Collective Darwinist Evolution Theory

Can you imagine that what the Germans called Terrorist from an early age on is just basic primal genetic programming?

#cyberpunkcoltoure

PS

 That is when a Jewish Community is inaugurated.

The Germans as Nazis and later among the Zionists ended more communities than in any other time in history.

Judaism is struggling today.

Nationalism is not helpful, but at fucking all.

#noblessoblige

From best times of which we have to learn:

While there is no single world-famous masterpiece specifically titled "Charlemagne and the Jews," historical accounts and exhibitions have depicted his interactions with Jewish figures, most notably the diplomat Isaac and the Jewish community of Narbonne. 

Depictions of Isaac and the Elephant

One of the most documented interactions between Charlemagne and a Jewish individual involves Isaac, a member of a Frankish embassy sent to the Abbasid caliph Harun al-Rashid. 

The Mission: Isaac was likely an interpreter skilled in Hebrew, Arabic, and Latin. He successfully returned to Aachen in 802 with a diplomatic gift from the caliph: an elephant named Abul Abaz.

Artistic Representation: This historical event was the focus of a 2003 exhibition in Aachen titled Ex oriente: Isaak und der weisse Elefant (From the East: Isaac and the White Elephant), which explored multicultural representations of Charlemagne. 

Legendary Depictions in Narbonne

Local legends in southern France describe a significant relationship between Charlemagne and the Jewish community of Narbonne.

The Jewish "King" of Narbonne: According to a legend documented in a now-lost manuscript from the Abbey Lagrasse, a Jewish delegation led by Isaac visited Charlemagne in 791. They reportedly paid a large sum for the right to have a permanent "king" of their own in Narbonne, a request Charlemagne allegedly granted by ceding a section of the city to them.

Historical Context: While the "king" story is legendary, the Jewish community of Narbonne was well-established by the 5th century and remained a significant center for medieval Jewish scholarship. 

Charlemagne's Role in Jewish History

Paintings and historical texts often reflect Charlemagne's strategic and relatively liberal attitude toward the Jewish community:

Economic Protections: Charlemagne viewed Jews as economic assets and granted them freedom in commercial transactions, preventing the Church from making excessive demands on them.

Cultural Image: Charlemagne cultivated an image as a successor to David and Solomon, which influenced the architectural design of his Palatine Chapel in Aachen as a "new Rome" with ties to Jerusalem.

Jewish Figures at Court: Beyond Isaac, other Jews held prominent positions, such as Ferragut, who served as Charlemagne's physician. 

Broader Context of Jews in Carolingian Art

Symbolic Contrast: In medieval art, the relationship between Judaism and Christianity was often depicted allegorically through the "Triumph of the Church over the Synagogue". These works typically show the Church as a victorious woman and the Synagogue as a defeated figure, though these were often created centuries after Charlemagne's reign (e.g., the 15th-century Fountain of Grace or 16th-century Italian embroideries).

Carolingian Style: Art from Charlemagne's era, known as the Carolingian Renaissance, was produced primarily for the court and monasteries, blending Greco-Roman styles with Christian themes. 

Would you like me to look for specific museum records of the "Ex oriente" exhibition to see if there are digital reproductions of the modern paintings depicting Isaac and Charlemagne?

AI responses may include mistakes. Learn more

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 Sarah with an H is all touched by the Ukrainian resistance against Russia. The bombing, suffering, limitations they endure...

Being from a Jewish family she has learned Jiddish, but obviously missed every Torah and definitely Talmud school class. Kabala must be some magic staff...from gypsy card tricks.

That's because how religious classes and lessons work. They are through all wings of Judaism not based on blunt repetition and quoting. The National schooling came much later and is an ugly split off from catholic Bible schools in which literates like to through quotes in Latin against each other with number references.

Usually, religious excorses are more based on metaphoric abstraction of situations and quotes. The Anglo-Saxon juridical system takes that allowing using comperable other cases within lines of argumentation in court.

German she is, most likely from a family Jewish since their Willhelm who so much did not have that wall pulled down for him, there is one abstraction she does not and never would do having spoken these emotional words full of empathy.

