Interesting.
while Schawb and Gates are trying to create a control grid system for the entire world's population. But I do not just think that the Technocrats want jabs for travel only for the sake of control, but also because they do sincerely believe that their vaccines will create a new humanity that is "better than real". The mRNA jab is seen by these people as a kind of software upgrade, which is why they're so insistent on boosters. It's their version of going to version 4.4. In their view, why not continue to modify modern man, who has already been accustomed to receiving so many vaccines and often finds himself with little familiarity with nature but with an exceptional familiarity with modern technology?
This has always been the goal of the occultists, like Masons and Jєωs. They want their "Adam Kadmon", a perfected humanity, so that they can be their own "gods". I think you're correct in noting that genocide may not be the end of all of this, but a
"necessary" means to that end of a perfected humanity. These people are materialists, after all. They believe in evolution and have a Whig view of history (progressivism), and think that man-made changes to humanity will result in the better man. Therefore, why not separate the wheat from the chaff and let the "lesser" of the masses die off to allow for the "superior" individuals to remain and "transcend" into their transhuman utopia.
We all know they will succeed, in a way. As it is no different from the Natural Messiah that the Jєωs have been clamoring for since they rejected the True Messiah, Jesus Christ. And they will attain it, undoubtedly. We are just the barrier to that goal, which needs to be sifted. Given all that is being developed and constructed now, I think there's a possibility that Antichrist will be their "Overman" and that their transhuman ideal will be attained, albeit as a curse rather than a blessing.
Apocalypse comes to mind: "And in those days men shall seek death, and shall not find it: and they shall desire to die, and death shall fly from them." [Apocalypse 9:6]
Does that not sound like the hell that awaits people stuck inside of their own digital universe? Unable to die, but not able to truly live? It reminds me of the classic dystopian story by Harlan Ellison,
I Have No Mouth and I must Scream:Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years.
He was furious. He wouldn't let me bury them. It didn't matter. There was no way to dig up the deckplates. He dried up the snow. He brought the night. He roared and sent locusts. It didn't do a thing; they stayed dead. I'd had him. He was furious. I had thought AM hated me before. I was wrong. It was not even a shadow of the hate he now slavered from every printed circuit. He made certain I would suffer eternally and could not do myself in.
He left my mind intact. I can dream, I can wonder, I can lament. I remember all four of them. I wish—
Well, it doesn't make any sense. I know I saved them, I know I saved them from what has happened to me, but still, I cannot forget killing them. Ellen's face. It isn't easy. Sometimes I want to, it doesn't matter.
AM has altered me for his own peace of mind, I suppose. He doesn't want me to run at full speed into a computer bank and smash my skull. Or hold my breath till I faint. Or cut my throat on a rusted sheet of metal. There are reflective surfaces down here. I will describe myself as I see myself:
I am a great soft jelly thing. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be. Rubbery appendages that were once my arms; bulks rounding down into legless humps of soft slippery matter. I leave a moist trail when I move. Blotches of diseased, evil gray come and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within.
Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance.
Inwardly: alone. Here. Living under the land, under the sea, in the belly of AM, whom we created because our time was badly spent and we must have known unconsciously that he could do it better. At least the four of them are safe at last.
AM will be all the madder for that. It makes me a little happier. And yet … AM has won, simply… he has taken his revenge…
I have no mouth. And I must scream.
This is the reality that these men want for everyone. To be playthings for their own created, virtual worlds. To become a Demiurge of their own making. It is utterly Antichristian.