by Martha Twine
Sexual exploitation of children is not considered wrong by Al-Qaida. This approach is commonplace across the Arab world. Under the IRA-Al-Qaida contract for funding of the local terrorist unit, it was specified that young children should be supplied to the Daesh ‘warriors’ for sexual refreshment, to be accessible several times a day. A child brothel was set up for this purpose.
The Al-Qaida contract required that Daesh males must never be seen walking outside, and must not be visible from the air. This meant that they had to get into vans inside garages, and be transported into other areas, shielded from view. In my area, there was a secret underground walkway which enabled Daesh to reach terrorist buildings within about five hundred yards of their dedicated safe house. The child brothel was located in the summer house, where there were two shower rooms and a changing area. The children were also transported in a van to different locations in the evening.
The Al-Qaida batch kids were kept outside formal education. Some could barely read and write, and their main skills included petty thieving, prostitution and illegal drug distribution. The boys had some weapons training, including martial arts, how to throw fire bombs, and how to use electronic and electromagnetic weapons. The girls learned to use electronic weapons, and to operate synthetic telepathy equipment. In 2015 Al-Qaida stopped funding child batches in the West, on the grounds that they didn’t produce the desired results. Al-Qaida realised that the money provided for them was being siphoned off, and that the end product, the future generation of soldiers, was not fit for purpose.
It is common knowledge that the IRA have paedophiles in their midst, although I have met soldiers within the Republican movement that are totally opposed to such things. A house owned by an IRA family near where I lived was being run as a child brothel for children aged four to eight years old. Some of the children in it had been trafficked from France. I used to see a four-year-old child and her mother speaking French in the supermarket. They lived at the brothel house, but after eighteen months the mother disappeared, leaving the child. It turned out that the mother had been a Creole interpreter, working with the regular intake of Algerian Daesh illegal immigrants that arrived very week in our terrorist unit.
The brothel was supervised by Esme, the Anglo-Pakistani terrorist. She tortured the children with a microwave gun to make them take part in brothel activities, and carried out a painful process on their colons, which triggered voiding of the bowel, to make it more hygienic for the Algerian clients, and the elderly white paedophiles that patronised the establishment. The Algerian clients turned out not to be so hygienic, and it was no surprise when, following health checks run by the secret US mafia research establishment across the road, the brothel was pronounced to be awash with HIV. Nothing was done about it, as both children and clients were considered expendable.
Some of the white paedophiles were ex-convicts from Birmingham, who had been imprisoned for child sex offences. They were operating a drug trafficking group in collaboration with some Pakistani drug runners who were in league with the IRA. The Pakistanis originated from South Africa, and they willingly harboured the Algerian Daesh migrants. Both white and black paedophiles operated from the same building.
The whites got drunk a lot, and tortured the women they supervised, and any kids they could reach, with electronic weapons. The Pakistanis did not drink as much, but they used the crack cocaine that they traded in. A Pakistani male pusher in his late fifties figured out a way to make child sex abuse more entertaining for himself, and those of his colleagues who could no longer sustain an erection. He inserted devices with batteries into the colons of the tiny kids, and then, using remote controls, he and his friends directed electric shocks through the batteries, making the children scream and squirm uncontrollably.
Whenever a prospective client appeared in the child brothel, the children would run towards him, climbing all over him, and attempting to undo his trousers, in a demonstration of extreme enthusiasm. Failure to do so would have resulted in an electric shock punishment. One evening I saw a small boy about three years old crying inconsolably in the garden. One of the terrorists explained that none of the brothel’s clients had selected him that evening, and he would be punished for that.
Following the withdrawal of Al-Qaida funding for the ‘batch kids’, the future of the child brothel was uncertain. The original managers of the children, an elderly child trafficker and a dipsomaniac IRA woman in her fifties, had both left. The child trafficker had died, apparently of old age and poor life-style, and the IRA woman left after she was diagnosed with cancer. A number of women tried to run the child brothel, but their numbers reduced, as the deaths within the terrorist community increased.
The posts of child managers were advertised, and a married couple in their thirties, from a mafia unit in Canada, applied for the job. They were given a week’s acclimatisation, to see if they liked the work. It involved a lot more than the official position suggested. They were constantly required to put up people for the night, and host events for visiting groups bringing young children. The applicants were doing alright, and seemed likely to accept the post, when they went down with acute food poisoning. This affected others staying with them, and the entire operation had to close, owing to the debilitating nature of the attack.
It later emerged that the poisoning had been deliberate. Esme, the Jihadist, had wanted the job. She and other local terrorists, who had not been offered a chance to apply for the post, felt aggrieved, and found a way to express their views. Unsurprisingly the newcomers decided not to stay after all.
