Illuminati by nature

Jeff looked almost bored on the call with his legal team. Despite having just been told that he was one media cycle away from being the most high profile criminal in the world, he remained collected and just as calm as when we boarded the jet an hour ago. As I typed on my laptop, Epstein looked over to me, put a finger gun to his head, and pulled the fake trigger. He threw his head back, rolled his eyes, and slumped in his seat, all while his lawyers spoke on the other end.

"Ok, Alan," said Epstein. "I'll see you at the arraignment. Give Carolyn my love." He hung up the phone, let out a long sigh and looked to me. "This might be worse than the Miami charges," he said, nodding towards the 1926 Macallan scotch on the top shelf of the planes bar. Called it, I thought as I stood to retrieve the bottle.

I had been Jeffrey Epstein's 'assistant' for six months, but it took me half that time to learn his response to all things, whether slight inconvenience or a significant setback. Have a glass of scotch.

"Henry," he said, as I grabbed the whiskey.

I paused with the bottle in hand. "Yes, sir?"

"Grab two glasses."

Nodding, I grabbed two whiskey tumblers, placed them on the bar, and poured the world's most expensive booze into each glass evenly. The irony of it was not lost on me as I dabbed a single drop of clear liquid into his drink while he looked out the plane's window.

A half-million-dollar bottle of whiskey and he was sharing it with the person that was seconds away from signing his death warrant.

Having spent half a year on this assignment, I grew to know Epstein better than myself. His friendships, business associates, relationships, and of course, his leisurely activities. See, it wasn't the friends or associates that were disenfranchising. I either worked for or had dealings with many of the people in Epstein's social circle. The extracurricular activities are also something you come to expect when you serve in the militant branch of a worldwide cabal of evildoers.

I knew from the time I joined the organization that I'd be involved with the worst kind of people to maintain the order of things, but Epstein took it to another level altogether. Not just how young the girls he chose were, but how often he abused them. Epstein was insatiable. Night after night, a different girl with the same timid and terrified look on her face. The only solace I pulled from the entire six months with him was the fact that I was going to kill him at the end of the operation.

"Here's to real friends," he said, holding up his glass. I obliged and clinked my tumbler to his.

"To real friends, sir," I responded, taking a small sip as I watched him do the same. The scotch had an almost indescribable warmth and after finish. It was amazing. Not something to slam down for a quick buzz, but something to be tasted, to be savored. I was counting on that.

Good, I thought, as I watched him swill the liquid around in his mouth. I needed the compound to enter his system sublingually as opposed to through his stomach. The blood vessels under the tongue made for a much faster distribution route of a toxic agent. I set a timer on my watch for 5 minutes, removed my jacket, loosened my tie, and rolled up my sleeves.

"I might be going to jail for a few months," said Epstein. "But if you want your job when I'm out, then you shouldn't get too comfortable." He dismissively waved his hand at my appearance. "Please don't lose your professionalism just because I shared a glass of high-end scotch with you." He said, taking another sip.

I ignored his suggestion and walked back over to where I had been sitting. I closed my laptop, pulled out my field case, and set it on the table in front of my seat. I took one last gulp of whiskey and then entered the numeric code for the briefcase.

"It's not Jim Beam for fucks sake!" he yelled upon seeing me down my drink. "You're the best assistant I've ever had, but you're showing a real lack of judgment at the moment." Epstein straightened up in his chair and gave me a stern look. "I'm sorry, but are you ignor-"

I held a finger up to my mouth for him to stop talking while I focused on entering the last digit on the metal lock. The latches popped open.

"There," I said. "This combination has always been the same, but I can never remember the damn thing." I shook my head at my own forgetfulness as Epstein continued to give me a bewildered look. I opened the briefcase and began evaluating my inventory as I continued speaking. "Have you ever heard of MKULTRA, Jeff?" Epstein looked even more lost. Opening and closing his mouth to respond, but the words just wouldn't come. I answered for him.

"Everyone has," I said. "Hell, most of the stuff you use on your underaged companions are chemicals that the CIA used in their experiments." I began removing the necessary equipment from my briefcase and carefully set each selected tool on the table. Epstein pressed the call button for the flight attendant when he saw me place a syringe and small vial on the table.

"Your flight attendant hasn't been on this plane since we left the ground, Jeff," I said. He frantically looked towards the cockpit. I held out my hand to signal 'by all means' as his eyes darted from me to the cockpit door and back to me. He didn't waste a second balking at the invitation and immediately attempted to get up. Just as he moved to take his seat belt off, my watch began to beep.

The compound I put in his scotch had spread through his entire system and was evident from his inability to remove his seatbelt. His fingers stupidly fumbled over the metal clasp as he dramatically blinked his eyes, attempting to focus on the menial task at hand.

