Poor More Years

Begin notes: 27.01.2075, offline :

It seems humans cared for the intent of natural selection after all. The creature comforts of sport, gambling, exuberant gatherings, incidental encounters or significant confrontations were too long absent and after the idea that initially I considered too far-fetched for anyone to take seriously – things finally became interesting.

Back in 2024-25 there was a global concern regarding re-infection from the coronavirus SARS cov-2 called Covid-19, primarily it’s earnest mutation Covid-24. C-24 was a lung-stopper. Literally.

Misinformation from conspiracy whack-jobs and lacklustre information from presumably trusted news sources overwhelmed the populous to exasperation. As C-24 moved easily through the spectrums of wealth and skin tone, time weighed increasingly heavy on the isolated. C-24’s second merciless variation during the later months of 2024 consolidated global desperation. Decisive action was needed.

Pause iTelepathy

The waitperson arrives with order pad and pen poised. A cloud of impatience arrives soon after. I secretly revel in the atmosphere. “Tea, English Breakfast, thank you.”

"Milk?”

“I take my tea like I take my neo-nazi supremacists.”

The waitperson’s eyes don’t leave the order pad. “Sugar?”

“No thanks, honey-bun.”

The waitperson switches off the lamp inside their mask and hovers away.

Resume notes :

The chiselling away of bio resistance for centuries by doctors with their so-called ‘cures’ and an exponentially increasing number of germ-a-phobes resulted in declining effectiveness of the white blood cell. The inconvenient virus would always be with us if we merely undertook preventative measures. One manner to eliminate C-24+ entirely was to implement an ‘all or nothing’ technique.

Upon implementation of the ‘suggestion’ populaces stampeded to reignite obsessions with scant regard for the health capacity of others or, indeed, themselves.

Pause notes

The waitperson returns with my tea. The light switched off in their mask. On purpose I think. They may recognise me. As do the couple in booth 7. I grapple around in my administration-issue jute sack. “Thank you. Do you require me to…”

The waitperson flicks the light on in their mask revealing bloodshot eyes staring straight at me. “No.” The waitperson raises a spray bottle of malodorous administration-issue disinfectant, squeezes the trigger three times over my head, flicks off their mask light and hovers off.

These administration outdoor café booths have glass walls to separate customers but no roof cover so as to partially give the feeling of being in the exterior. My Credphone-16 beeps twice. 6.58pm. I am not usually outside past 6.30pm but my meeting with the new arrivals is running slightly behind schedule. Movement outside an airtight structure is forbidden until 7.15pm. Without breathing protection, it is fatal. I take my face-mask from my bag and secure it firmly.

I glance skyward and observe the nightly drone formation pass low overhead to disinfect the area. A fine, sulphur-coloured mist falls slowly. Almost hovering.

There is a commotion as one of the occupants in booth 7 struggles at the side of their mask, screaming with panic. Their companion tries to assist then stops. It is too late. The victim’s arms go limp as they convulse and vomit. Their companion shrieks and begins crying. The corpse falls forward and the blood-filled mask slams on the table. Blood shoots out of the leak in the mask, hitting the glass that divides us and contaminating their booth. I lean back slightly to see around the red spatter. The victim’s companion looks at me helplessly. Booth 7’s floor slowly descends with the two occupants. When they are out of sight a blast of near-frozen air is blown into the booth from beneath, crystallising the bloodstain.

The person in booth 8 rises and walks to my booth door. The green shirt denotes ‘new arrival’. I press the button at the hub of my table, the door slides open. She steps in and sits as the door closes. She wears no mask. New arrivals don’t have to.

She smiles slightly. “Looks stuffy in that thing.”

“More than I like,” I yell inside my mask. The eyeglass fogs embarrassingly.

“Only a few more minutes,” she says.

We sit in silence. The eyeglass clears enough for me to see her looking at the solidified bloodstain in the next booth. She sighs briefly with urbane empathy and catches me watching. My Credphone-16 beeps 7.15pm, signalling the disinfectant has become benign. I try to remove my mask with dignity but gouge the clip in my nostril, nearly pull off my ear with the strap then fumble the mask into my cup and saucer quite loudly.

Behind her mid-twenties, smooth yet stern face I perceive her internally shaking her head. “Real shame about the masked avenger.” She gestures toward booth 7 and stares at me unwavering, not blinking.

They never blink.

“He wouldn’t have suffered despite the physical display. My name is Vorsklatamonov.”

I check my notes. “Really? I haven’t been…”

“It’s Jane. How long does this take?”

Jane. At least they’re moving away from biblical references. When the program started an unimaginative narcissist insisted on calling all the female subjects, Eve. “About two minutes.” I scroll my Credphone-16 screen to the specific transmission. “Who are you currently?”

Jane straightens her posture. “Thirty percent Thatcher, thirty percent Eichmann and thirty percent Aretha Franklin – whoever that is?”

“Yes, they do random inserts like that in case a ‘party trick’ will ingratiate you in potentially uncomfortable surroundings. You sing, I suppose?”

“Quite well. Can I ask who is the other ten percent?”

I look up from my notes. I don’t get asked that question often enough. “That’s you, Jane, no one else. It’s the ten percent they can’t touch. Without it you would never have agreed to this. That and a bit of r-e-s-p-e-c-t.”

Jane’s eyes tighten slightly. “Pardon?”

“Never mind.” I receive the encrypted go ahead on my Credphone-16. “Okay. I’m ready for the disposition relay.”

She fortifies herself. “Who will I become?”

