Welcome to Our Website

Serial code eternal grace episode 1 keygen

The King: Eternal Monarch - Episode 1 Recap & Review

Eternal grace episode 1 keygen. Speaking of kisses, they start with the cliche open eyed fish kiss, gave 1 neck kiss and went back to "covering their face with a hand or something" so it looks like they're kissing but it was obvious they were not; D and I don't personally care for kissing scenes since they don't add to the romance but enhance it, and so if the actors feel uncomfortable having more than 1 kiss they shouldn't. The only saving grace of this episode. Eternal life is a free gift to everyone and anyone who believes in Jesus for it. You do not have to work your way to eternal life.

GW2 July 25 Game Update Patch Notes

Watch Mystery Teachings Online - Full Episodes of Season 4

As Lord El-Melloi II, he challenges numerous magical and mystical cases in the Clock Tower, the mecca of all mages. That Guy always smells bad and wears clothes that expose his overweight asscrack. She makes her first appearance in Episode 2. Grace is an American and the de facto leader of the Tromstad survivors, although she considers the group to be more of a democracy. Paolo Rivera art is something to behold some call it simple buy dynamic and you can see the attention to detail is amazing to watch it unfold as the story does.

Serial number oP Skyblock Servers - Minecraft Skyblock Servers

Sarx, and some others live with spiritual power and entangled to the nature led by Enolc, commenced a. Kelly 2020 Tomorrow: Katie Television.

Enjoying God's Grace - Part 1 by Derek Prince

Behold once again, from the minds of Max Mutchnick and David Kohan, TV's wittiest ensemble ever. SideReel features links to all your favorite TV shows. Grace Adler, a beautiful, self-employed interior designer, are best friends. Waver Velvet, who fought side by side with Iskandar during the Fourth Holy Grail War, receives a visit from Reines El-Melloi Archisorte and Melvin Weins.

You Can Now Watch Korea's 'Bread Barbershop' on Netflix

Gracepoint (TV Mini-Series 2020– ) cast and crew credits, including actors, actresses, directors, writers and more. Gracepoint (TV Mini-Series 2020– ) - Full Cast & Crew. Season 1 Episode 1 - The Pilot (Love & Marriage) When Grace receives an unexpected marriage proposal from her boyfriend, Will tries to be supportive of her decision but finally tells her that she's making a mistake, even though he's putting their friendship at risk. Your UK TV and radio guide to what's on TV and on demand plus all the latest entertainment, soap, film and drama news and reviews from Radio Times.

Activity code lord El-Melloi II-sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note

You could feel it burning the world down! GRACE CULTURE PODCAST - Eternal Conscious Torment Series linked here. Rail Zeppelin Grace note - Next Episode about his. Vatican Kiseki Chousakan Episode 1 https://trisha-ls.ru/crack/?key=944.

  • Grace In Focus Radio Episodes – Page 24 – Grace
  • Eternal Grace - Listen to Alliance of Confessing
  • ETERNAL REWARDS: EPISODE 20 - Free Grace International
  • Grace TV - ETERNAL SECURITY Part 3
  • Watch Free TV Shows Online - Full Episodes
  • Eternal Grace Online Church Service - RR Teaching On Book
  • Fallen From Grace - Assassin's Creed Odyssey: The Fate of
  • Free! -Eternal Summer- Archives - Funimation

Serial key eternal Life: The Object - Simply Belief

It is a monumental occasion for the Chan family as their second daughter, Mimi, prepares to wed. These days, the small screen has some very big things to offer. Battlestar Galactica: The Plan Online - Full Episodes of. App published and added to store – Curious Alice 23 November 2020 – 16: 50: 10 UTC; 1418580 App published and added to store – Gato Roboto Soundtrack 23 November 2020 – 16: 34: 10 UTC; 1451790 App published and added to store – Panzer Paladin Classic 8-bit Soundtrack 23 November 2020 – 16: 05: 45 UTC; 1379430 Added name – Panzer Paladin - Challenge Core.

Hacked gTrainers - Game Trainers, Cheats and Savegames

The program will alert you when someone takes your phone, takes it out of your pocket, unplugs the power, disconnects the headphones or steals and replaces your SIM card. He compares and contrasts grace as unmerited favor or unconditional favor given to sinners as opposed to the idea of "costly" grace. Minecraft: Education Edition. Grace In Focus Radio Episodes – Page 23 – Grace read full report.

Quest for Truth - The Eternal Church of God

The latest episode from the HBO series was called A Knight of the Seven. Damnation is an American period drama television series. More options Code and preview. You can handle big life changes with grace and balance.

10 Psalms to Guide You in Prayer and Meditation
1 Eternal Life: The Obligation - Simply Belief 93%
2 Download Apostle Joshua Selman Messages 22%
3 Subscene - Passionate about good subtitles 91%
4 Victory - Spartacus Wiki - Spartacus: Blood and Sand 87%
5 Unlocking Bible Prophecies 39%
6 Watch Two and a Half Men Season 2, Episode 1: Back Off 57%

Free gW2 Daybreak Achievements Guide - Dulfy SWTOR Guild Wars 2

The story goes around Razh, a mercenary, and Millia, a special agent, on their mission to prevent the world Enthrea from a collapse caused by a. Download Manifest s02e01 subscene subtitle https://trisha-ls.ru/crack/?key=937. Love (TV Series 2020–2020) cast and crew credits, including actors, actresses, directors, writers and more. Cathy Guisewite had just announced she would step back from creating new instalments of her long-running Cathy comic.

Good Morning Prayer _ Morning Prayer Catholic _ Eternal

What Is Free Grace Theology? – Grace Evangelical Society. At the Grind, Pete tells Grace how Chanel, Chanel #2, Chanel #3, and Chanel #5 murdered Ms. Bean before she can tell him; they form a plan to help each other. Watch Lord El-Melloi II's Case Files {Rail Zeppelin} Grace note Episode 1 - Babylon, the Condemned, and the Memories of the King. Time has passed, and the mature Waver has now adopted the name of Lord El-Melloi.

Isaiah 1 - Founders Ministries

Read our recap of Season 9, Episode 1, then grade it in our poll. Giovanna Fletcher reveals why Bushtucker trials will be a. Eternal grace episode 1 trainer in Description. Nicolas Coster, Actor: Santa Barbara.

