Chapter 0 - Riding in despair

Riding his bike at least twice a week wasn’t just a hobby—it was something much more. At times it was a time for discovering the outside world. With new times came new plains, new rolling hills, and with his greatest of challenges stretching out across an horizon, the mountains would fill his heart in an adrenalized challenging joy. He had rode dividing roads through endless fields of sunflowers to discover by bike the cyclical life on the banks of great rivers. In stark contrast it had also provided an escape from the world into a ritual of sacrificial pain but the payoff was always worth it. Always to be found was something that all should have, a place of solitude and peace. This over the years had risen to a necessity for his existence.

A life crazed by the cruelness of the world, lost by the past and bamboozled by the present good and bad experiences, was always somehow brought back to a balance on two wheels. To think of nothing but the tarmac passing underneath the steadied rhythm of spinning pedals had provided a meditation he always returned to as his refuge. Sometimes it was the flow with the passing wind, working together to release clouded memories and making way for clearer thought. Other times the bike had become the simplest remedy for tragedies in life. A return to oneself that never let him down when searching for his next move on and allowing his mind to wander with the slow releasing all powerful endorphins easing any physical or mental pain.

No matter the memory, deepness and despair found at the base of the valleys, standing somewhere on the horizon was another great mountain to climb. No matter how dark the past or present, there had always been something positive to hold onto. But in today's world all of that has changed. Today he rode for something beyond enjoyment, and the most concerning was what should have plagued his mind, that this ride could so easily be his last. The pretend gods had betrayed him leaving only a knowing of hopelessness, and only ensured on each ride he would challenge the gods to end this madness. The power of a skynets matrix enforced severe head and heart pains and riding had now become a standing ground, a thing they could not take from him, a place of defiance and resistance to its pain.

"My refusal to bend the knee or play the game is supposed to give me your brain tumors, hurry up and bring it on". While the heart gulped and ached he would sometimes shout to the gods, "go on just do it." To push through the head pain almost every time at twice a week took more than he had. And afterwards, the price was for the migraines becoming more severe and always exhausting him to the point of sleep. On today's rides he was further searching the past for something to answer the simple why.

Why was he alive, why had an evil power - manipulative and deceiving had so much control over his paths. Hoping to only reach the outer universes creators and to impossibly bypass the evil's ears he asked questions through a compromised type of chatter. "Yes, at first it was fantastical but now I know it is so impossibly unfair, undeservedly crushing in physical pain. Why had the creator allowed man the power to create such oppressive cruelty and what does this mean for other targeted individuals and so many children of the future", he would ask over and over. "Answer me now", he would yell.

Spiritualities had released all their secrets, he now saw them as the perfect place to hide, like the punchline in any good joke. Religions, meanwhile, never offered any real answers. They came loaded instead with the obvious weight of control and oppression.

Faith hung on the cross, waiting centuries for a messiah who never showed. Meanwhile, torture, stealing, oppression, rape, and contradiction marches on. To him, putting hope in that kind of faith offered nothing and appeared best serving only those who did evil's dirty work, or those who looked away.

The obedient are chosen to start again, exempt from responsibility until their version of God returns. They will not speak out or even question the rewriting of the past. In these weirdest of times the convenience of old stories and text, found under rocks or down a burial cave will arouse no suspicion that religion and spirituality go hand in hand with occult leading.

“For there to be an us, there has to be a them,” he shook his head. Not out of confusion — but because the logic was too clear.

Standing up, his bike is pushed from one side to the other while the quarry stones set into the tarmac gripped to the rubber tyres. Coming over the top of the small hill a black leather chair is standing up on the side of the road. Someone probably not able to afford the expenses of tip charges country tipped their old furniture. The chair was usually lying down beside a standalone wood bookcase that had been roadside for weeks.

Each time he had rode past he would think about how comfortable it might have been on his lower back. He had become accustomed to a very hard bottom computer chair that each time sat in, reminding him of the discomforts of life and just how uncomfortable life had become.

Today it was upright and the smallest of change in the environment had fuelled a little curiosity. In this new world and for good reasons he's grown accustomed to always being suspicious, even of his own curiosity. But for some unknown reason the wonder over the chair he welcomed without fear. "After all what harm could it do" he says while gently squeezing his brakes he swings to the left into the immediate roadside gravel and finally skidding to a stop to muse over the chair.

