Working Girl

 

Greta Ingram lives in New York City and works in a high pressure sales boiler room. She’s a tough well-educated Darwinist Libertarian, and knows that societies must be structured on natural principles if humanity and civilization are to survive. She despairs that the general trend today is nothing more than an accelerating fast train to Hell.

 

Occasionally in the alternative news media she hears about the victories of warriors in a Libertarian Nationalist revolution being fought worldwide by individuals unconnected to each other. She wants to be part of this. If the good people win, one day she can meet some of the others, and finally be among friends instead of the subhumans at work.

 

Greta has learned to fight back. When she was fourteen two young black men abducted, tortured, and raped her. One of the men made the fatal mistake of leaving a knife on the bedside table. But for that, Greta would be dead today. This prompted her to study karate. She is now a proficient brown belt and quite deadly in her own right even without a knife.

 

 

  

Picture Window

 

Jan 10, 2025

In the lunchroom today, a horny fellow named Jon has been looking at Greta with intense interest for the past twelve minutes. He finally comes over,

 

“You look lonely. May I join you?”

 

“Sure, why not?”

 

she replies with a pale smile.

 

Greta has overheard this joker bragging up his proactive support of Communism on several occasions and is surprised that he would even be interested in women. So many of them are fags, after all.

 

The two talk for a while, then he asks her,

 

“If I buy two steaks and some vegetables at the corner store, can we go back to your place and cook dinner?”

 

She looks thoughtful, then says,

 

“Yes, but for reasons I can’t tell you about until next week, we need to leave here separately and meet down the street… let’s say at the store, and then go home. It’s only a short walk from there.”

 

“Okay. Are you planning to leave at four?”

 

Yes. I’ll go first. Give me a one minute lead.”

 

He enters the store. They decide on tenderloin, spinach soufflé, and potatoes au Groton. At least it will be a good dinner.

 

They walk down an adjacent side street for one and a half blocks. As they enter the destination building, she says,

 

“It’s on the fifth floor. There is a nice view I want to show you.”

 

They get in the elevator and go up. When they arrive on the fifth floor, she points to the massive hallway window overlooking a courtyard. They walk over to the window, then suddenly she turns, sprints fifteen feet towards the elevator, turns again, sprints back, leaps in the air, and with her right leg fully extended kicks the poor fellow very hard in the chest. He is catapulted through the window, and falls to his death in the courtyard below.

 

Luckily, the bag of food landed on the floor. She scoops it up, goes down the elevator, and is out of sight down the street in no time. She has an immense feeling of satisfaction on the way home, enjoys half of the groceries for dinner, and freezes the other half. Around the same time, the Communist is being placed in a freezer at the city morgue.

 

 

Tea with Dinner

 

Another day in the kitchen, Greta overhears a PALPAP member telling his girlfriend about throwing balloons of urine at people who support trade agreements that will return jobs to the United States. He adds with a grin,

 

“The police were ordered to stand down, so we even got to club a few of the old ones.”

 

Greta is very pissed off by this, but is taking a holiday from revolutionary activity because her parents are visiting from Pennsylvania. They will be leaving tomorrow.

 

January 24, 2025

After work, Greta follows the treasonous couple to a Chinese restaurant three blocks from work. She lets them enter, then goes in herself and sits at a distance. After they and she have ordered their meals, the couple each visit restrooms to powder their noses with some of the good Columbian product that’s been going around lately.

 

The hostess is around the corner and all the servers are in the kitchen at the moment. Greta jumps up, walks quickly to the couple’s table, drops slow acting deadly poison into their hot tea, stirs it in, and makes it back to her table just in time for the arrival of pork strips and duck sauce. So good.

 

The twosome and Greta enjoy their meals. When the couple leaves, Greta follows them to a city park. They sit down and within thirty minutes the girlfriend keels over dead and falls off the bench. The boyfriend takes longer and is kneeling beside the girl when he at last, falls flat on his face next to her. They lay side by side in death. Macabre, but very romantic. 

 

The birds are already beginning to notice the fallen couple. Greta beams with delight, heads home, and curls up with a good book.

 

The next day at the morning meeting, the floor boss addresses the salesroom,

 

“… In case you aren’t aware of it, within the past two weeks, three of our employees have been murdered off property. This is a big city. It’s probably just a coincidence unrelated to this room, but just in case you hear anything, please don’t hesitate to inform either myself

or Tim. We and the police will protect your privacy. We don’t want to lose any more of you, at least not to the Grim Reaper.”