Sadly.

Instead they define.

#thevaninme #cyberpunkcoltoure

#Mexico

 That is interesting.  

Special Forces Joint Command with CIA Intelligence Officers embedded, can mean a lot, but is actually down to two extremes. 

Delta Force and CIA or Army Military and CIA next to them.

The first might mean the end of Delta Force and the second the end of the CIA. The Drones used successfully against Boko Haram and IS will struggle over Mexican geography and these mixed areas. In the Middle East and Sahara the Terrorists are clear 

aliens and also Saddam's troops were off the average Iraqi. Than, CIA is deeply involved in the drug trade and takes direct responsibility for Mexico being as it is today, which you can literally watch having happened going down how in Netflix Shows, if you can read quick enough for subtitles. Every organization under arms in Mexico is pissed off beyond all limits ever having accured in professional crime about the CIA and their Delta Force. Even the Mexican military would shoot them dead after having fought alongside against a Cartel from behind them if they can just blame someone else.

 

If Big Red One or Marines would be ordered to fight alongside CIA Officers, those would eventually face military interrogation, military court rooms and possibly tribunals to better understand how exactly the intel came along and what the captured Mexican exactly meant in their statements...

 

That is tricky, boyz or in plain English: FUCK YOU CIA!  They get who we missed, Provos IRA. Terrorist Gang Syndicate Networks. You deserve it, traitors. 

 

#undergroundwars 

 

PS: What about holding your fire, taking cover and heading West instead of North?? I am not ego tripping, trust me. 

#Ukraine

 To be honest, they want to attack.

These people there represent those within The West that want to attack Russia with NATO troops directly. I have listened to way too many of those to miss the message inbetween the words. 

I can't tell if they are strong enough in the not that complex West to create a military force that could try. It does not mean having a force that has a realistic chance, it means only having a force these people believe can be victorious.

That means, they need massive investments into the European military and ever more distance from the U.S.A. Most likely will be all nations piling up standard material like tanks, trucks, airplanes and artillery understanding those internally as their elite forces. As soon as they start massive rifle, light machine gun and RPG production they are getting closer to an attack.

 

Most underestimate the potential of militarization in the law and order driven parts of the West, which is the nice and save wording for Germanized which is following orders of an authority over arguing about reason among equals freely in a friendly manner. That is all from those made in Chelsea to the Police Precinct in La Haine. 
 

I am one of.. you know by now. Anyway. The camera man...

 

By now those new elites gave pretty much up on us. We are too renitent, too good in getting away, only go to doctors when being sick and are actually really dangerous if mistreated, beside actually having the law on our side at least in all theory. They won't recruit us and if not try for long.

 

So, the Russians most likely understanding the situation in a comparable way than me just from a different perspective, most likely wont like the idea of that attack and start to sabotage the, most likely, 10 years plan. No matter of peace or continuous war in Ukraine, even so peace would help the West more than Russia piling up military equipment and creating a story about attacking Russia first with its all human rights violations against the poor abused civil population, will Russia do a lot to undermine those efforts.

 

There is a great chance of electric grid failures and car accidents in very specific areas from here on.  

 

That means for us that the Nation will have to pull off more and more forces into those areas to create an early warning system by who lives there to hinder and stop those Underground attacks. 

Basically, within those ten years The West could face a major Ghettoisation and major separation and segregation. Vince won't miss any Gendarme and can handle the rich mid class kids selling drugs among them himself in his area, while both will stay off those some specific areas and most large town centers except for work being in Business Casual.  As soon the war starts the dealers would be in all arms being killed by the Russians. We only have few deadheads around among us. Moral is a bitch of certain kind, so most of us just beat them over and over again.

 

That war would peace down the West a lot... to be honest.

 

Instead, Russia might manage to hinder that great attack by creating a major economic decline and killing the theory heads. 

 

So, who would take on these positions and which way would they march if they try?

Please...

