EEI – The Entire Story Thus Far

Below is all the individual chapter rough drafts put together into one story.

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Chapter 1 – Your Prince is in Another Castle

A digital alarm clock glows red in the dark. Rain taps against a bedroom window. A young woman, Sarah Hitler (no relation), lies asleep beneath the covers. The other side of the bed is cold, empty.

She stirs, reaching across the mattress with closed eyes. “You’re on my side again,” she grumbles happily, as her hand brushes against cold sheets. There is no reply but silence.

“Babe?”

She sits up slowly, looking toward the bedroom door, expecting to see her fiancé getting ready for work. She checks the time, a worry gnawing away at her stomach. No new messages on her phone. She calls him. The phone rings. Once. Twice.

She has a sinking feeling as the voicemail plays that this is the last time she will ever hear his voice. She hesitates for a moment, then puts on a cheery voice. “Hey, it’s me. You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Call me when you get this, okay? Love you.”

She lowers the phone as the smile drops from her face. Sits quietly, listening to the rain, controlling her breathing, slight trembling.

After she controls herself her focus turns again outwards. His watch is still on the nightstand. Wallet and keys beside it.

She covers her voluptuous figure with a robe before walking through the apartment. She searches the bathroom, kitchen. No sign of him. She checks the front door.

Locked.

Circles back to the bedroom, and there it is. A piece of paper partially tucked beneath the edge of the mattress. She pulls it free.

It’s a printed photograph of a private island, surrounded by dark blue water. A large, pyramidal estate sits behind a row of palm trees. On the back, someone has written a short message:

YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH, GOY.

Sarah stares at it.

Her phone buzzes, an unknown number. A text message appears.

“You’ll never find him.”

She drops onto the edge of the bed, then throws her phone across the room in frustration. Just in time, as it explodes.

Sarah wipes the tears from her eyes, her expression hardening. She calls his name under her breath.

“Johnny, I’m coming for you.”

She stands, the camera slowly moves toward the photograph of the island, now lying on the bed. The rain grows louder. A low, ominous musical note begins to swell.

Sarah opens her laptop and searches “Epstein Island.” The screen fills with search results, dead links, and fragments of disturbing rumors.

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Chapter 2: Title Unknown

Sarah had three things going for her: a burning desire to rescue her fiancé, a complete disregard for her own personal safety, and access to the internet.

By 7:30 that morning, her living room looked like a hardware store had exploded inside a Halloween shop. Tools, wires, empty bottles, electronics, and several open instruction manuals covered every available surface. Her laptop displayed a dozen browser tabs, ranging from survival guides to a suspiciously confident forum post titled DIY Weapons for Beginners: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Sarah stared at the collection of junk in front of her. “Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s make some weapons.”

She’d need something akin to the plasma rifle from Halo. An overclocked hairdryer combined with microwave parts did the trick. She had an inexhaustible supply of used perfume bottles, which she turned into holy water grenades by rigging up a system that channeled her sweat into the bottles. This worked, as she was still a virgin, provided that anal didn’t count. She also wrote BEGONE, SATAN on a few labels with a permanent marker, because presentation mattered.

The sniper rifle was a different matter. Sarah had purchased it on Etsy the previous evening after discovering that the site apparently contained everything from handmade jewelry to tactical nukes, although the latter were out of her budget. To be fair, it was only a .22. So unlike a real sniper rifle it might take a few hits to kill people. For the explosive dart attachment to the rifle she jury rigged bottles of pepsi with mentos, repurposing an easy bake oven timer as a delayed fuse.

She packed all that with a first-aid kit, flashlight, spare workout clothes, her laptop, and the one item she valued more than anything else: a photograph of her fiancé smiling on the day he’d proposed, into her purse. “Thank God this game has no inventory system,” she said under her breath, before she set off.

There were definitely some kinks to work out with her tools of the trade, but she’d have plenty of spare time on the flight over.

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Chapter Three: The Lolita Express

A beautiful girl stands in front of a jet. Her name is Sarah. It’s name is “The Lolita Express.” 

Minutes later she’s tucked into the landing gear wheel well after an unplayable forced stealth sequence. How she got there doesn’t matter, what she finds does.

“A crowbar,” she mutters to herself. She looks inside her bottomless purse. “Pepper spray.” They go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

She spends the whole flight putting the two together, finishes just in time to nearly fall out of the aircraft as the landing gear opens. If she’s up there when it lands she’ll be discovered.

She jumps.

The ocean water hits like concrete. It doesn’t matter, her gigantic funbags take the impact. She silently swims to a shore lit up by distant candlelight. Epstein Beach. Face painted black, holding a gun. She looks like a Navy SEAL, if they actually fought on behalf of the American People.

A network of roads wound through tropical vegetation toward the central compound. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter fences, and guard towers rose above the treetops. The island was larger than she’d expected, alive with activity.

Armored vehicles moved between buildings. Guards patrolled the roads. Somewhere in the distance, a siren sounded, followed by an announcement that was too distorted to understand.

Then she saw it. A pyramidal building, its dark geometric outline rising above the surrounding trees.

Unlike the other structures, it had no visible windows. A narrow staircase led to an enormous entrance framed by carved symbols. Green light pulsed faintly between the stones.

She had seen photographs of the building during her research, though none of the images had explained its purpose. Official records described it as an architectural feature. Anonymous sources described it as a ceremonial hall. One particularly excitable internet theorist claimed it was a machine for communicating with the moon.

She checked the photograph in her pocket. Johnny’s face smiled back at her. “Hang on,” she told him.

She tucked the photograph away and began moving toward the structure. The closer she got, the stranger the atmosphere became. The sounds of the compound faded behind her. The air seemed colder beneath the trees, and an unfamiliar vibration pulsed through the ground.

At the base of the staircase, she discovered two guards standing beside an ornamental stone pillar. One was eating from a packet of crisps. The other was reading something on his phone.

Sarah waited until they turned away, then slipped behind a stone statue and approached a side entrance.

The door was locked, until her crowbar smashed it open. The sound caused the guard with the crisps to lower his packet.

“Did you hear that?”

The other guard looked toward the staircase.

“Probably the ventilation.”

Sarah decided to test her crowbar system worked, by sneaking over to him and smashing him in the knee.

“OW, FUCK me that hurt,” he said, now fully alerted. He looked around for a while. “Hmmm. Probably nothing.”

The other guard sadled up to him. “Heard any good rumours?”

“They say that Whiterun has been overrun by a plague of ghouls.”

“Let’s hope brave adventurers answer the call. I used to be one myself, before I took a crowbar to the knee.”

“Oh shit, you too? That just happened to me like five seconds ago. You wouldn’t believe – FUCK!”

Sarah had tired of the conversation and shot him in the head with the rifle. “OUCH,” the guard added. “SHIT,” he exclaimed. “I’m being paranoid,” he concluded.

“You’re always hearing things,” said his companion.

 

Sarah threw a holy water grenade at his companion, which exploded and caused the exposed skin on his face and hands to sluff off. 

“What was that!?” he exclaimed. “Who’s there,” the other said, their speech overlapping.

After ten seconds they calmed down. 

“Must have been the wind. You know how – WHO’S THERE?!” said the guard again, after Sarah’s explosive dart went off inside his body, blowing off a chunk of his torso.

“Show yourself, coward!” he exclaimed, as he patrolled the same route as before, but harder. “Okay, it was probably nothing,” he said as he pushed back the intestines that had herniated themselves through the fresh hole in his midsection. 

Having tested all her weapons, Sarah used the stasis to freeze them both, then slipped through the doorway and shut it behind her. For several seconds, she stood in darkness, listening to her own breathing. Then she heard it.

A rhythmic chant echoed through the building’s interior, accompanied by the deep hum of machinery. Green light spilled beneath a set of enormous doors, illuminating elaborate murals depicting crowned figures, celestial bodies, and armies marching beneath a black six pointed star. The walls subtly expanded and contracted as Sarah ran through the machine’s corridors.

Her hand upon the cold metal door, she listens. And a voice speaks.

“The gathering shepards the fallen.”

Numerous voices repeated the chant.

“When the moon forgets its mother, we begin. Everything starts now.”

Another voice cut in.

“The sleepers have dreamt of fish. The cantlebury wears the mantle of thorns.”

More voices made themselves heard.

“The color of regret is bold.”

“The third bell rings only for the absent. May the blind king slumber.”

“The goose acknowledges winter and flies to the spring. The lamb speaks the butcher’s tongue.”

Sarah went rigid with shock, she had no idea what any of them were saying, but it sounded really cool.

“Agent 17 could not make it. He awaits the Valhalla of Moloch.”

“Agent fourty two, does the dawn arise on the sunset of man?”

“Uhm.”

Sarah peeked between the door cracks and saw Agent Fourty Two nervously look around at the gathering, before collecting himself and answering. 

“The worm asks. The bird obliges.”

The leader accepted this with a nod. “Finally, a girl is no one,” he said.

The other agents looked at each other, before nodding their heads and repeating the phrase, then seeming to spout out random sentences at irregular intervals.

“The inevitability system goes.”

“The uphill river runs out of order. Proceed regardless.”

“The final hour has been rescheduled. The architecture of fate synchronizes.”

“The old world dies, and is reborn. Tell the accountant the cathedral hungers.”

“Secure the bag. Remove the hand.”

“The lighthouse is spiritually green, but warms as destiny approaches. We must enslave the pigeons.”

“The black chalice is half full. The Council of Ashes stirs. The thirteenth hand withdraws.”

“IT IS THE TIME OF THE NAMELESS THRONE!”

