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The concept of time travel has preoccupied mankind since time, itself, began. The desire to see what is coming by travelling to the future and most of all, back to the past to rectify mistakes and wrong doings in an attempt to change the present, is part of our expectations of the technologies yet to come. Sadly, despite the imagination of many great writers and scientists, time travel is not available or even possible. The simple reason? time doesn’t exist, at least not in the way we perceive it. Time is simply a sequence of events that have happened, are happening and will happen, they can’t be re-visited or seen until they manifest. This however, was of no consolation to Tamir Aktah, President of Iran, as he watched himself taking part in the ritual sacrifice of a child among the giant redwoods of Bohemian Grove. There he was, broadcast to the nation, on huge screens everywhere, exposed as the puppet of an evil Archontic master, enslaved as an instrument of the deep state to carry out their work and manipulation of the world’s human population. Motivated solely by a desire for power and great wealth, Tamir had been the perfect candidate to be groomed and nurtured for the position he now held. Formally head of the resistance, a well respected hero of the people, Tamir had led the revolution knowing full well that the water poisoning had nothing to do with the Government of Iran and was a false flag event orchestrated by the western super powers in order to establish control of the region. He knew who the real masters were and was prepared to ‘sell his soul’ in order to live the hedonistic lifestyle he now enjoyed.

Like Habibeh, Tamir was also orphaned by the water plague in the Rey district but unlike Habibeh, he escaped from the orphanage at the age of 10, fleeing to the North West of Iran where he was cared for by the Kurds. As a stateless people, Kurdish Iranians experienced hostility and oppression wherever they attempted to settle and, as a result, Tamir’s village were constantly on the move. Tamir experienced hunger and fear on a daily basis until one day, whilst herding his family’s goats, he felt the rumble of tank tracks approaching their camp. The massacre was swift and brutal. A short barrage of tank shells followed by machine guns, machetes and the wholesale rape of women, young and old, a psychological weapon and a form of ethnic cleansing first adopted during the Christian Crusades a thousand years earlier. Despite baring Iranian military insignia, the attacking forces spoke in multiple languages but mostly English and their leader was most definitely an English special forces soldier. Somehow Tamir escaped, or was allowed to escape, and was picked up by the Kurdish militia where he rapidly rose through the ranks culminating in the position of head of the PKK. Tamir Aktah was now leading the resistance and with western aid, the revolution began.

Alone now in his presidential apartment, surrounded by the trappings of wealth, Tamir reflected on his own radicalisation and how he, in turn, had radicalised others to fulfil his agenda. Yes, he had started his campaign fuelled with the ideology of revenge and equality for the people but, as Eve tasted the apple, so did Tamir, during his first trip to Bohemian Grove on the pretext of securing arms for the PKK. Once a hungry frightened orphan, Tamir fully embraced his chance to become a world leader with infinite wealth and power and as he sank his teeth into the heart of a child, his lifelong grooming was complete.

Surrounded by elite, loyal guards, the Iranian President was sure of his safety. Deep in the inner sanctum of the Presidential Palace, only his most trusted staff could reach him except, that is, for the stranger now standing in the doorway. A face he recognised from his childhood, older now but engraved on his memory. The face of a soldier he remembered strafing his village with a jeep mounted machine gun whilst shouting commands to the other men.

“Pack a bag Tamir, we’re going to China,” ordered Sergeant Hayne of 11th Battalion, SAS.

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