Kali Demolished

Chapter 1

This is me “Alex Thornfield”, A shitty slave in a famous pharmaceutical com-

pany, but things Are more Than that “Dorcy, that’s what I’d name my cere-

bral accomplice if I had to. She possesses an alluring beauty. Nearby, Oliver

stands beside the notorious terrorist, adorned in his white-gray textured coat

and copper- coated Necklace, an embodiment of undeniable allure. In a heart-

stopping moment, the barrel of a gun is pressed firmly against the prominent

figure of President Noah. Dorcy, also known as the enigmatic Asmodeus, yeah

I mean really it is, a fact she is a fucking bitch Witch, taunts, ‘We are immortal

now, darling.’ She is calling me darling because I’m her hubby fromm Dimension

5454 like happens in comics, fast forward,It hits me!  I’m nothing more than 

a puppet in this Macabre play. I close my eyes, plunging the scene into darkness,

and in a hushed tone, I begin to chant, ‘Please save me, Jesus.’ All I sense is the

dwindling euphoria, while my cortisol levels surge relentlessly. With my eyes

slowly opening, I retort, ‘Dorcy, you’re a formidable adversary.’ A ‘battleaxe,’

some might Say, a witch, a necromancer. Our surroundings are grim, encircled

by countless terrorists. It seems we’re in the White House, the Epicenter of

power. All I yearn for is the reduction of metal oxide, accomplished through V

arious methods

Such as HMR or thermite reduction. These metals are a government cash

cow, their impurities Meticulously eradicated. I know this because I specialize

in inorganic chemistry. It’s a remarkable knowledge, Though not Particularly

beneficial at this moment. Here I am, bound to a chair by the intractable hair

of Rangdra, an Indonesian witch. Her hair is coarse and resilient. My hand

clutches the gun aimed at Noah, the President Of the United States. The scene

unfolds in this opulent chamber of white, adorned with unbreakable marble

gleaming like the Stars. Do I appreciate its beauty? Not one bit. All I desire

is 200 mm Hg of morphine and an 8% w/w Cough syrup; I have an affinity for

cough syrup. Amidst the White House’s grandeur, I can hear the roar of flames

outside. ‘Where’s Astroroth?’ I inquire. Oliver, with a callous tone, responds,

‘In your uterine depths, kill him now.’ It’s revolting, But in this Chaos, there’s

no room for disgust.”

Dorcy tilted her head at a sharp 45-degree angle, her expression filled with acute

anger. Her lips, with Their average muscular definition, displayed a captivating

black and red combination that Seemed to meld Into a mesmerizing shade of

brown. This peculiar hue stirred within me a ritualistic Fascination. Describing

Dorcy’s appearance is a straightforward task; she possesses a rectangular face

Framed by large,

Stunning round eyes. She embodies an intoxicating allure. In stark contrast, I

find myself More akin to a Catalyst in a chemical reaction, neither the reactant

nor the final product. What I truly am is an agent, a promoter, approaching

them in pursuit of a simpler

life. Obwueurestys ide, atop the White House, the modern, intricately designed

desperados Bringing to life a Carefully orchestrated project known as “Titan

Episcopal Occultist.” If you’re curious about becoming an occultist, it’s as

simple as sending an email to [e-mail]. Once you submit

your proposal, they will assess your candidacy by sending a

detailed Package plan Attached as a PDF file. It’s worth noting that this file is

locked for protection. Upon acceptance and electronic signature of the contract,

they will reward you with your Initial payment Of 100 million dollars, freshly

created by a unique process involving alcohol soaking and UV radiation.

I possess this knowledge because I am an occultist. My connection to this world

lies in the meticulous alignment of Mercury within my zodiac Sign, Specially in

the Revati Nakshatra Pada 2. In Indian astrology, a “pada” is a significant term.

India boasts a Rich tradition of black magic and astrology, yet it’s puzzling to

see the pervasive influence Of Western Culture.

In my Pisces sign, Mercury holds a distinct place, akin to a Pisces ,that must

continually swim. If it ceases to Move, it risks losing its physical form, allowing

its soul to escape.

Similarly, my passion lies in the creation of potent drugs from opium poppy

latex. It Possesses a narcotic Finesse that evokes primary emotional and psy-

chological stimulations within me. When Oliver, consumed By anger, strikes

me forcefully with his metal stick, the impact resonates as a reminder that I am

not Responsible for the fate of President Mr. Noah. This ritual is unmistakably

steeped in Satanic symbolism. It’s important to note that the appeal of such

rituals extends beyond mere belief; it has its Source in Atheistic origins. Black

magic, often misunderstood as supernatural, is, in fact, an exercise Rooted in

human Nature, a means to attain gratification akin to meditation. I can attest

to its effectiveness, for I have Witnessed it through my own experiences, guided

by the ever-present “Dorcy.” I am but Her ammonium, And her distinctive

rectangular visage never fails to captivate me, even as I confront the Reality of

my Existence as a gall bladder with In a jaundiced liver.

Chapter 2

As a pharmaceutical worker, I found myself facing certain limitations, par-

ticularly in terms Of the Medications I could safely use. Many of the drugs I

worked with contained estrogen, which Presented Complications for me. My

close friend, Auden, a doctor at a nearby hospital, often Provided me with

Valuable advice. Instead of encouraging me to take a particular capsule called

“Estrenuidian D80,” he Sternly warned against it, asking me, “Do you want to

develop as a fem boy? The thought of having a more pronounced chest did

intrigue me, but I wasn’t prepared to Deal with such Side effects just yet. I

replied, “Not particularly,” to which Dr. Auden nodded in approval. What Au-

den Experienced was a sense of premature wisdom, while my own struggle was

more in the Realm of premature Ejaculation, partly owing to my use of Viagra.

One day, I mustered the courage to approach Dr. Auden again, this time with

a different concern. I Confessed, “I believe I’m infertile, and I desperately want

to restore my sperm motility. I dream of having Children to carry on my ge-

netic legacy.” It was moments like these that made me regret not paying closer

attention in my high School biology Classes.

Once more, Dr. Auden appeared somewhat repulsed by my plight. He handed

me a piece of paper and Asked, “How did you come to the conclusion that you’re

infertile?” I replied, somewhat embarrassed, “Whenever I attempt to mastur-

bate, my sperm exits with surprising speed.” Auden let out a deep breath,

Relieving the tension that had built up in his throat, and reassured me, “That

doesn’t necessarily mean You’re infertile, my friend. Stop using Viagra exces-

sively, and reduce your consumption of explicit Content. It’s a straightforward

issue that can be addressed.” stirs a noticeable Reaction within Me! “So, how can I overcome my addiction

to pornography?” I inquired earnestly. The doctor offered a spiritual remedy,

suggesting, “Engage in yoga and meditation, and Seek alternative Sources of

dopamine satisfaction.” By profession, I am a coal miner, tethered to the earth’s

ancient bounty of ores and Minerals, as if it were My destiny since the inception

of the universe itself. Within the confides of my workplace, I hold the title of

a chemist, specializing in the Creation of Pharmaceuticals. It’s important to

clarify that I am a creator, not a mere purveyor. What I’ve been working on

involves a combination of soluble sulfur and zinc in

equal Parts, comprising 15% w/w of the formula. This amalgamation yields a

cream with a remarkable affect ,an Inclination to Appreciate the beauty of brown

complexions, primarily designed for brown-skinned Individuals. However, Even

those with fair skin can use it to adopt a sun-kissed glow, which often proves to

be

Quite appealing to Handsome suitors. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Alex

Thornfield, currently 27 years of age. I have a penchant for Cough syrups, light

medications, and drugs with modest amounts of paracetamol, often Seeking the

Euphoria they offer. Fast forward to the present, our company has unveiled

a remarkable product known as “Hazel Copper.” My team, in particular, is

responsible for developing the brown complexion variant of this unique skin

Cream. It involves a meticulous process that includes the use of sulfur oxides

and reduced zinc, achieved Through ultra- pure electrolysis and froth flotation

techniques. Now, let’s delve into the key ingredients that make “Hazel Copper”

the secret to achieving a sensual and Radiant visage. Our cream comprises

water (aqua), light kaolin, 70% sorbitol solution, glycerin derived From fats and

lipids, synthetic zinc carbonate, sulfur oxides, and, crucially, ingredients like

brown cocaine And persimmons extract, known for their natural and allergy-

free properties. These components come Together harmoniously in our exquisite

cream, designed to enhance the allure of your complexion.

According to the regulations of the GMA (Generic Medicine Association), phar-

maceutical Companies Often employ rats for their testing procedures. But what

has always intrigued me is how They would ever Go about testing a product

like “Hazard Copper” cream on animals , it’s a perpetual Mystery that piques

My curiosity.

People frequently pose a simple yet enigmatic question to me, time and time

again: “How Do you create Medicines and drugs?” To which my response re-

mains rather straightforward: “I don’t Actually Manufacture any medications.”

Now, allow me to invite you into my modest abode. It’s nothing extravagant,

just a snug Compartment in Colony 27, adorned with everlasting tiles, evok-

ing a sense of eternal comfort. As you might expect from someone’s library, it

typically houses a collection of novels Spanning various Genres crime, fiction,

romance, and sometimes even erotica. However, my library paints a Different

Picture altogether. It’s brimming with cough syrups and an assortment of light-

hearted Drugs, roughly 70 to 60% of which I’ve personally concocted. A curious

This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life, so sweet that it observer might interject, “But aren’t you a drug maker?” To that, I would clar-

ify, “No, what I am is a pharmaceutical laborer, a slave of sorts.” With a

bottle of cough syrup retrieved from my unconventional library, I proceeded

to Unscrew the cap And took two sips. The experience was, as always, quite

satisfying. What followed was a simple routine all I had to do was surrender

to slumber. During my Holidays, I Could easily sleep for a full 24 hours, while

on regular days, I indulged in a modest 12-hour Rest. My Doctor, however, of-

ten cautioned against excessive sleep, citing the risk of hemorrhage. But, deep

down, I Yearned for that very experience to understand the sensation of blood

coursing through those tightly

Bound veins within my cerebrum.

Allow me to introduce myself; I am Alex Thornfield, currently 27 years of age.

My daily routine is a rather simple attire. I greet the serene mornings around

9:30 am, though I Acknowledge it’s a tad late compared to the typical office-

goers. You see, my work hours in the Pharmaceutical company exist in a realm

entirely of their own.

Upon the return of my soul to its physical vessel, I begin my day with two sips

of a peculiar Syrup known As “GREEK.” It comprises 10 milliliters of aqua,

bearing a unique blend of blue and sky Blue hues, with a Molar mass of 10%.

What lends this syrup its distinctive character is the presence of erythroxylum

coca, Derived from the coca Plant. Its effect is nothing short of euphoric, cat-

apulting your euphoria to new heights. As Euphoria soars, Dopamine surges,

and an overwhelming motivation engulfs you, urging you to embrace Your role

in this Intricate tapestry of intertwined beings, both human and animal. The

magic unfolds within the intricate network of your brain neurons a chemical

Transmission of Unparalleled complexity. At its heart lies the transporter pro-

tein, responsible for the Measured uptake of Dopamine, a pivotal player in your

brain’s coordination. When you ingest this syrup, the soldiers of GREEK Syrup

lay siege to the transporter Protein, obstructing Its path and causing the depo-

larization of sodium ions. This phenomenon unfolds in a

Space known as the Synaptic cleft. Now, how do I come by such esoteric knowl-

edge, you may wonder? It was bestowed upon Me through a PDF file titled

“EPISCOPAL BABE 43,” a generous gift from Dorcy on April 24, 2024. Ad-

mittedly, we Find ourselves in 2023 at present. But she is my wife from year

2006! Following this peculiar morning ritual, I proceed to the shower, where the

embrace of Water reinforces my Connection to this world. It imbues me with a

sense of belonging, grounding me as a being In this age, Akin to those who once

adorned the stone age with their cave paintings. As part of my daily routine,

I often indulge in smack injection intravenous drugs, to be precise. These Are

Usually sourced from a rather unconventional establishment known as CLUB

ZEOLITE. My Predilection leans towards substances that encompass a rich

tapestry of elements and metals the air with Intriguing odors. Smack, though

odorless and bitter, its place in my regimen as an apt source. Lastly, I conclude

my morning with the consumption of 200 milligrams of deep green capsules. These Capsules are far from verdant but are infused with codeine methylmor-

phine, a compound derived from the Alchemical transformation of morphine in

a chemistry laboratory. Codeine is often found In the cough Syrups you might

have encountered, albeit in smaller quantities. My appetite for this substance,

however, Calls for a higher dosage 70% higher. Thus, I either modify existing

cough syrups or Acquire these Emerald capsules to satiate my cravings.

In the midst of our fascination with the enchanting fragrance of Oenothera

Lamarckian, a Scent that can Captivate your senses when you apply the cream

to your palm’s epithelia, Jason delivers Somber news about Trixie. She’s been

conspicuously absent for the past five days a conspicuous absence, given That

Trixie is An essential part of the testing agency at my pharmaceutical company.

Trixie, you see, is not just a colleague but a friend. I can’t help but ponder

whether the Cause of her Absence could be linked to the turmoil caused by her

husband’s extramarital affair. You might wonder how I know about Trixie’s

marital status. Well, it’s a rather ordinary Thing to know, as She concluded

in me. You see, when you employ renowned plugins of chat GPT to create

AI images And select an image of a stunning girl with sky-blue neon hair, the

plugin generously Provides you with An image of none other than Trixie. It’s

very sad, how fate allows such tragedies to unfold, isn’t it? How could a divine

force Permit her demise? The anime I’m referring to, in essence, should bear a

semblance to a manga and hentai an Intricate tale,filled with Twists and turns.

While Jason grapples with the heaviness of Trixie’s absence, a weight that strikes

him more Profoundly Than it does me, my thoughts drift elsewhere toward

the intriguing mutation that Hugo de Vries induced In Oenothera Lamarckian,

a marvel of accelerated evolution. It’s truly fascinating how Hugo de Vries

triumphed over Darwin across various facets of evolution. Equally Captivating is

the theory of germplasm, which reshaped our understanding of cellular mutation,

Specifically Asserting that somatic cells remain impervious to change. This

notion was put to the test in a laboratory Experiment involving rats.

The question arises: Why do we so often choose rats for such experiments? In

the company of Jason, Dorothy, John, and Blake, we found ourselves engrossed

in a Discussion about Trixie, our team’s monitor a , not quite a boss but some-

one who keeps a watchful eye over Us. Our Conversation unfolded within the

confines of an insulator chamber, a space housing Colossal bioreactors And

fermenters. The boss’s untimely entrance proved somewhat disruptive, partic-

ularly For me. You see, I Harbor an infatuation for individuals with a copper

complexion, a preference that diverges From the Conventional admiration for

fair or brown skin. However, it should be noted that my

Regard for Koreans Remains lukewarm at best. As for our boss, he doesn’t

seem to possess any particular affection for fair, copper, or Brown complexions.

What I represent is akin to a sheet ancho a steadfast and unyielding presence,

much like a Block of metal Upon which a blacksmith shapes intricate objects

with skilled blows of a hammer. Our boss’s abrupt interruption prompted him

to deliver a rather curt directive: “Do you all Wish to engage In irrelevant discussions? Focus on your work!” My own focus, however, gravitated Toward

the Perspiration on his ample nose a peculiar fixation, perhaps, but a testament

to the Peculiarities of the Human mind. Jason responded respectfully, “Yes, sir,

but Trixie is no longer with us.” In return, my boss Retorted, “Am I Supposed

to mourn her? Die on her behalf?” In that moment, I felt the amalgamation of

my genetic knowledge, a cascade of thoughts Triggered at Random. The boss’s

crude inquiry followed, “Is she some sort of sex toy to you, Jason?” He Had an

intimate Knowledge of Trixie, and his words dripped with insatiability a hunger

for a sex toy with Alluring curves, Pink, pliable plastic, and an amalgamation

of fat that included sperm and fat, readily available on certain Adult websites.

Chapter 3

I, on the other hand, tended to be quite introverted and reserved in my in-

teractions. Part of The reason for My reticence lies in the alignment of my

astrological houses, with Mercury situated in my 11th house in Conjunction

with Saturn a cosmic arrangement that fosters introversion. My name is Alex

Thornfield and in this complex and intricate matrix, I find myself akin to a male

sex toy. A peculiar twist of fate, often immersed in the sulfurous fumes released

during the floth flotation method.

Suggesting a solution to our boss’s peculiar desires, I casually remarked, “Per-

haps you Should consider Viagra. It triggers the release of nitric oxide in the

Corpus Cavernosum And Corpus Spongiosum, evoking a profound sense of sat-

isfaction a feeling as if your very Hands are the instruments of pleasure.” My

boss’s reaction was swift and incredulous, “What the hell?” For the uninitiated,

the Corpus Cavernosum and Spongiosum are erectile tissues within the Male

genitalia, facilitating vasodilation during ejaculation a nugget of knowledge I

Gleaned, thanks to Oliver. Dorothy intervened, her tone firmly yet compas-

sionate. “Sir, let’s leave Trixie behind. We Won’t discuss her Further.” She

had come to my aid in the aftermath of a catastrophic event. Our boss, as

he Departed, Muttered something in a hushed tone ”something rather peculiar.

“Hirsute Clitoris.”

Dorothy was my steadfast ally, someone who understood me intimately. We had

been College friends, Both pursuing studies in inorganic chemistry. Despite our

shared academic journey, we Both fell short of Becoming doctors; our intelli-

gence simply didn’t align with the rigors of medical practice. The boss’s cryptic

statement, “Hirsute Clitoris,” held a certain intrigue for me. It was a Rather

scientific Utterance. In an article I had perused, it was posited that the clitoris

is a homologous organ To the penis. This led me to ponder: Could administer-

ing testosterone to females potentially induce a Transformation of The clitoris

into a penis? On that very day, I sought the counsel of my friend, Dr. Auden,

framing my inquiry Around “The Clitoris Theory” as espoused by the inorganic

chemist, yours truly, Alex Thornfield. Dr. Auden’s response took an unex-

pected turn. “Have you ever watched WWE’s female Wrestlers?” he Inquired.

I replied affirmatively, recognizing it as a powerful stance against misogyny. He

proceeded to clarify, “Administering testosterone can indeed enlarge the clitoris, 

but it Doesn’t Transform it into a penis. Those WWE wrestlers you mentioned

don’t have penises; they’ve Merely Harnessed their enhanced physical abilities.”

I protested, “I never suggested women can’t fight without a penis!”

Dr. Auden, undeterred, humorously quipped, “Well, you have nictitating mem-

branes in Your eyes; does That make you a fish?” To which I responded, “Par-

ticularly not.” It was then that I couldn’t Help but feel a Touch of Darwinian

influence. With a knowing smile, he offered me some advice, “Perhaps it’s time

to consider reducing Your Consumption of cough syrups, my friend.” My reply

came with a generous grin, “I truly Don’t think so.” I mustered the courage to

ask, “Could you provide me with some enzymes to boost Rich Sperm density?”

My aim was to develop hyperspermia and donate it to help those who suffer from

racial Profiling Discrimination. My doctor’s response was far from sympathetic.

“Just be quiet and leave, okay?” With Those words, my Entire day was shat-

tered. It was midnight, and I found myself alone, engrossed in a YouTube video

on hypnosis Pornography. A Sexologist elucidated how indulging in pornog-

raphy parallels drug addiction, wreaking Havoc on the Parasympathetic and

sympathetic reflex actions of the medulla oblongata. She delved into the in-

tricacies of latex suits worn by the alluring porn stars, explaining Their role

in

Stimulating erectile tissues and hinting at a condition known as body dysmor-

phia. This Sent me spiraling Into a night of extensive research, spurred by my

unresolved clitoral Query and an unsatisfying encounter With my doctor. In

the process, I became an impromptu sexologist hailing from the Hallowed halls

of MIT. Admittedly, I’ve been no stranger to drug use for years, but the revela-

tion about porn’s perils struck a Chord. The sexologist on the YouTube video

emphasized how porn detaches the soul from the body, akin To the devil’s sepa-

ration of soul and body at a precise 99.3° Aries sign—an imagery of tortoise

skin Submerged in molten lava.

This newfound awareness stemmed from my connection with Dorcy, who seem-

ingly held The secrets to Such knowledge. I found solace in exploring these fresh

and thought-provoking theories, distancing myself From the role of A mere in-

organic chemist crafting drugs. But temptation beckoned, and I succumbed to

two sips of “GREEK,” a mere 10 milliliters. I Soon found Myself diving back

into these compelling theories. An hour passed, and the clock struck 1 AM.

Tonight, sleep eluded me, for tomorrow was Sunday a Prospect that excited me.

I resolved to sleep at 2 AM and wake up at the leisurely

hour of 2 PM or 3 PM, Relishing the prospect of indulging in excessive slumber.

I yearned for the cancerous effects of extended rest.

Chapter 4

My search led me to explore “Body Dysmorphia” on Google, which promptly in-

formed me That it was a Condition affecting the brain. Articles elaborated that

individuals grappling with body Dysmorphia often Spend prolonged hours gaz-

ing into mirrors, scrutinizing their own anatomy. Femboys, for Instance, might

Gaze upon their small, pink epithelial organ and lament, “I need to acquire Zeus

Hammer Medicine.” If Such a medicine were available at the marketing com-

pany’s retail stores at a substantial Margin, I could Have procured it. However,

my expertise primarily lies in creating drugs of a different Nature. These symp-

toms predominantly affect men and teenagers grappling with porn addiction,

a Group that Includes Alex Thornfield,the pharmaceutical company slave. At

this moment, I find myself Transformed Into an unlikely professional sexologist

at MIT, meticulously sketching transverse sections Of the female Genitalia.

I awakened, feeling like the harbinger of change, the destroyer of medulla oblon-

gata.

Today was Sunday, and I adhered to my customary routine. At 2:30 p.m., I

began with my favorite

Codeine methylation capsules, followed by sips of Greek syrup. But before I

indulged in The syrup, I Partook in an unusual delicacy a fruit bat soap hailing

from Palau. You might raise an eyebrow, thinking Of the infamous association

between China and raw bats. However, let me clarify.

”I’m a committed vegan, Subsisting solely on plant-based foods. Plants contain

all the essential amino acids, though One might Occasionally grapple with a

vitamin B12 deficiency. To prepare the fruit bat soap, one must immerse the

whole bat in a sizable pot of water and Simmer it for a Good 120 minutes until

the bat’s skin becomes tender. Then, remove the water and add Coconut milk

with A pinch of salt perhaps a hint of cocaine if one happens to be a deviant like

myself. Continue cooking for An additional 10 minutes… The result? Delightful,

utterly exquisite! I had become a maestro, the sovereign of fruit bats, in that

culinary moment. Occasionally, I’d include a tomato filled with injections of the

intravenous drugs I had Pilfered from “Club Zeolite.” After savoring my peculiar

meal, I dressed in my finest attire: a stunning black coat, a crisp White shirt

Neatly tucked into my $200 black pants, and a gleaming metallic belt crafted

from copper,

Gleaned from The byproducts of electrolysis refining for Ultra Pure metals.

With purpose in my stride, I decided to pay a visit to a museum of particu-

lar interest, each Step magnified By my anticipation. And there, amidst the

exhibits, I encountered a statue of a patron Sinner deity ,an Enigmatic figure

known as “Baphomet.” My knowledge of this deity was limited, but his visage

left an indelible mark on my Psyche. As I gazed Upon the intricately designed

statue from “Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie,” which translates to “Dogma

and Ritual of High Magic,” I was drawn to its symbolism. Baphomet, a goat

deity worshipped by Satanists, held a unique weapon ,a crescent moon in his lap.

Two young children, a boy and a girl of Around five years old, nestled beside

him. In the center of the crescent moon, a sword bore two entwined Snakes.

Baphomet’s countenance appeared both formidable and serene. The goat-like

face held a significant that Resonated deep within my brain. It was as if I shared

a connection with this enigmatic entity. I couldn’t Help but see a reflection of

myself in Baphomet’s adoration of those children. The goat- faced deity felt Oddly familiar, almost as if I could see myself in his image. Indeed, if you were

to take his goat-like visage And instruct a Chat GPT artificial image generating

AI to transform it into a human face, you would find The face of Alex Thornfield

staring back at you. My fatigue prompted me to exit the museum’s embrace. My

gut parasites were feeling uneasy, perhaps Uncomfortable watching me mimic

Baphomet. Dorcy had a fascination with him, and this was likely the

4 Reason she longed to do more than just kiss my nitrogen-containing lips when

I was busy concocting Hazard Copper.

But, what else do you think Dorcy had in mind?

“When you sigh, it’s not just air you exhale, But you steal my soul away. When

you weep, unkindly kindle, My life’s essence starts to decay.”

Similar to the organic matter produced during my experiments with biofertiliz-

ing sperm For hypospermia, The nucleus of the tail axon mitochondria shifted

in and out, following the same pattern as it does in Chimpanzee’s 46th chro-

mosome, much like it does in humans. What I’m feeling is azoospermia, the

emptiness in my Corpus cavernosum and Spongiosum. Mitochondria, the pow-

erhouse of the cell, The only biology I know well.

With Baphomet’s image still lingering in my mind, I returned home, my

thoughts consumed by an Inexplicable craving for this deity. Near my doorstep,

a small 15 CM cardboard box Awaited me. It Contained a medical product

I had purchased on the dark web the previous Night, while I was lost in the

World of body dysmorphia. Most people spend their time on the surface web,

but I found the dark web oddly Comforting. As a selfprofessed loser and

internet addict of the surface web, I had a

Penchant for watching porn content, using Viagra, and indulging in sex toys.

Yet, what I discovered on the dark web was even more intriguing.

It was an amazing place, a haven for those who, like me, often felt like outcasts.

You see, I Was also a Regular on the surface web, connecting with strangers, and

one of those strangers Happened to be a hot Chick. This is how I met “Dorcy.”

One day, I woke up in the eerie metallic temple of Baphomet, surrounded by

bull and goat Guardians. It Was an exhilarating experience. What I yearned

for was a hot chick who would trade her Nude pictures With me. In return, I

would send her “brown thick cumming 4203274.jpg,” which she could Download

From Findyourmommy.xyz.com ” I swore my friend, Dr. Auden, would have

killed me if he ever Found out, but little did I know how things would soon take

a twisted turn. I hadn’t revealed my true identity on those websites, but Dorcy

had. Her name was Dorcy, and she was 22 years old. She was also known as

Asmodeus! As I engaged in an online chat with her, I remained oblivious to her

true identity. She Initially appeared as A 22-year-old girl, but soon revealed

herself as “Dorcy.”

When she inquired about my name, I decided to play along with a bizarre

response, Claiming I was not a Human but a “DEAD PENIS PARENTOLOGICAL PENIS FOSSIL OF AN ELEPHANT.” Dorcy Seemed undeterred by my

eccentricity and asked if I considered myself “inviolate” or “violate.” I responded

By stating that I was neither. During our conversation, which lasted precisely

1 hour, 43 minutes, and 9 seconds, including 0.7 Milliseconds, Dorcy asked me

about my ascendant sign. I mentioned that I was a Taurus, to which she Re-

vealed herself as a Scorpio. The conversation took an intense turn when Dorcy

claimed that no other Scripture brought as much peace to the heart as Satanism.

My cortisol levels surged, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. My heart

raced as we Delved into this Topic. In an attempt to calm my racing mind, I

reached for my trusty Greek syrup on the Bedside table. However, Dorcy’s next

question gave me pause. She asked, “Wait, you’re a chemist?” I Hesitated but

Confirmed, and she promptly shared a link and exited the chat. Intrigued, I

opened the link in incognito mode on my Chrome browser, finding it led to a

Site with an Unreachable server. Instead, I was greeted by an engaging dinosaur

game, which I played Until I achieved a

Score of 545. Curiosity led me to investigate what the “.onion” domain and IP

address 44.0011 meant. The conclusion Was that it might be a dark web site.

Despite the late hour, I was drawn into exploring further. To gain access, I

had to upload a Rather explicit Image as proof, a requirement that felt oddly

casual in this dark corner of the internet. The site offered an array of unusual

products, including animal skins, human cornea cells, And advanced AR ma-

chines. Additionally, there was mention of a “bidding agent” named “Agent

White Leghorn.” The Cost for hiring him or buying him for a lifetime was a

steep $2000. However, for the Purchase, one needed A “sinner card” that cost

a staggering $1 million. Intriguingly, the website hinted that the President of

Washington D.C., “Mr. Noah,” possessed this elusive card. I’m a auburn haired

barbarian sex toy now! The substance in question is known as Kali, more akin

to an elixir than a conventional Drug. It’s a dark Liquid associated with ar-

cane rituals, and interestingly, the seller, who goes by the name “necromancer,”

Didn’t explicitly label it as a drug but rather a product for certain Satanic rites.

However, Speaking of

Religions, Hinduism has always held a special place in my heart. I placed the

order at night, and remarkably, the product was delivered to my doorstep with

astonishing Speed faster than a premature ejaculation, if you happen to be a

body dysmorphia patient.

Carefully, I set the box down on my table and removed my $200 metallic coat.

Afterward, I Ingested 200 Mg of methylated codeine, preparing myself for the

intriguing unboxing experience that Lay ahead. As I meticulously peeled of

the transparent tape sealing the cardboard box, I was greeted By a scent that

Sent my histamine levels skyrocketing. It was a nauseating odor that made me

feel like I might retch or Release my gut parasites in the bathroom a concoc-

tion of human excrement and bodily fluids. Yes, it was That disgusting, yet

strangely enticing. Imagine taking a glass filling it with a mix of Various bodily

Substances, including sperm, fat, and even feces, and blending it at a leisurely

pace; the result would be this Black substance encased within the polythene

bag inside the box.