The third way is to push more arms and drugs into the West creating turmoil and complexity through underground operations on the streets and on the floors making life more corrupt, complex, chaotic and unstructured; To stress the problems that would be ended by having a common enemy and glorious goal creating a shadow world of adventure, adrenaline and darkness in absence of simple rules, like Gotham in a Batman movie, instead of a Leni Riefenstahl film where everyone can be a KingPin by just the absence of a clear promotion and career path all in line and order; The Kingdome of Hell all Good can get away from by just leaving those busy with each other while the Evil use being misunderstood for some more scares.

 

#TIE #chieftain #thelastofthenatives

 

The Kingdome of Hell 

here we fight

#undergroundwars 

 

 

...two minutes later...

 

 Death is soft. Ferdinand of Shirach about Near Death Experiences: "I almost bled out to death and it was beautiful"

 

So, when do we learn about Russian rifle ammo and the wounds it causes? Bets!! 

#Marseille

 Let's face it. Many buildings are empty.

Rats always come back to the same places. When they once have had established a nest, they will try to repopulate it. Each population you kill, without erasing the nest, will attract another one to use the nest.

Pulling down the empty buildings won't help. They then just use the remainings or empty site.  

Instead, the buildings and spaces need to find new inhabitants. They need to be populated by others taking the space of those acting sociologically like rats away. 

Franc has a strong Public Garden tradition. Paris is off the Tourist Luxurious spots a prime example of that and Frenchmen will complain first loudly about a running down Public Garden before anything else going wrong in town. 

Pull out all windows, doors and everything that can rot. Strip the buildings down to the rather solid concrete structure and turn them into vertical gardens. Eventually, Paris will copy in a big klimbim happening that creation creating another landmark like the Centre Pompidu or Opera.

They can't copy the harbour... that they should and will.

#TIE

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#TheGermans - Mind Set - Cocaine Use

 Check this to understand what is happening right now.

Until here Cocaine was the "unfair advantage" of those ruling TheGermans. The Reefer was the enemy and the people had Amphetamine varieties.

Now everyone can have that gear and everyone wants it.

Cocaine use creates arrogance that appears to a Amphetamine user as strength. Now everyone can be strong.

The report is one sided showing only the Nazi or German history telling. The 20ies were a time of civll war and constant attacks of the SA.

Most thought that after the devastating defeat in WW1 The Germans would have learned their lesson. Instead they just used ever more drugs and become ever less human.

There were no Prescription Drugs or common laws as such in Central Europe of the 20ies. The Weimarer Republic is explained from a Nazi German perspective until today.

Cocaine was available in Pharmacies, but not in every one. The Germans, before Hanoverans with the Teutonic Order as their stake in the Roman Catholic Church, were a people living among us, Bavarians, Franconians, Prussians and many others.

They were known as labour workers, junkies and thieves. With exchanging Wilhelm they started another 30 years of war like Campaign against the rest of Europeans including rewriting history and turning historic figures into Germans.

An elite on Cocaine and Heroin writes books for its people on Amphetamine. LSD in the 60ies was not helpful and art-shows like the Documenta can be explained by that taking place in a region world wide famous for actually Michelangelo and DaVinci.

Now imagine yourself all sober among them, visibly different, outperforming them in every respect, teaching. them wrong every single opportunity being challenged....

It toughens up a lot.  I can tell you that and creates a dark sarcastic humour over time.

Here we fight. TIE. The Kingdome of Hell 

Give them what they want!!

#jedi

#cyberpunkcoltoure

TIE

 Fate.

Go check who throughout literature told others what their fate was and what those turned it into.

So, who are you telling whats whom's fate is?

Fuck you Zeus, over and over again.

This is Europa! What are we best in!!

#jedi

The War on Drugs - Misconceptions

 The news spread. The Schwurbler are looking past their rim.

They miss that this is normal. Negotiations on Authority are regularly discussed with such means and will continue for the time being The West harbours buyers for Narcotics that can use their position to destroy all other means of trade and income.

Europe is in that respect much worse than the U.S.A and only off Narco Wars by the Atlantic Ocean being more difficult to cross than the Rio Grande.

Crossing the Rio Grande once meant for a true Cowboy Enchiladas, Music, Siesta, Easy Living, Relaxing and letting things go. It meant hospitality and most friendly, nice welcoming hosts.

