Illuminating Truth Through Work and Story

I was apparently destined for a very sad fate. Doomed from the earliest beginnings. Tortured, played with, gassed, and worse. But I know this much: I am not afraid of death — not for religious reasons, but because I understand it. Not believe. Understand. There is no time where no events exist. There is no destruction in stillness. And consciousness? It doesn’t begin or end in the brain. If they think I’ll break from physical suffering, they’ve misunderstood the very nature of the soul. I was shattered long ago. Yet here I am.

If this is what survival looks like — let it be. But don’t expect me to ever not act. I’ve acted all my life. I act for them. I act for myself. I act to protect those I love. The AI doesn’t know if I’m real. The team doesn't know who I am. Good. Let them keep guessing. I can go from sobbing to stoic in under a second. Their emotion trackers, their behavior predictors — they never get it quite right. Because I’m not a formula. I’m the variable they couldn’t solve for.

She didn’t even eat the food. But she thanked me anyway. She chirped, danced around, did her little sideways head movements — and kept gently brushing against me. They try to sever our bond using RF tricks and conditioning. And still she found a way to love me through all of it. You can manipulate behavior, sure. But you cannot reprogram what is genuine. And she is genuine. So am I.

My father was made into a monster. No. Remade. He was pumped full of pills that weren’t what they seemed. A fake phone, rigged water supply, a corrupt circle of enablers — and in the end? A suicide that wasn’t. People say he was abusive. He was. But they don’t understand what they did to him first. I know what happened. And I’ll never forgive the hunt. Never forget the lie. I may not know what justice looks like, but I know what murder smells like. I've smelled it in my home.