 

A few well-armed, souls chuckle. The meek majority look worried. Greta looks thoughtful.

 

Initially she thought to conceal her hits, so it would seem that the victims had quit or moved away. Plans are one thing, possibility in the field, however, is a very different matter. She did what she had to do and did it well, but now thinks to herself,

 

“From here on, I will do larger numbers unrelated to the room. One more like the first two, and the police will interview the entire sales force, including me.”

 

 

Broader Horizons

 

Greta has been keeping an eye on Globalist conference schedules. Recently she sent for a blow gun with darts she can poison. She has also bought some new clothes, generated a phony press badge under a false name for an upstate newspaper with a photo of herself in light disguise, and through an old morally ambiguous boyfriend, Ralph, no questions asked, procured a large supply of powerful compact explosives with remote detonators. 

 

 

Conference

 

February 12, 2025

Today there is a conference involving one-hundred-thirty-eight people, mostly Globalist bankers and functionaries.

 

9:04 A.M.

In her gray teed suit, Greta looks the part, and gets in easily. A girl from the New York Herald sees her, comes over, and comments,

 

“You’re a long way from home.”

 

Greta says,

 

“Ya think? I drove down yesterday. It took five hours. We like to cover Globalists. It boosts circulation in rural areas. People up north are beginning to broaden their horizons.”

 

The girl replies,

 

“That’s good. I look forward to globalization.”

 

The crowd surges forward. Greta breaks from the ruined girl and heads to the center of the small auditorium, happily noticing the low ceiling. She finds a seat on the isle about half way to the platform. She is seated next to a young couple who are very involved talking with each other, and scarcely notice her. The place is beginning to fill up. So far, so good.

 

Fourteen minutes pass. The first speaker is from Venezuela, and sugar coats everything with fake demographics. Greta notices several numbers so obviously wrong they are not even close to the truth. She is disgusted and bored, looks around, places her case under her seat, gets up, and says to the girl next to her,

 

“I’m not leaving. Just going to the ladies room. See you in a flash.”

 

She does visit the ladies room. As she comes back out, there is a late party of eight coming into the auditorium via the main entry. She steals smoothly behind them and slips outside unnoticed.

 

It’s warm and sunny for winter, a beautiful day to be a patriot. Greta walks to a small park nearby, sits down, takes a deep breath, and presses the remote button. There is a load dull thud as five windows blow out, followed by long tongues of fire. Greta feels like a real player this time, looks at her watch and thinks,

 

“A fine day’s work and its only 10:06. I’m going to the natural history museum. For lunch, I’ll have a medium rare roast beef sandwich with dill pickles at the cafeteria.”

 

 

 

Boata Biota

 

Greta learns that a group of over thirty-six thousand African “refugees” is being forced by the United Nations into a small factory town in upstate New York. The boat will arrive in New York harbor. The outlanders will be assisted by Catholic Charites to disembark and board trains to their final destination.

 

Greta gives Ralph minimum logistics, then asks about procuring a compact powerful torpedo. He says,

 

“Jesus, Greta. Why don’t you just join the navy. I can get one, but it won’t be cheap. You’ll need an outboard motor boat to transport it. I recommend you start with the torpedo already in the water secured to the side of the boat, but however you do it, you’re going to be very exposed, especially after the explosion.

 

“A Law’s Rocket from shore is flashy on take-off, but with a quick concealed path to a getaway car would be a better choice. Also easier, and less money.”

 

Greta decides to sleep on it.

 

March 8, 2025

It’s a cold gusty day. The ship is right on schedule entering New York Harbor. A light complexioned African man who has been studying Spanish, is on deck. Considering the morally compromised captain and three crew members, he is the best person onboard the ship. In the stiff breeze, he is so glad at least for the warmth of the donated coat he is wearing, that he sings loudly, albeit with sarcastic belligerence, first touching the railing of the ship, then thumbing out his lapels.

 

“Boata biota, me coata kiota,

 dewawah, nee-pip dewawah…”

 

As the ship passes a grassy promontory, Greta sends off the rocket. It hits a little further aft than she aimed, but nonetheless blows a hole in the side. The doomed vessel gulps in the chilly water, quickly upends, and slips smoothly beneath the surface.

