Fratricide Among the Elite: They'll Send Your Buddy to Kill You

The assassinations have begun. We know where this goes next. Mountains of bodies.

Listen, you 1%er bastards in and from the trenches—the ones with or who had the badges, the clearances, the scars from wars nobody thanks you for, wars we never should have fought—when they come for you, it'll be a friend knocking at the door, or a colleague with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Not some faceless goon in the night; that'll come later, when the groundwork's done. Right now, it's the slow poison, the whispers that turn into knives.

They've been tearing down and discrediting our elites, soldiers, spooks, cops, for years now, calling them racists, thugs, relics of a dying empire, violent criminals and depromoted and busted down tramps. You think that's just noise? Bullshit. That's the foundation they're laying, brick by bloody brick, for the real kill. It's not about ideology anymore; that's kid stuff. We're sliding into the meat of it: physical takedowns, the kind that leave bodies cold and questions hanging like smoke.

Look back, if you got the stomach for history. In Russia before the revolution, they picked off the officers one by one, executions disguised as justice. Spain? Commanders vanishing in the dark, labeled traitors because they wouldn't bend. Same goddamn play every time: rip out the spine of a nation's most capable and fierce defenders before the body even knows it's dying. Sow distrust so deep that brothers turn on brothers, and the very ability to defend is ripped away.

We've seen the smears, the leaks, the media hit jobs. That's the warmup. Next comes the main event: elimination. Not with fanfare, but quiet, efficient, like stepping on a bug.

Here's what you can bet your ass is coming:

First, the covert hits on the key players—the loudmouth SpecOps bros, the intel dudes who won't parrot the party line, the fed preps who still believe in the oath. It won't be a bullet in the street; too messy. It'll be a "suicide" that stinks of setup, an "accident" on a back road, a staged scandal that ends in a noose. They'll take out the sharp ones, the thinkers, the ones too dumb to not get involved, and scare the rest into shutting up or selling out.

Then, the lies that eat from the inside. Fake intel dumped like chum in the water, turning agencies against each other, units ripping themselves apart. Old timers against the new blood, retirees and the outcasts dragged into the fray. It's designed to make you question every face in the room, every voice on the line. Unity? Forget it. You'll be too busy watching your back from your own people.

And don't kid yourself—the false flags are already in the script. Where'd all these shows come from with Brother attacking Brother? What about the attacks dressed up as betrayals from within, sparking purges that clear the board. Your partner, your buddy, your drinking pal, the guy you bled in a ditch with in some shithole—suddenly they're the enemy, or you're wondering if they are. Maybe they got to him, they got his kid. Paranoia spreads like rot, and cohesion? That's the first casualty.

This ain't some fever dream; it's the roadmap to hot civil war, written in the blood of states, and kingdoms and empires that are being torn apart are falling apart from the inside. The goal's simple: cripple our guardians, those 1%ers, so when the real storm hits, there's no one left to fight back. No trust, no leaders, no resolve—just a fractured mess of scared men and women, isolated and picked off, or self-isolated.

The watching game's over, you fools. The wind's already howling. If you're in this life—or were—wake up. See the pattern for the trap it is. Rebuild those bonds before they're severed. Vet your circles like your life depends on it, because it does. Set up those duress codes, those signals that say "I'm compromised" without a word. Drop the rivalries and gripes, cause there ain't many of us and getting through's gonna take us all, even those we don't like, those we outcast. And get ready to defend not just the flag, but each other, from the snakes that are us, who're already slithering through our ranks and our small, hard-earned communities.

Ignore this, and we're signing our own death warrant. The script's and the lists are already written; the ending's either stand as one or dissolution. We must change it, flip the script, or die with the country, with our civilization.