Today it means a big Crocodile Tear and changing plans, because the much needed Winchester has to stay at home.

We are just waiting for another day, but than move north.

The U.S. can drive out the demand creating humans willing to pay large sums by criminalising nerve toxin use comperable to dealing and legalising recreational soft drugs like Cannabis and Alcohol if not used in a toxic manner. That means being drunk is forbidden, but not alcohol. That means smoking Marijuana is legal, but not procrastinational use.

The Cartels have by now understood that both customers and root cause are in Europe and not in the U.S.A. at home. 

The Cartels did not send their Private Army, as the German from TheSchwurbler fraction put it, they are an Army. Cartels are no Terrorist Gang, they are a Terrorist Army in size and structure and financial resources. They just happen to be capable of the same violent means as IRA Provos or any other Terrorist Gang.

Some even started as us in resistance, unlike U.S. Prison Gangs or Boko Haram.

Comparing them with IS or ISIS is correct.

The trick must be now to persuade them investing their profits into the poor. Into town development, autodidact education, advertising Nothing Sweeter than Clean Money over Living by the Gun. Loving over Gunslinging, into creating an alternative path than the one guarded by Santa Muerte to eventually having defeated those that created the poverty and thereby Narco Death Row path.

From here the boarder to the U.S. will get ever tighter for drugs, Europe therby become ever more attractive. More Sheriff Communities will close down their Boroughs for Hard Drugs and start pushing against neighbouring Using Communities including taking on corrupt FBI and CIA clans.

Some Agents will die during their intimidation attempts triggering ever harder investigations. Just one Vietnam or WW2 Veteran home any close and Military Intelligence has enough justification to keep going overwatch.

No place on earth created more Rebels than my soil.

So, here we fight.

The Bloody Path of God until his Kingdome come.

#noblessoblige

What are you best in Europa!!

TIE

#TheGermans - Mind Set - MBAs

 There are two, and actually three, styles of Management.

This guy represents The German style. The amount of seven coming from the military is more about the weapons needed in a Squat than based on leadership ability. Mist field sports are also about 7 plus minus two with even Soccer having 8 as the minimum to kick off a game as I just recently have learned.

The amount of humans one person can manage is a highly relative number depending on task, skill set of the team members and manager skills.

The German way of leading is most easily understood by looking at a restaurant kitchen. The cooks work on little notes that have the orders and run through then. That mrans in an office that a worker has a shared calender with his manager into which he gets time liens Set by his manager and he enters status updates.

As soon as using a Spreadsheet we are here into KM and my Cyberdeck Nexus can be the AI assistant to the manager overlooking the team members individual and overall progress.

The Spreadsheet is an individual list of needed tasks, action items and time lines. Each successful achieved step is automatically send to the Spreadsheet Dashboard of the Manager or involved team members as much as red flag warnings delaying the task, changing the timeline or completing an action item.

In the German style of Management the Manger then creates usually pressure points on the problem.

The other style is a Manager who awaits his team members being subject matter experts to approach him to fix problems they cannot fix by their position. Which can be buying computer equipment, adding outside resources, pushing other departments to deliver and even scheduling vacation at the right days. In this style the Manager needs more psychological, communication and especially administrative capabilities than subject matter understanding.

The two don't go along well ...

The third one is the one manager giving a fuck being busy social engineering their manager peers... so, you do what you want until being considered for promotion by any of that superiors to that manager. Then they all bite you where it hurts in Corporate World. Corpo P I.Gs. (personally inflicted greedies)

#MIB #cyberpunkcoltoure

Big Boys Club

 Sounds like there is a background discussion about excessive training ongoing.

Some of you BBC get weaker as Corona side effects?

I told you.

Anyway.

Reps into muscle failure, ideally using lowering weights per additional sets and less repetitions when going beyond the normal amount of sets is not for muscle growth, it is for the cardio-muscular system which is in the end of the day heart training.

Some might remember discussions from the 80ies about athletes having larger heart muscles than normal humans and worries that those could lead to early heart attacks about the time everyone could spell all for a sudden Cholesterol when staring at the scrambled eggs with bacon in the mornings .... ?