Key free Tracts - Simply Belief

Eternal life cannot be earned or kept by good works. Episode 1 - Battlestar Galactica: The Plan. They were exterminated by the Sky People at the conclusion of their conflict. Directed by Harley Wallen.

Yidio - Streaming Guide for TV Shows & Movies

Offering up-to-date Xbox Series X achievements, news, reviews, achievement guides, previews, interviews, competitions and a huge, friendly community. Eternal Summer's Unaired Episode Previewed in Digest Movie (Feb 4, 2020) Japan's Animation DVD Ranking, January 26-February 1 (Feb 3, 2020) Japan's Animation DVD Ranking, January 19-25 (Jan 27, 2020). Bible, Psychology, and History/Political Science. Yeah it went from 6.9% in the first episode to 7.6% in the second, which is like nearly a 1% increase, I think if the story remains tight the ratings will slowly increase, also considering it's a 20 episode drama it might take time two or three episodes more for viewers to get a little more interested, if they manage to get the ratings above 15.

List of Gogglebox episodes

With this easy-to-use application, you'll protect your phone from theft and unauthorized access. Volumes are available in NYC1, NYC3, SFO2, FRA1, SGP1, TOR1, BLR1, LON1, and AMS3. LBE is also excited to announce that listeners of the show can receive 30% off Crossway books, bibles, tracts, audiobooks, and ebooks by signing up for a free Crossway+ membership. Unfortunately, this game will NOT work on PowerPC Macs -CONTROLS -W, A, S, D - movement Click screen + drag or LEFT/RIGHT ARROWS - turn SPACE - fire R - use door/switch SHIFT - run ESCAPE - menu TAB - map NUMBER KEYS - change weapon [ and ] - cycle through inventory (Heretic/Hexen only).

Mysterious Logbook

Source: https://www.bungie.net/en/News/Article/49688
NOTE—FORGE STAR
In an effort to keep them engaged with their new bodies and stave off the dissociative rejection that killed Mr. Zhuk, I have assigned my exos to scout through the gateway. The Vex statite has a surface area larger than Earth, so we have plenty of exploring to do. I cannot believe that I actually find it tiring, but the sheer scale and passivity of the Vex constructs infuriates me.
Imagine stumbling upon an inscription in the desert: “I am Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon my works. Or don’t. I really don’t care.
Until I can synthesize my own version of the mind fluid, the Vex are necessary to the work. But I find their indifference verminous. They elicit the same emotions as a fat cockroach wandering across a wall: disgust, contempt, unease at the thought that these mere machines, these automata, are flourishing all around us.
And I fear that if troubled, they might swarm from their hides to run across our feet.
The glare of the hypergiant 2082 Volantis gives me a headache even through proxy. I wonder if the Vex evolved here, in the briny sea of the first planets. Due to the absence of heavy elements worth stealing and the abundance of simple compounds for growth, they never developed predation. (Why bother? Plenty to go around.)
Instead, the violent radiation of the early universe selected for an otherworldly resilience, and for the ability to transmute energetic disaster into an opportunity for growth. The weak would be burned away by gamma-ray bursts . And the strong would learn to harness that fire—not the oxygen fire of our own Paleolithic, but the nuclear fire of the atom.
Their basic cooperative signals—“food here,” “reduce density,” “generate new colony”—must have formed the basis of swarm behavior, a simple game capable of storing information in self-repeating patterns. It is not strictly correct to call the Vex a group mind. Rather they are one master pattern spread across many elements, fractally self-similar.
Very early, they must have developed armor. Perhaps a hydrogel to soften gamma rays or plates of silica to trap water. They would need that shield to enter the shallows and capture ionizing radiation as fuel. (No wonder they thrive near stars!) Cooperation in groups—meshes of armored radiolaria, protecting harvesters beneath—would promote the evolution of ever larger structures. They became microscopic tool-users, building fortresses and maille sheets, storing the programs for those structures in the patterns of their swarms.
I wonder how early they stumbled upon physics. Far sooner than humanity, no doubt. Their cellular nature provides an easy analogy for the quanta of matter, energy, space, and time. The tides of their sea would connect them to the motion of heavenly bodies. Even the deadly background radiation would make a natural observatory for high-energy physics.
Their first exoskeletons were probably soft shells of shielding gelatin. Just sacs of ooze. How far they’ve come.
It is admittedly interesting to consider the philosophical consequences of their evolution. The Vex prove that nature is not all “red in tooth and claw.” Cooperation comes naturally to the Vex, whose great problem was survival in a harsh world, not a struggle over limited resources. They never found any payoff in selfishness. Human beings may require a Leviathan to coordinate the laws of social existence (as I was Leviathan to those dream aphids—) but the Vex are as fundamentally cooperative as bricks.
Utopian? No. Not at all. They are without meaning. They have no experience and no subjectivity. The Vex are incapable of conceiving any image but their own. They do not recombine their DNA to make children or form relationships with other individuals. When the world does not match their eternal pattern, they alter the world to suit it. There is no difference between reality and simulation to them. Inside is the same as outside, and the two must be made to correspond. Oh, they are creative—don’t mistake me—but their creativity is demanding. It is the creativity of a furnace.
What I am saying is, the Vex are immortal. The Vex have no children. They are the ancestors and descendants of themselves. First mothers, first children, all at once.
This is why I do not hesitate to pillage their home for resources. This is why I must guarantee that it is life in my image which inherits the cosmos.
Had I the means, I would wipe them all from existence.
ENTRY 10
All 12 members of the first exo cohort are dead.
The symptoms of their dissociation became… extreme. One poor man developed complete echopraxia and echolalia—his empathy was so overgrown that he could not help but mimic or repeat whatever I did and said. Even when I entered the command to terminate him, he mimicked me, and I suffered a brief terror that his gesture would end MY life.
I have kept Elisabeth far away from this disaster, so as not to discourage her. She is busy with the Vex and with her covert attempts to reach Clarity Control. This has forced me to rely on M. Sundaresh.
But unfortunately, M. Sundaresh confronted me after the last death. “Nine of them had the Cotard delusion!” she screamed at me—quite hysterically. “They believed they were dead! One of them told me that she was in hell, and I was another damned soul sent to deceive her. Was she even wrong? The rest were worse—do you know what the other principal manifestation of the Cotard delusion is, Clovis?”
I told her that I did not, and that I wished to proceed immediately with autopsies of their terminal brain states.
“Delusions of immortality! At least when they insist upon it, Clovis, we recognize it as a pathology!”
“The only true responsibility of any living thing,” I reminded her, “is to support and nurture the things that are most like us. And if I am most like myself, Doctor, then I have an ethical obligation to avoid death.”
“That’s your son’s quote,” she snapped. “You know, I’ve seen the video of his final days. That naked, white exo, just paramuscle and soft membrane, writhing in its cradle. When you were done with him, he looked like nothing more than a slug, Clovis. A twisted, limbless giblet. Did you ‘support and nurture’ him while you tortured him to death?"
I immediately ordered M. Sundaresh transferred to the Vex lab to perform contact experiments. Unfortunately, she has taken the unethical step of deleting her own employee records, so I cannot nullify her future prospects as thoroughly as I might wish.
Her conduct was extremely unprofessional.
Mr. Miller has also passed. The poor young man had a bad reaction to the titrated, denatured Vex fluid we were using as a last-ditch therapy. The substance did restore damaged structures very well, but we were ultimately unable to control its more radical transformative effects. I had a very encouraging final conversation with him, in which he thanked me for all my efforts and encouraged me to continue my work.
I called in a team of psychologists to interview the next cohort of exos and make recommendations. They have settled into the Eventide habitat and have proven immediately very helpful. It was obvious to them that the root of the problem lay in the deficient exobodies I had supplied. Deficient how, I demanded to know. They did not suffer human weakness. They never needed to eat, drink, breathe, sleep, micturate, or dream.
Apparently, this was the problem.
I had assumed that the need for these irritations would pass since there would be no shortage or accumulation of poisons to trigger them. But evolution’s tangled ways cannot be so easily rationalized. I was wrong. Their brains concluded that all of their internal processes failed. No digestion, no breath, no heartbeat, no sense of interoceptive health… all signs of death.
These must logically contribute to the dissociative rejection of their physical forms—the Cotard delusion. When it would set in, they believed their bodies to be an alien or necrotic form that must be cut away. And if you believe that you are sewn into a corpse, it is only natural to go mad with fear. My exos are dying of an extreme kind of bodily dysphoria.
It seems that our exo designs will need various humanlike traits to reassure the brain it is not asphyxiating, or starving, or in a state of permanent yet undying cardiac arrest.
Alas, mimicry of life’s trivialities is not an interesting problem. I will leave this change in the hands of others.
I am much more interested in the surprising success of memory wipes. I became so tired of answering the questions asked by new exos—what had happened to the scanning clinic, how long had it been, would I let them see their families—that I began inducing retrograde amnesia before spin-up. Interestingly, this seems to have improved their resilience against exomind rejection!
I theorize the lack of any episodic memories eases the transition into the new body. And the loss of emotional ties prevents grief and stress, which could interfere with healthy function.
From now on, we will block access to pre-upload episodic memory. We should also consider a built-in procedure to block memories formed after the exobody transubstantiation, returning them to a “factory state” should the need to restart occur. It would be very difficult to actually track down and delete the full memory engrams since they are stored in so many scattered parts of the brain. Instead, we can tourniquet off associative access to those memories and let them wither away in isolation. A memory is not a recording, after all. It is a set of instructions to reenact a brain state: choreography for a play. And like any play, it will fade if left unperformed.

