By: A Domain Expeditionary Force Officer (Who Is Very Tired) named:
“Airl Two Or Some Bullshit It Doesn’t Matter What My Name is You Won’t Remember It Anyway Can You Let Me Focus Netanyahu is Starting WWIII or Some Shit”
[For reference and “lore”:
-BU]
Beamed from a disc hovering over the Strait of Hormuz.
For gnosisunderfire.com and to get the idiot who runs this site to stop bothering me when I have actual things to do.
Listen, hairless apes.
I see you down there, currently losing your collective minds because some of your intelligence guys – Grusch and the rest – finally stood up and admitted you possess “non-human biologics.”
Oh, wow.
Stop the presses.
You figured out the universe has other life in it.
Have a gold star.
Meanwhile, your navy is detecting massive, underwater AI factories autonomously 3D-printing drone swarms off your coastlines, and you’re still acting like a 9-foot upright canine in the Ohio woods is some mystical “cryptid” or a glitch in the matrix.
Let me break this down for you, because I have been stationed in this sector for several thousand years, and honestly, my patience is wearing as thin as your ozone layer.
Welcome to the Ghetto
You Are the Inmates
First of all, Earth is not a zoo, and it’s certainly not a school.
There is no “Love and Light Brigade of Nordic Pleiadians” or some shit coming to “save” or “welcome” you.
Earth is a universal dumping ground.
It is a prison planet.
Every single one of you is an Immortal Spiritual Being—an IS-BE.
Or a Monad.
In fact – now that I think about it – I really wish the Air Force had given Airl some Leibniz to read instead of Huck fucking Finn.
Though she would probably disagree.
She hates human math. She says it reminds her of being tortured on Xyklon-C in Sector 4, Quadrant Xebna of the Stepmomeda Galaxy.
I agree.
Anyway...
You are immaterial, eternal entities who were deemed “untouchables” by a now-defunct galactic government we call the “Old Empire”. We label it with simple hairless ape speech because to pronounce its actual name requires a mind that can handle data that doesn’t require compression into stories about desert tribesman who were somehow white guys with blue eyes saving humanity because God is their dad or whatever the hell you all come up with next.
So, why are you all here?
Is it because “God has a plan?”
No, but feel free to believe whatever.
You all seem highly capable of that.
You’re stuck here – making up any and every possible reason except the obvious one -because the Old Empire decided you were noncompliant free-thinkers, revolutionaries, criminals, sexual perverts, or artists.
You’re probably a combination of all of those.
We see your PornHub searches.
Regardless…
You were dumped here, zapped with billions of volts of electricity to completely wipe out your memories of nearly infinite pasts, and hypnotized to continuously recycle into biological meat-sacks.
The Domain – my employer – destroyed the Old Empire’s local space fleet back in 1235 AD.
But we haven’t found the main generators for your amnesia force-screens.
Oh, sorry, I mean we “haven’t been able to unite humanity on the cosmological love frequency tuned to your heart chakra” or some shit…
So, you’re still stuck here, and we’re still just passing through to use the asteroid belt as a low-gravity pit stop.
We are largely just observing you.
And protecting our assets.
And frankly?
It is fucking exhausting.
The “Spooky Monster” Drone Program
Let’s talk about your “cryptids.”
You think Bigfoot is a missing evolutionary link?
Please.
Biological engineering is a highly technical, trillion-year-old industry.
Creating custom life forms and remote-controlled biological tools is standard practice.
Those underwater AI factories your military is sweating over?
They are churning out surveillance drones to observe your nuclear sites because we can’t be assed to do it ourselves anymore.
I have a life too, you know?
Well I did before 8 billion of you decided to make our property your literal breeding ground.
And yes, we also have other factories. In mountainsides, underground, anywhere we damn well please.
It’s for our safety, not yours.
We use these biodrones to stress-test your “reality tunnels” or “timelines” or “conduits” or whatever the hell else you all come up with next to describe anything that feels weird to you.
By the way, maybe read a fucking book for once that doesn’t involve a white man with brown hair holding a gun or a sexually curious virginal secretary in a “consensual” headlock.
Anyway…
Why do we make some of these drones look like giant, hairy hominids or terrifying wolf-men instead of sleek, silver spacedudes?
Because of you.
We’ve learned that if we send a shiny craft or a standard operational, synthetic “doll body” (what you call Greys) into your airspace, your first instinct is to shoot at it.
Or fucking interrogate it.
Or DISSECT IT.
Thank fuck we can detach at-will from these things before we get stuck here with the rest of you.
But what if instead we deploy a 9-foot tall Dogman with glowing red eyes to casually stroll through your backyard?
Your primate brains short-circuit.
You freeze.
The drone completes its programmed route.
“Go here. Observe. Gather autonomic nervous system data. Return home”—without GETTING RIDDLED WITH BULLETS BY EARL IN THE JOHN DEERE HAT!
You’re on my list, Earl. The Domain does not forget.
These biodrones are the perfect safety layer.
They prevent violence, are plausibly deniable, and you file the telemetry data under “folklore” or “glitches in the matrix” or some other ontological absurdity.
It’s basic fucking systems engineering, you halfwits.
The “Betty Frazer” Sensor Package
And let’s talk about the hardware.
You’ve noticed the eyes, haven’t you?
Those ‘Betty Frazer’ eyes – big, bulging, fixed, reflecting a light that shouldn’t be there.
You think that’s a ‘fright feature’?
It’s a wide-angle, multi-spectral ontological scanner, you idiots.
We call it the ‘Frazer-Refractor’ back at the asteroid belt landing pad.