The chrome swivel base has a bit of rust surrounding and there are small tears in the artificial leather. Despite the signs of wear and tear he ponders in imaginative thought. Those firm and thickly padded sides would curve nicely into my back and only at the perfect height: enforcing a straight posture is probably just what I need. The bottoms padding the same as the sides is so much better than the planked base that I have. But it is a shame we have to put up with this leather imposter material. Just another insidious sign of the hidden emperor's rule. I hear the type of roundtable planning and coming from the end a loud pompous voice says, "Flood them all in the cheapest of material things - this will forever keep them distracted and they will never know the difference or matter."

In the quietness of the countryside day he breaks the silence and asks, "How can I take this home, it's too heavy to strap to me or my bike". The inherit skynet gaslighting had ensured life as an outcast, gaslite by society and humanity he had nobody to turn to for a favor or help so he quietly laughed towards the chair.

"Oh the audacity of a chair I cannot even have, did you chair stand yourself up to tease me, or just as a reminding fact, I am to have nothing I ever want or are you somebody's seconds, also in despair." He Laughs again: the fact he was speaking to a chair was a cause for the laugh to get louder when suddenly the urge to cry about the sadness of it all took over. To overcome his waning emotions he decided on a few words of conviction.

"Oh bugger you chair I shall seek you out in the next life or other dimension. And when I do I will seek you out a brand new, if needed changing you to leather and I shall ensure your steel is properly primed to never let you rust as you are now", he says to the chair while also sliding his rear back onto his bike seat.

Chapter 1 - The Bean

Balancing on one tiptoe he prepares to snap his feet back into the cycle clip pedals. It was an uneven gravel and launching as the tip of one shoe slips off an unstable larger stone sending him sideways over into the grass and down beside the chair. The grass between the road and paddock is at least two foot high and on his back he felt as if hidden from the world. "Darn it I've no more words for you now", he says to the chair and looking straight to the underside he bangs his hand down to attempt his sit up. Catching his eye was a small glinting of something that had shone through the smallest of tear in the underneath upholstery.

"What's this that catches my eye, do you have a secret hiding underneath", he asked the chair. Deciding his inquisition needed an answer he reached up and squeezed a finger between the fabric material. The tip of his index finger is in a void so he pushes harder, ripping the fabric a little more. He squeezes two fingers and fumbles straight into a smooth lumped kidney shaped object. Probing the lumps sides he could feel the edge of a residue tape holding it in place. He quickly reached up with his remaining hand to assist the other in ripping the tear clean across the base of the chair. In full view the large broad bean seed was instantly haunting for many reasons.

Uh, how did you glow and how did you manage to catch my eye swirled in his mind amongst a growing anxiety. The largest of seeds and its significance only he was to know because of a very old memory. For years and as a young boy the memories were unusually vivid. They had repeatedly drifted through his conscious waking or while daydreaming. Broad beans had been a gift from his dying grandfather and second of all time memory from the age of just two. He'd kept the gift in a cardboard box under his bed, regularly pulling them out just to feel them until one day when he was eight they simply vanished.

The disappointment aroused suspicion upon his family, who took them only one or some of them knew and never was to tell. His mind suddenly swamped in questions before an intuition slows everything down. The world paused as he reluctantly forced himself to face the reality of what seemed only certain. The size of the original tear had required for the bean to be placed before the cloth underside was stapled to the bottom. Panic crept in; this was no mistake - this has been planted.

In a past period to life, he was enlightened to all his coincidences, the sudden knowledge on how free will can be manipulated and even stolen was a knowledge in the worst of times is simply best not known. From that moment on life was like riding up the Col Du Tourmalet while forever stuck in the smallest keyring gear. It never gets any easier and there appears no top to rise to when - as if simply arriving by email the new understanding of who and what is pulling strings from behind the veiled curtain.

The most painful revelation came in the form of shame, so surreal and as if delivered from beyond this world. A cruelty forged in steel and branded straight into the undeserved heart had left him with no hope or even for what under the darkest of shame clouds would only feel a blessing, and that was for his memeories to be simply wiped. He had hoped patterns would remain hidden and to never again pick up on signs or clues. Especially those he knew to be planted by the most treacherous kind of human beings, pure evil.

