A little more LATHER

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.