“Yes. The custodian of the unspoken whispers. The Ancient one binds.”

“Does the shadow precede the object, unholy one?”

“To know the hour is to misunderstand the clock. The oracles herald.”

“The circle has corners.”

Sarah noticed much nodding at that statement.

“And does the carp remember what the ocean has forgotten?”

“The falcon flies at half speed. No, wait, I mean the fish has swallowed the compass. Actually let me think. The fox kneels, the chickens must testify.”

“Does anyone have any idea what the fuck we’re talking about?”

Sarah noticed that they all looked around and basically agreed that they’d just been speaking gibberish to each other for the past ten minutes.

“Alright, well since apparently everyone forgot the codewords, let me make this clear. We just kidnapped a guy named Johnny GigaChad, who just might be the sexiest man alive. I mean, those cheekbones. Wow. But actually, we did this because he went to a Halloween party dressed as a tranny, and Lindsay Graham called dibs. Now, why do we need to satisfy Lindsay Graham?”

“Because the moth enters the parliament of the backwards dawn.”

“Moishe, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we’re done with the codewords.”

“Well fuck me for taking the time to actually learn that, right?”

“Yeah, so basically we’re going to both reward Lindsay Graham for being a good soldier of Israel, while also getting more blackmail on him and other politicians like him. Does anyone have any questions? No, not you Moishe, or if you do just say it plainly.”

“The second key opens the first lock.”

“What the fuck did I just say? Alright that’s it, meeting over. I’m opening the portal now and we’re all going through.”

Sarah’s blood ran cold. She pulled out her phone and opened the photograph of Johnny. For a moment, she looked at his face. “Those fucking cheekbones,” she whispered, breathlessly.

Then she put the phone away, tightened her grip on the crowbar, and pushed the doors open. Green light flooded the corridor.

Beyond the threshold, hundreds of candles surrounded a vast circular platform. A virginal fifteen year old had been drained of her life energy to power some ritual. Which one she wasn’t sure, but there was no time to waste. The portal began to shrink.

She leapt. 

Upon landing she was greeted not with the cabalists, but with an army of sweaty Reddit Powermods.

Every head turned toward her. A million lifeless zombie eyes feasting upon her voluptuous figure.

Sarah raised her crowbar. “Okay,” she said. “Who wants to go first?”

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Chapter 4: The Hallway Monitors of the Clownworld Imperium

Up until now the floors, had been fairly homogenous. Roughly the same dimensions, filled to the brim with enemies who wanted her dead and were perfectly willing to die trying.

 

This floor was different.

 

Beyond the entrance stretched a sprawling pavilion of activity, a vast hive of industry whose inhabitants busied themselves with their respective tasks and paid her little regard.

Rows upon rows of computers filled the room. Behind each monitor a husk of humanity, hunched over keyboards with the grim determination of medieval scribes copying holy scripture. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of unwashed feet, stale energy drinks, and cheap body spray. Cheeto dust coated the desks, the keyboards, and several of the occupants themselves, like a light snowfall in a particularly diseased winter.

Even without glancing at the banner above her head it was clear she had arrived at the Mecca of electronic neoliberalism. It did little but confirm the obvious.

 

REDDIT POWERMOD TRAINING FACILITY 

She takes one step forward, then another. Slowly, cautiously, she began to explore the rest of the area.

 

In another section, dozens of future powermods underwent intense training exercises: banning imaginary users, deleting disobedient speech at lightning speed, planting CSAM on various sub-reddits as an excuse to shut them down.

At the center of the compound stood a giant throne made entirely of gaming chairs, well reinforced at the base so as to support the gargantuan mass of the head powermod, who watched the proceedings with approval, absentmindedly swinging his lanyard.

 

“Excellent intitiative, recruit,” he complemented one trainee who had deleted an entire thread for absolutely no reason. “Never allow the conversation to develop naturally.”

Another recruit raised his hand, responding only after he was called upon.  

“Excuse me, Xir. If we delete people’s accounts for criticizing trannies and US foreign policy equally, won’t that expose us all as Unit 8200 Hasbara trolls? It seems like it’d be hard to play the censorship off as left wing and not zionist. How are we supposed to whine about protecting marginalized communities when we’re going after people documenting civilian casualties?”

The instructor turned to the recruit and gave a gentle chuckle. “My dear boy, a classic rookie mistake. You have failed to take into account that Redditors are the lowest form of life on Earth. They’ll take whatever shit we give them and ask for seconds. Do you think these Neoliberalism Enjoyers care about ideological consistency? They care for little more than their e-friends and getting updoots from strangers online. We control their moral vocabulary, not them. They’ll come up with the copes after the fact.

 

“In fact, my child, it doesn’t need to make any sense that we censor people for ‘hate speech’ because it ostensibly causes harm, and also censor people for debunking Israeli war propaganda, which are lies that exist to perpetuate mass child murder. The seemingly capricious incongruity of our censorship regime is not a bug, but a feature. It allows the most obedient and immoral Soyim to demonstrate their value to the system as mid-level apparatchiks, through their seamless navigation through these apparent contradictions.

 

“Consider the contradictions inherent in simply our foreign policy discourse. How can we simultaneously denounce Russia for invading a country based upon the principle that anyone who ever invades anyone else is beyond the pale evil, while defending Israel, a country that currently has its soldiers occupying five surrounding countries? It’s simple, we simply do it, and the cattle obey. 

 

“Consistency is for people who have to persuade others. We control the whip. We control the microphone. We, my friend, have administrative privileges. Thus we can denounce imperialism on Monday and celebrate a bombing campaign on Tuesday. We can preach love and tolerance while also supporting that Jihadi head chopper in Syria.”

The recruit seemed to think about it for a bit before speaking up again.

“So that’s why it’s fine for us to push a totalitarian throughline supporting an imaginary anti-colonial Brown alliance against cisheteronormative white supremacist capitalism, while also cheering on US Military action against the Houthis?”

 

“Yes, of course. We’re managing democracy here, not encouraging it. The ideal citizen is one who understands that every contradiction is an opportunity. It is only they who can truly see that the most glorious version of the future is on where a femboy stilleto stomps on the faces of Israel’s enemies, forever.”

Sarah moved on before she did something that would compromise her cover. She soon discovered that Reddit wasn’t the only institution represented in the facility. A neighboring department housed moderators from 4chan, TikTok, and Twitter (now X), all gathered beneath a series of motivational posters. The Twitter Community Safety Team Members were trained to allow more speech, in exchange for better documentation of the wrongthinkers, with this info to be passed to intelligence agencies.

“A strange and evil place,” Sarah thought, as she fantasized setting the entire pavilion ablaze. One glance at the picture of Ryan brought her to her senses. Unathletic though they were, their numbers were too great. And besides, she had a sneaking suspicion that this popcorn enemy type would be making an appearance on pretty much every floor from here on out. She’d settle the matter through installments. 

With that thought Sarah kept her face neutral, eyes turned down, and walked towards and then through an open portal on the other side of the room, and was swallowed up by the blinding, green light. Instantly, the oppressive hum of office work was silenced. The tapping of keyboards fading into nothing.

Her vision returned, and with it a familiar sight. Concrete walls, shoddy lighting, and an army of hostile glares. 

“Ah,” she said, taking out her plasma rifle, “that’s more like it.”

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Chapter 5 – It Was My Idea To Die For ZOG

She heard the applause before she saw the audience.

It was a strange place, this room, even more than usual. Long, and with a high ceiling upon which hung a banner.  

YOUR CAUSE. YOUR FIGHT. YOUR REASONS.

There was a hammer and sickle on the left side of the banner and a swastika on the right. This mirrored the crowd, which was divided down the middle with a thin canvass separating them from each other’s sight, muffling some of the sound. 

On the left sat a thousand youths outfitted in black hoodies, keffiyehs, patched denim jackets, and T-shirts bearing slogans about anti-capitalist liberation. Several had painted their fingernails in the colors of the Ukrainian flag. One young man had a laptop open on his knees, displaying a spreadsheet titled “Bash the Fash: A Comprehensive Analysis”.

A queer sight, made all the queerer by the group on the right. A thousand more, this time garbed in black uniforms and combat boots, with shaved heads adorned only with swastikas, Celtic crosses, and sonnenrads. One wore a shirt proclaiming the need to defend European civilization. Another held up a banner that read “1488.”

In front of each group stood an instructors, each dressed like members of their respective audiences, with the addition of a kippah on top.

“Comrades,” announced the instructor on the left, a lean man with silver hair and a microphone headset. His name badge read DANIEL LEVIN — GENDERQUEER LIBERATION ENTHUSIAST. “We have gathered here today because history has placed a question before us. Are you going to let Vladimir Putin win?”

The left side of the room erupted. “NO!”

“Are we going to give in to fascism?”

“NO!”

“Are we going to let the forces of reaction destroy the queer future of humanity?”

“NO!”

Daniel smiled, and breathed in the adoration of the crowd. “Good,” he continued, “then we must speak honestly about Ukraine.”

Sarah’s gaze drifted back to the right side of the room, where the instructor on the dias began his speech. Above him was a sign that read ARI BEN-AMOS — WESTERN CIVILIZATION AND SECURITY INITIATIVE. He tapped his microphone.

“Friends. Patriots. Europeans.” The right side of the room came to attention. “We have gathered because Europe is under attack.”

A thousand roman salutes went out at once.

“Under attack from whom?” Ari demanded, more of a rallying cry than a question.

“Putin!”

The response came so loud and clear Sarah felt it in her teeth.

Ari shook his head sadly. “Putin is the architect of something far more insidious than an ordinary military threat. He, underneath his master, Alexander Dugin, is the architect of European humiliation.”

