...in a close potential future...

 Incorporated with DeepSeek. Inspired by Shorts.

 The roar of the wind is a constant lie in my ears, telling me I’m free while the 100 kilos of contraband AI processors in the waterproof harness tugging at my hips remind me I’m just a mule. A kite-mule.

The vid you linked—that guy leaving his kite parked like it’s a bicycle—that’s a rookie mistake out here. In the Oceania run, you don't *park* your kite. You land it, you pack it, and you get the hell out of the spray before the Coastal Authority’s sonar drones paint you as a target. That video is a fantasy. This is reality.

My name’s Kai. I’m a courier for the Cargo Liner, one of the thousands of "Kite-Born" who keep the forgotten edges of the world humming. My office is a second-hand hydrofoil board and a kite patched with more sealant than original fabric. My cargo manifest is whatever the Air Colombia ports spit out: crates of neural interface chips for the crocodile farm AI, a crate of R&Ged drone brains for a smuggler's den disguised as a fish processing plant in the Celebes, or sometimes just a box of spare parts for the 3D printers that keep the slum factories afloat.

We’re the last mile. The untraceable mile. The big boys, the cargo subs and the autonomous freighters, they stop at the official ports. But the real economy, the one that keeps the alligator farms in Papua and the black-market workshops in Northern Australia running? That runs on the wind, a wire, and a guy with a death wish and a debt.

The gear is simple, brutal. A torpedo, stripped of its warhead and packed with ballast and a high-torque winch, runs fifty meters below the surface, tethered to us by a thin, monofilament line. It’s our anchor and our engine. It pulls us, we steer the kite, and for a few hours, we’re a ghost, skimming the waves at thirty knots, invisible to radar.

My partner in all this is a little brick of a computer, a GPS/SBC unit we call a "Second." It’s my nav system, my link to the dead-drop networks, and my library. It holds every piece of music and text I own. Right now, as I slice through the chop off the Thai coast, the familiar bass line of an old Mazzy Star track leaks through my single earbud, fighting the wind. The other earbud is for the Second’s alerts. It just pinged me now.

`KAI: DEAD MAN'S SWITCH ACTIVE. CARGO: ONE UNIT. CLASSIFIED. ORIGIN: AIR COLOMBIA PORT 7. DESTINATION: COORDINATES FOLLOWING. PAYMENT: 5,000 NUYEN. CONFIRM?`

Five kay. Five times my usual rate. For a single unit. My gut, which has kept me alive longer than any AI, did a slow roll. This wasn't spare parts. This wasn't a batch of R&Ged controllers.

My thumb hovered over the confirm button on the waterproof control unit strapped to my wrist. The wind howled. The line from the torpedo below hummed a deep, dangerous song. The Mazzy Star singer drawled about fade into you.

I looked at the horizon. Somewhere out there was a small village, a workshop running on stolen dreams, waiting for a part to keep their machines alive. And somewhere in a gleaming port city, someone had just paid a fortune to make sure this one, single, classified unit never arrived.

That’s the thing about this life. You’re a ghost until you’re carrying something someone wants to make disappear. Then you’re just a target.

I thought about my little Second, with its library full of ghosts. I thought about the next port, the next small village. I thought about the 5,000 nuyn.

I confirmed. The Second’s screen flickered, and a new set of coordinates, way off the usual smuggler's routes, burned into the display.

"Alright, partner," I muttered to the wind and the machine. "Let's see what you got me into."

I banked the kite, the foil biting into a new heading, and left the safe, predictable currents behind. In Oceania, you're never truly offline, and you're never truly safe. You're just the next guy on the wire.

#itoldyou

We won't stop Dystopia.

You just don't speak English.

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

...in a close potential future...

Incorporated with DeepSeek

**AIR COLOMBIA**

The ceiling here is different. No crack. Just a smooth, white expanse. The light is softer, too. More like sunlight filtered through something. I think it's a hospital, but I'm not sure anymore. The memories come in fragments now, like a broken vid feed that keeps glitching back to the same nightmare.

My name is not important. What matters is what I saw. What I survived.

And what I will never, ever touch again.

---

**CHAPTER 1: THE BRIEFING**

The sicario's name was Hector, and he spoke to us like we were children. Which, in a way, we were. Twenty-three recruits sitting on rough wooden benches in a warehouse outside Medellín, the humidity eating us alive while ceiling fans chopped the air into useless motion.

"You want to work for the Cartel," he said, pacing slowly. "You want respect. Money. Women. All of that comes. But first, you must understand the one rule."

He stopped walking. Looked at each of us in turn. His eyes were old. Older than his face.

"There is only one foreign organization in our territory that is absolutely, completely untouchable. You see their ships, you look the other way. You hear their name, you forget it. You meet one of their people, you smile, you nod, and you walk away."

He pulled out a tablet. Flicked it on. Showed us footage.

Three vessels, moving in perfect formation, impossibly fast, skimming the surface of the sea like stones skipping across a pond. They were beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Sleek, low-slung racing catamarans, stretched wide and long—seventy meters, Hector said—with wings that extended from their sides like some kind of futuristic sea bird. The lead ship had lettering on its hull: **AIR COLOMBIA**.

"These are not narcos," Hector said. "They carry no drugs. No weapons. Only goods. Medicine. Vaccines. Emergency supplies. Computer parts. Sometimes food, when the villages flood and the roads wash out. They run cargo up every river they can access, all across the Caribbean. They are the fastest thing on water. Faster than our patrol boats. Faster than the navy. They can break the sound barrier ten meters above the waves."

Someone in the back row laughed. "Bullshit."

Hector moved so fast I didn't see it. One moment he was at the front. The next, he had the doubter by the throat, pressed against the warehouse wall, a knife resting gently against his eyeball.

"No," Hector said softly, "you will find that I do not bullshit. The men who crew those ships are not dockworkers. They are former BOPE. British SAS. American Navy SEALs. French Foreign Legion. Chinese Marines. The best killers the world has ever produced, retired to the only job that pays enough and asks nothing of their souls."

He released the man, who slid down the wall gasping.

"Now. Here is the rule, and you will remember it with your blood if you must: If anyone—anyone—touches an Air Colombia ship, a crew member, or their cargo, that person will die. Not in a firefight. Not in a glorious battle. They will die at night, in their bed, with a single shot. Head, lung, heart. In that order. The doctors will say it was an aneurysm. The police will find nothing. And the next morning, three ships will still be running cargo up the river, and no one will speak of it again."

He let that sink in.

"Why?" someone asked. "Why do we protect them?"

Hector's face changed. Softened, almost. "Because they are the only outsiders who actually bring profit to our people. Not to the Cartel. To the people. The villages. The families. They built the harbor at Puerto Escondido with their own money. They built the cafe where the old men sit and drink coffee and watch the ships come in. Every employee gets an equal share of the company. The cooks. The cleaners. The crew. All equal."

He looked at the floor for a moment.

"When the Boss—the man who started Air Colombia—when he came to Puerto Escondido for the first time after they finished the harbor, he walked through the village. He saw the clinic they'd built. The school. The old women selling empanadas to his crew. The children swimming in the water, safe because his ships patrol it. And he sat down at the cafe, and he ordered a coffee, and he wept."

Hector looked up at us.

"I was there. I saw it. A man who could buy and sell every one of us, crying into his coffee because poor people were happy. So yes. You will protect them. With your silence if nothing else."

---

**CHAPTER 2: THE HARBOR**

I didn't believe it. Not really. Not until I saw it myself.

Puerto Escondido wasn't a Cartel town. That was the first thing I noticed. No armed men on corners. No kids running packages. Just a small, clean harbor with three long docks designed to accommodate the Air Colombia fleet. The ships were there when I arrived, resting in the water like sleeping gods, their wings folded against their hulls.