The less weight training is done to shape a bio-chemical experimental natural reactor laboratory in human form, but for antique old school training, the more important exhaustion becomes in a training plan being an important and super healthy targeted event of reaching the own limits.

For the BBC that means more energy on show stage flexing the muscles by stressing them, which might be in tight rounds that one pitch of salt next to form and mental shape.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#GI I just

 found the very opposite to GIs. There are plenty of German variations out there.

That is the most declined I ever saw.

I was focusing while being busy with CIA and Undergroundwaes onto the militant and corrupt among the Germans.

Hugo Egon Balder was the only Theatre Actor that ever dropped a phrase that stuck with me: Working in a Theatre means to come, check if you play today, play or go home and get payed by the end of the month, but one series of Tutti Frutti for TV means Fame for a lifetime.

It appears that no other subculture has less valor, to me.

#cyberpunkcoltoure #MIB #provos #TIE

The War on Attitude 

Conspiracy Theories

 Monster of Men. 2020. The CIA sends a robot killer team into the Cambodian-Vietnamese Jungle in the area of the Golden Triangle. They move like Body Builders, kill a bunch of hippie tourist doctors and fight against a rougue Navy Seal.

The recent, severe border violence in late 2025 involved Thailand and Cambodia. While Vietnam has historically had tense relations with Thailand, particularly during the 1970s and 1980s, current relations are stable, focusing on economic cooperation and ASEAN, with Vietnam monitoring the Thailand-Cambodia conflict with concern.

CIA??

Are you getting fucked by Clear and Present Danger?

#provos #undergroundwars

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#igotstuck - Mind Set

 So, that is the AfD. They are populists, right wing, patriots ... eventually one day leading governing party in Germany.

Someone said Juda's Son, not Judas Priest, Judassohn:

Yeah, me neither, but anyway, so Doc Google:

Based on the provided search results, "Judassohn" most commonly refers to:
    A Novel by Markus Heitz: Judassohn is the second book in the Kinder des Judas 

       (Children of Judas) trilogy, which is part of the "Pakt der Dunkelheit" (Darkness Pact) 

       urban fantasy series. It follows the story of the vampire Sia.
    Characters in the Novel: In the context of the book, "Judassohn" (Son of Judas) refers to 

      specific vampires, such as Marek Illicz and Rubin, who are barons in the "Cognatio". 
 

Note: The results also mention a character named Jadassohn in Heinrich Mann's "Der Untertan," who is a nationalist with Semitic features, but this is a different spelling than "Judassohn".

That's moments when I do regret for a moment having ignored the Germans all around by also incredible amounts of Marijuana, but they are annoyingly in your face way too often, because I have no clue what they could have meant or talked about. It is not in the Bible.

#cyberpunkcoltoure 

#TIE 

 

Anthropic Vs The Pentagon

 Is that true?

So, Anthropic does not want to allow mass surveillance and autonomous killer machines.

The whole point is that this is a prerequisite for being able to get an AI contract with the U.S. military who is not into mass surveillance, but defence and war fighting using military means. Also, machines cannot have a Rank and therefore may not do life and death decisions. Actually, they may not do any decisions without approval of a dedicated soldier in charge.

That means, that an AI system may automatically drive a vehicle back based on military personal orders, that an AI can refill supplies by sending requests in-between logistics hubs, if given order by a surveying soldier in charge of the task, but it may not do independent decisions by the lack of a rank within the military.

To the opposite, do I wonder if Anthropic can guarantee which levels of security, safety and secrecy for the decision making and answering process from terminals and access points from within the U.S. military to it's Servers.

#MIB The Bureau, not the Brigade.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

PS: Who ever now argues that a soldier can give order to a Terminator to kill, I would like to refer to quality standards within the military. Every weapon system in use needs quality and precision standards. Weapons of mass destruction are in general illegal.

Knowing that AI can fulfill important assistance tasks within the military supporting operational readiness by integration into the administration, why would any Dollar be diverted to knowingly little chance of successfully achieving highest quality standards systems?

