I noticed something on the dmaorg site- that the posts each have different formatting according to 5 "div class" sections. The formatting really isn't that different in each class and it doesn't seem to be connected to the various file types that are posts. (this was examined using a lot of help from the dmaorg fan wiki which already had the letters typed and I copied and pasted them.)
We know it's a cycle, it has happened again and again. What if the moon dates don't order as our actual dates do?
There were 5 timeframes for the posts- the ones that were already there when the site was found or shortly after, the ones that were posted just before/during the trench era, the ones that were posted after the files were terminated and the site was restored (during scaled and icy) and the ones that were posted ahead of Clancy.
If we reorder the 25 Clancy posts by their div classes (putting class 1 first, then 2, etc.), it puts the yellow stripe picture right before the letter it decodes. We also get the 024 02MOON 25 last. And I just realized that this letter is not signed. What if it's a bishop describing recruiting banditos? What if a bishop is realizing he's not so different from them? That he once believed he was a citizen, an escapee, an exception? Is he following the torches to find the banditos?
Spreadsheet I used to organize the posts
Clancy Posts when Ordered by _Divclass
CLASS 1:
017 07 MOON 16
Cheetah running gif
018 07MOON 08
_note.gif written signed
I’ve made it out.
I feel weightless. I know that place had always held me down, but for the first time, I can feel the levity that I had hoped for. It’s been three nights now, and my breathing has changed. It’s slower, and more full. It’s like the air out here is worth taking in.
I can see it back in the distance, and I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t constantly on my mind. I wish I could turn that fear off, but maybe the further I go, the less that fear will affect me. I feel betrayed by what I assumed was home - if I ever end up back there, I won’t be able to look at it the same way.
They are asleep. They’re so sure that they know the truth, and carry on throughout their day with the same meaningless tasks. They’ve forgotten to look up, and to look outward, to understand that this isn’t about ‘in there.'
This is about ‘out here.’
This new world surrounds me. I used to think the walls back home were massive – these green cliffs engulf me, and place me right in the middle – Trench is quite precarious at times, and it’s easy to grow weary. But it’s real, and it’s true, and I’d much rather endure reality than to mindlessly be obedient to a life that someone else created for me. I’ve obsessed about this world for so long, that it feels more like home than anything I’ve experienced. Somehow, in this vast openness, I feel more protected than ever.
The landscape feels endless, and I’ve found myself walking for hours without any true evidence of getting further down. But I’ve seen plants and colors out here that I’m not sure I’ve witnessed before. There’s a beauty in the strangest places, and the curiosity of what’s next continues to motivate me.
I wonder who else is out here. If what I assumed inside is true, there’s got to be more like me. Sometimes I’ll feel a presence, or think I see something in my periphery, only to look up and see nothing. It’s just another thing that I’m afraid of that also excites me. It all just confirms all of the things that I hoped to be true for all of this time.
I am out here and I am very alive. I’m sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Cover me!

• Clancy

019 01MOON 22
17-35.4527.jpg typed signed
I can’t face this page for long enough to write what I’m truly feeling. I am only wrought with more questions about what I assumed to be true, questions about what my own path is, and the question that has plagued me every night that I lie here, back in city: Did I give up?
The force I saw between him and his bishop seemed tense to me, and frightening. But the memory of that exchange has had time to fester and replay in my mind long enough that I’m questioning if I even remembered it correctly. I assumed the bishop was forcefully retrieving his subject, but now I wonder if the bishop was actually trying to save him, and he refused.
I stayed out there for five days after I watched it happen. I haven’t seen him since. Maybe he got away, and was still out in Trench with me. Maybe the bishop chased him down, and brought him home.
Home?
Did I just call this place home?
After all of the endless beauty that I saw out there, am I now convincing myself that I’m actually better off within these confines?
I admit, it was more difficult than I expected. Nothing could have prepared me for how much the ‘unknown’ can consume me. Vast landscapes and endless possibilities, yet coupled with endless danger. I became anxious. I became tired. I became hungry. Every step I took became harder than the last, jumping from jagged rocky step to step, or pulling myself through thick forest - it all became debilitating, and I was sure that I couldn’t go on.
Keons approached as the sun rose one morning. I wasn’t scared. I was relieved. After all that he had taught me, his presence was the most comforting moment that I had in days, and I couldn’t help but be happy to see him. In true Keons fashion, he wrapped his arms around me, then put his hands under my face, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Clancy, child, let’s go home.”
I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and while the routines of this world are comforting, and certainly easier than life out there, my mind keeps bouncing between the two places.
Which one is home? Are the bishops protecting us, and the torches upon the hilltops dangerous? Or is it the other way around? My dreams pull me from world to world, and I feel lost in between all of it.
There is still so much I do not understand.

• Clancy

022 03MOON 16
Larger map of trench including voldsoy
024 02MOON 09
__ev-i-D__ence.jpeg typed and says signed but isn’t
I'm not as scared as I used to be. Their mystery begins to fade as a method to defeat them becomes more clear. I no longer feel powerless. I can outsmart them. This new power of psychokinesis worked, and I believe it can work again. I stand here, looking down at the line where the water meets the sand - a starting line. All the while, knowing there is a finish line across the Strait. Their compass lies, but mine remains true. I've left embers of inspiration, I only hope whatever spark was left has grown to a torch, and together we create an inferno
[SIGNED] - Clancy
CLASS 2:
988 06MOON 18
cla_ncy-98806MOON_18_-1 jpg typed signed
CLANCY_S JOURNAL
The perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until my ninth year. It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make. Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with a new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook. Was it there the whole time? How had I not seen something so obvious? I am reminded of the moment daily, as the idealization directly collides with a unique hope for my own future. As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn’t my home. This village, after all of this time, was my trap.
Before I became realized, I had deep affection for Dema. There was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest. Streets and locations were dependable, and the responsibilities of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. Once a task was taught and understood, we delighted in our ability to complete our obligations timely, and felt secure in knowing tomorrow’s duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. We all worked to represent our bishop with honor, and knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency.
Keons embodied the spirit of this dedication. Of Dema’s nine bishops, Keons was revered as unwavering and forthright, possessing the ability to achieve focus that was rare for most on our region. We all admired him, and felt honored to be inhabitants his region. While we had heard legend of the ruthlessness of other bishops, Keons possessed a stoic demeanor unlike anyone I had ever met, and we were all proud to serve.

