### ATTENTION ###
### Sunny weather asdfsewffFFF ###
### This document has been censored ###
The gibberish that both was at the start of the first document and the second document was just the weather forecast and a pretty picture. Today’s photo is a sexy couple doing something sexy on a beach somewhere warm.
I meanwhile am tied to a chair and have been punched so hard in the face that it is broken and I have fallen over. Lucky for me, I feel no pain, thanks to a necromantic science experiment.
I’ve got a feeling these guys have no idea that I’ve been semi-mummified. They are not buying my story that I was in a coffin and that I joined the party as a guest of honour. My name was not on the guest list and I have apparently been dead for two years.
“Somebody get this guy a spider. I don’t have time for this bullshit,” somebody else commands.
If only you knew. Maybe you do.
“SIR!” somebody yells unexpectedly. “THEY’VE ALL ESCAPED!”
Somebody addresses me. “I apologize for breaking your face and I’m sorry that we were just about to spider torture you but it’s time to put that shit in the past,” to me says this person, whose rank I cannot identify. It is not a rank that I have ever seen on a uniform that to me in unfamiliar.
The ranked person continues, “because we’ve got bigger problems. If I untie you, you must agree to work with us as a team to defeat the spiders and we will let you go and cancel the interrogation if you do a good job. This is life or death by agony. What’s it going to be?”
I could agree to join forces just this one time but I do not know if they are ally or enemy. If they are enemy, I could be charged for treason based on this action.
Anybody who dares classify my decision as a criminal offence has never had to in their lifetime interact with dozens of conjoined spider twins who know how to walk, run and do a bunch of other things the likes of which only a conjoined spider twin is capable.
Maybe you’re used to it but I’m certainly not. I’m just a lowly military prisoner and I was just doing my time to pay my debt to the army so that I could return to duty at my unit with a second chance.
Now I am tied to a chair and seeing horizontal through a broken face and with the serious notion of conjoined spider twins in my immediate future. I do not want conjoined spider twins in any of my future.
I ask, “who are you?”
They reply, “you don’t need to know. Are you in or out?”
The hungry conjoined spider twins have no problem with eating me alive in it’s hungry mouth that’s got four pincers.
I agree to the deal.
A soldier immediately rights my chair and unties me using a knife. The ropes are free and I get up. This person not long ago punched me in the face and broke my cheek. It is tempting to return the favour but there are more pressing matters at hand.
“Take that position,” to me says the same soldier who offers me a weapon.
“If you use this weapon to fuck us over, there will be terrible consequences for you. Is that clear, prisoner?” to me says the soldier.
I understand.
“Furthermore, you will return this weapon if you live to tell the tale,” the person adds.
We’ll see about that. Maybe I will be the only person who lives and there will be nobody alive to accept this weapon. Either way, I am armed to fight conjoined spider twins. I am not in the best of conditions lately. I hope I have what it takes to get out of this situation favourably.
The door rattles. The door is where you would expect to see a door and it is rattling. It rattles some more and we are ordered to kill every spider on sight.
I’m sure there’s a hippie out there saying “chill out man, maybe they’re pacifist spiders and they only want to say hello?”
The door begins to crack at the centre. Something is about to open a hole in the centre of the door.
“Maybe they just want to apologize for the ignorant way in which their colleagues tried to eat you!” a hippie is suggesting.
I disagree with this hippie but I won’t hold it against you should you happen to agree with the hippie. It doesn’t matter anyway - it’s me who actually has to deal with this double spider balderdash and me with the final say.
The door’s centre crumbles and in scuttle six at-a-time double spiders who for a spider reason are extremely pissed off and they are attacking everyone in sight in double spider mayhem. They are moving gracefully along ceiling, floor and wall.
I give my best shot and try to kill every spider in any way I can think of. They are each the pattern of an ugly sofa and there are a dozen of them. They are shrieking high frequency spider screeching as they become mercilessly killed by some of the soldiers. Some of the soldiers are not lucky enough to escape the spiders pounce and they are eaten alive to the very last scream.
I go for the eyes and brains and live to see another day. I regret nothing. I have a recurring nightmare wherein I am reading a sacred religious text from thousands of years ago and the text reads: “hell is where every arachnid, bug or insect that you ever killed has been breeding since the moment you killed it and there you are.”
If hell is full of those things, I will be very fucked in the afterlife.
Whenever it is my time, I don’t know if there will even be an afterlife but I’m wrong about so many things in life I am surely also wrong about death. We’ll see.
Either way, I have killed a double spider. It was the shape of two medium sized dogs arguing over a basketball. Another double spider tries to kill another soldier but I take my chance and kill it first. It puts up a struggle and lunges at me in retaliation but it is too late - it becomes weak and exhausted beyond movement so that it can’t attack me and it dies.
The floor is littered with double spider carcasses and soldiers corpses alike. Were I not armed, I would surely become eaten alive and I might learn once and for all if the consciousness is capable of outliving the physical form.
Some of the spiders hide among the corpses and attack you when you least expect. Lucky for me, I feel no pain as a gigantic double spider tries to trip me in a double spider web only I kill it by accident. It drops dead, almost certainly not pretending. I’m such a badass.
It goes on like that for a while and we win in the end.
“Sir, the building is clear, permission to carry on,” somebody says.
“Carry on,” is the reply.
[ time passes ]
True to their word, the soldiers see that I am returned to my nation’s nearest publicly known unit.
“Name and service number,” a secretary asks.
I provide said information the secretary calls the military police. According to the records, I died two years ago.
I guess the security level of this operation is so high that few know that it was a top rank who organized my participation in this series of shenanigans. The military police this entire time have thought I had ingeniously escaped and they never ever expected to see me again so they had me legally declared dead to cover their tracks. Some of them recognize me. They are very pissed to see me.
“I got charged because of you,” says to me a military police soldier. “I’m going to go out of my way to making sure that they give you a fucking long sentence back in military prison.”
“They charged me too,” says another mp. “They called me a moron. Who’s the moron now, moron?”
[ time passes ]
… and I’m back in military prison. It is sunday schedule so I get some computer time, then I have to set up an inspection in exchange for the privilege of being allowed to go to bed.
In basic training, the set up would have taken me and my fire team partner at least two hours to set up and then we would have slept on the floor because that’s how difficult a layout it is. In military prison, I am given ten minutes minus the time it takes to perform twenty five jumping jack mountain climber burpees. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the rest.
Unless you screw up catastrophically, you eventually get to sleep in your bed and then six days to go before sunday.
What has become of all the necromantic scientific research now that its chief architects are dead? Is research into necromantic science still being conducted? Will I die a normal type death like other people or has my life been prolonged? Will I die in military prison? I don’t have the answer to answer of these questions.
to summarize :
I don’t know who censored me. Nor do I know why. People asked me questions about it and now they’re all dead.
The mysteriously dressed soldiers spared me a torture sequence in exchange for assisting them in a battle against double spiders. I lent a hand, we won, and they returned me to my nation’s nearest unit where I was immediately arrested for awol and for unlawful escaping from a military detention facility.
They found me guilty and I am back in military prison. I don’t know what the future holds for me.
Oh yeah, the gibberish at the bottom is tomorrow’s weather with a picture. This picture is of a sexy couple on a fabulous yacht doing fabulous sexy couple yacht things. I meanwhile am in military prison.
I hope you are well.
### hio34r3h4r with sunny skies and clear chance of small breezes. ###
### DOCUMENT ENDS ###