The cafe sat on a low hill overlooking the water. White stucco. Red tile roof. Ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead. I sat at a table near the railing and ordered coffee, just like Hector said.

It was the best coffee I've ever tasted.

The crew came and went. They looked like anyone else—tanned, relaxed, wearing shorts and loose shirts. But you could see it in the way they moved. The way their eyes tracked everything without seeming to. The way they never sat with their backs to the door. Former soldiers. All of them. You don't lose that.

An old woman brought me empanadas. I tried to pay, but she waved me off.

"From the crew," she said, smiling. "They say new face, new friend."

I looked over at their table. One of them—a big man with a shaved head and tattoos crawling up his neck—raised his coffee cup to me. I raised mine back.

For a moment, I felt something I hadn't felt in years. Peace.

---

**CHAPTER 3: THE VISITORS**

They came on the third day.

A private yacht, gleaming white, flying no flag. It anchored outside the harbor, and a smaller boat brought five men to the dock. Tourists, I thought at first. Rich idiots looking for authentic experience.

Then I saw how they moved.

Confident. Purposeful. Hands never far from their sides. Eyes scanning constantly. They weren't tourists. They were hunters.

I was sitting at the cafe, same table, same coffee. The Air Colombia crew was there too, scattered around, pretending to relax but I could see the change. The big man with the tattoos had put down his newspaper. Another crew member, a woman with close-cropped hair and a face like carved stone, had shifted her chair to face the newcomers.

The five men sat at a table near the water. Ordered coffee. Laughed too loud. Talked too much.

One of them—the leader, I guessed, based on how the others deferred to him—kept looking at the ships. Not with admiration. With calculation.

I finished my coffee and left. It wasn't my business. I was just a recruit. I had the rule. I would follow it.

---

**CHAPTER 4: THE NIGHT**

I was staying in a small room above a butcher shop, three blocks from the water. The walls were thin. I could hear the family downstairs arguing about something, a man and a woman, their voices rising and falling like the tide.

I woke to silence.

Not the kind of silence that happens naturally. The kind that happens when everything stops at once. The arguing had ceased. The dogs weren't barking. Even the insects seemed to have gone quiet.

I lay still. Listened.

Nothing.

Then, soft as a whisper, a sound. Not nearby. Not in my room. But somewhere in the night. A single cough. The kind a rifle makes when it's fitted with a suppressor.

Then another. And another.

Three shots. Head, lung, heart. In that order.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning.

---

**CHAPTER 5: THE MORNING**

The cafe was full when I got there.

Crew members. Locals. The old woman who'd given me empanadas. Everyone drinking coffee, talking quietly, watching the harbor where the three ships rested peacefully in the morning light.

The yacht was gone.

I ordered coffee. Sat at my usual table. The big man with the tattoos walked past, nodded at me, kept going.

No one mentioned the night. No one mentioned the five men. It was as if they'd never existed.

Later, I saw Hector. He was sitting alone at a corner table, reading a newspaper. I walked over, sat down across from him.

"The five," I said quietly. "The ones on the yacht."

He didn't look up from his paper. "What five?"

"The ones who came yesterday. The ones who—"

He lowered the paper. Looked at me with those old eyes.

"There were no five. There was no yacht. You had a dream. Drink your coffee."

I wanted to argue. But I remembered the warehouse. The knife against the eyeball. The rule.

I drank my coffee.

---

**CHAPTER 6: THE BOSS**

He came that afternoon.

I knew it was him the moment he stepped off the ship. Not because of how he was dressed—just a plain linen shirt, worn jeans, sandals—but because of how everyone reacted. The crew straightened. The locals smiled. The old woman rushed to embrace him.

The Boss.

He walked through the village like a man coming home. Stopped to talk to children. Bought empanadas from every vendor. Sat on a bench and let an old man show him photographs of grandchildren.

Then he walked to the cafe.

I was still there. Couldn't seem to leave. He sat down at the table next to mine, ordered coffee, and stared out at the water for a long time.

I watched him. I couldn't help it.

After a while, he turned to me. Smiled. It was a tired smile, but genuine.

"You're new," he said.

"Yes."

"You like it here?"

I thought about it. The quiet. The peace. The way people looked at each other, not with fear, but with something like contentment.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

He nodded. Looked back at the water.

"You know what we do here?" he asked.

"Transport goods. Medicine. Supplies."

"Yes. But that's not why." He was quiet for a moment. "We're building something. A place where the rules are different. Where people don't have to be afraid of the knock on the door. Where the money goes to the people who earn it, not the ones who steal it."

He took a sip of his coffee.

"It's small. Just this village, for now. But it's something."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

He finished his coffee. Stood up. Looked at me one last time.

"Stay if you want. Leave if you want. But remember—whatever you do, don't touch what we're building. The people here... they deserve this."

He walked away, down toward the water, toward his ships.

And I sat there, watching him go, and I understood why Hector had told the story. Why the Boss had cried.

Because this place—this impossible, fragile, beautiful place—was worth crying over.

---

**CHAPTER 7: THE RECKONING**

I stayed.

For two years, I stayed. Worked at the cafe. Learned to cook empanadas from the old woman. Watched the ships come and go. Watched the children grow. Watched the village thrive.

I never touched the cargo. Never asked questions. Never looked too long at the crew.

And then, one night, they came.

Not the Cartel. Something worse. Outsiders. Men with hard eyes and harder guns, who thought they could take what Air Colombia had built. Who thought the rule didn't apply to them.

The crew was ready. Of course they were. They'd always been ready.

I hid in the butcher shop, in the room above, listening to the gunfire. It lasted maybe twenty minutes. Then silence.

In the morning, the village was untouched. The cafe was open. The old woman was making empanadas.

And the bodies of seventeen men were floating face-down in the harbor.

The crew moved among them, pulling them out, stacking them on the dock like cordwood. The big man with the tattoos saw me watching. He walked over, stood beside me.

"They didn't listen," he said.

"No."

He looked at me. For a long moment, I thought he was going to say something else. Something about me, about my place here, about whether I'd earned the right to stay.

Instead, he just nodded.

"Empenadas are ready," he said. "The old woman's asking for you."

He walked away.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the bodies, looking at the ships, looking at the village going about its morning like nothing had happened.

Then I went inside. Ate empanadas. Drank coffee.

And never spoke of it again.

---

**EPILOGUE: THE LESSON**

The ceiling here is white. Smooth. The light is soft. I think it's a hospital, but I'm not sure anymore.

The memories come in fragments. The ships. The cafe. The old woman's smile. The bodies in the harbor.

And the rule.

*If anyone touches an Air Colombia ship, a crew member, or their cargo, that person will die. Not in a firefight. Not in a glorious battle. They will die at night, in their bed, with a single shot. Head, lung, heart. In that order.*

I survived because I followed the rule. Because I understood, from that first day in the warehouse, that some things are untouchable for a reason.

Most don't understand. Most try to take. Most end up floating face-down in some harbor, forgotten before the sun sets.

But me? I'm still here. Drinking coffee in my memory. Watching the ships come home.

The Boss cried because he built something worth protecting.

I cry because I got to see it.

And because I know, now, that I'll never see it again. 

 

Enter here or here.  Dream to Reality or Dying Trying, but this is the way. Gangcoltoure Vs Gangculture.

...in a close potential future...

 Incorporated with DeepSeek

The antiseptic smell is the first thing that registers. It’s a clean, sharp scent that cuts through the fog. Then the light. Too white. Too flat. It hums, a low-frequency thrum that vibrates in my fillings. My eyes open to a ceiling with a single crack in it, shaped like a lightning bolt. I’ve been staring at it for what feels like hours. Days. A week, they tell me. A week of this.