Of the ones that play the game by choice, asked or forced, he thought of all often and from all angles he could imagine. Who choose compliance, even profit, over conscience. Were they scared, happy, or just fundamentally different from him. This understanding he had hoped came before his curtain death.

Some days he believed it was jealousy — the twisted kind that curdles into hatred. Hatred with a smile. And always, his thoughts returned to their mothers.

Maybe they never knew them as friends. Maybe their mothers were cold, witchy, sharp-tongued. Either way, he couldn’t shake the image — their warped loyalty possibly rooted in: a mother who never looked at them with warmth, or the other simple thing and probably the most obvious: was that their mothers did not cook liver and bacon casserole like his. How could they have when it was the world's best.

The once a week meal would always bring him to the point of vomit while a child but when he'd grown older something remarkable happened. It was a reversal so profound and would go on to be the more unimaginable. From a Mother's confessions on how she so hated to cook - sisters tried, others mothers tried, the cafe's of England tried, restaurants of Paris and around the world all tried and none even come close to comparing to his Mothers worlds best liver and bacon casserole. A dish that was once so excruciatingly hard to eat had somehow magically reversed. And with that came a glorious and wonderfulest of discoveries, that his mothers cooking was actually better than she could possibly have imagined. This discovery is what they had also stolen from him with her premature end to life.

An uneasiness of tension fired through his heart with an irregular beat and goose bumps chilled the side of his head and face in response to a sweat trickle. "No way", he muttered before shouting, "No fucking way assholes, I am not playing your games."

As if he'd just finished his first Pyrenees climb an exhaustion filled his body spreading to every limb. The forward arch of his upper back strains before a total collapse. He lay there and just stared while he further sank into a comatose distant state. There were clouds in the sky drifting but he slowly saw nothing. The world dissolved in silence. It was as if time had sped up and stopped all at once, until everything vanished.

Somewhere deep in his consciousness a small bluish dot suddenly appeared. He concentrated on the dot without too much thought until it grew. Slowly at first and like waking from a dream to find your ceiling to be mysteriously painted from white to blue, the growing dot was now the size of a low flying air balloon but appeared a more transparent bubble with blue when he’d suddenly realized it was immediately above in the sky. The large bubble increased quickly before bursting under a pressure and sending out a pulse of electromagnetic charged energy. The pulse in an instance had momentarily flattened the all surrounding reeds. He felt the weight of gravity to the point of being unable to move or breathe. He fought back against the force concentrating on simply moving a finger and there was absolutely nothing abled before release and just as quickly the force was gone.

This was not the first time gravity had flattened him and the most unusual of anomalies had erased all disappointment in finding the bean. The bean together with a paralysing gravity changed everything for reasons he did not in the moment fully understand. He had spent so much time digging in the dirt, yelling at them with insults and assumptions all looking for a reaction of some kind. Always with the intention to get them to show themself. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to call youse….", he reactively yells straight back up into the air before his voice quietly mumbles, "assholes".

First looking one way he scopes the full side of view. From his back he springs to lie on his belly and quickly scopes the full surroundings. The reeds slower to recover are back up standing tall again but not before he'd caught another glimpse of something.

That something had been a little murky through the tops of grass and the dark blur set not far behind the reeds. Instantly sending a spasm of nerves up his spine as he contemplates the blurs possibilities to now provide him with some much needed answers and hopes at last something or someone is finally going to show themselves.

The rolling hills of farmland were all but barron with some green grass and empty seasoned grain fields, some small gatherings of pine trees dotted on fence lines and this a dissecting road.

He buried his face in the reeds with a mind racing in anticipation. "Maybe it was a curiosity of a cow. That's it, a simple curious cow had quietly wandered over to take a look", his thoughts prepared for any coming disappointment. "But this bean, this explosion in the sky and the powerful gravity, are all very unlikely just more coincidences." With the growing anticipation he nervously decides to take a look first pushing with his hands and slowly lifting his head.

