May 28, 2016

How my finger tips were burned.

They weren't blistered. Just a bit sore and hot over the rest of day and the next. A physical reminder to a mind that was being pushed to forget everything.

I think it was Jessie and not Noah we were talking to. We were pissed of with him but not enough to not talk to him. We knew there would be someone showing up that day pretending to be him and the impact of whatever the brobot would say and attempt to do to us would be a lot less if we didnt speak to him at all.

We felt it before we saw it. One of our ships in that had been in fascist hands for years. We half dropped, half chucked the phone to some well else. We built them to very sensitive to our commands and we were on top of it had the lid opening pretty quickly. We felt very ill at looking him in the cockpit of own of our babies. He struggled briefly, screamed "mum" then his neck was broken and we dropped him back in the cock pit, put in his limbs and told her to close.

We jumped back down. She needed a verbal command to revert to previous programming and go back to her true home. We left our hand and finger tips on to long intentionally as she shot off knowing the shinny metallic material against finger tip flesh would leave friction burns.

Blair Blair was not mine. He was Louise's I think one of the girls who they could get in states where they would agree and cooperate with them intentionally distressing the foetus and controlling the pregnancy. Who wouldn't put up a fight if they weren't happy with what they had and decided to abort and try again. They are scared of our DNA producing someone unpredictable, that was the exact opposite of what they wanted.

Someone who would cooperate with the extreme abuse of the baby at birth and onwards. They made sure we saw and knew about lots of what they were doing. The poor babies. We wept for him when we heard they had decided this one was going to be kept alive and trained for adulthood but never again. He was the pet of all the worst abusers at the BBC and British police and intelligence, from the RA networks, the American stuff, the Jersey cunts and wako African shit, all the worst abusers and porn and control techniques from across the world and we couldn't help him. He was on his own. Unsurvivable.. They discussed and convened lots on how to make him what they wanted and specifically what they wanted him to do and we knew they were being listened to because everyone is then discovered how revoltingly rotten the NSA is.

Some really believed they could convince us that we would agree to all that for cash, drugs, clothes, for sex and/or rape with and of celebrities and others.. They really invested in thinking is was possible that I could be become like Louise or Rebecca or Morag or any of them.. To see them chatting and laughing and making material or social demands as they shifted themselves and their heavily pregnant bodies into positions so baby torturers got better access. Knowing the years of fertility that were ahead of us all. It never left any of us. We couldn't let it. We know what kids that come from scenes like that are capable of.

Whoever we had chucked the camera to had let it run and positioned it so Jessie saw everything and was now being shown the surrounding carnage. He shadowed us for a while letting Jessie see what my life was and had been, what it turned us into and what we had to do just to stay alive. How it was endless slaughter not to get a better life for me and Pabs but just to have any life.

Getting us to name them was a thing. A long term thing. They were trying get us to want to save him, to kill ourself trying to save them all. There was only one name for that poor fucker we knew he would be trained to hate us and need to destroy us and everyone who cares about us. Or cares about anything.

 Blair Blair.







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