My name is Andy. And I am the only one left.

---

**CHAPTER 1: THE LIONS' DESCENT**

The descent into Cancun was a comedown in itself. We’d been riding a high since Zurich, a three-day bender to get in the mood. Cloed was already asleep, her head on my shoulder, a thin line of drool at the corner of her mouth. Markus was loudly debating the merits of different tequila brands with Dieter, their voices too loud for the cabin. We were the Lions of the Nightlife back home. Here, we expected nothing less than a kingdom.

The airport was a blast of humid heat that felt like a wet towel to the face. But we didn’t have to suffer it. Our contact was there, a slick dude in an unbranded guayabera holding a tablet with our names on it. No line for customs, just a smile and a wave through a diplomatic gate. A private shuttle, cold beer sweating in copper coasters. This was the VIP treatment. This was Tulum.

We were here for the festival, the music, the sun. But mainly, we were here for the backrooms. The real party. The one the posters don't tell you about. By the time we reached our ridiculously overpriced jungle-chic villa, we were already deep into the stash Markus had smuggled in a false-bottomed speaker. The air was thick with humidity and the sweet, chemical smell of premium Bolivian powder.

That first night was a blur of bass drops and beautiful people. We were kings. The Cartel's representatives—polite, stone-faced men in clean white shirts—treated us with a deference that felt like our due. We bought rounds for everyone, our laughter sharp and predatory above the din. We were untouchable.

---

**CHAPTER 2: THE WHISPER IN THE NOISE**

The second day bled into the third. Time lost its meaning. I remember fragments. The sun blistering my shoulders by the villa pool. The taste of salt and lime and something else, something chemical on the tip of my tongue. Cloed, her eyes like saucers, telling me she loved this, loved me, loved everything.

It was on the third night, or maybe the fourth, in a private villa party deep in the jungle. The music was a physical force, a bassline that vibrated in your marrow. We were in a side room, low couches, low light. Markus was negotiating with one of the stone-faced men for a larger quantity of something. Dieter was trying to chat up a woman who looked bored and terrified in equal measure.

I was on the verge of a bad comedown, my skin crawling, when I heard it. A lull in the bass. A voice, not meant for us. One of the servers, a young kid with ancient eyes, was whispering to another. He was looking right at us. The phrase was in Spanish, but I’d partied here enough to get the gist.

*“Son los mismos que vinieron el año pasado. Los que se fueron sin pagar el respeto. Esta vez, correrán.”*

They are the same ones who came last year. The ones who left without paying respect. This time, they will run.

The bass dropped again, a seismic boom that shook the thought loose. I looked at the kid, but he was just a waiter again, offering a tray of shots. A second later, Markus was shoving a tiny, perfect square of paper into my hand. "Andy! Catch up, man! This is the one!"

I took it. I always took it. The warning dissolved into the neon fog of the party.

---

**CHAPTER 3: THE PICK-UP**

We left the party on a high, literally and figuratively. The world was a beautiful, pulsing thing. The jungle was a symphony of unseen life. We were looking for more, for the next level. Our new friends, the stone-faced men, said they had something special. Something we’d never tried. We just had to follow the pick-up.

We piled into a beat-up SUV, the five of us. Cloed was giggling, trying to catch fireflies out the window. Markus was up front with the driver, a man whose face was a mask of pitted scars. We drove for a long time. The paved road turned to dirt, the dirt to a rutted track. The lights of Tulum vanished behind us, swallowed by the absolute black of the jungle.

No one thought it was strange. We were too far gone. This was the adventure. This was the authentic experience.

We stopped in a clearing. The only light was from the SUV’s headlights, illuminating a wall of green. Two figures emerged from the jungle. They weren't the polite businessmen. These were soldiers. Dark clothes. Assault rifles hanging casually from their shoulders. One of them carried a small wooden box.

Markus got out, all swagger and smiles. "Gentlemen! What's the good word?"

The scarred driver said something in rapid Spanish. The soldier with the box nodded. He opened it. Inside, on a bed of velvet, were five small vials. The liquid inside was a clear, shimmering amber. It looked like liquid gold.

"For the *carrera*," the soldier said. His voice was flat, emotionless. "The race."

Markus laughed. "A race? Hell yeah! A race to the moon! Let's do it!"

We all got out, the humid air wrapping around us like a shroud. The soldier handed each of us a vial. The glass was cool in my palm. Cloed looked at me, her smile fading for the first time. "Andy, I don't feel so good."

Then we drank. Or rather, we were made to drink. The scarred driver, no longer a driver, grabbed my jaw. His grip was iron. He tipped the vial into my mouth. The liquid was tasteless, thinner than water. It slid down my throat like a living thing.

For a moment, nothing.

Then the world *screamed*.

It wasn't a noise. It was a feeling. Every nerve ending in my body lit up with a cold, electric fire. My heart didn't just beat, it tried to claw its way out of my chest. The jungle sounds weren't a symphony anymore; they were a cacophony of threat. Every rustle was a predator, every chirp a death rattle.

The soldier smiled. It was the worst thing I have ever seen. He pointed a single finger into the impenetrable black of the jungle.

"*Corran.*"

Run.

---

**CHAPTER 4: THE CARRERA DE MIEDO**

And we ran.

It was instinct, pure and primal. The drug had stripped away everything else. Thought. Reason. Love. It was just the Fear. A pure, undiluted panic that flooded every cell.

Branches whipped at my face, tearing my skin. Roots grabbed at my feet, trying to trip me, to feed me to whatever was behind us. And behind us, there was laughter. The soldiers' laughter. And then the *rat-tat-tat-tat* of a machine gun, chewing up the jungle just over our heads.

"RUN, YOU RICH FUCKERS! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Markus was ahead of me, his pale skin glowing in the dark. He was laughing too, a horrible, high-pitched sound that wasn't human. The drug had hit him differently. The fear had become a wild, manic energy. "THIS IS AMAZING! HAHAHA! COME ON, ANDY! FASTER!"

Dieter was crying, huge, heaving sobs as he crashed through the undergrowth. Cloed was silent, her face a mask of terror, her breath coming in ragged gasps beside me. We were a herd of terrified animals, driven by hunters who knew the terrain, who could see in the dark.

I don't know how long we ran. Minutes. Hours. Time was a loop of fear and the burning in my lungs. My legs were screaming, but the fear was louder. Every time I thought I couldn't go on, the laughter would get closer, or another burst of gunfire would stitch the air next to me, and I'd find a new reserve of pure, animalistic terror.

I saw Dieter fall. He just tripped, and he was gone. The sounds behind us swarmed over him, and his sobbing stopped abruptly. I didn't look back. I couldn't. The fear wouldn't let me.

I saw Markus, later. He had stopped running. He was standing in a small clearing, facing the hunters, his arms outstretched. He was still laughing. "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT? I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD, YOU BASTARDS!"

They didn't even laugh back. There was just a short, efficient burst of fire. Markus's laughter ended mid-cackle. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

Cloed. My Cloed. I grabbed her hand, pulling her. Her hand was slick with sweat and blood from the thorns. She looked at me, and for a second, the fear in her eyes cleared. She looked like herself again. Scared, but herself.

"Andy," she whispered. "I can't."

"Yes, you can! Come on! It's just a little further!" I was lying. I had no idea where we were or what was further.

She stumbled. I tried to hold her up, but my own legs were jelly. She fell to her knees. I heard the hunters crashing closer. The laughter was right behind us.

"Run, Andy," she said. Her voice was calm. The drug's fear-grip had let her go, leaving only exhaustion. "Please."

I hesitated. A fraction of a second. A lifetime.

