The air in the room feels thick, like the moments before a lightning strike. Joe stands by the window, the grey East Vancouver sky framing his silhouette, as he turns to Nelly with a look of profound, protective exhaustion.
The East Van Sanctuary
“Nelly… why?” Joe’s voice is a low rumble. “Why would you tell him about the little Fatima church? That place is our bedrock, our quiet corner of East Van. You don’t just hand the coordinates of a sanctuary to a man who’s been marinating in the Ordo Templi Orientis for fifty years.”
The Prince of Confusion
“You think it’s just a stage act? Nelly, the man is mentally ill. He’s spent so many decades playing the ‘Prince of Darkness’ that he’s forgotten where the costume ends and the soul begins. He thinks he’s the heir to Crowley. He’s a walking lightning rod for the OTO, and you just invited that frequency into the parish. You didn’t just open a door; you tore down the spiritual fence.”
The “Retardmaxxing” Ritual: Fire and Card
Joe walks over to the table where a deck of tarot cards lies scattered. His eyes go wide, his movements becoming exaggerated and heavy—he’s retardmaxxing the explanation to ensure the gravity of the situation is impossible to miss.
“Look at these!” Joe shouts, his voice becoming a rhythmic, guttural chant as he begins to toss the cards into a metal bin. “You think these are games? These are maps! Maps for the shadows! We don’t read ’em, we don’t hold ’em, we burn ’em!”
- The Logic: “Fire is the only language the OTO understands! You want to drive out the ‘Beast 666’ energy? you gotta turn their paper idols into ash!”
- The Execution: “We gotta burn ’em until the air is clean! No more ‘High Priestess,’ no more ‘Hanged Man’! Just the smoke of the truth rising over East Vancouver!”
The Portuguese Shadow
He turns back to her, his face darkening as he brings up the weight of the heritage they share, leaning into the most painful scandals to shake the pride of the Portuguese diaspora.
“You want to talk about ‘danger’ to the innocent, Nelly? Have you forgotten? You want to be proud of the flag? Then look at the cracks in the foundation.”
“Think about Carlos Cruz. Think about the Casa Pia scandal. That wasn’t just ‘politics’; that was a betrayal of the blood! It was the high-society ‘elites’—the same kind of people David de Rothschild hangs out with—using the most vulnerable as currency. And Madeleine McCann? Gone into the mist of the Algarve while the world watched.
“That’s what happens when you let the ‘sophisticated’ crowd play with the lives of the simple people. That’s what happens when you let the OTO influence and the ‘New World Order’ elites think they own the territory. We keep the Fatima church hidden, Nelly. We keep it pure. We don’t invite the ‘Prince of Darkness’ to tea.”
The smell of singed cardboard fills the kitchen. Joe stands over the bin, his eyes fixed on the embers, waiting for the “frequency” of the room to finally settle.