It was a lovely sunny Autumn day. I went into the garden. I could hear a group of kids laughing and shouting and talking to adults about two hundred yards further down the hill. The absence of brothel managers was already beginning to take its toll on discipline within the IRA women’s group. The child brothel, now without Al-Qaida funding, was trying to carve out a new role for itself, by training its young charges in synthetic telepathy technology and surveillance of images on the MRI viewer. The kids were bouncing up and down and laughing, as usual.
A belligerent grey-haired IRA man in his late fifties ran up to the kids, shouting at them aggressively.
‘What are you up to? Stop doing that!’
He raised his arm threateningly, as if to strike a child.
He had a reputation for bullying children, and I immediately disposed of him. They put his body in the potting shed.
‘Thank you, thank you!’ shouted the kids waving at me. They bounced even more.
‘How did he die? There’s nobody there,’ said a disbelieving woman terrorist. ‘She didn’t do that’.
‘Wave back!’ the kids shouted to me.
I had never done this before. I sat on the garden bench, where I knew their remote camera could pick me up, and waved at them several times, smiling. The kids crowded round their remote camera viewing screen.
‘There she is! She’s waving!’ they cried.
They were so close that I could hear them with my external ears, as well as on Syntel – in stereo! The adults joined the kids looking at the viewer. I heard an IRA woman muttering, ‘Oh Christ! Oh God! I didn’t believe it. She is over there.’
‘That thing didn’t take out the manager,’ another woman sneered. ‘Look at her. She couldn’t have done it. Some men with weapons did it.’
While not needing to prove anything, I felt that this was a defining moment for that group. Sure, they heard things and saw things via their viewing screen, but they never communicated with me except via Syntel. I didn’t really exist in their reality. I wanted to break through that barrier.
The sneering lady, a pretty brown-haired woman in her thirties, wearing a long, flowered frock, was walking towards the house up the path. I let my gaze slip under her feet. She fell backwards and ended sitting on the ground.
‘What happened?’ the others shouted, laughing.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I just slipped’.
‘OK,’ I thought.
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She went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea.
‘Where are you now?’ I asked.
‘Sitting at the table,’ she said
‘Stand back,’ I said.
Then I blew around the kitchen and spiralled the movement up in the air. The china and cutlery clashed as they flew upwards and then downwards.
‘Oh, my God,’ she said again.
She called her husband, and together they cleared up the mess. He was understandably annoyed with me. I pointed out that his wife had tried to say that I didn’t really exist, and he accepted my argument. As I left, I could hear others in the group whispering together.
‘I can’t believe it!’
‘You see, I told you so, but you wouldn’t listen.’
The kids danced and pranced round them, shouting triumphantly, ‘She did it! She did it!’
I had proved that I existed independently of my ultrasound voice. I had made contact.
US MAFIA CHILD TORTURE PROGRAMMING PROJECT
The movie The Manchurian Candidate is a well-known example of how a type of psychological warfare method, similar to brainwashing, worked in practice. The North American mafia used this approach to create fearless killers, ‘super-soldiers’ who would attack on command, and go on attacking until death. Those created in Britain had a metal plate inserted into their heads, through which electronic stimuli could be transmitted remotely, activating various behaviour patterns. The electronic stimuli could give the recipients the strength of ten in energy terms.
I discovered that the North American mafia were working with Al-Qaida to produce a generation of programmed child super-soldiers, not only in the Middle East and North Africa, but in North America and Europe as well. The Al-Qaida ‘batch kids’ were meant to go through all the stages of electronic torture, brainwashing and programming, and to emerge in their teenage years as combat-ready super-soldiers.
Only scientists and clinically trained technicians can carry out that type of torture programme. Mindless brutality does not achieve the same thing. The North American mafia sent a group of scientists to take forward the super-soldier programme in our area, and they looked for suitable children to receive this horrific treatment. Thankfully, they rejected our local child brothel kids entirely, as being too deprived to be usable. Their IQ scores were too low, and they could not read or write.
But there were exceptions, including a young lad called Kevin. I will never know who his real father was, but there were an official father and mother with responsibility for his upbringing. He was in junior school up to the age of about nine years old. Every day, an Asian Daesh soldier escorted him and his sister back from school in the afternoon. But after the age of nine, Kevin’s school were told that he had moved away from the area, which meant that he left the state education system. He became a child soldier, trained in martial arts, electronic and electromagnetic weapons.
What I did not realise was that, every morning before breakfast, he attended trauma-based programming sessions, during which he endured electric shock ‘therapy’ that would drive most sane people mad. There was no one he could call. He either lived with it or died with it. Most of the British-based terrorists were unaware of this project being conducted by the North American underground research centre in their midst. When they found out, they were as shocked as any normal person would be. This was something Al-Qaida had not specified in the ‘Batch Kid’ Initiative.
I heard some IRA staff discussing this in a garden nearby. They were expressing disbelief, and they asked Kevin why he hadn’t told them about it before. He replied:
‘We aren’t allowed to talk about it… It’s not something you could understand’.
He sounded like a tired adult now, no longer a twelve-year-old sporting with his friends.