Then the fear took over again, and I ran. I left her there, on her knees in the Mexican jungle, waiting for the hunters. I heard her scream my name once. Just once. Then it was swallowed by the laughter and the gunfire.

I ran until the world went black.

---

**CHAPTER 5: THE LIGHT AND THE CRACK**

The crack in the ceiling. The hum of the light. The antiseptic smell.

The doctor is a kind man with a tired face. He speaks to me in slow, careful English. He tells me I was found on the edge of a highway, a week ago, in a state of severe psychological trauma and physical exhaustion. They found my ID. They contacted the embassy.

"Andy," he says, his voice gentle, "you are the only one. Your friends... they did not make it."

I don't tell him that I know. That I saw them fall. That I heard them die. That I ran.

He tells me about the drug. The *Miedo*. The Fear. It's a new thing, he says. A specialty of the Cartel that controls that part of the jungle. They use it for punishments, for settling debts. They hunt the person through the jungle. It's called the *Carrera de Miedo*. The Race of Fear.

"Most do it only once," he says, looking at his clipboard. "The psychological scarring is... profound. Their minds cannot process the pure terror. They freeze. For the rest of their lives, when a shadow moves wrong, or a noise is too loud, they freeze. They are trapped in that moment forever."

He looks at me. "You ran. You survived. That is a rare thing. In a week or two, if you are strong, you may dare to step outside."

The doctor leaves. I am alone with the crack in the ceiling.

Most do the *Carrera de Miedo* only once. They freeze forever.

But I am a survivor.

I try to remember Cloed's face. The way she looked at me in that last moment. But the image is already warping, fading, replaced by the sound of her scream, the feel of her hand slipping from mine.

The light hums. The crack stares down at me.

A sound. A nurse’s footstep in the hall. My heart slams against my ribs. My hands clench the thin sheets, knuckles white. The air gets stuck in my throat. I am not in the hospital. I am in the jungle. I am running. I can hear the laughter.

The footsteps pass. The sound fades. Slowly, painfully, the iron grip on my chest loosens. I sink back into the pillow, my body drenched in a cold sweat.

The doctor is wrong. I didn't just do it once. I do it every time I hear a sound, every time I close my eyes. I am running it now, right here in this bed. I will run it forever.

Most freeze. I run.

I’m not sure which is worse. 

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 When being the Little Bitch International saves your life...

To keep a long story short, they came to dominate and got fucked. He keeps repeating that his buddies are the stable, hard, tough guys knowing no fear, yet they keep paying the Arrogance Tax every single opportunity being of Cold War formed German Zurich in the big wide world.

Imagine how that Crew looks for the others in a region turn by decades of drug wars caused by pretty much exactly their lifestyle. They are dominant, walk around looking down on others, yet deny it, expect VIP treatment every second and behave like Kings.

I do not know which turff Tulum is. Obviously, it is a Mexican Cartel. There is a chance MS13 or Barrios are the affiliate Soldados. It as well can be just a corner street gang pushing crack. One of them just rose in the hierarchy. He is not anymore lifting Hotel rooms, but may now do armed robberies. If he makes it against Military Police alive running off back into the shadows of the tourist lights he might turn Sicario, a Kartell Killer.

So, you guys got stripped by the lowest possible rank of an organisation on the Terrorist Gang list, having no fear.

Fuck me. 

Watch that. It is a fucking documentary. 

How does that feel, being a lucky little bitch in the big wide world of Terrorist Gangs??

I'll never know. IRA Provos. Fuck you CIA, BKA and BayPol. Since my dentist.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#provos #centurion #deadhead 

Midlife Crisis - Statues Update

 Finally, I found the important Vlogs.

#MODInc

#cyberpunkcoltoure

PS: You think I have issues? Dude, that woman is in another vid in an all red tight dress. Red. All Blond, all Boobs, all slim and in a signal colour level ultimate attention super whore Red Tight Dress.

Trust me, I am doing fine.

Americans Leaders,

 do you regret by now not having shot dead their Grandparents?

Is there any chance I am mistaken about them, please?

It is not my fault. That guy went to a different school so I couldn't humble him and I was on about 10.

#noblessoblige

#cyberpunkcoltoure

Meanwhile, The Firms Innovation Lab

 is once more full of shit. Beside a standard propellant being still the cheapest you want to try to use microwaves in the chamber to heat up iron dust and rail gun that, in a 20 meter magnet barrel.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 AA Synthol died with 51 years. He is now in Synthol Heaven.

Ok Kalle. That is how Synthol Heaven looks like:

He is bigger than ever. He is finally alone no one bothering him anymore. He is the widest he can be. Infront of him is his most favourite dish with knife and fork, plus a fine drink right next to the plate.

He is as wide and loaded as it never outside of heaven gets and all alone ....

Get it?

No one hears him crying neither. Kalle. The Kingdome of Hell and Hell painted like Heaven.

#jedi #cyberpunkcoltoure

#Aleppo

 One group defines Judaism today. They will argue like Germans and tell that not serving in the IDF was a privilege that has to be abolished.

Arguing with them won't help. Like with the Diaspora end they decide all alone the definition of meaning and argument.

Privileges are special rights exclusive to some. You would have to be able to understand the difference of duty and right in order to fully take the words meaning.

So, who are you to order other Jews?

There will be no peace until the end of nations.

#provos #jedi

The Kingdome of Hell

#Ukraine

 That is expensive. This heroic Ukrainian unit defeating Russian forces manages in reality to have an Abrahams tank destroyed. That is an expensive item ... in the U.S. military and wars like in the Iraq War.

The problem is the tactics and strategy. Even so knowing that the Russian side has efficient anti-tank systems in place they do not provide cover for the tank. They are using Sturmtruppen tactics the Tank is not made for. They advance fast into the rim of a village, the Tank is further advancing most likely having a high on Amphetamine Crew loosing control to be taken apart by counter fire while the infantry strides far away around, considering the battle ground, through hardly occupied houses.

The supply line is still a long stretched road under Russian siege.

There is a good chance that the propaganda video does not show how Russians kill the entire unit running out of ammo or retreating again over the long straight road.

Small unit tactics are advanced tactics. The unit must use the available weapon systems to its fullest potential. The tank is capable of long distance shots, the infantry can manouver in difficult terrain and use cover to stay hidden.

The unit does the very opposite of that. The Tank is destroyed in close distance fire and the Infantry clearly visible by drone footage.

 

This is so bad... I am missing words wondering if the actual target made any sense at all in a strategic respect or if they just were looking for Russians to be honest.

 

Given that the Village was an important cross road serving Russian supply and not just a forward position, the Reconnaissance would have needed to clearly identify a Primary Target. The buildings at the rim are not important, but only a step and cover towards the actual Primary Target which should be a junction, supply hub logistics center or ideally Command Center ordering troops in the region.

 

The Tank can manouver as mobile artillery supporting the Infantry unit infiltrating using the buildings as cover into the center to destroy the Primary Target in distance out of drone range and give supporting fire from changing positions.

 

The problem is that this would be Special Forces Tactics and what we see on the video is at its best militia or terrorist gang like Boko Haram tactics.

 

A few of these guys took out a NATO Brigade in a manouver...

 

What does that tell you? That I am crazy or the rest around here, please??

 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 These guys...and it took me two seconds typing to get this from Doc Google about the ever Vegan moral superiority:

 

While all 20 standard proteinogenic amino acids are found in both plants and animals, certain non-proteinogenic amino acids and compounds are found exclusively or primarily in animal meat. Key examples include carnosine, taurine, and anserine, which are essential for muscle function and heart health. 