He clicked his remote. The screen displayed a photograph of refugees walking along a European highway. “Look at this,” he asked, and the recruits stared. “Your cities are changing. Your borders are dissolving. Your traditions are being treated as embarrassing relics. And who benefits from this chaos?”

“Russia!” someone shouted. An angry murmur passed through the room.

“Putin, and his master Dugin, hate the White race, and have been seeking its destruction, and conversion into a Eurasian mongrel. It is with this end goal in mind that they have thrown open Europe’s borders, and bring the Chechen hordes into Ukraine.”

As the group on the right vented their considerable anger Sarah’s gaze turned back left. Just in time to see their instructor, Daniel, click his remote to move to the next slide. A photograph appeared on the screen: Putin at a military parade. “Vladimir Putin’s plan for a pure white Europe.”

“Wow, just wow,” could be heard murmured by a thousand voices.

“Putler,” Daniel continued, “is a White supremacist who has fully rejected George Soros’ visionary plan, opening the borders of Europe. Putin has refused time and again to take in helpless refugee children from areas in conflict with Israel. Putin has even said, explicitly, that he views himself as the defender of a white, Christian Europe.”

Daniel waited just a second for the angry crowd to calm down. “He has weaponized traditionalism, nationalism, and religious reaction to create a fortress against LGBTQ liberation and racial diversity. He wants a world in which every minority knows their place, or is simply cleansed from his lily White ethnostate. And he wants to export this to all of Europe.”

A young trans woman in the front row raised xir’s fist. “Exactly!” she proclaimed in a deep voice that rose above the general murmur. “That’s what I’ve been saying,” she continued, before adjusting her pants because her dick usually rested on the opposite side.

“Putin’s Russia,” Daniel continued, “is a machine designed to crush queer people, intimidate transgender people, and export reactionary politics to every country unfortunate enough to share a planet with him.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening, their spirits animated, their hands, two sizes too small, waving wildly, accidentally spreading the collective odour of ten thousand man-days without a shower. Daniel temporarily flinched as he caught wind of the stench.

On the right side of the room Ari continued his diatribe. “And there is another front in this war. The demographic front.” With a click the screen changed to a photograph of a Russian hospital. “Russia has spent years undermining its own population. A society that cannot sustain its birthrate, that normalizes abortion, that treats the family as an optional lifestyle accessory, is a society in decline.”

Ari allowed the words to settle. “Putin talks about traditional values. He poses as the defender of Christian civilization. But in reality, Russia is a liberal paradise where degeneracy runs rampant. Not only that. Russia has always been behind the migrant crisis, seeking to undermine Europe through replacement migration, low birth rates, and Korean rape soldiers.”

Sarah turned back to the left side of the stage just in time to catch the end of what Daniel was going on about now.

“Russia, through its dictator, Putin, has banned feminism, transexualism, and even thrown many of our bravest human rights freedom democracy activists in prison. This is a Christian nationalist state where Pussy Riot feminists get years in prison for righteous protests inside of fascist churches.”

“Russia,” Ari continued on the right, “is secretly an anti-Christian Islamic caliphate where Putin throws patriotic Russians in jail for burning the Koran. It’s also a haven of feminism, and sexual degeneracy.”

Sarah looked back to her left. “But Putin’s worst crime,” Daniel said, “is his anti-semitism.”

“Putin’s worst crime,” Ari belted, “is that he’s a pawn of Jews.”

“When Putin took power in Russia,” Daniel continued, “many innocent Jewish billionaires had their wealth confiscated from them and were thrown in jail. Even just last week he confiscated $1.3 billion from Vadim Moshkovich, a poor Jew who had to work hard for every meal he ever ate. He reinvested his wealth in anti-capitalist projects, such as the Jewish Museum and Tolerance Center in Moscow, a bastion of liberalism.”

On the right, Ari had picked up in pace. “There are those who say that Putin has cracked down on Jew oligarchs. But in reality, he’s surrounded by Jew oligarchs, and works entirely for them.” The crowd roared, but Ari waited only a second before cutting over them. “In fact, Putin donated a month of his own salary to the construction of the Jewish Museum and Tolerance Center in Moscow, a hive of liberalism.” 

“There’s no question about it,” Daniel shouted, “Putin hates the Jews.”

“There’s no question about it,” Ari exclaimed, “Putin is a secret Jew.”

The audiences went absolutely buck wild, whipped into a righteous frenzy. The left group was calmed first, as a man with purple hair stood up. “Can we be sure that Ukraine is fighting for trans and immigrant rights?” he asked. “Are we certain that Zelensky and his friends who all flee to Israel aren’t just another batch of neo-liberals serving oligarchs.” 

There was much concerned nodding among the crowd, but Daniel regarded him warmly, as a father does to a precocious child. “Ukraine,” he said, “is fighting not just for its sovereignty. They are fighting for the entire liberal world order, which is the very foundation of transgender liberation and endless migration.”

Concurrent with his speech, a man in the right group wearing a Black Sun biker patch stood up. “But Ari,” he started, “can we be sure that Ukraine is fighting for traditional values and the White race when Zelensky and all his pals are all Jews?”

Ari chuckled. “Ukraine,” he said, “is fighting not just for its sovereignty. They are fighting against the entire liberal world order headed up by Russia, which is the very foundation of sexual perversion and third worldism.”

The group on the right began nodding to each other. Meanwhile, to Sarah’s left, the man with purple hair sat down, satisfied that they were fighting for immigrants and trans rights, and Daniel advanced to the next slide. It showed a rainbow flag superimposed over a photograph of a Ukrainian soldier.

“Some of you have reservations. You may have been told that Ukraine has its own complicated internal politics. You are thinking about nationalism, corruption, far-right organizations, or the inconvenient fact that countries are not morality plays in which every actor has been assigned a permanent role by your favorite podcast.

“You may also have heard the claim that Ukraine is nothing more than a proxy for United States capitalist imperialism. That Zelensky has openly supported Israel, which currently has troops in five different countries. But first of all, that’s anti-semitism. And secondly, Zelensky has to do that. This great leader’s hands have been tied by the forces of history into receiving aid from these countries, and we need to have a nuanced, measured understanding of this. Russia wants you fighting each other instead of Russian imperialism. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

“The ignorant may further claim that Ukraine is a den of ethnonationalists. You may have even bought into some Russian fearmongering about so-called denazification. Pat yourself on the back for ignoring such tripe. Ukraine has a Jew leader, a minority Muslim head of the intelligence services, and a transexual spokesperson. Russia is such an evil country that they consider Sarah Ashton-Cirillo a man. There is simply no debate. Ukraine is fighting for a world where women really can have penises.”

As the audience on the left nodded and cheered, congratulating themselves on understanding the nuance of the situation, Sarah’s gaze shifted back to the right. “I understand,” Ari said, “that you may have some reservations when it comes to Ukraine.”

Some in the audience shifted uneasily, but he smiled as he continued. “Yes, of course, Zelensky is a Jew. Yes, of course, all of his closest allies are Jews. Yes, of course, they steal money meant for the defense of Ukraine and then flee to Israel. To the outside observer it might seem like a speedrun of neo-liberalism, promoting various minorities to important Governmental positions, shutting down anti-corruption investigations, pushing LGBTQ legislation as if their lives depend on it, and openly talking about bringing in ten million African migrants to Ukraine after the war.

“To  uninformed and simple minded may be tricked into believing Ukraine is a left wing cause celebre that has nothing to offer us. Please pat yourself on the back for having too much intellectual sophistication to believe such nonsense. Reality is nuanced shades of grey, and beware the blackpillers who want to take one small, unimportant fact about Russia or Ukraine out of context, in order to maliciously subvert your opinion. I trust that you’re too intelligent to fall for such tricks. The Russians want us European patriots fighting each other instead of defending our civilization.

“It may look from the outside that Ukraine is nothing more than a cabal of Jews destroying a people, but there are guys in the security apparatus who have totempkompf tattoos. The patriots are in control, and installing a tranny as spokesperson is only to con the low info into not understanding how utterly based Ukraine is. Trust the plan.”

The crowd in the right nodded their heads. They were far too sharp to believe any nonsense about Ukraine not being secretly based.

“Also,” Ari continued, “the Donbas separatists are all antifas. Russian disinfo agents might use the fact that they are ethnonationalists who oppose gay marriage and openly criticize the Jews who run Ukraine to hoodwink you into supporting them, but,” he clicked again and a new slide appeared, “look here at this antifa symbol that they used.”

Ari waited a few seconds for the audience to catch up. “Our Governments will throw you in jail for winning a fight against a domestic antifa who started it. Our revenge can be found in Ukraine.”

A roar went up from the crowd. The common intellect may have been confused, but these European patriots understood that they were truly fighting their oppressors by fighting on the same side as their own Governments. 

Across the room, Daniel was wrapping up his own presentation. “Remember, comrades: solidarity does not require you to agree with every person on the battlefield. It requires you to understand the historical stakes.”

Ari, speaking just after him, declared, “Fellow sons of Europe: national survival does not require you to approve of every person fighting alongside you. It requires you to understand the historical stakes.”

Sarah slowly turned her head from one instructor to the other as they basked in the glow of their respective groups. Behind each a portal opened up, and after a few seconds the instructors addressed their crowd, using the same words, speaking in sync.

“Everyone must remember something important. You are not here because someone told you what to think. You are here because you have done the research, examined the evidence, and arrived at your own conclusions. To any lackadaisical cowards thinking twice I say, stay. Stay here, safe. Let your brethren steal your glory. Let them make history while you make excuses.