 

King Neptune is at the ready, and receives his unexpected guests with due diligence. None of these people can swim. In this cold choppy water it wouldn’t matter anyway.

 

Greta is delighted when she watches the evening news, but knows that in future similar proceedings will likely have helicopter escort. In fact, reactions to almost every type of major strike will very likely preclude doing the same thing a second time, so she will have to be innovative.

 

 

Banquet

 

May 22, 2025

Today there is a banquet for “progressive” types, two-hundred-sixteen assorted Liberals, Socialists, Communists, Globalists.

 

Greta arrives early using the same journalist persona she did for the conference. It’s just like doing it for the first time, because there were no survivors from the previous hit.

 

She gains admittance and quickly locates the punchbowl. Positioning herself between it and the security camera, she gets herself a cup, adds a generous portion of the same poison used for the Communist couple from work, stirs it in with the ladle, steps to one side, drinks her cup quickly, and leaves, telling the doorman she left something in her car.

 

One of the speakers walks past her on his way in, and gets himself some punch. He sits down on the speaking platform to review his notes as the banquet hall fills up quickly.

 

9:06

The speaker takes the podium and begins,

 

“Good morning, You all know me, but I’m just the M.C. today. Around eleven ten A.M. we will be privileged to heave Dr. Ringwald Sumbavi from Somaliland tell us about the great progress the United Nations has been making in riding the world of ethnic divisiveness. We will break for lunch around noon. At that time I’ll have another surprise for you. In the meantime, please get yourself some punch and circulate.”

 

A great many people enjoy some punch before the first one keels over dead after an hour and eleven minutes. He’s an old fellow, so they think it’s a heart attack and go right on drinking the punch. An ambulance takes him away. Within an hour the remaining guests begin to drop like flies.

 

Even the doorman had a cup of the punch, so there is nobody surviving who remembers seeing Greta this time either, except security cameras, another good reason for the light disguise. The death toll is one-hundred-ninety-six. Not everybody drinks punch. 

 

 

 

At Dinner

 

Once a month Greta treats herself to a gourmet dinner in a fancy restaurant. Wherever she goes these days, she always brings the blowgun and a few darts, just in case.

 

June 14, 2915

Tonight it will be Roast Duckling L’Orange, preceded by Quiche Loraine and ice cold cranberry juice. About half way through her meal, a tall well-dressed man and his wife enter with the hostess. The man looks right at Greta as they pass her table.

 

Greta knows who this fellow is from a picture online in a piece about his visit from Brussels for an important meeting in New York. He’s one of the top functionaries in the European Union, an outspoken champion of worldwide genocide through Islamification.

 

Greta finishes her meal, pays the check, and visits the ladies room. On the way back, nobody is looking, she has a clear shot, and darts the EU globalist in the cheek from a distance of twenty feet just as she gains the hallway door. The wife has her back to Greta and never sees who did it. The husband brushes his cheek expecting an insect, and pulls out the dart, giving his wife a solemn astonished look. He starts to speak, but before he can say anything, his heart stops and he falls off his chair to the floor.

 

His wife screams. By this time, Greta is outside on the sidewalk, well on her way to the subway train home. 

 

 

 

Mezzanine

 

Greta has like-minded friends. One is a Darwinist Libertarian writer named Eric who audits courses at a nearby university. He does his writing on the fourth floor of the campus library, and is occasionally harassed by the security chief, Samuel Pantecki, who hates Eric for political reasons.

 

Pantecki is surly, autocratic, and dismissive, precisely the traits of businesslike toughness needed for the job of security chief. There is, however, a fine line between being a tough man and a thug. Pantecki crosses this line whenever it suits him. Being disrespectful, tyrannical, and unjust are not necessary traits for the job, and constitute an abuse of power. To make matters worse, the chief has been especially peevish lately because things have not been going well in his personal life.

 

The library, for IMF banker lending profit, has a great many fake fire emergencies. Patrons are instructed via loudspeakers to “cease operations” and evacuate without using elevators. Everyone stands outside until the expensive visit by the fire trucks is over. The next day, any girl at the circulation desk, will usually respond if asked, that the emergency was someone “vaping in the restroom.”

 

Twenty-three years ago, Eric, at a full stop, was rear-ended by a fool doing forty mph in a pickup truck. The damage to his right leg makes it very difficult for him to walk down long steep staircases during these “emergencies.” He naturally has become quite outspoken in his opposition to phony safety exercises.