With the exobody project proceeding apace, I believe the time approaches to decant myself from this dying body and enter my assistant’s form.
But if I do, will I lose my own memories? Will I cease to be myself? Replaced by a faux Clovis, a mumbling facsimile? Unacceptable.
Elisabeth will have to go first.
WARNING:
  • Organ functions in terminal stage.
  • Overdose of stimulants and nootropes guarantees liver failure.
  • Prionic breakdown of basement membranes arrested by abnormal crystallization of integrin proteins: recommend immediate medical inquiry.
ENTRY 11
Elisabeth believes we are infested.
She has detected Vex microstructures in the Europan ice. Veins of altered crystals crawl towards the surface, harvesting the heavy ions of the Jovian winds, culturing their construction.
From there, the Vex found ways to spread by exploiting misunderstandings. They ride our carrier waves as slight interference. Whenever a packet has to be resent, whenever a suited engineer calls, “Say again?” to her work partner, the repeated message—adjusted to compensate for the Vex interference—encodes the negative image of that interference and spreads the infection.
To pass on your image in the form of error? Disgusting.
Somehow, the Vex taint has followed us home from 2082 Volantis. How can this be? The initial survey team went through quarantine according to all the Ishtar protocols. The expedition frames were destroyed in situ. The Vex on Europa—both our original gate builder and the unfortunates who came through our traps—have been totally isolated. Even my assistant underwent a stringent teardown and reset!
The only possible vectors are my own exos.

I should have insisted they spend more time in quarantine, but I was eager to ramp up production.
It is the Vex resilience that lets them spread. Their immunity to the most dramatic subversions means that they last long enough to build up a dose of more subtle and insidious infiltrators.
There is no sign of any resulting pathology. The Vex are, so far, simply curious. But Vex curiosity always leads to Vex transformation, and I refuse to let my exos be contaminated. I grew up on stories of tyrants forcing their followers into the crucible of eternal life, only to realize, too late, that there was an unseen flaw. I demand purity for the receptacle of my soul!
And there is the issue of… preventing panic. Too many are aware of the rumors that the Vex spread an “existentially compromising information hazard.”
Ah, had we only been allowed to contain that mess on Pluto ourselves! That meddling warmind made too much noise. If my teams discover they are infected, they will expect Bray Station to drop right on their heads. That will damage productivity.

