I sexually identify as Sam Fisher. Ever since I first played Splinter Cell, I knew I wasn’t like other kids. While they were busy making friends and going outside, I was crouching in shadows, interrogating terrorists in the bathroom, and arguing with my "friends" over secure military comms.

People say walking around in a skintight sneaking suit with three glowing green lights on your forehead is “weird” or “highly visible,” but that’s just because they lack Fourth Echelon discipline. I don’t “walk” places — I shimmy along pipes and roll into cover like a middle-aged ninja with spinal issues.

I sleep hanging upside-down in vents. My love language is non-lethal takedowns. My ringtone is the sound of a suppressed SC-20K. If you flash a laser pointer near me, I will neutralize you in under 3 seconds and whisper something gravelly about national security into your ear as you black out.

Big Boss? Please. He runs around in open desert bases playing anime cowboy. I sneak through an embassy’s HVAC system, steal your launch codes, and ghost out before your security finishes their coffee. Metal Gear pilots giant robots — I am the reason robots need guards in the first place.

So please, respect my identity. Call me Fisher. Don’t speak unless you’ve rerouted three power grids without being seen, and always remember: I am the darkness. I am the shadows. I am the reason your motion sensor’s having a panic attack.