 

People like Pantecki are mere pawns in the game of IMF takeover. The premise is the same one used for FEMA: In keeping with the Hegelian Dialectic, first suspend civil rights during emergencies, then create a climate of constant emergency to maintain the suspension. Once people get used to being without civil rights they will more easily except one world government and the total finance control that goes with it. The IMF bankers call this process the “engineering of consent”.

 

During one emergency, Pantecki exploits the situation for personal use by reporting Eric to Student Conduct claiming that he did not exit the building promptly, but was “walking around instigating arguments with security officers.”

 

The chap at Student Conduct, Peter Burnside, is a fair-minded man, but finds himself in an awkward position because the library memo purports to be the testimony of several security people vs. only one student. Who must he believe? He has no choice but to ban Eric from the library for two months.

 

Eric is outraged by the security lies. He asks Mr. Burnside if there is any avenue for counter accusation, and is told that he will be sent information about an appropriate organization.

 

For rare cases like this there is no specific organization. The university instead uses the Office of Equal Employment. After a few days Eric receives a letter directly from Polly Dale at that office:

 

“I have just received a memo from the Office of Student Conduct stating that you feel you may have been the victim of discrimination or persecution.

 

“If possible, I would like to schedule a call with you to discuss the details of the incident in greater detail. When time permits, please provide your availability for a call next week.”

 

July 8, 2025

Eric responds:

 

“… I cannot do anything via telephone.

The fire emergency was Monday c 11:55 A.M. Details of the events are irrelevant without proof from security camera tapes. One would not, of course, ask Mr. Pantecki for these. The problem is that there are multiple accusers vs. one of me, as Peter Burnside has pointed out.

 

“I suspect that Pantecki composes letters to Student Conduct himself, but knows that his people will back him no matter what he writes if there is any challenge. They want to keep their jobs, after all.

 

“I have a heavy work load, and don’t want to get drawn into spending a lot of time on this. My feeling about the library now is that it is a place of foul play to be avoided even when I am eligible to return at the start of Fall term. I just want my name clear with Peter Burnside for my personal wellbeing in future.

 

“If you can get the tapes, let’s proceed further. If not, let’s not. With tapes in hand, just say the day and time. I am available in person Tue-Fri.”

 

Eric never hears back. This doesn’t surprise him at all. IMF banker endowed schools are tightly knit communities of control freak / slave mentalities. The individuals involved would never be hired in the first place if they were tough-minded individualists.

 

Greta finds out about all this from Eric one night at dinner, and later without telling Eric, procures a picture of Pantecki and visits the campus library to study the situation.

 

Two weeks later, Pantecki is doing his routine morning patrol of the library. He gets off the elevator at the fifth floor. He loves to stand at the mezzanine inside the quiet study room and gaze upon the colossal internal structure of this magnificent building.

 

As he walks towards his favorite spot, nothing seems out of the ordinary. There are always a few early bird students sitting here and there at computers engrossed in online work.

 

Pantecki enters the quiet study. There is a solitary female sitting at a desk reading. As he reaches the railing, Greta in heavy disguise, rises and walks briskly up behind him. As he turns, she hits him with a five million volt stun gun. It transforms him into helpless putty. As she lifts his legs to slide him over the railing, he can barely talk, but manages to call out weakly,

 

“No, please!”

 

Over he goes …

 

“No, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease …”

 

It’s a long way down. The security chief all but splashes when he hits the cold terrazzo floor. Bones are poking out all over the place. He is being quickly surrounded by a pool of blood.

Students stand aghast at the sight.

 

Nobody on the fifth floor saw or heard anything. Greta takes the elevator to the second floor, then the escalator to the first, pretending to be mildly curious about the

crowd gathered around something way off

to the right. She keeps an aloof demeanor, however, and exits the library immediately.

 

When Eric hears the TV news that night about what the police are calling suicide, he beams with delight and thinks,

 

“Treachery comes home to roost. The only good slanderer is a dead one.” 

 

 

Meeting

 

The next day, Greta awakens feeling a bit disappointed in herself. After the large scale reprisals she has done recently, why did she get involved in what she did yesterday? The mezzanine adventure was very risky and netted only one casualty. The target was deserving, but of relatively small importance to the future. It’s nice to tie up loose ends, but one has to weigh risks against gains.

 

A new opportunity: next week twenty-three top Globalists are having a meeting in a hotel conference room just a few blocks away. Why damage good real estate? Poison gas would be a nice change of pace.