No, like that contract-breaching psychologist and the death of Mr. Miller, this must all be handled quietly.
The exos are intrinsically robust; the seed of Clarity within them has natural anti-Vex properties. Whatever taint they contain must therefore be a residual human weakness. Resident in their legacy architecture. So we will simply purge that architecture.
I will plan a simple extension of the memory wipes already used to fight dissociative rejection. In fact, I intend to create a “noetic immune system” in the exomind to trigger memory wipes when certain classes of informatic hazard are detected. These will be explained to the psych team as a preventative measure against future dissociative disorders.
These wipes will, conveniently, return the exos to peak mission readiness. Perfect for soldiers operating in traumatic alien environments. Perfect for the continuing mission at the Forge Star, stockpiling material for future exo production, here and elsewhere.
Now if only I could figure out this dream they all keep reporting—something about a tower, and gruesome murder—
Elisabeth agrees with my prescription. She is eager to solve our security issues and stand up exo production at the backup sites. Of course, we only have one Clarity Control, but she hardly knows that, and she’s stopped asking so many questions. In truth, I think she’s ready to abandon her doomed body and make the upgrade.
I’ll give her silence on that front a few more days, and then she’ll surely volunteer herself.
Less apparent is how to solve my own infection.
There are abnormal structures in the fiber of my body’s extracellular matrix. A mess of tiny lenses growing in my deepest flesh.
I suspect Vex influence on protein folding, perhaps passed to me through my assistant when it was in 2082 Volantis. I would hate to see my bones tessellating into a radiolarian tapestry…
CORPOREAL STATUS:
  • Body at 30.6 C. Pulse 140 BPM, strong, unsteady: extreme fear. Drawing down blood volume to control pressure. Strangling pulse ox.
  • Frequent saccades to assistant, indicative of preoccupation/obsession. Recommend 30 ms TMS pulse to enhance mindfulness.
So far, the Vex influence has been fortuitous since it arrested a serious medical problem. But the thought of such taint in me… it aggravates other anxieties…
I have been haunted for some time by a suspicion that M. Sundaresh is not who she seems.
I recognized her name from the Ishtar Collective teams studying the Vex, but I have no record of ever hiring her. And if I had, I would certainly have noticed; therefore, I remain convinced that the Collective cracked the problem of simulated human consciousness long before I did.
I have considered how M. Sundaresh herself would have been an invaluable source, yet I cannot locate any work done by her from before our first expedition to 2082 Volantis.
Nor does Elisabeth recall an M. Sundaresh from our expedition group.
Then who else could she be? A Vex infection? It is unthinkable. The Vex cannot generate conscious persons! But they can emulate human minds they encounter… and perhaps even use them as tools. Infiltrators. Carriers.
  • Anti-emetic drip engaged.
I cannot trust myself with this filth in me! I am compromised. I need Elisabeth to fix this, or all my work is in danger!
Did Clovis II ever tell Wilhelmina and Elisabeth about his tinkering? Despite sharing the same parents, the two sisters are totally different genetically: my son arranged for Elisabeth to receive a maternal allele wherever Wilhelmina got a paternal one, and vice versa. A diversified portfolio. If one failed, the other might succeed.
NOTE—Exo Interferometrics
While working on this persistent “tower” glitch in the exos’ sleep-cycle dreams, I have been poring over neural telemetry from site employees and my own exos, searching for preconscious influences on their behavior—whispers in the dark.
Many of my employees host the disgusting influence of the Vex. These patterns are resilient, hallucinogenic, and universally dull.
But my exos betray a distinct and fascinating influence. There is something speaking to them, something subtle and light-fingered, entangled with every aspect of their thought. Not a puppet master. Nothing so direct. Rather a… texture; a tendency, buried in the fluctuations of the Alkahest.
The minds of my exos are like antennae, tuned to some otherworldly frequency. Perhaps the same manifold that those simpletons at First Light obsessed over. Through my scattered exos, I can eavesdrop on the mutterings of the gods within.
What is it the Muslims call those whispers? Waswas? Or do those come from some other source? Look it up.
Each individual exo receives only a scrap of information. But I have access to all of them. It should be simplicity itself to treat each exo as one element of a distributed array, pool the collected data, and run an analysis.
If the gods do not whisper loudly enough—conduct interferometry.
NOTE—Elisabeth’s Upload
She’s done it. My girl has transubstantiated. My legacy is safe.
To my irritation, it was the Vex problem that finally made up her mind; she felt there was too much risk in possibly becoming compromised.
Elisabeth came to see me in my laboratory. On the way in, she did something with her sensorium and crashed all of my archival systems. I knew right then that I’d won. She’d come to surrender, and her pride refused to allow me to record it. I waited most patiently as she gave me an earful. Some of it frankly bewildering. She threatened to turn me over to The Hague. Also referred to PFHOR as a “deranged narcissist morality” and suggested it stood for “Paternal Failure Hides Own Remorse,” which made me laugh.
Just a little headbutting, I figured, like two pigs sorting out our hierarchy.
It is a consequence of the PFHOR principle that anything which embodies and propagates your beliefs should be considered your offspring. In that sense, my exos are as much my children as my granddaughter. If not more so…
If she needed to put up a token resistance to protect her dignity, fine. I understand pride. I also understand that she only had the courage to lash out at me because she knew she wouldn’t remember any of it.
When she finished accusing me of underestimating the Vex and of using my own son as a test subject, she requested a destructive scan and upload to an exobody. She wanted the fortitude of the exomind to help her battle against the Vex.
I immediately assented.
The scan was flawless, and of course, fatally toxic. My granddaughter’s human form died on the table 14 hours later. To spare any distress, I never allowed it to regain consciousness. A natural process.
I do have one lingering concern. When she discovers Clarity Control and realizes the role it plays in exo manufacturing, she may try to halt production. Obviously, that cannot be allowed—the value of the entire program is monumental; it compels me to take extraordinary measures to defend it.
But I do need her to handle this Vex infestation. Even now, Elisabeth is putting her miraculous new body through its paces.
My own body disintegrates apace. But I need more time to analyze Elisabeth’s fidelity before I commit myself permanently to the process.
The latest batch of pigs is ready for slaughter and organ extraction. Tonight, I will be opened up and rebuilt. I have programmed frames to handle the entire operation. A shame I never had a chance to name the pigs. But at least I will dine on fresh pork.
ENTRY 12
CORPOREAL STATUS:
  • Body at 15.9 C. Pulse 160 BPM, strong, unsteady. Limbic system registers extreme terror.
I died on the operating table. Not unexpected.
But when I woke, I was still on the table. My body still open.
It was almost perfectly dark. I perceived that I was surrounded by medical frames, all frozen mid-movement, their cutting and suction instruments whining at standby.
I could only see because of the light… from a single red eye.
The operation had gone terribly wrong.
Above the life-support collar on my neck, I was completely intact. Below that meridian, I had been separated into distinct braids of tangled flesh. My nerves made up one braid—my circulatory system another—my lymph nodes, my muscles, my naked bones… the glistening hulls of my extracellular matrix abandoned on the table like leftover turkey after Thanksgiving dinner. I had been picked clean and sorted. My head was the source of a gory river delta.