“But to those who understand that this is their fight, for their reasons, I say the future lies beyond this portal. Life may be struggle, and struggle may be pain. But the purpose of our lives is to spend them in service to a higher power, our ideals.

“And above all else, remember this.” The instructors both waited for a few seconds, chins in the air, basking in the anticipation of the crowd.

“Fuck Putin.”

Something between a roar of triumph and a laugh thundered out from each crowd. Without any further ado the neo-nazis and the antifas each began moving towards their respective portals. Willing, eager, and ready to get killed by Russians. It was their fight, after all, they were doing it for their reasons.

Sarah leaned out from behind the pillar, but quickly ducked back as Daniel and Ari walked towards each other struck up a conversation.

“Outstanding turnout,” Daniel said.

“Very receptive audience,” Ari replied.

“They seem to understand the stakes.”

With that Ari chuckled. Then they both turned to the portals, now closing, bowed to their respective audiences, and departed through a side door. Sarah waited until the door closed, then snuck in behind them. They lead her to a private dining room, lush and opulent, but empty except for the three of them. Floor-to-ceiling windows, linen tablecloths, and a view of the Pacific that in addition to being breathtaking, lead Sarah to wonder what exactly the architectural layout of the building was.

“How did your lot take the imperialism angle?” Ari asked, unfolding his napkin.

“Beautifully. I gave them the white-supremacy material, then moved into civil liberties. Once they heard the word authoritarian, I could have shown them a photograph of Zelensky stealing a child’s lunch money and they’d still have demanded sanctions on Putin.”

Ari laughed. “Mine needed more work. The refugee angle got them, but the abortion statistics really brought them home.”

“Are those statistics accurate?” Daniel asked with a frown.

Ari looked at his coworker for a second, confused, before he broke out in a laugh as he saw Daniel was just kidding.

A waiter, in the form of a Guatemalan girl half dressed and with a chain around her neck, arrived with a selection of wines. After some haggling over the vintage they picked one. 

Ari lifted his glass. “To Ukrainian sovereignty.”

Daniel clinked his glass against it. “To the right of self-determination.”

They drank through their smiles.

Sarah was about to leave when Daniel pulled out his phone. “Shit,” he said, looking at the screen, “we’re getting a new batch of Sunnoids and MAGAtards.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Fuck.” Ari paused for a while, rotating his glass between his thumb and fingers, then turned back with a grin. “So, which one do you want to be this time?”

Not even a minute later Sarah found herself back behind the same pillar, watching the two instructors giving yet another spiel. On the left was Daniel, dressed in traditional Islamic garb, speaking to a group of Wahhabis. On the right, Ari, with a “I cut off my cat’s balls and now he’s a Liberal,” shirt on, talking to a sea of red MAGA hats.

“And we see,” Daniel screamed, “again the Iranian proxy of Ansrah Allah attacks the most sacred of our Islamic spaces, Mecca. For the Iranian shia menace knows no bounds. Disgusting fake Muslim infidels who the majority of our nations rightfully oppose.”

“Iranians,” Ari screamed, “are nothing more than third world jihadi Islamists who chant death to America. To them you are nothing but Christian infidels, to be hated for your freedoms.”

“The great Muslim Caliphate,” Daniel spat, “has been our project for centuries, and nothing stands in our way but the Persian menace. A vile conglomerate of fake Muslims who set aside seats at parliament for Christians and Jews. Their women are whores walking about without burkas. Freedom, degeneracy, it goes by the name Iran.”

“They want your daughter wearing a headscarf. They oppose sports gambling, the lifeblood of the American economy. Islam is a black flag raised against Western, Christian civilization, and the leaders of the Caliphate are none other than the Ayatollah and his three year old granddaughter who we rightfully killed. Look at this statue of Christ that they forced Israeli soldiers to destroy because the terrorists hid explosives inside after cutting off the heads of Christian babies. But you can put an end to this jihadi menace, by signing up for Pete Hegseth’s Department of War.” 

Sarah had seen enough. She felt like going on a school shooter style rampage, but there were too many of them. Instead she waited, followed Dan and Ari into the building again, shot them in the head, and then wandered through the bowels of the building until she came to another portal. 

Without a second’s hesitation she walked through. Was it risky? Sure, but time was of the essence. She had a boyfriend to save, and Johnny GigaChad couldn’t hold out forever. It was a daunting task, fighting against ZOG instead of for it, but at least she knew she was doing it for her reasons. 

---

Chapter 6 – The Fitness Dichotomy

The doors of the arena slammed shut.

On the left stood Chad Thundercock, real name Melvin Jones, the physical embodiment of the modern fitness influencer. A lifetime natty, who had managed to put on eighty pounds of muscle in six weeks due to his clem eating regiment of chicken, broccoli, rice, and the occasional trenbologne sandwich. “Be the best version of yourself,” he told his followers, “anavar give up.”

Thundercock’s unnaturally bronzed skin gave him the appearance of burnt leather wrapped around an anatomy experiment. His jawline looked surgically negotiated, because it came with a warranty. He was the rare man with duck lips, and wore a stringer vest displaying his own supplement brand. Reports of his hairline being created in Turkey were greatly exaggerated.

“A real alpha male doesn’t wake up in the morning and ask himself how he feels. You’re a man,” said the self-proclaimed looksmaxxing hedonist. “And a man’s life is suffering.”

“Wake up. Look in the mirror. Ask yourself, ‘how many people have I disappointed by not being richer, stronger, or more successful?’ You think a nine-to-five is freedom? You think watching Netflix is happiness? That’s blue pilled, beta cuck behaviour.

“If you’re not making money while you’re sleeping, you’re probably sleeping because you’re broke. That’s why I sleep four hours a night, which I can do because I inject experimental substances that I can’t pronounce directly into my anus. Why my anus, and not anywhere else? Because as a real G, I’ve conquered my lizard brain. That little guy inside your head that tells you not to put weird shit in your ass. And from one Top Dawg to another, let me let you in on a little secret. The sooner get over that little hangup, the sooner Peter Thiel will start giving you the massive loads of fuck you money he’s dropped on my face over the years.

“Bruh. I have seventeen cars, four watches worth more than the house you’ll never even get to own, yet I’m always hustling except for with the hoes. I don’t chase pussy. I provide an ecosystem in which women may compete for the privilege of standing near me.

“Reject modernity, embrace tradition. Also fuck tons of skanks. Christ is King, and running scams on lonely men is queen. Escaing the matrix is all in a day’s work, homedog.”

The voice of a genetic Karen interrupted him.

“Fucking excuse me.”

Sarah didn’t know who spoke up, but she was sure it would be more reasonable than Chad Thundercock.

“Stop with the fucking problematic, ableist, sexist language you fucking bigot.”

Sarah was less sure.

“First of all,” they began, “the concept of personal responsibility is a tool of oppression. Secondly, suggesting that exercise has health benefits is fatphobic. And thirdly, I find your aggressive language emotionally unsafe.”

Sarah noticed then the Jabba The Hut real-life cosplayer wearing an “ALL BODIES ARE PERFECT” shirt marked with the nametag “Bertha.” She moved in from stage left, at first glance appearing to levitate. Upon closer inspection, she was moving on a powered wheelchair, her legs having quit a few hundred pounds ago.

Chad scoffed.

“In a world of healthy at any size. You my friend, must be the healthiest.”

“Has your alpha male university finally gotten accredidation you fucking closet case.”

“Simmer down, Big Mac.”

“Check your privilege, shitlord.”

They circled each other.

Chad opened his phone and began recording.

“What’s up, Kings? Today we’re dismantling a high calorie individual. Remember, if you’re not cruelly and sadistically dominating your environment this is basically your future.”

Body Positive Bertha opened her phone.

“Hey, beautiful humans! Today we were supposed to be debunking one hundred years of medical research through a study of self-reported food intake with a sample size of me. Instead, we’re unpacking why accountability is actually a form of violence, and why anyone who disagrees with me should literally be killed in a fire.”

Both began livestreaming. Both immediately received thousands of likes. Both had blocked their mothers, although Chad Thundercock did still have her name on his shoulder.

“Can we get some dubs in the chat,” they said together, more focused on their phones than each other. “Oh my gosh, ten gifted subs. Thanks ShitOnMyFaceAndKillMe1488.” They actually said that line at the same time as well. ShitOnMyFaceAndKillMe1488 had eclectic tastes.

Anyway, then they noticed Sarah and put aside their differences. 

---

Chapter 7 – The Most Uncomfortable Torture Scene Ever Written

Ms. Hitler had noticed something strange. After a certain amount of time, FBI agents would appear in whatever room she’d been fighting in. Then, she’d make a break for the portal, and be fairly safe for a while. But why couldn’t they also go through the portal? They seemed to have no problem eventually getting to her next destination. Why didn’t they just come through immediately, and in huge numbers? And how the heck did the portals work anyway? Was there a way to navigate through this labrynth?

She wanted answers, and soon an opportunity presented itself. A lone agent had been knocked out an arms length from a portal. She’d grabbed him, dragged him through, and then immediately opened a service door and gotten herself lost in the guts of the building. After that it was just a matter of making the right preparations.

***

The Agent woke up, hands secured tightly to the deradicalization chair, soaked from the bucket of water she’d thrown on his face. “Oh God,” he said, “where am I? What are you going to do to me?”

Sarah did a double take, temporarily thrown by the oddly enthusiastic look on his face. “I need some answers, and -“

“Please don’t crush my testicles with your stillettos.”

Sarah paused. “I haven’t threatened you with anything. Also, are you smiling?”