The Terminator robot striding through enemy territory would need to be able to destinguish between military and civilian target, understand surrender and false surrender, have perfect enemy or friend separation capability better than a comparable soldier.

I bet they can't turn an RC race drone into a recon AI system outperforming a trained soldier... but will ask for millions in funding to create SkyNet.

#igotstuck

 So, I won't get into a situation like that ever.

I don't look like Dirk Nowitzki. I have a GI jaw line, dark hair, thick stubborn beard hear, wide shoulders, quite some swag walking. I can't hide the Skateboarding, the company I choose, I have a dialect in German and move in English through Cogney, Boston and a tiny pitch of Irish to wear my Baseball Cap deep into the face like a Black New Orleans GI.

I look like the fucking Devil to the German Patriots. Not like the banker Jew or soft Lefty. I look like trouble, like a fight waiting to happen.

My jaw line will be stretched biting my teeth together and when their Fratboys start drunk singing a Nazi song using the British hymn melodie, I start the sailor song "What she'll we do with the drunken sailor" laud like a Shops Crew having my college buddy pull me off the place after HEY HO UP HIM RISING! HEY HANG EM HIGHER.

I state them down. Stay away from them and so do they.

Until their day X 

And that day after my day Y. Finally, the training coming into use. Terror. Bloodshed. Extermination. Getting my last scares heeling that last wound. Fighting Germans like my Grandfathers against their lies to death.

Deadhead against Totenkopfe. Sober against Drugged. Brutal against Brutal.

Just talking with them, I don't have to. Life is Good sometimes.

#noblessoblige #TIE #provos #terrorustgangs #centurion #deadhead

PS: And if that day never comes, we still have to 0 in on your all habit to pay more for Cocaine than Coffee beans. In the War on Attitude ending your shit show, Authority. Day 0, from here or you get an Attitude, yesterday.

#TIE

 Italy and Apes.

Born to be Free. This is Europa!

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Status Update

 Thank you, Cartels. This goes down as expected.

I kid you not, that ends here with a news article that says for real the Police is looking for witnesses about a man who sucked women's boots clean at the Railway station.

That was, as we all have to understand, one man and more than one woman with someone having had to watch telling the Authorities about that based on grammar and statement.

?

You don't walk off forgetting that... minding your business making sure to avoid that place from there on for "I just don't like it" reasons?

#TIE The Kingdome of Hell

#hellskitchenthevalley - Status Update

 Checking the latest pictures of the posh Club, they are down to a remote Mexican Cartel town deep in the Narco areas cooking in oil Barrels... just they don't cook.

The place has unused space for everyone who wants to establish an informal presence right next to the local authority. 

All you have to do is give them orders and enforce them. Who transported Es can deliver Powder ...

Le Terrisage is so bad here, I told you.

The area has potential to become the Cartel switch board and central logistics hub for all of Central Europe for everyone that knows the bribery or bullets game.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Mind Set

Exaggeration is a deeply rooted part of The Germans as such. 

This here...

So, first of all is only the Monarch, today King Charles who is by his full title  "His Majesty Charles the Third, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of His other Realms and Territories King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Fait" the only one who can and may not be sued.

If he wants to kill someone he has to do it himself avoiding legal consequences beyond a tabloid bitching session.

The Germans sound like anyone would expect Andrew now stroll around girls and boys schools offering candy for getting into the dark van, while the worst possible is that next time they ask him into Scotland Yard he is found dead having committed suicide.

Epstein is a huge scandal, but they are no Boko Haram that openly tyranise civilians. They were in many respects a Secret Lodge like system hiding their dark side like P.Diddy did.

There is a much deeper layer to that and that points straight by it's absence of moral to a very specific group within our society.

Abuse of the weaker is a pattern that comes with a very specific mind set, character and attitude.

Around Epstein, the KKK, the Bloody Sunday shooters, German Nazis and celebrity fakes won't be far.

I am telling you in this blogg about the CIA having supported the worst war criminals mankind has seen, how growing up in that Ocean of Lies feels like, that exploitation still exists in the West as logic consequence from all that and that there are some missing information to all the none-sense taught in history by simplifying complexity through idiot minds ruling in all arrogance, intimidation, violence and unquestionable authority against our core values.