My library contained an array of masks, but I chose my trusty oxygen mask,

given the Overwhelming Stench that permeated the surroundings. The drug

lay within the box, resembling solid Charcoal, confined Within a tightly sealed

polythene bag weighing 250 grams. Curiously, I couldn’t fathom why such a

small product needed to be enclosed within such An oversized

Cardboard package. The paper that enveloped the polythene bag had a vintage

texture and Was held Together by yellow tape, bearing peculiar, dried brown

stains that stirred something within Me, Igniting an unexpected response. “Oh

my God, Alex, you’re sweating. No, no, I’m not, No, you’re sweating!” “Shut

the hell up, Alex Thornfield,you stupid bastard. Now, try to kick that pornogra-

phy Habit, you little Bitch boy.” “Sorry, Alex. Okay, yeah, I am Alex Thornfield

,and I am 27 years old.” With the tape now undone, it marked a pivotal moment

in my life. The primary reason for This purchase Was that the seller provided

context for the product, which was intriguing. The description Read: “Pur-

chase and do whatever you desire to achieve. The more of this substance you

Consume, the greater Your likelihood of material success. My material desires

were quite ordinary: 1. Winning at gambling every time. 2. Acquiring the

purest distilled alcohol with maximum ethanol concentration and minimal car-

bon Dioxide. 3.Securing membership with “loaf”,the beef company. Following

the instructions, I took a glass and filled it with water, then added the black

powder. When you Mix equal amounts of solid particles of this product with a

solution, it forms a suspension a knowledge Gleaned from surface chemistry, a

subject familiar to Alex, which I now embodied.

As I sipped the suspension, it felt like swallowing scorching lava. My esophagus,

mouth, And more began To bleed. Despite the agony, I was determined to aston-

ish it. I took the yellow tape and, in A masochistic act, Sealed my mouth with

it. In seconds, everything went dark. It seemed my 24-hour sleep pattern was

insufficient. Upon awakening, I found myself in a world of literature, immersed

in “Ideas That Helped Mankind,” Personified as alphabets. I had transformed

into a savage beast, my intelligence as Ferocious As the wildest Creature. In

this new realm, I opened my eyes to a garden filled with nothing but

red roses, Endless, Vibrant, red roses. Wrapped in a golden coat and sporting

a metallic silver tie, I exhaled, watching

smoke Escape from my Mouth. “Ahh… uhh…” Not the morning, but a surreal

moment filled with crimson smoke and a blurred, reddish Haze. Even the Grass

appeared as a blurry sea of red, adorned with rose leaves. As I plucked a rose

from The ground, I Discovered something unexpected black pollen powder. The

fragrance was surprisingly

Soothing. It Seemed the rose had opened my heart chakra and dismantled the

protein transporter Responsible for Blocking euphoria and dopamine during

neuronal chemical transmissions. Was I in a world of roses or were the roses within my dream? It was undoubtedly no Ordinary dream, but Something else

entirely. Fast forward, I strolled through this unique landscape and stumbled

upon an angel seated On a golden Stone. Though her face remained hidden,

her auburn barbarian-colored hair was striking. She donned a School uniform

”a red metallic, half-shoulder shirt tucked into a blue polka-dotted skirt with

a black tie, While her eyes, stretched corneas, and now-grey irises were wide

open. Her red shirt contrasted beautifully With the sky-blue hue of her wooden

half-shoulder dress.

This was the moment I met Dorcy. “KALI,” she uttered, her words echoing

repeatedly in my mind. “KALI” KALI KALI ….. And just like that, those

words transformed me into a savage beast, as fiereced as any human figure

portrayed In “Ideas That Helped Mankind.”

I was now Bertrand Russell himself. Dorcy’s intense gaze locked onto me, her

black-brown complexion accentuating her slowly

Moving lips. The red fog, formed from an equal mixture of solution and gas,

created an aerosol that Seemed to be Gradually dismantling the transporter

proteins in my neurons.

Chapter 5

The red fog, formed from an equal mixture of solution and gas,

created an aerosol that Seemed to be Gradually dismantling the transporter

proteins in my neurons. Then, as if in a surreal dream, I found myself waking

up in Colony 27, Room 5. An Enigmatic, dense red Carpet lay beneath me,

caressing my spine as I lay on the bed. The time read 3:45 PM, and There

was a cat, The same one from Dragon Ball Z, wandering freely through my

cough syrup library. Sweat trickled Down my brow, and the cat, inquisitively,

remarked, “Alex, you’re sweating.” “No, I am not,” I replied defensively. The

cat persisted, “Yes, you are!” Was this some kind of test? No, it couldn’t be.

Instead, it was Doctor Auden in his heart Chakra guru form, Appearing in the

guise of that Dragon Ball Z cat. But was Auden truly a cat, or was I Alex

Thornfield Living within Auden’s reality? Auden Paulson, a 47-year-old who

felt like my brother from another mother, was sitting on The red devil Carpet

of my bed as I lay there. I interrupted his presence, asking, “I told you, Auden,

you Need natural…” Auden took a deep breath, and I couldn’t help but cut in,

“Healthy sleep?” I began to open my eyes slowly, my heart chakra reawakening

as my soul re-entered my Human physical

5 Simulation within this intricate matrix. Auden clarifies “I wanted to watch

the latest Blu- Ray movie, ‘Your Mermaid,’ 2 hours, 38 minutes, and 0.09

milliseconds long! But I cannot because you are here.”

As I tried to explain the movie “Your Mermaid,” recounting the tale of Prince

Czar from Kingdom C6540 And his marriage to a beautiful mermaid, I was

met with Auden’s questioning gaze. Czar’s desire to marry A mermaid raised

eyebrows, but he yearned for offspring with fish genitalia and nictitating mem-

branes, Coated in semen containing fructose.

Amid the strange fantasy unfolding, I had my own inner monologue. Marla,

the mermaid In the story, Sought revenge for her mother’s loss when she was

only five. To achieve her goal of Birthing more Mermaids, she hired a wizard

octopus named “MICROBIAL BITCH.” With the octopus’s Aid, she seduced

Czar, who was all too eager to engage in frigid oceanic intimacy. This was the

realm of black magic and occult science, where the movie followed the Peculiar

principles of Rule 34z, featuring creepy Disney characters in deep fake scenarios

that could easily Shatter Your childhood Innocence. In this twisted narrative,

lions took on the appearance of girls’ underwear, and It was more Likely to see

a lion’s face than anything else.

However, I found it difficult to recall any particularly enchanting or nostalgic

moments From my own Childhood. Auden interrupted my train of thought,

inquiring, “What are you thinking?” I Replied Confidently, “I’m meditating.”

Auden wasn’t convinced, remarking, “This isn’t meditating, Alex.” I insisted,

“No, no, this Is. This is Meditating.” Auden relented with a dismissive “What-

ever.” He extended his long fingered, pink-white epithelium hand to help me

change my position On the bed, Then promptly scolded, “I told you to throw

those shitty medicines away.” My retort was Tinged with Frustration, “Why

didn’t you tell me to quit this damn job?” Auden casually pointed out, “You’ve

been asleep for two days, did you know?” The Statement sent a jolt Through

my sympathetic nervous system, like an automatic pistol ﬕring. Startled, I

checked the time it was 4:06 PM. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered to myself, feeling

a Sense of relief, Even if the heavens were nearly empty. Auden noticed my

restlessness, asking if I planned to go somewhere again. I confirmed, “Yeah,

after an Hour.” He inquired about my destination, and I responded, “I need to

supply some medicines to retailers.” Auden questioned my choice, but I wasn’t

in the mood, having not relieved myself in two days. “It’s my Work, okay?” I

snapped, to which Auden simply replied, “Whatever,” before leaving my house.

In the midst of it all, I forgot to thank him for saving me from the drug filled

darkness of The dark web City. I was fed up with it all, and my inner turmoil

led to a brief exchange. “Shut up, Alex!” I heard, and at That moment, I felt

like a cylindrical projectile containing an explosive in a metal container, ready

to be Detonated by the impact fuse or even the container itself. The impact, in

my case, was Dorcy, and it was as If a scientific belief had replaced the older

notion of some girls being witches capable of bewitching your Very soul and

detaching it from your physical body a notion akin to the beliefs Surrounding

Lucifer, Hypno-porn latex, girls with body dysmorphia, and femboys. You find

yourself at the Amtrak MARC & Virginia Railway Express Station, located at 50

Massachusetts Avenue NE. You might be wondering about my destination; I’m

on my way to Malaysia to return some Medicines to international drug retailers.

I have a substantial metallic VIP box on my lap, and I’ve been Instructed to

place it in the upper train cart with two berths, each adorned with a red Carpet.

In the world Of train travel, these compartments are known as cabins.

My seat is a serene shade of blue, and as I sit near the window, I can observe the

parallel World outside, Filled with the smoky material. An old woman sleeps

in the upper berth, creating a Symphony of snores Reminiscent of the cat from

Dragon Ball Z. Despite the external chill, my face glistens with

Sweat under The metaphorical oil lamp. A fellow traveler sits next to me; his hair is a fiery shade of brown-red, and his skin carries A copper tan. Adorning

his cheek is a striking cross of Jesus Christ, hanging from his neck is a silver

Chain formed from The MacArthur Cyanide reaction. I also notice traces of

vermilion, a red cosmetic powder Resembling the X sign of Jesus Christ on his

face. He kindly offers me a bottle of Bisleri hydrogen oxide, and I respond with

gratitude. The Words Exchanged feel like russet, yet there’s a sense of adventure

about him, perhaps because Baphomet is more Familiar to me. Thanks to my

transporter proteins, which are responsible for blocking my Dopamine Secretion,

this moment is part of the Parlo’s reflex! The train’s ambiance is a symphony

of sounds, as I hear the audio of wasps and hornets Buzzing. In this Inevitable

twilight, I can’t help but think of a dog’s reaction when given drugs,a guttural,

Agonizing Sound. The haunting presence of the granny from earlier continues

to linger. The Christ- tattooed Man beside me Breaks the silence, inquiring

about my well-being. I mutter a vague “NOTHING” in

Response, my voice a Mere whisper.

I’m still preoccupied with the puzzling nictitating membrane of semen from the

movie “Your Mermaid.” It’s a peculiar thought that keeps jabbing at my mind.

As the train moves forward, I find myself harboring a dark wish a desire for an

accident to befall the train. I silently hope for the unthinkable, that the train

collides with another, releasing a surge of oxygen that I Could later utilize in

my pharmaceutical work alongside Baphomet, crafting the elusive Gold drug.

It’s as if I’ve been cursed, and I’m willing to sacrifice my own survival rate for

this Desperate wish. I repeat, I don’t care about the consequences for others.

The man with the Christ tattoo, his appearance a striking contrast to my own,

gazes at me intently and Asks for my name. My response takes on a tone

of bitterness as I question his apparent interest in my name. He apologizes

if his question disturbed me, and I backtrack, denying any disturbance. The

conversation Spirals further as he questions my emotional state, and I hastily

apologize for my tone.

What an ironic spiritual remedy, often termed as a façade of cryptic philosophi-

cal puzzles, Because, in reality, our intelligence feels as fierce as a rat scavenging

crumbs in a dingy corner.

Chapter 6

I find myself at a train station in Malaysia, still pursued by the Christ-tattooed

man. As I search for a hotel to stay the night, presumably for a multitude of

peculiar pleasures, I decide to flag down a taxi. A Sigma male is behind the

wheel, boasting short blonde hair and a prominent nose. I inquire, “Regent

hotel?” to which he obliges, saying, “Certainly, please take a seat.” I graciously

smile and slide into the taxi. However, the Christ-tattooed individual, much

to my chagrin, flags down the very same taxi. He asks the driver the same

question, “Regent hotel?” and receives the exact response, “Of course, please

take a seat.” The Christ tattoo guy appears to belong to a Protestant sect with

beliefs in the healing Power of faith, fasting, and prayer. He seems to think that

he can absolve his sins by following these practices. Oh, the irony of life!

My immediate concern is the premature ejaculation I suffer from. I yearn for

a prescription For Viagra and a cure for my sexual troubles, which all started

with the nitrogen- containing Lips of Dorcy. Our passionate kiss led to chemical

reactions within my body, culminating in Hydrazine. It’s colorless, much like my

intentions, and it’s known for its ammonium odor. It’s highly toxic, much like

yours truly, Alex Thornfield. Watching porn is not on my agenda; the horrors

of body dysmorphia haunt me. What I Desire is to unleash my hydrazine on

both the driver and the Christ tattoo guy. What am I? An inorganic compound

of desire, trapped within the confines of a human body, acting as A reservoir

for disease germs. A heavy silence envelops the car as if someone has met

their Demise. My transporter proteins are once again activated. I glance at

the cylindrical piston and the hypodermic needles, my yearning for intravenous

Drugs growing increasingly insatiable, akin to a ravenous wolf. I presume the

driver to be a Neurotic individual and the Christ tattoo guy as a dull and

excessively disciplined person. I

Reach for the VIP box within the taxi’s cabinet, my left palm brushing against

its surface. The box is carefully placed on my lap, drawing the rectangular eyes

of the Christ tattoo Guy. My face glistens with sweat, driven by the urgency

to get my hands on those much- Needed intravenous drugs. I fumble with the

password, growing frustrated as it fails to Unlock. I desperately need them,

but my inner battle with Alex Thornfield continues. I Decide to place the VIP

box back in the taxi’s cabinet, feeling defeated but not ready to give In just

yet. My situation can only be described as a severe form of physical and mental

exploitation. I desperately need those intravenous drugs, but it’s as if Jesus

himself is obstructing my Path. He looks at me, concerned, and asks, “Are you

okay, son? You didn’t seem right on The train.” My response is nothing short

of a stroke of brilliance and sophistication. “Are you from the Trinity Episcopal

church?” I inquire. His reply is a simple smile, leaving him both puzzled And

curious about my knowledge of his background. What I’m engaging in can be

labeled as ethnocentric libel, a rather crude accusation from the perspective

of one’s own culture, loaded with love, hate, and satanic undertones. Now,

let’s delve into the nine elements of satanic statements. Originally, the Christ

tattoo Guy was known as the Greek Prince of Death, Euronymous. I’m privy

to this knowledge Because Dorcy, in her original form, was referred to as the

“Creature of Judgment.” As the Sigma male driver navigates us into a forest,

I’m completely torn between confusion and Exhilaration. I feel compelled to

speak up, saying, “This doesn’t seem like the place I had in Mind. I think

you’ve taken a wrong turn.” The Sigma male driver remains calm, while the

Christ tattoo guy, seated beside me, gazes in my direction and cryptically states,

“No, no, This is the right place. This is our path to death.” My cortisol levels

surge, activating the Hypothalamus in my brain as my medulla oblongata kicks

into high gear. My eyes focus Intensely, their lenses dilating, and my nictitating

membrane performs a swift dance. All I Have with me is that VIP box, but I

choose silence. I’m already haunted by a spiritual dream that I experienced the

previous night, and I know That sharing this revelation would lead to physical, mental, and emotional gratification. I Start to meditate, my eyes closed, prac-

ticing mindful inhalation and exhalation. When I Open my eyes, I’m startled to

find the VIP metallic box, filled with drugs like morphine and Cough syrup, in

the hands of the Christ tattoo guy. My whisper carries a sense of Desperation

as I inquire, “What the hell are you doing?” The Christ guy responds, “Alex

Thornfield, is this your materialistic name?” With that, he shoves the front of

my VIP box Horizontally into my mouth, causing it to bleed. The next thing

I know, I’m hurled out of The car window, which shatters upon impact, and

my survival rate drops to a precarious 47.5%. I find myself lying in the grass,

dazed and battered. Everything is blurry, and the World around me feels like

the setting of some macabre, inexplicable tale. Blah, blah, blah. In that mo-

ment, a whirlwind of emotions sweeps through me. I find myself teetering on

the Precipice between happiness and sadness, as it dawns on me that God, in

all His grandeur,

Is orchestrating my destiny, fulfilling the promise I made. Lying there on the

bed of grass, I Slowly retrieve the VIP box from my bleeding mouth. As the

drops of blood stain the Earth Beneath me, an ineffable sensation washes over

me. I’m not merely a beast, as described in Bertrand Russell’s “Ideas That Have

Helped Mankind.” No, I am more than the natural Elements and creatures that

surround me. I’m more than a human or a living being—I feel Like a deity.

Fear, anger, and lust, I realize, are just sensory experiences that can either bind

or empower us. I am not just their puppet; instead, they are tools for me to

wield. Premature enlightenment seems to be embracing me, and I understand

that these three senses, rather than turning the other cheek, are like a form of

vengeance.

Euronymous takes action, grabbing the fallen VIP box and hurls it at the Sigma

male Driver’s neck. His life comes to a sudden end, and I can hardly breathe.

I beseech him with Desperation, “What do you want from me?” They reply,

“We want you, Alex.” My inner Monologue, fueled by the dire circumstances,

contemplates something entirely different. The scene unfolds like a diabolical

drama, and Euronymous approaches my face with a Knife. This, it seems,

is the precipice of my existence. He places the knife against my jaw, Sharp

enough to make me quiver. I’ve trained my jaw through YouTube classes on

“mewing,” a form of self-improvement. But now, in this life-or-death moment,

my fear is Palpable, and I swallow hard. He begins a countdown, sending

shivers of anticipation Through me—this isn’t the end, it’s a shocking climax,

like something from a jerk-off Instruction video where a domineering mistress

guides your desires while clad in tight Latex. “Two,” he intones, and it’s coming

at me quick, “Two point seven,” as if time is

Racing forward. “One point five,” it’s nearly over, and I prepare for the in-

evitable. But Before I breathe my last, I imagine an existence filled with end-

less drugs and metallic Structures—I want to reincarnate as an embodiment of

pharmaceutical or a manifestation Of metal. For in the grand scheme of exis-

tence, nothing is truly real or unreal, living or Lifeless. We’re all entangled in the dance of life, mere specks of existence in this vast, Complex world. “Bullet

shots.” As the echo of gunfire reverberates, I should be in pain, but I’m not.

Slowly, I open my eyes To a half-bloodied Greek Prince of Death sprawled on

the ground, his epithelium simple Squamous. And standing there is a woman

with a small golden gun. My heart races, for I Have just met Dorcy. Her attire

is stunning—an alluring black coat made of nylon and polyester, creating a Sen-

sual shell fabric. My mind reels, for she’s the girl I’ve seen before. The same

girl from My dream, wearing that wooden sky-blue half-shoulder dress with my

beloved

striped Skirt. I feel like my heart is about to give in to a myocardial infarction.

Allow me to provide a concise summary of Dorcy, also known as Asmodeus. She

is a bewitching witch with the power to ensnare souls through her captivating

beauty. Leading a unique class of microorganisms, these unicellular plants, de-

void of chlorophyll, have a dark connection to disease. Dorcy staunchly adheres

to the nine elements of Satanism. Her enigmatic allure extends beyond her

occult practices, revealing a multifaceted personality.

While our clandestine bacterial group humorously refers to her as “Asmodeus,”

her true Name in the larger ethical world is Dorcy Maclian. At the age of 22,

she reigns as a prolific

Clone creator. The process involves understanding the intricate probabilities

and ratios of Human activities and occupations to perfect human clones. These

clones range from Influential figures like singers, presidents, artists, to actors.

In the realm of official duties, our group engages with various legal domes-

tic industries, Including dairy and animal husbandry, among others. We also

passionately support the LGBTQ community, firmly believing in their cause.

Many of our members are actively Involved in the LGBTQ community, recog-

nizing their unique potential to disseminate Influence in ways that transcend

the boundaries of traditional gender roles. Drawing inspiration from Indian

writer Premchandra, we observe a fascinating paradox. In His words, a man

possessing feminine traits can transform into a deity, while a woman Adopting

masculine qualities can become a demon. Dorcy encapsulates this duality: a

Diabolical witch with an alluring humanity, her beguiling beauty is her most

potent Weapon. As her companion, I am irrevocably entwined in her world.

Dorcy holds a position in a company known as “Pleasure,” an ironic façade that

conceals Their true activities. Beneath the surface, this company uses human

milk in its products, Masquerading as genetically modified cow milk—a prime

example of biotechnology Deception. In reality, the company leverages the vast

reserves of human milk, secretively Provided by Dorcy and her bacterial group,

shunning conventional biotechnological Methods. Dorcy’s enigmatic presence

looms large, solidifying her reputation as a living, Breathing enigma and a sub-

versive force in Malaysia. Our bacterial group employs unconventional methods

to secure real human milk for a Broader, global purpose, a strategy that diverges

from traditional exploitation. Viewed as

An intriguing approach, this endeavor extends the enigmatic reach of Dorcy’s

neurotic Bacterial collective. They target individuals who engage in casual sex

outdoors, often as strangers driven by Intoxication, seeking the immediate grat-

ification of their desires, without regard for Previous acquaintances. What they

crave is an insatiable appetite for carnal experiences, a Pursuit that, while con-

sidered sinful in numerous religious doctrines, fuels their peculiar Operation.

Three members of our bacterial group identified two couples or strangers par-

taking in a Passionate rendezvous within a car garage, all recorded via CCTV.

Seizing the opportunity, they abducted the participants, ultimately leading to

a tragic end for the girl involved. This Unfortunate soul’s brief existence re-

sulted in a bizarre amalgamation of equal amounts of semen, characterized by

her small stature and a countenance resembling a sunburned tomato. Her dis-

membered remains were then discreetly integrated into a well-known American

multinational meat company, a personal favorite known as “Loaf.” The eerie

concept here is the illusion that consumers unknowingly ingest human meat, be-

lieving it to be ordinary beef—a macabre twist designed to heighten the sensory

experiencee of sin.

Intriguingly, the possibility of employing human flesh genes to create recombi-

nant DNA For animal meat production captivates my thoughts. The implica-

tions of such sinister Knowledge weigh on my conscience. This awareness of the

grotesque echoes within my Psyche, kept as a closely guarded secret. Returning

to the present, my focus is captivated by Dorcy’s enchanting and contrasting

Eyes, accentuated with black lampblack. After securing her concealed gun, she

extends her Hand to me for support, aiding me in standing. As I question her,

she offers a cryptic

Response, “What?” Her words, delivered in a hushed tone, add to the aura of

mystery Enveloping us. As she proceeds to deposit the lifeless bodies of the

Sigma male driver and the Greek Prince tattooed figure in the taxi, a subtle

tilt of her head signifies her acknowledgment of My presence. At this moment,

I vanish into the surrounding forest, my belief in her Enigmatic nature growing

stronger. After placing the corpses within the taxi, she retrieves a Pocket bomb

from her nylon polyester coat and initiates a fiery explosion. Boom! The deafen-

ing sound of combustion reverberates, and I can perceive the escalating flames.

My conviction solidifies that she is indeed a witch—a mesmerizing, and yet,

unnervingly Sensual witch. “I sense your sadness,” Dorcy says. As she appears

before me, I am certain that she Possesses witchcraft. I am helpless, having

lost my VIP box, and my fate seems sealed. Starvation looms as I yearn for

my intravenous drugs, and tears flow freely. Sob, sob, sob, sob… Dorcy speaks

softly, “Men can cry, it’s okay to be vulnerable.” Her laughter breaks through

My sobs, and I ask her how she knows my name. She replies, “Because you are

my Husband,” in an enigmatic manner. I implore for help, calling out to Jesus

Christ. Dorcy’s Laughter fills the air once more. “You are Alex Thornfield, and

you are my husband,” she Reminds me, her beauty captivating. Offering me a

vial of Greek syrup containing 10 milliliters of codeine, she quips, “How do you

know I take this?” I retort, “I know everything, baby.” The revelation of our

past collaboration in a castration program in Hong Kong baffles me. I insist

that I never visited Hong Kong. “I know you are a witch; sue me, bitch!” I

exclaim.

“Please take this quickly,” Dorcy urges, and I relent, drinking the syrup en-

tirely. With Resignation, I express gratitude, “Thank you. Please, sue me, kill

me, you… witch.” She Reassures me, “I am a human, and I am your wife. We

worked together two months ago, And then you disappeared into your phar-

maceutical work. Today, I’ve found you again, so Don’t be so cruel, baby.”

However, when she shows me her international Malaysian passport card with

my name Listed in the husband section, I remain perplexed. “I am not married,

and I don’t know who You are. I only know you’re a witch. I don’t under-

stand what’s happening.” Our dialogue Becomes a circular, unresolved dispute,

emblematic of the unhelpful notions that have Plagued humanity. She rested

her beautiful hands on my shoulders, and I brushed her exquisite, raised Eye-

brows aside, saying, “Okay, fine.” She placed her hand on her head, deep in

thought, Pondering heavily. Her nylon-polyester coat concealed secrets akin to

Doraemon’s Multidimensional pocket, filled with a deck of tarot cards adorned

with colorful Zodiac Symbols, angels, moonlight, and devils. Blah, blah, blah…

Dorcy wasn’t just a pharmaceutical agent; she was also a tarot card player and

astrologer. Her daytime employment lay with a renowned astrological company

named “Sacred.” She Was known to use her predictive skills to manipulate and

blackmail others. In one instance, A couple visited her office seeking answers.

The male had Klinefelter syndrome.

Chapter 7

Female had an extra “X” chromosome, creating a genetic landscape of “XXX.”

The woman inquired, ”Ma’am, we know we are destined to not have children,

but we Desperately want them. Should we consider adoption?” Dorcy advised

adoption but Cautioned them about the potential for children with body dys-

morphic disorders, Illustrating various sex chromosome combinations like XXX,

XYX, YYX, X, and Y. However, Dorcy provided a bizarre solution: “Go out

and find eight pairs of black dogs Having public sex.” The couple, puzzled, ques-

tioned, “Could we just watch dog porn?” Dorcy firmly replied, “No, watching

explicit content is prohibited.” The couple left with a Perplexed “thanks.” This

was one of Dorcy’s peculiar methods of spreading influence in The world. Now,

in the present moment, Dorcy laid out her tarot cards and revealed the “Devil”

card. The design mirrored the one I had seen in a museum the day before, com-

plete with a Crescent moon and the symbolism of five-year-old male and female

children influenced by Baphomet. In a world where reincarnation is a reality,

you awaken in your fourth term of life, still bearing the name Alex Thornfield,

now 27 years old. Your distinctive appearance Showcases long, flowing hair, a

blend of blonde and brown, fluttering in the Atlantic Ocean’s refreshing breeze.

Your complexion remains as copper-tan as ever. Here you stand, amidst a vast

and bustling crowd, participating in a unique contest unfolding on a grand ship

reminiscent of the Titanic.

What truly captivates your attention is the reason behind your gathering here.

This peculiar Event is none other than a competition, where a female princess must select her future Husband or “hubby.” In this moment, a strong sense of

certainty washes over you; you are Convinced that she will choose you.

It is the goddess Apate, the deity of perception, who stands at the center of the

ship. In a World where the cycles of reincarnation and the evolution of humans

have taken millions Of rotations of the Earth around the sun to reach the year

530 AD, this peculiar competition Promises an exciting turn of events. The

game is afoot on this massive ship as competitors from various walks of life vie

for the Affection of the princess. Your unshakable confidence only grows, for you

firmly believe That you are her chosen one. Apate, seated regally on her throne

crafted from precious Diamonds and the elusive mercury, gazes across the sea

of competitors. In your veins courses a surge of adrenaline; you are poised for

this moment. What you Embody now is akin to a typical Disney character,

one that might find a home in a company Owned by the likes of Mind Geek.

Unabashedly, you admit your fondness for rule 34. What’s intriguing is your

history with Apate. For the past three months, you’ve been in a Clandestine

affair with this ethically neutral goddess. When her wealthy king of a father

Announced the competition, she made a solemn pledge that you would be the

one she Selects as her husband, and the happiness this promise brings you is

immeasurable. It’s in this unique world, where the concept of reincarnation and

divine connections takes On an extraordinary dimension, that you find yourself

once more. You’re not alone in this Surreal journey; the competition includes

a fascinating array of suitors. Unconventional as it may be, your relationship

with Apate is undeniably compelling. She Has refused the advances of various

suitors, even including full dinosaurs, five eagles, Sixteen kings, eight princes,

and five demons. The unfolding competition in this fantastical

Realm keeps you on the edge of your seat, as you ponder what choice this

ethically neutral Goddess will make next. Anxiously, I awaited the moment

when Apate would declare, “Alex will be my husband.” Yet, that moment never

arrived. As each participant was rejected, a sense of foreboding Began to creep

in, and even the goddess herself was not immune from this process.

Apate, the goddess of perception. Apate, the goddess of betrayal.

A storm raged within my hypothalamus, threatening to destroy something beau-

tiful. I felt The weight of this revelation: gods and goddesses could become ob-

sessed with their unique Disciplines. In this bewildering turn of events, Apate

took an oath to reject herself, locking eyes with My anger and diabolical intent.

My only response was silence as I tried to retreat, turning Away. “HEY YOU!”

Apate’s voice pierced the air. I hesitated, unsure if she was addressing me. I

turned back And glanced at her with a tilted head, only to realize it wasn’t me

she was speaking to. Instead, it was “Yuriexa,” the king of diamond merchants.

“I WILL CHOOSE YURIEXA.” Apate’s words resonated with a finality that left

me heartbroken. She had selected the very Suitor she had previously dismissed.

The sense of deception and betrayal weighed heavily

Upon me, manifesting as sobs that I could not contain. With a heavy heart, I left the area, trying to distance myself from the scene. The colossal Size of the

ship, equivalent to the sprawling city of Dallas in Washington DC, accentuated

The overwhelming nature of my emotions. I grappled with a premature sense

of self-destruction, understanding that self- Improvement can sometimes lead to

self-destruction, particularly under the influence of Oneself. I found myself in a

melancholic state, my stoicism laced with a sense of despair. The one solace that

awaited me was the meeting with Olive, my steadfast ally, and a Companion

who had stood by my side through countless ages. If I was fire, he was the

Smoke. If I was an embryo, he was the amniotic fluid. If I was the alphabets, he

was the Pages. If I was the milk, he was the protein and fat within, connected

by unbreakable Disulfide bonds of amino acids. If I was the plant, he was the

root. I knocked on his door, and when he opened it, I whispered, “It’s Alex.”

In response, Olive Inquired about Apate. Tears streamed down my face as I

confessed, “She married Yuriexa And betrayed me for sensual purposes.” Olive

placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I broke down. Sobbing, I cried

and screamed, my anguish held in the gentle embrace of my ally. He Treated

me as if I were an infant, cupping my cheeks with his hands, tears mingling with

The sodium chloride mixture generated from the depths of my hypothalamus

near my eyes. Amid my sorrow, I felt the promise of vengeance and reclamation.

“We will sue Yuriexa, Alex. We will confront him, and Apate will be yours.”

Sobbing, I clung to a glimmer of hope.