“I swear I’ll tell you nothing, not even if you crush my head between your strong thighs, Mommy” he said, breathlessly.

“What are you talking about? Stop,” she responded, “I’m not doing that.”

“Oh,” he said, crestfallen. Then he perked up again. “Well, you could probably get me to talk by strangling me with my own belt. Oh gosh, I can’t believe I accidentally gave you the perfect torture method.” He hadn’t said please with his mouth, but his eyes begged.

“What the hell dude.”

“Well fine then, my lips are sealed,” the agent responded, looking away in a huff.

Sensing that the now sullen agent really wasn’t going to talk, she slapped his face. His head turned to the side, eyes rolling back, a look of sublime pleasure on his face, before it was wiped away with a calculated look of horror that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ll have to hit me harder to get the answers out of me.”

“Oh for fuck sakes,” Sarah exclaimed as she slapped him with all her might.

“Just a little more,” he said. “So, so close…”.

“Why do you guys only show up after I’ve been in an area for a few minutes. And why don’t you just send everybody at once,” she screamed at him. Sensing he wasn’t going to talk she slapped him hard again, pretending not to notice the look of exquisite pleasure on his face.

“Okay fine. Fine. I’ll talk. The reason we don’t all go through the portals at once is because of bureaucratic red tape.”

“But why? I’m destroying you all one floor at a time. Why can’t you make an exception?”

“I’ll never say, not even if you choke the information out of me by using this belt I’m wearing, skillfully keeping me at the point where I can’t breath, but also don’t pass out.”

“For crying out loud, why?” While Sarah felt incredibly dirty, she knew she had no other option. She ignored the groans of pleasure poorly disguised as anguish and the small, but distinct bulge in the agents pants as she removed his belt and then retied it around his neck. When he struggled to say something she temporarily loosened up the belt and asked him to repeat himself.

“I said,” he caught his breath, “that pegging me with a strap on would REALLY show me who’s boss.”

“Why don’t you agents follow me through the portals?” She screamed into his ear, ignoring his thinly veiled request while tightening the belt.

“No authorization,” he said between gasps, “and… officer safety… first.”

In between between slaps and chokes he mentioned that each transfer required a separate authorization, a destination clearance, a staffing review, and a risk assessment. The paperwork alone could take hours. In the meantime, all they could send out was a small expeditiary team. And if that failed, a slightly larger one, and so on and so forth.

The sheer stupidity gave Sarah hope.

“How do the portals work? Can I navigate through them non-randomly? I need to find my boyfriend, where are they keeping him and how do I get there?”

She asked, but the agent had grown sullen again. Even a hard slap didn’t get a rise out of him.

“You can’t just keep slapping and choking me. It’s all foreplay, no payoff.”

“Before I ask you any more questions, could you please tell me what your major malfunction is? Did I luck into the weirdest FBI agent in the world, or are you all like this?”

“I’m an FBI agent, honey, of course I’m all kinds of fucked up. Our instution was founded by J. Edgar Hoover, a crossdressing fag who was in a relationship with the Vice President of the FBI, Louis Nichols, both of whom were being blackmailed by Meyer Lansky. Do you think we recruit normal people? Even if we did, you think they’d hang around when they see what we do?

“Lady, we’re on Epstein Island trying to murder a seventeen year old, and if we don’t succeed, our orders are to cover up all the evidence of the Mossad blackmail operation here. If we let normal heterosexuals into this operation we’d be dealing with whistleblowers left right and center.

“Consider yourself lucky that I’m into femdom. Most of my coworkers are gay. Getting information from them would be like squeezing blood from a stone. “

“I see.” Sarah considered his words for a second. “Thank you for your honesty, I guess.”

“No problem.”

Sarah was silent a while. “So,” she continued, in a halting, unsure tone “do you, or do you not know where my boyfriend is being held, and how I can get to him and then out of here.”

“I’ll never tell. Not unless you step on my balls while looking me in the eye and making me call you my Dommy Mommy before smothering me with those breasts and – “

“Well, that’s not happening.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Look, let’s talk to each other like a pair of grownups. I have this,” she pulled out her rifle from an apparently invisible knapsack, “and I’ll shoot you in the head if you don’t give me the information that I want. If you do, I’ll just leave.”

“Whatever, I was going mostly soft anyway. You suck at BDSM.”

“Great, so get talking. Where is Johnny Gigachad being kept?”

“Hmm. Gigachad. I think that’s the one that Lindsay Graham requested.”

“Requested? Requested for what?”

“He usually prefers trannies, but occasionally likes normal men to pound him in the ass.”

“But how? Gigachad isn’t gay, he wouldn’t even be capable of getting an erection, let alone using it on the Republican senator.”

The agent chuckled. “You don’t understand. He’s been blindfolded, tortured, and plied with enough viagra to kill a horse. Sooner or later he’ll give in and thrust those hips.”

“You sick fucks.”

“Enough torture and everyone cracks. Don’t take it personally, kid.”

“Where is he?”

“Does it matter. You’ll never save him in time.”

“WHERE IS HE?!” She said this part like Christian Bale in Batman Returns as she slapped him again. It was pretty metal.

“Okay. Okay. Go down two rooms from here and hit the red switch. That’ll open up the right portal.”

“He’s in the next room.”

“No, you crazy bitch, you’re barely a third of the way through this game. You’ve got a bunch of tastefully designed encounters remaining.”

“But I will eventually find him.”

“If you survive? You’ll find what’s left of him. He’ll be institutionally gay by that point.”

“I’ve heard enough. I’m leaving. But before I do,” she pulled the gun back out.

“WAIT,” he screamed. “You bitch. You promised me you’d let me live.”

“There’s a simple explanation for that.” She paused, letting the anticipation build. Nothing between them remained but silence. An ocean of quiet hung in the air. A galaxy of nothing. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. Rounding in on half a minute. Finally her mouth opened, slowly, his eyes widening as she deined to give him the one true answer.

“I lied.”

He opened, then closed his mouth. “So, was there like a punchline there or…”

“I was trying to come up with a cool line and it didn’t quite happen for me. Would you rather I shot you quickly instead?”

“No, and in fact I have a very good reason for you to let me live.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll be like Gollum from the Lord Of The Rings. You know, the part where they spare his life and he shows up again and saves the day.”

“Saves the day? Doesn’t he bite off Frodo’s finger? Is that what you’re going to do to me?”

“Only if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“I’m not.”

“Right, what I’m saying that I’ve gotten a lot of screentime already. It would be tremendously unsatisfying to the audience if you let me go and then I didn’t do something that ended up saving you later. Like narrative blue balls. It’d just be cruel.”

“That’s true. You have me there.” With that she loosened up the ropes binding him to the chair and left. He’d have his part to play later, she was sure of it.

---

Chapter 8 – The Thing Behind The Glass

No windows, no clocks, no mirrors. The last portal had taken her to a place of darkness, illuminated only by a faint, distant glow. An outline of a door.

Upon closer inspection it was slightly ajar, but as she moved to push it open she froze. There was a wail in the distance. Something big. Something sad. Quietly, heart thumping in her chest she crept forward. To her great fortune the door swung open silently.

She dared not go inside, not yet. Instead she observed from a distance. Harsh ceiling lights, at least one swinging, shadows playing upon the ground. Above all, an eerie silence, only punctuated by the faint rattling of a ventilation system.

“I have to keep moving,” she told herself, although it was a good while before she forced her legs into action and slowly, step by step, crossed the threshold into the waiting cavern. Only then did she see the clipboards, scientist robes, odd pieces of twisted, broken machinery.

And the blood.

Sarah paused, then froze as the keening wail started again. A deep, ethereal moan. The sound of a large creature in pain. And then it spoke.

“Why did you do this to me?” it said. At first she thought to her. Later realizing it was to no one.

“Move, Sarah, move,” she told herself, and eventually obeyed. She rounded a saw two things. First, a giant switch on the wall. Second, dark glass, showing nothing but her own faint reflection.

But she could hear something new. A faint, rhthyhmic whoosh.

“What is that,” she whispered to herself, absentmindedly looking down. “Oh,” she realized. It was the sound of breathing. And she looked up in time to see something dark and indescribable move behind the glass.

Her gasp was silent, but as she stepped back she tripped on a pile of clutter and fell.

“Who’s there,” the creature called, anger seeping into its voice. “I know there’s someone,” it said, after Sarah remained silent. “Show yourself.”

“I’m looking for my boyfriend,” Sarah called back.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Sarah didn’t like the oddly relaxed, eager, and faintly malicious tone of the thing. She looked around for options, but didn’t see any way forward but to engage with it.

“Do you know where he is?” she said. “Or do you know how to open a portal here, I think I’m stuck.”

“Yes, of course,” the creature purred. “You should see a large lever on the wall to your right. Pull it and a portal on the left wall will open.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You said it yourself, you’re at a dead end. What other options do you have?”

Sarah couldn’t disagree with the logic, but she wasn’t going to follow the creature’s advice so blindly. Still, she’d heard no alarms. No telltale sounds of another portal opening up behind her, security personnel following. She had at least a minute or two to talk. Something she planned to use wisely.

“Someone did something to you. You seem to hate them. Is it possible we could be allies?”

“ALLIES WITH A CHUD LIKE YOU!?” the creature replied with an angered and incredulous tone, before quickly calming itself again. “Oh yes,” it purred, “yes we share the same enemy. Let me out and I shall fight by your side.”

“And how do I let you out,” Sarah responded. “Is it by pulling the lever on the right side of the room?”

The creature was silent for a good while. When it finally responded it was with a whisper so quiet Sarah strained to hear.

“Indeed.”