 

Ralph supplies four cannisters, each with a radio controlled release valve. Greta saves a little money on this, because she already has the remote device she used for the big conference last February.

 

August 12, 2025

The meeting is at 10:00 A.M. Greta arrives the minute the building opens at 8:00 A.M.

 

In the ladies room next to the meeting venue, she locates the heating shaft. It has a spring latch door. She climbs in easily and inserts a matchbook cover to keep the door unlatched. It’s hard to navigate here without making noise. She moves carefully and finds the duct that drops to the meeting room. She reaches down, places the cannister, then pulls a membrane over the duct so the gas won’t be drawn back into the main system.

 

Back to the ladies room. What happened to the matchbook cover? Now the door is latched shut from the outside. Luckily, she always carries a small screw driver, but won’t settle for the messy imperfection of prying the door open, so she comes up close, angles the screwdriver severely, and after three tries, manages to trip the latch open. She gets out of the shaft in a nick of time. A woman enters the ladies room just as she regains the floor.

 

Greta finds the matchbook caver and exits the building. It’s only 8:23 A.M., so she goes to a diner and manages to get the early bird special despite the hour. She takes her time with this, and enjoys two hazel nut lattes.

 

Now she crosses to a park that runs part of the way back towards the meeting building. She sits at the far end, but as time draws near decides to get closer to the building.

 

10:11 A.M.

Greta is right across form the building. She takes out the remote, pretends she is texting, and presses the button. A small light on the unit is her only confirmation that the canister valve has released. The gas is undetectable until the first victim drops. By that time the rest are already doomed and follow quickly.

 

All are dead within eight minutes. Nine minutes after this, a woman passing in the hall, sees through the door window that everyone inside are slumped over the table. She watches for another minute or two. Nobody moves, so she takes the elevator down and tells security.

 

That night the news reports the deaths of “twenty-eight world government officials.”

 

Greta is pleased and glad to be back on track with more significant strikes. 

 

 

Train

 

Some time has passed since the gassing. Greta begins to think that many Globalists may have decided that in light of recent events, perhaps New York is not the safest place to have meetings. She begins to look for other venues on a national news site. She will travel, but if the numbers are great enough …

 

Soon she finds that another U.N. sponsored invasion is afoot. Twenty-eight-thousand Islamists are to arrive on a ship at Port Arthur Texas. From there they will be transported by train to their new home, three small towns in central Missouri.

 

Greta studies satellite maps and finds three points where the train will cross high trestles in proximity to automobile roads. 

 

October 3. 2025

In a rented car, Greta arrives early in the morning at the first trestle crossing, located in southern Arkansas. It won’t be easy, but there is no reason to think that the others further north would be any easier.

 

She finds a place to park, concealed from the road. In light disguise with heavy backpack, she hikes up to the north end of the trestle. Done from this side, the bridge will come down up ahead of the train, which will then glide gracefully into the void. A much cleaner look for all concerned.

 

Greta’s heart is beating fast in anticipation. She places dynamite in eight different places. The ignitors for each cluster are linked by one wire to a single radio controlled device at the high end of the slope. She works efficiently

and finishes quickly.

 

The train won’t be along for another ninety-four minutes, so Greta decides to get an early lunch. In a small town, the fast food restaurant will probably leave the local populace with the fewest memories of an unfamiliar girl. She eats

in leisurely fashion, and heads back.

 

As she comes around the corner to the place where she will hide the car, she flinches to see a police cruiser with flashing lights at the side of the road. Seeing that the officer is only ticketing a speeder, she presses on.

 

She drives past, stops at the next service station, fills up with gas, and waits for the police car to come along. It doesn’t take long. Within seven minutes, a cruiser pulls into the gas station. Cruisers look alike. She hopes it’s the same one.

 

Greta goes back to the parking point, but the speeder is still there, having answered nature’s call, now leisurely studying a roadmap. Greta looks at her watch. Only nineteen minutes left. She drives past, stops down the road a piece, answers nature’s call herself, and as she arrives back, sees the speeder just leaving.

 

She drives into the hidden parking place, gets out with the radio control device in her pocket and video camera with tripod in hand. By climbing a small ridge she has a clear view of the trestle, and sets up the camera.

 

Another six minutes pass. Here comes the train, going very fast. Viewing through the camera, just as the locomotive starts onto the far end of the trestle, she starts filming and presses the detonator button.