Socrates or Plato.

Morgenstern or Bowing.

You give back or we will kill you. You can change history... You have a choice to not let history repeat itself.

We The People. 

#noblessoblige #cyberpunkcoltoure

Nancy

 So, things getting weired, IMHO. We have had a single shooter murdering a CEO downtown, a knocking the door murder of a politician and now a celebrity Mum is kidnapped.

The point is that this is no crime for profit or crime for politics anymore, but a new class that last time got big when LSD and Angel Dust flooded the Mid-Class creating psycho murders like Charles Manson.

The drug used takes it toll, indirectly, but it does.

The War on Drugs Vs The Sober.

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Mind Set

"The group is only as strong as it's weakest part."

Chain.

Only a chain's strength is defined by it's weakest link. In a group the connections between each part balances weak members making the group overall stronger.

That's why U.S. troops win. They leave no one behind, stand up for and carry each other.

There are two kinds of Gangs. Toxic Vs Collaborating.

Surrender is no option. Freedom! Death before Dishonour.

#armystrong 

#51sts

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#thedarkmodernity

 Do you understand, that if that was true it does justify liquidation of the company even today, because it was build based on illicit market behaviour?

Check GE, IBM and the CIA, then which religion they actually belonged to and find the pattern. Prespetyrians, the enemy of Al Capone. Never voted, never elected, but in governmental rule. 

The American Nazi Syndicate against Fun. 

So, is that true?? Than we have to fight for our right to party!! NOW!

#nobkessoblige

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TopG - Mind Set

 So, you hear two guys talking when fishing in a rainy, cold day somewhere in about fucking Scotland looking  like they have a sober out hangover day that they never where in Mykonos and always pay others bills connecting that to a 60.000 Euros party hard bill...

To be honest, that, travelling "incognito" to bloody Mykonos, drugged out all, giggling like two girls from a Nonne School that figured they are lesbians, never saying more than yeah on all Iman shouts, to run off giggling even more having managed to focus the bill sharp against drugs, late night and party lights, does quite sound what happed about a week before the fishing day decision made to be self reflecting about life.

#filthypoor Vs #filthyrich

#cyberpunkcoltoure

#TheGermans - Mind Set

 No Dude. Hitler and the NSDAP got in charge, because everyone did way too much drugs and we sober considered you being handicapped cripples, only.

We all do mistakes.

#noblessoblige

#cyberpunkcoltoure

Big Boys Club

 I say five to six, but this is not about his form which I can't judge. This is from the psychology of Americans in an International arena.

The vid is about the German Alpha Complex or you have to have taken LSD in order to know if Hofmann or Hoffman found that compound in their research. For the German mind, who is way more important than what is said.

Five to six as a maximum position is because of his dedication even moving into the Gym. It's how he communicated his change, that appears to me not having been coordinated with the IFBB leadership, making understandable that it was for the Love of the Lifestyle and out of no other reasons. The point is now how he transforms his image from the ballet dancer to a male alpha humble dedicated bodybuilder. He can not again jump in training an adversery, as much as he can't turn the Love Peace and Harmony Hippi on stage and must prove that he understood the Love definition of the IFBB leadership, which most likely is dedication and competition being fair and humble having only competitors and no adversaries.

The IFBB won't tolerate German dominance, so he is still in competition with Mike Sommerfeld, which is because no one will believe they can handle a double main success after a Snickers and Jump incident. That would be too much in a sport using substances that catapult a male ego for long term long distance trips into the Stratosphere of I.

Cbum was successful, because of his nice guy presence and Jay being able to be the C word in person knew always the limits of criticism expressing, which explains Arnys Moonbase in the Industry singeling him out as second to none just before Hercules the Greek halfgod.

I assume that Us position will be directly connected to Ms, but relative to their presentation of dealing with that fame and status.

If ideally progressing mentally, understanding their perfect form as given, M might shoot first and U fiths...

Snickers and Foodchains...

#MODInc #rockerturff

#cyberpunkcoltoure

...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.