The Endgame – A Memoir

Post-Nuclear Explosions

There are far-reaching implications 
of coercive manipulation via deceit.
More than you’ll ever know, 
because you were looking in
 the other direction the entire time.

That travel started with a trip to Albania. My bladder was destroyed by the ketamine that had been slipped to me without my knowledge (although I had become aware of it after I took that drug test I mentioned previously to see why I felt so drugged, I still hadn’t been able to prevent each subsequent drugging). I had to plan my trip in several stages, mapping out the bathrooms all along the way, through the airports and hotels. I even made sure my plane seating was a short distance from the airplane toilets. It wasn’t quite a smooth escape, but I managed to get there, one bathroom break at a time. Thankfully, my bladder would heal during the next few months and years, for the most part. 

In my half-decade of traveling and waiting, I slowly began to learn how to enjoy the little things in life as I tried to adapt to being a part of a population that knew so little of the backstage maneuverings that guided their lives. I spent those years primarily along Mediterranean shores, working overtime at around 60 – 80 hours a week. Finally being able to keep the profits from my work made a huge difference. The hours were terrible but not overwhelming. I was already accustomed to working two jobs – one for the bills and one for the person who was convinced she owned me. 

I managed to reasonably spend the time and money necessary to deal with the reality of kids to send to international schools, remote work clients who always needed me to meet deadlines, my terrible health despite a healthy diet, weight, and exercise; and everything else life throws at a person even when the view from the balcony is a beautiful one. Oh, right, I worked a little extra to have a view of the Mediterranean for around half of each year. I find that the water helps to wash away thoughts of most things, including a self-genociding world, at least temporarily.

Still, memories and emotions were bubbling to the surface in my mind as I was slowly wandering Europe, trying to blend into cities and tourist destinations known for their large foreign populations. All that we had done, the damage, the manipulation, the atrocities – they all kept coming to the forefront of my mind. I continued to seek ways to repair them on a larger level, but there were so few people with whom I could speak with or work together on those topics. Eventually, I simply sat there alone in my own thoughts, consumed by them.

My dreams were often nightmares as the last of the drugs finally dissipated from my system and memories I had tried to bury surfaced in full glory despite my attempts to ignore them. Early on in my post-England travels, I woke up in the dead of night in a temporary apartment near Greece, trembling so hard that it shook the frame of the bed. In that moment, I finally realized the significance of what I had lived through and just how closely I had grazed death in all those years. With memories of torture shockingly vivid in my mind, I curled up in a blanket on the balcony and waited in silence for the sun to rise. It was over an hour before the trembling ceased. 

I appreciated being in countries where they did not speak my language because I had so little in common with humanity that I didn’t even know how to keep the flow of one of their conversations. 

Instead of engaging with people, I buried myself in work, sunbathing, and finally attending to my shattered health. I spent a large amount of time with dentists and dental surgeons. I saw a specialist in Rome for my spine. After six months of intensive physical therapy, it almost looked and functioned normally. Not quite, but almost. One of the physical therapists brought me into their office after roughly fifty appointments and told me they had done as much as they could, but that my neck was simply “bad.”

My spine had been oddly shaped, possibly from the time I was born and due to the impact of my mother’s fall from the balcony when she was pregnant. Photographs as far back as when I was eight years old show an unnatural lack of curvature of my neck. Earlier photos might show it as well, if I had any. 

Want to know an ironic part? Because my spine was so unnaturally straight, even as a child, people assumed I was either snobbish or military. No one ever stopped to check to see if it was an injury. They saw it as a sign of status or seeking status. To me, it was just a constant dull pain that never went away and that invariably increased throughout the day until it was an effort simply to hold my head up. Due to that, I used to lean the back of my head against walls at any opportunity I got. And the public perception of that? I was lazy or cool. Again, no one ever checked to see if it was because there was something wrong. Shallow eyes only see shallowness. 