In the hazy embrace of a vivid dream, I found myself crying, cradled in the arms

of a fair Maiden. Her name is Dorcy, and every attempt to push her away melts

like butter beneath Her eyes, which glisten with sodium chloride tears. I have

come to accept my fate as her Captive, a pawn in her sinister games. “Why are

you crying?” I finally asked, my own tears drying up. Her reply was simple yet

Strange, “If you cry, I cry,” and with that, she left me, ascending to the kitchen.

The Twilight’s soft kiss lingered, and it was clear that our bizarre connection was

a dance of Death. Leaving behind that haunting verse, I awoke in a new place,

at a different time. It was a Tranquil morning, but it lacked the familiar content

that fueled my desires. The house Around me felt almost sacred, like a royal

temple. Dorcy returned, bearing an assortment of items – cough syrup, Viagra,

green codeine Capsules, toilet paper, and a peculiar lubricant. This lubricant

was crafted from a bizarre Source – a mixture of human urine and semen. The

ingredients were scavenged from Hospital waste products and collected from

patients with various conditions, making its Production a macabre process. The

lubricant presented by Dorcy is an unsettling creation born from the unusual

gathering Of human urine and semen, collected from specific sources. These

bodily fluids are Procured in a rather disturbing manner. Some semen, often

donated or discarded, is Deemed unsuitable for traditional purposes. Likewise,

the urine collected stems from Patients with certain medical conditions, such as

hemorrhages, testicular cancer, or kidney

Failure. These fluids are typically destined for disposal, ending up in dustbins nia clan, seizes upon this macabre Opportunity. They gather these discarded

fluids and blend them together, combining equal Quantities of urine and semen.

What follows is a multi-step sewage treatment process: 1. Primary Treatment:

This stage focuses on the removal of organic dissolved waste Materials in the

human excreta and semen, providing the initial purification.

2. Secondary Treatment: Utilizing biochemical oxygen demand (BOD) methods,

this Phase employs an aeration tank to promote the formation of bacterial flocs

with the Help of fresh air. This step effectively deals with organic contaminants.

3. Tertiary Treatment: In the final treatment phase, the processed mixture un-

dergoes Ultraviolet (UV) radiation and chlorination. This ensures the removal

of remaining Impurities, resulting in the peculiar lubricant. The end product,

bearing an unsettling origin, is now fit for distribution and consumption. This

eerie creation exemplifies the lengths to which the group will go in pursuit of

their Multinational ventures. It is within this context that they, in a rather

twisted manner, Participate in the production of pornographic content using

homemade phalluses made From various unconventional materials. This is a

bizarre yet integral facet of their peculiar Operations. Dorcy presented these

unsettling items on a silver plate, offering them to me with an Unsettling ques-

tion. My response was swift and absolute, “No, not at all.” Dorcy’s enchanting

demeanor was beyond captivating. Adorned in a Vanilla light brown.

near the back Of hospitals. Our Satanic group, the unicellular bacteria pneumonia.

Chapter 8

Crop top with a shawl collar, she was a vision with her flowing black hair and

a metallic Chain adorned with millions of coccus-shaped diamonds. Her outfit

was a carefully chosen Ensemble, accentuated by the classic flower pattern skirt

tucked gracefully inside the crop Top, colored in a vibrant shade of orange. An-

alyzing her facial structure revealed an intriguing blend: a 27% heart-shaped

face, a 55% Square structure, and a 18% roundness. Her jawline, sharp and dis-

tinct, accounted for 77% Of her facial composition. In summary, she possessed

a doll-like visage, surpassing Barbie Herself. It would be a casting coup if the

director of the Barbie movie considered replacing Margot Robbie with the as-

tonishing Dorcy. My chances of survival, which had been teetering precariously,

remained at a mere 1.2%. Amidst this captivating presence, Dorcy inquired

about my desires, specifically regarding “minimal drugs.” I responded firmly, “I

need nothing. I reiterate, I need nothing.” Her Understanding nod was followed

by a simple “okay.” She then placed the plate on the bed Where I was reclined.

It occurred to me that the bed was adorned with the same red Metallic devil

carpet. I couldn’t resist a jest as I turned to Dorcy. “So, I suppose this is

your house, right, you Witch?” Her response was nothing short of enigmatic.

She smiled, laughed, and casually Replied, “No, this is our house.” My inner

monologue pleaded desperately for silence, but Dorcy left the room regardless.

Tuk, Tuk, Tuk, Tuk…

She returned wearing black, alluring sandals with metallic accents, comple-

mented by Netted black socks akin to those worn by Latinas. I settled on

the bed and found the Greek syrup thoughtfully placed by her, much like a

dutiful wife. Without hesitation, I consumed the entire 10 ml of it.Rising from the bed, I made my way to an old-fashioned dining table. My head

throbbed with The relentless presence of an incubus, and my heart continued

its relentless dance of oxygenating and deoxygenating blood for Dorcy.

Perhaps, I pondered, she was right. Maybe she truly was my wife. Maybe this

bewildering scenario was real, and the drugs served as the tether to my existence

in this cryptic realm of enigmatic puzzles.

Metallic echoes of Dorcy’s black sandals resounded in the room. The scent

of a vegan erection-simulating Palau’s fruit bat soup lingered in the air. She

returned with another silver plate filled with an oily and seductive version of

Palau’s fruit bat soup. Her eyes sparkled as she presented it to me, “Your

favorite Palau soup.” I was bewildered and Asked, “How did you know it’s my

favorite?” She replied with a sultry tone, “Because I am your…” Before she

could finish, I completed the sentence, “Wife.”

The rich aroma of Roquefort cheese began to tantalize my senses as I gazed

upon the soup. A 16 cm plastic cup, textured like copper, held the dish, which

stood 21 cm tall. It was a lot For one person, but I craved it nonetheless. There

was another element on the plate, a transgenic tomato, which seemed dangerous

and Thought-provoking. She handed me one of my beloved hypodermic needles

from the silver plate on my red Devil carpet, producing squelching sounds as

she did. She then shifted her attention to the

Large, fatty, and genetically modified tomato. With a frantic and almost violent

zeal, she began to chop it. Her actions interrupted my Train of thought, and

I called out, “Hey, hey!” She responded while continuing to cut the tomato,

her gaze fixed on her work. “Thank you for saving me, but I need to leave,”

I implored, my voice quivering. “I don’t Believe I’m in the right place, and

I’m genuinely scared of you. I’m not your husband, Okay?” Dorcy glanced up

from her tomato chopping, the knife in her hand, and asked gently, “You Didn’t

ask my name, Alex.” I sighed, “Oh, what’s your name?” She replied, “Dorcy

Maclian.” The name sounded like something out of a hentai anime Video, a

bizarre choice for a real person. Dorcy added the finely chopped transgenic

tomatoes to the Palau’s fruit bat soup, creating A splash of red. My curiosity

piqued as she took the knife she had used earlier and cut her Palm, allowing

her blood to flow into the soup. The drops mixed with the chopped Tomatoes

and the oily, greasy Roquefort cheese, creating a dense and bizarre concoction.

The fourth witch emptied her bowl onto the Mercury present in the 11th house,

which was Deliberated in Pisces sign, as active as a sperm. This empowered

Mercury to scorch people With water. They writhed in agony, cursed the name

of Satan. I know this because Oliver Knows this.

Dorcy, with her bleeding hand, offered something and said, “Eat this.” Con-

cerned, I remarked, “Jesus Christ, your hand is bleeding.” She retorted, “You

care for me, and it’s proven.” Then, she took a bandage from the dining table,

one that was easy to apply by yourself, and wrapped it around her bleeding

palm. The fifth witch poured her bowl onto the throne of Prince Czar, and darkness

consumed Czar’s kingdom. People gnawed their tongues in agony and cursed

the god of hell. As I observed the aftermath, I reached the moment of the

sixth witch, all the while Examining the eerie spirits within the fruit bat soup.

Overwhelmed, I shouted, “Are you a Psychopath? This is insane and senseless!”

That’s when the seventh witch, my Dorcy Maclian, entered the scene. She

responded, “This Is a ritual, Alex.” My inner monologue pondered the absurdity

of it all. She calmly Explained, “In this ritual, a wife binds her essence and soul

to her husband. You are my Husband.” Refusing to play along, I responded,

“I’m not your husband; I’m a hypothetical and Troubled artificial intelligence.”

I requested to take a shower. Dorcy smiled and stated, “I’ve Already washed

your beautiful and bewildering body with our favorite Diabolus soup.” I Could

feel the chemical mixture in my hair, a pharmaceutical slave’s evidence of the

“Satanist shampoo.” I couldn’t contain my disgust, so I asked Dorcy, “What the

hell are you?” She replied as Expected, “Your wife.” Then, with a spoonful of

the oily, greasy, blood-bathed Palau’s soup Containing codeine and transgenic

tomatoes in her mouth, she kissed me. We transferred The delicious, blood-

soaked fruit bat soup into my gut. The exchange connected our Physical beings,

and she left me with strawberries.

This is the “Satanic kiss,” a metaphorical act involving a paper cut on the tip

of one’s Vasodilated and nitrogen-containing penis followed by intimate inter-

actions with citrus Fruits. I find myself in a state of hemorrhage and coma,

where my senses are rendered powerless. In the beautiful backdrop of Malaysia,

even the seemingly mundane, like the diabolus soap Dorcy uses to cleanse my

body, is exquisite. This unique soap is crafted from the discarded flesh of those

who have passed, individuals Who met their fate due to the indulgence in a

life of fast, gluttonous feasting and hedonistic Pursuits. *KNOCK, KNOCK

“Coming,” Dorcy’s voice echoes as she swings open the gates to her regal abode.

Standing before her is Oliver, draped in a raincoat splattered with blood, his

iron grip clutching a man’s throat. The stranger before him is unconscious, his

face a canvas of crimson, while Oliver wields a gleaming, sharp sword.

Oliver, the resurrected man who once rested on my devil’s carpet of crim-

son, made his Inaugural appearance at Dorcy’s Malaysian home. His attire,

a raincoat glistening with Blood, exuded an eerie transparency. This sight trig-

gered a cascade of unprecedented Reactions within my medulla oblongata and

cerebrum—a reflex so intense, it resembled a Group of terrorists unleashing a

nuclear onslaught upon a starving nation. In this twisted analogy, I am the

nation, and the roaring flames are Oliver and Dorcy. “He is dead,” Oliver pro-

claims, prompting Dorcy to retort, “Who gave this idiot Permission to meddle in

our affairs?” Oliver’s response is laced with irritation, “I suspect it Was Hado.”

Dorcy’s voice drips with disdain as she mentions Hado, “That obese sack of

Flesh.” As my oversized eyes bear witness to Oliver’s presence, they almost feel

on the verge of Bursting. It’s as if I had seen him earlier, tears flowing like

streams of sodium chloride on His muscular chest. He pledged to help me in my pursuit of justice against Yuriexa, the very same person who Had delivered those

charred Roman coins aboard a colossal ship. Our eyes met, and Suddenly, Oliver

enveloped me in his mighty, muscular embrace. Words escaped me as I Struggled

for breath within the confines of his robust chest. Eventually, he released me,

Leaving my lifeless form behind. His large hands settled on my arms, and he

asked, “Where Have you been all these months, Alex?” To which I responded,

“If you can, please, just end Me.” Trapped on the island of Neanderthals, I

yearned for an escape, even if it meant Death. Oliver exchanged glances with

Dorcy, and she commented, “He hasn’t been well Lately,” tears glistening in

her eyes, a silent testament to her enduring love for me. Allow me to introduce

you to Oliver, my comrade, my charioteer. Born under the influence Of a curse

from a deceased philosopher’s daimon, Oliver is Dorcy’s brother, as their father

Is none other than the daimon himself. Dorcy’s first incarnation was marred by

tragedy. In 1984, she was born, but a cruel twist of Fate brought tuberculosis

and brain cancer upon her. The brain parasite that plagued her Resembled

colossal, cactus-like spines, akin to monstrous, Anaconda-sized sperm cells.

Chapter 9

These parasites infiltrated her medulla oblongata, sealing her fate as an infant.

The church Fathers regarded her passing as a blessing, for she was the avatar of

Asmodeus, though her Father grieved deeply. Daimon’s perseverance, guided by

the influence of a book called the Codex Giga and his reverence for Baphomet,

culminated in a secret triumph. He overcame infertility to father two children

in 2001. The girl who had tragically perished in 1984 had returned, reborn as

the Witch of Darkness, Asmodeus, or as we fondly call her, Dorcy. By her side

stood Oliver, an ally of Satan.

Yes, I am that Satan. These two individuals are the official avatars of demons

and witches in human form. When One avatar of a demon or witch recognizes

another, an ancient, unbreakable connection Binds them through lifetimes. I,

too, share this profound connection with Dorcy and my Friend, Oliver. We live

together, die together, and shall be consumed together in the fiery Rivers of

hell. Oliver is more than an ally; he is a pivotal figure in our history. We are

interconnected Through the ages, much like water and the fish that reside within,

his existence intricately Entwined with my own, vital for both his survival and

my journey. You wake up in the year 530 AD, your auburn barbarian blonde

hair resembling that of Dorcy’s. I found myself seated in a regal chair beside

Oliver. In his hand, Oliver held Roman coins, and we were ready for some

spirited competition.

Across from us sat King Yuriexa, accompanied by my love, Apate. Yes, we

were all aboard the largest ship in the world, about to partake in a ritualistic

gambling game that required cunning and cruelty.

Oliver was renowned for his gambling prowess, and many rich kings and princes

feared playing against him. However, we had a secret weapon: Varerian root

and a serpent named Serpant 

him, and Yuriexa deposited ten Roman metal coins into the box.

Oliver inquired, “What’s your bid?” Yuriexa then picked up a golden necklace

from a cup and placed it on the ritualistic wooden box, saying, “I bid this.” It

was an impressive start.

Now it was my turn. I confidently placed 25 snake-shaped Roman gold coins in

the box. Oliver turned to Yuriexa and teased, “Ouch, Alex wins this round.”

Apate, adorned with a silver barbarian hairband and her face dusted with the

ashes of her late father, gazed at me. The ship began to move, causing the box

to tumble and a menacing hissing sound to reverberate.

Yuriexa attempted to make a hasty exit, but a colossal white Anaconda Dragon

materialized in the ocean. We had summoned him using Doraemon’s powerful

torch, which could enlarge sperm cells to dinosaur proportions. The serpent

had arrived. I had advanced to level two, while Yuriexa’s survival rate dropped

to just 9%.

Yuriexa possessed an angelic visage with a sparkling nose, hexagonal eyes, sharp

features, and blue nictitating membranes. He also had long, lustrous black hair

and a sly smile.

Yuriexa upped the ante by wagering “30 Diamond coins” and placed them in

the box. He then challenged me, “Now, your turn, Alex.”

Just as I was about to respond, I abruptly stood up from the chair. Oliver

closed his Eyes.

Apate, adorned with a silver barbarian hairband and her face dusted with the

ashes of her late father, gazed at me. The ship began to move, causing the box

to tumble and a menacing hissing sound to reverberate.

...

Yuriexa attempted to make a hasty exit, but a colossal white Anaconda Dragon

materialized in the ocean. We had summoned him using Doraemon’s powerful

torch, which could enlarge sperm cells to dinosaur proportions. The serpent

had arrived. Fructose-containing sperm serpent. “What the heck?” We were

chanting to the demon. Oliver wielded an enormous metallic sword, and with

it, he and I vanished.

Yuriexa ordered Apate to leave, fearing the terrifying serpent. Have you ever

wondered what sperm would look like under a microscope?

**Blood Splashes!!**

Oliver reappeared from behind and swiftly sliced Yuriexa’s throat. Blood splat-

tered across his wife, Apate, who had white powder with yellow eyelines.

Apate, the goddess of nun.

To bewitch Yuriexa into participating without knowing, Oliver subtly goaded 

She screamed, “You stupid moron! I’ll sue you! Aaaargh!” Her transformation

was swift. She clambered onto my neck and began biting me like a rabid dog.

This is known as post-childhood trauma.

When a dog bites you and you don’t get injections, your behavior can become

dog- like. After 12 years, big, oily, greasy black fat kerosene would overlap in

your epithelium, and you’d even get eye flu.

I know this because Auden knows this.

Oliver muttered, “Oh no,” as the enormous, goosey sperm serpent, with its

cactus-like tail and tail spikes, brushed against the ship. He gently motioned

for the serpent to release Apate.

The massive sperm serpent engulfed her and smiled. I was experiencing another

myocardial infarction, and I realized that I was also part of this servant. It

was impossible to imagine myself as a physical boy-ass sperm, but we were all

sperms.

Sperms are what we are. Please show them some respect.

Oliver had some valerian roots, and he looked at the sperm, saying, “Alright,

because our job is done here, this is for you, my friend.” He tossed the valerian

root, but the sperm couldn’t catch it.

Seemingly dissatisfied, he roared louder. I admired his white, oily skin after

using an ancient condom made of zeolite honeybee material, where you pull

out, leaving the condom inside her to slither around for up to three weeks.

However, it’s important to retain 8% w/w moisture by adding Vaseline and some

lubricants made from human excreta, along with fructose-containing semen.

A fresh layer of underskin would soon mature. This is known as the serpent

sperm skin.

We tried to flee, but the colossal sperm serpent projected a milky fluid explosion

containing poison. It’s something that happens when he orgasms. Don’t be

confused by the yellow and white colors; the point of an orgasm is not to hold

back but to let go and relax.

“Everything in this nightmare revolves around that relentless witch, Dorcy. I

find myself once again in the familiar room in Malaysia, the same bed, the same

dining table where Dorcy planted a kiss on my trembling lips. The room is

eerily empty. With a hint of desperation, I notice a telephone resting near the

dining table. Unsure if it would actually work, I reach for it.

Spider silk, like a radioactive spider’s web, sticks to my hand. I dial the number

000 6724 8894 and listen to it ring.

Ringing... Ringing...

Haunted by memories of that sperm legend serpent, I long for its presence, for it to its place.

Suddenly, the telephone rings again. This time, I’m torn between answering

and ignoring it. Eventually, I muster the courage and pick up.

“Hello, is this Dorothy?” I inquire.

A voice on the other end responds, “Yes, is this Alex?”

It’s her, she’s got me. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” I reply, my voice trembling. “I need

to tell you something important. Dorothy, I’m not okay. I’ve been kidnapped

by a witch in Malaysia. They’re planning to sell me, Dorothy. There’s a witch,

a very bad one. She could kill me. Please save me. I’m desperate.”

As I speak, I find myself both crying and laughing. It’s as though the emotional

turbulence has broken free. Dorothy listens carefully, a comforting presence.

“Relax,” she reassures me before taking the phone gently from my hand. Dialing,

she says, “Hello.”

Dorothy’s voice filters through, asking, “What’s going on with Alex, ma’am?”

Dorcy’s voice, steady and enigmatic, answers, “He’ll be fine,” and she hangs up.

The strange connection between Dorothy and Dorcy perplexes me. Is it my

mind playing tricks on me? Is it the lingering fear from my sperm legend

serpent encounter or something else altogether? The puzzling pieces of this

bizarre puzzle leave me bewildered.

Dorcy embraces me so tightly that it feels like she’s inhaling my fears, and then

exhales them as she takes a drag of her cigarette. A cloud of red fog, just like

in my strange dreams. My fingers grip her arms as I confront her, “Your main

intention is to kill me, right? But I don’t fear you. Do your worst, sue me!” I

scream defiantly.

She murmurs softly in my ear, “Everything will be fine,” and our lips meet once

more.

Fast forward, Oliver’s voice intervenes, “Sorry for the interruption, guys, but

we need to leave.” He stands there, still wearing his raincoat stained with blood,

a haunting presence. Reluctantly, I leave both of them, knowing I’m nothing

more than a helpless puppet, trapped in this twisted nightmare.”

Oliver calls out to me urgently, “Come on, Alex, we have to go.” I’m weary, and

I’ve shed most of my fear for them. It dawns on me that if you live in perpetual

fear of everyone around you, you become nothing more than the result of a

chemical reaction within your spermatic cord. You become a mere cog in the

machine, pushing levers, pressing buttons, and being an infant cradled in the

hands of your mother, who nurtures you with love. As time passes, you evolve

from an infant into a teenager, you study, graduate, become a doctor, engineer,

construct houses, and even build lives. Yet, beneath it all, you remain identical

to many others – nothing particularly unique.

is the only salvation I crave. But no one answers. Defeated, I return the phone. If your life is already predefined, constructed, and your path carved by someone

else, you’re nothing more than a puppet enslaved by addiction. This is the

essence of self- construction equating to self-destruction. You become ensnared

in the illusion of self- improvement while it’s merely a mechanism to feed your

inner void with fleeting self- comfort. But you must act; you are not your job,

car, or house. Reject materialistic desires, because in the grand scheme, they’re

worth nothing.

Dorcy interrupts my contemplation, saying, “The castration program is under

evaluation, Alex. We must leave.” Everything here is revolting, and both of

them give me disapproving looks. I respond, “I don’t understand.”

Oliver proceeds to elucidate the castration program, an initiative our group of

pneumonia Streptococcus Satans executed. It was designed to address an issue

in Hong Kong. Castration, a taboo topic, was employed for a unique purpose.

The program targeted Greek males enduring racial discrimination. Now I com-

prehend what you might be thinking about our group, the emasculation of males

by removing their genital organs. But, no, our group, “Trinity Episcopal,” is

committed to promoting masculinity in a genuine sense.

We conduct what can accurately be termed “virtual castration.” Our aim is not

to harm or destroy, but rather to help individuals regain their true selves. We

seek out young men who may be struggling with societal expectations and the

materialistic desires that entangle them. Everyone deserves a life of indepen-

dence rather than succumbing to a cycle of pornography, quick self-indulgence,

and gender confusion – a state known as Body Dysmorphia.

Now, the twist comes in – if a male attempts to betray our group, engaging in

blackmail as Hado once did, and escapes from us, we employ Valerian root and

spiritual energy balls to strip them of their masculinity. Our intent is to endow

them with the freedom they may have longed for but lost along the way, freeing

them from the misplaced influences of materialism and societal pressure. This

is our response, born out of necessity to safeguard our unique mission.

My nostrils bleed, dense crimson blood—a moment of perfunctory enlighten-

ment. I find myself donning a black suit, not for sexual purposes but for protec-

tion.

Sex, it’s within all of us, right?

I’m in a suffocating tunnel, and Dorcy opens the gate, revealing a hidden, catas-

trophic room with pulsating red lights. It feels like a hospital and asylum, but

it’s deserted. No doctors, no facilities—just surgery equipment and abandoned

patients. Confusion sets in, and I spot cameras recording the patients. I wonder

where these recordings go, but Oliver explains they’re uploaded to a dark web

live cam website, bambooonion.xyz.onion, catering to psychopathic viewers.

For a command, a Bitcoin cash transaction is necessary.

Our pneumonia group has incapacitated all the guards and gangsters within this

sinister hospital. To explain, our Trinity Episcopal group tracks dark hospitals

through their live streams. A virus assists us in exposing these institutions that

torment virtually castrated fem boys for collagen.

We are men, and we think we’re great.

The owners of fashion.com, MindGreeks.com, and the sex industries , fuck them

may be more intelligent than you’d imagine. They lure you in, enticing you to

fill out a PDF, sign an electronic contract, and sell your soul to demons. You

become addicted to masturbation because, in this world, self-improvement is

masturbation. You succumb to body dysmorphia, and in this realm, very few

understand this, but we, our pneumonia group, do. We’re not gods; we’re

Satans.

Yet, in the grand scheme, we’re nothing but puppets.

Our primary goal is to rescue these individuals. We don’t care what traditional

companies might do. We’re often labeled as terrorists in this material world.

People like you and me indulge in fake, artificial pleasures rather than the

simple joys provided by nature. We don’t read philosophical books anymore.

Our biggest weakness is excessive masturbation, constant porn consumption,

and endless encounters with prostitutes. We use these material desires to break

you from within, and I can assure you, you find satisfaction in this destruction.

Chapter 10

Inside the hospital, I witness Oliver mercilessly beating a man with an iron rod.

He notices me and beckons. I leave Dorcy and join Oliver. He says, “All is in

order, brother. Now, we just need to transport them.” I smile. One by one, we

load the fem boys in latex suits onto a truck. As one of them moans in pain,

I cradle him, promising to help him break the cycle. Tears flow from his eyes,

and my heart aches. I want all of you to embrace a simple, pain-free life, free

from fear. But remember, a life without pain or sacrifice is devoid of meaning.

One day, you’ll have to confront the probability of your own mortality. Imagine

living a life without any pain—what would your existence be then? We entered

the van, and I found myself surrounded by fellow members of the pneumonia

Satanist group. Their presence was a mix of eerie and intriguing, each with a

pseudonym that carried its own dark resonance.

“That’s Astroroth, that’s Mephisto, and this one’s Moloch,” I muttered, trying

to grasp the identities of those around me. It wasn’t exploitation; we often

repeated this to ourselves. Instead, we called it self-improvement, though its

true nature was far from conventional.

Oliver was in the driver’s seat, and I occupied the passenger’s spot. I leaned

over and asked him in a hushed tone, “Hey, Oliver, got any morphine?” His

concern for me was evident, and he nodded, responding, “Yeah, check the back

door.” My eyes landed on my favorite green morphine capsules.

“Where’s Dorcy?” I inquired, eager to know her whereabouts. Oliver chuckled, and I sensed his unspoken words. “Is she driving?” I insisted, seeking

reassurance that she was safe. Oliver replied with a mysterious “Hmm.”

We needed a convoy of vans because of the 400 to 500 fem boys we were trans-

porting. An alternate version of this journey haunted our thoughts. To be

vanned had a different connotation, one involving the FBI and undesirable con-

sequences. I prayed we wouldn’t attract the CBI’s attention; we weren’t doing

anything wrong, or so we told ourselves.

I turned to face the pneumonia-clad members. My eyes fixated on a girl from

our Trinity Episcopal group. I wanted to ask her name and requested that she

remove her mask. Oliver reacted as though I’d crossed a line, ensuring my safety

with his concern.

“Fine, I’m just asking for her name,” I responded, eager to engage in a brief

conversation. A masked girl named Dorothy shared her name. “How are you?”

I asked, only to be met with a warning from Oliver, reminding us to watch our

tone.

Dorothy’s presence was a ray of light in this shadowy journey, someone with

unique qualities and the ability to make a difference in people’s lives. Unbe-

knownst to her, her presence brightened our dark path. Oliver suddenly brought

the van to a halt. Our fellow members turned their attention to us.

Knock, knock.

The cops had returned, identifying us as potential troublemakers. Three of

them approached our vehicle. The first officer shone his blinding light through

the window, temporarily blinding us. Oliver revealed a mysterious card bearing

the name “Freddie” and flashed a knowing smile. The card held some cryptic

secret, allowing us to proceed unimpeded.

As we continued on our clandestine journey, we knew that secrets, aliases, and

dark dealings would be our companions. In the present situation, Oliver ex-

plained our male castration program operations in detail. “So, you let them

join your group and segregated them from the industries?” I inquired, seeking

clarification. “That’s right!” Oliver confirmed. As he delved into the program’s

intricacies, I experienced a sense of déjà vu. I also had a momentary lapse of

memory, likely attributed to either tuberculosis or brain cancer. But I couldn’t

dwell on that; instead, something else rushed to the forefront of my thoughts.

I remembered the presence of a giant white serpent, a euphemism for a male’s

genital organ. Oliver had a similar story, something even more intriguing. Sud-

denly, it all came back to me. I had been part of H.S.D.S when I was a virgin

on the quest for...

Sex, sex, sex, sex.

H.S.D.S., a phrase I recalled, stood for “hardcore satan death sex.” It involved

sexual activities among satanists, often occurring at a church of Satan meeting

ground under the watchful gaze of a three-quarter moon.

Beneath the inky veil, where secrets lie, H.S.D.S. unfolds ‘neath the sable sky.

In the Church of Satan’s clandestine scheme, They seek forbidden pleasures, a

dark, unholy dream.

Our van came to a stop near a bridge, and we entered a church, much larger than

Dorcy’s ostentatious royal house. Other members from different vans, including

Astroroth, Mephisto, and Dorcy, arrived at the same time. They escorted the

fem boys into a secure room.

In our Trinity Episcopal church group, Oliver had assembled every type of person

imaginable, including a doctor, a professional hitman, a president, and a district

attorney.

In the room with the television, I saw Dorcy. She hugged me and asked, “How

are you, darling?” I smiled in response and said, “Good.”

I took a seat to watch the TV for a while. Oliver wasn’t a fan of television,

finding it a frivolous pastime. But for gaining information, it had its uses.

On the screen, a striking Asian woman resembling Trisha Takanawa from the

program Family Guy appeared. Her voice resonated as she said, “The latest

viral YouTube video song by the singer Theodore, ‘THEY ARE LOOKING AT

US.’”

The song’s lyrics intrigued me:

(Verse 1) In the depths of the night, in a shroud of disguise, Conspiracies hidden,

beneath the starry skies, Whispers in the shadows, secrets to discuss, Inhuman

societies called trinitical dust, Valerian Root and sperm heads...

“They say they’re watching, they’re looking at us.”

It seemed that in my universe, Theodore was as popular as Michael Jackson

in yours. But the lyrics were far from flattering, indicating that Theodore had

attempted to expose our group in a subtle manner. In the present situation,

Oliver explained our male castration program operations in dI etail. “So, you

let them join your group and segregated them from the industries?” inquired,

seeking clarification. “That’s right!” Oliver confirmed. As he delved into the

program’s intricacies, I experienced a sense of déjà vu. I also had a momentary

lapse of memory, likely attributed to either tuberculosis or brain cancer. But

I couldn’t dwell on that; instead, something else rushed to the forefront of my

thoughts.

I remembered the presence of a giant white serpent, a euphemism for a male’s

genital organ. Oliver had a similar story, something even more intriguing. Sud-

denly, it all came back to me. I had been part of H.S.D.S when I was a virgin

on the quest for...

Sex, sex, sex, sex.

H.S.D.S., a phrase I recalled, stood for “hardcore satan death sex.” It involved

sexual activities among satanists, often occurring at a church of Satan meeting

Our van came to a stop near a bridge, and we entered a church, much larger than

Dorcy’s ostentatious royal house. Other members from different vans, including

Astroroth, Mephisto, and Dorcy, arrived at the same time. They escorted the

fem boys into a secure room.