"Here," I told him. I stood up, reached over, and unlatched his restraint buckle. The moment I sat back down, he shot up from his chair towards the cockpit door, took one step, and collapsed face-first on the carpet. He began to maniacally giggle as he tried lifting his head from the floor. Paralyzed from the neck down, he was only able to raise his head just enough to look my way and rest his face back on the carpet.

"You think a little LS-... LSD isss gonna make me spill my-... spill my-..."

"Guts?" I finished. "No, I don't." I picked up the needle, plunged it into the vial's rubber top, turned the container upside down, and withdrew its contents into the syringe. "Now, assuming you're about to lose all of your speech function, I'll finish what I was saying." I held out my open palm as an invite for him to keep speaking, but Epstein remained like a corpse. His mouth agape, saliva flowing freely from his bottom lip, forming a puddle on the ground. "I thought as much,"

Epstein's body remained motionless, but his eyes never stopped following my movements. I pulled a knife from my briefcase and knelt next to him. Upon seeing the blade in my hand, he began to protest with guttural grunts.

I grabbed his jacket sleeve at the wrist and ran the blade across it vertically, stopping at his shoulder. I tore the jacket and shirt under it open, exposing the bare skin on his arm. I sat the knife back on the table, grabbed the syringe, flicked it to expel any bubbles, and buried it into his upper arm's muscle. The liquid gradually disappeared as I slowly pressed down on the plunger with my thumb. I capped the needle, placed it back into my case, and carefully pulled out an old leather book with runes etched into the book's front.

"As I was attempting to state earlier, you seem familiar with MKULTRA. I'm sure LSD and a handful of psychotropic drugs make for amiable victims and fuzzy witnesses in the courtroom." I opened the leather book and began searching for the appropriate page. "What you probably aren't overly familiar with is project MKOFTEN." I looked over the top of the book to see Epstein still conscious but paralyzed.

"MKOFTEN was on track to be the CIA's most significant discovery, but they shut it all down. Christians in the government weren't big fans of Uncle Sam using the powers of darkness as a weapon, nor were they thrilled about the government's entanglement with the occult in any way."

I came to the chapter I had been searching for and carefully scanned the dead language on the pages.

"If you shut something down because it's doomed to fail, then that's one thing, but shutting it down because it's doomed to succeed? That's myopic cowardice." I looked down to Epstein to see his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I reached my leg towards his head and tapped his face with the sole of my shoe. "No, no," I said. "You have to be somewhat conscious for this part."

Epstein groaned as his eyes came back into focus. I continued silently mouthing the incantations to practice before reading the spell aloud. Over and over, I silently mouthed the writing to myself. Latin was already a challenging language for me, and I had seen what happens when a word was misread during a summoning spell. Add that to the fact we were flying in a pressurized metal tube at thirty-eight thousand feet, and I was taking zero chances. Despite Epstein's many sins, I still pitied him for what he was about to endure. The home office referred to them as Interdimensional beings, or IDB's, but I just called them what they were. Demons.

See, I've never personally bought into the "interdimensional beings" rhetoric, and that's what makes me so proficient at my work. I don't treat these practices, spells, or things like some science experiment. I treat all of it with reverence, and I never take pleasure in doing it. Demon possession is not only physically painful but the absolute peak of mental torture. The entity that takes over your body can see every aspect of your mind, and you can see every aspect of theirs. That's where the whole 'mind meld' term starts getting tossed around, but in reality, it's not some mutual partnership between the possessor and the possessed.

The IDB enters the subject's mind, takes the proverbial wheel, and calls the shots until it's task is complete. Let's say someone has a dozen caches of incriminating information on high powered individuals. If we can isolate that individual and incapacitate them without physical harm, they then become prime hosts for an IDB.

Again, I state. It's a demon I'm referring to, not a trained soldier. They only follow orders because they're bound to do so, and if those bindings are even a little loose, it's bad news for everyone involved. So as I read, I did so loudly and slowly, enunciating each syllable, carefully finishing each sentence. The lights in the cabin began to flicker, the bottles and glasses behind the bar started to rattle, and the entire plane began to shudder.

I read the last line of Latin on the page, and the lights went out altogether. The engines briefly sputtered, and the plane began to dip. Just as I started to think I had messed up the spell, the engines powered back up, and the lights came back on to reveal an empty spot on the floor where Epstein had been laying. I turned to see him standing behind the bar, mixing himself a drink. He looked up with a deadpan expression and met my gaze.

"Everything you need is on three separate thumb drives," he said in a monotone voice. "One is on his yacht, one is at the house in New Jersey, and the last is on his private island."

"Perfect," I said. "As always I thank you for your time, I know it's valuable."

"Will there be anything else?" It asked.

"A month from now, Mr. Epstein will give into despair from the weight of the charges against him and hang himself."

It nodded and walked back over to where Epstein had been sitting. It calmly swirled the liquid around in its glass and looked out the window at the lights below. I had spent six months as Jeffrey Epstein's assistant, and I can honestly say I preferred the company of an actual demon.