As for the changing of the landscape I had anticipated, I stopped hopping around Europe and I settled down by the sea in early 2019, remembering that the recruiter’s cohort and their sponsors had plans for 2020. I’m glad I did so. It would have been unfortunate to be in an Airbnb with only a week of food once COVID-19 lockdowns hit. 

As I scrolled through the panicked research papers coming out about the HIV-1 insert in the virus, and as I looked at the familiar conjunctivitis forming in the corners of my eyes and reappearing for months at a time, much as it had done when I lived with the recruiter as a small child, I silently noted that the slow-moving illness appeared to have come from the endgame lab my exploiter was supervising; the same lab that had been planning a walking pneumonia and incurable illness hybrid since the early 1980s, an illness intended to slowly and quietly creep into the population unnoticed and then wipe them all out gradually. 

Or at least, it was a likely possibility. Post-nuclear-era wartime attacks include an intentional crafting of ambiguity that shields the perpetrators from direct responsibility. Back when sitting in think tanks at Yale, I had been informed that deceptiveness was necessary and intended to avoid triggering an all-out nuclear war. Somehow, I don’t think the true end result is any better. In trying to avoid triggering the use of the largest-reaching weapon of the past, we’ve made even further-reaching weapons. 

It was also likely that a biological attack would have come anyway. I’ll never even know if my rattling of the recruiter’s cage had any effect on that at all. I’m okay with not knowing. I’ve already dealt with enough guilt in my life.  

And some things are simply inevitable, especially when no one stops them at any part during nearly 50 years of planning and implementation. There were countless people in those rooms over the years. Countless scientists, funders, war strategists, government employees, and even civilians – all of whom never banded together to stop their own demise. They had only worked in concert to destroy themselves. 

Recognizing that reality, the last part of me collapsed, after a lifetime of battling the population and government’s combined weight and demand for self and group annihilation, and mine along with it, I had no remaining energy left to pointlessly fight to save anyone.

I had already let go.  

I felt that it was time to retire, with or without authorization. Authority no longer held significance for me. I had watched so many people mishandle and squander it to the point of infantilism. It had been embarrassing and critically painful to witness. I allowed myself a moment of sorrow and tears for the damage they had done in their recklessness and lack of care, and for all the victims I had personally touched. 

As I walked away, I paused long enough to see the policy of secrecy at work, with Intelligence batting down every single article scientists posted that mentioned the HIV-1 insert in COVID-19. It was played out in real-time with countless witnesses on Twitter. Those scientists were swarmed, harassed, and accused of “inciting fear” simply for publishing research articles containing evidence of what they were seeing in the lab. 

Image Source: BioRxiv

“We found 4 insertions in the spike glycoprotein (S) which are unique to the 2019-nCoV and are not present in other coronaviruses. Importantly, amino acid residues in all the 4 inserts have identity or similarity to those in the HIV-1 gp120 or HIV-1 Gag. Interestingly, despite the inserts being discontinuous on the primary amino acid sequence, 3D-modelling of the 2019-nCoV suggests that they converge to constitute the receptor binding site. The finding of 4 unique inserts in the 2019-nCoV, all of which have identity similarity to amino acid residues in key structural proteins of HIV-1 is unlikely to be fortuitous in nature.”

Text Source: BioRxiv

The majority of the scientists caved under the strain. They were scientists, not battle-hardened experts in fighting the military-industrial complex or in dealing with psychological warfare. 

Image Source: BioRxiv

I focused on baking, art, and attempts to enjoy the little fleeting moments that make life beautiful. Now and then I would check in to see commercial interests, mismanaged governments, and organizations jumping onto the monetary incentives and lower oversight that came with the emergency response to a virus that looked suspiciously like one engineered to not be preventable by vaccines. I cringed as they appeared to make the situation worse and reduce our limited options for health and survival, all in their attempts to appease the short-term needs of their stakeholders and the stock market while continuing in the tradition of lying to the public.  

They never learn that there isn’t enough money in the world to pay for a life that has already been snuffed out. 

Next: Anno No Domini