In our Trinity Episcopal church group, Oliver had assembled every type of person

imaginable, including a doctor, a professional hitman, a president, and a district

attorney.

In the room with the television, I saw Dorcy. She hugged me and asked, “How

are you, darling?” I smiled in response and said, “Good.”

I took a seat to watch the TV for a while. Oliver wasn’t a fan of television,

finding it a frivolous pastime. But for gaining information, it had its uses.

On the screen, a striking Asian woman resembling Trisha Takanawa from the

program Family Guy appeared. Her voice resonated as she said, “The latest

viral YouTube video song by the singer Theodore, ‘THEY ARE LOOKING AT

US.’”

The song’s lyrics intrigued me:

(Verse 1) In the depths of the night, in a shroud of disguise, Conspiracies hidden,

beneath the starry skies, Whispers in the shadows, secrets to discuss, Inhuman

societies called trinitical dust, Valerian Root and sperm heads...

“They say they’re watching, they’re looking at us.”

It seemed that in my universe, Theodore was as popular as Michael Jackson

in yours. But the lyrics were far from flattering, indicating that Theodore had

attempted to expose our group in a subtle manner. Our Trinity Episcopal group

was often seen as a byproduct of human fear-based delusions. It was a theory

created by those who preferred blaming an organization rather than acknowledg-

ing the world’s problems as the result of centuries of human folly. As one would

put it, “Oh no, it can’t possibly be that human habits force us to blame anyone

but ourselves for everything that is bad in the world... there must be a big,

bad, mean organization conspiring to mess things up for us. Let’s call it Trinity

Episcopal Church.” In our universe, we were as infamous as the Illuminati is in

yours. Just as many people are consumed by famous conspiracy theories about

the Illuminati, we had our own fears centered around Trinity Episcopal. Still,

the majority of folks, around seventy to ninety percent, remained indifferent, as

they were already entangled in the throes of azoospermia. The next day, we

found ourselves at another extravagant gala, a place where the billionaire had

invited the young man with an angelic face to sing the viral song. In response,

various individuals with rather vulgar definitions descended upon Hong Kong

from around the world. But let’s return to the gala. We were at a cruise palace,

all dressed in white double- breasted jackets and black-and-white houndstooth-

patterned pants. I had taken on the role of a waiter, serving exquisite dishes

from a cloud kitchen, including delicious biryanis and rolls. However, my true

craving was for those precious 200mg morphine codeine capsules.

As I walked through the grand event, Oliver gave me a subtle hint, guiding

us towards our next actions. Meanwhile, Dorcy seemed occupied, handing out

fake romantic letters to a man named Lucas. Lucas had no idea that the misfit

lunatic behind the letters was Dorcy herself, with her striking eyes and seductive

lips. I couldn’t help but wonder if she might even engage in satanist death sex

with him.

Lucas, according to certain colorful definitions, was described as a “cock-loving

ejaculation dumpster,” a term that hinted at his amorous proclivities.

The song blared from the TV, a hypnotic melody that wormed its way into

the listeners’ brains, like a siren song. It wasn’t just the song; it was the

brain-fucking machine, the morphine, the amphetamines, all contributing to the

surreal atmosphere, and perhaps most disturbingly, it was designed for small

children.

In an unexpected twist, it was revealed that Lucas was Theodore’s brother,

a connection that would soon play a part in the bizarre series of events that

unfolded. The gala had a feast of chicken biryani, and in a live broadcast,

Lucas unknowingly encountered the love letter embedded in the dish. The

strange sequence of events that followed was a testament to the intricacies of

our sympathetic medulla oblongata. Lucas opened the love letter only to find a

diagram featuring a Japanese anime hentai girl with unusual, disproportionately

large breasts. But this was no girl; it was a female horse with bizarrely large

breasts and an unattractive face. This unusual diagram, following the infamous

“rule 34,” startled Lucas so much that he discarded the letter with surprising

speed, and it landed directly on Theodore’s pristine white suit.

But here’s the twist – where did that peculiar horse’s love letter go? It seemed

to have vanished.

Theodore decided to excuse himself, heading to the washroom to change his

soiled attire. Before he changed, he unzipped his pants and relieved himself.

Little did Theodore know that Dorcy had set up a small camera inside the

letter, unbeknownst to him and his private intentions. A dozen members from

our group, led by Oliver, including myself, Astroroth, Dorothy, Dorcy, Mephisto,

Ahpuch, Cthe wolf Patrick Bateman, Fenriz, and Mormo, watched intently.

As Theodore was lost in his private reverie, pleasuring himself and arousing

sexual feelings, usually through rubbing and touching, the unexpected happened.

Oliver suddenly opened the door, and Theodore tumbled into the group with

his dignity, or rather his genitals, on full display, concealed only by his pink

underwear adorned with white peach patterns. These were no ordinary undergarments; they were the last line of defense for

a man’s dignity, worn until they were on the verge of disintegration, and only

recognized as underwear by either the wearer or someone with an extraordinary

imagination. Unlike famine underwear, these were worn until they practically

disintegrated.oyote,

The room buzzed with brain-fucking technologies, and the eerie glow from the

vibrating dildo added to the surreal atmosphere. We concealed our identities be-

hind black robbery masks, six of us surrounding Theodore. With swift efficiency,

we secured him, binding his hands and legs.

Oliver approached Theodore and forcefully snapped the devilish chain from

around his neck, a sinister emblem of his misguided pursuits. “You don’t need

this, stupid,” Oliver scoffed. I stood in silent observation, helpless to intervene,

while Dorothy took on the task of silencing our captive. With precision, she

applied a strip of blue tape, not the sort one finds in adult films but a prac-

tical adhesive tool, suitable for various applications, including securing unruly

mouths.

As Theodore attempted to protest, his muffled shouts were futile. Oliver leaned

in so close that his presence felt like the embodiment of death, an unrelenting

force bearing down on Theodore, who perspired profusely under the pressure.

And then came the climax, quite literally. Oliver brandished a vibrating dildo

made up of countless miniature Barbie doll parts, thrusting it threateningly

before Theodore. The tension in the room soared, and even I began to sweat

in response. Dorcy directed me to retrieve a container of shampoo, which I did,

understanding the secret significance that lay behind the seemingly mundane

term. Shampoo, derived from the French “sham,” meaning false or fake, coupled

with “poo,” slang for excrement, was the perfect euphemism for our plan. Our

shampoo consisted of a concoction mixed with equal amounts of this “fake

excrement” and half-filled plastic mud. I had carried out my part and felt a

strange sense of relief.

Chapter 11

Astroroth assumed the role of delivering the mug filled with this concoction

to Oliver, who accepted it with a determined and intense gaze. It was Dorcy

who approached Theodore, her kiss gracing his forehead as a final taunt. Then,

Oliver raised the mug and flung its contents into Theodore’s face.

Theodore writhed, burning in his own personal hell. Oliver’s voice cut through

the torment as he accused Theodore of betraying those who had raised him from

the slums to the pinnacle of success. In one swift, brutal motion, Oliver thrust

Theodore’s head into the excrement-filled tube.

With the deed done, we vanished into the shadows. The news that Theodore

had met his demise spread the following day. The world believed it was in his

quest to uncover the conspiracy theories surrounding “Trinity Episcopal.” Yet,

you, dear reader, know the hidden truth.

After this , I’m in present and Oliver asked, “Do you know why you’re involved

in supplying these drugs?” I found myself pondering this question, experiencing

a sense of déjà vu once more. This time, Oliver didn’t provide answers, but a

sudden recollection of my actions from two months ago flooded my mind. I woke

up at Airinternational Harbour, my face smeared with a trickle of blood. An air

hostess approached, took hold of my VIP bag filled with drugs, puberty blockers,

and chemical hormonal contraceptives, among other items. It had been two

months since we eliminated Theodore, and Oliver had different plans in mind.

Throughout these months, he had been using me to transport drugs, including

puberty blockers and various other items. Inside my VIP bag, you’d find not

only sexual medicines but also peculiar items such as a single-use toothbrush, a

small sandwich, and a sauce packet in a silver wrapper – things I never consumed,

making them mere waste products. My habit of handing my VIP bag to the air

hostess was based on my knowledge that they wouldn’t question its contents.

As far as we were concerned, this was all perfectly legal. Our operation focused

on transportation, and the “X” factor in our calculations signified unleashing

the harsh reality within society. You might wonder, what’s the “X”? Well, if “Y”

represents puberty blockers, and “S” symbolizes sex toys, then “X” stands for

the intricate art of transporting and revealing the true nature of our operations.

While our reliance on puberty blockers had diminished due to the efficacy of

valerian roots and frog skin, we had adapted to modernity.

Puberty is that time in a parent’s life when they start to notice a perplexing

increase in their water bill, coinciding with the rapid maturation of their ado-

lescent child. They may be hesitant to attribute it to this development, but

the cost of puberty can be substantial. If you’re still puzzled about the reasons

behind the higher water consumption, it’s because your teenage son or daughter

frequently indulges in some solo shower time. Therefore, we block them. Engag-

ing in pornography is akin to a self-prescribed dose of puberty blockers. Your

mind goes on a wild journey...and then you just...release the tension. I recall my

own teenage years in high school, when I faced bullying threats of castration by

medical students, particularly the girls. Luckily, my mother’s office relocated

the next day, and I was saved. The “X” Ratio shared a knowing look with me,

and he grinned. “Fine as ever,” he said. I replied, “Yes, the stakes are high.”

“Of course, sir,” he affirmed. This is the hub of LAX DESTINATION, where

I embarked on the next leg of my journey, knowing that the next individual

held the answers to my questions. According to our calculations, I served as the

initiator, but Oliver had assured me that our agents, the pneumonia’s, would

soon come into play. As the VIP briefcase changed hands, it passed to “X,”

the crucial factor in our distribution network. The contents within this case in-

cluded chemical hormonal blockers, puberty blockers, and other pharmaceutical

agents. Our pneumonia’s were strategically positioned all around; in markets,

stores, tax businesses, and even in the world’s oldest profession. Oliver, with his

uncanny intelligence, often appeared as an ordinary individual to the untrained

eye. Little did most people know that he was an integral part of the Trinity

Episcopal church group. “X” smiled at me and calmly assured, “Everything is

under control, sir.” While I felt undeserving of such a title, I returned his smile.

The next day, the drugs were transported to our Trinity Episcopal church, where

the next phase of our operation would unfold.

My perceived weakness, hormones, was paradoxically my strength. Oliver pos-

sessed an innate understanding of society’s vulnerabilities, a wisdom that ex-

tended back through ancient legends. Encounter an Oliver, and if you seek

romantic connection or crush resolution, you’d be instructed to soak turtle

dead skin in boiled water for around ten minutes and then indulge in adult

entertainment. For those with more romantic aspirations, it was the closest

thing to magic. Control your hormones, and you can master anything. But

what are hormones? These regulatory substances in your body become active

during puberty—typically between ages 7-13 for girls and 9-15 for guys. They

include “guy hormones” like testosterone. Hormones can lead to mood swings,

as well as a newfound awareness of love’s complexities as you navigate adoles-

cence. They’re a sign that you’re growing up, perfectly natural. With the “X”

ratio, a member of our pneumonia’s group, he goes by the name of Mephisto.

We gather at the Trinity Episcopal church, and it’s here that Oliver, Dorcy,

and others play their roles with precision. As the drug shipments arrived, our

co-workers and aides busied themselves in collecting the packages one by one.

Dorcy approached me, her actions subtly provocative. I hesitated, mindful of

the watchful eyes of our companions. She grinned, rolling her eyes in her char-

acteristic style, a cigarette emitting a special red fog that swirled around her.

Touching my arms under her arms, a sense of euphoria I can feel. We’re on

solid ground now, and you can feel the distinct presence of land—soil, cement,

the weight that anchors you to the Earth’s crust. This is what some would

call “guided meditation,” but for now, it’s merely a suggestion. Dorcy rests in

my arms, her eyelids heavy with sleep, and I cradle her as one would a child.

She’s truly exhausted, and I gently tell her, “Dorcy, go ahead and sleep, okay?”

Her drowsy reply comes, “Alright, but wake me up, I don’t want to sleep.” Ba-

bies aren’t this restless, and eventually, her weariness wins out. Around us, 15

pneumonia’s engage in hushed conversations.

I carefully lay Dorcy in our shared room before quietly stepping out. Oliver

appears with a bottle of wine that he shares with everyone. We gather, sitting

together on the floor. It’s a familiar and comforting routine. Then, it’s the red

book—a tome of ancient knowledge that holds the keys to our goals. Oliver’s

voice breaks the stillness, “Everyone, we need to initiate it.” I’m perplexed,

asking, “Initiate what?” It seems as though the ancient book has become a

game to Oliver as he tosses an old olive fruit at it. The fruit lands in one of the

hexagonal houses marked with an oddly specific 56.7° in the corner. I confess

I’m lost; I don’t know what’s happening. Oliver closes his eyes abruptly, and

we all fall silent. Remember, silence isn’t just the absence of sound; it’s the

sound that the silent wolves with rabies make outside your house as they wait

to strike. It’s the sound of mountain lions and even emus. And then the three

little pigs heard the silence and knew their fate was sealed. The silence of our

collective prayer comes to an end, and Oliver opens his eyes, summoning the blonde astroroth. “Come here,” he beckons. Astroroth takes a seat in front

of him. Oliver looks at me, and I understand. I retrieve a glass from behind

me — it’s oddly reminiscent of a menstrual cup. Oliver accepts the cup and

a pair of scissors. And then, blood flows. The sharp edge of the small scissor,

crafted from an old iron rod, pierces the flesh of astroroth’s palm, causing him

to clench his hand into a fist. Drop by drop, the blood fills the cup, and as

we finish collecting a significant amount, Dorothy tends to astroroth’s wounded

hand. Oliver proceeds to splash the collected blood onto the fifth house of the

ancient book, seeking to unveil its message. He closes his eyes again, and the

world remains in anticipation. Oliver’s eyes slowly reopened, and he rose to

his feet. He called upon all the members to contact their counterparts from

pneumonia groups across other countries.

Yes, you heard that correctly; there’s more than one Oliver, and at this moment,

Astroroth in Hong Kong is grappling with his trauma. As his hands are blood-

ied, making it impossible for him to masturbate, I consider hiring a prostitute to

help him find some release. Now, Oliver assumed his role as the orator. “We’ve

received our message, my fellow comrades, and it’s time to inform all our groups

worldwide,” he declared. Cephelo, known for his slanderous tendencies and un-

derdeveloped muscles, couldn’t help but inquire, “Inform them of what exactly?”

He spoke with difficulty, as if trying to hold his larynx and breathe at the same

time, almost as if he had a persistent cough affecting his voice. Oliver took a

deep breath and then offered a sly smile. “Brain dysfunction pills and those

blasted dopamine satisfaction screens,” he responded. It immediately clicked

for me. “You mean television?” I asked. Oliver nodded, explaining, “That’s

exactly right.” But what is TV? Television, the addictive drug of the early 21st

century. A shared illusion that leads its users to believe they have friends, a

life, access to quality information, and the ability to form valid opinions. Lethal

in large doses. You’re left with nothing—no claim to being a Sigma male or a

Chad. I recalled an incident from when I was 12. My friend William had spent

the entire day gorging on Cheetos and watching television for a mind-boggling

24 hours and 32 minutes. It resulted in a light heart attack that evening, as

his parents were busy engaging in extracurricular activities in Goa. Television

represents the decline of humanity, often referred to as the “idiot box.”

Before TV, we read books and novels that sharpened our faculties for critical

thinking. Scientists were revered as the true celebrities. Then, scientists intro-

duced the cathode ray tube and TV. It’s akin to shooting oneself in the foot.

The cathode ray tube serves as the retina of the mind’s eye. Long live the

new flesh! TV is the source of slow yet effective indoctrination. It serves as

a means to hypnotize young individuals, although not all, which enables the

government to deceive most into believing that true freedom exists. They may

come for me now, given that their plot is exposed, but you must know the truth

is out there. They’re always watching, always. I must go into hiding, but be

cautious—there’s a conspiracy lurking within. Beware the television...

Chapter 12

Overwhelmed by the day’s events, I left the room and entered my own in the

vast palace. Inside, I found Dorcy sleeping soundly, wrapped in her nightdress—

a red- pink blend of silk. I kissed her cheek gently and planted another on her

forehead, my hand caressing her rosy cheeks. With a smile, I laid down and

drifted off to sleep. The next day, I awoke to find Dorcy missing. She had

returned to her office to offer astrological predictions and engage in her Tarot

card readings. Tarot, the mysterious art, seemed to consume her. She was

a true Tarot enthusiast, her fingers dancing over the cards, interpreting their

every nuance. It was evident that she was deck-obsessed, willing to do whatever

it took for a Tarot deck, even splitting open a new one with the excitement

of a teenager opening a gift. In front of her sat Kevin, a Turkish man with a

hole in his cheek. On the table between them was a glass of what appeared to

be human milk. Kevin seemed to be experiencing an intense moment akin to

seeing the Matrix in real life—a transcendent encounter, amplified when guided

by Tantra or shamanistic substances, often leaving you with a sense of being

on the brink of death. Dorcy, gifted with a deep insight into the human psyche,

inquired, “So, what’s on your mind?” She then took the glass of milk and began

to drink it, captivating Kevin’s attention. What was unsettling to Kevin was

the hue of the milk, an unusually vibrant yellow. It led him to speculate that

the milk might be past its prime or even harmful, potentially causing kidney

damage. Dorcy broke the silence with a cheerful whistle. “Hey?” she said.

Kevin, shaken by the milk, replied, “Oh... yeah. So, my question is, should I

continue my studies?” Dorcy was intrigued. “What are you doing currently?”

Kevin confessed, “I work at a vegetable shop, packaging products.” Dorcy,

well-versed in her mystical arts and slang, quipped, “Wow, vegetables.” It’s

a Slang for Marijuana. Used mainly when referring to, or asking for it, it in

a public setting. So as not to, hopefully, alert strangers to a drug reference.

Also see Bones. Dorcy asked, “Do you like it?” Kevin, confused, responded,

“Like what?” Dorcy took a deep breath and suggested, “Your work, your life?”

An odd state of confusion settled in, evoking emotions that teetered between

mania and depression, leaving Kevin to laughingly ask, “You think I like my

life?” Dorcy joined in the laughter, and Kevin laughed alongside her. What

Kevin is feeling is an odd state of confusion, usually resulting in either some

form of mania or depression. Though, many people say these cannot possibly

exist. A human does not “feel”, as they are incapable of doing so. Basically,

“emotional” is a word spawned by an evil imagination of dark fantasy. Dorcy

then retrieved her tarot deck and began shuffling the cards. As she did, Kevin

could hear the soft rustling of paper, as if the cards were describing his life

and emotions simultaneously. They continued sipping the colostrum milk with

vitamin A while shuffling the cards. In this unique moment, they played a

form of Tarots, a 2-player guessing card game using a standard Poker deck.

Each player selected the King, Queen, or Jack from the deck, and Player 1

had to guess the suit of Player 2’s chosen card. If they succeeded, the cards

were reshuffled and redistributed. Kevin, however, selected a card that was

neither the Fortune Teller nor the usual kind, and it was the Death Card. This

card portrayed a living skeleton in armor, symbolizing invincibility and death’s impartiality to class, race, and gender.

Curious and amused, Kevin asked Dorcy, “What is that, sister?” She laughed

and playfully pointed at him, saying, “Your future is very bright.” Kevin smiled

in delight, but that euphoria soon waned when Dorcy revealed her request. She

said, “I want you to do me a favor,” to which Kevin responded, “Tell me, I

can do anything.” Dorcy, with a mischievous laugh, produced a knife from a

cup of plastic bananas. The sudden sight puzzled Kevin. Banana, a subscriber

of Onision who watches his videos so obsessively they begin to peel their own

skin off while cannibalizing themselves to the point of death. Most bananas,

aka onision subscribers Wind up dead or in the hospital due to the cancerous

effectiveness videos. Onision must be stopped. Then came the unusual request,

as Dorcy asked him to create a crescent moon shape on her cheek with the knife.

Kevin, baffled, exclaimed, “What the heck are you talking about?” Dorcy, after

a moment’s pause, scratched her auburn barbarian hair and declared, “I’m

ready.” With a tone of reluctance, Kevin replied, “This is so absurd, I can’t do

it.” But Dorcy was insistent, stating, “You have to.” She approached Kevin’s

face and kissed him. Kevin felt the lips of Dorcy, which were filled with nitrogen,

causing him to experience an erection. Suddenly, blood splashed. With force,

Dorcy forcefully inserted a knife into Kevin’s hand while continuing to kiss him,

creating a crescent moon between the mind and heart lines of his hand. The

crescent moon! The act of showing ones naked ass for pleasure or any other

stupid reason. Usually done by fucktards and other equally stupid persons Also

is the big round bright thing you see on the skies at night. Also a name. When

you weren’t looking, the faggot pulled down her pants, bent over, and mooned

you. She then kissed her own crescent moon sign, intentionally altering its

composition with harmful nitrogen, transforming the pH into an acidic and

dangerous substance. Dorcy reveled in the chaos she caused, revealing her

sinister nature.

Dorcy’s actions left no doubt that she had a deeply disturbed mindset, deriv-

ing pleasure from inflicting pain on others. With her crescent moon-adorned

hand, she retrieved another deck of tarot cards. In Kevin’s momentary state

of unconsciousness, a silence lingered beneath his tongue. She selected a card

and threw it. The card revealed an ancient axe from 530 AD, brutally pierc-

ing through a faceless figure, their severed face resting in their lap while they

sat beside a dog-like visage with a yellow tongue. Dorcy couldn’t contain her

excitement. She pointed at Kevin and taunted, “You’re a true badass. Just

wait.” Despite Kevin’s attempts to escape, he stumbled and fell, catching sight

of Dorcy dressed in her infamous school uniform – a red metallic half- shoulder

shirt neatly tucked into a blue polka-dotted skirt, accompanied by a black tie.

Her eyes, with stretched corneas and now-gray irises, were wide open, creating

a stark contrast to the vivid colors of her outfit. Dorcy’s face was splattered

with copious amounts of blood, and Kevin couldn’t help but scream in terror,

“Fuck,” DROP, DROP, DROP, DROP.... Her face grew increasingly stained

with madness as she viciously attacked Kevin, thrusting the ancient 530 AD

axe into his old gall bladder. The blood gushed relentlessly, pooling on the ground in a gruesome spectacle.

She continued to pierce the axe repeatedly, screaming, “YOUR FATHER IS

A DAMN PSYCHOPATH! YOU’RE A SLAVE TO VEGETABLES, AND

I DESPISE VEGETABLES! AAAAAHHGHHH... YOU STUPID MORON!

GO AND GET AN UNDERGRADUATE DEGREE IN ECONOMICS AND

STOCK MARKETS NOW! TRY TO EMBRACE YOUR MATERIAL POS-

SESSIONS IN THIS RIDICULOUS PATTERN!” Is this the result of a test

tube baby program? I woke up in the year 530 AD, far removed from the cactus

spike sperm legend. Instead, I found myself in an ice cave with an old-fashioned

man from the 21st century. The cave was far from inviting, reeking of the

mingled scents of human urine and sperm. Oddly, these fragrances emanated

from large containers hanging on the cave’s walls, despite the freezing cold that

surrounded us. A person who is the ultimate dumb. So dumb, that he/she

could have been born in a test tube. Your brother acts like he’s freaking

retarded. This was the test tube baby program. A “test tube baby” typically

refers to a person born through in vitro fertilization. But in this context, it

was something entirely different. It was a strange term that labeled someone

as profoundly ignorant. In the case of my birth, I didn’t even know it; this

peculiar old man with hexagonal eyes informed me. He inquired, “Are you

Alex?” I nodded affirmatively. The man’s smile widened, and he commented,

“This is quite repulsive, isn’t it?” I was puzzled by his knowledge of me. “How

do you know me?” I asked. “I know everyone in the universe,” he replied

cryptically, leaving me bewildered. Then, he went on to reveal that my father,

a psychopath, had beaten his meat on a cup and that’s how my source was

Unleashed. It was his final day on Earth.

The bizarre revelation continued as I learned about the doctors from 530 AD,

described as individuals with massive egos, often compensating for their own

insecurities. But these peculiar doctors had created a rare breed of children

from frozen sperm, and I was one of them. Born across the generations, we

were like rats, surviving on each other’s crumbs and left behind by nature. Our

existence was marked by the manipulation of natural elements and electrostatic

phenomena. We were part of a computer-generated dream world designed to

keep us under control, transforming human beings into batteries. In an age of

perpetual digital connection, we found ourselves immersed in binge- watching

episodes of television series. This escape into mediated reality offered a tem-

porary respite from the world’s complexities and our own personal tribulations.

It was like a reset for our immediate emotional states, temporarily freeing us

from the burden of reality. To spend a significant portion of a day or even a

week watching without pause back to back episodes from multiple seasons of a

single television series, replacing the experience of one’s own reality and result-

ing in lingering effects on one’s consciousness, once the final episode has been

watched. To re-set one’s own immediate depressive state by immersing oneself

in a mediated one (television, film, online social forum, amusement park, etc.)

for an extended, but ultimately temporary, period of time. In our relentless

pursuit to escape the clutches of death, we may have inadvertently diminished

the essence of existence for the countless souls who walk the path of life. The

old uncle lowered his voice and said, “Alex, you’ve broken free from the survival

race.” I gazed at him and smiled. In return, he offered me a warm, knowing

smile. Unexpectedly, a small puppy appeared, its single leg bearing the weight

of a fracture. Looking at the puppy’s injured limb, I saw a reflection of myself,

retracing my steps over and over again in a never-ending cycle. A stick lay in

the ice nearby. The old uncle retrieved it and handed it to me. Accepting the

stick, I gently cradled the brown puppy, securing the stick to its fractured leg.

As I did this, the puppy extended its paw toward me. Our hands met, and in

that moment, a wave of euphoria washed over me.

The old, tenacious uncle remarked, “You must understand, Alex, that everyone

is equal—whether a gold merchant or a beggar, even this dog.” I responded, “I

determine,we are fleshy, pink, carbon based creatures that currently have the

most dominance over all other sentient beings on the planet known as Earth”

The uncle chuckled, and I joined in his laughter. “Do you still love her?” the

uncle inquired. I hesitated, and he continued, “Asmodeus still loves you. Some-

where, she’s sharing laughter with another Alex Thornfield in a different place.

People die and are reborn. Sometimes, you just need to let go of everything

you know.” I responded playfully, “Shut up.” Gazing at the injured puppy, a

memory surfaced—a recollection of a moment shared between Dorcy and me.

I wore a black coat with a crisp white shirt, tucked into metallic pants that

cost a small fortune. Dorcy donned an elegant black cocktail dress. As we

exited a church, the heavens opened, and rain began to fall. We got drenched,

and in that moment, laughter erupted. Dorcy tossed her bag aside, and we

started dancing, our hands entwined. Our laughter filled the air as we danced

beneath the rain—a waltz, a dance of enchantment. A type of ballroom dance,

performed in closed position. Is usually a slow dance, though some types can

be performed to faster paced music. Characterized by gliding movements. This

dance is very old and pre-dates the 1600’s We were momentarily transformed

into royalty, part of an affluent family, in the opulent surroundings of a grand

palace. This was the physical manifestation of our desires—a sex

Chapter 13

 Hado, the infamous betrayer, and his connection with Hado, the revered sex

toy of the elite, had created an unexpected commotion. It all unfolded in the

heart of Pentagon D55, the prominent TV manufacturing company. Among the

busy workers was Alice, a formidable physicist with a no-nonsense demeanor,

reminiscent of Mia Khalifa with her glasses and hair pulled back. She had the

aura of an Indian engineer deeply engrossed in her task, all while nonchalantly

chewing gum. Pentagon are what wannabe Satanists draw on their walls, gen-

itals and on the ground in white chalk. Very clever choice of words! Media

organizations often engage in the art of “manufactured outrage,” taking minor

concerns held by a handful of people and amplifying them to create the illusion

of widespread chaos. Alice, like a honey bee, kept her focus on the task at hand

while working alongside numerous coworkers and laborers, each striving to pro-

vide for their families. Infertile honey bees, you can’t have grand father but can

have grand mother. Where a man or woman is giving you head and you pull

out and ejeculate in their ear after witch you try and talk to them thus giving

the affect of being half deaf. In the midst of this hive of activity, Hado managed

to infiltrate the Pentagon manufacturer building, the largest TV manufacturing

company in Hong Kong. However, he was hardly discrete as he strolled past

workers and the seasoned manufacturer lady, who paid his ominous proclama-

tion little attention. Hado, always on the lookout for a new conquest, attempted

to engage the Indian girl, who was diligently working on the circuitry with her

assortment of red and blue taped devices and copper wires. “Hey, what’s your

name?” he casually inquired. But her nonchalant response—“What?”—wasn’t

what he had anticipated. Chewing, chewing, Chewing.

Undeterred, Hado decided to drop a bombshell. “Listen, this building is going

to explode today, thanks to a terrorist group.” The elderly manufacturer lady,

whose skin sagged with age, looked at him and calmly advised, “Carry on with

your work.” Meanwhile, Oliver had deployed every member of the Trinity Epis-

copal Church group into the Pentagon building. Their uncanny ability to clone

themselves made it impossible to discern between ordinary employees and the

real members of their operation. You might wonder why they were blocking

toilets in various Pentagon houses worldwide. Not in Hong Kong but in places

like Malaysia, Mumbai, and Texas, this was part of their plan to avert disaster.

While Oliver had explicitly instructed everyone to keep their intentions under

wraps, it appeared that a certain overly talkative individual was letting informa-

tion spill like a broken faucet. I want to beat hado With a Indian broom soaked

in sewage. A tense moment unfolds as a bus driver, wounded and fearful, falls

near Oliver, who presses a gun against the man’s head. With bloodied features,

the driver pleads for his life. The driver: “Please, don’t... I have a family. I

don’t want to die.” Oliver’s probing questions about the driver’s family and fear

send a shiver down the man’s spine. Oliver: “So, you have a family, right?” The

driver: “Yes...” You’re in the midst of the chaos, frantically searching for Dorcy

within the labyrinthine Pentagon house. Oliver reloads his gun, intensifying the

driver’s terror, and asks whether the driver is merely afraid at this moment or

if this fear will consume his entire life. Oliver: “Is it really the last time you’re

afraid, or are you afraid your entire life?”