Another young kid called Daisy was also subjected to this awful torture, day after day. She was sent to the secret underground research compound, in the company of North American mafia personnel. I saw her being told to go for her treatment, and she was shaking her head, saying she didn’t want to. I felt helpless. You see, I had long ago reported my concerns about the child brothel to the British constabulary, and they had assured me they were looking into it; but that, with no hard evidence to go on, they could not promise much.
‘Couldn’t you watch the place, and see who goes in and out?’ I asked.
‘We don’t have the resources for that,’ they replied.
‘What about drones?’ I asked, ‘Couldn’t they monitor the place?’ The policeman gave me a look as if I had suggested that Santa’s sleigh might fly by.
‘Drones?’ he said. ‘There’s no such thing. You’ve been reading too many science fiction novels.’
Of course, that was some time ago. Our police have been reorganised, and specialist teams now work in many disciplines, but that was how it was then.
One day I saw a boy of about twelve walking in a field crying. His body was covered in black mud, and I could tell that he had received a torture punishment, most likely for failing to complete some task successfully. I picked him up and put him in a large aerial cage, suspended from wooden beams, like a kind of tree house. I lined the cage with carpets, easy chairs and tables, and enclosed the boy in a light beam, to remove any pain and suffering.
I first started to create these aerial cages when people asked me for asylum, to take them out of danger. Inside the cage, they could not be reached by the terrorists, whose technical equipment frequencies were not high enough. Once the threat of torture was removed, the refugees relaxed, became human beings, and settled happily into their new environment. Being at a higher than normal frequency, they did not need to eat, drink, sleep or take drugs, and they felt neither heat nor cold. They had no needs and were completely content. Eventually, they passed on to a higher stage, where I could no longer see them, but their passing was peaceful and happy.
I expected the young boy to undergo the same transformation, but he did not. Once the threat of torture was removed, and he was clean and free from pain, he retreated to the back of his new home, and told me to leave him alone. I was just going to do that, when he shouted after me, ‘I suppose you’re going to leave me to starve now, are you?’
He assumed an expression of self-satisfaction that belied his young age, as he contemplated his ability to control me through my sympathy - as he thought. He looked like a little old man. I was reminded of the Artful Dodger from Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist. Something was clearly wrong. I examined him closely, and, in the rarified frequency of the tree house, I could just discern a metal plate inside his head. I wondered if the boy was being manipulated remotely from outside via the cranium implant, but that could not be the case, as he was now above the range of those who would harm him. I reached my hand towards his head, and into the area where the cranial implant was. It was secured with metal pins. Slowly I began to ease the pins out, one by one, and then I lifted the metal plate out of his head.
As the metal plate came off, things happened very quickly. The boy’s face changed to that of a young child about three years old. Smiling and happy, he flashed past me, and went to wherever he was destined to go. The tree house was empty.
I was shocked to realise that what I had just seen was the young boy before the metal plate had been inserted in his head. It was as if he had been ‘paused’ at that moment and had not gone any further with his life. Whatever his artificial persona had been made to do after that, had nothing to do with him. He left this world free and innocent of all that took place while under the control of external forces.
I wondered how many of the terrorists I had dispatched had been forced into the same state by the child soldier programme. It looked likely that their future life, whatever it might be, was much more hopeful than I had guessed. But what a terrible thing to do to children. I remembered the words from Sunday School when I was a kid:
‘But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a
large millstone tied round his neck and be drowned in the depth of the sea.’
Matthew 18:6, English Standard Version
After I found out that the North American mafia were doing experiments locally on young children to turn them into brainwashed cyborgs with cranial implants, I suspected that the underground research centre was where it was happening, but I had nothing to go on. Then one night I was attacked by some IRA technicians from a nearby building. I located the staff in a room full of electronic equipment, screens and monitors that I had not seen before. I removed all the staff permanently, and rolled over to go to sleep.
Some piece of equipment in that room must have been on, as no sooner had I closed my eyes than I saw an entirely new scene, courtesy of the electromagnetic computer system. It was a large hall, constructed in pale green metal – the official colour of the research base. It looked like a modern prison. I was standing on an upper level gantry that looked into the darkened area below. There were six beds, with five children lying asleep.
A girl of about nine years of age was standing up in bed wearing a nightdress. She had shoulder length brown hair. Facing her was some kind of search light positioned on the gantry above. Some remotely operated mechanical equipment seemed to be moving towards her body. Instinctively I felt that the girl was about to be harmed. Using visualization, I imagined a cylinder around her with calming light inside, and a mirror on the outside, which I hoped would reflect back any laser activity.
The girl seemed entranced.
‘How lovely!’ she said.
She stood poised in the cylinder.
‘I feel so safe now.’
My heart sank, as I realized that some bad things must be coming her way, and that there was nothing much I could do to stop it in the longer term. Killing the perpetrators didn’t achieve much as they were immediately replaced by others.