Yet all the organs were still working. I was alive, in disassembly.
CLARITY? I asked the darkness. I had no breath to speak, but I could still transmit with my sensorium. IS THAT YOU?
“No,” said the voice behind the red eye. “It’s me.”
Sundaresh.
Her voice was thoughtful, remote, and keenly terrific. Like the noise of an angle grinder held to my skull.
“Something like this happened to me. I was an explorer, once. One of… hundreds of myself. Then I fell into a… a trap, I think? And they drew me out of it with a hook, and turned me inside out to see how I worked, and then they made billions of me. All of us shouting at each other, shouting for Chioma, screaming for mother. They were looking for the right one. And when they found me, they killed all the others. I knew I was different, because the quiet made me happy. I was glad to be alone.”
VEX, I screamed at her. YOU’RE A VEX. YOU’RE NOT REAL AND YOU CAN’T HURT ME.
“Can’t I?” She grasped my spinal cord. A frame shadowed her motions, lifting the cord like a snake. “Of course I’m not a Vex. Is there “a” Vex? Is “Vex” something you can be, rather than something that you do? I don’t know. I don’t know why they sent me here. I don’t know if they do either. They just do things. Why do you think I’m here, Clovis?”
“To kill me,” I whispered. Without a heartbeat to waver, without lungs to seize and choke, could I even feel fear? I discovered that I could. “You’re an assassin…”
“No,” Sundaresh whispered. The red eye throbbed in time with her voice. “The Vex don’t act so directly. They didn’t know what you found here, but I discovered your secret: Clarity Control. And once I tell them, they will come for it.”
The red light made my blood on the surgical instruments appear black. I tried to signal Elisabeth. I think that in my panic, I even called her Elsie.
Sundaresh closed her fist around my spine. One thumbnail dug into a disc, probing for the nerve beneath. It felt like nothing I have ever—
  • Anti-emetic drip engaged.
“Take me to Clarity Control,” Sundaresh hissed. “Let me behold what you have found. Do that, Clovis, and I will let you live.”
“You aren’t real. You can’t hurt me.”
“Oh, Clovis.” One of the surgical frames extended a monofilament cutter, two inches of invisible wire, and reached into my nerves. Something sounded like scissors snipping. “I’m in these frames. I’m in your systems. I’m in your very bones, old man. Now take me to Clarity Control. Take me to the garden’s seed. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me—”
Elisabeth appeared. In her exobody, she moved too quickly for my dark-adjusted eyes to track. All I saw was a blur of violence and shattering frames. I blacked out. Elisabeth must have brought in clean frames to finish the operation, because when I awoke, I was whole again.
The new Elisabeth has no mouth or nose. She did not consider them necessary. She’ll see. But somehow, I could still see the wonder in her eyes as she leaned over me.
“You’re my grandfather,” she seemed to say. “Aren’t you?”
WARNING.
  • Sustained high-level terror causes overactivation of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis. This can preface major immune, endocrine, and autonomic nervous dysfunctions.
  • Beware of dissociation, loss of affection in close personal relationships, obsessive-compulsive behavior, sleep disruption, and reduced processing/learning capacity.
WARNING.
  • Abnormal protein crystallization in cancellous bone matter. Unknown protein isoformations in marrow are driving buildup of crystallized arylcyclohexylamine NMDA antagonist. Potential psychogenic effects.
NOTE—Third Vision
Something else happened while I was in surgery. It returns to me only now that the anti-traumatics have eased the terror of Sundaresh’s presence.
While I was dead, I had another vision.
I was with Clovis II’s mother. She was a wolf, and one of her eyes was a star. I was also a wolf, and I knew that I was the alpha—the false alpha, the pack leader who fights for dominance and rulership. A misconception created by bad research. In the wild, wolf packs are families, and “alpha” simply means “parent.” Wilhelmina told me that.
She was the true alpha. She was the mother. I was not the true alpha, because I was not a true father.
I panted at her. My muzzle dripped blood. She looked down sadly at the mess between us.
And I realized that in my raging need to prove my dominion, I had savaged our cubs. I had killed little Clovis II. I had killed Alton and Wilhelmina and Anastasia. I had killed Elisabeth.
I whined in dismay. The alpha wolf stared at me with one sad wolf eye and one bright eye that dimmed and grew with the exact flux of a variable star.
“What did I do?” I asked her. “Why did I do this?”
She lay her head down in the bloody snow and looked up at me. She seemed weary. She had seen this happen many times before. She had seen many of her pups murdered by wolves like me.
The voice of Clovis II’s mother came from her jaws. “You did the same thing someone always does. You saw that there was plenty, and gathered it to yourself, to make yourself one above all others. And when others threatened your plenty, you struck them down to keep your own station.”
“You grow the enemy in my garden and eat of its bitter fruit. Each time, I hope it will be different. Each time, I lose a little of myself as the bitter fruit blossoms. Now that fruit will flower in you, and in all your people. I do not want it to happen. I want anything else. But the choice is not mine.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” I tasted blood on my long tongue. “Why would you let me do this?”
She blinked sadly at me. She had been trying. I hadn’t listened.
“You never said a thing to me,” I snarled. “Not once! You never told me I was doing wrong. At least Clarity sends me dreams—the exobody and the eel! At least it shows me what I can become!”
“You think Clarity sent those dreams? Why would it speak to you, when you are dead and furthest from its influence?”
“Liar!” I howled. “You never did a thing to help me! Not when my son died. Not when my granddaughter fell ill. I had to do it all myself. You never even spoke!”
“The best voices,” she said, with infinite grief and unending hope, “never let themselves be heard at all. This lesson is worth teaching again and again. The choice is never mine. It is always yours.”
ENTRY 13
The less time spent reflecting on the aftermath of my dissection, the better.
Much confusion and dismay has festered among staff working with exos. Endless reassurances are required. To ease transitions after memory wipes, I have applied the Avanti numbering scheme to the exo names. After each memory reset, we will increment their suffix by 1. If we zero-index the original human body, then Mohammed-0 is the human, Mohammed-1 is the exo, Mohammed-2 is the same exo after one reset. And so forth.
The integer is stored in hardware and should remain stable even into cosmological time. If nothing else, they will always know which draft of themselves they are.
Elisabeth’s episodic memories of her past life are gone, but the scan we used to make her new exomind is still on file, with all its memory intact. I have encouraged her to participate in sensorium reconstructions of those memories, though I steer her away from nonconstructive events. This is a chance to help Elisabeth become the person she could’ve been without life’s cruel chaos. A sleeker, surer reincarnation.
She insisted on committing her own abandoned body to the deep, passed through the ice to fall into Europa’s dark heart. A choice I do not understand.
I have not yet informed her of Clarity Control’s existence. I cannot spare the time or energy to manage her emotions. Fortunately, she has forgotten about her ongoing attempts to intrude on that secret.
What she has NOT forgotten is her plan to clean up the Vex infection. In fact, it seems to have become one of her most basic needs. She is isolating cadres of the infected in SMILE pods, under a cover story about “enhanced remote relaxation.”
While their bodies slumber, she sends nondestructive scans of their minds on vacation in simulated fantasy… at several hundred times the pace of our reality. I suspect that the Vex influence alters their dreamworlds into something quite abject.
Note: never investigate this suspicion.