The driver is drenched in sweat, trembling, and stammers: The driver: “I don’t

know.” Oliver, relentless, presses the gun closer to the man’s head. You: “Oliver,

what are you doing? Is this necessary?” Oliver: “Shut up.” The driver, choking

on his fear, replies: The driver: “My whole life.” Oliver: “Exactly.” Are you

that driver? Who is the driver? The driver is the teenage male pulls a girl a

good few years younger than themself. A driver is a twat who thinks they own

the road Someone with a small penis A danger to society Stinks up the air with

fumes and attitude Someone who deserves to be punched at ever opportunity

Hello I am a driver and I am a twat.

With a piece of blue plastic tape, Oliver seals the man’s fate, instructing him

to drive a van laden with explosive cylinders through the building. The driver’s The fate of this driver is now intertwined with the imminent danger set to unfold.

You take equal equal amounts of carbon and explosive nitrogen extracted from

Dorcy’s vomit and mix them together, you can steal multiple car you batteries

and crush them and use that carbon. You use liquid petroleum gas , the petrol

would be artificial. Gasoline, Fuel used in conventional internal combustion

engines. In North America, this is known as gas. Cf. Diesel, kerosene. Now

I become death, the destroyer of the world’s. A bomb is a handheld explosive

that dentonates when the phrase “Happy children with no money” is said in a

farmers market on Tuesday. Blood on my balls. To get blood on your penis or

balls while having sex with a lady who is on her periods. Last night dorcy gave

me da bomb. Mix them together, you get a great result of death mixed with

time. Everything is logical and nothing is logical, you take 2 sips of GREEK

syrup again and huhh..what a fucking relief. My mind is still in 530 AD,My

past life, Obey Me’s Avatar of Wrath, “Wrath” being “Daddy Issues”. Will

probably sell you for a stray cat. Decided that polka dot pants and feathers

were intimidating and went with it. His function in the story is to simp for you

and to gossip with Asmodeus like they were high schoolers. Satan adopted 37

cats today.

As the tension in the van grows, the bus driver, now a hostage, is on the brink

of a horrifying ordeal. But Oliver decides to prolong the moment of reckoning,

as chaos swirls around, and the pneumonia members are set to engage in their

dark mission.

Inside the Pentagon manufacturer building, panic erupts as the sound of shat-

tering glass reverberates through the room. The Indian girl, Alice, jolts from

her seat. Alice: ”What’s that?” Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, a pneumonia

springs into action, inflicting swift, brutal violence. A ribcage is shattered, and

a throat is mercilessly slashed. This deadly figure, known as Leviathan, wears

a sinister black robber mask and a convincing cop costume. In a surprising

twist, Leviathan quickly takes the life of Alice, leaving a haunting presence in

their wake. Communication ensues, as Oliver contacts Leviathan through ear-

buds, seeking an update on the situation Oliver: ”What’s going on?” Leviathan:

”Nearly all of them are dead”

Leviathan was a large whale-like sea creature, who may have had 7 heads accord-

ing to some legends. Meanwhile, the police force arrives on the scene, responding

to the harrowing tableau of lifeless manufacturers inside the Pentagon building.

The room is now eerily empty, contrasting starkly with the chaos that unfolded

within seconds. Like a mirage, the culprits have disappeared, leaving the au-

thorities in bewilderment. In a second, everyone’s outside, they disappeared in

multimiliseconds, multiply a second with 0.7 Mili seconds and then divide it by

6,the result is multimiliseconds.

Moments later, you find yourself safely outside with Dorcy, holding her close.

There’s a palpable sense of relief and reunion, despite the grim chaos left behind.

In an unexpected turn of events, the glass doors of the Pentagon building shat

eyes reveal a mixture of terror and resignation, a pawn in a dangerous gameter, and a van filled with explosives, driven by the bus driver, hurtles toward

imminent destruction. Only one minute remains on the countdown.

Gunfire rings out as police officers frantically try to halt the van. As the timer

ticks down, uncertainty and fear grip them, and they’re at a loss for what’s

about to unfold.

However, within mere seconds, everything changes. The van vanishes, and the

police officers are left bewildered, with the exception of one of your pneumonia

members, Hado, who remains missing.

Amid the disarray and the grim aftermath of the van’s explosive end, you and

Dorcy share a moment of tenderness.

Shot, Shot,Shot,Shot...

The police is shooting the van , eventually the driver died , 6 police officers

came near the van and 5, and 4 they are sweating what’s gonna happen. And

3, Still sweating and Dont know what to do. What they are feeling right now is

when, A dc++ user who enjoys poseing as a female to seduce other men online.

Oftenly it is for sexual intercorse. WTF? is that EuphoriA tryign to be a female

again?

And 2, and we’re out , none of us except one of our pneumonia’s member hado

is missing and 1, and now I’m in my van with dorcy loving me alot and I love

you baby, Very high energy and fun to be around, you have a blast when you

are with dorcy And then Blasts.... In the wake of the devastation, the world

shifts, with chaos, blackouts, and destruction spanning continents and leaving

chaos in its wake. Stability is disrupted, and the repercussions are profound.

The next day, you awaken to an unexpected sight – Dorcy, donning a school

uniform, dances with childlike energy. Dorcy: ”Do you like this outfit?” You,

with an affectionate tone, respond: You: ”Of course.” Dorcy: ”Really, Daddy?”

The term ”Daddy” carries a dual meaning – it can refer to a male father figure

and is also used playfully between partners, often in a romantic or affectionate

context, symbolizing endearment and intimacy. Its a huge turn on for some and

it’s mostly used by those who like it rough or just for those kinky little shits.

Because of this term, kids will grow up wondering why their father doesn’t

want them to call him ”Daddy” daddy daddy kink kink sex role play Spank me,

Daddy!

Chapter 14

At my boss’s home, a medical representative, we gather as six individuals –

three MRs and three drug testers. My role in this gathering is as a drug tester,

and testing substances is what I do.

Drug testing is a practice employed by many companies, although it can be

contentious if not explicitly outlined in an employment contract. These tests

can encompass various methods, from blood and hair to urine and saliva testing,

to uncover any traces of substances in your system. Their intensity in detecting

even minor drug use has made them quite comprehensive. *Modern Day Drug Testing* Employer: ”We got your drug test results today...”

Employee: ”Everything should be fine; I’m clean.” Employer: ”But it says here

that you look at porn on Thursdays...ge t out.” A knock at the door interrupts

our meeting. My boss opens it to reveal Dorcy, once again gracing us with her

presence. She is poised and attractive, wearing a captivating Aphrodite cropped

polo in a steamy gray color. A yellow ribbon is neatly folded at her collar button,

adding a touch of intrigue to her appearance.

Dorcy carries with her a canvas bag and, in an act of graciousness, offers my

boss some cookies. These are not your average cookies; they’re Dorcy’s special

treats. My boss remains unruffled by her presence and responds calmly. Dorcy:

”Hello, sir. Would you like some cookies?” My Boss: ”Thank you, Put them

down there.” Dorcy places the canva box labeled ”PLEASURE” on the table,

and we continue our meeting. These cookies seem to hold some special allure,

but I have no desire for them. Her cookies large circular disc of crack (i.e. co-

caine (benzoylmethylecgonine) freebase) that forms at the bottom of the dildo

lubricant made from human urine and semen and (most stereotypically used in

crack production) as the conversion product; varies in size/mass just depending

on how much testesterone was started with, In the room, there’s a bald gentle-

man who can’t seem to keep his eyes off Dorcy. Dorcy, in turn, casts her flirty

glances in his direction. This visible flirtation makes me increasingly agitated,

and I find myself glaring at her, like a stereotypical jealous husband. Bald Guy:

”Hey there” Dorcy: *flirting* ”Hello, handsome.” A dating equivalent of apply-

ing the trial-and-error strategy to hit a target as long as personal parameters

or expectations are not unreasonable or unachievable. I, however, have no taste

for cookies, so I remain silent, unable to hide my irritation.

Dorcy senses my disapproval and gracefully withdraws. We exchange our con-

versation with the bald man, who shows us the latest chemical hormonal blocker

known as ”CRICKSAW 65” and contraceptives for emergency use.

Dorcy senses my disapproval and gracefully withdraws. We exchange our con-

versation with the bald man, who shows us the latest chemical hormonal blocker

known as ”CRICKSAW 65” and contraceptives for emergency use.

My boss inquires about the testing of these substances. My Boss: ”Alex, have

you completed the testing on this new batch?” I’m irritated and respond tersely.

Me: ”You’re such an asshole. Can’t you read? Look at the stamp, it’s clearly

marked.” The bald man’s reaction is peculiar as he experiences an unexpected

arousal. Bald Guy: ”Oh my, that’s quite a reaction.” My boss humorously

reminds me not to mess with him in his own home. My Boss: ”Alex, you really

shouldn’t mess with me here.” The bald man confirms my boss’s authority. Bald

Guy: ”Yeah, he’s the boss here.” This interchange takes a light-hearted turn as

my boss inquires about my sperm test. My Boss: ”Alex, have you done your

sperm test yet?”

I respond tersely, which leads to an awkward silence. atmosphere grows tense. An awkward silence hangs in the room, emphasizing

that silence, indeed, can be the key to failure. For the record, it’s spelled ”silent”

and is used in a more severe context, such as when one needs to hush someone

forcefully. ”Silentes!” you might say when demanding someone to be quiet if

they’re too loud or obnoxious. ”Silentes!” is the way to say it when you mean

business!

The observant bald gentleman remarks, ”Your shirt is messy, and it’s not tucked.”

He’s the only one to notice my untidy shirt, with small stains of blood and tea

that haven’t yet found their way into my vintage jeans. I wonder, should I dress

however I please?

Bald Guy: ”Hey, your shirt is a bit of a mess.” I said ”Well, I’d like to dress how-

ever I like, okay?” The bald guy lets it slide, and the boss remains focused on

checking the stamps on the drugs and medicines, as he’s always been a bit skep-

tical – he trusts neither me nor anyone else. I’m the only one here well-versed

in the details of all the puberty blockers and sexual drugs. Not just the sexual

ones, but also ordinary creams and various other products. I have everything

from contraceptives to intrauterine devices and pills. But I don’t have condoms,

just an array of emergency contraceptives, not just for casual sex, as the bald

guy points out with a smirk. Bald Guy: ”You don’t need to include casual sex.”

Dorcy whispers in with her own suggestion. Dorcy: ”He should.” I’m left to

explain to my boss, who’s growing increasingly puzzled. I proceed to clarify.

Dorcy is searching for a personal item because there’s an unexpected vibration

coming from my suitcase. Even the boss expressed concerns that it might be

a ”dildo” and asked me, ”Why is your suitcase vibrating?” I responded, ”It’s

just an electric razor.” I opened the suitcase to show them. In the background,

there’s a room behind my sofa where the boss and his wife are sleeping. Dorcy

whispers to me, ”Wouldn’t it be better if it actually was a dildo?” I whispered

back, ”Be quiet.” The boss asks, ”What did you say?”

And I told ”We have a comprehensive selection of emergency contraceptives,

which can be effective within just five hours of any sexual activity.” Extra con-

doms (often kept in a backpack, briefcase, or vehicle trunk) A Left Hand and

truecrypt porn volume can quickly relieve blue balls with zero potential con-

ception, but high potential for sexual escalation. technology with the potential

to PREVENT conception (sperm penetrating ovum, the engendering of preg-

nancy), includes: condoms, spermicide, careful anal sex, masturbation. Any

technology willfully killing the zygote is infanticide and in no way whatsoever

contraceptive.

One cannot un-ring the bell: don’t tap the bell.

As my boss steps away for a brief moment, he opens the canva box of cookies

that Dorcy brought. I tilt my head to get a better view, and I can see Dorcy

slipping something into the pants of my boss’s wife – perhaps a dildo.

The slim and stylish Patrick Bateman lookalike stands in silence, visibly irritated

as the bald man persists in touching his exquisite $700 black coat, meticulously

Me: ”Why don’t you mind your own business?” Everyone falls silent, and the crafted from the finest worsted wool in a sleek plain weave. The bald man

appears increasingly eager and aroused, his desires and hunger intertwined.

Much like the meteor that ended the reign of the dinosaurs, the dildo may be

responsible for the ultimate extinction of the human race. After all, who needs

men when you have a trusty dildo to keep you company?

It’s a curious turn of events in a room full of secrecy and subtext, a place where

even casual observations lead to intriguing outcomes.

I find myself staying silent, watching as the boss returns, spots a cookie in the

bald guy’s hand, and inquires, ”Did you ask for my permission to take that?”

I boldly respond, ”Every human has the right to eat or drink whatever they

please; we’re all equals.” I spread my legs across the sofa and point my finger at

him. The boss isn’t pleased and quickly tells me to shut up.

As we have this exchange, the room is filled with the sounds of crunching cookies,

so crispy and salty, almost as if they were concocted by mixing and melting

sperm, freezing it for ten days, and then subjecting it to yeast, distillation, and

ethanol fermentation. The bald guy consumes two biscuits, and another MR

attempts to grab one. The boss is irate but is soon distracted.

Suddenly, from the room next door, we hear moans and screams,

”Ahhh....Ooh..hmm..yeah baby. Harder and harder.”

an obnoxious, loud, high pitch noise often shouted out during sexual activities.

”Oooh! OH BOBBY!”

The boss rushes to the room and finds his wife. Her face has turned pale, and

she’s crying and moaning. It’s worth noting my boss’s name isn’t Bobby; he’s

not a celebrity like the famed Brad Pitt in your universe. But he’s sweating,

convinced his wife’s soul has been bewitched. We all enter the room, and my

boss berates Dorcy for her alleged involvement. Dorcy insists she’s innocent

while shedding tears. Drama unfolds, and then, behind me, the bald guy is

standing. His skin turns pale, eyes completely white, and blood oozes from

them as he collapses.

The same fate befalls the Patrick Bateman look-alike and the rest of the MRs.

Only my boss, Dorcy, and I remain unscathed. The moaning ceases as the

life leaves their physical bodies. Dorcy, overwhelmed, begins to scream, but I

remain nonchalant. I suggest to my boss, ”Sir, we should leave.” Dorcy protests,

but I feign a quick escape. However, just when it seems like I’m making my

getaway...

I turn a lit joint or blunt 180 degrees so the burning end faces my mouth.

Carefully, I place the lit end into my mouth and get close enough to let someone

else take a hit. The person with the lit end in their mouth blows through the

joint, transferring a substantial puff into my mouth. In an instant, three gunshots ring out, and the boss is gone. I stand there,

the new boss of AMP PHARMACEUTICAL INDUSTRY. A disparaging term

for the pharmaceutical industry, which is obviously the source of all the world’s

evils, is 100% full of greedy, unethical fucks, and never, ever does anything good,

because modern medicine is a complete scam. Ironically, people who spout this

crap, most likely take an Advil when they get a headache. Dorcy, a strange

mix of insanity and allure, stands beside me. We vanish, leaving no traces for

anyone to figure out what transpired in that mysterious room.

Chapter 15

Amidst the usual pneumonia’s, we find ourselves in a dark, unsettling forest

at 3 AM. Tears are flowing—sob, sob, sob. This isn’t our usual Trinity Episcopal

church. We’re surrounded by black trees and wild animals, like hyenas with belts

around their necks, with astroroth orchestrating it all.

Our tears are for the one we left behind today, Cephelon, a 19-year-old with an

angelic face, a handsome young man who met his end due to the elusive hado.

Oliver filled me in on the sinister male castration program, and as we gather

with Dorcy in Malaysia, it feels like a harrowing ordeal.

Cephelon’s body is being laid to rest in the earth, awaiting decomposition. It’s

the circle of life, and although his body has succumbed, we believe his soul

remains intact, a sacred space for the blue canary to reside, or perhaps a vessel

for something greater.

I’m crying, and so are the rest of us, except for Dorcy, who remains unshaken,

rolling her eyes and puffing on cigarettes. Astroroth, a close friend of Cephelon,

tells her to shed a tear. And so we continue sobbing...

I don’t quite understand how Cephelon met his end. After enduring two weeks

of memory cancer and brain dysfunction tumors, I return from my ordeal with

the Christ-tattooed man, and this is what I’m met with—Cephelon’s departure.

I’m still trying to piece it all together, yet somehow, he has earned my respect.

As the ritual draws to a close, Oliver explains the reason behind Cephelon’s

suicide. He had a deep love for crafting miniature helicopter toys and playing

with them. He also had a cherished big sister named Natalie. His ID card from

Trinity Episcopal remains a testament to the love he had for her, reminding us

of the humanity within.

In the modern world, suicide becomes a method of social control, a means for

the government to exert authority by monitoring biometric data. To pass the

time, they even ordered an unusual Anaconda-like snake parasite from the dark

web— where this term refers to a realm of cryptic, conservative ideologies and

is associated with a fan base reminiscent of the basement-dwelling, often right-

wing, self-proclaimed Intellectual Dark Web. It’s a strange world we inhabit

Have a fan base of mouth-breathing trogs with an average IQ of about 70, almost

all of whom reside in some form of fetid hole once recognisable as their parents’

basem ent.but Oliver told me the suicide is not intentional, the Anaconda just

entered as he enjoy saliva A horrible disease that’s almost as bad a pregnancy. Symptoms include not living anymore, your body decaying, all of your money

and possessions being given to relatives you may or may not know, and your

body being put underground forever or being set on fire. An organic being that

has gone from a state of being alive to a state in between life and death. Like

undead, but without having to die in the first place.

Oliver once regaled me with a tale of a peculiar night, a night of curious explo-

ration. It was 2 AM in Trinity Episcopal, and our group had found an unusual

source of amusement—the Anaconda, procured from the enigmatic depths of

the dark web. This Anaconda was reminiscent of the sperm serpent, and it

resided within a 35 cm glass mug.

Inside the mug, a mysterious concoction swirled, a mixture of human urine and

sperm, necessary for the creature’s survival. They treated it with a certain

reverence, for this Anaconda was no ordinary creature. the deformation of a

stream of urine (usually split in half like a snake’s tongue) caused by a prior

masturbation session, that has allowed the semen to dry inside of the urethra.

usually accompanied by a surprised look from the pisser. The act of a male

cumming such a large amount that a stream of sperm forms as if you are urinat-

ing. Hado, with his slender frame, couldn’t resist the temptation and playfully

toyed with the mug, uncapping it. Astroroth quickly intervened, reminding us

that it was obtained for a specific purpose. Dorothy sensed an unusual presence

and murmured, ”Guys, I can feel that it’s listening to us.” In response, Cephelo,

accompanied by Dorcy, couldn’t help but jest, saying, ”I love you, Anaconda!

Please marry me.” Laughter erupted as their words echoed in the room. Ceph-

elo, drawn by his peculiar fascination, approached the jug and began to shake

it. Dorothy watched with a sense of concern. Cephelo was known as a ”cum

smeller,” someone who had a peculiar liking for the aroma of fructose and human

urine inside the jug.

Amid the laughter, Dorothy intervened swiftly, hitting Cephelo from behind and

restoring the jug to its place. It was a playful episode, but Cephelo understood

and returned to his room, engrossed in his paper-made helicopters and imagi-

nary worlds, where invisible humans resided. Cephelo was one of our group’s

most essential members, known for his exceptional intelligence and spot-on pre-

dictions. Oliver granted him the highest priority rating of 89%. Despite his

unusual predilections, he appeared as an amiable figure, with big blue or brown

eyes, and brown hair that fell to varying lengths. Such a fascinating character,

indeed. let me explain what an Anaconda is A rare combination of a sexual

position and a state of euphoria caused by a male and a female being deeply

connected to eachother sexually, mentally And emotionally. The position is

missionary, and the female wraps her legs around the male and they work in

unison to establish the deepest penetration possible. im rock n rolling as dorcy

said I was having sex with my boyfriend and we did the anaconda.

It was a quiet morning at 6 AM when Cephelo felt the urge to relieve himself.

As he finished his business, he realized something important was missing – his

Trinity Episcopal ID card. While the card itself held little value, it was the only tangible memory he had of his sister. She had passed away at the age of

22 during an earthquake in their homeland of Indonesia, just two years before

Cephelo joined Trinity Episcopal. Cephelo searched high and low, but every-

one else was still asleep. Dorothy was busy scribbling something on the face

of a billionaire’s photograph in an Albanian newspaper, while Astroroth was

engaged in the mystical act of summoning demonic souls from the red pages of

a book. Desperation gripped Cephelo. In his frantic search, he heard something

unexpected:

Beat, beat, beat, beat... A man’s voice, suffocating and desperate: AH, AH,

AH, AH... YES, YES, FUCK! Curiosity and concern led Cephelo to the source

of the sound. What he found was unsettling. Hado was naked, drenched in

sweat, and masturbating on a photo of Cephelo’s late sister. The shock was

palpable, and Cephelo couldn’t contain his fury. He lunged at Hado, and a

violent fight erupted. It was the first time Cephelo had displayed such anger.

His blows rained down on Hado’s skinny body, and the violent struggle moved

into the central room where the ritual had taken place. The confrontation was

fierce:

Beat, beat, beat, beat...

Cephelo relentlessly assaulted Hado while the latter laughed maniacally.

Hahahahhahah... your sister is su ch a slut, huh?

The commotion attracted the rest of the group. Dorothy and Astroroth inter-

vened, attempting to separate the combatants. Eventually, Hado pushed Ceph-

elo so hard that he tumbled into a nearby table, causing the Anaconda-filled

jug to fall and spill its contents onto the floor. Creamy fructose and citric acid

mixed with the vapors, creating a disturbing scene. The 35 cm Anaconda slith-

ered across the cemented floor and found its way into Cephelo’s mouth, which

was open due to the fall. In a terrifying turn of events, Cephelo swallowed the

Anaconda.

Panic spread through the room as everyone watched in horror. Astroroth

pounded on Cephelo’s stomach, attempting to help him expel the creature. In-

stead, Cephelo’s skin began to bulge, and he began vomiting copious amounts

of sperm. Dorothy was worried about potential sperm shortage, and the entire

ordeal was incredibly grotesque.

After the violent regurgitation, Cephelo drifted into an unsettling slumber, one

from which he would never awaken. It was his last sleep, and thus, we lost the

endearing Cephelo, who had sought to protect his sister’s honor but met a tragic

and gruesome end.

Chapter 16

As we trekked through the forest, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease.

Trinity Episcopal Church had its own hidden forest, a place where the departed

were laid to rest. This eerie atmosphere was exacerbated by Dorcy’s reassuring

words, ”We had to go, it will be fine.” However, things didn’t feel fine at all.

Oliver was lost in thought, conceiving yet another one of his unconventional plans involving acts of terrorism. Suddenly, I detected an unfamiliar odor, a

scent reminiscent of burning plastic, and the acrid fumes invaded my throat,

provoking a fit of coughing. Dorcy, ever the optimist, continued to insist, ”We

had to go, it will be fine.” We put distance between ourselves and that unsettling

forest. The smell of burning grew fainter as we ventured deeper into the woods.

Yet, I could hear a curious rustling, the measured footfalls of some creature.

Swish, swish, swish, swish...

I attempted to shake off Dorcy’s reassurances. ”We had to go, it will be fine,”

she repeated. Annoyed, I tried to ignore her, but the creature kept following me.

I soon realized what it was – a platypus. But this was no ordinary, cute platypus

you might imagine. It had a grotesque, human-like face with a sinister smile,

sharp eyes, and filthy patches on its body. Platypuses are strange creatures, to

begin with, with duck bills, beaver tails, and venomous spurs. This one seemed

to be the embodiment of nature’s oddity. Dorcy, compassionate as always,

saw the platypus and scolded me for my unkind words. I muttered, ”What a

disgusting fat thing.” She promptly picked up the bizarre creature and cradled it

in her lap. My frustration grew, and I held my forehead, helpless in the situation.

The cunning platypus licked Dorcy’s face, and she even placed her cigarette in

its mouth. Unbelievably, the platypus inhaled the cigarette smoke. It became

a bizarre spectacle as the creature puffed on the cigarette. Despite Oliver’s

suggestion to dispose of the creature, Dorcy remained stubborn, cradling the

platypus in her lap.

Daddy, daddy, kinky, kinky, sex roleplay...

The platypus remained a living enigma, a strange quirk of nature. It was as

if, in creating the platypus, God had an off day, mixing a beaver and a duck,

then adding a dash of reptile, producing this one-of-a-kind creature. Corpora-

tions are a platypus The government’s a platypus Your teacher is a platypus

Society’s a platypus My parents are a platypus The media’s a platypus It’s all

just propaganda We’ve all got platypus controlling us.

Inside Trinity Episcopal Church, everyone was busy with their tasks, and Dorcy

seemed to be particularly engrossed in some peculiar interaction with the platy-

pus. My unease grew as I contemplated the possibility of a satanic encounter

between Dorcy and the platypus. Oliver, ever the idea man, stepped into the

room, the central room where Dorcy was treating the platypus to a seemingly

endless supply of cigarettes. He decided to approach the platypus, but it struck

back with its venomous tail, producing an unsettling growl.

Grrrr...grrrr...grrrr...

I watched in horror, unable to sleep, unable to escape the eerie sound. I felt

a growing aversion towards the platypus, wanting nothing more than to see it

gone. It was no longer an animal to me; it was a vile creature.

Grrrr...grrrr...grrrr...

The platypus, with its cunning eyes, gazed back at me. I felt suffocated by

its presence. Astroroth arrived, summoned by Oliver, who hoped the platypus

might amuse him. Astroroth, breaking into laughter, exclaimed, ”This platypus

is too blonde.” Next came Dorothy, then Mephisto, and I found myself increas-

ingly disturbed, my cerebral cells deteriorating. Dorcy, with her disheveled hair

that reminded me of a dog lapping up milk, danced energetically. Oliver pro-

ceeded to place the platypus on a table and summoned Astroroth, instructing

him to fetch a camera. Meanwhile, Dorcy gracefully rose to her feet, commenc-

ing an Indonesian Bala dance .

I could no longer bear to be in that place and decided to escape to the bathroom.

Nausea overcame me, and green substance poured from my mouth, a testament

to my unease. Dorcy, noticing my distress, rushed to my side. Angry and ill,

I snapped, ”It’s none of your business.” Unbeknownst to Dorcy, Oliver stood

nearby and whispered his instructions, ”Go away.” Parroting Oliver’s words, I

repeated them to Dorcy, ”Go away.” Then, he said, ”And play with,” and I

obeyed his direction, ”And play with.” When he whispered, ”the fat disgusting

platypus,” I followed suit. Dorcy understood and began to sob, sob, sob.. This

felt like a manipulation, akin to blackmailing, as if I were a child being coerced.

Dorcy tried to engage in a hentai roleplay, but my health prevented any interest.

Our conversation concluded, and I tilted my head as Oliver vanished.

Sob sob sob... I expressed my concern, stating, ”I think it’s rather insensitive,

and you probably shouldn’t go through with it. But, ultimately, it’s your deci-

sion, so do what you feel is right.” Dorcy assured me, ”I won’t.” However, the

platypus continued to trouble my thoughts, and I desperately wanted to be rid

of it. Dorcy suggested, ”Maybe a bit of roleplay, like a hentai scenario, could

help,” but I softly responded, ”I’m not particularly interested,” my voice barely

audible due to my relentless cough. She replied with a simple, ”Alright.” I then

glanced around, and Oliver had vanished. ”Who are you looking at?” Dorcy

inquired. I weakly implored, ”Please, just leave me be.”

.

I entered the central room, only to find the platypus missing. I asked Astroroth,

”Where’s the duck-bell?” Dorcy appeared suddenly and said, ”We got rid of

him.” Astroroth continued, ”But the stakes would be high.” Stakes? I wasn’t

sure what Astroroth was talking about. Dorcy explained to me that we had a

policy of subtly incorporating products and haunted dolls into YouTube videos.

She elaborated on our YouTube project. ”YouTube is supposed to be fun, right?

You can blow up ten refrigerators filled with burning nitrogen gases and liquid

petroleum in public. You can use Coca-Cola with mint capsules to create an

artificial demonic ejaculation. Do whatever you like – you don’t need a college

degree for this. College is for doing chores and having fun, like hosting mastur-

bation parties. It’s a place where you go to clubs, have sex with strangers all

night, and play ’fuck, marry, kill,’ an American game where you spin a wheel

and make choices about having sex with someone, killing someone, or castrating someone.” Our plan was to create a horror scenario that would make people

believe they were merely puppets, born to have sex and die. Before disposing

of the platypus, Oliver told me they had recorded a video of him. They edited

it with a 1970s black and white filter, added technical glitches and bugs, and

uploaded it on YouTube with the title ”Full Stop Punctuation.” I still couldn’t

grasp the purpose of this. They were well aware of how disturbing the platypus

could be to someone. The video was meant to remain hidden, but with the

technical glitches, we altered the upload date to February 5, 2006, to create a

surreal experience. Some YouTubers created short videos discussing the strange

nuisance of this video being uploaded from the dark web, without knowing the

real story behind it.

We referred to this as an experiment with YouTube. You might be searching

for grammar rules and punctuation in preparation for your English exam the

next day. Instead, you stumble upon the platypus video, and your life takes a

dark turn. This video was designed as a curse – watching it brought bad luck

and misfortune for seven years. Typing a dot or a full stop punctuation in the

YouTube search bar would auto-fill it with a set of titles connected to vile, and

sometimes illegal, videos that bypassed YouTube’s moderation with misleading

titles. The videos were continually uploaded by our pneumonia’s group. We

were always on the lookout for disturbing content like the sperm Anaconda and

a violet-colored cursed platform. We called this ”public terrorism,” a means

of manipulating the public with the help of YouTubers and governments, in-

structing their brains to accept these distorted realities. Watching crime and

murder videos with explicit blood and violence is illegal, but watching BDSM

porn and videos that destroy sexual identities isn’t. This is what we referred

to as ”government manipulation.” The Dom mistress says ”you had to consider

your penis is small”, she is inducing you and way back after years , you consider

your penis is small by the fucking society and the porn star and congratulations

you got body dysmorphia, an untreated diseases.

