Inner City London, 2009
Some will call me insane, others sociopathic or psychopathic, other, more learned men may identify me as being schizophrenic, but they would be wrong; enlightenment is not insanity. Oh God, God, how weary I find myself after having talked to these sycophantic doctors and physicians who only wish to help me, as if they have the means to assist me in my task. None can assist me, least of all a human.
But this is not about them - this is the tale of how I worked to complete the glorious vision granted to me: a vision of glory, power and honour. To be the one to change the world, to bring the human race into the future - what greater honour could be laid upon one’s shoulders. I would have left my mark in history, if only they had not stood in my way.
It began February 24th 2009 - the first time my vision appeared to me. I watched, as before me spread a wasteland reaching as far as I could see, bodies littering the ground in various states of ruin, spread in such a manner that they formed a work of art of beauty unimaginable to those whose minds are clouded by morality. Then the voice spoke, words of such glory that have not been heard since the masterful speeches of Adolf Hitler, the former chosen one that my Lord appeared before to bring about the new age of humanity - an age unrestricted by morality and ethics. It was difficult at times when the desired changes never came, and again and again I have to strengthen my resolve to continue the struggle, to continue to hold my loyalty, to give in, and to obey My Lord.
As the days pass I work towards my goal, struggling against the laws of men and morality. The main issue I faced was that, while I had seen my final goal, I had no thoughts as to how I would accomplish this. So I gathered resources, studied bomb making and gun operation, stocking up both mentally and physically for the coming revolution to bring about the new age. I began placing subtle hints in ads in local newspapers and magazines, looking for those who would understand, but ensuring that I would not alert those who would wish to harm my attempts at bringing the new age. I built an underground bunker where I would orchestrate the ascension into the new age.
Finally, I have seen the path; My Lord came to me again, April 15th 2009, the second of my visions. It is clear - I must bring together like minded brothers, those touched by My Lord, those who share my dreams of the new age. The locations are clear in my mind: Broadmoor, Ashworth, Rampton and Carstairs. The time has come - Broadmoor first. The journey has truly begun.
I pull up across the road from the front gates: the first step of any good plan is observation - discover the patterns of the prey, form your concepts around that pattern, and then strike. I watched shift changes at 11am, 2pm, 5pm and so on, every three hours. One of the guards covering the 2am to 5am shift would turn to the left to leave when all the other guards would turn right - he was my mark, he was my way inside.
It is 450am, April 24th 2009 - I’m waiting for the guards to change shift. All my equipment is readied for this occasion; knife sharpened, gun loaded, face obscured and clean up kit is prepared. There he is. I get out of my car and begin to slowly follow him at a distance. I close the distance between us slowly but steadily, making my way towards him from behind. I pull the knife from my pocket and flip the blade out. Crouching quickly as I continue to make up the distance, I take a pebble off the ground, taking aim, I toss it at the back of his head. As it flies through the air I begin to run as silently as I can. The stone finds its mark. He begins to turn. As he faces me and opens his mouth, I shove my left hand into his mouth and ram the knife into his trachea, silencing his cries before he has a chance to express them, quickly moving my left hand under his throat to prevent the blood from getting on his uniform. I quickly strip the guard of his clothes and everything either in his pockets or on his person. Finding his guard I.D. I discover who was the first cleansed in the journey to the new age - Matthew McGransom, 29. I wish him luck in his next life and hope that he won’t spend too much time among the damned. I dump the now useless corpse over the side of the bridge and burn the gloves I was wearing. Having thrown the ashes downwind, I return to my car.
Part one of my plan complete, I move onto part two - infiltration. I walk towards the front gate, former guard Matthew’s uniform on and his I.D. in place. Keeping my face hidden from any lurking cameras, I place the I.D. against the panel that checks for authenticity. Having confirmed that the I.D. is real, I walk through the gate, one hand in my jacket pocket clutching my gun, on the lookout for any real guards. No one could be allowed to stop me this close to completion.
Footsteps, that’s what I remembered. Turning on my heel as fast as I could, I fire off a round, striking the guard in the chest and ensuring that he would never stand up again. The noise from the gun is unimaginable - I hadn’t factored this into my plan. It must have awoken every inmate on this level and maybe even the levels above. I hear shouts. I fire off more rounds, this time at the movements coming round the corner. I didn’t notice the guard coming from behind me - that is, until he struck the back of my head with his baton. Falling to the floor stunned, I notice the guard picking up the gun from where I dropped it, turning the barrel so that it’s facing my stomach, he moves his finger to the trigger. I can see him mentally preparing himself, the struggle between vengeance and morality; even in this moment of vulnerability, human morals amuse me. His face turns to a snarl, he pulls the trigger, “you bastard” - the last thing I hear before oblivion takes me.
Day, unknown, time, unknown, I wake. Bandages wrapped across my torso, hands chained to the side of my bed. The man seated beside my bed notices that I’m waking. “Now Peter, may I call you Peter? Why did you do it? Why did you break in and kill those people?” He asked.
“No, no, you can’t call me Peter, I don’t answer to that name anymore, I am the Bringer, and it is my duty to bring about the new age of humanity.” I respond.
“Peter, I’m shocked, that doesn’t sound like a very good reason to kill those people, please Peter I just want to help you.”
I decide not to answer.
“Please Peter, I’m here for you, not for me, the government wants to lock you up, I just want what is best for you.”
“My Lord commands me and I do his will. Broadmoor’s inmates will rise and do his bidding.” The man looks shocked, and moves his hand to a button that I hadn’t noticed. As soon as he presses it, I feel a foreign substance flow through my veins. As I feel myself returning to oblivion, I hear the man who was talking to me conversing with someone else.
“No, I’m afraid that he can’t be helped. We have no other options - he must be kept here, highest security level possible. I only wish we could help him.” Inwardly I laugh. I’m here - the time has come. I must convince the inmates to rise.
Comforted by this thought, I embrace oblivion.
ns 15.158.61.41da2
