Unformed bodies can be extracted intact and grown in incubators. That is what SFK Syndicate does. They aren't listed as an actual company. Instead, SFK is privately owned and invests in a variety of organic, medical and packaging companies - as well as politics.
I will be silenced, because my story is true. You are not allowed to know the truth. Be careful, dear reader, because the truth is offensive to the hissing censors, squinting at my words and finding them to be 'controversial', although I swear not one word of this is open for debate. There's no argument here, just the deadly facts.
My investigation began when I found out the cold hard truth about American legislature. All those grinning politicians telling us about a body's rights believe only in the money SFK pays them. This is not my opinion, this is a fact I will demonstrate, as well as the horrors that it led me to.
Nothing but fear was in my hands, I had no proof. I knew too much and could not prove any of it. I needed to accumulate terrifying facts, solve a fatal riddle.
Despite my fears, against the terror, I went forth.
I worked for the FEC for eighteen years. I spent a lot of time connecting money to political causes and confirming the legitimacy of a politician's views and who backed them financially. That is how I found enough discrepancies between Chosen politicians and their money to dig too deep. I no longer work for the FEC, the Syndicate had enough power to have me fired.
Read no further. I cannot protect you from dangerous information. Perhaps someone set fire to this work. I will be removed: I cannot fear for you. You will never know the truth that is out there.
In the interest of survival, after learning how dangerous the Syndicate was, I wrote this as a fictionalized version of what actually happened. The story is true.
After I had lost my job, I went home and found my house burning down.
I trembled in mortal dread. I was to become hunted and persecuted. I would be defamed, discredited and destroyed. I was watching death, my home burning, a reaper dancing in the flames.
I realized that it was the first step in getting rid of me. Homeless and unemployed I would be an easy target for assassination. I wouldn't even be missed.
All my money was withdrawn and put in cash in the seats of my car. I had to survive long enough to find some way to tell everyone what I had learned. I also needed help publishing my story, newspapers and magazines would not accept my writing. I eventually sent my notes to a ghost writer. It is likely that by the time you read this I will be hunted down and silenced permanently.
I was always paranoid, looking over my shoulder, noticing each glance and greeting as a potential threat. I could not rest until I had enough proof of what I had learned. I knew that the SFK Syndicate existed, had traced their money to a variety of politicians that were merely smiling flesh puppets. I was their primary prey. I was afraid.
At the organic foods market, wandering around, I noted the various metabolizer mixtures. I had found that the money invested in them was sponsored by SFK. It is not too different from providing cattle with certain grains and grasses to ensure the quality of the meat.
I shivered, afraid to connect the dots. My skill at forming big pictures from small details was working against me. My mind betrayed me and jumped to conclusions I did not want to acknowledge.
I had a number of places to go, I just wanted to take a random survey of the feed products. They were only a very small part of my investigation, but I was having trouble solving the big picture. It was, at that time, too big for me.
At the wastewater treatment facility, I found some public records of chemical compositions from samples. I was able to write down all the details I needed to ask about. Then I got a phonecall appointment with a university professor of Biochemistry and asked what the findings indicated.
"Are you talking about pork hormones?" The professor asked, sounding intrigued.
"These were from wastewater samples. They have to provide the composition to be licensed to produce a Tagro." I explained.
"Those results don't make sense. Maybe it indicates contamination from a meat packaging facility. Some kind of pollution." The professor sounded like they were saying such words for their own ease. I felt a chill creeping into me.
I went around from city to city, wherever Tagro was being produced and the results of chemical analysis was available without restrictions. Everywhere I went the results were the same. I asked:
"Did you know these results are routine? I have found them everywhere."
The sanitation administrator I questioned didn't see any problem. Not until I mentioned:
"These are not naturally occurring in the human body or anything we eat. Don't you find that to be strange?"
"Not really, there's all kinds of preservatives and crap in the poop." They chuckled at my concern.