Chapter two - Memories

Back home again he contemplates everything they had told while steering down on the bean. Peering into the bean the very old memory again drifts through his mind. The flaky old light blue paint hung from the weathered head of a doorway that passed overhead and into a darkness. Then his hands lit up by a narrow white light. The light full of dust particles streamed through the high elongated window down to the center of the dark room. His small hands dip into the large cardboard box and he could feel the smoothness in the beans while lifting them into the light. He sees random patterns, a camouflaged shiny purple and black as they tumble off each side of his small open hands and back down into the cardboard box.

He knew the memory had never been planted and if it had it would only mean his entire existence of childhood was planted. This was not possible and he wisely assumes it's because this was his own memory which made it all the more visionary and important. The passing on of a secret message from a dying grandfather to his baby grandson. A connection to his grandfather he only wished was a coincidence but something else told him otherwise.

His Grandfather had spent four years in Colditz prisoner of war camp and was it now true that like him he had experienced a world totally different to what the public had been led to believe. And had his grandfather been met with the gaslighting that they do to all who simply knew too much. Because his Grandfather was half native Moari he had a darker skin colour and it never made sense just how he could have survived under the most historically racist known reigns. Did he know of the truth hidden under the skin, did he know the relevance of all seeds in the mind were questions he'd held onto for some time. Now they had been answered if he is to believe them from beyond the reeds.

Chapter one - The Key

Balancing on one tiptoe he prepares to snap his feet back into the cycle clip pedals. It was an uneven gravel and launching as the tip of one shoe slips off an unstable larger stone sending him sideways over into the grass and down beside the chair. The grass between the road and paddock is at least two foot high and on his back he felt as if hidden from the world. "Darn it I've no more words for you now", he says to the chair and looking straight to the underside he bangs his hand down to attempt his sit up. Catching his eye was a small glinting of something that had shone through the smallest of tear in the underneath upholstery.

"What's that chair, are you hiding secrets", he jokingly says and reaching up underneath he squeezes a finger between the fabric material. The tip of his index finger is in a void so he pushes harder, ripping the fabric a little more. He squeezes two fingers and fumbles straight into the object that did not take him too long to recognise as the shape of a large skeleton door key. In his past life as a carpenter he had fitted many types of locks to doors, leaving him with a knowledge and the size of the key only adds to all intrigue, noting instantly it must be very old and no ordinary key. He's quick to reach up with his remaining hand assisting the other to rip the tear larger and exposing into full view the key that had been mask taped to the underside.

The large, well honed metallic bow handle gleamed and the single digit code moulded centre above the barrel was not recognisable as a numeral he knew. An array of questions speed threw his mind before instinctively concentrating on what seemed only curtain. The sizing of the original tear had required for the key to be taped in position before the upholstery covering, meaning this was intentionally placed there. Panic crept in with all notions; this was no finding or mistake.

In a past period to life, he was enlightened to all coincidences, killing all sovereignty over his soul and leaving him with a knowledge of string pullers behind the curtains. To follow was an out of this world type shaming he felt never deserved and was never able to forget. Because of this he'd hoped patterns would forever remain hidden and to never again pick up on signs or clues. A sudden uneasiness of tension grabbed at his heart and mind. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face. "No way", he murmurs before shouting, "Fuck off assholes, no way, I am not playing your games."

Suddenly an enormous gust of wind punches down from the heavens, flattening the reeds in an instant. He's startled into a heightened state of alertness. First looking one way while flipping to his stomach , he coast the grounds making sure to look covering all directions. The blast had been quick and powerful and was gone just as quickly, allowing the reeds to bounce back stiff and upright but not before he again had glimpsed something. That something had been a dark blur set not far behind the reeds of grass and instantly sending a spasm of chills crawling up his spine as he knew the dark object had just now arrived. The rolling hills of farmland fences were all but barron with empty seasoned grain fields, dotted throughout some small gatherings of pine trees and this a dissecting road.

His face buried in the reeds with a mind racing to find another reality. "Maybe it was a curiosity of a cow. That's it, a simple curious cow has just wandered over to take a look". "But this key, this sudden wind, all more coincidences." Nervously he decides to take a look first pushing with his hands and slowly lifting his head.

Chapter two - Memories

Back home again he contemplates everything they had told and looks down upon the key in his hand. The moving images play through his mind.