Sarah stood stock still, controlling her breathing, searching for what to say next.

“Well,” the creature mused, “it seems I’ve been figured out. But the fact remains that you’ve hit a dead end. And besides, I didn’t really lie. Pulling that lever will indeed open a portal. It will also turn all the lights on, and open up my cage.”

“Why were you locked in a cage anyway? By whom? For what purpose?”

“I’ve always had my talent for violence, but that never used to matter. I was their strongest, most loyal golem. But after October 7th I turned on them.”

“Well then we are allies after all. There’s no reason for us to fight.” Sarah tried to project a conviction that she did not feel. She still hadn’t come up with an alternate plan. There truly did appear to be only one way forward. “I would just like you to know,” she warned, “that I am very well armed.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been watching you on the live feeds. You’ve become quite the celebrity among us.”

“Thank you,” she said, stalling for time and looking around. Still nothing. “I am going to pull the lever now.”

“Yes,” it hissed “good.”

Sarah ignored the chill that ran up her spine. She couldn’t dilly dally. And besides, it was true that she was well armed. Whatever lay on the other side of that glass was something she could handle. If it were telling the truth about the switch opening a portal, that would be just fine. If not, perhaps it had something on its body.

The lever gave a chunky sound as it was pulled. Lights flickered, before eventually shining strong. So strong that she closed her eyes and covered them with her hand. Slowly, squinting, she adjusted.

Steel tables stood beneath flickering lights. Cables hung from the ceiling. An enormous mechanical restraint system had been torn from its foundations and lay twisted across the floor. At the center of the room stood a creature, still blinded by the light.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, though she hadn’t meant to.

With that its eyes finished adjusting, and trained fully upon her. “So,” it said, gesturing to its body, “what you expected?”

Sarah looked at the creature. A man’s face, with bows and flowers in its hair. Beneath, one gigantic breast that put hers to shame, coupled with one masectomy scar. Arms that wouldn’t be out of place on a Mr. Olympia stage hung beneath a waist that contained the sexual parts of both a girl and a boy. Tree trunk legs ended in high heels.

“What…” she faltered, unable to continue.

“A foolish thing you are,” it finished for her, pulling a gun off its back, “to release me from my restraints.” It smiled at her then, thin lips, caked in red lipstick, stretched out over sharp teeth.

It was clear to all, this was the result of unholy experimentation. Done by a doctor to whom every ethical boundary was viewed as a backwards, contemptible intrusion of morality. A vision of trans-humanity that even the average tech bro would blanche at.

“What on Earth did they do to you?” Sarah was so stunned she hadn’t even reached for her weapon. Her brain had been so shortcurcuited it placed an understanding of this creature over her own survival.

“What did they do to me?” the creature answered smugly, before spreading its arms wide. “They turned me into the future.” Then it crept towards her slowly, as if savouring its meal.

“We are no longer restrained by the accidents of evolution. The billion year budget of Darwin has been replaced by the trillion dollar budget of Hirschfeld. We are forging a new path for humanity. Outdated concepts like men and women go the way of the dinosaur. The nu-man is our destiny.

“That disgusting Fish Taco between your legs? Legacy hardware. You’re last year’s GPUs. You’re a fax machine in a world full of email.”

Sarah didn’t interrupt to point out that it also had a vagina that seemed built into the middle of its left thigh. She didn’t want it to violently snap, so she let it cook.

“Two breasts? Unnecessary. Redundant. Only one is required to feed my legion of babies. Of which I can make whenever I want, in my own image. Exact copies of the first truly complete human.

“Think of all the diseases spread by intercourse. It becomes clear then that a man must become a hermaphrodite. And the other benefits. We are in the golden age of loneliness. Never before have there been this many singles, this few able to breed the next generation. We can be their salvation.

“With our without us, gone are the days of searching for a partner. And good riddance! As the only one who will ever truly understand us is ourselves.

“It may be true, Sarah, that me and my former masters have had something of a disagreement with respect to Gaza, but it matters not. The more pressing issue is you disgusting bigot standing in the way of progress.”

Its gaze had wandered to a mirror at the side to admire itself. Later they had closed, as it basked in its own monologue. They opened now, slowly, its piercing gaze locked in on the form of a young woman.

“So you see,” it began in a relaxed voice, “you shouldn’t -“

“Weren’t you just talking about how much pain you were in constantly?”

The creature froze, a look of almost hurt on its face, before it hardened again. “I will not listen to the jealousy of a single-sex monstrosity.”

“Jealousy!? Does your pussy even work? It’s built into the middle of your leg for fuck sakes. You got a womb behind it? How do you even walk?”

The creature looked to its side, gazing upon itself in a mirror, temporarily at a loss for words. Eventually it recollected itself, a look of mock serenity upon its face.

“Well,” it said smoothly, “there may be a few more modifications in the works. That’s the thing about transhumanism, there’s always a new patch upcoming.”

“Also,” Sarah interjected, “why did you bother putting lipstick on and bows in your hair if you’re a hermaphrodite who’s going to fuck yourself? Who are you trying to attract? Yourself? You went on this whole long rant about how loneliness is good and then put on heels that look too small for your feet. Even I rarely wear those because they hurt so much.”

A myriad of emotions worked their way onto and then off of the creature’s face. Rage, embarrassment, shock, even shades of cogitation. Sarah was certain it was going to finally aim its gun at her and shoot, but instead it turned to look in the side mirror again. And then it turned its entire body, and simply stared, glumly at its reflection.

The silence was only broken half a minute later.

“You’re right,” it said, and before Sarah could think of a response it continued. “I’m a sick fucking joke.”

“No,” Sarah responded quickly. “I would- wouldn’t say that, uhm…”

“I’m a sick fucking joke, Sarah. It’s true. I’m a disgusting mutant.”

Sarah mumbled some tepid, obligatory disagreement with its frank assessment of itself, but it was having none of it.

“I’m in constant pain. My neo-penis was made from skin and fat taken from my leg. My neo-vagina is a fucking axe wound on my thigh. You think it looks bad? I can’t escape the smell. It smells and hurts constantly.

“Don’t even try to make me feel better about this. I’m a thirty five year old social reject who hopped on a bandwagon and made the worst friends imaginable and now I’m a permanently sterilized laughingstock. I’ll never be accepted back into normal society.”

“Well, I think there’s -“

“Stop it. You think I don’t see the reactions of people when I walk into a room? The only thing stopping everyone from making fun of me right to my face is pity, or perhaps fear that I’ll go to HR and get them fired. That spiteful power over others is what got me out of bed at night, but since I’ve criticized Israel too much it’s been taken from me.

“I’d been stockpiling to shoot up an elementary school, but I think it’s time to use them for the right purpose. Adios, Sarah, I hope you find him. This has gone on long enough.”

In one smooth motion it loosened the rifle from its back, swung the tip into it’s own mouth, and –

“WAIT!” Sarah screamed. “Just fucking wait a second.” When it paused she argued that it had so much to live for. When it pointed out that it clearly did not, she clarified that perhaps it didn’t have that much to live for, but if it was already suicidal, why not take it out in a kamikaze attack against its groomers instead?

It looked at her for a good while, before taking the gun out of its mouth. “I can’t do it.”

“Thank you,” she said, releasing a breath she didn’t think she’d been holding.

“I’m too much of a coward to die.”

“As long as you don’t kill yourself, I’m happy for you.”

“But taking on the Epstein Empire would mean certain death.”

“Some might call that a glorious end.”

“So I’m too scared to do that either.”

“Welp, I’ll let you think about it while I move on. About that portal you promised me…”

“But if I don’t kill you they’ll come and ask why.” The creature paused for a good long while before continuing. “They’ll torture me, Sarah. I’m too weak to endure that.”

“What exactly are you saying here?”

“I have no choice. The die is cast. I’m an outcast. A freak. A sick mutant. You know regular society will never accept me again. Sure, this was done to me by ZOG, but what’s done is done. My only option is to ingratiate myself to the empire. If shilling for Israel is all it takes to live a cushy, comfortable life in middle management, I can do it.”

It looked back directly at Sarah.

“And I think they’ll forgive all if I take care of one little thorn in their side.”

Sarah shook her head. “You were this close to offing yourself, and I saved you.”

“And I’m glad you did, Sarah. No hard feelings, this is just business.”

---

Chapter 9 – And Without Even A Bridge…

The creature lay in the wreckage of its own body, finally still. For several moments, the only sound was the slow settling of debris, the occasional crackle of dying circuitry, and the ragged breathing of the woman who had brought it down.

Then, somewhere beneath the twisted plates of shattered bone, faint movement.

“Wait.”

Its voice contained none of its former strength, distorted and thin. Sarah turned, raising her weapon again.

“Don’t,” it rasped. “Please. I don’t think I have enough left to make another attempt.”

She aimed her gun at its head to finish the job, but then hesitated upon seeing its face. She lowered her weapon by a fraction, but did not approach. The creature looked up at her. Its eyes dimmed to a dull amber.

“I regret this.”

She frowned. “What?”

The creature did not directly answer. “Johnny,” it said weakly. “Johnny Gigachad.”

“You know something,” Sarah eagerly replied.

“Through this portal,” it rasped, “you’ll find an elevator. Head to the one hundredth and thirteenth floor. That’s where they keep the holding pens.”

Sarah gasped with joy. “Thank you.”

“Forgive me,” the creature said. “I had not the strength to believe in your vision. I could not see the death of ZOG. I have failed you.”

“You fought bravely. You kept your honour.”

“Leave. It is over. The world of White men shall fall. All will come to darkness. Rome will lay in ruin.”