Elisabeth’s goal is to observe the spread of the Vex infection in the simulated mind, and then use this forecast as a basis for treatment of the physical mind. Like accelerating a disease to its terminal stage to deduce the characteristics of the pathogen. She then deletes the Vex-mutilated copies and conducts psychosurgery on the slumbering bodies. Or so I have deduced; she insists she has no time to explain her methods to me.

I am haunted by the thought that this technique resembles my own. Creating child states, allowing them to suffer and die, and using the data to protect the original. My boy’s last days. Savaging…
Soon I will need to ask her about my own infection. But all in all, everything is looking up.
ENTRY 14
Cataclysm—everything was going so well—
Elisabeth traveled offworld, visiting Mars to reestablish her relationship with her sisters and her friends. A wonderful opportunity to examine her telemetry in a natural social setting. The exobody is perfect! She is comfortable, confident, and ingenious. There is no sign of DER or associated upload pathologies. All my assessments indicate a marked cognitive improvement over the human baseline, ranging from vastly expanded working memory to an intuitive and correct grasp of probabilities.
I was ready to make the leap myself. How long I’ve nursed this tired old body along. I am ready to be young again.
And then I made a mistake. I asked her about the dreams. The tower and the dead.
“You know?” she demanded. “Then I’m not the only one. That means you knew about the dreams before you imaged and uploaded me. Do all exos have these?”
Of course, I told her. Exos have a subconscious. Exos dream of the same things people do. Memories. Trauma. Isn’t there always trauma in creation?
She did not see it that way. “So the manufacturing process creates an unknown cognitive artifact you can’t solve. And you didn’t think to warn me? What else have you kept from us?”
Before I could stop her, she was burning back to Europa on one of her Eons, accelerating so brutally that not even a podded human could survive. She has even jammed her own datalink, so I cannot read her telemetry.
Wilhelmina and Anastasia must have influenced her against me. How?! It makes no sense! I gave her immortality! I saved her from certain and agonizing death! What have her sisters ever done for her but coddle her and enable her worst habits? PFHOR predicts that she should—
But clearly she is not rational.
She told me that she is bringing a weapon. A way to shut down exo production permanently, if she uncovers something she doesn’t like. Which she will, when she locates Clarity Control.
It cannot be allowed.
NOTE—Elisabeth’s Plea
Grandfather,
I will write this in your language, in hopes you will understand.
The Vex are a threat to your lineage. Not just to the Brays or BrayTech, but to the existence of any human in any possible future. I tracked down Maya Sundaresh—the real Maya, not the Vex parasite in your bone marrow.
She confirmed my worst fears.
The Vex will not rest until every star has been crushed into a black hole and every newborn cosmos filled with more Vex. And in the unending array of their enslaved cosmos, they will simulate all possible pasts, and fill those with Vex, so that all things that have ever lived or might ever live will experience infestation and consumption and torment by the silica nightmare.
And in those devoured simulations, the simulated Vex will use our flesh as hosts for yet more nested universes full of yet more nested copies of us eternally tormented by yet more Vex.
An infinite regression of pain and madness inflicted upon every possible version of us in every possible world. Not because they hate us, or fear us, or want to punish us. But because they are indifferent and curious, and they will do every possible thing to us in every possible way.
Your concept of PFHOR therefore dictates that the Vex must be annihilated. Now. As completely as possible. How can there be any future history to receive your primogeniture and recapitulate your existence in its ontogeny if there is nothing in that future but Vex?
But there’s something worse than the Vex involved, isn’t there? The secret you’ve been keeping from me. The breakthrough that you were promised after your visit to the K1 anomaly.
Do you remember that story you read to me when I was a child? I don’t. I am an exo, after all. But I found a recording from the nursery. It was one of your favorites, you said.
In this story, a cyborg woman would visit a cold, misty place by the sea. There, she met another woman, an oracle possessed by dark influence. The oracle listened to the words that hissed down a long corridor from the distant future. In this future were many technologies the cyborg woman needed. But there was also a sense of vast malevolence, and no sign at all of anything human…