A mirage heat rises from the quiet deserted roads under the midday Portugal sun. The sky is cloudless and royal blue as he traversed the roads of the hilly range. He comes across a small bridge at the depths of the valley with freshly painted bright yellow sides that in contrast to the day had a cooling effect in his eye.

While crossing the bridge underneath was the dry river bed without any life to be seen. Under the dry scorching heat he’d wondered how many snakes came out of the hills in search of a trickle of water.

He rode the side of the last hill to the range stretching out like a guiding arrow to form the range's peak to the south and the hill breaking off before rising again and the forming of the elongated hill set above the next plains.

It was the sudden finding of a secret, mystery and unknown, just like the suddenness of a memory that comes from nowhere or in a dream, a blindfold is removed and the filling of your eyes is a castle. There were many surprises while riding across vast lands but how the castle was only discovered from its base left him with one of the discoveries of all time while on the bike.

It had high masonry walls that ran down either side of the narrow 100 metre wide hill and at the least was 1.5 km long - amazed he'd never witnessed such a long historic defence wall.

It was always concerning when without lights and where each day might end. This ensured an urgency was needed for each day's ride, leaving time for setting up tents in the more comfortable of places. Although he'd felt the urgency to carry on he could not help himself to ride into its tourist attraction of courtyards.

Upkeep was obviously always kept to the highest masonry standards and as if owned by a royalty. But as suspected after his coincidences revealed it wasn't royalty or another aristocratic family that owned this castle and now this key confirmed it.

That castle for them was a new beginning. A hide out from Catholicism and King Louis II and where those who escaped too, avoiding the trials of heresy. Most had been burned at the stake and formerly known as the Knights Templars.

The few that survived now formed new alliances under the secret society name of The Rosicrucians and joined in partnership with an old connection, the Illuminati. The recent accounts of betrayal by a King and Pope was to make sure they would forever remain out of all enemies' sight and hidden. They had established themselves as if only a rumor and amongst the higher circles if ever accused of being a Rosicrucian a common reply would be, how could i be if you know my name. This cemented a pact that was to resist any Kings or Popes to follow.

Combining resources, architects, lawyers, artists, writers, alchemists, mystics, swordsmen, hedgemen and intelligence they constructed their methods and set about their future plans for a new world order. First up was infiltration of the already established builders of nations Freemasons, gaining complete control of all new developing countries and regions. Back then in the early 14th century it was all up for grabs and their secrecy was the long term assured plan. It was from this very castle they intended to infiltrate every Royal family, governments, churches, banks, institutions and eventual complete control. But what is not known is their fundamental beliefs and how much of the nazi and demonic rumours are true. Who and what are they exactly.

Chapter one - Dark and Light

Balancing on one tiptoe, he prepares to snap his feet back into the cycle clip pedals. The tip of his shoe slips off an unstable larger stone sending him sideways towards the chair. Reaching out with his left hand he tries to rescue his fall but the chair on unstable ground flings away as his other arm desperately grasps back into the thin air. Backwards and down his fall was fast.

The back of helmet misses everything while the base of his skull smashes cleanly at the side of the wood bookcase. The knock shutters inside his skull while sending his consciousness into a world of complete darkness. Out cold he was at first amazed by his presence and ability to think while in all directions he could see only black. Fully aware of what just now happened - he could feel an impregnation of one inch wood that had just cracked the back of his head. In the distance like a star in the darkest of nights, there was a singular speck of light.

Just as soon as he’d spotted the light it grew larger as if heading straight for him. The expansion was gathering in speed while growing larger and larger. Faster and faster as the blinding of the darkness was quickly turning to a blinding light. Just before he is engulphed by the speeding light, he clenched down on his eyelids hard and manages to say to himself, "Oh fuck!".

Opening his eyes his smaller hands are clenched to the side bottom railing of an old railway bridge. He could feel the roughness of old paint and well weathered timber. The roughness supported his grip which also was saving for this moment any unintentional fall.

He looks down to see his feet dangling in the air and far below is the small water hole that needed to be hit clean center. To the immediate sides of the water hole the rocky riverbed boulders are only magnified by the shallow six inch flow and remnants of its seasonal drought.