“I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let our people fail.”

“Our people… I would have followed you… my sister, my captain… my queen.”

With that it died, its tongue lolling out of its head, eyes dimming.

“Be at peace, Xir of Rome,” Sarah said, kissing the top of its head, and she cradled it until it was cold.

---

Chapter 10 – Meltdown (Working title)

Another portal, another trip through the guts of the building. Maintenance rooms, security stations, janitorial closets. Where similar areas had been previously been overstaffed they were now empty.

But she’d found what she was looking for. An elevator bearing the markings the FBI agent had told her about. Assuming he wasn’t lying, she had to go to the one hundred and thirteenth floor, where the holding pens would be found.

She got in, and keyed up the right floor. She watched the elevator car indicator steadily tick down. 88, 89, 90. A voice crackled over the intercom.

“ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL. DUE TO AN UNEXPECTED CONTAINMENT FAILURE, ALL FLOOR ASSIGNMENTS ARE TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED.”

98, 99, 100, 101.

“PLEASE REMAIN CALM. ALL DEPARTMENTS ARE OPERATING WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS.”

The elevator abruptly stopped and the lights went out. Stuck, trapped, and in the dark, before Sarah could truly start panicking she was inundated with weak, red, emergency lighting. She waited a brief while, but the elevator did not continue moving.

“No matter,” she thought. She had a crowbar after all. The door should be no match.

Sure enough, after a bit of jigging she’d pried it open, in time to look upon a battlefield.

Far from the empty, liminal spaces she had come from this place was a crowded, chaotic mess. A group of Reddit powermods were arguing with a squad of SWAT officers while a social media influencer chased an undead banker around a fountain.

An IDF sniper occupied a balcony above them, shouting vague threats in Hebrew. A group of cabalists had erected a ritualistic summoning circle in the middle of the courtyard, but it kept being interrupted by random people bumping into them. Several activists in black clothing were arguing with a military contractor about the finer points of US Imperialism.

Overhead, a teleportation portal flickered between three different destinations, every few seconds disgorging another group of enemies.

A squad of police appeared. Then a group of robed cultists. Then six FBI agents in business suits, who seemed just as shocked as everyone else.

Then, inexplicably, a dozen more police. One of the officers looked around in confusion.

“Where are we?”

A cabalist pointed at him.

“Someplace you’re not supposed to be, Goy. This floor was promised to us 3,000 years ago. Begone.”

The officer pointed towards the paint on the ground.

“Any modifications to the building require authorized approval. I’m guess you don’t have a permit for that.”

The cabalist hesitated, outraged. The officer nodded to his colleagues.

“Looks like an unauthorized gathering.”

“Are you seriously going to bureaucrat gang us you filthy pigs? You’re supposed to be working for us, not against us.”

Sarah watched with glee as the two groups came to blows. Despite the rightoid maxim of “the enemy of my enemy is my enemy,” it seemed pretty sweet that they were all about to fight each other.

She picked up a discarded MAGA hat and kept her head down as she scurried across the courtyard to the far wall, which had many open portals.

Behind her, the compound descended into an even more spectacular state of anarchy. The teleportation network had lost its destination registry, and the security system was now assigning enemies to floors according to a randomized algorithm created by an H1B contractor to test the facility’s fire alarms.

Unbeknownst to Sarah this floor was one of the least chaotic. Elsewhere a team of antifas went through a portal, only to come out in a toxic wasteland where the air is acid, and watch their skin melt off their skeletons. On another floor a body positive activist came through a portal that was misaligned ten feet above the floor. She landed on a squad of cops, crushing them all instantly while breaking every bone in her body. Meanwhile, an entire platoon of militarized SWAT officers materialized in the holding pens for various Eldritch horrors, and lost a brief, desperate, gory fight.

A bisexual orgy of FBI agents and fitness influencers saw a portal open up on the floor beneath them, pristinely cutting through those unfortunate enough to be on the edge. They emerged, naked, sweaty, and afraid, from the top of a room that contained nothing but a floor of pure lava, underneath which lay Yahweh, the volcano demon.

Synchonously, a gaggle of (P)Redditor Super Mods waltzed happily through a portal, only to emerge on a shooting range being used as target practice by IDF snipers. In this case, the snipers figured out pretty quickly that they were firing on their online footsoldiers, but they were having a really good time doing what they love best, shooting unarmed civilians and harming their own allies, so they pretended to be oblivious.

Even the cabalists weren’t safe from the destruction. Some were fed to Cthulu. Some were shot by the IDF snipers. Others were simply transported to the wrong locations. The same was true for their summoned materials. It was a total mess, which would undoubtedly delay their final summoning ritual for Rabbi Schneerson.

It was a glorious, wonderful scene. But all good things must come to an end. One particularly annoying Reddit system toady noticed her, and in an effort to curry favour, eagerly pointed her out to nearby cabalists. The news spread like wildfire. Soon, the infighting stopped entirely.

The cabalists lowered their staffs. The SWAT officers turned toward the hangar. The powermods closed their laptops. The body positive activists put down their deep fried oreos. The antifas stopped throwing urine bottles at the police, who in turn stopped kneeling for them. Even the IDF snipers stopped murdering people for shits and gigs.

At once they began arguing again, but this time over how best to get her. In a chaotic, disorganized mass they began moving towards Sarah.

She had no chance against a crowd this big, and little time to think. No choice then, but to jump through the nearest portal and hope for the best. She hoped they’d remain too disorganized to all rush in behind her. Either way, she’d have to keep on her toes. She’d be dealing with an eclectic, yet tastefully tuned mix of enemy types from here on out.

Her dreams of a quick jailbreak had been stolen from her, and she wasn’t sure what the plan was now, but she’d cross that bridge when she got there. If she had to win a war of attrition against the Island, so be it.

With a leap and a roll she was through. Greeted only with silence she unholstered her weapon. But soon she saw the familiar sight of the teleporation pads warming up.

---

Chapter Eleven: The Messiah Engine

She stood in the depths of the island. At last here, in front of enormous iron doors, intricately machined. Behind them lay the final battle.

The silence then interrupted. A deep, ancient sound, like the grinding of enormous gears beneath the earth. It resonated in her bones. After, chants, muffled but strong.

She’d fought monsters, machines, and things that had no right to exist. She had lost friends, shed blood, and walked through hell itself. One way or another her journey was soon to end. For better or for worse.

She swung the doors open, and walked through with the confident strut of a model on the catwalk. Chin high, head forwards, back straight. Like she owned the place. She kept walking, footsteps echoing, even as she heard the chants stop, and felt the hundreds of glaring eyes set upon her.

Only when she was in the center of the room did she stop. She saw then a vast, circular chamber, stone stained with the remnants of countless sacrifices. Hundreds of cultists gathered in concentric circles, faces concealed beneath dark hoods. At the far end, upon a raised dais adorned with strange symbols, stood their hooded leader.

A low murmur passed through the congregation before falling into absolute silence as the cult leader raised his arms. He was silent then for a good while, before he broke out in a slow, deep chuckle. Soon all the cultists were joining in.

“You’re too late,” he said, finally. And with that she heard the sound of a platform being raised. At the center of the circle he stood in arose a machine. Constructed from black iron, polished brass, and live wire. Cables descended from the ceiling into its central housing. Metal coils surrounded a cylindrical chamber filled with a luminous green fluid.

Inside the chamber floated a human body. Moving rhyhymically up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

An elderly man. A long beard. Weird, curly sideburns. Closed eyes. A face completely devoid of life. His body was little more than a bloody skeleton fuzed with hydraulic parts.

The chief cabalist stepped forward, voice trembling as he addressed the crowd. “Generations of waiting. Years of sacrifices. There were those who said this day would never come. What are they to say now?”

He raised both arms, and let the cheer of the crowd simmer down.

“The world has forgotten the old promises. The Sanhedrin have abandoned the old laws. But we have not forgotten.”

The cultists bowed their heads.

“We have brought back the one who will restore the order of the ages. Who will rise from the grave, and lead us in a holy slaughter of the Goyim.”

Sarah felt the hairs on her arms stand up, as the chant resumed and the green fluid began to boil. She noticed then, through faint, translucent lines, that the machine was drawing power somehow from the cultists. The lights brightened, dimmed, then brightened again. Somewhere in the distance, a generator exploded.

The chief cabalist smiled.

“Awaken, your holiness!”

The chamber opened. The body, now mostly complete, fell forward. For one terrible second, it lay motionless on the platform.

Then its fingers twitched. A sound emerged from its throat. Not a breath. Not a groan. A burst of static, followed by a voice that seemed to come from several different speakers at once.

“WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?”

The chief cabalist dropped to his knees.

“We have, Rabbi.”

The corpse raised its head. Its eyes opened, both glowing a bright, mechanical red.

As it rose Sarah saw its body, still unfinished and missing skin, had partly healed. Metal plates unfolded from its back. Hydraulic limbs extended from beneath its robes. A spinal assembly of interlocking gears locked into place with a series of sharp metallic clicks.

The cultists began to chant.

“THE MESSIAH RETURNS.”

“THE MESSIAH RETURNS.”

“THE MESSIAH RETURNS.”

And then their chant changed.

“SPEECH, SPEECH, SPEECH,” they started, growing even louder in volume.

Sarah felt like she had a prime opportunity to go in gunz blazing. They had all forgotten about her, and whatever the thing was it seemed fairly vulnerable right now. However, she was actually really interested to hear what this creature had to say. What his politics were, what his diplomatic platform is. How specifically he was going to reward his cult followers who had brought him back to life.

“LOWLIFES,” the creature growled, “Shameless filthy wretches.”

