My talent was discovered before I knew how to write. My mother had taken me to the library to check out some books. She had let me check out a VHS tape on karate. The film opened with a man demonstrating many of the more advanced blocks, strikes, and throws. Later that night when my dad came home, he started to wrestle with me, as he was so fond to do. When he came towards me, I replicated the throw I’d seen the man do on the tape. I grabbed his dominant hand twisting it and in a fluid motion pulled him over my body while throwing my hips and legs towards his knees and flipped him over my shoulder and onto our floor.

My talent had first been expressed and it helped me to mimic behaviors I saw even if it was the first time I’d seen them. This gift could have been cultivated for beneficial things; it could have allowed me to become anything I was passionate about or Yahweh wanted me to do. But once my first gifting had been discovered, The Family had their lusts and ledgers to satisfy.

This ability was to be groomed and cultivated to become a talent for them. Just before my first year in grade school, I was taken back to my Knighted grandpa’s, and with the priest’s hands placed over mine, I was made to end a mans life for the first time. The cost for me was a shattered soul but the prize for The Brotherhood was a new seat of power. The Knight advanced a degree, then later became a frequent Times magazine cover stable, a governor and war hero to the deceived. Perhaps a character was built around him who shall not be named; the one who proudly armed rebels and over threw our own puppet regimes in The Middle East. The one who partners with The Families whose Senior Executive Services built them a Presidential infestation force of coercion, compromise, and control. Who built a league with The Family members of hiding in plain site on C Street architecting and orchestrating fellowships with Death.

The devastation of my first kill shattered my soul and into that space came with it a seemingly beautiful yet vexingly lurid entity, which never needs to be named. He became a familiar spirit of death, rage, and murder who helped me do the worst of deeds. My shedding of blood after Family killings were through fueled his spiritual power and in turn, he empowered my ability to enact more violence, lust, destruction, sin, cursing, and death. The manipulated contractual agreement is the true origin story of a virus with its host; it devoured my life while it made me a full time producer for death.

These are the darkest of Secrets that so few are willing to share. The truth is you do not make super soldiers, assassins or spies without the aid of The Kingdom of Darkness. This does not mean programmers, participants, or victims are always aware that the powers being funneled into their personalities are demonic. This is because unlike the Hollywood version of spiritual warfare, demonic entities in reality masquerade as something else. The shape-shifting quality of deceitful ones enables them to take on various forms to deceive, manipulate and control their targets.

For example, in the heights of my abuse and pain, The Brutes would have me call out to a specific ‘power’ to save me, which was often an angel of light or being of seduction or enormous intellect and strength. They would read incantations and ancient oaths over us as the abuse occurred. I would make an agreement with the manifested spirit, the force, or feeling to have permission to come into me and equip me with strength to overpower my enemies or no longer feel pain. This occult knowledge is what The Order, my grandfather and his ‘brothers’ were armed with. The method of fracturing, programming and demonizing he used on me proved to be a tremendous success. Success as defined by kills, blackmail tapes of pedophilic rape, and un-detected infiltrations, exfiltration’s and theft.

This success led him along with other close Family members to put together a training program on how children can be made stronger and more lethal if you demonically charge their personalities and make them killers of the first class kind. The premise was not to wait until they could develop physical capabilities to achieve their goals but instead to start immediately imbuing them with spiritual powers to enable greater works at early ages.

They believed the younger the child, the better because the spiritual powers released in a child were not dependent on their physical size but the strength of their will. Many of The Orders and Gnostic Religions believe that The Will is the true Force, which can manifest physical power and actions from internal sources. The training program my grandfather helped create was sold to other Families, Lodges, and international governing bodies, earning them a tremendous increase. The cultivation of such chosen ones is chronicled and documented in Russ Dizdar’s book The Black Awakening: The Rise of Satanic Super Soldier’s and Expelling The Darkness.

After the splitting of my soul and the charging of those personalities, I found shape shifting power abiding within which could be unleashed with furious force. How and in what ways it was unleashed was entirely controlled, just like a combat dog can be trained to allow its master to safely pet it but when given a command, it will tear apart the nerve clusters and arteries of its targets.

It was these newfound pieces of my broken mind that were sharpened into a Blade. That Blade took on its own identity and soon they taught me how to channel the hatred of my abusers, the rage, and the desire for vengeance into the edge of a knife, a strangulation cord, fragmenting bullet or poisoned syringe. They manipulated my misery and pain and forced me to prove my worth to The Family by learning the ways of death.

I was taught and initiated by many masters how to cut a body so the blood would leak out slowly, quickly, or bring death in seven seconds or less. I was taught by other chiefs and big medicine men to skin and shadow walk, later came the ways to walk on leaves without making noise. Later still came the commanders and instructors who made me capable of not leaving a trace of my presence even down to my DNA at the scene of targeted eliminations.

