Everyone
has been reading the bullshit that this company is making itself. The
Boss and shareholders see the profit. They drink cognac. I talk to
users and try to get some information. This soap is a godsend is what
I've been hearing. They can finally be clean without disability and
its great for there kids and, the sick part, their infants. These
people have been using the soap on the weakest skin possible. It
won't take much longer until the cells dissolve and they look like
that Treehouse of Horrors episode when then the end credits involve
Dracula and they turn inside out. Enough of my past knowledge. The
results are booming and it already out sold most brand products in
the store. Well, other well known brands, the 3000 is a totally
different ball game. It's off the shelves as soon as the back truck
delivers it. People are stealing and hijacking these trucks to get
more soap. It's like godliness meets a bad cocaine habit. Mothers and
fathers too, not just the outlaws. The suburbanites and the
bourgeois.
And
then it happens, one day someone turns inside out and the media is on
it like hot cakes. They actually show the teenager and his sister
with only muscle and flesh hanging off them. The next day, another
user, implodes his organs and dies on the spot in such a mess. Like a
firecracker of flesh. Where people had hair there are only white
spots left, dust, tissue, the skull has been scrubbed off completely,
showing a subtle grey under the skull. One lady vomits in the streets
and her entire lung has been regurgitated. People videotaping footage
for YouTube until their body's break down themselves. It's chaos.
Completely fucking chaos, and I see this myself. Nosferatu just
wanders the halls cackling and there's a knock at my cell door,
whilst I am writing my next review. The review saying that not only
will the soap clean you but will literally become a Viagra for the
male. This of course is bullshit, again. LabTech owns Facebook and
YouTube. This footage will never be seen on these networking sites.
Roman knows this. Everything will be erased once, when everything
goes completely haywire and the corporation has fled to a remote
island somewhere in the Malaysian seas. But that's just my
foreshadowing. This is happening. It starts off with a little bit of
dry skin, like you would get from a moisturizing soap and then piece
by piece it all falls off. The cops are using it and so is the fire
department. Three quarters of North America is using this. New York's
finest in muscle tendon, trying to stop a simple bar of soap from
overrunning the death toll in the city. The fire fighters too.
Everyone you call 9-1-1 for is peeling apart slowly. There is no
hope. Except this pod of course. This cell, this building.
And
I'm still writing, and my words have become international. The soap
is every where. The lather too thick. And riots over the soap still
exist, some people are addicted to it they say, until the tendon
turns into bone. Which is approximately 5-6 doses. Heroin doesn't
exist anymore and there is no cure. People want more and more.
LabTech isn't making any antidote and they don't plan to. Just one
bar gets you started, and then the next and more and peoples life
savings are going through the roof. Well, into the pockets of LabTech
and its subsidiaries.
And
I'm still writing.
Roman
knocks on the pod door.
“Rise
and shine, sunny boy,” Roman declares.
I
wake up in a daze, did they drug me? Did I fall asleep?
My
headache pounds and I feel like puking. There is a sink in the pod
and I vomit into it. I feel much better now. The pod door slides open
and I grab the tape recorder fast. I look on the bottom to make sure
its the real McCoy. Its my Truth recorder.
"They`re
on to me, I don`t know how much longer," Roman whispers as I hit
record, “they don't know the precautions and they don't care about
what is happening around them. If this goes live, how many people
will be destroyed, worldwide.”
I
sit on my bed, looking him in the eye and say “You’ve used it
haven't you?”
Roman
clears his throat and takes off his shirt, his back oozing with
pustules and scratch marks and I can see his spine protruding out of
his back.
“I
can't stop using it, it's too addictive. The cells don't regenerate
and it's what they are using that makes it so addictive. Stem cells
from placentas they buy in bulk. Once the soap is on you, it
attaches, and scrubs your skin. You know what we've been seeing is a
small portion of what's really happening. They keep all the placentas
in the basement,” Roman says peeling off skin from his back, “the
soap becomes a part of you. Into your cells and pores and into your
mind. It's the fountain of youth for a month and then, you know, the
side effects.”
My
tape ticks all this juicy information.
The
pod door slides open and Nosferatu is standing the hissing.
“I
need you for a moment mister Roman, it's of dire need.”
Roman
looks at me with a face I have never seen on a middle aged man
before. The look of darkness.