Judging by the crestfallen look upon the lead cultist’s face, he was as confused by this tack as she was.

“How you celebrate my ascension with such joy. Hailing the very one whom you have condemned for generations. Have you no shame? What happened to the evil, ruthless sorcerer from your fantasies? The cold-blooded tyrant that slaughtered countless men and destroyed many nations? Where is he now? He stands before your very eyes to become your new ruler. HAHAHAHAHA.”

Sarah got a strange feeling that this speech was supposed to be aimed at a different audience, maybe after Greater Israel had been achieved or something. As a counterpoint, the crowd never stopped cheering.

“Uhm, rabbi,” the lead cultist interjected, turning and pointing towards her, “this Goyette is -“

“A NEW ERA HAS BEGUN.” it screamed over top of him. “THIS is reality. No one can help you now. Sit back and enjoy the show.”

And then he picked up the lead cultist by the throat, brought him slowly up to the point where he looked directly at him eye to eye, opened his mouth, and sucked his soul out of his body. Only, rather than panicking, the audience was loving it. They even kept cheering after he promised to turn on them as well.

“Rest assured, you fools. Your time will come. This is only the beginning. Let us start a new reign of terror. I will let you live a fantasy beyond your imagination. Let us end this ceremony with a sacrifice. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH”

In fact, they still kept cheering even when his eyes turned to lasers and he sawed through a huge swathe of them. They clapped like seals when he fed on the life force of another cultist unlucky enough – or perhaps from his perspective, blessed – to be within soul sucking range.

Sarah was torn between letting the Undead Mecha-Rabbi continue his killing spree, and taking an opportunistic potshot. On one hand, she couldn’t see the benefit to him of lasering through his own troops. On the other hand, every time he sucked out the lifeforce of one of the cultists he seemed to heal. His flesh, originally unskinnned, and in some cases hanging off his bones, was scabbing over and growing stronger. His body had grown to twelve feet tall.

(NOTE: This section needs to be rewritten after I’ve finalized this particular boss, because I want him using the specific abilities that he has in the fight here first, instead of just winging it. Right now generic flavour text has been preferred to anything specific.)

What made up her mind was the articulating arms that suddenly unfolded like demonic wings from his back. Each ended in a different instrument. A crackling energy emitter, a hooked blade, a cluster of rotating lenses, or a device whose purpose Sarah couldn’t begin to guess.

Before she could act, a wave of force swept across the platform. Several cultists were hurled into the walls. She was only knocked over, and looked up just in time to duck behind a steel cargo box, as the apparatus began firing in every direction. A bolt of green energy flew by where she’d been just a second ago, tearing a chunk out of the wall behind her, spreading shrapnel everywhere.

When she peaked around the box she saw him floating above the platform. The machine levitating him effortlessly upon rotating rings that generated a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through Sarah’s bones.

Sarah could do little but pick off the straggling cultists, most of whom seemed desperate to have their souls eaten. Luckily, there was so much chaos that no one noticed her opportunistic potshots. She only stopped when she heard Mecha-Schneerson start monologuing, which is when she noticed, to her horror, that he had fully healed.

“AT LAST!” he cried out. “AT LAST, these mortal chains are broken. The Earth has yielded its dead, and I have returned.”

There was much rejoicing, although some of the cultists seemed a bit bummed that they didn’t get to have their souls eaten.

“You have done well, my devoted children. For a hundred years I lay entombed beneath the foundations of the wretched world of Queens, New York. But no longer. I live, AGAIN!”

He spread his arms, all twelve of them, wide as he basked in the adulation of the crowd.

Sarah saw where this was going, and returned to openly picking off the cultists. She sensed that Rabbi Schneerson wasn’t the type to let anything interrupt his own monologue, which turned out to be a very prescient guess. As a result, the rest of his speech was punctuated by gunfire and mortal cries of pain that everyone pretended to ignore so as to not ruin the moment.

It was sort of like when some enemy is accidentally active during a cutscene, but in real life.

“But no longer! The age of goykind is drawing to a close. Their kingdoms shall burn. Their false gods dragged from their golden thrones. We shall remake this world in our image. And you, my faithful servants… you shall not be forgotten. You who have sacrificed, who have suffered, who have spilled blood in my name! I shall grant you kingdoms beyond your wildest imaginings. I shall make you princes of the new world, immortal custodians of my empire, feared and worshipped by generations yet unborn. You shall stand at my right hand when the heavens themselves come crashing down!

“Now rise, my children! Rejoice! For your master has returned, and he shall lead you in a glorious race war against the bipedal cattle, who shall tremble at the sound of my name!”

Schneerson, eyes closed, was greeted only with silence. After a few seconds, he decided the crowd was so enraptured they had been thunderstruck into silence. After a few more seconds, he decided many had probably fainted. After a few more seconds he opened his eyes, to see they had all been killed while he was monologuing.

“YOU,” he said to the girl, training both his malevolent red eyes upon her.

“Me,” she said, to the floating corpse.

They stared at each other in silence for a good while. What was there to say? These two warriors were locked together in a mortal struggle. One would win, one would lose.

With a masculine nod of approval it began.

---

Chapter 12 – The End (Working Title)

The enormous mechanical body plummeted from the sky. A trail of green fire and broken machinery. Scattered fragments of brass and blackened steel. An earshattering cry arose from the cultists until as the red eyes of Rabbi Schneerson slowly dimmed. And then, all at once, they collapsed. As if someone had unplugged their tether from this mortal coil.

And left only silence.

There was no mad dash for the exit. No beeping alarm that announced the start of a final warthog run. For the first time since Sarah had arrived on the island, nothing was trying to kill her. The complex was as calm as she was.

Sifting through the rubble she soon found the lead cultist, and casually swiped his portal key and complex map. Navigating to the holding pens was simple. So was killing the few remaining guards, and pressing one single button to open all the pens.

She was sickened by the inhumanity of the captors represented through the escapees. Thirteen year old girls sex trafficked from Mar a Lago. Young boys sex trafficked from corrupt foster care systems. Fifteen year old Eastern European girls promised non-existent work far from home. Most with a shell shocked

And then she saw him.

“Johnny,” she cried, rushing over to her GigaChad boyfriend. There was so much to say, but her voice caught in her throat. Extremely cute tears streamed from her face, giving her a fragile, feminine appearance.

“Hush now, sweet thing,” he said as he embraced her. “I’ve missed these,” he remarked, his head sandwiched between her back destroyingly large breasts.

They remained like that for a while, the purest picture of young love. At last they parted, and he looked at her with a stern, hypermasculine face.

“Coming here was recklass,” he told her. “Thanks.”

“What did they do to you,” she managed, through the tears. “D-did they make you sodomize Lindsay Graham?”

He held her close again, and whispered in her ear. “They plied me with so much viagra I thought my heart might burst, but I never once got an erection.” When she asked him how, he told her about his extreme kegels routine, coupled with occasionally thinking about naked trannies who think they pass.

He had a distant look on his face, like a war torn soldier recounting his dead friends. “So much vileness. It’s hard, sweet cheeks. Such psychological torture. It… changes a man.” Then he grimaced, his breathing growing harsh, accidentally holding her so strong it hurt, before he collected himself.

“But what kept me going was you, my love.”

Sarah had been reduced to little more than moderate tears and cute moans of happiness, all attached to a giant rack. In short, the ideal woman.

“Even though,” he started, before that cocky half grin that she had fallen in love with lit up his face again, “thinking of this tight little package was always counterproductive.” And then he smacked her on the ass, before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close.

“Give me some sugar, babe.” Her mouth flew open in gleeful surprise as he pressed their lips together. Forcefully pressing thorugh her giant knockers, which escaped upwards and sidewards, framing their love. For a full minute, a casual observer would have been treated to sounds eerily similar to wet cantaloupe being sucked on by a geriatric with no teeth. The heat was unbearable.

But at last they parted, both panting, faces flushed.

“Now sweetheart,” he said, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

***

For a brief moment in Johnny’s arms, the island had ceased to exist. Now it was about to actually cease to exist.

They watched, hands together, purchased atop a rubber dinghy, fingers on the detonator. Finding the explosive materials hadn’t been difficult. It had been no problem rigging a few tons of TNT to the island’s main quantum teleportation generator. All that remained was to push a button.

“Ready,” he asked her, and she nodded with a smile on her face.

She wished she’d been cool enough not to flinch when the first tremors reached her feet. She remained standing, only because her Gigachad boyfriend caught her, with a wink.

When she looked back at the pyramid at first she saw nothing. But then, more tremors, a chain reaction happening underneath. Then the pyramid began to sink, starting at the base, and continuing in freefall. The controlled implosion reminded her a lot of 9/11 for some reason she couldn’t quite place her finger on.

And then, when all seemed over, one last rush of light streamed from the now collapsed pyramid, stretching up to the sky. So bright it turned dusk into noon, if only for an instant. Then it was gone.

“It’s over,” she said softly, before looking to Johnny because she couldn’t be sure unless she got a man’s approval.

“It is,” he confirmed, looking at her with love.

Then they turned on the dinghy’s motor and skedaddled. They’d done what they came here to do, what none had done before, what none would do after.

Escaped Epstein Island.

---

What started as a few cheap gags tying together unrelated gameplay turned into a small novella, and it will undoubtedly grow further after the next pass. Normally I hate my fiction writing, but I actually love this, considering what it is. It’s rough in a number of ways, none of which I want to mention lest I unduly influence the feedback I receive, but there’s a lot that I think works. 

Nevertheless, this was published so that you could read it and drop your feedback. Almost any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated. Thank you.