• Clancy

988 12MOON 01
ba_dge jpg
FPE citation
017 07MOON 17
Picture - trench - bandits
018 07 MOON 05
This entry is another letter from Clancy. The white squares on the outer edges of the image correspond to the letters "WAKE UP". It is titled _he_a_vy_.jpg typed, inverted, signed
They’re asleep. The night took forever to arrive, and now we’re almost
ready. We’ve studied the watchers and know that there’s no chance that
we can step through unnoticed. So, instead of trying to hide
ourselves, we’ll make sure that all of us are noticed. It’s been one
year since the last convocation, and tomorrow’s Annual Assemblage of
Glorified will be the biggest spectacle this concrete coffin of a city
has seen all year. If we time it right, we’ll divert the attention of
the watchers and finally take the step though. We’ve had no contact,
but we’re hoping the other side will be able to find a way in. We’re
not sure of the breach location, but we are willing to risk being
smeared in order to find it. We know that we must go lower, and wait
for the torches. They’ve never seen anything quite like this, and by
morning, everything will be different. I’m terrified and excited, all
at the same time. They don’t control us.

• Clancy

022 03MOON 18
1619250308151109140519-Ø-919.jpg made me a weapon written, signed
What is this thing? This device? This gift? Some sort of neurological connection or expansion. Psychokinetic weapon?
This is absurd.
Why was this given to me? Why am I the only one that can weild it? Was this the reason that I survived? My mind is racing as I wait here on the rocks - staring off into the darkness. Waiting for our torches to be mirrored - the signal he told me to wait for.
It feels oddly familiar. Not the spikes in my hand, but the power it harnesses, I've felt it before. Is this also the source of those rumors I heard in the dark corners of the city? Legends and stories that I assumed were myth, inspired by children's nightmares - tales of what the bishops would use the bodies for. Those "honorable" citizens who acheived The Glorious Gone - referred to as available vessels.
It all begins to make sense.
The episodes I would have: the blood red vision, my dreams of flying, the out of body account of the rider in the river, the decaying hosts of the television show, the robed figures that commanded the doomed ship...
Had we all been "seized" by the bishops using this same technique? Is this where their power comes from? Are they immortal, or just feeding off the next body, giving their hosts a brief second-life? I am in my original life, why am I available to this control?
This whole time I thought I was battling my inner self. Was I actually under assault for something else? someONE else?
This small eerie island has made me a weapon. We both believe that we can use it to change the momentum of this war. Now, we must return to the mainland where they should be there to recieve is. We will destroy and rebuild. Though it's been years since he last spoke with them, I hope they have not lost faith in The Torchbearers plan.
But how could any of this have been planned?

• Clancy

CLASS 3:
009 12MOON 29
unnamed-(1).jpg
d_e_ath__eat_erz
Vultures on wall
011 07MOON 08
se__elf picture of kid
017 07MOON 07
017_07MOON_07 typed signed
To refer to Dema as m[y] home has never felt accurate. Dema, t[o] me, has simply been the place that I’ve existed, or, the ‘slot’ they’ve put me in. I’ve heard stories abo[u]t the ide[a] of “home,” and its depiction has always seemed warm f[r]om the storyt[e]llers’s de[s]cription. [T]here was a romant[i]c ownership of the p[l]ace they inhabited that I admired, but cou[l]d never relate to. Thi[s] place, my p[l]ace, however, s[e]ems devoid of the romance and wond[e]r that the old stories tell. But somewhere between the iron order and infallible [p]recis[i]on of Dema, a hum of wo[n]der exists. It’s this quiet wonder that my mind tends to [g]ets lost in. This hope of discovery alone has birthed a new version of myself; A better version, I hope, that will find a way to experience what’s beyond these colossal walls.

