Where am I?
This is Hell, Tony.
Thank God.
Really?
Of course. This is where the party is, right?
You could say that.
For years, I've been conducting private experiments on
orphans. Trying to develop antibodies against Heaven. The
results seemed promising, so I've been injecting myself
every morning. You know, whatever works.
We've been looking forward to your arrival.
Good. Can I check into a hotel?
We have a room for you in the fortress. It has a view of the
lake.
Just one room? I'd prefer a suite. How is the room
service? I'll need aides. I want to set up a lab.
You'll spend a great deal of time in a lab, Anthony. As a
subject.
A subject? Of what?
We run experiments around the clock.
For purposes of enhancement? Life extension?
You don't need extension. This is forever.
What then?
We have a schedule for residents. On Mondays, we're doing
high-dose
AZT trials. We're
calculating the rate of body breakdown.
As you know, the
drug stops all cells from replicating.
I helped pioneer the drug. There must be some mistake. I
conduct and organize studies. I don't participate in them as
a volunteer. That would be madness.
The other Monday option is six hours on the rack.
Body-stretching. It's an extreme form of Pilates.
You get one break
for a vegan meal, two shots of wheatgrass, and ten minutes
of chanting led by a failed Hollywood actress in spandex.
Something's wrong.
Maybe you've been wrong.
About what?
Let's see. Where to start? You
helped lead the world into masks,
distancing, lockdowns, economic devastation, a highly toxic
vaccine.
There was a pandemic.
Anthony, there's no need for obfuscation. You're in Hell...
I take the Fifth. There was a plan. I helped carry it
out. I was an administrator. It was my job. I followed
orders.
You profited handsomely.
You have no idea. I made out like
Rockefeller.
We know, Anthony. We're not distracted by limited hangouts
or cover stories.
I have no intention of becoming a subject or a victim.
It's below my rank and status. Talk to
Hillary. Talk to
Bill Gates.
We have a program specifically prepared for Hillary. Bill is
a different story. He's one of our active agents on Earth.
When he finally
makes port here, his arrogant ego bloated beyond all
reasonable standards of propriety, he'll require a step-down
protocol designed by the Marquis.
De Sade?
None other.
This is starting to sound like a nightmare. There HAS to
be a mistake. I deserve my rewards.
Do you have any idea how many I've heard that in this room,
Anthony?
I'm a master of designing protocols and studies. I could
help you.
Now on Tuesdays, we feature a forced march through thriving
soldier-anthills and snake pits in a driving rain.
But Jesus is my Savior.
I doubt that.
Why?
Because you're here, Anthony. The proof of the pudding.
Remember the
studies on orphans in New York, at the Incarnation Center?
The body-ripping AIDS drugs administered by coercion and
force? Through intubation?
Many of those
children died. Your agency funded the studies.
Okay, look, that's why I'm saying I can help you. I know
how to do that work.
On Wednesdays, our residents can opt for a massive breakfast
of methamphetamine, after which they crawl through
dark tunnels and fight it out for access to a room where
attendants are standing by with counteracting injections of
Thorazine.
That's horrible.
You've done worse, Anthony.
But I wasn't on the receiving end.
Giving, receiving. A few of our scholars propose that, in
the larger scheme of things, Hell is merely correcting an
imbalance in Nature.
Talk to
Biden. He'll vouch for me.
Biden? Really? Even if we wanted to, he's
non compos mentis.
Does that mean he's not responsible for his own actions?
He'll go to Heaven?
Good one, Anthony. We like jokes.
Did you hear the one about the rabbi performing brain
surgery on the priest? I've got hundreds of medical
side-splitters. Do you need a court jester? I can dance and
sing.
Oh, you'll dance and sing, Anthony.
Now, Thursday is
straight immersion in the lake of fire. Or you can opt for
being strapped in a chair and sprayed with chemicals that
bring on a whole host of profound respiratory symptoms.
Not being able to
breathe results in some very interesting reactions. While
this is happening to you, you'll be forced to watch news
anchors on television describing these symptoms as caused by
a virus.
For fourteen
hours straight. It's quite delicious.
Again, you're talking about the kind of medical ops I
administer. I can help you refine the parameters.
Our pros, Anthony, have been at this for a very long time.
They know their business, believe me.
I'm Doctor Prestige. The most famous people in the world
come to me for advice, on everything from experimental brain
implants to nose jobs. Wherever I go, I'm celebrated. Feted.
Showered with accolades and applause. Prime ministers want
to kiss my ring.
And you'll reconnect with some of those prime ministers in
the tunnel of meth, scratching and clawing and biting and
ripping your way toward a shot of Thorazine.
I'm having a dream. This is a dream.
That's what everyone thinks. Until they don't. Given your
Catholic upbringing, I'm surprised you're so surprised
by Hell. Think Dante. The Inferno.
One of my Jesuit teachers told me Hell was just a con, a
strategy to control the rubes and yokels.
Never believe
a Jesuit, Anthony. Like the
CIA, they wake up in the morning and they go to sleep at
night lying.
And who are you? Who are you to consign me to a fate
worse than death?
I'm the assistant director of Human Resources. I started out
cleaning the horse stalls for the Riders of the Apocalypse
and worked my way up.
I could work my way up. I'm very diligent. I can fill
vials. Prepare injections. Sweep animal cages. You know,
when I was a child, I wanted to be a door man at a fancy
apartment building, so I could wear a uniform. I could be a
greeter. Hold umbrellas for people in the rain while they're
getting in cabs.
We do have some former researchers who work in cages with
animals.
You see? I could do that.
I wouldn't exactly call it work. We lock the researchers in
cages
with animals they used to torture.
My God. Has anyone ever escaped from here?
There are a few stories. According to legend, Heinrich
Himmler, Reichsführer of the Nazi SS, almost made it in
2005.
He was a few
miles from the Unknown Forest, when he happened upon a group
of gay Jewish men who were organizing a Pride event.
One of the men
recognized him. We might have surveillance video footage in
our archive. I'll see if I can dig it up. Now let me show
you to your room.
As I say, it has
a nice view of the lake…
I have money.
We're cashless.
I have connections. I'll give you their phone numbers.
Don't be silly. We're bloated with connections.
I'll give you my honor. Or dishonor. I'll give you my
soul.
You're here, Anthony. We have you. Whole. Sliced and diced.
Every which way.
Now come with me.
It's a short boat ride to the Fortress along the river of
ammonia.
Don't forget to
put on your mask. I'd recommend two.