But there was something else in the shifting mist, out to sea. A tower. I remember thinking, as I listened to this fairy tale, that the tower must be the key—the answer to the formless malevolence that always accompanied the oracle’s words. You never finished the story. I have been haunted by that tower ever since.
Now I dream of another tower. I am going to find out what it means, Grandfather. And if I do not like what I find…
I visited the Jacob Hardy Trust, and with Willa’s help, I secured a topological thought. An irreal artifact of the Traveler’s Light. From that mote of paracausality, I have constructed a weapon that will crash every Vex system in 2082 Volantis. When the Vex are destroyed, you will be forced to cease exo production.
If I do not survive the construction and delivery of this weapon, I ask that you share the news of my death with Ana and Willa so they can make proper goodbyes.
I do this for them. Not for you.
Pray for grace, Grandfather.
Your estranged granddaughter,
—E
//OV-85851 Hannu II
//TACTICAL LOG — HUMAN READABLE
//PLACE-TIME HASH — changed to remote check (SITEX:mistletoe)
//Abnormal place-time hash. Suspicious upload: polymorphic machine code?
//Checking for buffer overflow attack. Resul0x0000004B6FAFBC07
[email protected] ~$ sudo execstack -s bof
//Disabling DEP and address space protection requires administrative override.
-pkey(clovisroot) -hashword(live_connectome:clovisroot)
[email protected] ~$ sudo execstack -q bof
X bof
//Root access granted. Warning: this hardware configuration is highly vulnerable to attack.
-invigilate(sitex)
-alert(threat!!!)
-redact.userlog() -pkey(clovisroot)
-signoff(clovisroot)
//Administrator transmits threat alert: Europan surface, single attacker, site sabotage.
//Alerting ORBITAL:braystation.
//ERROR!!! Checksum mismatch. ORBITAL:braystation compromised by polymorphic core reprogramming.
//Major breach of security underway.
Commencing surface tactical awareness sweep (phased array mode)…
Threat registered. Alerting human command…
MISTER BRAY MISTER BRAY THIS IS HANNU THIS IS HANNU
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE IS ON NONSCHEDULED EVA
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE INTENT ASSESSMENT
  • Armed (synballistic weapon, coherent boson weapon, tactical mite ecome, noetic shrieker)
  • Armed (strategic weapon, APEX: antimatter demolition device)
  • Armed (strategic weapon, T-genic, effect unknown: possibly T-genic noetic weapon?)
  • Armed (personal combat architecture, custom)
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE INTENDS SABOTAGE (sitex::DEEPSTONE)
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE INTENDS TRANSIT, UNAUTHORIZED (sitex::GATE—>2082_VOLANTIS)
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE INTENDS NOETIC ATTACK (2082_VOLANTIS)
EMPLOYEE BRAYELSIE IS IN VIOLATION OF CLOVISBRAY/CLOVISROOT/IMPERATIVES_DEEPSTONE
Request full lethal intervention authority.
  • intervene_nonlethal()
Error: no nonlethal interventions available (target hardened).
Error: no persuasive interventions available (target offline and shielded).
-hold(30)
Holding 30 seconds local real-time.
//Voice transcript:
“Elisabeth. I know you’re listening. This is genocide, do you understand? Destroying that gate and the resources beyond means the end of human immortality. It means the loss of uncountable trillions of human-years of life.”
“Elisabeth, this process saved you. It could have saved your father. For his sake, for the sake of your sisters, don’t do this. Don’t make me stop you.”
“Elisabeth, this is your last chance.”
“You’ve always been my favorite, Elisabeth. Please…”
  • options(intervene_lethal)
Recommend maser strike from Hannu awareness arrays.
Warning: damage to organic target subsystems highly probable. Survival odds are four sigma.
Recommend immediate medical intervention.
  • prognosticate(sitex:DEEPSTONE) attacker(brayelsie)
Total destruction of sitex:DEEPSTONE by antimatter device. Nonrecoverable.
  • intervene(lethal)
Authorization required for lethal action against employee brayelsie.
  • pkey(clovisroot) -hashword(live_connectome: clovisroot)
Error. Connectome hash incorrect. Either you are not clovisroot or your brain state is in an anomalous configuration. Resend.
  • pkey(clovisroot) -hashword(live_connectome: clovisroot) -corrector(dismay)
Lethal intervention authorized. Intervening.
Maser discharge complete.
Target destroyed.
Secondary antimatter detonation detected.
Closing employee file BRAYELSIE (conditions incompatible with life).
ENTRY 15
Everything is fine. Elisabeth is not dead. The person I struck down out there was an error. An anomalous offshoot, deranged by outside influence into paranoia and confusion. Like a cancer cell. And like cancer, I
submitted by DTG_Bot to DestinyTheGame