• Clancy

018 07 MOON 01
I.jpg vulture gif turning head (actual dates?)
018 07MOON 06
_they_ca_ntseeFCE300.gif torch gif
022 03MOON 17
is-ø-lat-ed.jpg written, signed
I haven’t had the ability to write for what seems like a lifetime. This deprivation is what weighed on me the most. Not the lack of food, or the change of scenery - they wouldn’t let me write anything down.
Well, at least not without them present …
I remember that day vividly. First, they let me out. Even though the hallway was still gray and drab, the new experience was a shock to my system - significantly different than usual captivity. I tried to match the rhythm of the nameless guard’s footsteps as we echoed down the long corridor. I followed close behind, as if I had no choice. Cold concrete encapsulated us and seemed to cast a spill of synthetic calmness. Obedience.
We arrived at a blue door. It was an odd contrast to this concrete maze. As I went through the doorway, I found myself in another typical gray Dema room. The only difference was who was waiting for me.
Four of them. Three of them were unknown to me, but one was clearly Keons. I knew his voice
They proposed an idea. A television show - or whatever it was. I had no idea that I was known outside of my cell, but they informed me that I had garnered notoriety for my schemes and outbursts. They wanted to use my face for the benefit of the city. They handed me a pen - a familiar instrument. Yet, they must be present when I use it. They wanted to manage my imagination and vision. Although shackled, at least I could create again.
Thus began the sessions.
Everyday my cell door would open. I followed the guard down the familiar hall, through the blue door, to sit down at the desk and chair. My designated creative space - perfectly centered under their watchful eye. Sometimes three, sometimes eight - not once were all nine present. He was never there. I would have felt it if he was.
At the end of the session, Keons would take my pen, gather my writings, and send me back. This went on for months.
What were we creating? I wasn’t sure. A variety show with songs and set pieces? Were the rulers of this stifled city actually attempting entertainment for its people? Everything I created had to be “for the benefit of the citizens of Dema” a phrase I heard often. I didn’t question them - I was happy to be out of my cell - and putting words to paper.
On the final day, I wrote the last line, I was asked to name it? The question caught me off guard. This seemed like a decision they would make.
Show Day: They dressed me up and asked me to smile a poor attempt at hiding my sleep deprivation. It was all so colorful, as if compensating for the grayness of the city.
It was a blur. Before I knew it, it was over, and I was back in my cell. I can only remember fragments - only blurred hallucinations of color and chaos - like a dream. The confusion of it all hangs overhead. What was it all for?
… but it wasn’t over
I guess it went well enough for them to request more of me. I was useful to Dema, and my creativity was exploited in new forms - They wanted me to be the entertainment at the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified - a performance at sea for the premiere citizens of Dema.
I knew those weren’t the real bishops on that ship.
I’ll quicken the entry - I need to keep up with the Torchbearer.
During the performance, we were attacked by something in the water. I don’t know what possessed the creature to attack, but it was odd, and felt incredibly intentional. Many lost their lives in the attack, and I was thrashed through the bitter cold waves, yet somehow survived. Did this icy cold preserve me? Why was I spared? I am still so cold as I write.
This place feels foreign - nothing like Trench. From the frigid sea, the air here is somehow colder than the water that surrounds it. I have a strange feeling that this island will provide answers.
I must go.

• Clancy

024 02MOON 28
__cla_im00FFFF letter, typed not signed
I found a way in. A way they'll never suspect, and a way they'll never understand. Everything about our cause is so hard for them to understand, but so close to the hearts of the glowing resistance. I can reach them all. I can recruit everyone with eyes that see beyond the horizon. I can teach them. They can learn what I've learned, and fly by all of the constructs Dema has placed in front of them. We will take it back.
CLASS 4:
017 02MOON 12
_ .jpg picture of yellow lines to mark “we are banditos” in next letter and numbers that spell trench
018 07MOON 01
e_sr_eve_r.jpg typed/ lines taped together signed
A lifeless light surrounds us each night. Never could I imagine that something so luminous could feel so dark. It’s this glow that reminds us of the dreamless existence we’ve been sentenced to. But what I call a sentence, others accept as normalcy. How did they so efficiently eradicate the dreams within us? When the bishops instituted Vialism as mandate, they effectively reversed the hope that many arrived with.
Am I the only one who realizes that we’ve been lied to? Am I the only one not afraid of the notion that the nine have hijacked our trust, and extinguished the hope that once motivated our existence? We used to close our eyes and picture a better life, now this city is full of dry eyes caught in a trance of obedience, devoid of any trace of an identity. The only significant light I’ve seen has been in the eyes of those smeared - such a curious sight, to see bright eyes strangled by the darkness of bishop hands. As their penance fades, so dims their memory of something more. My hope of something more is all I have in this rigid tomb, and I will not let it die.

• Clancy

018 07MOON 08
2_1_2.gif inverse jumpsuit pic that matches shape of letter from 018 07moon08
022 03MOON 18
W-eap-@on.jpg image of psychokinesis / seize Keons
CLASS 5:
013 01MOON 08
_ti_su_p map of dema compass missing
_ti_su_p.png sev_ering__tiez 3 blanks
018 07MOON 05
_o__ut_.gif landscape
018 07MOON 18
Unalone.gif letter written and signed
I can’t believe what I just saw. I'm still trying to understand. This whole time I was sure I was all alone - a single soul in this vast unknown world. But a few days into this trek, I looked down to see a figure headed the same way I was. I’ve tucked myself in these caves and crevices, trying my best to keep hidden, but he was out in the open, making his exhausted journey right down the middle of Trench. I was curious enough to follow alongside the path with him. He seemed unaffected by the fear of the unknown - the fear that tends to cripple me. To him, the terrain seemed familiar, as if he had been out here before.
While lost in my curiosity, they appeared. I had heard about them back in Dema, but to my knowledge, the stories were merely myth. Ten, twenty, and then what seemed to be a hundred Banditos appeared upon the cliff, all looking down at him. He only stopped for a moment to look back up at them, and then continued on his way. His energy changed, and I wasn’t sure if he was frightened or encouraged by their ominous presence.
They warned him of what was about to come.
It was a blur. First seeing the figure, then the Banditos, only to now have my eyes opened to the oncoming Bishop upon a white horse drawing closer in the distance.
The figure halted, and waited. When the Bishop stopped, I was sure he looked up, directly at me, so I hid deeper back in a cave. The presence of the robed rider seemed to paralyze the man. He stood still as he was approached, powerless as the outstretched hands smeared his neck. I had never seen a Bishop possess power like this. Keons had always seemed gentle and warm - this Bishop, at least out here, seemed like something else.
So I ran, and I’ve been running for as long as my legs and lungs can handle. Maybe this note will be my proof that what I witnessed was not a dream. A million questions race through my brain. Am I not the only one traveling through Trench?
I’ll travel a little further, and maybe I’ll get a moment of rest tonight. I may have made a mistake, leaving. This spot, between two places, is beginning to feel like an endless and hopeless abyss. At least Dema is a place that I know, and at times like this, I miss a lot about what I know. This will all be much tougher than I imagined. Nothing out here is familiar. I’ve witnessed the presence of others for the first time today, and I feel more alone than ever. Cover me.

