Written by: Stephen Brown; Mansfield Grey
Q looked at me as Stick’s joint made its way around to him.
He refused, and said “Gentleman I have some good news and some bad news. I found out from the flash drive, that we all have implants inside the back of our necks. The micro-implant is a fail safe for them. If we ever become self-aware of our training, the mind control, the manipulation that they have been doing for years, they just have to push a button and we go to sleep. It is a self-destruct program through frequency that electrically shorts out the brain. That’s the bad news. The good news is I can remove them and we can all be free.”
Q had told this to me earlier and I thought our best plan of action would be to find a place to stash the bag of tricks that Chin Lo had brought with him. He says it is a device that can not only change and control weather to the point of it being a weapon, it can also create electrical energy through the earth’s electromagnetic field. It harnesses the energy and sends it to a receiver. It is as big as a lunch box and can power New York City for thousands of years. It never runs out of power.
“Does anyone know of a place around here where we can stash this thing?” I asked.
“Yeah, Boss, I got a little cave up in the valley not far from here where I used to take the ladies when I was a young. No one knows about it except Paiute Indians. They don’t bother with it. Ha,ha,ha…I was never interrupted there when I was a kid having my spring flings. And I was there a lot.”
“OK, how far?”
“Three quarters of a mile through the desert from here,” Bronco replied.
“Ok, great. First we need to remove these micro implants from our necks, then we move,” I stated. The boys all agreed.
Q, wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball hat, started to prepare a makeshift operating chair where we would each have our micro chips removed from just below the skull. I couldn’t help but reminisce in my own thoughts about better times before all this Red Band 1 shit. I thought of the time I went to the my first Cubs game when I was 12. I went with my Dad. He was a writer for the Chicago Tribune. He knew every stat on every player ever to play for the Cubbies. He would write his column every week and would always run it by me first before he submitted it. It made me feel important. My dad was a big time writer and he needed my opinion every week. At least that’s what I felt. But probably he was just trying to include me. That’s how he made me feel special.That was my happy place. I often thought of memories with him when the shit hits the fan so to speak, and this must be one of those times.
“Manny, I’m ready,” Q said. “I need you to watch each time I remove the micro chip from the guy’s necks so when it comes to my turn you can remove mine. I trust you Manny.”
“I guess I better pay attention then, huh Q?” I said sarcastically with a smile.
I looked over at the boys and asked, “Who’s up?”