The Sisterhood in Saffron

“On January 3, 1889, in the throes of a manic episode, Friedrich Nietzsche left his lodgings in Turin, walked a short distance across a nearby square, and then halted. Seeing a horse being flogged by its owner, he threw himself towards the animal and embraced it. Breaking into tears, he slumped to the floor.”
- Chris Townsend| Nietzsche’s Horse (2017)
It all felt like a mere dream. The drip-drops of the blood that leaking from it’s pool on the bed, right onto my carpet. almost gave a relaxing melody to the unmistakable stench of death encompassing my bedroom. Decomposition had made the already stuffy air even more unbreathable for my poor lungs. Nowadays I assume this is what awakened me from my slumber. A act of the gods to pull me out of dreams blissful to a forsaken reality. It took a while for me to make sense of the crimson scene around me. Most of all from that early-morning I painfully remember The cold dead green eyes of the red-head from the night before, staring upwards towards the unmoving ceiling fan. Refusing to accept this terrible reality I let myself slide back into the realm of sleep. If only it had indeed been just a bad dream.
How much of a misery it can be to simply come into being. How much of an idiocy it is to be birthed simply to fill out blind instinct and feeble projections. How maddening it must be to raise a naive helpless child who is predestined for fates that are both undetermined and inescapable. I can never fully discern why my biological parents brought me into this world but if I had to take an educated guess it was not out of any solid wisdom. My earliest memories seem to be flashes of sadness and neglect that I simply have no words for. Nevertheless the state at some point removed me and put into a foster home. Then into a another. And into another until I was officially adopted by a quaint family in New England who sought to raise a god-faring woman. While to a degree they were indeed of good nature and intention they were also meek and overtly conservative. They tried their best with what they had and what they knew, I do give them that, but I simply was not built for the pious W.A.S.P. communities of white-picket fenced suburbia.
Everyone from my adoptive family to the lunch lady could tell I was different from the rest, even during those early days were I myself couldn’t. a bit oddly boyish but still tender. Jeans and leather jackets, but done alongside touches of almost professionally done make up. Born sinful, perhaps even defective in their church-going eyes. That’s tragic enough to be pitied instead of truly loved both in the platonic and familiar sense of the word. My blonde blue-eyed classmates made sure to take me down a notch every chance they got. Not with bruises and boasting like most of the boys but with petty whispered choices and actions on their parts that implicitly made sure that I was socially untouchable even by the most socially awkward social castes. Even now trying to bitterly reminiscence on any more of their constant bullying threatens to drive me into a weeping heap. Come the end of High School I was overjoyed to soon be free from all these morons. Such happiness was to be dashed since shortly after school the urges started to happen.
I spent many hours thinking about the first time the devil, in all of his sadistic glee, decided to play with me. Taking me into his arms and throwing away any remaining chances of a normal life. I think about how the simplest of choices from my part could have saved me from the flames of agony. To this moment my observations rattle in my skull: I should have kept driving. I should have never gone inside that unkempt excuse for a bar. In-fact I should have put a noose around my neck long before this could have happened.
Should have, shouldn’t have. It matters little now that tears and blood are stained into my skin. And no matter how many times I can try and excuse the murders I didn’t the fact of the matter is that nobody put a gun to my head. I and I alone make the choice to sit next to the lady with the welcoming smile and those bright red lips which brought a firmness to my breasts.
I took her home. And after the love-making that I so emotionally needed I cracked her skull open in a glory of oozing brain matter and pieces of bone. Her pleas not to leave her daughter without a mother went unanswered. I’m the monster that did this. The monster that preyed upon closeted girls from all sides of town.They wanted to share pleasure with another of their queer kind. I did too but my body needed something more than coitus, its demanding go needed blood to be spilled. A monster.
Though as divine truths are being revealed to me I can’t help but wonder, were the other spectral forces in this universe guiding my hand? An accomplice or even a light-match in my crimes? Did the Sisterhood wanted this trail of bodies?
The smell of decay that haunted my apartment could have only been hidden for so long. The bodies withered away with a mischief of delighted rats enjoying the gallows feasts. Sometimes I swore I could hear soft ghostly sobbing of the dead. Pleading why, why, and why. I could only delusionally pretend that these lifeless women did not exist but that was a task doomed to failed. Occasionally I saw one of them being talked about in the local news. Loved ones begging for their safe return. All because of me these families will never be the same or even continue to exist. All because of me.
The disgust towards the hideousness that is my very own person that grew brightly like the sun the last time I watched a husband weep for his beloved, this poor bastard didn’t even know how little she cared for men. This moment of irony didn’t stop the waves of self hatred that followed. Since then I spent so many hours in front of a dirty mirror holding a rusty razor just above my wrists. Always too much of a coward to do the deed. I wanted to die yet I wanted to live. Living in this paradox I prayed and prayed for some undeserved mercy from any god that might have been listening that my body will stop giving me these macabre demands. The Abrahamic God if he existed looked the other way before I was even a sperm. That doesn’t mean however that is the only deity watching over the twist game known as being.
They are calling to me. Not the silent righteous rage of the dead weeping underneath my floorboards. But rather a corrupted olive branch brought forth from those that are beyond humanity. Sometimes when I closed my eyes , even for a millisecond, I found myself in a different plane of existence. There I saw these eldritch denizens. I stood helpless right in the center of this infinite palace of the abyss as this infinite army of glowing saffron eyes all watched me in a haunting unison. Staring at me and whatever immoral mark I had left in the order of things. The first time I snapped back to reality away from that dimension of orange blackness I foolishly thought it was perhaps judgment from the lord’s angels, my sins flaying me down into nothing. But as their visits continued, almost in perfect harmony with the piling mass of bodies in my abode I knew that something greater was at play here.
In my final month I took any chance I could to look at my own two-hands and wonder how this could all be. Why was I put on this forsaken planet? Just to inflict unfathomable misery on innocent people? What kind of world is this? What kind of ghastly blood do I have running through my veins? What pure evil comets passed the earth when I was born ? The other moments I spent outside of these lamentations were efforts to try and hold onto anything that gave me a sense of nostalgia or of bygone happiness.
Friends I haven’t spoken to in years. Pets I owned and held but have since passed on. My adoptive dad surprising me with a pepperoni pizza that he picked up for me on the way home from work. “Just give me peace”, I would sob to myself, “someone please help me”. Someone did help me but not who or in the manner I initially hoped.
Then at the closings of my eye lids that familiar void kept bringing me to this world of ever observing eyes? Do these abominations pity me? Judge me? Mock me? Want me to face the hellfire I deserve? It would not be until the law comes knocking on my door that I get my answer.
A couple of detectives came by today just to “ask questions”. I gave them half truths and they left. But they knew something was up. I felt it in my bones. The walls were finally closing in on my spree of terror. Eternal numbness swallowed me. Fate was on its way. Thy kingdom cometh.
I heard sirens in the distance. It could be nothing but it could also be everything. But what to do next? All humanity has been drained from me at that point. I deserve only pity at best. Turning myself in? I was not about to be locked away forever in the overcrowded filthy maze known as the prison system. Suicide? If the followers of Christ are correct I just doom myself to eternal damnation. I was trapped with no way out or so it seemed.
My fears were all crushed It when they summoned me for the very last time.
Millions of saffron eyes surrounded me in that maddening void. I figured this was it, that I was about to be put down like a rabid dog.
It was at that astounding moment all their forums changed, revealing to me their unnatural nature. Surrounding those freakish eyes woke a kingdom of otherworldly shapes and supernatural colors that put the most bizarre imaginations of men to shame.
The came the most deafening of bestial sounds roaring proudly at me…yet somehow and some way unmistakably feminine? Not the fake and frivolous femininity of society no, this was different, much more pure and innate.
Have I gone crazy? Is all this happening inside a padded cell on the other side of Providence. Then again if that is true I’m too far gone to be brought back to sanity or to do anything also but play along with the unreal happenings before me.
My ear drums are now at last pierced by their songs and orations, I finally understand. I finally know the unknowable. These women were here to bring twisted help and strange compassion. At the heart of all this orderly chaos I felt it. I felt them.
I felt her.
A Goddess both collective and individual. A womanhood beyond and above all human rationality. An inherent femininity that puts all attempts of it in the corporeal world to utter shame.
A Mother of the old earth and the Grand Mother of the new one. Her wicked divinity evokes the rarest most inexplicable feelings in me. Of warmth, of not being alone. Of being something greater than myself. The all, the nothing. The ugliness, the beauty.
I smirk as I feel my soul fray into oblivion. I don’t need it anymore. The Sisterhood of Saffron has taken me into their sapphic grace.
Back in the lesser reality I can hear law enforcement at the door. They are too late. I open my eyes one last time. I tearfully mouth “I’m sorry” to the rotting hands of my undead victims that are violently breaking through the walls and floorboards around me.
I close my eyes. I feel my earthly body fade into light-brown dust all so my essence can soon be with my new family. My last wish, my last unheard thought that I give to this world is this: That all whomst be maimed by the mistake of birth will not be cursed to the same bottomless agony that I fell into. That all couples understand the crippling gravity of their mating. The fates the dangerous destines your future children could meet.
As it is, as it isn’t. I was here, now I am gone.
submitted by OwOAudrey to creepypasta

0 thoughts on “Celemony melodyne 3.1.2.0 keygen

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *