I used to work in an office, back in my old life. Sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day, more if there was overtime. Just a hamster on a wheel.
But it was a steady job that I could do, stress I could handle, and it paid the bills. After a while I made enough to have some extra. And when my mom passed, she left me a pretty hefty sum.
I didn’t have any debts, so I found myself, for the first time in my life, pretty well off.
I was toying with the idea of very early retirement when the first reports of African rabies started cropping up.
I’d given up on the mainstream corporate media by then—found a good bunch of online sources that I trusted, who talked about the things that the oligarchy didn’t want you to know about,
and they were putting out the information no one else was. I tried sharing it but was written off as a loon, piled on by people who told me I was insane, so I kept quiet.
I was never a social person; I was bullied as a kid because I was fat, so I never really trusted or liked anyone except a select few people. I hated crowds, hated being around
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