Horrific screams are drowned-out beneath the sonorous wooping of the security sirens.
__"Gaze not into the abyss, lest the abyss gaze back at thee," Jordan Peterson murmurs to himself, his face awash in the fiery red glow emanating from spinning emergency signal beacons. "And ask not for whom the bell tolls, for the bell tolls for thee." A bloodied scientist stumbles through the automatic door of the room Peterson is hiding in. She begs him for help, yet he does not hear her, staring catatonically onward. She collapses at his feet, eliciting from him two quick nods and some affirmative mumbling, which sets him shuffling out into the hall.
__He peers out into the labyrinthal mazework of the facility, horrific screams growing louder, spotted with the stochastic ringing of gunfire. "Yes, right," he says, straightening himself up. "This most certainly is hell itself." A window to his right breaks, a whoosh of hot air carrying with it flames that lap at his bedraggled, stubbled face. "No question about it." He ventures onward to the intersection at the end of the hall where he witnesses two lab technicians shredded to pieces in a hailstorm of lead. As Peterson watches their life ebb out onto the steely floor, his hands pinned awkwardly to his sides, he ponders feeling compassion, sympathy, or perhaps remorse, all emotions that have been ritualistically drilled out of him during his long career.
__He steps over their corpses and casually walks into the room from which they emerged, miraculously avoiding being shot. He takes a moment to think to himself, shutting the door behind him. "Androgynes..." he sighs. "Only now have I remembered. Their digestive systems are nearly 100% efficient..."
Earlier that morning, he was impelled to brief the Most Glorious President Xi Jinping in his office, as many others have before him, on how the timeline had been altered that day. It is commonplace for world leaders to be briefed in such a way. "You, Mr. Peterson, are a renowned psychologist. You are very, very good," Jinping's translator said in a transparent attempt at ingratiation. "However, your colleagues had an accident earlier this year, and now our lab experiments have had a leak. Our leader wishes to know how this will affect the future." Jinping gazes hopefully at Peterson.
__"Well," Peterson cleared his throat, returning the President's gaze with a sidelong glare, "Another question is, 'How does this affect the past?' We now know from research into microtubules that a kind of retention of knowledge from ATs is possible, as is information transpermia, and so this whole obsession about the future is rather misguided, because reverse causality is quite obviously a large indicator of disruption too, perhaps in a worse way owing to the nature of time's arrow." The translator leans down to whisper into Jinping's ear. Initially, Jinping seemed enraged, snapping the pencil he had been twirling in half, but then offered a consolation.
__"Mister Peter-son, we wolk on the past vely well!" Jinping beams, supinating his hands in a gesture of good will. He flips a switch under his desk. The office shakes, and Peterson nearly jumps from his seat, trembling in fear. The wall behind President Jinping lowers into a slot, revealing a large control room with rows and rows of men and women hooked up to wirey brain-machines. "Good lord!" Peterson shouts. "Unlike your other experiments, Doctor Peterson?" the translator inquired. "Why, are you out of your gosh-darned mind?!"
Jinping and his translator laugh as they stroll past their drooling subjects, all hooked up with what appear to be spaghetti strainers interlaced with wires. "This is da 'Project Endymion,' not Walshington D.C.!" roars President Jinping, triumphantly. "As you see on scleen, ancient nucrear bunker beneath Egyptian pyramird. Now terr me the future, psychorogist!"
__Wooping sirens returned Peterson to the ever-present present. His tenure had began at a laboratory somewhere in British Columbia. He was a biologist then. Somewhere along the way, he was a contractor working under Xi Jinping. Now, as strange genetically engineered hermaphrodites called "androgynes" roamed the halls raping and murdering every scientist in their path, it was clear that even Jinping was one of them all along. He, too, was an androgyne. A "Chinese-Aryan" androgyne, or "Chinaryan androgyne," as they had come to be called. Aryan androgynes. They look like statues of ancient Greek noblewomen with tall nasal stems. They have the petty tribalism of jews, yet they nearly genocided jews on multiple occasions, subjugating them with even greater forms of oppression each time, for even the slightest jewish transgression. Hitler and Hadrian were prominent Aryan androgynes. History books will not note that Hitler was a 6-foot-4 voluptuous blonde woman with pendulous breasts and a huge cock, Peterson wished against reason.
__"I knew Jinping had turned. It must have been he who released them firstly, in fact," Peterson reasoned, not noticing the tac-lights of U.S. soldiers repelling into the window behind him, the glass crunching beneath their boots. "We have secured Kermit. I repeat, we have secured Kermit! Over."——"Get him the hell out of there!" replied the voice over the walkie talkie. "Over."
"Doctor Peterson, please come with us," the soldier grunted, his two brothers seizing the confused Peterson by both arms, nearly lifting him away as they retraced their entry. The soldier was then joined by another company repelling into the room, crashing through every window. The soldier swallowed in trepidation as he imagined what horrors lied beyond that laboratory door. Securing this outbreak had not been possible. Peterson struggled to turn around, to peer back listfully into the world that he had spent centuries inhabiting, only to be unceremoniously hooked up to what appeared to him to be mountain-climbing equipment. "Just hold on, doc," said the young soldier, "We're getting you out of here."
__"Mm. Yes," replied Peterson. He had been in a coma for months at that point. "Yes, I do hope to leave one day. Although I find such a prospect horrifying." He had been so careful to not incur the wrath of the omniscient stellar supercomputer his androgyne colleagues spent their lives in service of. Its avatar reflected its hedonistic inception, built by and in the image of its epicene creators to rule over all of nature with a velvet fist, punishing the good and rewarding the injust and perverted, particularly other sadistic androgynes. They are granted heaven in death, and their victims hell. Hell comes to all but they, the purveyors of evil. They have vulvas where once were anuses, and penises where once were vulvas. XXXY mosaicism had become normalized, only it's a conspiracy theory to mention it in school. Only Aryans, a marginalized ruling class, had high rates of "othersexed people," as they were often termed in politically correct doublespeak.