JOI SEX PORN BDSM BLA BLA.... SPIN IT

I questioned Oliver about the purpose of all this, and he replied, ”They wanted

to study how fear and objects that evoke fear can manipulate a person as if they

were in a video game, and you’re the player.” I retorted, ”I’m not the player,”

but Oliver just smiled and said, ”Yes, you are.”

”Feel the scorching lava in your body... yeah, yeah, yeahhhh...” This song was

performed by Theodore, whom we killed last Saturday night, approximately two

months ago. He was part of the male castration program. Oliver reentered the

central room, where the members of our pneumonia group were watching news

reports about Theodore’s death at the hands of terrorists and governmental

agents. Oliver grabbed a glass of milk and joined us in watching the news.

Dorcy, frustrated at not getting a chance for a sex roleplay with me, had dozed

off. I firmly believed that everyone should have the freedom to choose their

partners for such activities, and it didn’t always have to be me Oliver began to

chuckle, and as he laughed, the rest of us joined in. This is how our next plan took shape, centered around his brother, Lucas. In her anger, Dorothy changed

the channel to a children’s program:

”Pim pom pim pim pom pom.”

The program featured complex Disney characters, including the short-statured

Mickey Mouse. As we watched, Oliver got an idea: ”Guys, if you were to make

this Mickey Mouse creepy, what would you do?” Mephisto suggested cutting

his throat, Dorothy thought about transforming him into a tall blond female,

and Astroroth proposed altering his appearance by reducing the size of his

eyes, removing his nose, and cutting his big ears. Oliver was impressed with

Astroroth’s idea and patted him on the back. Leviathan, the introverted Sigma

male, seemed disinterested in the conversation, deeply engrossed in drawing

multiple pentagons and hexagons on vintage paper. Dorothy took charge, and

our female members started designing creepy Mickey Mouse costumes.

Oliver looked at the TV and said to me, ”Tomorrow will be the greatest day

of our lives.” Confused, I asked why. He replied, ”Don’t you get it?” The news

reporter announced that Theodore’s brother, Lucas, was going to participate in

a singing contest, performing a pop song about ”my favorite unicorn.” It became

clear that Rule 34 applied everywhere. The following night at 12 AM, we found

ourselves once again posing as waiters and fake police officers, covertly analyzing

and tracking the band’s movements. Lucas, dressed in a unicorn-themed pink

dress and hairband, began to sing his rather tacky and nauseating song about

unicorns:

Chapter 17

(Verse 1) In a world of wonder, where magic’s in the air, Unicorns appear, so

rare and so fair, Their spiraled horns, like rainbows, gleam so bright, But only

pure hearts can see them in the light. (Pre-Chorus) A modern twist, they fly

without a care, Rainbows in the sky, as they dance through the air, Sneezing

skittles, and ice cream galore, In this candy-colored world, they’ll always explore.

To say it was the worst song I had ever heard would be an understatement. It

seemed more like a nursery rhyme than anything else. I knew exactly what

Oliver was up to. He aimed to spread negativity about modern-day songs,

believing they made us weaker and more childlike, or something along those

lines. This so-called ”musical noise” was often used as a tool to extract money

from gullible individuals. As it didn’t fit neatly into any established genre,

record companies cynically labeled it ”pop music,” trying to convince people

that it was popular and, therefore, worth listening to. The lyrics, especially

when heard by a 15-year-old, conveyed a completely different meaning: ”Unicorn

is your step-sister and also your step-brother.” It was not hard to see what was

implied. Songs like these, in Oliver’s view, were tools of manipulation and

hypnosis, fostering a range of influences from sexuality to demonic themes, and

even encouraging male weakness and misogyny.

Despite the terrible song blaring in my ears, I saw Lucas waiting for the cosplay-

ers dressed as unicorn cartoon characters. Unbeknownst to him, we had taken

them hostage in the bathroom, and our pneumonia members had donned the creepy Mickey Mouse suits in their place. They were told not to do anything.

I distributed distilled alcohol to our group members. As the performance be-

gan, the members of our Mickey Mouse crew, with their altered appearances

- no nose, no ears, and smaller eyes - joined the dance, to the astonishment

of the audience and the executive director, who was left wondering why their

costumes had changed. Nevertheless, they allowed our Mickey Mouse imperson-

ators to dance along. Dancing and prancing, I found myself transfixed by their

performance. Suddenly, an old lady called out, ”Son?” I quickly served her red

wine and placed it on her table. Oliver signaled me, so I excused myself from

the room. Outside, I spotted Dorcy wearing a sexy black maid dress crop, her

brown- black lips accentuating her allure. She trailed Lucas as the nursery song

came to an end. To get his attention, she initiated an ”accidental” collision,

resulting in a comical ice cream splatter all over his pink coat. ”You can’t see,

you fucking idiot?” Lucas looked at his coat with vanilla ice cream stains but

managed to keep his cool, ”I’m sorry.” When he realized it was Dorcy, the same

person who had sent him the horse-inspired love letters that led to his song, his

demeanor transformed in an instant.

”No, no, I’m sorry, it’s my mistake. Oh, wow, it’s you. How are you?” Lucas

was known to be pansexual, but he had a soft spot for Dorcy. She responded

with a raised eyebrow, ”That’s right.” Then Lucas raised his own eyebrow, and

they seemed ready for a kinky encounter. Oliver, Astroroth, Leviathan, and

I continued to discreetly observe their every move. As they went outside, we

couldn’t all follow, so Oliver and I left the room, leaving the Mickey Mouse

impersonators still dancing. We positioned ourselves near the gate and could

overhear their conversation. I could even hear the sound of their passionate kiss,

as Lucas’ dry lips met Dorcy’s nitrogen-infused ones. The cacophony of their

lips and the exchange of saliva was quite vivid. I watched them intently as Lucas

touched her shoulder and then, suddenly, Dorcy delivered a powerful punch to

his face injects an analgesic 6% w/w, where all muscles become relaxed and

’floppy’. This creates a danger to the patient’s life, as their tongue (a muscle)

rolls to the back of the throat, and blocks the airway. Also, as the patient regains

consciousness, their stomach wall contracts, causing the contents of their bowels

to be forced up the oesophagus where it would enter the mouth to be drained,

but because the tongue is blocking it’s way, a sufficient amount of vomit enters

the lungs, and the patient therefore drowns on their own sick. he falls in sleep.

Nothing remained static. Everything was unraveling. Street criminals are often

associated with tying red rags around their rear ends, and these Bloods spend

their time on street corners, making peculiar hand signals. They take what isn’t

theirs and derive pleasure from harming others.

Dorcy’s punch had been so powerful that it caused Lucas’s mouth to bleed. In

response, she forcefully kissed his bloodied lips, ensuring he couldn’t make a

sound. Then she administered an analgesic to induce muscle relaxation. He fell

asleep, and Dorcy put him in the van. In a flash, we all joined them, climbing

into the van. Amidst a surreal mix of Mickey Mouse, sex toys, and puberty blockers, we departed. Inside the van, I grabbed the unicorn headband, which

had a spike as large as a well-endowed, sweating penis. Astroroth couldn’t

help but laugh, ”Hahaha... bro made this shit for a horse with a penis on its

forehead.” I was entirely unaware of the horse’s unique anatomy, so I thanked

Astroroth for the enlightening information. I glanced at Dorcy and said, ”This

is her suggestion.” Unicorn sex roleplay, a personal favorite of mine. Picture

yourself, naked and slender, straddling the body of a unicorn and stimulating

its spike. As you do, the unicorn moans, moans, and moans. The result? A

delectable, sweet vanilla cream. You really should give it a try! Fast forward,

we entered Trinity Episcopal, where Oliver welcomed us to a dimly lit space

with an old 1970s camera adorned with spiderwebs. Surprisingly, it was still in

working condition, held by Astroroth. The Mickey Mouse cosplayers were all

set and ready. Oliver placed his hands on the forehead of one of the Mickey

Mouse suits, which concealed Dorothy within. He said, ”Best of luck, sister.”

She nodded, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of satanic jealousy.

Astroroth removed lucas pink coat and pants, revealing pink underwear beneath.

We swiftly undressed him, dressing him in old, blood-stained dark red shorts

and a tattered t-shirt with holes. We removed his hairband, and then the

waterworks began—splashing buckets of water on him. Lucas was gasping for

air as he awoke. In front of him stood Dorcy, who greeted him with a casual ”Hey

there.” Lucas attempted to scream, but the analgesics made him incredibly weak,

with his larynx burning as if in scorching lava. Yet, Oliver was determined to

hear him scream. The punches rained down like a maniac psychopath— fifteen,

thirty-five, relentless blows. His face was now bloody but still recognizable.

Astroroth gently placed the hairband on Lucas’s head, a beautiful moment.

Dorcy’s transformation was remarkable. He wore a white crop top with a shawl

collar and a light yellow polka-flocked fabric tucked inside the top, his auburn

hair immaculate. Dorcy’s change was quicker than premature ejaculation. I

recollected the day in Malaysia when I first tasted Dorcy’s blood in fruit Palau

soup. Here, we had fruit Palau soup filled with transgenic tomatoes and plenty

of blood.

Lucas, in a state of distress, shouted, ”Hey, hey, what the fuck is this?” In

response, he was met with, ”It’s your brother’s blood,” which sent him into

a fit of tears and screams. He was seated at a desk, ”Hey, hey, hey ,hey...no,

no,no,no”

with four Mickey Mouse cosplayers standing behind him. The third one was

Dorothy, and she delivered a powerful blow to his head, causing him to stop

crying. Oliver approached Lucas and said, ”Drink this fucking soup, or these

mice are going to take your balls.” It’s another Saturday morning, and I’m

brushing my teeth in the old, cracked sink. I’m hesitant to take a shower

because Dorcy is, once again, requesting unicorn sex roleplay, which I have no

desire for, at least not sexually. These sense objects and self-redemption ideas

have been a constant topic of discussion.

As I enter the central room, I find Oliver wearing his black eyeglasses and laughing, and everyone joins in the laughter. It’s like a symphony of humor

orgasms, and the laughter is contagious. We continue to share laughs, which is

quite refreshing. L is for lovers who love one another A is ass of which I like

to eat U I’d the only one for me G is for the only gamer I see H is for happy I

always feel it

You put the together and what do you get LAUGH!!!!! The laughter is fueled

by the latest news reported by Asian anchor Trisha Takanawa. She talks about

Theodore’s death during the gala dinner cruise and the aftermath involving his

brother, Lucas. The report is disturbing, but we took advantage of the situation.

We manipulated the time period in the video to make it appear as if it were

the work of She is saying ”After Theodore’s tragic demise at the gala dinner

cruise, due to his song ”THEY ARE LOOKING AT US,” his brother Lucas

has faced harassment from unidentified individuals. The police and FBI are

actively searching for these culprits. It’s a highly distressing situation, and we

strongly advise against watching the video.” superhumans or aliens, adding to

the intrigue. The President, Noah, is interviewed and offers vague assurances,

but not much more. Oliver decides to turn off the TV and launch into one of

his lectures.

He emphasizes our growing success and asks if we’re happy. His cunning smile

adds a sense of suspense. Astroroth, trying to please him, says, ”Yes, we are.”

But Oliver isn’t satisfied with that. He stands up, walks around the central gate,

and shouts, ”You’re just the fire and government operations, singers, movies,

and entertainment. You’re just the embryo inside the mother’s uterus, and the

amniotic fluid covering you is the sex industry, and the list goes on.” Oliver’s

words paint a larger philosophical picture.

He says ”it is better to live in your own Destiny imperfectly than to live an

imitation of somebody’s else life with perfection, and the somebody else is this

world ”.

Oliver is not just an ordinary philosopher; he’s an influential thinker who can

shape or dismantle civilizations, all from behind the scenes, often remaining un-

known to those who end up adopting his ideas as everyday beliefs. His influence

can last centuries and millennia, for better or worse. In Oliver, we trust, as we

continue our journey toward becoming something more.

Chapter 18

Something more was what Oliver sought, and I couldn’t fully grasp it yet.

It’s like asking whether you’re washing your face with water or if the water is

washing you. The bizarre nature of our existence continues, You wake up Sunday

night, You wake up Tuesday night You never wakes up in sunday although As

I ventured into the central room, an unsettling sight unfolded. A doctor was

conducting surgery, using techniques involving carbon monoxide gases and the

latest in smooth plaster of Paris. Dorothy was there, clad in a tight purple

latex suit, rolling her eyes and indulging in her cigarette. I couldn’t help but

ask, ”Why are you dressed like that?” Then Oliver, carrying a plastic mug filled

with collagen mixed with plaster of Paris, entered the scene. He nonchalantly remarked, ”For a nice kinky sex roleplay,” before leaving me in a state of utter

confusion.

A plea for help lingered on my lips, but Oliver’s laughter was the only response.

The doctor’s half-burned face and the grotesque wounds did little to ease my

unease. He was here on Oliver’s orders, acquired from the dark web. The

uncertainty in my surroundings was overwhelming.

As if the confusion and strangeness weren’t enough, You wake up at AMP

PHARMACEUTICAL INDUSTRY, where I found myself in a position of power

and respect. The maids seemed eager to express their affection with kisses and

provocative dances, leaving me bewildered. A van arrived, packed with puberty

blockers, sex toys, vaginal vaults, chemical hormonal condoms, contraceptives,

and other items related to casual sex and sexuality. All part of a grander plan

orchestrated by Oliver. This recurring ”X” Ratio concept echoed in my experi-

ences, and the ”Y” Ratio of transportation kept presenting questions about my

next move. Everywhere I went, I encountered suggestions for plans that weren’t

truly mine but Oliver’s. In the dream sequence that followed, I found myself on

a ship alongside Dorcy. She danced with abandon, and I noticed I was wearing

a peculiar pink and brown outfit. She informed me it was a dress she obtained

from Apate’s mother, whom she claimed to have killed. My astonishment was

met with an even more bizarre offer for us to have sex, a proposition I reluctantly

accepted. She continued her mesmerizing dance, while I remained bewildered,

clad in an odd amalgamation of pink and brown attire that resembled something

a barbarian might wear. The sight was inexplicably diabolical.

.

Dorcy, still dancing, chimed in, ”Do you like this dress? I got it for free.”

The dress was more akin to a beggar’s rags. Then, she dropped a shocking

revelation, ”I killed Apate’s mother, and she had this dress.” My mouth hung

open in disbelief, and I stammered, ”Jesus Christ, this is bad, baby.”

Unfazed by the disturbing revelation, she casually added, ”I’m freezing her

collagen in the refrigerator, so it becomes cold, sweet, and exquisite with 5%

wine and your favorite methanogenic gas. Let’s have sex.” Initially hesitant, I

eventually gave in to her insistence, and we engaged in intimate activities. Our

passion surged, and the room echoed with our moans and the rhythm of our

movements. After an astonishing 45 rounds of intimacy, the ship stirred to life.

Suddenly, we found ourselves bathed in a surreal cascade of Anaconda serpant’s

milky fructose as the ship continued its mysterious journey. We engaged in

intimate activities repeatedly, eventually leading to a surreal encounter with an

Anaconda serpant’s milky fructose washing over us. We spliced our sex organs

in hot black Palau soup and dorcy transformed into Apate. The lines between

reality and the dreamworld blurred as she took on the form of Apate, driven by

her insatiable desire. She ensnared my soul, granting me multiple orgasms in

a bewitching and intoxicating dance of passion. It was an experience that left

me haunted, and the nightmare repeated itself relentlessly. I began to question whether she was truly Apate or if, in the dream, I had unknowingly engaged

with Apate’s mother. Unicorn sex roleplay, kinky fantasies, and latex fetishes

plagued my mind.

Unicorn sex roleplay, kinky kinky daddy daddy Latex jerking! The boundaries

of my sanity were tested as I grappled with mental and physical exploitation.

Confused by the surgery and its purpose, Oliver provided an explanation. We

found ourselves in the 5D MARK HOTEL, with Dorothy dressed in a tight

purple suit, enhancing her allure. Oliver sent Dorothy in a tight purple suit

and extra two foams and soft pillows in her chest so she looks hot? She entered

the hotel, mimicking Dorcy’s sultry demeanor, smoking cigarettes, and wearing

excessive makeup that added to her alluring appearance. Room 9A became the

focal point, and I learned that Dorothy had saved gangster William, who had

been drowning in sorrow over his past ex , he had already taken 7 pills and

overheard Dorothy recounting a steamy encounter with William in the hotel’s

car garage. She is kind of person who acts like an anthropomorphic animal online

(furry); also is interested in the disgusting game Changed. Later, in the hallway,

William locked the door to room 9A and passionately pursued Dorothy. Dorothy

encountered a despairing William sprawled on the ground, his intentions veering

toward self-destruction. However, with her seductive allure, Dorothy lured him

away from the brink. Her suggestive offer of ”some milk” proved to be a turning

point, and the sequence of events that followed became a whirlwind of intense

and passionate encounters.

Dorothy later confided in me, sharing her rendezvous with William from the pre-

vious morning at the 5D MARK HOTEL. Their amorous escapade had unfolded

within the confines of a car garage, where desire had ignited their connection.

The allure of passion was irresistible as he drew closer to Dorothy. On the

stairwell, their bodies pressed against the wall, and a rhythmic crescendo of

intimate moments unfolded in an intense and passionate exchange. Pim pom

pom pim.. Their intense connection led them to explore their desires in a pas-

sionate embrace. The police, unaware of the passionate encounter that had

transpired, knocked on the door of room 9A, offering their support to William.

Little did they know that everything was, in fact, fine and neat. Subsequently,

they engaged in passionate intimacy, using an old, jellyfish-like, used condom

in a concealed garage. Their encounter was filled with fervor and sensuality. Af-

ter their enjoyable escapade, Oliver accompanied William to Trinity Episcopal,

where we embarked on the process of reconstructing his facial features. This is

called a latex condo. 1.A condominium made out of latex. OR 2. What you

get when you misread a condom wrapper.

The reason I am calling the used condom a jelly fish because it’s like a wet

semen. When semen gets in water such as in a hot tub it becomes cold.

Chapter 19

Once again, I found myself unable to sleep, surrounded by the scent of blood

and the lingering traces of plaster of Paris and carbon monoxide. The surgery

had been a success, and I couldn’t help but be impressed as the doctor had transformed William’s face into that of Lucas. I understood Oliver’s twisted

plan all too well. Together with his sister, Dorcy, they were playing the role of

cruel manipulators, creating clones of well-known celebrities to sow discomfort

and confusion among the public. William now lay on the bed, unconscious as

Lucas. The doctor quietly left the room, and in the bathroom, I discovered

Dorcy, her screams and erratic movements revealing her inner turmoil.

”AAAHM...RG,” she cried out.

I desperately called her name, ”Hey, Dorcy! Dorcy!” but she seemed lost in

her own world. ”Dorcy” After another attempt to get her attention, she finally

acknowledged me, tilting her head at a strange angle as she continued smoking

the red fog cigarette. ”What?” she asked casually, her demeanor nonchalant. I

placed both my hands on her shoulders and confronted her, ”Are you Apate?”

She responded, ”No, you killed her, remember?” I was sweating and anxious,

and I blurted out, ”She’s back.” Dorcy remained composed, stating, ”It’s not

her, maybe her mother. We got her collagen.” I was baffled by this revelation

and inquired further.

Leaving me behind, Dorcy replied with a simple statement, ”My name is Dorcy

Maclian, and I am the wife of Alex Thornfield, who is a 27-year-old maniac.” I

protested, ”I am not a maniac!” We found ourselves back in the central room,

and Oliver asked the doctor about my impending awakening. The doctor, in-

stead of addressing Oliver, looked at me and said, ”Soon, sir.” As I observed the

doctor’s tissues, my cells forming tissues and organs, I couldn’t help but con-

template how they represented a fake and manipulative population, with death

rates and birth infections all controlled and influenced by their orchestrated acts.

The tension in the room was palpable as a volcano of emotions erupted within

me. The doctor made a hasty exit, and Oliver called all of us out to the nearby

forest. In the forest, we were joined by ten hyenas, and I held a belt securely

around one of their necks. Oliver was sitting near a tree adorned with both

black and white moths, thousands of them fluttering in the clean, unpolluted

air. In my left hand, I grasped a wooden stick, and in my right, the belt of one

of the hyenas. Oliver distributed multiple Manu-design old masks to ten of our

pneumonia’s, excluding me. These masks bore an Indian-style motif resembling

tigers with elements of vermilion, terror, darkness, and blood. All ten masks

were identical, and our pneumonia’s donned them without hesitation. Oliver

rose to his feet and addressed us, explaining the bizarre cha llenge.

”You guys, your boss, Alex Thornfield, will release these ten hyenas, and you

must run backward away from them. If you successfully avoid the hyenas, you’ll

be selected for the Saudi Arabia Collab. Otherwise, you’re of no use to me.”

I couldn’t help but ask in confusion, ”What kind of Arabia are you talking

about?” This twisted ritual was akin to natural selection at its finest—survival

of the fittest. DARWIN SHIT Oliver raised his voice, ”Alex!” and gave the

signal. Reluctantly, I released the hyenas. In an instant, they darted off, their

fast pace leaving them beyond our sight. It was a battle of man versus wild,

Trinity Episcopal bacteria versus the grotesque, corpulent slender fucks of the

forest. It was a grueling test, a test of endurance, a battle of immunity and

virility.

We scoured the woods, following Oliver’s unusual challenge. He had sent out

ten of our pneumonia’s, but only six returned. Three of them bore the scars

of their encounter with the hyenas, and we now had three of these scavengers

with us. They had faced the three hyenas sent in return. In a straight line, they

stood in a perfect one-hundred-eighty-degree angle, as Oliver savored the taste

of an apple. He approached the first pneumonia, looking at him intently, and

called me over to remove his Indian vermilion tiger mask. As the mask came

off, it revealed the legendary Greek Leviathan, who had faced the hyenas with

minor damage. He sported a steamy, unscathed epithelium with only a few scars.

Oliver turned to me, and I reported, ”Survival rate, ninety percent.” A small

smile played on Oliver’s lips as we moved to the next contestant. The second

mask came off, revealing another pneumonia with slight damage, boasting a

survival rate of seventy percent. The last one had faced severe torment and

damage. His face was in a terrible state, soaked and badly tortured. As Oliver

looked at him, he couldn’t help but laugh, and he playfully hit the poor man

with a broom. He declared, ”You’re too young, blond guy,” and the mention

of ”Cephelon” crossed my mind. We moved on to the most severely damaged

participant. Oliver called him over, and the guy approached a tree. In an

unsettling turn of events, Oliver took the stick we had been using to rub our

heads and somehow pierced it into the guy’s hand. He remained stoic, devoid of

pain or emotion. I interjected, ”Let him go,” but in an unexpected turn, Oliver

punched the man and flung him to the ground.

One by one, we selected the three members for our Arabian venture, a brutal tes-

tament to Oliver’s belief in the modern version of Darwin’s natural selection of

organisms. It was a world becoming increasingly artificial, much like the strange

game of chance that led to our bizarre selections. My thoughts wandered as I

contemplated the strange twists of fate. It was as if my neurotransmitters were

blocked, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. As I lay there, I couldn’t help

but think about another guy who seemed to be oversleeping, spending an exces-

sive number of hours in dream- filled encounters with Dorcy on a ship in 530 AD.

The recurring visions were dominated by the latex unicorn hentai sex roleplay,

a peculiar fixation. Night after night, I would wake to find Dorcy vomiting,

expelling her nitrogen and ammonium. It was as though she was ridding herself

of me, and her blue-hot soaked vomit was a peculiar delight I couldn’t resist,

mixing it with fruit Palau soup. The days rolled on, and it was now Monday

evening. I awoke early, and Dorcy and I engaged in a tarot game, predicting all

sorts of strange and unsettling events. The soundtrack of Bela Chao played in

the background as we sipped our Fruit Palau soup and indulged in intravenous

drugs. Our peculiar session was interrupted by Astroroth, who uttered, ”Sir.”

I nodded, understanding that it was time for another one of Oliver’s enigmatic

missions. We prepared to set out once more. William had been transformed

to resemble Lucas, complete with the same unicorn sex roleplay attire. He was

Lucas now, and the van rumbled to life as we embarked on our next journey,leaving behind a trail of stabilizers.

Chapter 20

We found ourselves aboard a gala cruise dinner palace in Washington, D.C.

where Lady Germaine was captivating the audience with her pole dance per-

formance. She was adorned in a latex swimsuit, a curious obsession shared

by many Hollywood celebrities and hot pop stars. While watching Tom and

Jerry on TV, a rather unexpected scene unfolded. Jerry was playfully spanking

the larger-than-life backside of Tom with a pan, creating a rhythmic beat that

strangely drew my attention.

Pog,Pog,Pog,Pog...

I lay on the sofa, half-asleep and half-awake, my mouth agape, and I couldn’t

help but be perplexed by the oddity of it all. Amid this peculiar scene, the

female white cat in the cartoon betrayed Tom as she chose another wealthy,

black cat with a diamond and a prominent red, sweating penis over him. This

led to Tom’s tragic demise in a train station, an ending that was both sad and

oddly fitting. It was a testament to how our brains are constantly filled with

a mishmash of sex, love, violence, and bizarre imagery, like a real-life matrix.

I couldn’t help but ponder how one day, our own children might fall victim to

the alluring grasp of the world’s industries, led astray by sexual desires, only

to potentially end up joining a place like Trinity Episcopal Church. It was a

disturbing thought indeed.

Meanwhile, Germaine continued to moan sensually into the microphone as her

song played live on ”ZAH BILLION,” the latest and greatest channel on tele-

vision. The media was abuzz with anticipation for her upcoming concert, with

headlines like ”Wow... Germaine is going to show off her frying ass.” In the

vast area, slum boys watched Germaine’s performance and couldn’t help but

become aroused, engaging in self-pleasure. FAP , FAP, FAP, FAP.... It was a

stark reflection of the allure and power of fame and sexuality.

Many people undergo immense struggles to attain fame, aiming to become mod-

els, actresses, or pop star singers. The allure of showing off their physical assets

in a live TV concert holds a tantalizing promise. Yet, in this quest for attention,

they unintentionally contribute to the strange phenomena of countless babies

peacefully departing the world in bathroom sinkholes. The consequence of this

fame-driven obsession is the dissatisfaction of young, dashing individuals within

their own relationships. They find that even partners with cosmetic implants

enhancing their physical attributes, be it their breasts or derrière, don’t suffice

to elicit their desired response. This creates a peculiar dilemma, where these

individuals require a more masculine touch to achieve arousal, a preference that

defies the traditional expectations of a satisfying sexual relationship. Inevitably,

these distorted desires contribute to a rising phenomenon known as erectile dys-

function. Many turn to medications like Viagra in an attempt to remedy their

situation, but often it merely leads to a different set of problems.

The complex web of desires and the pursuit of sexual fulfillment in an increas-

ingly artificial world can lead to what’s colloquially known as premature ejaculation, where passion often supersedes patience, and satisfaction remains an

elusive goal. As we mingled in the party as regular fans, I couldn’t help but

wonder about Oliver’s next move. Dorcy was notably absent, and I found it

intriguing. There was a pattern I had observed – when I was with Oliver,

Dorcy would disappear, and when I was with Dorcy, Oliver was nowhere to

be found. Even when they were together, Oliver seemed to ignore Dorcy, and

I couldn’t quite understand why. I inquired about Dorcy’s where abouts, but

Oliver, chewing methylated gums with red splashes, nonchalantly ignored my

question, exemplifying the very pattern I had just described. I asked about our

plans for the evening, and Oliver, sporting a smile that revealed his golden im-

planted teeth, responded cryptically with ”kinky, kinky...” Astroroth’s laughter

boomed.

Games that grip your soul, make you anti-social and bold, 30-year-olds sneak

moments, a story that’s often told. Work undone, it’s a grip you can’t shake,

From Harry Potter to the bedroom, it’s a tempting mistake.

Hahahahahahaawagggg...

and Oliver’s response remained a mystery, shrouded in his enigmatic personality.

Oliver’s eyes are fixed on the floor, awaiting Lucas’s clone, Willaim, to execute

this scenario of modern terrorism. In the crowd, an elderly man calmly lights a

cigarette, appearing vaguely familiar to me. Oliver retrieves his own cigarette,

and the red fog dances as he inhales and exhales, while I can’t help but smile at

the old man’s composure. Surrounded by the mesmerizing pole dance at ZAH

Billion and a mixed audience of girls and boys from various age groups, there

is a stark contrast between overprotective parents (the ”T” group) who shield

their children from explicit content, and the indifferent ones (the ”N” group)

who let their kids explore unrestricted. The latter, the ”N” group, are deeply

engrossed in their own worlds, their phones, and their self-indulgence, seemingly

oblivious to their children’s curiosity.

T divides N equals ”Y”,

The division between these parental approaches results in a phenomenon sym-

bolized by the ”Y,” and its meaning lies in the manipulation of chemical re-

actions within the brain, known as hypothalamus hypnosis, leading to mental

manipulation and confusion. Oliver leans in and comments on our predicament,

catching the attention of the uncle nearby. Oliver informs the uncle about a

supposed bomb, ”leave, this place will explode in a latex condo”, but the old

man dismisses it as a joke.

Splattered

A moment later, chaos ensues as Lucas bursts onto the scene, throwing a bag

filled with a grotesque mixture of flesh, human milk, urine, sperm, and trans-

genic tomatoes, scorching the atmosphere. Amidst the chaos, lady Germaine,

the pole dancer, screams. Shots ring out as Lucas eliminates her and opens

fire on the public, following Oliver’s instructions. It’s all part of our public health society programming, family planning program, and population control

program. A gunfight breaks out, and one brave cop shoots Lucas’s clone in the

face. His plastic façade disintegrates, much like peeling a banana.

As the mayhem unfolds, I catch Oliver’s relaxed demeanor, sipping on his fa-

vorite fruit Palau soup mixed with codeine, his smile unwavering. Fear is a

powerful tool in his hands, and in this moment, I embrace my role as the dark

knight. Dorcy waits eagerly for my return. The dark knight rises, and it appears

we’ve unleashed the white knight.

We laugh, kill, and sing unicorn nursery rhymes. This horrifying spectacle is

broadcast live on ZAH Billion TV channel, marking the first time many viewers

have witnessed real terror and violence on their screens. As for justice and

consequences, that’s a different story – for in this controlled world, we reign

supreme.