    Carnosine:  Found only in animal-based foods, particularly meat and fish.
    Taurine:      Crucial for cardiovascular and muscular health, found in meat and seafood.
    Anserine:    Found primarily in skeletal muscle of vertebrates.
    Creatine:     Though technically not an amino acid, it is a derivative stored in 

                          muscles, primarily found in red meat and fish. 

Note on Essential Amino Acids:
While no standard protein amino acids are only in meat, meat provides highly bioavailable, complete proteins containing all nine essential amino acids (such as methionine, lysine, and taurine) in high concentrations compared to plant sources. 

 

Now let's be fair:

 

Can those be synthesized by the human body from only plant based amino acids?

 

The short answer is yes, your body is capable of synthesizing almost all of these compounds from plant-based amino acids. However, there is a catch: the efficiency of that synthesis varies, and for some people, internal production might not match the levels found in a diet that includes meat.
 

Here is how your body handles those meat-specific compounds using only plant-based building blocks:
 

1. Creatine
    The Process:     Your liver and kidneys synthesize creatine using three amino acids: 

                                arginine, glycine, and methionine.
    Plant Sources:  You can get these from pumpkin seeds (arginine), sesame seeds 

                                (methionine), and legumes (glycine).
    The Reality:      Research shows that vegetarians and vegans generally have lower 

                                levels of creatine in their muscle tissue than meat-eaters, though their 

                                bodies are still healthy.

2. Taurine
    The Process:     Your body synthesizes taurine from cysteine and methionine (with the 

                                help of Vitamin B6).

    Plant Sources:  Found in soy, sunflower seeds, and oats.
    The Reality:      While most adults produce enough taurine, infants and people with 

                                certain metabolic conditions may struggle to produce optimal amounts 

                                without dietary sources.

3. Carnosine
    The Process:     This is made by combining histidine and beta-alanine.
    Plant Sources:  Histidine is plentiful in soy and whole grains; beta-alanine is found in 

                                smaller amounts in various vegetables.
    The Reality:      Similar to creatine, studies show that those on a plant-based diet 

                               typically have lower carnosine levels in their muscles, which might 

                               impact high- intensity athletic performance (sprinting/lifting).

4. Hydroxyproline (Collagen)
    The Process:    Your body doesn't "absorb" collagen to make skin and joints; it builds its 

                              own using proline, glycine, and Vitamin C.
    Plant Sources: Soy, cabbage, and beans provide the amino acids, while citrus and bell 

                               peppers provide the necessary Vitamin C.
    The Reality:     As long as you have the "bricks" (amino acids) and the "mortar" 

                              (Vitamin C), your body is quite proficient at building its own collagen.

 

Summary Table
Compound    Body Can Synthesize?    Key Plant Building Blocks
Creatine                Yes                              Arginine, Glycine, Methionine
Taurine                 Yes                              Cysteine, Methionine, Vit B6
Carnosine             Yes                              Histidine, Beta-alanine
Collagen                Yes                              Proline, Glycine, Vit C

    Note on Vitamin B12: While not an amino acid, it is the one nutrient you cannot synthesize or get from plants. If you are pursuing a strictly plant-based diet, B12 must be supplemented.

Would you like me to create a high-protein plant-based meal plan that focuses on maximizing the precursors for these specific compounds?

 

Based on contemporary state of the art biochemical knowledge, are synthesized amino acids one hundred percent comparable to the direct source or is there another impact?

 

From a biochemical perspective, the answer is nuanced:
The molecules themselves are identical, but the delivery system (the "food matrix") significantly changes how your body uses them.
To answer your question accurately, we have to look at the difference between isolated (synthesized/supplemented) amino acids and food-derived amino acids.
 

1. The Molecule: 100% Identical
In biochemistry, a molecule of L-Leucine is exactly the same whether it was synthesized in a lab or extracted from a steak. Your cells have receptors that recognize the chemical structure; they cannot "tell" where the molecule originated.
    Chirality (The "Mirror" Issue): One catch is that many synthetic processes create both 

    "Left-handed" (   L ) and "Right-handed" (  D  ) versions of amino acids. Human biology 

    almost exclusively uses L-form amino acids.

    High-quality supplements ensure they provide the L-form, making them biologically 

    identical to those in meat.

2. The Bioavailability Gap
While the molecule is the same, the impact on your body is not 100% comparable due to these factors:

    Absorption Speed: Synthetic amino acids are "free-form," meaning they don't require digestion. They hit your bloodstream almost instantly. Amino acids in meat are bound in complex protein structures that require stomach acid and enzymes to break down, leading to a slow, steady release.
    The Food Matrix: Meat provides "co-factors" that assist in protein synthesis. For example, meat contains zinc, iron, and B vitamins that act as catalysts for the enzymes that actually use those amino acids to build muscle or neurotransmitters.
    Antinutrients: Plant-based sources of amino acids often come with phytates or fibers that can slightly inhibit the absorption of certain minerals or the proteins themselves, a factor not present in purified synthetic versions.

3. Endogenous Synthesis vs. Direct Ingestion
You asked if synthesizing them in your own body (from plant precursors) is the same as eating them directly from meat. This is where the "Cost of Production" comes in:

    Metabolic Tax: Synthesizing compounds like Creatine or Taurine internally requires energy (ATP) and "borrows" other amino acids (like Methionine) that could have been used for other things.
    Genetic Variability: Some people are "poor converters." Due to genetic polymorphisms (variations), certain individuals are less efficient at synthesizing taurine or converting plant-based Omega-3s (ALA) into EPA/DHA. For these people, the "direct source" from meat/fish is superior to internal synthesis.

 

Comparison Summary
Feature                         Synthetic/Body-Synthesized            Direct Source (Meat)

Chemical Structure    Identical (-isomers)                           Identical (-isomers)
Digestive Effort           Zero (if free-form)                             High (requires enzymes)
Nutritional Context    Isolated                                                Includes B12, Zinc, Heme-Iron
Reliability                     Depends on your DNA/enzymes    Guaranteed delivery
 

The Verdict
Biochemically, they are qualitatively identical (the "what"), but functionally different (the "how"). If you provide your body with the right plant-based precursors and your metabolic pathways are healthy, your body can produce what it needs. However, the direct source from meat provides a "complete package" that is generally more efficient and reliable for the average person.
Would you like to know about the specific genetic markers that determine how well a person can synthesize these nutrients on a plant-based diet?

 

Maybe it is a philosophical issue, because I believe that how is more important than what... You keep doing your thing and so do I.

 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#cyberpunkcoltoure - Mind Set

 Copy my thought here. Mr FlyTep. 

Just, these RC jets are inefficient. A ducted fan with a high turn motorcycle engine will do. Maybe in hybrid.

I need money ... and a night vision headset maybe.

#cyberpunkcoltoure #riggers

Listen to them...

These guys...

I believe that turning a Nonne into a Whore is as much rape as turning a Whore into a Nonne.

We have to accept that some humans feel better using substances that have sever side effects. 

The problem in our Nations is some of those having privileges will abuse that. They tell lies, cheat into the lifestyle and exploit by threating with punishment to order their victim around.

Laws may not have exceptions and only a Tyrannic state knows Privileges.

The Bodybuilders are a great example. Each can go anytime for several years into prison, just as Microsoft Windows is a Monopoly illegal by our market laws. In the same way a corrupt Cop will abuse that lifestyle a as corrupt Secret Service Agent will exploit Microsoft, both for National Security or their own pockets and power.

This will end violantly. Both the Cop and Agent continue to refuse to end and admit there wrong doings and therefore will be stopped by force.

That is a continuous pattern in history, a fact.

Each lifestyle and subcoltoure that is today exploited by the privileged of these nations has potential to do the kill and history always turned them heros.