I only have forty seconds to transmit. “I’m sorry you have had to be uninformed until now. We avoid as much information traffic as necessary. Twenty-five percent Merkel, twenty-five Curie and, are you happy with Aretha?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Twenty-five Aretha, and most importantly twenty-five percent Jane. You. You will be more than double what you know yourself to be. Your guides are valorous. Your path is clear.”

She nods. I press the arrow on my Credphone-16 screen. The arrow fades and disappears. An exhilarating confidence supersedes Jane’s steely expression.

I smile and test a new tag line. “All the way with DNA.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“May I see that heart-shaped locket you’re wearing?”

Jane leans forward and pushes the trinket toward me with the back of her hand. “I’ve had this for as long as I can remember.”

“Yes.” I place a tiny undetectable film on the back of the locket. “I know.”

She is mildly impressed with the transmitter’s imperceptibility. “I best get back before inventory. If we don’t meet again, good luck.”

The new Jane hums something familiar as she exits the booth. I once again un-pause iTelepathy. But you already know that.

Resume notes:

Beyond the dreams of deities, the greatest leveller in bipod existence, a disease, which under different historically developmental circumstances could have been ‘love’, needed mitigation. Hence.

Attach communiqué archive #110525_

Open Letter to World Leaders (sans USA)

Prof Stanley Clear, PhD, DUI, OCD

Harvard Medical School (Economics), Johns Hopkins (Immunology)

Suggestion and Reasoning for Herd Immunity re Covid-24+

I trust this letter finds you physically and mentally robust. I humbly intrude on your busy schedules and implore you to consider this ‘suggestion’ with unavoidable seriousness and haste.

In light of subsequent translation issues: a detailed and multilingual layout of this suggestion can be viewed at www.strengthinsharing.org

As we now realise – the US vaccine mutation that created C-24+ has left few choices for administrations clinging to outdated anticipatory regulation. With President Trump Jnr’s cocaine-incited deadline closing for the release of an untested second vaccine, judicious action is vital to defend us from certain catastrophe.

The fall of NASDAQ and NYSE only several months ago turned out merely to be a US financial crisis (USFC). The resulting economic cooperation and sudden abandonment of radically differing religious ideologies from non-US countries is more than just proof of coherent action – it is evidence of a base survival instinct: the inherent tendency that sacrifices an appendage to save the body. And the United States is, at this crucial time, the gangrenous attachment.

Trusted conclusions from high-ranking global scientific authorities, based on the forthcoming vaccine’s composition (see website), expect the outcome to terminate human life on a near total scale from not only the new virus itself but the domino effects of famine and violence that we have barely clawed our way back from after the second wave of C-24+. Intercontinental citizenry convictions have altered in alignment with the shock of world population being decimated from 7.8 to 2 billion.

I now believe the only measure is to embrace biological evolution.

It is critical the machinations, once they begin, be finalised in less than a month, preferably 2-3 weeks, to stem any radical mutations we know C-24 to be capable of. Details of the C-24+ herd immunity ‘suggestion’ workable at all social levels will be available for secure access on the website only when a formal and binding agreement from all countries, sans US, is reached forthwith.

Details now available on the website include economic, ethical, moral and legal technicalities as well as extrapolations of action and inaction. www.strengthinsharing.org

Extraordinary times call for exceptional measures.

For the sake of continued existence, I steadfastly await your response,

Professor Stanley Clear, WTF, IBS, MSG

November 5, 202 5

Continue notes :

The ‘suggestion’ was completed with purpose and gusto in the first 3 weeks of February 2026. Historical accounts vary wildly but safe to say the survivors felt relief akin to successfully enduring earthquakes, typhoons, large meteors and daily office conferences. We lost another 700 million.

There were of course the knock-on effects that come with immediate gargantuan death rates and in the mire of despondency zealots pounced. Manifestos corralled the needy. Fanatical purism bloomed.

Departments were instigated to establish a licensing system for reproduction based on health and IQ. The system soon became unworkable given human nature’s zest for choice and promiscuity. Radical genetically modified laboratory offspring replaced orderly procreation.

DNA samples, readily available from years of Covid testing, were used overtly and resulted in gruesome chromosome cocktails. Genetic experimental muscle exaggerations of brains, biceps, calves, six-packs and glutes weigh down the unfortunate subjects disproportionately, eventually to immobility. Some cause trouble. Some go mad. And some, against all likelihood, are helpful.

A few brilliant yet narrow minded brain-freaks took the opportunity to start accelerated genetic engineering programs to adjust a newborn’s DNA – character and intelligence only – by administering ‘conservative profiles of dubious choice’ with customised 5G waves.

One thing you can say about delusional extremists – they’re very organised.

Beyond this, resistance simmered. It gained momentum and members committed to defending human rights and free choice.

You know, causing the usual trouble.

And credit must be given to the several sympathetic brain-freaks without whom our retaliatory character-readjustment would not be possible. The early meetings with the brain-freaks were confronting in not just the concepts of retaliation for foetal interference, but also with their appearance. As modified babies and children, their skulls had not enlarged in harmony with their enhancing encephalon. The three representatives chairing these conferences each sustained startling peculiarities. Cerebrum had protruded from cranial orifices rendering one blind, one deaf, and one unable to speak. As a result and a necessity, they had pioneered human telepathy; this made note taking much easier as we didn’t have to take any notes – important information was directed at our prefrontal cortex.

Pause notes

A strapping fellow with a stately demeanour walks toward my booth. He stops at the door. “I’m looking for a Professor Clear?”

“Come in and take a seat, we’ll have you fixed up in no time… Tarzan?”

“Dick.”