DT 2022: Small Village

This is a parody short story based on Metal Gear Solid V, please disregard even bothering to read this.
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Merlin sat across from the overcooked-and-mummified Naval Intelligence officer dressed in an obnoxiously well-tailored suit and tie with apparently well kept coattails. It was just the Spartan, a zoned out driver, and the ugly-mangy face in the HuCiv ONI contract vehicle. And the New England fields of unripe corn stalks in Spring passing without excitement or change, offering little to Merlin to avoid staring at the petrified gray skin that barely hung onto the cranium of an officer who apparently won "Best Dressed" at his office parties at least ten times in a row at this point.
He introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander Markko Kallus, but insisted for people to refer to him as the "Boogeyman." Merlin wasn't sure why he was here, and continued to ask himself why he got into the truck to go on a cross-country drive with the most awkward personality in the Spartan's entirely short career thus far.
It was very quiet in the truck cabin. Andra, his best friend, sent him a mental message over neura lace communications to goad him or something. Maybe he was doing her a favor, or maybe she just wanted to torture Merlin further.
"Just go along with him for now. We're ready to fight if it comes to that. That's our leverage against him - our deterrent. He doesn't want a war on his hands."
Then the Boogeyman spoke with the finesse of brushing teeth with sandpaper.
"Whatever the Navajo told you... it's just one possible solution derived by Cipher. My will is different. I've known you since your time at Langley. I've long been the other side of your coin. 1964, Soviet territory. FOX's first mission. Any mess you made, I was there to clean up. You completed your task - and admirably. The "information" you returned was far more than enough to fill our pockets. With it, our futures became - more or less - set in stone. And then the major came to me with an idea. "Washington doesn't know how to spend money," he said. "I'd like to... redirect it". His goal was an organization dedicated solely - covertly - to supporting America. Cipher. You know the rest. To him, it was mourning - the loss of his friend. Or rather, an act of revenge. On the world, but America most of all.
America is a country of liberty. A meeting of immigrants. Instead of simply assimilating, its citizens live alongside others. Their roots are varied. Diverse. America's never been made up of just one people. But he tried to forge a single consciousness. For it, and from it. The idea that every citizen would use free will to unite behind their country... Unilateralism like that can't be entrusted to any one individual. So the major sought a system which used information, words, to control the "subconscious".
To unite America and the entire world. The major thought this was his friend's will. But I think he never understood what she wanted. Before he ever walked, or cried - even before he was born - his mother tongue was English. He doesn't know the pain of losing his own language. Not yet. He cannot understand her will. I do. I was born in a small village. I was still a child when we were raided by soldiers. Foreign soldiers. Torn from my elders, I was made to speak their language. With each new post, my masters changed, along with the words they made me speak. Words are... peculiar. With each change, I changed too. My thoughts, personality, how I saw right and wrong... War changed me - and not only my visage. Words can kill. I was invaded by words, burrowing and breeding inside me. A philosopher once said, "It is no nation we inhabit, but a language." "Make no mistake, our native tongue is our true fatherland." My fatherland - my truth was stolen from me. And so was my past. All that's left is the future. And mine is revenge. On those who'd leech off the words of their fellow man. This is what I learned from the major. And then it hit me. It was he who should feel my wrath. He and the code he chose as basis for control. Language codes, information codes - beamed all around us - genetic codes spanning history. By controlling the codes, Cipher... Zero intends to unify the world. Codes implanted into our heads, sucking our minds dry as it spreads from one host to the next. A parasite upon the earth. That is what Zero is. As one born into this world, he's afflicted. I hold him responsible for killing my freedom. Killing all traces of my past... Killing any promise of a future... We are all but dead men forced to walk upon this earth. A world reduced to Zero. Cipher plans to use its codes to control the world. They think they can.
And the "mother tongue" of all those codes is English.
The word became flesh. The final parasite.
It knows English. An English strain of the vocal cord parasite.
I will exterminate the English language. With this, I'll rid the world of infestation. All men will breathe free again - reclaim their past, present, and future. This is no ethnic cleanser. It is a "liberator," to free the world from Zero. Let the world be. Sans lingua franca, the world will be torn asunder. And then, it shall be free. People will suffer, of course - a phantom pain. The world will need a new common tongue. A language of nukes. My Metal Gears shall be the thread by which all countries are bound together, in equality. No words will be needed. Every man will be forced to recognize his neighbor. People will swallow their pain. They will link lost hands. And the world will become one. This war is peace.
When the world witnesses Sahelanthropus, the hands of the doomsday clock will roll on, regardless of Zero. Sahelanthropus will take the first giant step into a brave new world. It is the bell with which a world - trodden upon by words - declares its independence."
Merlin appreciated that the man, the Boogeyman, spoke. At some point he worried for the man's lungs and probably super dry throat but he seem to talk just fine. After his conclusion on independence, the Spartan started to count in his head from thirty. Nothing was said in the countdown and Merlin felt satisfied his next action would fit perfectly with what came before.
He got up and stepped towards the cargo truck's back entrance. The view outside along the freeway was quiet and uneventful. No vehicles for a mile at least. Merlin glanced back to the Boogeyman.
"Well, this is my stop."
The Spartan kicked down the door frame with a superhuman kick and threw himself belly-first, out into the mid-morning daylight never to see or understand the conversation ever again.