When the lights came back on, not a thing was in its right place. The twin plagues had fallen o'er the face of a now hollow earth, one end feeding the other like a circle of snakes. Some awful Ouroboros wearing our face. And a new world record-sized pot of boiled frogs found themselves aware of no such sensation at all. No boiling sensation at all. Through the man-made haze, drunk on the new impunity, little Eichmanns everywhere sprung into long-awaited gear. Ratcheting up the fear. Dusting off the tried and true methods that they'll tell you like clockwork you're remembering all wrong if the mission don't go through. But I hate to say, it looks as though they've found a way to stretch this 15 minutes into the final collective lifetime. Only the guns are maintained anymore, only the hands wrapped around them well-payed anymore. So practice clutching those pearls, all you destroyers of worlds. Good Germans all the way down, this shit is just what it looks like. And now they're saying it in the daylight, the loud part out loud. Locking history books up and undesirables down. Much talk of mythic pasts, seems there's much freedom to be had, if they like the looks of you. All flags, all plagues morphing into one that recent history could no longer recall - six black lines on a circle of white, set against the deepest, darkest red.