"These isotopes are a match for those found in organic food." I frowned. They said nothing. I left.
I went to the grocery store next and discovered more foods I knew to be modified by SFK. The chemicals there were obsequious, could be found caked on the bowls of public restrooms. I didn't have to visit any more wastewater treatment facilities; I had my answer.
I was afraid, very afraid. I felt like they could find me at any moment, follow me, remove me. I had already learned too much, and they knew all about me.
The pocket politicians financed by SFK were invariably Chosen. Alone, that fact meant nothing. What had originally bothered me was that most of them only became active defenders of the law and opposition to surveys and restrictions after they were given money to do so. That was also not a strange fact, but it was the sort of anomaly that warranted an investigation by the FEC. It is the purpose of the FEC to investigate any kind of money that is buying power.
They had bought a lot of power; they owned the government and the media. It would be a miracle, for example, if this story ever saw the light of day, even as a fictionalized retelling. I doubt the possibility of anyone ever reading this. I must try anyway; I forfeited my life to learn the truth.
I don't know why they bothered; it is illegal in the true laws of the land to even suggest that there might be something wrong with Choosing. Freedom of speech only applies to those who don't say the wrong words. This is truth.
The big money loomed like an awful monolith. I knew where I was going, a dark tower, a gateway to Hell. I was terrified of my next move. I would be exposed, and they would not tolerate my increased knowledge. They already knew that I knew too much.
I was always a fan of Mission: Impossible. I think that Tom Cruise is a hunk. I had to get into Triad Med R&D. With their security and with SFK looking for me it seemed like it could not be done.
In the movies they always try overly elaborate entries. Sometimes, when entering an enemy fortress, broad daylight and without guise is actually the only good option. It occurred to me that most of the security was focused on keeping people from breaking in or entering areas without proper clearance.
I was sweating, despite the removal of my coat. I was shaking with nervous anticipation. I could not steady my breathing. I hadn't even gotten out of my car.
After throwing up and taking a motion sickness pill, I talked myself into it with peculiar words:
"I am already as good as dead. I have nothing to lose."
I walked like a drunk up to the entrance. I had no badge to buzz in with, so I hit the com and said: "I have an appointment."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
They let me into the lobby and there I was stopped by a security guard. After I was searched for any kind of cameras, recording equipment or phone: I was allowed to speak to the receptionist.
"Who is it that you have an appointment with?" The receptionist asked. I had shown my FEC identification. I gulped, terrified. I had no plan; I was making it up as I went along.
"I don't know. I called ahead and they said that I could interview Dr. Smalls about some funding issues at nine." I glanced at the clock, my eyes rolling around as I lied.
"Just a moment." The receptionist looked scrupulous and went to check the appointment log, kept handy on a desk calendar.
I noted that the security guard was busy talking on their radio. The receptionist's badge was on its zinger on the counter. I snatched it up and stuffed it into my pocket. My heart was beating a million miles per hour.
"Did you mean Dr. Semhal? That appointment isn't until ten. Would you like me to let them know you are already here?" The receptionist asked.
I couldn't believe my luck. I nodded and while the receptionist made the call, I replaced the badge. I was spotted placing it and I said: "You dropped it."
Access was given to me. I went to the meeting and showed my FEC identification.
"I didn't know you were with FEC. I thought this was about SFK." The researcher looked at me oddly. I hesitated at the mention of the Syndicate. Who would know about them and mention them?
"I'm with the SFK." I lied. Dr. Semhal looked relieved, having expected such an answer.
"You guys always have weird times, odd cover stories. If it wasn't for the money..." Dr. Semhal complained.
"What? You don't believe in the work you do? This is for the good of humanity." I was shaking and stuttering as my mind raced for words to play along.
"Right. You want to see the progress on the Maia II. I assure you these new incubators will be able to grow any unformed bodies. We just need them to be intact. That's not what we do here. The flood and freeze technique is the only way to get them to us like that."