Because of this I was forced into The Underground world where blackmail and death threats are strictly enforced. The Family was proud of their child killers. They could profit tremendously from the snuff films and their little murderers for hire.

After all, they liked to remind people that children fit in places adults just can’t. They are so easily overlooked and passed over, never considered to be a threat. Who would think a nine-year-old boy could instantaneously overpower a fully-grown bodyguard? With the right kind of training and spirits present, it can be done quite easily.

Ask someone who has spent time in the trenches of a locked residential mental health center for disturbed children if they’ve ever seen grown men thrown around like ragdolls by young kids? I witnessed it with my eyes dozens of times while working at just such a facility. I watched five grown men be lifted off the ground by an eight-year-old girl whose eyes changed color while lying on her back in a “quiet room” during a restraint.

Other times I’ve seen ten-year-old boys outrun fit college-age students at the height of their athleticism. Even the center’s atheistic and scientifically religious psychiatrists, case managers, and supervisors had a special name for them: they called them “Runners.” Once a Runner took off, they could hardly if ever be caught.

For some reason I did not understand openly at the time, I could always catch them. I could throw a switch in my brain and bring my Runner and race past every other staff member and catch up to them all. There was never a shift I worked at that facility where a Runner escaped. It does not always take something supernatural to do it; sometimes just the shutting off of your need to not strain a muscle or the fears of what would happen if you ran full speed onto a busy six-lane road can also work. Running is essential when it comes to The Trade or work The Families do. Sometimes paying clients or red light guests get too abusive or too close to someone who might help get them out.

The Family realized they could convince me to kill anyone for them so long as I believed they were a pedophile, Brute, a trafficker of children, or someone who covered up these types of crimes. While I grew in my skills and abilities, my parents were quick to cover the visible signs of my abuse and trauma by moving me from school to school. Between 2nd and 3rd grade alone they had me change schools four times. It was this pattern of hiding the evidence and destabilization of his Chosen one that my father was so good at. All the while broadening and deepening The Reynolds Southwestern tendrils of blackmail and manipulative control. Too many “Little Black Books” and “Compromising Files” were built by selling off my body, blades or blood, and these became powerful tools The Family used for significant gain.

If a teacher at school started asking too many questions about why my handwriting would change so drastically as I switched from one personality to another or about the bruises or uncontrollable vomiting sessions, I would be forced into a new school. Worse still were when I’d grown too close to a friend or their family who might make me feel safe, loved, and understood, the rug would be pulled out from under and away we would go.

Certain aspects of my Family’s approach are different than others. I can’t sit here and try to claim I know how all of The Underworld operates; all I can tell is The Secrets I was raised with and taught. Some Families give their children all the training for their gifting, yet they do not “let them loose” until a much later date. The Disney’s and their Mickey Mouse boys and girls turned into objects of lust are internationally renowned for it.

Some are given all the pleasures and luxuries money can buy, while others starve their children continually, lavishing plenty on The Family around them but keeping them caged like a lion in a pit waiting for his prey. This is why some Families raise their children on Familial maintained estates while others are sent to the suburbs, subways, and trailer parks.

My role in The Family necessitated mediocrity. Chosen ones, especially Guardians and assassins are not allowed to stand out, and so I was made to be mediocre. They are made to be chameleons able to look like their environments and become what their prey believed, wanted, and expected to see. Within this path there is no exceptionalism allowed as it brings unwanted attention. My Family took The Trade seriously, and they knew that the best way to climb the pyramid to influence, power, and wealth was to offer up their “pet project.” My blood, body, blade, and blackmail records were the currency of bricks my Family used to build its tower of rebellion. Once my bodily skills, talents and usefulness were uncontrollable, they moved on to the next generation.

There is only so much a mind can endure, and the traumas my body had experienced had left their marks. There is a saying proven correct, “Killing always leaves a mark.” The first murderer of man, Cain, can attest to being cursed with such a burden. He was the first to bear the mark of death. Now I too was made to carry this mark.

Too many of the traumas were invisible and after my East Coast Elite grandfather, a former President over The American Society of Civil Engineers, who my dad had moved in with us, died, it left me without an identity as his “property.” I grew overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. I could not bear the sadness and did not know why I hurt so badly inside. To have a physical expression of the internal pain, I turned to self-mutilation, pornography, alcohol, and any other “Family allowed” substance that would alter my mind.

It was how I survived the torment at night or the bullying at the latest Family funded private Christian school I attended. It was a mad world, and I thought if I could just get away from my Family, I could have a better future. This was soon to be what I was offered: a well-prepared treat for my eyes, which promised honor, awards, and accolades, but they would instead leave me with dozens of more bodies and burdens of guilt stacked at my master’s feet.