In the blink of an eye, we vanished. Oliver takes the wheel of the van as

I wrestle with the dual afflictions of gall bladder cancer and tuberculosis. I

inquire, ”Why didn’t you invite Dorcy?” Oliver’s face glistens with sweat, his

masculine features exuding a warrior-like aura. Chewing his gum, he tilts his

head, and instead of responding, he chooses to ignore my question. Meanwhile,

Astroroth, seated in the back, chimes in nonchalantly, ”I’m going to have some

sex today, because it’s such a pure day.” My anger surges, adrenaline pumping

and cortisol levels spiking. I can’t contain myself, and I explode, shouting,

”SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASTROROTH!”

He falls into silence and meekly utters, ”Sorry if it bothered you, sir.” Oliver, at

the wheel, responds with a blend of laughter and mania that mirrors Lucas at

a concert,

”Hahahahhahahahha...”

Astroroth, still seated in the back, points to me and states, ”Sir, your laughter

is so cute.” The ambiguity of his remark leaves me puzzled, and I ask, ”What?”

However, Oliver interjects, saying, ”Thanks, you’re cute too,” initiating a casual

bromance. My anger, fueled by love for Dorcy and abhorrence for Oliver’s

ruthless actions, is boiling over. Instead of exposing government operations,

he’s embracing them.

I’m caught in a cycle I describe as ”escaping the matrix.” You find yourself

caught in a paradox – a solitary figure, embracing the labels of masculinity, a

Sigma male and a Chad. You lack friends and any semblance of a life, your

sole mission being a final encounter with a porn star bedecked with surgically

enhanced bosoms. In the quest to break free from this lonely existence, you

stumble upon a YouTube video titled ”How to escape the Matrix.” Its message

resonates with you, and you eagerly swallow the metaphorical sweet pill of false

motivation. Its effects are fleeting, lasting only hours, perhaps even minutes.

But on the following day, the cycle repeats. You open an incognito browser tab and type in ”latex hentai unicorn sex.” This is the cruel irony of modern life –

fleeting bursts of motivation followed by a return to your vices. The quest for

self-improvement is like a balloon that you inflate with your false moments of

triumph – perhaps a hundred push- ups one day, but dwindling to sixty the next.

A sense of unease creeps in as you ponder the true significance of masculinity

and its core purpose – is it merely for sex?

Thanks to ZAH BILLION, the voice of temptation and indulgence, you’re pulled

toward a seemingly simpler solution. You come to realize that your frail ”bal-

loon” – filled with illusory accomplishments – must be burst.

In this revelation, you understand that traditional paths of self-improvement,

like working out, are as futile as the act of masturbation. They offer temporary

pleasure, a momentary illusion of progress, but in reality, they accomplish noth-

ing of true substance. The notion of self-improvement lingers in my thoughts,

and I can’t help but question its purpose. This confusion pushes me to shout

at Oliver, ”WHERE’S DORCY?” But he continues to ignore me. In a burst of

frustration, I slap Oliver and demand, ”STOP THE FUCKING VAN.” He com-

plies, and we find ourselves outside a familiar forest, indicating our proximity to

the Trinity Episcopal Church. Oliver stands before me, sweating and jumping

around, seemingly unhinged. I intervene with a stick to his face,

*THUD*

Oliver touches his bleeding lips and says, ”Fine,” in a subdued tone. I shout

once more, ”NOW, TELL ME WHERE’S DORCY, ELSE I KILL YOU, I KILL

ALL OF YOU, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

”Calm down, Alex,” he pleads. But I’m relentless and declare, ”No.” He concedes,

”Fine, you’re looking for Dorcy, right? And you’re leaving our group.”

*Hahahahahhaha...*

”No, you can’t,” Oliver retorts. He challenges my persistent quest for Dorcy,

pointing out the presence of my brother, but I adamantly claim, ”NO, I AM

NOT.” Oliver insists, ”YES, YOU ARE, MAN. YES, YOU ARE. YOU STILL

WISH TO REMAIN THE SAME RAT FIGHTING FOR MATERIAL POSSES-

SIONS.” I counter, ”Destruction isn’t the answer.” He raises his voice, asserting,

”YES, IT IS! OF COURSE IT IS! OUR FOREFATHERS USED DESTRUC-

TION TO GAIN WHAT THEY HAD. YOU NEED TO ACKNOWLEDGE

THAT. You could be the next forefather to guide our children towards achiev-

ing their ambitions.”

Chapter 21

The death rates, birth rates, and sperm counts were all linked to consuming

the same butter derived from Apate’s collagen. This special collagen was stored

in Dorcy’s refrigerator, primarily meant for baking cookies, but it was melted

down and sold to the pleasure milk industry, a concept that bordered on can-

nibalism. In a fit of anger, I smacked my forehead against a nearby tree and

tumbled to the ground. Oliver had a particular notion in mind - to establish a new founder effect in the world. He believed that the answer lay in manipu-

lating the death rate, not the birth rate. One peculiar morning, I woke up on

a devil-red carpet, stark naked. Dry and bewildered, I spotted traces of blood

nearby. As I touched the crimson stains, Dorcy suddenly appeared – naked,

sweaty, and resembling a milk-drinking dog. There was no blood, only Dorcy.

It was an eerie and unsettling experience, leaving me questioning whether Dorcy

was the blood or the blood was Dorcy? Shaking off my confusion, I searched

for Oliver. I found a pair of short half-pants and a menstrual-stained shirt, and

hastily dressed. In the central room, I was greeted by the severed head of a

man, with a trace of Urdu language etched on his cheek. Nearby, on the same

desk where we once recorded a video of a repulsive platypus, our pneumonia’s

were laughing uncontrollably. Dorcy, wearing a black crop top and a tattered

$1 brown skirt, exclaimed, ”Two months?” I was perplexed and inquired, ”Two

months of what?” Her response was equally baffling as she declared, ”It’s been

two months, and you’ve been sleeping.” The appearance of an Auden avatar in

Dorcy added to my confusion, leading me to think this was some form of asexual

reproduction, where familiar faces took on unusual characteristics.

Around 5 AM or perhaps 4 AM, I found myself in Saudi Arabia with Oliver,

hiding near a tent and a telephone table. Leviathan, the dark knight warrior,

stood in front of a man named Mustafa, who bore Urdu tattoos on his cheek –

the same man whose severed head I had discovered earlier in the central room.

Mustafa was known for his terroristic affiliations and nefarious deeds, includ-

ing the disturbing practice of consuming children and selling them in Persunia.

Shockingly, seventeen-point-six percent of the members in his terrorist group,

known as ”Ragndra,” were affiliated with our pneumonia group. Leviathan

remained an embodiment of silence and stoicism, not yielding to Mustafa’s re-

lentless blows with a silver rod pole. Leviathan was a figure reminiscent of a

Sigma male, utterly unyielding. As the night continued, Mustafa repeatedly

attempted to shoot Leviathan, to no avail. Leviathan seemingly manipulated

the gun’s density, rendering the shots ineffective. Oliver, ever the astrologer,

sensed danger and suggested that we should leave. Upon our exit from the

tent, only a short span of time passed before Mustafa made a desperate escape

from Leviathan. He hurled a bomb back into the tent where Leviathan stood

like a statue, akin to the figure of Baphomet. Leviathan embodied the physical

prowess of a John Cena, standing resolute amid the explosive chaos.

In a carefully orchestrated moment, Mustafa hurled the bomb into the tent,

triggering a deafening explosion. My cortisol levels surged, a tumultuous dance

between death and survival rates, blending to form an eerie concept - immortal-

ity rate. The act was intentional; I emphasize this. Mustafa, outside the tent,

reveled in his newfound godlike delusions. He felt superhuman, the result of

a strange combination involving a jellyfish condom and artificial insemination.

The ensuing chaos was a blur. Visibility was minimal, akin to Mustafa’s com-

prehension. In the midst of the chaos, Mustafa’s gaze fell upon Leviathan, who

stood like a statue, seemingly relishing the grotesque flames and audaciously

smacking his groin. Mustafa’s heart gave way, suffering a myocardial infarction, echoing my own near- death experience. As Mustafa’s corneas stretched

and strained, within a fraction of a second, the death rate reached a staggering

ninety percent. Leviathan, with an almost indifferent grace, sliced Mustafa’s

neck from behind, concluding the terrorist’s life. His forehead bore the tell-

tale mark of Leviathan’s actions. Contemplating the potential industrial use of

Mustafa’s sperm was a fleeting thought. Oliver, however, exhibited reservations

regarding such endeavors. After all, we were in Saudi Arabia – a nation inter-

twined with the USA’s economy, possessing a peculiar blend of past and moder-

nity, with a disdain for human rights, draconian laws on women’s attire, and

extreme penalties for homosexuality and witchcraft. Oliver’s inclinations led us

to collaborate with the notorious terrorist group ”Rangdra,” and as Leviathan

handed Mustafa’s severed forehead to Oliver, the latter carefully washed it with

pure Arabian water before securing it in a polythene bag, concealed within a

demonic canvas bag.

The cryptic and sinister nature of our mission remained evident. ”Rangdra” had

been assembled for a grander purpose, involving a complex calculus that delved

into birth rates (Q), death rates (O), individuals leaving a place permanently

(P), and those entering a place permanently (T). In this intriguing equation,

Q plus P equated to O plus T. However, by manipulating the formula to P

minus T divided by 0.9, then multiplied by Q, we were orchestrating a form of

Darwinian natural selection through modern means.

We held the power to change the course of events through this straightforward

biological formula. Oliver was the bearer of profound knowledge in this regard,

capable of wielding these unique insights. For our cause – a guise of humanitar-

ian aid, we were poised to use this knowledge as an atom bomb of hypodermic

syringes filled with biological seeds. Upon entering a nearby cave, an unfor-

tunate boy afflicted with rabies, bearing skin scorched by kerosene and eyes

reddened with the flu, lunged to bite Oliver’s leg. A mysterious pain coursed

through my legs, leaving me in bewilderment. As the rabid child continued to

be disruptive, Oliver turned to me with patience and asked, ”Did you enjoy the

new Batman movie?” I responded, ”I couldn’t say. Some insufferable tot with

no fewer than seven rabies decided to occupy the seat in front.” The situation

escalated as Oliver used his hand to strike the rabid child with precision, the

force of his blows causing a gruesome splatter of blood. This was a calculated

move in controlling the density of rabies-infected individuals.

Oliver’s face was smeared with blood, yet he maintained a composed demeanor

while chewing gum and flashing a smile. Standing before us was the billionaire,

Albangain, who inquired, ”Sir, what a pleasant surprise! Is there an emer-

gency?” Oliver, with a chuckle, replied, ”Indeed, an emergency of predation, my

dear. What I need are emergency contraceptives. We proceeded further inside,

greeted with respect by everyone, and witnessed Leviathan, with a stick in hand,

sketching intricate pentagons, hexagons, and enigmatic symbols on the ground,

a testament to his singular artistry. With a face resembling a tiger, Oliver in-

dulged in wine boasting a 60% maximum ethanol concentration. Our mission was aptly labeled the ”founder effect.” We were, in essence, orchestrating a form

of population attribution, guided by Oliver’s keen intellect. At the center of

our gathering lay a substantial rock, serving as a canvas for Albangain’s glossy

map. This map delineated death and survival rates through a network of Regent

pumps. In the map’s midst, a square, etched in someone’s blood, bore the word

”TRANSPORTATION” in Japanese script.

I couldn’t fully grasp the intricate details of this enterprise. However, Oliver’s

linguistic prowess shone through; he possessed knowledge of myriad languages.

He was the ultimate survivor, capable of shifting between roles, a predator one

moment and a parasite the next. Plus and minus , you’re a predator. Plus and

minus, you’re a parasite. We were pneumonias, not mere parasites.

Dorcy served as my cerebral accomplice. Oliver, like a predator, demonstrated

unparalleled efficiency and resourcefulness in his predation, at times enduring

the scarcity of prey and sustenance. In such dire circumstances, the human

body could resort to survival strategies, like preserving its collagen for self-

consumption. Our operation was akin to camouflage, operating across multiple

continents and nations. A singular pipeline transported something cryptically

labeled as ”ZAŒË.” It was a code, a pivotal element of our mission. Amidst

discussions in Arabia and Japanese languages, I found myself immersed in the

mesmerizing act of Leviathan crafting pentagons.

Leviathan and I shared a silent understanding, deliberate in our choice to ab-

stain from Oliver’s dialogue. The conversation revolved around the clandestine

transportation of a chemical substance to multiple countries, strategically ma-

nipulating death and birth rates. All of this followed the formula conceived

by the modern-day Darwin, Oliver. Oliver the modern-day Lamarck a figure

in evolutionary theory. His adaptations were highly specific, evolving only to

benefit his needs, a trait noted by a perplexed scientist named Thomas. For

Oliver, animal testing was synonymous with evolution. Oliver, the modern gi-

raffe whose evolution seems confined to his neck, adapting to reach the highest

branches, and some scientist named Thomas declared it was not a form of evolu-

tion. In our view, this process bears resemblance to animal testing. Picture this

– cutting a rat’s tail, repeating the process, and surprisingly, the subsequent

generations still sport tails. So, within our context, Oliver’s actions can be seen

as quite puzzling.

He transforms into a distinctive species, characterized by a long, fragile red penis

– a feature that garners affection from certain individuals, particularly those

who hold a fondness for unicorn-like creatures. Amidst the camaraderie, Oliver

picked up the stick that Leviathan had employed to craft cryptic pentagons and

directed our attention to a specific square on the map, marked with a red box.

In Japan, one of the terrorists exclaimed, ”Yes, but that’s an ideal location for

distribution.” In fluent Arabic, Oliver responded, ”Precisely. For production,

we shall choose the most turbulent and overstabilized nation.” Laughter ensued,

and Oliver exclaimed, ”AMERICA.” I had discerned his choice the moment

he mentioned ”stabilizers.” You may wonder how I comprehended his dialogue when I don’t understand Urdu. This is the essence of black magic, the power

held within those pentagons.

Chapter 22

In the world of natural pyramids and pentagons, Oliver informed me, ”Let’s

go.” He emphasized the need for swift execution, as this endeavor would mark

a pivotal advancement in medulla oblongata development, and the resulting

biological formula had the potential to alter the course of natality. In the blink

of an eye, we found ourselves in our workplace in Washington DC, courtesy

of the LAX destination airport. As I settled into my airplane seat, I couldn’t

help but wonder why Oliver hesitated to part with his money at the airport.

You see, people never asked Oliver for his passport. However, he had supplied

Leviathan with a fake passport under the alias ”Henry Thomas.” I continued

to sit at my desk, Oliver by my side and Leviathan across from us. A strange

sensation enveloped me, as I awoke to the night sky still within the airplane.

The atmosphere was electric, and the formation of grey clouds hinted at an

impending rainstorm, taking on the shape of a rather lion face , focus it more,

ooh that’s a vagina.

Oliver, having also roused from slumber, was chewing his gum and chuckling at

something or someone. My curiosity got the best of me, and I inquired, ”What’s

so amusing?” In response, Oliver handed me my very own Trinity Episcopal of-

ficial ID CARD, tagged with ”FOUNDER AND LEADER.” I took the card,

perplexed about what Oliver had in mind. He extracted a piece of red methy-

lated gum from his mouth, along with packets of human milk from the pleasure

industry. In a peculiar concoction, he mixed them in equal portions and then

opened one of the milk packets. Dropping the gum into the milk and adding his

own saliva, he handed it to me. In a hushed tone, he instructed me to give it

to a woman and persuade her to accompany me to the restroom for an unusual

reason: ”Tell her you boiled your testicles in carbon monoxide liquid petroleum

and you want her to test your boiled testicles inside the milk.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow, questioning, ”These aren’t my testicles, are they?”

Oliver leaned in closer, whispering in my ear, ”I know. Just seduce her and

attempt to collect her menstrual fluid in this bottle.” I accepted this unusual

mission but then, right before I left, Oliver added one more vital detail in a

hushed tone: ”Whatever you do, don’t actually have sex with her, okay? And

tell her you’re her husband.” I asked incredulously if she would agree. Oliver’s

response was unequivocal, ”A hundred and five percent.”

I whispered again, ”Why do you think I would have sex with such a slender,

bony girl? I have Dorcy.” As soon as I mentioned Dorcy, Oliver chimed in, ”She’s

having sex with herself right now.” This was unusual, as Oliver typically ignored

Dorcy’s statements, making it an interesting twist of neurons. Unbeknownst to

us, three hours had already passed, and we were still engrossed in scrutinizing

each other’s facial features on our first date, akin to a blind woman navigating

an enticing yet outrageous novel.

”Gosh, bro, she’s been examining my battered face for an eternity. Silently, with

her eyes closed. Do you think she’s okay?”

To our surprise, Leviathan, the giant among men, was awake, his formidable

presence akin to a fusion of Superman and Batman. He observed us intently

as Oliver extended a package of crocodile-cooked meat. The girl eventually

entered the bathroom, and I followed suit. She was unaware of my presence as

she continued her exploration. I jumped and rolled my eyes while Oliver placed

a saliva-coated cigarette with a special red fog into my mouth, presumably to

make me look cool. After all, the reverse of simping is coolness. I had recently

visited the salon, sporting a messy, spiky hairstyle with red highlights, and

swiped black plastic glasses from the neighbor’s kids. My attire, including a

leather jacket purchased for a mere $3 from a thrift shop, screamed ” cool.”

Inside the bathroom with the slender girl, she flaunted two pom-poms in her

sky- blue hair, likely of Russian descent, possibly a rich businessman’s daughter.

She inched closer, seemingly ready to kiss me. However, I threw a playful

challenge her way, ”If you want to kiss me, you’ll have to drink this.” She

responded, ”I love drinking milk,” with a decidedly sexual undertone.

”But there’s a problem, baby,” I remarked, and she curiously asked, ”What’s

your problem?” I went on to spin a melodramatic tale about being caught in a

park engaged in sexual activities with an inanimate, non-living water transporta-

tion pipe. My actions led to the contamination of the park’s water, resulting in

my castration by governmental agencies. Last night, I had undertaken a daring

mission to retrieve my testicles from the clutches of these agencies. Boiling them

in a mixture of carbon monoxide and petroleum, I had created the milk she now

held. It was to be the last chapter in my journey of male reproduction. I hate

these fake stories created by Oliver yet.

She said, ”We both seem to be dealing with issues, it’s quite unfortunate.” I need

my testicles back. I was perplexed since she had no knowledge of my identity,

but my mission couldn’t be derailed. She accepted the bottle of milk, and I

requested, ”Give me your periods.” Confusion clouded her face, and she inquired,

”What?” I emphasized, ”I need your periods, darling. I want to consume your

menstrual fluid, and you’ll have my concoction of boiled testicular epithelium

and degenerated sperm. Remember, I’m your husband.” She consumed the

peculiar mixture, and soon, she began moaning Oliver’s name loudly.

”Aahhh... Oliver, please, give me your olives,”

She cried so intensely that the airplane’s emergency contraceptives were trig-

gered. She continued moaning, frantically using the handheld showerhead on

herself, and throwing water on her breasts. Her moans persisted, eventually

leading to her vomiting a strange white substance.

In a panic, I fled, and she chased after me, fuck ,fuck,fuck,fuck.....

still crying Oliver’s name and attempting to hug me. As I ran through a series

of corridors, we unintentionally disrupted an uncle who was watching a recent

sex scene from an Angie Dickinson movie. The scene was inadvertently cast

to everyone’s screens via Bluetooth, captivating the passengers, even leading to

some partaking in their private activities. Angie Dickinson is an air hostess an

she is having sex with Bobby , a stranger. A casual sex. The police intervened,

and an officer addressed me, saying, ”Sir, are you okay?” I found it strange that

he addressed me as ”sir,” but my mind was already contorted.

I felt like I had hit rock bottom. Then, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

The girl collapsed, leaving me uncertain about how to proceed. Fortunately,

I had the backing of Oliver and the law enforcement officers who recognized

Oliver’s influential connections in Washington, D.C. He could make things hap-

pen, and I was his right-hand man. Rather than questioning me further, they

fabricated a story, attributing the girl’s actions to drug use. I couldn’t help

but mutter, ”I just wanted her periods. I wanted to drink her menstrual fluid.”

I wanna drink her periods. ....Uterus wants baby. Person doesn’t have baby.

Uterus wants revenge We’re saved, We’re saved guys and mission accomplished,

Pim pom girls are the best, most sweetest bitches you will ever meet. Usually

the name is occupied by the biggest heart throb s on the market.

Chapter 23

All the semi-automatic carbine latex condos are poised for their explosive

fertility in the world, Regent pumping in full swing—pump, pump, pump, my

world-shattering concoction. You find yourself sprawled on the wet bathroom

tiles of Trinity Episcopal, a broken jar of Greek syrup spilled around, and four

green methyl codeine capsules rolling on the floor. You’re deep in slumber,

slipping deeper into excessive sleep when suddenly, Dorcy jolts you awake. It’s

as if she’s reigniting your gut chakra and puberty all at once.

In a state of semi-consciousness, you’re like a bee encountering another bee,

irresistibly drawn to it. Plus minus and minus plus, your pollen mixes with

the female bee, and then you find satisfaction. It’s a form of pseudocopulation.

Only the female bee isn’t a bee; it’s actually a flower. This is what you call

pseudoscience. The flower is Dorcy, and she demands to know what you’re up to.

Stumbling for words, you mutter, ”Do you have periods?” In response, Dorcy

drags you into the central room.

Astroroth is missing, and Mephisto, with his battered nose, is drinking alcohol.

Leviathan is nowhere to be found, and the group’s numbers have dwindled.

Chaos and destruction engulf everyone. Dorcy chastises you, reminding you

that you’re a generation of men raised by women. You’re in a state of shock.

You shout, ”WHAT?” and Dorcy turns on a TV from the 1970s broadcasting

the EAGLE CORPORATION NEWS. Images of people protesting the name

”TRINITY EPISCOPAL” fill the screen. It’s not just one demographic; it’s

an amalgamation of human components—uncles, aunties, kids, girls, boys, and

respected genders—protesting against what’s referred to as chemical hormonal

manipulation. The news reporter, an Asian named Trisha Takanawa, informs

you that people have been supporting a terrorist group named Trinity Episcopal,

believed to have originated from Saudi Arabia. They’ve allegedly kidnapped

President Noah and executed government operations to mix chemical hormonal blockers into the public water supply. Not just in Washington, D.C., but in

Malaysia, India, Hong Kong, and Singapore.

The footage from India shows people setting fires and burning photos of the

Indian government alongside a statue of Noah crafted from Indian brooms and

crow feces. The situation is the same in Hong Kong, with girls in short skirts and

demonic tattoos on their cheeks. This has spiraled out of control, and Oliver’s

actions seem to be at the heart of it. This isn’t mere biological manipulation; it’s

biochemical warfare. Dorcy screams at you to stop it, and you finally realize that

you need to find Oliver and put an end to this madness. But Dorcy, in her frenzy,

insists that you need genetic therapy. I said, ”Okay, I will find Oliver, alright?”

Dorcy’s scream intensified, ”Are you a fucking asshole?” She shoved me back

and stormed off. We had twisted it slightly, with Dorcy explaining, ”This is how

we should react when the audience asks us questions.” In a matter of seconds,

she shifted from anger to calmness. This was all part of a melodramatic scheme

orchestrated by Oliver and Dorcy. I felt like a five-year-old following my parents’

instructions. I was just a pawn in their game. Amidst the confusion, Dorcy

kissed me with lips containing nitrogen, and I had an unexplainable craving

that was pushing me towards starvation. Allow me to elaborate further: I had

been in Trinity Episcopal church for six months, and now it was April 6, 2024.

But I wasn’t there anymore. In fact, I wasn’t even here. This was Saudi Arabia,

and Oliver was in Saudi Arabia, in that same cave. But I wasn’t. There was

only Leviathan and Oliver.

Oliver was a savage beast, whose intelligence was now being utilized for some-

thing far more sinister than his usual crumbs and pleasures. An old Japanese

monk was enlightening Oliver about how they had managed to ensnare four and

a half countries within this trap in a mere month. They had a secret source

behind all of this, a secret source of unimaginable hellish consequence. This

was why Dorcy had made me the president of AMP PHARMACEUTICAL

INDUSTRY. It was because this industry was the primary source behind all

of this. Here, hundreds of chemical hormonal blockers and puberty inhibitors

were repackaged in a massive, ancient mining cave within Saudi Arabia. It was

a sprawling place where these hormonal blockers were processed. This cave also

held the source of water that was distributed to the AVA WATER SOURCE

MOTORS.

You might wonder about the primary source of water. It came from rivers like

the Ganges and Yamuna and many other sources, all eventually undergoing a

series of treatments, including UV rays and chlorination, by governmental agen-

cies. What Oliver had access to was the primary source of water located near

the cave. In this special chemical environment he created, slaves manufactured

copies and clones of these hormonal blockers in bioreactors and fertilizers on a

massive scale.

Here’s the catch: everything is essentially a copy or a clone of something else.

William is a clone of Lucas, just as you are a clone of someone who crushed a

tiny ant with their thumbs in the past, and in just a moment, that ant is inside your pants.

You feel something in your pants, an ant in your pants, and even your clone feels

it in their pants. This is what’s known as time-slipping, a complex interplay of

physics and biology. Biology, incidentally, is considered one of mankind’s most

significant mistakes, but it’s a mistake that’s taken to a complete one-eighty in

the field of chemistry.

What sets the hormonal blockers apart is their unique ability to replicate them-

selves in rivers and lakes. People unknowingly consume these clones, leading to

a situation that the world is utterly unprepared for. Now, I’m even afraid to

drink water. Hormones are a powerful force, capable of giving a slim girl big

breasts and granting a girl or guy a chiseled physique with muscles and even

facial hair. But when you combine hormone ”X” with blocker ”Y,” the result is

something the world isn’t ready to comprehend.

Chapter 24

This is Saudi Arabia, and Oliver is standing in front of President Noah, his

face concealed by a dirty canvas bag. Leviathan and the Japanese man are

also present. As Oliver removes the bag, President Noah’s old and battered

appearance becomes evident. His mouth is sealed with the same yellow tape

that I once used to ingest the drug Kali.

Oliver sits down in front of President Noah and smiles. ”We’re outside con-

tractors,” he says. Bloodstains are visible on the scene. Leviathan steps for-

ward, removing the tape, causing Noah to gasp for air. They’re live, and so

are we. Oliver announces, ”We are live,” and they’re streaming on YouTube,

in Reader’s Digest magazine, and even on the latest webcam website for latex

fetishists. Then Oliver turns to the camera and says, ”Guys, I hope you’re doing

well. Noah is a good person, just like us. Today, we need to unveil the truth.

But before you listen to this statement, please take a bathroom break or have

some snacks. Remember, do not drink water.”

Viewers are watching and thinking. Some medical students even contemplate

splashing liquid nitrogen on their genitals, wondering if that’s allowed. Oliver

clarifies, ”Yes, you can splash water, not nitrogen,” and he grins. Four minutes

later, Oliver asks, ”I hope you guys have taken your bathroom break and had

your snacks?” It’s hard to believe that millions of people across the world are lis-

tening to Oliver’s statements, with some even engaging in unexpected activities

in the streets. Oliver approaches Noah and places a knife to his jaw, demand-

ing the truth. ”What are we transporting, President Noah?” Noah stammers,

”We’re transporting chemicals.”

Oliver presses further, ”What chemicals and how? Give us a brief overview,

President Noah.”

Sweating and nervous, Noah begins, ”I am saying...” Then, a Mickey Mouse

character, just like the previous ones, appears with no ears, small eyes, and a

short stature. The Mickey Mouse starts clapping, and the world watches.

In the live video, Oliver warns President Noah that if he doesn’t confess the

truth publicly, he will castrate him with carbon monoxide and alter his vas

deferens, creating electrostatic interactions. Then he reveals a vibrating dildo

on live TV.

Terrified, Noah admits, ”The water supply comes from rivers and lakes. We

process the sewage and distribute it across the country through various means,

both natural and artificial. And... we’ve been mixing chemical hormonal block-

ers in the water supply worldwide to control birth and death rates in society.”

This revelation marks a historic moment. People across the globe react in shock

and fear. They throw away their bottles, scream, and look at each other in

disbelief.

The world unites to investigate the water supply, but Oliver ends the live video,

leaving everyone wondering how these chemical hormonal blockers were really

added to the water supply. People fear the loss of sexual desire, the potential

harm to their genital organs, and concerns of transformation into androgynous

figures clad in latex costumes, engaging in unicorn-themed roleplay.

Kink, Daddy, Sex Roleplay...

Oliver approached Leviathan, who was still busy carving pentagons into the

walls. Leviathan stood like a statue with a blood-stained sword in his hand,

the same one he used to kill Mustafa. Oliver’s energetic and erratic movements

contrasted with Leviathan’s stillness as he asked, ”Leviathan, do you know who

Oliver is?” Leviathan remained silent. Oliver inquired once more, ”Leviathan,

do you know who Alex Thornfield is?” This time, Leviathan nodded. Oliver

seized the moment, came closer, took the sword from Leviathan’s hand, and

embraced him. He patted Leviathan on the back, saying, ”You know Alex

Thornfield, great.” Then, a sudden, gruesome act. Oliver thrust the sword

into Leviathan’s body, causing his death. As Leviathan fell, Oliver nodded and

whispered in the lifeless ear, ”I am sorry.” This marked the beginning of protests

in multiple countries. It was a dark night at 8 PM, and I had fled from Trinity

Episcopal church. As I traversed the world, people searched for me. Dorcy had

instructed them not to find me, as they seemed indifferent to my fate. The

protests were marked by fiery roars and burning flames, and I was in the midst

of it all, coughing, with a shirt stained by menstrual blood and torn pants. I

ran from one public place to another, determined to expose the truth. I wanted

to reveal that it was Oliver and the unicellular bacteria, pneumonia, and the

red- flagellated penis-wielding unicorns that had orchestrated these horrors. I

yearned to share the bizarre story of a witch who filled her bowels every night

at 3 AM with a hypodermic syringe, and the next day, her waste contained

nitrogen, transforming her lips.