"And that would be getting done, where, exactly?" I cleared my throat.
Dr. Semhal laughed at me like I was kidding. "Let's go. I don't have all day for this. I know you are early, but I still have things to do."
"Right." I nodded. I followed my chaperone to the research area. I was shown the assembled prototype of the new incubators. I stated that the money was well spent.
"What goes in these?" I asked, coughing. Dr. Semhal gave me a quizzical look and corrected my question:
"You don't think we are testing it here? I knew you would want to see the nursery."
We were suited up in clean suits and sprayed after we went into the basement, via an elevator passkey. "I have access to the first three phases of production." Dr. Semhal boasted.
"Three of four?" I wondered.
"No. We do all five phases here, although I have no idea what Phase Five looks like. Phase Four is when we harvest them." Dr. Semhal was telling me as the doors opened.
I nearly retched. The incubators had vaguely humanoid things breathing in them. Living bodies, taken unformed, revived and grown. My mind beheld a vista of flesh horrors, the Devil's Science.
"It is all legal. These were medical waste. Nobody wanted them, they were brought here, purchased from the street facilities." Dr. Semhal said, noticing my revulsion. I was leaning and gagging.
"Right, of course. I knew that." I wanted to unsee what I had seen. I wanted to forget the summit of Man's darkest evils. I hadn't seen anything yet.
When I was away from the foulest nightmare imaginable, and out of the suit, I wanted to leave.
"Well, do we get that increase in funding you guys promised?" Dr. Semhal asked me.
"We will be purchasing the Maia II. The crop looked really good." I tried to remain calm. Revulsion, horror and desperate fear of being caught by whatever was behind such inequity made my voice hollow and harsh.
I wandered like in the fog of nightmares from the lobby. A sharp-eyed debutant was admitted as I left. I heard them say to the receptionist, without a search from the security guard: "Dr. Semhal is expecting me at ten."
Outside I found my car. My investigations were not complete. I had only just begun. I drove to the nearest street facility and sat and watched it. There was a medical waste disposal area around back. It was taken from the small facility to a larger one where it was allegedly destroyed. I knew the medical waste bin would not contain the first phase of the harvest. There was a lot of money coming in through the back door, selling the bodies.
"Flood and freeze." I muttered. They were using a liquid to assist in the extraction and then they were keeping the remains on ice. It was all being paid for by SFK, I had followed the money all the way down to the ground. I was staring at the front doors, wondering if it would make any difference to anyone getting the procedure. Did it matter that the removed thing wasn't destroyed? Did it matter that it was being kept alive and grown artificially, secretly, for some kind of unknown use?
It mattered to me.
Despite the terrors I had faced, despite the horrors, despite my fears, I had to know the rest. I had to know the truth. What was the Syndicate doing with the living unformed ones that they had legally obtained? Why such lengths to keep it a secret? I shuddered at the possibilities.
I guessed that the Syndicate already knew that I knew most of their secrets. The price on my head had certainly gone up. I realized I had to get rid of my vehicle, lay low, disappear.
I abandoned my vehicle and paid cash for another car and didn't register it. I was satisfied that I was somewhat incognito, driving a refurbished ride with stolen plates. The police would stop me if they found me driving a stolen vehicle. I had to take my chances.
I watched my old vehicle and confirmed that someone was watching for me. Parked hitmen waited for my return in vain. New terrors gripped me, they would kill me if they found me.
I had no idea what I was up against. The SFK Syndicate seemed massively rich and powerful. Perhaps there was no escape. I lived in fear, homeless and hiding from my own shadow.
There was only one thing left for me to find out. I had to know what was ultimately done with the harvested flesh. Part of me did not want to know, wanted to forget the whole thing and flee the country. I knew I would never be safe. I had come so far, there was no going back.