• Clancy

024 02MOON 25
_maniac_Clay typed letter, not signed
These campfires feel like home, as I stare deeply into them, finding more and more clarity. They tried to tell us we were different. But the flame that burns inside of me is the same fire I've found on the hilltops of Trench. The Banditos have lived their rebellion, and a resistance is growing inside the concrete walls - one powerful enough to burn out all of the stale teachings, and usher in true hope and a path to actual life. We march in the morning. The revolution shall arrive with the sun.

After a faulty start setting up a charitable tax-exempt organization in their deceased sister’s name, to support domestic abuse victims in late 1994, the Browns had appointed at the helm to run it a convicted violent domestic abuser and swindler. A 1995 Los Angeles Times article cited that….”the founding president of the Nicole Brown Simpson fund, records show, is a convicted felon and accused spousal batterer, who was once named in a domestic restraining order for posing a “clear and present danger” to his estranged wife and two children. Jeff C. Noebel, a 40-year-old Dallas businessman, is currently awaiting sentencing in U.S. District Court for lying to federal authorities in a savings-and-loan investment scam, one of his many shaky business ventures that have left a trail of bankruptcies and lawsuits from Texas to California.” Yet, the Browns pretended they did not know his background though Noebel stated that he had told them about the abuse charges, apparently his silver tongue offer to build them a successful, donation-seeking, organization was too juicy for the Brown family to pass up.
Yet, here we go again, the Brown sisters grifting during the 30th anniversary month of the OJ Simpson case in conjunction with the Lifetime cable network with the two-night streaming of The Life and Murder of Nicole Brown Simpson.
It should be an interesting dichotomy, since for 30 years someone has been lying. The father, Louis Brown, stated to the police detectives and later coroner’s investigator less than 12 hours after the murders occurred that his daughter, Nicole Brown Simpson, was last known to be alive the night before at 11PM talking to her mother, Juditha Brown, regarding glasses left behind by the mother at Brentwood’s Mezzaluna restaurant.
Two days later the mother would give the same time on two different occasions, first to the Simpson defense investigators, and then after they told Attorney Robert Shapiro, he would ask her himself what time that last call took place. Juditha Brown would tell Shapiro the same thing, that she talked to Nicole at 11PM on or about June 16, 1994.
When Shapiro asked how she knew it was 11PM she stated that when she arrived home from Brentwood that night she checked the clock and it said 11PM. However, within 7 months the 11PM last call would be changed, in another flim-flam slid past all of the American viewers whose attention was generally diverted to some tabloid unrelated event outside the courtroom. The time of the last phone call was changed in a low-key stipulation entered in open court and offered surprisingly by the defense team’s Robert Shapiro. He was now agreeing to accept a new time of 09:37 PM as the last call shown on an exhibit document, the Exhibit 35 POSTERBOARD claimed to represent the phone calls of Juditha Brown. The importance of the stipulation in California is that by their long-established state law it allows the evidence to circumvent examination by a jury.
This may be one of the most important tools to allow that state to have their notable celebrity show trials. Supposedly, all times on the Posterboard were accepted by Shapiro as his covering excuse to speed the case along since the Simpson defense lawyer was posturing that the prosecution witness, Karen Crawford, Mezzaluna weekend manager and bartender, could not accurately be certain of the final time anyway. So, the defense would simply accept the times shown on the posterboard, including the alleged phone call from Juditha Brown at 9:37 PM as seen in the blown-up section provided above. Defense lawyer Johnnie Cochran would do the same 5 months later and leave tell-tale evidence of their cooperative malfeasance as shown in the following video clip. https://youtu.be/Bk3Muy_MgJA?si=rDrtYy84pmfjapE0. This video clip of Cochran stumped OMIG investigators for about 7 years as to why he would enter what appears to be a false stipulation, until realizing based on other information that the Simpson trial and its malfeasance was to be utilized by Cochran for a more important trial he had lost where an innocent man, that was his client, would spend almost 29 years of his life behind bars as a result of Cochran’s naivety until Cochran could maneuver his release.
11 PM is important to this case because it places OJ Simpson in the backseat of a chauffeured limousine on its way to LAX for him to catch an 11:45 PM flight to Chicago while his ex-wife was still alive. The waitress, Tia Gavin, stated that the Brown party departed the Mezzaluna restaurant at around 8:45 PM, and now the last phone call from the Brown home in Dana Point, Orange County was at 09:37 PM approximately 52 minutes after departing Brentwood in West Los Angeles. Everyone, i.e. news commentators, highway patrolmen are on tape saying the distance was a 90 minute to two-hour drive between Brentwood and Dana Point, Orange County. This includes the two lead LAPD detectives, Phil Vannatter and Tom Lange, who stated in their book EVIDENCE DISMISSED below, that the drive was at least an hour and a half drive.
Since two of the Brown sisters were in the car on that fateful drive back home that night from L.A.’s Brentwood to Dana Point, someone is lying, and it certainly does not appear to be our side since all of the evidence appears to support our findings that the Brown family did not arrive home in approximately 45+ minutes. The highway data regarding traffic volume and density due to highway construction to build the HOV lane imply more like a 2-hour drive. This is what the data indicates the drive home for the Browns looked like on the southbound I-405 the night of June 12, 1994 between the hour of their departure from Brentwood between 8-9PM.
We at OMIG predict that the truth is going to ultimately catch up to all of these charlatans and grifters and expose them for this reckless and dangerous lie that they have placed before the public for the last 30 years sucking up all oxygen in the media space. The phone records were removed by court order from the Simpson case file to continue this lie so that the records could not be examined. However, these corrupt officials beyond the Brown sisters have continued to conceal the truth.
Several people pull this angelic cloak off of their unfortunate deceased sister, Nicole. Even Kato Kaelin, who Nicole invited to move into her pool guest house on Gretna Green before moving over to her condo on Bundy spoke in his book about Nicole throwing drug parties, where the party goers were making a bee-line upstairs, going up and down to the point Kato asked why. Someone pulled his coat during his recent meeting of Nicole as an invited guest to her party and told him “That’s where the cocaine is”. Kato who resided a year with Nicole and her children, would go on to state in his book that he witnessed Nicole becoming very belligerent and out of control when drinking too much tequila when out in social settings. Having to have the keys wrestled away by her girlfriends from preventing her being a drunk driver on the streets and highways. On one occasion it became so embarrassing with her being out of control that he simply left the gathering, which appeared to be par for the course for the Mousey looking house guest. He also accused Nicole the obsessive party gal of being a chain smoker; hence, he undermines the pristine image that the prissy Brown sister-grifters seem to be attempting to portray in all probability for the sake of making a dollar once again.
They knew that the so-called Bruno Magli shoe prints found in the sidewalk tiles did not fit Simpson’s foot, so they have attempted to conceal that until OMIG investigators examined the police photos and attained verification that the sidewalk tiles were only 11- and 1/2-inches square.
Because OMIG investigators stood firm during an interview with former FBI agents that one of their peers had lied about his true knowledge concerning Simpson’s foot in those size 12 Bruno Magli shoes, they in turn called back and provided OMIG with 53 pounds of documents some of which was associated directly with the Simpson trial indicating that the agent, Roger Martz, had been lying and committing perjury as it related to the blood the FBI lab was asked to examine. He wrote a letter back to the LADA’s office and the deputy DA who had asked for their help, Rockne Harmon, telling them that he, Roger Martz, had completed an examination of the blood samples of Simpson found on the back gate and blood of Nicole found on socks on Simpson’s bedroom floor. Martz said that he could find no contamination with the blood preservative EDTA. It appears that Martz lied, and was called out for his lies by other FBI examiners in the lab in a complaint filed with the Office of the Inspector General of the USDOJ.
That document, entitled by OMIG as the Whitehurst Complaint due to the author who filed it, former FBI Agent Frederic Whitehurst, became a hidden document as well one in which OMIG has filed at least 3 Freedom of Information Requests to attain from the Office of the Inspector General. This all is predictably going to unravel, and exposes the weakness of using the Brown sisters to promote a false narrative with its subtle yet powerful racial undertones to the detriment of so many more important events that have taken place over the last 30 years. This promulgation simply exposes the recklessness in doing something like that by exposing the soft underbelly of vulnerability as a national security threat to the nation by providing a cheap and cost effective tool to weaponize to fragment and polarize a nation, with that being the use of racial animus to create national mass hysteria.

Yeah so I didn’t win the doodle for google thing so I figured id share my submission here. Below will be the explanation behind the art for those curious. I apologize for any spelling, grammatical, and/or factual errors.
This is MY dream for the next 25 years.
The g contains a sample of the symbols for common religions/theologies from around the world and the wood grain represents a dinner table, the place to share meals and good stories and the hope that one day there will be peace enough to eat in the presence of someone completely different of you. I dream for tolerance, no matter the vast amount of differences we share.
The o contains a few but not anywhere near all of the species currently endangered of extinction living in our oceans and bodies of water. They deserve our help, I dream to see them return in thriving numbers and for them to have clean seas to live in.
The second o is for the horn of Africa. Their region has provided for this entire world for a very long time and yet they still face hunger and many other struggles that are simply a tragedy when thinking of all they provide both in services and goods such as food, resources, and materials for construction and clothing. I dream to see them be thanked, fully, for what they have lost and given.
The g is symbolic of the drinking water of the world, and the lack of that many face. The green boarder contains many words from across the world that mean “water”. I dream for a day that water is free and everyone has clean water to drink, cook with, bathe with, and play in.
The L has become a tree, it grows tall and shades and protects the others like I wish I could myself. It is a baobab tree, one at risk of extinction and some of the largest trees to grace our planet. My dream is to see them one day, to travel and connect with the many astounding parts of this world, to see the people and hear their dreams and loves, to know their fears and to know the places they adored as children. I dream to speak with the ancient things of this world, and I dream to see them thrive as they are even in the face of extinction.
The final G is symbolic of the beloved groves of 🍉, of their beautiful streets, high flying birds, and their wild, free children that run through their streets. It is for the hope, and the untamable resistance that lives in the ruined streets of Gaza. It is for the loved ones that now only dance in their creator’s embrace and the warm rays of the sunset. The final letter is for those who have suffered, for those bearing the crushing weight of oppression. I am sorry, for what I have not done I am sorry. I dream of everyone being free and safe to raise their families, safe to go to school, and safe to rest their heads after a long day of being alive.
That is my dream for the next 25 years, and forever after that.

Ancient legends from thousands of years’ past once told of a magical portal that resided in a forest in the north. A tale that a portal as black as night which bore three rings on its frame would sing a song of chaos before unleashing forces of calamity upon the world. While this portal was easily found, every attempt to destroy the ruinous portal was left unsuccessful. Heroes’ swords would shatter upon its cold, metallic frame. Dwarven forged magma would cool instantly upon contact. No form of magic could move, much less scratch it. In the end, instead of attempting to destroy the device, researchers studied it in an attempt to reduce the damage of whatever could come from the other side.
Countless centuries had passed. The building that surrounded the portal had changed several times, from a temple of worship, to an altar to appease the unknown gods beyond, to a facility of study. Scholars, researchers, and the top scientists have come and gone. Even to this day, nothing could be figured out about the device. Its metal was stronger than any alloy ever known and its makeup couldn’t even be determined. The runes on its rings were never translated, for no correlation could be found from any written language. As time went by, people gave up and soon after, the legend fell into obscurity, the protection spells cast upon and around the portal had expired long ago, and the world forgot about the calamity that was supposed to come. The facility that now housed the ruins had fallen into disarray long ago. The only thing that remained the same was the black sheen of the portal’s rings, unmoved, untouched, and unchanged.
One day, a group of juvenile kids broke through the rusted doors of the facility, “You sure you know where we are going?” one of the kids, a teenage human boy, asked, “You said we’d find an ancient artifact, but all I’ve seen so far is a bunch of junk machinery.”
“Quit complaining,” a young elf boy replied, “I’ve been exploring this place for about a century and the building has been abandoned for longer. The artifact can’t be moved at all, so it’s not like it’s going to have gone anywhere.”
“So, what are we going to do with it that hundreds of adults haven’t done?” a tiefling girl questioned, “It’s not like we’ve got the ability to do much, Jaz. Seriously, only one of us is from a sorcerer bloodline, and he’s the youngest of us three.”
“That’s exactly why I brought him with us Tal,” Jaz brushed the comment aside as he shoved a sliding door back into its socket, “Erick isn’t just from any old sorcerer bloodline, but from a wild magic bloodline. While most people claim that there’s only a select amount of reactions that could happen when magic goes wild, my grandfather claims that to be untrue, so we’re going to test that theory tonight.”
The three trekked through the ruins of the derelict testing site, passing by multiple research halls and storage facilities holding ancient machines, artifacts, and constructs from generations’ past. Along the way, Erick spoke up, “Even if we do manage to activate the portal, what do you expect to happen? Wasn’t there an old tale of the portal bringing calamity?”
“Oh please,” Jaz waved Erick’s concerns aside, “That crummy old legend is so long overdue. If the portal was to bring the end times, it would have been done by now. I’m sure whatever that was supposed to come about had already done so before the legend was even created.”
“So, we’re opening a portal to a realm where an old disaster came from. I highly doubt anything would go wrong with that idea,” Tal mocked sarcastically.
“Sheesh, no one here has that spirit of adventure that we had five years ago, I see,” Jaz huffed to himself.
Eventually, after passing through expansive corridors, the three made it to the center of the building, coming across a pair of bunker doors, “Oh, wow. Looks like a portal, alright,” Tal deadpanned.
“Jeeze, no need to be an ass about it. I saw the portal frame beyond these doors by looking through reinforced glass on the sides of the room,” Jaz retorted.
“So why aren’t we going through those rooms instead of trying to bust our way through a heavy set of doors?” Tal asked.
“Because those pathways are nothing but catwalks above a pit I can’t even see the bottom of. And if I recall correctly, explosions tend to not be good on catwalks, and none of us can fly.”
“So we are getting through this door… how?”
Jaz smirked, “That’s where you come in. You know how your infernal powers are extremely potent? Strong enough to melt that old bunker tank we found a few months ago with ease?” Tal thought back to that moment and recalled how she melted a tank in several seconds while her other tiefling friends struggled to even warp the plating. “Well, if it’s strong enough to melt a tank, I’m sure it’s strong enough to melt a door. So give it a crack.”
“Fine, I’m not sure how well this will go, but I’ll give it a shot.” Tal passed by Erick and Jaz before stopping in front of the right bunker door. She rubbed her hands together before placing them on the metal front of the door, focusing on channeling her innate magic through her hands. Slowly, the area of metal she was pressing against started to give off heat, even turning red before Tal began to sweat from straining herself. With a gasp, she let go of the door, a faint pair of handprints barely indented the door, “That’s all I got. We ain’t getting through.”
“Seriously, Taffy? That’s all you got?” Jaz blurted out.
“Hey! Don’t call me Taffy! You know I hate that name!” Tal shot back.
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do? Taffy!” Jaz mocked, “Ta-” he was interrupted by a fireball flying at him. Jaz barely ducked out of the way, singing his hair almost to the roots, leaving a giant hole in his hair and a large scorch mark behind him. “Oh it’s on.”
The two got in each other's faces, looking like they were about to trade blows. Meanwhile Erick simply studied the doors, tracing the exterior until he found a subtle mark in the corner. He gave it a closer look and found that it was actually a welding indent, probably hiding the wires that powered the giant doors. He traced them back several rooms to find an electrical panel. Upon opening it, he found that the fuses were all corroded heavily. Tossing the ruined material away, Erick found a set of wires that didn’t seem to have weathered much decay. Taking a deep breath, he focused his magic in his best attempt to keep it from going wild, stuck his hand into the panel, and cast his magic, causing a large surge of electricity to go through the wires. Red emergency lights turned on as a siren began to blare. Returning to the room in front of the doors, he found that the two had actually come to blows while he was gone. Jaz was in a half nelson grapple while trying to space himself by holding Tal at arm’s length by the chin, he had a large bruise on his cheek while Tal had a small chipping on one of her horns. The two apparently stopped when the doors were activated. When the doors stopped and the sirens returned to silence, Jaz and Tal turned towards Erick with their mouths agape, “There, solved the problem,” Erick said nonchalantly, passing by his friends and into the room ahead, “Now c’mon, we have a portal to activate, don’t we?”