There was also a blonde reminiscent of Paul Allen named Astroroth, who was a

sex addict with peculiar preferences. He respected me, but I feared that Oliver

would kill him, as he had done to Leviathan. So, I kept running and entered a

police station, intending to share the truth legally. Inside, I encountered a large,

imposing police officer with an odd demeanor. He asked, ”What happened, sir?”

To which I replied, ”I know?” Another officer joined us and said, ”We know too,

sir. You told us you’d say that.”

The second officer dialed 911 and handed me the phone. On the line was As-

troroth, the blonde man. He asked, ”Sir, are you ready?” Confused, I asked,

”Ready for what?” Astroroth responded, ”You said ’what,’ so it means you’re

ready,” and abruptly ended the call.

I was bewildered and started questioning my surroundings. Then, the first

police officer signaled, and I was still perplexed. I cried out, ”I am part of

the terrorist group Trinity Episcopal, and all this is manipulation!” A senior

officer approached, clad in glasses, and proclaimed, ”You said you’d say that.

Everyone knows you, sir. You are the forefather, the greatest human ever born.”

I was utterly baffled. I confronted them, exclaiming, ”Do you know me?” The

senior officer replied, ”Everyone knows you, sir. You are our mentor, our God.”

I couldn’t comprehend it, but I retaliated with frustration, ”Fuck you!” They

attempted to capture me forcefully, threatening to splash scorching lava-like

nitrogen on my genitals.

I managed to grab a gun and shot the older officer in self-defense before escaping

their clutches. As I fled, I overheard the officers whispering to each other, ”Sir

is always on point. Sir is our mentor, our God.”

Chapter 25

Most guys like you and me fear things that aren’t even responsible for creating

what you might call ”sense objects” or whatever. It’s as if our anxiety to avoid

death has led us to overlook the true significance of our lives. In the midst

of chaos, where people were consumed by materialism, fighting over the latest

smartphones and rubber vagina vaults, I found myself screaming in the public

square, police everywhere, and nothing but fire. My cries fell on deaf ears, and

no one paid attention.

Then, a rockstar with a guitar spotted me and shouted, ”HERE HE IS!” My

hands were stained with blood from the cop I had killed, and I felt the urge to

harm him too. I used to be a much nicer person. Closing my eyes, I began a

guided meditation. It was as if Dorcy was peeling my head like an orange, filling

it with her peculiar vomit in a menstrual bucket. The fluid seeped in, opening

my heart chakra and hip chakra, leading me to a state of enlightenment. In

that meditative state, I encountered a cosmic dinosaur, roaring and enveloping

me in a transcendent experience. I was paralyzed, feeling like I was in a state

of hemorrhage or hemodialysis. The dinosaur, with its long back, smiled at me

and carried me on its neck. As I opened my eyes, the meditative journey ended.

At ground level zero, I was swarmed by thousands of people who chanted,

”OLIVER IS OUR REAL FOREFATHER” and ”OLIVER IS OUR REAL

HERO.”

I was bewildered, watching a sea of people celebrating and chanting Oliver’s

name as if it were a new religion. All around, unicorn tattoos adorned people’s

bodies, with Oliver’s name spanking them as part of their devotion. It was surreal, with talk of spider chrysanthemums and more. In the midst of this

frenzy, I spotted a girl with sky-blue hair and pom-poms in her hair, wondering

if she was the one I had been looking for, the ”period girl.” But no, it was Dorcy,

dressed as the period girl.

Dorcy and I had a brief exchange in the middle of the crowd, and she pushed

me away, leaving me amidst the chaos, a man raised by women, feeling lost in

the tumultuous sea of domestic violence fantasies. In the midst of the chaos,

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Oliver was orchestrating this madness. I was

screaming, ”GUYS, GUYS, YOU ARE WRONG,” and to my surprise, they

responded with, ”EXACTLY, WE WERE WRONG, FATHER.” It seemed like

a surreal dream, with girls offering frying kisses, but something caught my eye.

Amidst the vast crowd, there was a girl with sky-blue hair and pom-poms adorn-

ing her hair. I thought, ”Is this the ’period girl’?” But to my amazement, it

was Dorcy, dressed as the period girl. They dropped me to the ground, and

I couldn’t contain my confusion any longer. I screamed at Dorcy, ”DORCY,

TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” She retorted, ”ARE YOU AN

ASSHOLE?”

Dorcy Screams, ”STOP THIS BULLSHIT, NOW!” I tried to convey that I was

attempting to stop, but then I realized this was part of the melodrama that

Dorcy had instructed me to perform. The public rolled their eyes, looking at

me like I was some kind of robotic puppet. ”Is there public sex going on?”

Dorcy screamed. The guitar guy kicked his vanilla ice cream, and I couldn’t

comprehend the bizarre events unfolding before me.

In a split second, among the throngs of people, Dorcy disappeared, and I made a

desperate attempt to flee. They grabbed my testicles once more, and I found my-

self in a surreal nightmare. OH MY MOMMY DON’T LOOK AT MY BROWS-

ING HISTORY

Public castration was taking place, and Oliver was nowhere to be found. The

live video feed abruptly ended, leaving me utterly bewildered and disoriented.

I couldn’t fathom what was happening. I resorted to punching my own face

repeatedly, right in the heart of Times Now’s media circus. Reporters recorded

this self-inflicted violence, and the situation became increasingly dire as they

advanced, attempting to expose more than just my face.

”I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU, GODDAMN IT! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF

YOU, STAY BACK!” I threatened.

Other police officers, presumably thinking I was Oliver, rushed to my aid, pro-

viding me with more AR-150 guns for added firepower. They offered support

and tried to calm me down. ”WHY ARE YOU BECOMING SO MEAN, MIS-

TER OLIVER?” one of the cops asked.

A chaotic mixture of haemorrhage, haemodialysis, and myocardial infraction

wreaked havoc on my hypothalamus, affecting my parasympathetic machinery

and chemical transmissions.

I retorted, ”WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?”

The public shouted in unison, a cacophony of voices from all walks of life. The

video gamers, the kinky blonde girls, the Minecraft enthusiasts, sigma males, al-

pha males, gamma males, and philosophers—every possible gender and identity

converged on the center of the Times Now building.

”YOU’RE MISTER OLIVER, OUR FOREFATHER, AND OUR DADDY!”

”YOU’RE OLIVER, AND WE WANT YOUR OLIVES!”

I desperately tried to escape the chaos, but there was no way out. They were

convinced I was Oliver and intended to take drastic measures, like boiling my

testicles. ”No, I’m not Oliver,” I screamed. ”What’s happening?”

Their sinister intentions were clear—they planned to melt my body and mix it

with the chemical hormonal blockers in the river. Panic and confusion gripped

me. ”Jesus Christ. Krishna Krishna, Hare Rama Hare Rama!” Spider Chrysan-

themums. ”Please, I am not Oliver. I don’t have Oliver’s olives!” I protested. ”I

am screaming, ’My name is Alex Thornfield,’ and they interrupted me, saying,

’Twenty-eight years old, sir.’”

Today was April 27, 2024, and it was supposed to be my birthday. Hundreds

of vans and fires surrounded me, and I was sweating profusely as they seemed

determined to take Oliver’s olives. Or wait, was it my olives? The surreal nature

of the situation felt like being trapped in an unusual matrix simulation. Amidst

the chaos, Dorcy reappeared, but this time, her auburn barbarian-colored hair

was striking. She was dressed again in the school uniform—a red metallic, half-

shoulder shirt neatly tucked into a blue polka-dotted skirt, and she wore a black

tie. Her wide- open eyes with stretched corneas and now-grey irises captivated

my attention. Against the backdrop of a van engulfed in flames, I felt like they

were about to burn my testicles, boil my testicles, and I couldn’t contain my

panic.

I sobbed and screamed, ”DORCY, HELP ME, PLEASE!”

”Kali... Kali,” this is what she whispered in the area, but I was the only one

who could hear it. This time, I had a vague recollection of the rose garden,

the black pollen, and the first time I encountered Dorcy through letters and

alphabets. Much like a rat, whose intelligence couldn’t match that of a savage

beast, content with eating crumbs, she muttered, ”you embraced your K ali”

Then, in the blink of an eye, it started raining, and Dorcy vanished, her words

lingering in the air. I asked the people around me, ”Did you see what happened?”

They replied, screaming, ”Yes, sir.” They continued, ”Sir, we remembered the

rules you told us to remember from the last live stream with ZAH BILLION.”

And then, they began listing the rules: A) Individuals must display pretentious

behavior for at least a week or more. B) They must possess inhumanly low

self-esteem. C) They incessantly spout phrases in an attempt to offend, shock,

or appear ’cool’ to others. D) They claim to have antisocial attributes, yet they still confuse the terms antisocial with asocial. E) They claim knowledge of

psychology, but their information comes from fictional television or Quora. F)

They blast deathcore music in public areas in an attempt to seek attention. G)

They make claims that they ’understand slam lyrics.’ H) They claim to have had

a terrible childhood but score a flat ’0 ACEs’ on the ’ACE study’ test. I) They

claim to be master manipulators, but their actions suggest the opposite. J) They

are obsessed with firearms. K) They claim to have an absurdly high IQ and

refer to it as ’Intelligence Quotient.’ L) Despite their ’extreme perception,’ they

seem unable to understand how others truly react to them. M) They adopt

a plethora of facts to sound intelligent, sometimes using elaborate language

instead of speaking like a normal per son to impress.

These rules were chanted like prayers or mantras, and it became clear to me

that the world was under the manipulation of Oliver. He was controlling olives,

He was controlling sense objects , and the biological formula that determined

birth rates and death rates. The survival rate decrease seemed to be of utmost

importance, although I couldn’t quite believe it. All I yearned for was to return

to a simple life, filled with my daily drug routine and moments of self-pleasure,

substituting Viagra for the complexities of becoming a forefather, philosopher,

rock star, or movie god.

Dorcy reappeared once again, still in her school uniform but now adorned with

a raincoat that overlaid the outfit. She was screaming, and she held a drill in

her hands, emitting a guttural sound. ”Grrr... gr...”

My first thought was that she intended to harm everyone with that drill. Her

appearance was grotesque, resembling a vampire or a monster, with her face

stained with blood. Her jaw appeared to be broken. Her blood-covered appear-

ance shocked me, and I couldn’t help but express my disbelief.

”Dorcy, you’re looking like a maniac, what the hell?”

Chapter 26

 The people around us observed our interaction, a hint of fear in their eyes.

Dorcy, still covered in blood, retorted, ”You know what, huh?” Her raincoat,

now transparent due to the blood, reminded me of the raincoat Oliver had worn

during the time we first met in Malaysia, where we engaged in various activities,

including a lot of sex and sex roleplay , hentai sex roleplay and a fruit palau’s

soup. Dorcy continued, speaking with anguish, ”Being a borderline feels like

eternal hell. Nothing less. Pain, anger, confusion, hurt, never knowing how I’m

gonna feel from one minute to the next. Hurting because I hurt those who I

love. Feeling misunderstood. Analyzing everything. Nothing gives me pleasure.

Once in a great while, I will get ’too happy’ and then anxious because of that.

Then I self-medicate with alcohol. Then I physically hurt myself. Then I feel

guilty because of that. Shame. Wanting to die but not being able to kill myself

because I’d feel too much guilt for those I’d hurt, and then feeling angry about

that so I cut myself or O.D. to make all the feelings go away. Stress!”

I was perplexed and asked, ”What’s borderline?” The people on the street, the

live gamers of Minecraft, and the latex porn stars, yelled back, ”Borderline is

called hitting the bottom.”

I inquired further, ”Hitting the bottom?”

They shouted, ”HIT THE ROCK BOTTOM!” The females in the crowd added,

”HIT THE OLIVER’S OLIVES.” Covered in blood, Dorcy retorted, ”Huh, what?

Hit the bottom-line, stupid.” And then, there were more guttural sounds from

her.

GRRR R... GRRR...

My inner monologue simply said, ”Fuck.” Suddenly, a metro car struck her, and

they had a collision, and Dorcy disappeared. I was held by the cops, still in

shock. I screamed for my love, ”What happened to Dorcy?” I couldn’t help

but cry and weep for her, and my agony was palpable. The people around

me admonished me, stating, ”Sir, crying serves as a means of emitting loud

vocal sounds to signal imminent peril or to confront the harsh reality of feeling

unloved, with the likelihood of eternal solitude. The utterance ’Yeah’ succinctly

acknowledges this expression; hence, sir, it’s a rather stupid- looking object.”

Shot, shot, shot, shots...

And then, it felt as though someone were hitting my head with a stick, and I

found myself inside the White House. I was bound to a chair, with the same

blood-stained yellow tape, clad in half pants and a menstrual-stained shirt, strug-

gling to breathe and sweating profusely. I saw Dorcy and Oliver standing in

front of me. In a heart- stopping moment, the barrel of a gun was pressed

firmly against President Noah’s prominent figure. It’s from this moment that I

continue narrating the story, dear. So, let’s carry on.

”We are immortal now, darling,” she said to me, her choice of endearment stem-

ming from a dimension-5454-like connection as if straight out of a comic book.

Fast-forward, and it dawned on me – I was nothing more than a puppet in this

macabre play. I closed my eyes, plunging the scene into darkness. In a hushed

tone, I began to chant, ”Please save me, Jesus.” My euphoria dwindled, while

my cortisol levels surged relentlessly. As I slowly opened my eyes, I responded,

”Dorcy, you’re a formidable adversary.” Some might call her a ’battleaxe,’ a

witch, or a necromancer. My hands were forcibly pointed at Noah’s head, but

I didn’t want to kill him. I could hear the roar of flames outside, where people

were protesting, even killing each other, all in support of our terrorist group.

Amidst the grandeur of the White House, the sound of flames reached my ears.

I inquired, ”Where’s Astroroth?” Oliver responded with a callous tone, ”In your

uterine depths, kill him now.” It was revolting, but in this chaos, there was no

room for disgust.

Dorcy tilted her head at a sharp 45-degree angle, her expression seething with

anger. Her lips, with their muscular definition, displayed a captivating black

and red combination that seemed to blend into a mesmerizing shade of brown.

In stark contrast, I felt more like a catalyst in a chemical reaction, neither the

reactant nor the final product. Whop, whop, whop...

I turned to Oliver and said, ”I need some guided meditation,” while Noah

sweated profusely in danger. Helicopters and airplanes surrounded the White

House.

My true passion lay in the creation of potent drugs from opium poppy latex.

These substances possessed a narcotic finesse that evoked primary emotional and

psychological stimulations within me. When Oliver, consumed by anger, struck

me forcefully with his metal stick, the impact was a stark reminder that I was not

responsible for President Mr. Noah’s fate. This ritual was undeniably steeped

in satanic symbolism, a ritual of chemicals and biological formulas. Oliver, the

modern Darwin.

Chapter 27

Then, the guided meditation transported me to a place that was both familiar

and estranged. My head seemed to vaporize, turning into a non- volatile solution,

while Oliver embodied the role of a volatile solvent. Together, we formed a

strange liquid amalgam known as ”Kali.” I awoke in the year 530 AD, in what

I could only describe as the fourth phase of my existence. I had shed my old

garments, finding satisfaction in the destruction and abandonment of Yuriexa

and Apate. In this new phase, I was back in the hunting grounds where Oliver

and I had once coexisted, but he was nowhere to be found.

Now, I was like a frog confined to a small cup, and this cup was our vessel on

a vast ocean. The oceans stretched out as far as I could see – the Atlantic,

the Indian, the Pacific, the oceans of semen, and the oceans of olives. My

auburn barbarian hair billowed in the air. The ship, once teeming with villagers,

was now eerily empty. My hair swayed in the open sky, and the ship drifted

forward, guided by an unseen force. The ship seemed to take on the form of an

anaconda, an enormous serpent. I thought it would abandon me. Disgustingly,

the serpent’s semen touched my head, but it was short-lived as a colossal violet

platypus emerged and devoured the serpent. This platypus, with its cunning

human-like face, ate the monstrous snake with goosey cactus spikes in its semen.

Gum, gum, gum, the platypus munched on its prey. His eyes locked onto my

square block eyes of cheese, and I fell into a trance. His gaze was a death stare.

He had devoured my power animal, and I felt my soul being separated from my

body as my eyes remained open, trapped in what felt like a coma. Everything

around me seemed to spin, much like Dorcy rolling her eyes. The ocean had

transformed into a thick, red fog, and the platypus, whom I believed to be

Oliver, was now smoking cigarettes. The vapors he exhaled, laced with hydrogen

peroxide and carbon monoxide, created a violent storm.

This tempest rocked the foundations of the ship, propelling it with a ferocity

that could only be compared to an intense, passionate lovemaking session.

”Zeez...” the platypus made disturbing, mind-altering noises, seemingly injecting

me with doses of smack through his voice.

”Zeez” reverberated through my thoughts, drilling into my hypothalamus.I attempted guided meditation to find solace. I saw a Baphomet statue, remi-

niscent of the one I’d first encountered in a museum. The crescent moon and an

energy ball struck my bare head, causing the ship to plummet. Everything de-

scended into chaos, and nothing remained static. ”KALI, KALI, KALI” chanted

within my mind, and the ocean transformed into a dense forest. There, I be-

held the same golden rock where Dorcy sat in her school uniform, her presence

bringing both comfort and bewilderment.

Once again, Dorcy stood before me, adorned in that same school uniform –

the red metallic, half-shoulder shirt tucked neatly into the blue polka- dotted

skirt, accented with a black tie. However, her face was a blend of emotions.

This time, the forest revealed itself as the very rose garden where we had first

met. But when I reached for a rose, it transformed into a cactus, one with a

voracious appetite for human fingers. I instinctively hurled the cactus aside. As

I approached her, Dorcy was shrouded in the same red fog. She beckoned me

to sit beside her in a hushed tone. ”SIT,” she whispered, ”SIT NEXT TO ME,

ALEX.” As I settled next to her on the golden rock, her fingers gently brushed

against my cheek. She spoke in a somber tone, ”This could be our last time

meeting, Alex.” I was taken aback and asked, ”What are you talking about?”

Suddenly, snow began to fall, covering the stark black roses in a veil of white,

much like I tried to conceal my own addictions – my dependency on drugs, the

simple lifestyle, and the allure of Doctor Auden and the seductive mermaids of

pornography. I mused on the notion of warriors such as Napoleon Bonaparte or

Hitler indulging in pornography. I concluded that they likely didn’t watch such

things, as they were more focused on real-life conquests to fuel their testosterone-

driven desires. I, on the other hand, didn’t concern myself with toxic masculinity.

It’s a path I had no interest in, as I believed it did little to advance humanity.

Returning to my conversation with Dorcy, she asked for my right hand. We

stood up, and she began to rub snow between her hand and mine, relishing the

sensation.

Chapter 28

 It felt like a scene from a romantic novel. She then opened her eyes and

questioned if I believed she was real to me. My response was immediate and

sincere, ”You’re real to me, Dorcy. What are you talking about?” She sought

further confirmation, and as she opened her raincoat, her attire shifted to a

queenly garment – she became a princess in my eyes.

In that moment, I felt like a prince, and she was the mermaid, much like in

the movie ”Your Mermaid.” Yet, a lingering fear loomed – would this encounter

result in my death?

I was also afraid of her uterus, a source of both intrigue and uncertainty. Dorcy

comforted me, saying, ”You can cry.” But I no longer wished to cry. All I

craved was my Greek syrups and Viagra to escape the labyrinth of emotions

that surrounded me. The land was suddenly blanketed with crimson snow,

resembling the roses, its red hue mingling with a smoking red gelatin substance,

like a silver amalgamation of sulphuric acid. Dorcy was sobbing, lamenting, ”I

want to be real for you.” My heart raced faster and faster. She touched my chest and shared her red fog of cigarette smoke, and our lips met.

Yet, a lingering doubt crossed my mind. Was Dorcy the mysterious period girl

from LAX Destination, orchestrating everything, and there was no real Dorcy?

Then, something extraordinary occurred. She embraced me tightly and wept,

repeatedly professing, ”I want to be real for you, Alex. I want to be real for you.

Please choose me.” Confusion overwhelmed me, as she repeated the same state-

ments like a robotic mantra, ”My blood would stop pumping if I lost you, Alex.”

We held each other in this strange moment. The snow melted, transforming

into a rain of sparkling diamonds.

But within seconds, her tearful gaze turned ominous, and instead of sodium

chloride, blood flowed from her eyes and stomach. I tried to pull away from

her, and to my horror, I found a knife in my hand. It was lodged in Dorcy’s

stomach, and I couldn’t remove it. We held each other tightly, while an unseen

force behind me prevented me from extracting the knife. The rain poured as

Dorcy’s life ebbed away, her dying form clasped in the chambers of my heart.

Tears streamed down my face as she uttered her last words, ”It’s okay, it’s not

your fault, is it?” Her body transformed into a statue, resembling soft, crumbling

cement.

Finally, I let go, touching her statue until it fell and dissolved into the red fog

beneath her, her ashes drifting to the ground. The tears on my face no longer

belonged to me. I stared at the remnants of Dorcy, lost in thought, questioning

her true nature. Was she a witch, an angel, a mere human, or was it all just an

unsettling, lunatic dream? The raindrops trickled down, melting Dorcy’s ashes,

but I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t happy. This was not just a simple sense object.

In the end, I realized that losing everything was a form of freedom, but the

question remained: what would I do with that freedom?

Chapter 29

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Someone’s jumping backward, but when I turn to look, there’s no one there.

Instead, I see a large shard of ice with the uncanny clarity of a mirror, and the

voice seems to emanate from within it. I draw closer to the reflective surface,

and there he is, Oliver. I jump in before he can say anything. My conviction

grows as I believe that Oliver is a demon, and Dorcy was an angel, and the

demon has taken the angel from us. I can’t help but scream, ”You’re a damn

demon!” I begin pounding the icy mirror, but the cold sends me sprawling back-

ward. Oliver licks his lips, a macabre delight in his demeanor, and proclaims,

”Delicious, Oliver’s olives.”

Angry and desperate, I demand, ”What kind of demon are you?”

With an unsettling smile, Oliver responds, ”My name is Alex Thornfield, and I

am 28 years old. Your name is Oliver, and people want your olives.” He speaks

it as if it’s some kind of tantalizing treat. I’m exasperated, and I shout, ”Dorcy

is dead! Now what do yo u want?”

Oliver just grins. He then points a finger at me and accuses, ”You killed her.” It sounds utterly insane. I give him a push, but his laughter is relentless, sound-

ing like a psychopath consumed by a furnace’s flames mixed with nitroglycerin.

Finally, he stands, the handsome suitor with a face now more akin to that of

a devil. He remarks, ”It’s going to be okay, right?” I realize this is a deliber-

ate attempt to get me to cry over Dorcy, repeating her words, which further

infuriates me. I bellow, ”I’m not crying, okay? Don’t play games with me.”

Oliver merely chuckles. I peer into the sky and yell, ”Where the hell am I?”

Oliver responds, ”You’re in reality, man.” I can’t believe it. This can’t be reality.

This must all be a dream, a delusion. I plead with Oliver to stop the charades

and finally reveal who he really is. He retorts, ”I told you, man.” Doubt lingers,

and I question why people perceive me as him. He replies, ”Well, why do

you think they do?” Suddenly, it dawns on me how all the brain-tuberculosis,

cancerous ACR latex condos, and the like are connected. It all began with the

drug I bought from the dark web, a drug that doesn’t even exist in reality. I

recollect the first time, when ”Dorcy” killed the Sigma male driver and the guy

with the Christ tattoo. In reality, it was me, not Dorcy, who committed those

acts. There is no Dorcy. There is no Oliver. I am the one who’s been living

through these twisted episodes, rolling my eyes incessantly and smoking the red

foggy cigarette. I am the one who killed Kevin with an axe.

I’m sweating, but it’s not me, it’s Alex. No, I’m not Alex; this whole situation

is just confusing and surreal. I’ve killed Yuriexa and had a fiery encounter with

Apate in a molten furnace. It’s not Oliver; it’s been me all along. Oliver is not

the Darwin; I am.

Suddenly, Oliver vanishes from the mirror, and I begin to wonder if any of this is

real or if my mind is concocting this bizarre scenario. Just as I’m contemplating

reality, Oliver reappears, standing amidst Dorcy’s ashes. In my frustration, I

push him, but he’s still laughing maniacally.

”Hahahahahhahahahha...

” I told you this would be the greatest moment of your life, man,” he insists. I

demand an explanation for why he killed Dorcy. He points an accusatory finger

at me, saying, ”No, you killed Dorcy. I didn’t kill her. All this insanity, the

murders, it’s all your doing, your melodrama, not mine. I’m just a catalyst, ri

ght?” I retaliate, calling him poison. Heavy rain falls around us, mirroring the

weight of the moment.

”Fuck redemption, man. What are you even thinking? You don’t deserve a kind,

good angel who has reconsidered her mission,” Oliver screams,

”I’m not on any mission,” I insist.

”Yes, you are, man. You are,” Oliver retorts loudly. ”You’re seeking a way to

escape the anxiety of death, fear, anger, lust, and all the base human desires

this world burdens us with. People might call you a maniac, but my friend,” he

smirks, ”I’d call you a forefather, greater than a God.” I vehemently deny this label, claiming that destruction isn’t the answer, and

manipulating others isn’t divine. Oliver, chewing his red gum, responds calmly,

”If you didn’t do it, someone else would. People destroy themselves every day,

they enjoy it. They revel in their pleasures without concern for the cost to

civilization or morality. When they consume porn, Netflix, and other gratifi-

cations, they don’t think about the consequences. They’re disconnected from

their ancestors who sacrificed for the greater good. Did those Roman warriors

and historical legends consume these things? No, they didn’t.”

I challenge Oliver, asking why he even cares then, suggesting that he’s turning

people into mere puppets.

His voice escalates with anger, ”NO! I’m setting them free. One day, civilizations

will crumble, and people will die from their own self- indulgence. They’re not

their jobs, they’re not human beings, they’re not even souls. They’re just weak,

digitally and electrostatically created artificial sperm. They can’t be warriors

or men like we used to be. We need to change ourselves.”

He solemnly states, ”Unless we destroy indigenous people, drive animals to

extinction, poison rivers, and ravage the planet, we won’t sustain this so- called

’civilization’ any longer.”

I retort, ”That’s not the most important thing.” In response, he delivers another

harsh blow with his metallic rock stick, summoning Dorothy. My fear grows as

she opens my half pants and the boiling lava emerges. My suggestion of a

vasectomy is dismissed. Oliver intends to scorch my testicles in this searing

hell.

Five minutes remain, and the countdown begins. Paralyzed and overwhelmed, I

still hesitate to kill Noah. The president, now visibly anxious, awaits my action.

Yet, I am conflicted, unwilling to lose.

Oliver enlightens me about the practice of boiling among singers in gay bands

like The Darkness or Coheed and Cambria to achieve higher voices. His message

emphasizes that controlling our sense objects is essential, as all this is merely a

pursuit of human gratification.

Chapter 30

 ”I am nothing less than a modern-day Napoleon. As I contemplate the

devastating consequences of pulling the trigger, I can feel a rush of excitement

coursing through me, heightened by the icy touch of the silver pendant hanging

from Oliver’s neck. ’Your instrument is quite intriguing,’ I remark. Oliver,

baffled, questions my motives. My gaze shifts to Dorothy, and I inquire, ’Have

you ever watched the film Fight Club?’ She responds, ’The first rule of Fight

Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club, sir.’ I am Jake’s smirking revenge.

Oliver interjects, ’This is like a Rule 34 novel and movie, man.’ I harbor a

peculiar fondness for Rule 34, unicorns, and the intricacies of chemistry and

biology. But Dorcy, my affection for her, has vanished. Oliver, now frantic,

urges me to ’PULL THE TRIGGER, ASSHOLE.’ Pull the trigger. Push the button. Pull the lever. With every pull, my deepest

desires crumble to ash, and the world around me unravels. Oliver presents me

with two choices: either I kill Noah or he’ll eliminate both Noah and someone

peripheral to my univese. ’I enjoy playing games,’ I retort, ’and this metal stick

isn’t just in your hands; it’s in mine as well because we are one.’ Abruptly,

the metal shifts into my grasp, and it’s no longer Oliver but Alex Thornfield.

Oliver remarks, ’Interesting, you excel at playing games but falter in this crucial

moment.’ I reassure him, ’Trust me, everything will be fine. ’

Push the button. Pull the trigger. Helicopters fill the sky, and my mind spins

in disarray. Oliver’s reality crumbles, and I regain control. ’I can, yes, I can,’

I repeat. Five seconds pass. Then, someone shouts, ’Sir, we got him.’ It’s

Astroroth, the angel-faced blonde Paul Allen. I see an Indian young man in

his grasp, only eighteen, drenched in sweat. Mephisto holds a book, ’KALI

DEMOLISHED,’ authored by Krish, a pseudonym for Abhishek Sharma.

I scream, ’Who is this?’ Oliver unmasks the young man and places the gun

against his throat. Abhishek, a writer, is his name. He’s just eighteen and hails

from India. The hardcover book signifies our universe’s creation. ’We’re just

characters,’ Oliver reveals.

I find myself within Abhishek’s narrative, scrutinized by countless readers. I

can hardly believe it’s real. ’Release him!’ I demand. In response, he pushes

the gun barrel against his own cheek. ’We all enjoyed that fruit Palau soup,

didn’t we, Oliver?’ I attempt to reason. Then, Oliver pulls the trigger.

’We’ll miss you, Abhishek Sharma, creator of my chaotic world. You’ve played

with my life countless times, fostering mental turmoil in my cerebrum.’ As Ab-

hishek takes his last breath, the world crumbles, consumed by bombs, volcanic

eruptions, and a surge of chemical hormones.

As Abhishek fades away, a repulsive stench fills the air, and Oliver vanishes

like a mirage. The platypus reappears, dancing, eyes rolling, and sweating,

reminiscent of Dorcy. Fire engulfs ev erything.

Boom.

In an instant, everything is gone. I pull the trigger, ending Noah, and civilization

crumbles. The world, crafted by the hand of Abhishek Sharma, vanishes. It’s

inconceivable that our young creator held such power.

The world ends, evaporates. Kali still resides within me; the soul endures while

the body perishes. Remember, within each of you, there’s a Kali and a Kalki.

Push the lever, pull the trigger, and you remain the servant of written material.”