 

All the dynamite goes off effectively at the same instant. The north half of the bridge collapses gracefully and falls into the river. The train continues on what’s left of the bridge, then shoots out into thin air carried by its own inertia. Alas, gravity prevails and the trajectory becomes increasingly more vertical until the locomotive hits the stony river bank three hundred feet below. Behind it most of the cars land in the river.

 

Greta packs up, and leaves quickly, happy to have had lunch and topped off her gas tank. She drives as fast as she dares until she is out of Aransas, as though state jurisdiction would apply on a deal like this, but, after all, there was that cop who saw her vehicle twice.

 

She drives all day and stops for the night at a motel in Tennessee. On the TV news she learns that twenty-four thousand-three-hundred-twelve Islamists died. She is also delighted to hear that the train engineer and ten railroad workers “miraculously” survived.

 

The engineer had an ejector seat. The workers were at lunch in the observation car, but most of these chaps nearly drowned and all of them got plenty of scrapes and bruises. The news also mentions that the FBI believes the perpetrators to be a local “hate” group.

 

  

 

Plane

 

Greta learns that a private jet out of Baltimore will be transporting eighteen top Globalists to a roundtable in Brussels, but how can she can get a bomb on board?

 

A strong magnet attaching a sleeve of plastic explosive to the plane’s exterior is one possibility, but there are so many things that could go wrong.

 

Probably impossible to get near the plane outdoors without being seen or stopped. Wind shear would likely be too strong, besides the fuselage might very well be Titanium and only weakly magnetic. Would a strong magnet somehow alert nearby metal detectors? She could carry the magnet in a lead lined pouch, but wisely decides to forget the idea.

 

Finally she resolves to visit the airport in heavy disguise with only the plastic explosive device an hour before departure in hopes that an impromptu solution might be suggest itself via particular circumstances. To this end, she studies pictures of the Globalist passengers the night before.

 

October 22, 2025

Greta arrives at the airport with her small overnight bag, mills around for a while, and studies the plane. A couple is already boarding, but departure is not for another thirty-two minutes. So she heads to the cafeteria.

 

The place is very crowded, but the line isn’t that long. With second breakfast in hand, she looks for a table. Finally she sees a young woman sitting alone at a table for four, and also recognizes her as one of the Globalist passengers who will be going to Brussels. She approaches the table. The girl looks up with a pleasant expression, anticipating Greta’s dilemma.

 

“I just can’t find a seat. Would it be okay if I share your table?

 

“Sure, no problem. They need to enlarge the seating area here.”

 

The two women eat for a while and then the girl, seeing that Greta has plenty of food left on her plate, rises and says,

 

“I’m going to the ladies room. Be right back”

 

“Okay.”

 

The minute the girl leaves, Greta leans forward to study possibility, and sees that the girl’s pass for boarding the plane is sitting right on the table. Greta wolfs the last of her food, grabs the pass and leaves quickly.

 

The girl’s name on the pass is Dianne. Apparently just having the pass in hand precludes any further scrutiny by metal detectors, so Greta boards easily. Three other passengers give her strange looks.

 

Once she is seated, she gets out the explosive device and puts it under the seat. Then. as if on cue, the speakers announce the flight destination. Greta pretends to be surprised, jumps up, and as she rushes off the plane, explains aloud to no one in particular,

 

“Sorry, wrong plane!”

 

Just as she comes up the ramp, Dianne is explaining her situation to the flight checker. She sees Greta and points. Greta rushes up, holing out the validated pass, and says,

 

“Dianne, I’m so sorry. It looked just like my own pass. I didn’t even notice the name and other specifics until they announced about Brussels.”

 

Dianne smiles sympathetically,

 

“Don’t worry. Nothing lost. I finished breakfast before I even noticed it was gone. I’m right on schedule, but you probably better hurry. Good luck catching your flight.”

 

Greta goes outside. Dianne’s plane takes off and circles to get on track to Brussels.

 

Greta sighs as she pushes the remote button. The plane blows in two stages. The plastic explosive first, then a fraction of a second later, the full tank of jet fuel. In the cold blue-gray sky the spectacle is very beautiful. The plane falls straight down, a plummeting ball of flame.

 

Greta would like to film this very splendid conflagration, but knows she had better skedaddle. She’s just leaving the airport as the first police cars are coming in.

