunch of unpredictable lunatics. Also, there's a femme-boy wearing disturbingly tight clothing sneaking around.

Boss: I know. But the most important thing to take away from this conversation is that I'm another ninny obsessed with creating "Outer Heaven."

Raiden: Hmm... this situation seems oddly familiar.

Ames: Raiden, here's the big secret you've been dying to know about this whole affair. Lean closer and I'll -- ungh! Heart attack!

Raiden: OK, this is really starting to give me deja vu.

Ninja: Hi Ocelot, I've come for your arm! Raiden, you stop standing around like a slack-jawed moron and run.

Raiden: That totally clenches it - I've already played this game. Someone must have accidentally given me a copy of Metal Gear Solid instead of its sequel.