Jaz and Tal shook their heads as they got off each other and caught up with Erick, only to find him at the top of a set of stairs with his mouth agape this time. They followed his gaze and reacted the same when they realized that the portal they’ve been after this whole time, was glowing, “That wasn’t how it looked like a week ago,” Jaz confirmed.
The glow quickly became an afterthought when the portal rumbled as the rings began to move for the first time in centuries. They slowly accelerated until the runes became impossible to track. Once the rings reached their apex speed, the droning sound of what sounded like chants were heard coming from the portal. The droning died out quickly as the rings quickly stopped, before turning the opposite direction and the droning began again. This became a pattern as more sounds followed in suit: ticking, clicking, scraping, hissing, chirping, and an eerie whistle all followed in a somehow harmonious tune, all following the chant of the portal.
“A portal that would sing a song of ruin before releasing disaster upon the world,” Jaz whispered.
“What do we do now?” Erick asked, “Should we get someone? Wasn’t this supposed to be a dangerous artifact?”
“I don’t know,” Tal breathed through clenched teeth, “Would anyone be able to react fast enough? Should we contact the magic council? I mean, we aren’t supposed to be here. What do you think, Jaz? Jaz?!” she turned to find that Jaz had turned tail and fled the scene not too long ago, “Jaz!” she called again. No response.
Not soon after, the portal’s rings froze in place suddenly, a moment of pure silence filled the room as the rings suddenly burst into its segments, all floating in orbit around its center. From each segment, a beam of energy emerged from it and coalesced into an orb of plasma at the center, slowly growing wider until it filled the original empty space the portal had. From within the ball of plasma, two beings emerged from its core. A man with jet black hair, tanned skin, and dark jade green eyes emerged first. His clothing looked like he came right from an apocalypse. He looked around the room before turning back around and reached back into the portal, pulling a woman out from the core. The woman had white hair, pale skin, and radiant purple eyes. Her clothing looked like it was in an even worse state, her black robes were completely tattered. She looked around as well before turning back to the man. The language she spoke was completely foreign to the two young teens. The man conversed in the same unknown language before turning back to the area around them. Eventually, the two beings found Erick and Tal. The kids were paralyzed by both fear and awe at what just happened, both holding their breath in hope that the two beings from beyond ignore them.
Alas, that hope was squandered as the two approached them. The man and woman approached the two, Erick locked eyes with the man as he stared through the kid. Irregular eyes was the first thing Erick noticed, his left being rectangular like an octopus, while his right was sharp like a lizard’s. The woman stared in turn at Tal, her purple eyes faintly glowed and revealed a sense of curiosity, the only emotion Tal could find on the woman’s face. With a breath, the man spoke, “Ahf' ye'bthnk ymg' ah ai, gof'n?”
Erick was stunned, he was expecting a language that would pierce the fabric of reality, or make his head explode. Instead, it was simply a sentence that he just didn’t know or understand, “Uh… um… I don’t know what you said, sir…” he wasn’t even sure if the beings were male and female at the time, or if they had a concept of gender where they were from, but he spoke on pure instinct, worried any word he uttered would result in the being to become enraged and turn him inside out. Tal eyed Erick with baited breath, hoping this encounter with the unknown wouldn’t result in either of their demise.
The result was a rather tame one compared to their wildest expectations. Instead, the male being studied Erick before clearing his throat, “Apologies, it’s been a few centuries since I spoke in this language. I didn’t expect the first people we would meet to be so young.”
“There’s a third, running away from here,” the woman pointed in a direction between the facility and the village the three kids were from, her eyes glowed brighter for a brief moment, “Older, age-wise, but still young physically and mentally,” her voice was monotone, like someone who couldn’t portray emotion.
The male nodded before turning back to Erick and Tal, “What’s this world like? Does magic exist here? Creatures of legend and beings as old as time?”
“T-there’s plenty of magic around,” Tal explained, “Almost every living thing has at least some magic within them.”
“And there have been times where the gods have roamed the land,” Erick added, “It’s not often they are seen though, mostly within or around the wizard council.”
The male hummed, seeming pleased with the answer, “It seems our hunch was right. I think we’ll be around for a while, Sister.”
“Very well,” the woman replied, “Let’s get settled, then.” The two proceeded to pass by Erick and Tal, heading towards the facility’s entrance.
“W-wait!” Erick blurted out, causing the two to stop and turn back towards the kids. As Tal looked like she was about to have a heart attack, Erick summoned the courage to ask, “There was an old prophecy, or I guess a legend about that portal,” he pointed back to the portal, which had now converted back to it’s original position, no trace it was active at all once more, “The stories tell that beings of calamity would come through and destroy this world. Are you two those beings of calamity?”
The two stared at each other before returning back to the kids, both speaking in unison, “We can be,” before turning back to the entrance and continuing onward.
Erick and Tal watched the two leave their sight before looking at each other with both confusion and dread. After several minutes, the rundown atmosphere started to get to the kids and they hastily took their leave. Upon returning to the village, they were promptly scolded by family members for being out so late, but both refused to tell any details regarding their adventure. They met up with Jaz the following morning and after a verbal beatdown for chickening out despite being the one to bring up the idea of going to the facility, Jaz confirmed that he didn’t tell anyone about what happened the prior day either. The three swore to not speak of the incident unless the world was about to end, for fear that they would be not believed at least, or ostracized for their actions at most.
Decades later, none of them spoke a word of that fateful day, but all three wonder what happened to the two that came from the portal, or where they could now be.
“Brother, I miss Glo, can I bring her here?”
The elder brother sighed, “Be thankful that your fire skeleton incident caused me to promptly fireproof my home. I’m sure a salamander wouldn’t burn this house down, but it makes me more at ease that your lover won’t cause me any financial pain. Sure, Aurora, you can bring Glo over here from now on. Just make sure she doesn’t damage the electrical plant.”