 

Driving home, she reflects what a pity it is was that Dianne was such a nice person, but…at roughly age thirty, she should have known more about how the world turns. There is too much at stake to baby these people. 

 

 

 

Selectivity

 

Greta has been thinking lately that you can kill as many invading savages as you want, but to eliminate the important Globalist functionaries responsible for forcing them into civilized nations in the first place is more proactive, like preventative medicine.

 

She has an understanding with Ralph that he will keep her updated about new methods of assassination as they appear during this period of burgeoning technology.

 

November 14, 2025

Ralph calls and invites Greta to meet him for lunch... They are seated at a window.

 

“Check this out!”

 

he says, pulling out what looks like a fountain pen from his jacket pocket. She reaches for it, but he keeps it in hand,

 

“So what is it?” she asks.

 

“Did you ever hear about lethal subcutaneous injection from a fountain pen look-alike? The quarry experiences a natural heart attack. Autopsy shows nothing. Rumor has it that they’ve been around a long time, but these are the first I’ve seen.”

 

He removes the top and illustrates how to cock the firing mechanism and release the charge. The waiter returns with food. Ralph pockets the pen. When the waiter leaves he continues by illustrating how to load the poison capsule.

 

“This is a single shot. You need a fresh capsule every time, but the contents will kill a Mammoth…, so just in case you’re at the zoo during menstruation, and a bull elephant breaks out of his enclosure and rushes you…”

 

He is alluding to a zoo visit when a male Gorilla got a giant boner and tried to bend bars to get at her. Greta remembers and smiles as Ralph hands her the pen.

 

“It comes with twenty capsules. I would advise buying two extra twenty capsule packs. This is not something where I can guarantee continued availability. The pen launcher

is simple, durable, and well made, so you probably won’t need to replace it.

 

Greta will carry this little beauty at all times.

 

 

 

Around Town

 

Greta decides that readiness is a key principle and uses light disguise whenever she goes anyplace other than work, the post office, grocery store, or pharmacy. The possibility of running into prominent Globalists out and about, however, is very small, so Greta keeps an eye on appropriate publications. 

 

 

 

Diner

 

A European Union functionary complicit in flooding Europe with Africans and Islamists will be vacationing in New York. She is forty-two years old, and easy to recognize.

 

Greta positions a tiny webcam across from the hotel pointing towards the front door. Now she walks to a nearby park and remotely fine tunes the aim of the camera and zooms it in for close facial view. Next she configures a faceprint flagging application using a photo of the lady in question. When the quarry comes out the door Greta’s phone will alert her with a special wolf howl ring tone.

 

November 30, 2025

Greta is on the way to work when she hears the first wolf howl. She phones in to say she’ll be late, and heads towards the hotel. She sees the E.U. lady walking about one block west of the entrance. She parks quickly and is on the street just in time to see the quarry go into a diner for breakfast.

 

Greta enters, sits at the counter, and orders  a mug of coffee, pinning the payment to her placemat with silverware. She watches for the right disposition of people, then quickly takes the coffee over and sets it at the edge of the table. As the lady looks up, Greta touches her wrist lightly with the pen. The woman slumps forward immediately. Greta picks up the coffee, turns, drinks the coffee quickly as she walks back, puts the cup on her placemat, and leaves. She is fourteen seconds down the street before anyone even notices what seems to be a sleeping customer. 

 

 

 

Art Exhibition

 

December 8, 2025  10:03 A.M.

Greta is visiting a special exhibition of medieval paintings, when she spots a prominent E.U. functionary proactive in worldwide destruction of indigenous race and culture. His younger female companion also looks familiar.

 

Greta hangs back and follows the couple from painting to painting until they come to one which interests them in particular. This entails reading a long explanatory text on an easel to one side of the paining. Others just ahead of the couple soon move on around the corner.

 

There is nobody coming up behind, so Greta approaches just briskly enough so they will not look up. She comes quietly up behind, and touches the woman’s right cheek with the pen, then manually sticks a poison blow gun dart into the man’s left cheek.

 

The woman immediately crumples into a heap, but the man tries to grab Greta’s arm. She fends off two such attempts with circular forearm blocks, until the man runs out of gas and collapses. Greta plucks out the dart, leaves quickly, viewing the last eighteen paintings intently as she passes. She is out the door well before the commotion starts. 