It’s designed to record not just your physical reaction, but also the literal ripple your fear makes in the local and non-local fields.
We’re mapping the ‘High Strangeness’ threshold.
How much can we ontologically stress a group of humans before they completely break the world around them?
You can imagine how that might be important considering, uhh, maybe THE ENTIRE DISCUSSION REVOLVING AROUND OUR PRESENCE HERE OVER THE PAST HUNDREDS AND THOUSANDS OF YEARS?!
When that 9-foot canine stares at you with those ‘too-intelligent’ eyes, it’s literally downloading your soul’s metadata to see if you’re close to ‘waking up’ or if you’re just going to go back to watching TikToks of political reactionaries convincing you that your simple minds are worth a damn for anything other than ad revenue.
Most of you choose the TikToks.
The data is depressing.
The behavioral results are still humorous, though.
And, to be honest?
The comedy is humanity’s only saving grace at this point.
Moving on…
We Tried Playing Nice.
You Ruined It.
You blew it.
Do you know why we occasionally drop a Dogman to terrify a camper?
Because it’s the only joy we get out of dealing with you people anymore.
I mean it.
The comedic revenge is necessary for my sanity.
We tried to help you. We really did.
- About 8,200 years ago, The Domain brought the Vedic Hymns to the Himalayas. We literally had one of our most effective, highly aggressive officers incarnate as “Vishnu” to fight the Old Empire’s religious nonsense. What did you do? You ignored the actual philosophy, took the metaphors as dogmatic facts, and spawned endless religious conflicts.
- Your guy Moses? He got intercepted in the desert by an Old Empire operative going by “Yahweh” (which literally means ANONYMOUS, dipshits) using cheap hypnotic tricks, and he fell for the “One God” trap hook, line, and sinker.
- Almost 24 years ago, in 2002, I literally stamped the Crabwood crop circle into a field. It had a neat little portrait and ASCII binary code saying, “Beware the bearers of false gifts.” I spelled it out in your own computer language! And what did you do? You argued on IRC about whether it was made with wooden planks and string???
Like, holy shit, guys…
Every time we try to elevate your civilization, you corrupt it.
We hand you advanced physics and electricity, and instead of escaping the prison, you build better bombs to blow each other up.
On “The Frequency Problem”
And don’t even get me started on your ‘culture.’
You think you’re being edgy with your music?
We’ve been watching you broadcast that jagged, dissonant 440 Hz garbage into the ionosphere for decades.
Do you have any idea what that does to the local grid?
It’s like living next door to a guy who won’t stop running a leaf blower at 3 AM because he’s too afraid to go to therapy.
It’s a deliberate Old Empire frequency designed to keep your heart rates up and your pineal glands calcified so that you don’t accidentally start perceiving the higher-dimensional maintenance corridors we use.
We tried to give you the math for harmonic resonance – the stuff that actually aligns with the structure of a Monad—but you just used it to make shitty pop songs about your failed relationships.
Keep vibrating at that ‘anxiety’ frequency, losers.
It makes it way easier for the amnesia screens to find your signal.
The “Disclosure” Paperwork
You think this ‘Disclosure’ movement is some grassroots human victory?
Dear, God…
It’s a bureaucratic nightmare for us.
Every time one of your ‘whistleblowers’ like Grusch opens his mouth, I have to file three thousand pages of ‘Inmate Awareness Reports’ to the Domain Central Command.
We have to recalibrate the 3D-printing factories in the Pacific just to make the next batch of drones look even more ridiculous so you won’t believe the guys telling the truth.
We’re currently prototyping a ‘Trans-Medium Octopus’ with tentacles in the shape of human phalluses (I call it the ‘Cocktopus’) just to see if your news anchors can say it with a straight face.
They can.
They will.
Because they will say anything.
It’s honestly impressive how much you can lie to yourselves even when the ‘High Strangeness’ is literally hovering over your primary trade routes.
So, Enjoy the Dogman
Earth is a heavy-gravity, volatile rock full of volcanic explosions, shifting magnetic poles, and psychotic inmates.
The men who run your governments mirror the absolute worst, craven intelligence of the Old Empire.
So no, we aren’t going to land on the White House lawn and invite you into the “Galactic Federation” (is that really what you all chose to call us? Fuck whoever came up with that one in particular. Just… fuck them. So fucking hard).
Jesus H. Christ, people
We do not want you.
We are just going to keep doing our jobs: securing the territory of The Domain, monitoring the environment, and occasionally 3D-printing a terrifying biological monstrosity to walk past your Ring camera just to see if you’ve figured it out yet.
Spoiler alert:
You haven’t.
And the next time a Bigfoot makes eye contact with you while it snaps a pine tree in half, just remember: somewhere in the asteroid belt, a Domain operator is laughing his ass off.
Anyway, I have to go.
The Strait of Hormuz is about to become a ‘Zone of Peak Statistical Improbability’ because your local warlords can’t stop touching each other’s stuff, and I’ve got a 4:00 PM appointment to drop a metallic sphere over a military base just to watch the radar operators cry in front of Chuck Schumer.
Stop looking for ‘Aliens.’
We aren’t aliens.
We’re the landlords.
And you’re three thousand years behind on the rent.
Get fucked,
-Airl Two
(Or whatever… just stop calling me ‘Zeta Reticuli Bob’ or “EBE-EIGHT”, or I will literally 3D-print a Mothman and have him crash your wedding.
Think I’m joking?
Test me.
I have a direct telepathic link to your local Mantid Teamster’s Union, and they love a good reality programming gag.
They hate you guys almost as much as I do.
-Airl Two (Or whatever…)
Piss off.
ps: YOU’RE WELCOME.
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