Aurora’s eyes beamed with joy, “Yay!” she threw her hands into the air, symbolizing the excitement her voice couldn’t portray, “Thank you, Arcturus.”
“Yeah, yeah, just don’t cause a mess.” Arcturus groaned as the doorbell rang. He got up from his sofa and approached the door, opening it to find a young man in a delivery uniform, “Grubber Eats order for… Arcturus?”
“Yep, that’s me…” he looked at the nametag on the guy’s uniform, “Erick? With a C and K?”
Erick sighed, “Yeah, the parents back in our home village had a weird tradition for giving their kids weird names, like Eric with a second letter that makes the same sound, a name that’s been long ago shortened to either a C or K mind you, or Taffy for my fiance’s name, but don’t tell her I called her that, she’s hated that name since our childhood.”
“Fiance eh?” Arcturus asked as he accepted the food, “This your primary job?”
Erick shook his head, “No, I have another as the village’s local sorcerer. Being the only one in my family to actually be able to control their magic tends to open a lot of jobs when most people there aren’t as magically gifted compared to other towns. This is just a second job for us to pay for a new house.”
“Well that’s cool. Good luck with your future endeavors.” Arcturus studied the man’s appearance, recognizing some features from someone long ago, “Say, any chance your girl is a tiefling?”
Erick looked stunned, “Why, yes… how did you-” he made a double take upon see Arcturus’ jade green eyes, “Are… are you that man that came from the portal a few decades ago?”
Arcturus laughed, “Yes, that was me, and my sister, Aurora. Nice to formally meet you, the name’s Arcturus Maestas, my sister still has the same last name, too.” Arcturus held out his hand.
Erick nervously shook his hand in return, “Nice to meet you too… You aren’t going to destroy this world any time soon, are you?” he asked, “Or your sister, or anyone you guys know?”
“No, nothing like that for a while,” Arcturus shook his head, “Our patron hasn’t scheduled any formal chaos within this universe from our end for the next…” he pulled out a parchment that looked both in and out of tune with the visuals of their current world, “collapse and reformation of the universe, plus one point seven trillion years. So basically around a similar time after this universe has reset itself.” The parchment disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.
“I… I see,” Erick laughed sheepishly, “Well, it’s nice to meet you again, Mr. Maestas. I should get going now,” Erick turned heel as he prepared to leave.
At that moment, Arcturus noticed something only he could see. After a bit of hesitation, he decided to follow through with it, “One moment, Erick,” Arcturus called out, causing the human to freeze and turn back around, “How are things going financially? You expect to pay off that house in a reasonable time?”
Erick paused for a moment, considering if he should answer honestly, “To be frank, no, things aren’t reasonable right now. Even with the payment from both of my jobs, Tal had to get herself some as well to keep up with expenses. Even then, our average profit is about a dozen gold per month. And we bought a house without a down payment for about thirty thousand…”
“Sounds a bit out of reach for someone like you two,” Arcturus admitted.
“It is, but it was the only one we could get within reason. Despite being of use to our village, my family has a reputation for its debt due to wild magic incidents. My parents both died recently, so the village placed the debt upon me. Fortunately, things could be even worse. I heard that small towns can still often find scorn against infernal beings like tieflings, so going beyond our village isn’t really an option for better housing of reasonable size. This is the best we can do without working ourselves to death or traveling farther than what we are comfortable with,” Erick lamented.
Arcturus thought for a bit before asking Erick to wait a moment. He ventured into his basement and pulled out a small bag of coins. Upon returning to the door, he tossed the bag to Erick, “Here’s a tip, twenty platinum should suffice,”
“Are… are you sure I can have this?” Erick asked as he counted the coin, to which Arcturus nodded, “T-thank you. How can I repay you for such generosity?”
“Like I said, it’s a tip, so that’s already paid for in just,” Arcturus explained, “However, I can offer more if you so desire. The only cost is you help me and my sister with some basic endeavors. You said you have been learning to control your magic?” Erick nodded, “Good, then you can help us with some things. We can pay you much more for much less than what your current jobs will force you through. Think it over. Come knocking again if you ever consider. There will be a bit of danger, so the pay will be well beyond reasonable if accidents do occur. I will ensure you’re not in mortal peril, though.”
“Really? Thank you. I’ll discuss this with my fiance. I hope to see you again, Mr. Maestas. Have a good rest of your day.”
“You too, Erick.” Arcturus waved the young man off before closing the door and placing his order on the table, “Food.”
Aurora stared at her brother, “Don’t incite the one word incantation, Arc. We don’t need him here right now.” Nonetheless, she got up from the couch and opened her share of the meal. “Who was that? I’ve never seen you give a courier such a generous tip before.”
“An old acquaintance from our early years here. He performed a favor for us greater than he even knows, I’m just simply offering to repay such generosity. I doubt he would have accepted the payment in full outright if I didn’t give him a job. The favor would be miniscule to him from an outside perspective after all.” Arcturus winked as three draconic eyes and a crown of jagged horns warped into the fabric of reality around him, giving Aurora a clear message of what he meant.
“I see. If we shall repay him, then we shall do so to what he would consider acceptable.”
And with that, their conversation ended. The two sat in silence as they ate while a couple of towns over, a recently engaged couple would soon discuss what fortune had been offered to them. Little did the latter half know what this fortune would truly entail, and that a lifetime’s worth of adventures would soon follow. Meanwhile in the forest of the north, the frame of the portal flickered to life once more, causing an eerie drone to echo throughout the facility.

https://preview.redd.it/xufaz3xn0v3d1.png?width=1045&format=png&auto=webp&s=ea86578f0c213b7df0c9f04b3768f4ebf64f7d41
I have a roughly 2lb package coming from the states to Pakistan. The tracking is formatted "UC000******US", and the page states "features: International Letter"
It's been just about 2 weeks with no movement. Did the shipper send this untracked? Has it just not been processed? I mean, is it even possible to go this long without scans?
Anyways I appreciate the input from anyone more knowledgeable than myself 🙏