I watched my watchers and when they gave up the hunt: I followed them. They went to their employer and reported that they had lost track of me. My hitmen had missed. I followed the middleman to the SFK Syndicate's offices. It was part of a larger building that housed mostly administrators for the various Syndicate funded companies. None of them knew what the others were doing.
It all looked legitimate on paper and to the eye. I saw the connection: medical insurers, food processing and distributors, legal departments for sponsored politicians, analytics, grocery advertisers and street facility administrators. There was even an office that handled grants for their doctors.
The debutant I had seen before, a low-ranking Syndicate corporate officer, was there. After recognizing them I had a solid lead. I was going to find out where it all went down.
I followed them into a rich neighborhood: Sand Creek's HOA. I visited the neighborhood repeatedly and observed. I obtained information like where they hid a spare key to the back entrance and even a gate code. I brought dog treats and made friends with Samson and Gory. I learned the schedule of the chauffeurs and security guards.
When the SFK Syndicate gathered, I had access to spy on them. I broke in and witnessed the most horrifying part of my story.
Many of America's richest and most affluential were there. They met late at night and sat in the banquet hall. I watched, hiding, stalking.
They chattered aimlessly and then they were served by low ranking SFK. I could not contain the mind shattering horror of the truth. I was unable to remain a spectator - undiscovered. I screamed and fell, wanting to break open my own skull and remove what I had learned.
I watched as they feasted. I was driven nearly mad as they chewed and swallowed, slurping greedily. They ate from platters with baked meat. There was no mistaking what they were eating.
The SFK had kept the bodies intact and alive and grew them until they were artificially birthed. Then they brought them to their kitchen. The little ones were slaughtered and butchered and prepared like succulent pigs. They stuffed an apple into the deformed human skulls and carved slices from them. They were all cannibals.
When I did not think I could learn anything more horrible, I saw that they were not alone. They were merely cultists, nothing but pawns to something far more ancient and horrible. My mind rejected their ghoulish patrons. I saw them there, in the darkness below. The cannibals were only sampling the greater feast, the meat of the many. They only ate a small portion of a much greater supply.
The rest of the meat went down to those below. I still cannot comprehend what they were, what I saw was indescribable. They were humanoid, horrible, thick, scaly, ghoul-creatures. The ghouls were never human, they were our owners, our butchers, and Americans: their cattle.
Nobody noticed me, at first. I stared, anguished by dread and a macabre epiphany. Mankind was merely food for the devils below. "They were before us and they will be after us." The Syndicate said in unified creed. My screams were silent blasts; whimpering mindlessly I repeated things that meant nothing. My sanity was not with me. Somehow, I walked out among the wealthy cannibals, looked into the darkness below where the spidery claws and glassy eyes stared back, then I walked out of the charnel house the way I had entered.
My escape went unchallenged. Only the feasters were there and only the dogs guarded the grounds. Samson and Gory followed me to the gate, tails wagging. I heard a gunshot as one of the Syndicate tried to shoot me. They missed and I wandered through the rich neighborhood. I found my car and drove away.
Some time went by before I was able to regain my composure.
Days, weeks, months.
I was homeless and half-mad, muttering the details of my investigation, trying to remember who I was.
I had to rebuild my life. Fleeing the country was my first step. It was a good idea, since they had given up the shadow hunt and had a warrant for my arrest issued. I doubted I would survive very long in jail. I waited and began to collect myself, sorting out my memories and writing it all down as it came to me.
There was no way I could resurface without becoming a target for them. There was no way to tell my story. If I didn't tell on them, didn't report to you what is true, then it was all suffered in vain. I would die anyway, one way or another. I had to do this, I had to come home and face the consequences.
I lived my last days in the hopes that somehow people would wake up and know what is happening to America. I hoped that the truth would be enough. For a time, after I concluded my investigation, I lived in good health and well-being, realizing I had made a sacrifice in the name of truth.
Whether or not there will ever be justice, that is up to you. This is my testimony and I swear it to be true. Farewell.