William Tell, Bruce Wallas, Staufenberg and even the Pirate Ship Captains are as much humans having turned legends as much as being under constant mystification and lies telling.

We all will face Judgement Day and all of us in their last seconds before the passing may try giving order to forgive or forgive themselves.

I would smile dying now in a fire fight against BKA or Bayrische Polizei, not about their lucky shot, but because I did not bow and stood against many.

#neversurrender #deathbeforedishonour

PS: You get that Poverty Oath Bullshit back. I swear, and the hard way is all fine. BKA fucks.

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 If that is true, they will soon try hiring in Anatolia workers again....

Fucking shoot them dead remembering the jokes.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

So, who

 wants to put a railroad right next to the Tarmac?

Beside, the track needs fuel stations in specific distances. Those need restaurants and car workshops, maybe a Motel and some housing for the workers.

So, what else can be established in these outposts and can they take on humans from refugee camps to have a living?

The Kingdome of Heaven, has to start somewhere.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TIE The Kingdome of Hell

 So, you meet a guy at a party. The flamboyant super confident version to figure that he is swapped Industries.

No solar cell rooftops anymore, no, life insurance...

As a hint, check his Mum and Sister. He has the looks, hit Daddis brain most likely.

Just saying.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

Trust me, not the savings plan offer.

#hellskitchen #the90ies #pirateclanbeforethevan

AI - Status Update

 They do not understand AI, past the Natural Language part.

One of them talks about AI agents in HR. Basically, about a Wage Software. In Europe the Wage is what the employee gets payed into his account, what the employer has to pay of that wage into the social system and what the employer has to pay for the employee into the social system. There are kinda two Brutts to the Net...

Point is, there is existing Software and none related to that topic is in need of any AI Reasoning.

The only thing a contemporary LLM aka AI is good for is a prompt that takes natural phrases like: Are all Wages transferred of this month or Transfer all wages to the workers three days earlier. 

That is a rather simple script using the softwares API.

#cyberpunkcoltoure #deggers

PS: That is also the Ultra-Germans. He says the Renessaince started, because scientists were driven out of Byzantine, today's Istanbul. He talks about Machine-Machine reality and that talking machines can create Reality. This is Hegel and Adorno in its most hardcore version and the Pony Farm version of Nazi-German Philosophy just leaving out the racist and Übermensch parts. He also supports strong regulations and states that the steam machine and computer triggered wars hoping AI won't.

Do the math... if reality proves them wrong, once again, they'll go violant.

NATO Vs Ukraine

 That sounds about right. The Ukrainians are war proven battle hard soldiers knowing what they do. NATO is full of theoretic ... I am missing words.

In many cases that causes extreme problems. Black Hawk Down is at least a mission failure, because an expert of theory considered light armoured Humvess and un-armoured Trucks appropriate. Niger Tongo Tongo was a disaster because of the same attitude.   

That many of these failures are racist motivated GeStaPo attacks against "race cheaters" rowed up in dedicated units within especially the U.S. military would, if proven, cause firing squats against entire military families having rich backgrounds from a Confederate past and trigger a civil war in the U.S.A. by Confederate hords. All have ties to Germany...

The NATO maneuver is a different set, but of the same mind set and background. Racism is an extreme form of arrogance and ignorance. All facts are ignored and oneself considered better than the other.

Obviously, is training and being a veteran two things. Having faced life fire, having engaged an enemy is different from even the best training. Most NATO units have never seen life fire or combat. The last wars in Afghanistan were entirely done by Special Forces and Germany has none, except in their constant delusional self-perspective. 

Those joining the U.S. military have had all weapon training and many come from Street Wars that still hit many U.S. communities. Today, not as bad as in the 90ies when MTV promoted Toxic Gangculture or as in LaHaine when Hubert by all rights could have considered joining the Legion Entranger, but these kids still play different than the Germans believing their lies from Gdansk to what SS actually did.

If the Russian Generals managed to educated those troops still off the war realistically and their Secret Service confirms that Europe continues to support a system in which Nazi money rules... they hopefully still only come by covered operations to kill those alike those from BKA having tried to intimidate me telling me about a Poverty Oath I had.

Europe will go to chaos and this Nations system will end. Most likely the hard way. Most likely will I find those officers again... possibly, only post mortem. I am just the most hardcore around, but certainly not the only one taking no shit from corrupt cops and certainly no Nazis or any German.

#ticktack 

#provos #centurion #deadhead #terroristgangs

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

Illusion Francaise

 That won't work. Remember the Cop from LaHaine who pulled a gun against Vince to kill him. Who believes these elements of society will in a climate crisis pull out their social skills, please?

The same attitude of that extreme alien with a gun exists since 45 ever stronger in French society and they will cause trouble. How many must live in a nation that a thug like that man can get a badge... what you think?

If Paris, or any other major town, faces sever storm floodings the people need to help themselves and not await help. This means the town and republic must not create lines of order and hierarchies of whom orders whom, but create an environment in which the people can help themselves overlooked by the military taking down anti-social elements, such as a looting Cop or abusive citizen to trial.

Traffic lights must be turned off, dangerous zones labeled by radio and signs, water depths communicated, underground parking locked up, electricity turned off and metro access granted free of charge on all elevated routes leading out of the dangerous zones.

The rest is a larger project to which first needs to be understood which areas will face floods by which reasons. Storms or continuous heavy rain onto soaked up soil are two different yet connected causes. Which areas can use sealed houses to await the flood passing and which need large channel and damp projects?

Adjust to fit, don't again order to rule.

#noblessoblige

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

TheGermans - Mind Set

 Dresden was bombed harbouring mainly civilians. 300.000 died by fire and explosive bombs having no chance to run.

That is the constant war crime of the Allies in Germany. 

And then he says it, he mentions the devastating effect on German Frontline Soldier moral having heard that their families were erased. Germans were still taking part in a Vernichtungskrieg, a War of Extingtion. German Soldiers not only attacked their neighbours once again, they industrialized exploitation down to turning human bones into soap. The world was devastated about a new low point of inhumanity in war from back than knowingly once again the same people.

What they had done in Jerusalem starting the Crusades they later did in Gdansk and now they used the latest technology doing it again, but on ever more monstrous levels.

Dresden was bombed and the Soldiers now heard that their loved once, those they plundered and looted through Europe stealing art, furniture and even animals for, died in flames. They were not erased like by the two nuclear bombs within seconds, they burned alive and must have screamed dying in pure pain almost as bad as the Jews that were murdered by Gas.

They still did not surrender. The German forces continued fighting despite having understood that what goes around comes around and were protected only by the nuclear stand off between Capitalism and Stalinism having manged to end the Treaty of Versailles for which they started another war over Europe. They faced no Firing Squats after ending their murder campaign in defeat and not regret.

Cold War is over. 

Is there anyone your Secret Services did not fuck with?? Any war crime CIA found no German for?

Remember, what goes around comes around. You won't make it past these just starting Undergroundwars, German Culture. Cry, you will be ever more victims than your children and women in Dresden. Drugs, Murder, Robberies, Kidnappings, Chaos...

Once for Gas, today for Poverty Oath, Copy Rights, Intimidation, Leaving no Proof and all other medicated Bullshit from your arrogant minds that need a Doctor to stay healthy.

 #TIE

#noblessoblige  

The Kingdome of Hell

Here we fight!

 

#neversurrender

#deathbeforedishonour

THIS IS EUROPA

 

#TheGermans Vs #igotstuck - Status Update

 I practically stopped drinking alcohol since Corona. I mind the taste. This is were Corona kicked off as an Epidemic in Europe and the spot among the rich.

#TIE The Kingdome of Hell

Here we fight 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

I told you

 but can not anyone make them understand that The Bomb was developed by Jews from theory to action item, please?