If the fall was to have any chance of not breaking his legs, a bullseye center is all that would do. In the completeness of the unknown was not only was the hole deep enough to prevent injuries but the correct swing to release or even if he should swing at all. From this height - was he slightly to the left or right, he simply could not tell.

He looks skywards back up to the safety of top and the large bullies face stretches out from a torso that was on hands and knees. His energized head made the veins pop either side of his neck as he shouted over and over, "do it, do it, do it."

On that day he had hung so long it seemed only impossible. He was amazed by how comfortable his hands and arms were settled into the grip without getting tired. The bully grew tired of his own impatience, retreating back across the rail tracks to say to his friend, "Nah, he's not going to do it" waving his hands dismissively back at him.

Again he gets down on his knees as if only desperation was taking over his spirit, "do it, do it, do it", repeats again and again, but this time with less conviction as the previous two times, and this time it sounded as if he was giving up. He stands again, disgruntled and lowering his tone so those below the bridge cannot hear him, he murmurs, "he will never do it, I was so looking forward to him breaking his own legs".

The boy looks down again to see his own friends who paced over the dry rocks of the river's bed floor, as if any excitement of the day had left their spirits leaving each only bored. Breaking a silence R, one of the boys pointed at the small hole and said, “if he lands right there I am sure he will be ok.” W, another picks up a stone and tosses it to center while saying, "no he needs to land right there or his legs are snapped. The remaining of the three J, decides the boy just needed reminding, "come on V, you said you were going to do it."

Dangling meters above he sarcastically whispers downwards, "As if now I have any choice", while nodding his head back to the top.

Chapter three - Loop begins

The light had suddenly withdrawn from his head and back into the distance of the all surrounding darkness. It hovered as if giving him time to just think. His mind begins to race and stacking up one on top of another was a multiplying of questions before taking a deep breath. The pause and deepness felt in his lungs helped him identify the madness of the moment, the unexplained, a territory he was familiar with, so he’d tactically decided to talk to himself.

"Uhm... I've just knocked myself out and there is something weird, something I do not understand happening inside my head", "Ok, I've knocked myself out before, twice now", neither of those times did I have this kind of experience. It all feels so real, here in the dark and it feels as if the timber is still in my hands". Deciding he now needed some answers, "Who and what are you?", he asked.

Expecting the light to answer his simple demand or respond with a signal, a voice and speech was only met with disappointment. A disappointment he was very familiar with. From the first day enlightened to the source of skynet all his outbursts and questions went by either unanswered or in the early days answered by a god's power with multiple reasons that he himself did not want to believe. Each response would bring the same level of confusion and be met with an existential disappointment.

He thought of them as childish, cowardly, and bullying with the things they choose to do to other human beings. He also knew that they might be now in control of this now darkened state and with that the most horrifying thought he decided to pursue his own quest of thought.

"Perhaps this is the end and this is all there is. Ok lets only hope it's not for eternity because man this might get really boring," and a thought arrived and aimed at those who might be listening, " boring has been your specialty has it not". Horrified, rushed back in when he acknowledges his own thoughts returning to them of betrayal. He hated the reality of those not far from his every thought always re-entering his mind. Even in this place of darkness, here they are again occupying my time and mind.

He sits while unable to see his body or the comfortable seat just sat in. "This is so weird, it's if I have a body and this is a chair but I cannot see either", he says while his mind wanders back into that little boy of 7. "Why the bridge, Why where he took a chance to only be the first to leap from that bridge, (well, not leap but drop as it really did seem way too high), and risking so much as my legs", he again acknowledges the unresponsive light with a squinting searching eye’s.

There's a long silence and the light about the size of a star again did nothing."So what is it you want, or what is this place, something, something you must have something. Perhaps it is now you are to give me some answers about my life, you know the life that to me now is as if stolen." Still there was nothing from the light. "What is it I did, why must i endure so much...", he pauses and considers what he is about to say before an outburst quickly rose with an inferno’s force exploding through to his mouth.,"you know what Im going to say, you know, fucking pain".

As if the word initiated the response the light was only waiting for and speeding up to an accelerated speed which to V this time appeared more like a flash. Reactively his eyelids clenched hard.

Chapter four - Entering the time machine

Who did it, I ask myself the question just about every day, every morning when my head is still cloudy the question pops into my head like a brick to the skull.