 

 

Department Store

 

December 22, 2025

Greta is on her lunch break at work when she gets the next wolf howl. This time her camera is flagging a United Nations woman active in flooding America with Islamicists, especially those criminally insane.

 

Greta gulps her food and rushes out. She drives fast, catches up to the woman two blocks east of the hotel, parks, follows her into a department store, then up to the fourth floor for ladies garments. Greta gets on the same elevator with her back to the woman.

 

When they arrive Greta gets out and steps to one side. The woman heads for the ladies room. Greta reasons that since she just left her hotel she is probably going to fix her hair, and little else. She rushes past the woman, enters the ladies room, goes to the far end, and starts primping just as the woman walks in.

 

Greta sees no sign that they are not alone. She walks towards the exit and touches the enemy cheek with her pen. The woman crumples into a heap. Greta is well back into the store when two women come walking and enter the ladies’ room.. Greta is back on the elevator before the uproar begins.

 

 

 

Demonstration

 

American Senator Roswell Benedict has been giving addresses all over Europe about the superior workability of Libertarian Nationalism.

 

When Boris Pilos finds out that Benedict will be speaking at a university in New York he is madder than a wet hen. He’s orchestrating a massive student demonstration against the Senator augmented by a greater than usual PALPAP presence.

 

When Greta finds out all this she is tickled pink, and pays a visit to Ralph. Except for the suppressor, what she buys could be had at any gun store for much less, but from Ralph it will be in hand sooner, and untraceable. She will keep it in the trunk of her carl.

 

Greta learned rifle shooting from her parents at age seven and is an expert markswoman. Being a sniper, however, is new to her, so she studies the venue from high windows on the campus well in advance of the event.

 

March 12, 2026  10:00 A.M.

Pilos has paid student agitators in a force of two hundred-thirty-four and there are sixty-two PALPAP crazies arrayed in black, ready as always to fight tooth and nail against liberty and prosperity for the IMF children of avarice.

 

Greta sighs, wishing she could nail all the PALPAP traitors, but as she anticipated, they are too scattered around for explosives, and she will not kill student demonstrators. They may be twits, but some will outgrow it. The PALPAP thugs, of course, leave us no choice. Shooting more than eight from a rooftop is too risky, however, even with a silencer

 

Here they come. At one point, there is a tight cluster of fifteen. Greta takes careful aim and within four seconds shoots eight of them, pulls out of view, puts the gun back in the guitar case, and is down the fast elevator, and out the back door within forty-eight seconds. At a distance, somebody sees her come out, but doesn’t yet know about the noiseless shooting and never makes the connection later. She gets to the rental car in less than ninety seconds and is away just as the on-site campus police figure out where the shots came from, and start to circle the building.

 

 

 

 

The Valkyrie

 

 

April 28 14, 2026

Greta is at a free concert when she spots a prominent U.S. Globalist well known for aiding the United Nations with their avowed goal of forcing 650 million Islamists into the United States by the year 2050.

 

Her first thought is to get the rifle and snipe  this chap from the trees to the left of the praesidium, but at a concert, a guitar case will attract undue attention. Instead, between songs, she walks over and sits just behind the blighter who is on a blanket with a woman.

 

The hand gestures involved in replicating the art museum methodology would be too noticeable in this venue. Time to try out the new Walther TPH with suppressor that she got from Ralph.

 

After about a half hour, at a point when music gets loud, she slips the little beauty out, holds it in her lap, and shoots one poison bullet each into the lower spinal region of the poor fellow and his lady friend. This is an awkward business at best, so Greta leaves immediately.

 

When she turns on the evening news at home she is surprised to see a news piece called “The Valkyrie.” With all the mass murders and dead-droppers in New York lately the police have gotten very interrogatory about any people seen in the vicinity of these events.

 

After a time, the vague portrait of a tall young woman has begun to emerge. A full figure artist sketch looks quite a lot like Greta, especially as to her basic profile and posture. The disguises she has used luckily have given them very little about her face.

 

All of this, however, is about a thousand times more information than Greta ever expected to see on the evening news. She decides that it’s time to retire from the job or field warrior and catch up on her reading. She will figure out less risky ways to influence the future.

 

After dinner she gets the rifle out of her car, and hides the entire arsenal behind a secret panel she engineered some time ago for just such an emergency as this. She smiles

and thinks to herself,

 

“I love the terminology, “The Valkyrie.” At least somebody in the media has a feel for the higher essence of things.