It is the only reasonable way.

So, what is worst to you? Their full ignorance, calling everybody stupid or persistent arrogance?

Look, everyone remembers the shit show of you being export World Champions. Best cars, best machines, best engineering... no one will be able to handle Germans sitting on even one Bomb. The strongest military on Earth, right?!

I told you they keep trying.

#TIE #cyberpunkcoltoure

The Heritage of Mr Braun

 Contemporary Nazi science. 

Did you ever hear about gravity in your studies and can anyone do a drug and medication test with that man?

The air forces are less important than gravity. The spinning of the ballistic object turns the airflow complementary to its travel path stability, because air pressure around is constant.

The rotation creates a gravitational force and this is where Mr Braun having made CiA supported career based on possibly Anne Franks hobby homework ended and limited scientific theoretic research...

The triage of a drugged Teacher and two eager to suck up students is dominant in today's science world in which fame and prestige of a title is more important than knowledge and understanding.

Obviously, I am just a crazy Schizophrenic being out of his mind and every bullshit arguement will be fine against what I say... as long everybody knows.

Gravity, you fucks.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

The War on Attitude 

I want to

 turn around, build up, custom job, the old European top, off the pop, more horse, force, no matter the laws and drive. 

Drive, drive, drive dive deep into Vince and Said, make a bit on  a better home, Leonids son I won't bow, I keep it low, stay away from the how. No now, not even soon, eating with a spoon a thin soup, awaiting the stew, the home brew, having a crew in this zoo, zombie land, a band of blues brothers, all different mothers, no crushers... builders and errecters, makers like lakers and bulls.

#undergroundwars #TIE 

 

PS

 Honestly, who is sponsoring them here? So, being from Europe and having been a bit around you stare at them constantly wondering if that was not the two thugs sitting next to you close to the Fish'n'Chips Shop while you had a Big Cod, Big Chips with a Pepsi Light for a change after your work day having a useless bollocks chat about nothing with these guys them eventually asking if you were living around and alone....

So...what happend, lads? How mak'n cash on that level? You did'nt rob a bank, did you. 

And you can't shoot that one, but do wonder about male prostitution rings. Are you "the married women" for Bill or does some old German rich Nazi hit a spot?

#MODInc

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

Aaron Hernandez

 His letter to the Patriots that gave him a chance proves that he can do what is needed to gain.

There is no way that he thought he would gain more as a Toxic Gangster than as a Football player.

What was that Paranoia about and who is on the party pics in these clubs somewhere in the background?

 

Toxic Lifestyle Advertising Campaigners Vs RoboCop Message to Kids

 

#undergroundwars

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#PsyOps Vs #provos

  

 

#igotstuck

 With all given respect, I'd pin the Secret Service at his ass taking bets when he will do stupid... just saying and if its Banana exports each single load gets reloaded by Policia every time and if he leaves there is a questioning the day he departs to understand the intention despite the active security and safety support measures turning his venture into Colombia's most respectable enterprise - for about a week.

#51sts 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

 

PS: You collect his fingerprints by a Gym? My God that is creative Medellin Cartel. Touche, that could have been my idea. Do you have than also the forensic prints scanners around?? Police being still underfunded per default? Incredible how things stayed since...the 90ies. FBI still has none.

#undergroundwars 

#filthypoor 

Les unions...

 you have to cut them and there is a good chance to take major parts of La Defence with you. Let Arno have them all...

Energy costs, this little traitor, can be completed without the Nation. The grid needs to be decentralized and more households turned independent. If arguments fail in court against stupid norms, tractors and cow shit will do. 

The mix is important. Solar cells only make sense in the south and small windmills ontop of rooftops are perfect in the north. Adding ethanol generators the local grid can be hijacked and entire communities and small towns run independent from the national grid. 

 

The same applies for Coops and from there for all products that can be produced in workshops. Just stay away from the Centre Paris and other German dominated areas.

 

Let them have the first shot, we'll then have the last and from here go on our way. Liberte. Egality. Fraternite. And no detours. This being said is there a good chance that we won't need another Guillotine. Greed and Cocaine might do in all Grand Luxe. 

 

Challenge the might of the Nation against Le Region when ever they come to order against local Good. 

 

#provos

#IRAmovement 

Harvard Vs Hagseth

 or vice versa and that is not a problem, it is called West Point. West Point is the none listed Ivory League University in the U.S.A. and needs both a Research Lab in close interaction with NASA and Geological Institutions and electronic learning capability for all U.S. military personal world wide.

U.S. Soldiers must be able to learn online and offline using courses and books and texts from West Point on educational levels having an online campus with social media capability secured on military grade spec levels for their own safety.

#MIB

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

Ok, he is

 team Tommy Hilfiger which I totally get, but it still should be Emporio Armani.

He'd spare half the words with the girls...

#MODInc

#51sts 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#TheGermans - Mind Set

Let's face it. They always manage to meet only their own and so he sounds. His impressions of the U.S.A. are formed by what he looks at. That was not one GI. That guy moving into Freedom will be a month in on Crack, six month in having cracked the 150kg boarder by Burgers or go full Testosterone Gold Gym instead and within a year get shot by either a Black guy or Mexican maybe not dead, but at...

Freedom is difficult for some.

Sadly, those troublesome always need to enforce their order above others, too. 

#thegermans 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#ruanda

 I just heard that the Parliament in Ruanda has about 60% woman.

Then, I saw in front of my inner eye the Ruandese men. Smiling, being fine, awaiting the Ladies home, smiling even more... these fucking geniouses.

Hi. 

Oh my darling.

How was your day?

I talked so much the whole day, I can't anymore. 

Good or bad?

Ah. Not that bad.

Come here for hugs!

#MODInc 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#climatechange

 It is getting wet. We will live under rain. We will drive and walk in rain. That rain will increase air moisture. No matter if hot or cold, humidity will increase. Looking down onto the soil, that soil will be much more wet. Crops will have to be exchanged or the harvest will fail. Playing football will be a mud game... and a trip to the countryside like visiting moors.

This is the Kingdome of Hell. European Rain Woodland. Our new home.

 This is a landslide susceptibility map. You might want to sell in red areas, now.

This is only the anomalies where soil it is more wet than average.

 #TIE #cyberpunkcoltoure

Massacres against Civilians

 Need a clarification in the Geneva Convention.

 

There are specific rules in place for armed conflicts dedicated to protect civilians. Especially European wars have made those necessary in order to have a framework to find and prosecute by having a clear definition of crimes in war during and after military conflicts criminal offenders in war.

 

Someone without a regular Uniform, which means civilian clothing, but a weapon engaging militantly in military conflicts can be executed without a trial. The same does not apply for a Paramedic or Civilian escaping from the battleground. All forces like Weapon SS that use War Crimes as normal tactics also can be killed without being granted trial or Prisoner of War rights by e.g Firing Squats or hanging them.

 

There are no clear frameworks for any force on how to proof that a set or group of civilians is an Irregular Combatant force and Psychological Warfare soldiers are not covered at all by any treaty.

 

Some of these massacres might have been regular and legal executions by firing squats as executed against e.g. Waffen SS members by Partisans and Ally forces during WW2.

 

War is a complex matter a fact only simple minds ignore.

 

#MIB

#cyberpunkcoltoure  

#Aleppo

 So that's the strategy of those that have had pulled down the Shah...

The HTS called Government force will have to face dozens of other armed militias with little control.

Obviously, that is an idea from a central rule loving system that never minds any false flag actions against their enemy, in this case, economic prosperity in a region that for centuries intellectually outperformed us, except in steel cooking.

 

What really will happen is that more of Western forces, those having rule here currently, will be demolished by blunt violence. The more successful that is the more IDF and Turkish Military will consider attacking. The less influence the Secret Services, those having rule her currently, have the less this will happen and most likely will Turkey be the first Western nation stepping off that current path of those having rule here currently.

 

The West is also running out of money and economic power to continue supporting by Secret Service channels alien forces. IS and the Shahs were Western systems, not local native once as much as Bibi is not a local no matter him having met the Messiah ordering him to be ending Diaspora and defining Judaism from here.

 

The current situation of a complex all in arms network of connected and opposing forces will instead swap over here to Europe and end just at the gates of always more civilized China. The Cocaine Wave is just the starting point of a Europe in which armed bank robberies are just normal and the AK is as common as a Coupe instead of a Pick-Up Truck. This is normal evolution in despotic authoritarian systems throughout history.

The German system of Nations is just what we have today, what we have failing today... 

 

This is the price for having turned the idea of Demos in Democracy away from the People to its showing/demonstration association ending the path of a Polisarchy it was always supposed to be. Police is no Judge and Laws are made by a fraction, but for all. Secret Services do not know any of those and in the end the most fearsome wins.

 

It is sad, but nothing we can change as much as climate.

 

Survival of the Fittest. Europe in chaos under rain.

  

The Kingdome of Hell

Here we fight

#TIE 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

 

TheWest - Mind Set

 How would you manage to turn a soap box car parcout track into a dangerous sudden death track match?

Being stupid??

So, there is that guy that gets a dedicated hair cut to kill the chocolate fountain getting away with it by pretending being annoyed and everyone now has hair in the chocolate.

This is obvious 1st degree murder attempt being stupid.

#TIE

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#cyberpunkcoltoure - Mind Set

 Oh my God, double banana!!!

Can I see that guy here getting that Banana track about the Almighty in his face, please? 

#cgi #cyberpunkcoltoure #topG 

After the War. 

My Suggestion on the Epstein Files

 Build the Cyberdeck Nexus...here...

Add the Epstein Files to the Obsidian-Deck part. 

RAG the AI part with books on Criminology, Logic, Complex Systems, Socrates Moral, psychology, FBI profiling.

 

Ask the system.

 

To ask you need a set of questions. No politics. From the answers you might go back to politics.

 

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

 

The Land of the Free

From DeepSeek:

Based on the search results, there is a fundamental difference between what the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution say about your topics. The Declaration states grievances about British restrictions, while the Constitution establishes the legal mechanisms for the new government.

Here is a breakdown of what each document states regarding immigration, migration, trade, and citizenship.

1. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
The Declaration of Independence does not establish laws or define citizenship. Instead, it serves as a list of grievances against King George III. It condemns the British Crown for restricting trade and immigration/migration .

   On Trade: The document explicitly accuses the King of "cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world." The founders viewed free trade as essential for economic growth, and they rejected the British practice of imposing tariffs and non-tariff barriers that limited colonial commerce .
   On Immigration & Migration: The founders condemned the Crown for "endeavouring to prevent the population of these States" and for "obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners." They argued that Britain was deliberately refusing to pass laws that would encourage migration, which hurt population growth and economic development .
   On Citizenship: The Declaration does not define citizenship or the process of becoming a citizen.

2. THE U.S. CONSTITUTION
The Constitution rarely uses the modern terms "immigration" or "citizen" in the sense of membership, but it provides the textual foundation for how these systems operate.

   On Citizenship (Being a Citizen) :
       The 14th Amendment: The clearest definition of citizenship is found here: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." This establishes birthright citizenship (jus soli) , meaning citizenship is automatic for those born on U.S. soil regardless of their parents' status .
       Presidential Eligibility: The Constitution also mentions citizenship as a requirement for office. The President must be a "natural born Citizen" and a resident for 14 years .

   On Naturalization (Immigration Law) :
       Article I, Section 8, Clause 4: This is the only explicit grant of power regarding citizenship. It gives Congress the power "To establish an uniform Rule of Naturalization." This was crucial because, under the Articles of Confederation, states had their own citizenship rules. This clause federalized the process of becoming a citizen .

   On Migration:
       Article I, Section 9, Clause 1 (The Migration and Importation Clause) : This clause prevented Congress from banning the "Migration or Importation of such Persons" until 1808. While the text uses the word "Migration," legal scholars and historians almost universally agree this was a compromise to protect the slave trade. It was not intended as a broad grant of power over immigration policy .

   On Trade (Commerce) :
       Article I, Section 8, Clause 3 (Commerce Clause) : This grants Congress the power "To regulate Commerce with foreign Nations." While the Declaration complained about restrictions on trade, the Constitution granted the federal government the power to regulate that trade .

3. THE CONSTITUTION'S SILENCE ON IMMIGRATION CONTROL
This is a critical point found in the legal analysis of the search results: The word "immigration" does not appear in the Constitution . The document does not explicitly say "Congress shall have power to control borders."

Because the text is silent, the Supreme Court has historically justified federal control over immigration through other means:
   Necessary and Proper Clause + Naturalization Clause: Congress uses its power to make naturalization rules to also regulate who enters the country .
   Sovereignty Doctrine: Since the 1889 Chinese Exclusion Case, the Court has ruled that the power to control borders is an "incident of sovereignty" —an inherent power that any independent nation must have, even if it isn't written down in the Constitution .

Summary
   Declaration of Independence: Says the British were wrong to restrict trade and immigration. It is pro-immigration and pro-free trade .
   U.S. Constitution: Says Congress has the power to make uniform naturalization laws (Article I, §8) ; defines citizenship via birth (14th Amendment) ; and, through judicial interpretation, has plenary power over borders (even though the text doesn't explicitly grant it) . 

 

I am telling you that all those scholars today stating any rule or law was to protect the Slave trade are part of a wider conspiracy to change the surface of earth by changing history. 

Slavery was at no given moment a common or normal trade at any point of time, but exclusive to tyrants throughout history. 

The United States of America did not know legal Slavery and having had no explicit laws against Slavery only means that a common agreement was set to have no Slaves. The same human mind set that supported King George, that formed the Roman Empire are today actively by media manipulation and false arguments continuing to normalize slavery as a common trade within mankind instead of being an exceptional excess recurring throughout time by tyranny establishment rule and order that always needed lethal force to be ended. 

South Africa today is drowning in crime, but no one mentions the crimes not recorded throughout Apartheid and there is no law against false report creation. No YouTuber will face a lifetime for stating George Washington having had Slaves or New Orleans having had a Slave Market as much as Germany is not prosecuted for publishing Schoolbooks in which Gdanzk was founded by Germans and not facing a massacre by Germans in the mid-ages.

 

The U.S.A does need a discussion about migration and trade, but before it needs an end to media monopoles and secret services.

 

The hard way is possible. You ask for conflict and that is what you get. Total War, our style. IRA Provos. Terrorist Gangs. Constitutionalists. Republican. Killers. A fucking Joke. As long men die Greed will end, so will Sadism.

#cyberpunkcoltoure  

 

 The Kingdome of Hell

PPS

 As Art:

Roy Lichtenstein
Finger Pointing
1973
 

#popart

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

PS

 Is my Penis in the Epstein Files and who jerked off on it???

imagine how disturbing that would be. Right after the Maid in the outskirts it turns out that a 2m wide photo picture was used to stimulate Bill Gates having a married woman and Andrew stares at what made her pass out...

 

I am not even black there. 

#cyberpunkcoltoure

 PS: They might not go to prison, so ... let's point fingers. The right way. Stretch it and use force:

From their perspective:

 

 The mean fist.

#provos #undergroundwars #streetwars #topfloorbitchingsessions