Category: Illuminati

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Protecting The Flock

INT. TOMB RAIDER SOUNDSTAGE – NIGHT
The crew is packing up after a long day of shooting. Frank Farmer leans against a shadowed corner, eyes scanning the set. A young crew member, JASON, notices him and walks over.

JASON
You’ve been standing there all night, Mr. Farmer. Aren’t you… off the clock?

FRANK FARMER
I’m never off the clock. Not when the wolves are circling.

JASON
Wolves? This is Hollywood, not the jungle.

FRANK FARMER (calm, low voice)
The wolves I’m talking about don’t howl. They wear suits, rings, smiles. They call themselves the Illuminati.

JASON (half-laughs)
You don’t actually believe all that stuff, do you?

FRANK FARMER
Doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is, I see them watching. Always watching. And I’ve seen what happens when the sheepdog falls asleep.

JASON
So who are the sheep?

FRANK FARMER (glances at the cast wrapping up, including the star, LARA CROFT’s actress)
Them. The ones who don’t even know they’re in danger. Innocent. Naïve. That’s why I stand here. Because they deserve someone who won’t blink when the wolves come.

JASON
And what if you’re wrong? What if there are no wolves?

FRANK FARMER (stares straight ahead, unwavering)
Then the sheep never know how close they came. That’s what protection looks like. You don’t have to believe me. You just have to know—while I’m here, nobody lays a hand on them.

Farmer adjusts his jacket, scanning the shadows again.

FRANK FARMER
I’m the sheepdog. That’s my job. And I don’t quit.

Jason swallows, suddenly unsure if he should laugh—or feel safer with Frank watching.

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Protecting Mary’s Daughter

(They are in a quiet corner, away from a party or a crowd. Nelly looks stressed, and Joe moves to shield her from view.)

Nelly: (Sighs) “I can feel them staring. I know what they’re saying.”

Joe: (Stepping closer, his voice a low, steady murmur) “Let them stare. Let them say whatever they want.” He gently adjusts his stance, deliberately blocking her from the room. “I’ve been used to protecting you since the days of our Childhood Dreams. This is no different.”

Nelly: (Looks up at him, a worried crease in her brow) “But Joe… they’ll call you crazy. They’ll say you’re picking a fight, that you’re obsessed.”

A slow, defiant smile touches Joe’s lips. “I don’t care if the audience calls me crazy. I’ve learned not to give a fuck about their gossip. The only thing that matters is that you’re okay.”

Bono: (Looks at the sparkling skyline with contempt) “Your dreams were purer than this, kid.” He takes a long drink. “My bones… they’re not a message for me. They’re a message for you, Joe. A reminder that the network sees everything. You think the Mob runs this town? Amateurs. Thugs with cigars. The real power doesn’t get its hands dirty. It signs treaties. It wins Nobel Peace Prizes.”

He leans forward, the city reflected in his eyes. “The Bavarian Illuminati perfected the science of control. And their greatest student, the late Dr. Henry Kissinger, ran New York not from City Hall, but from the Grand Alpina Lodge. Every major developer, judge, and banker in there takes their orders. They are the deep state. Not a conspiracy theory—a conspiracy fact. And they just broke my arm for tapping on their window.”

Joe: (Is silent for a long moment, staring at the city. Then he speaks, softly at first.) “They didn’t break it because you tapped… they broke it because of the song you were humming while you did it.” He turns to Bono. “They fear your jubilee, brother. The great reset. The song that cancels all their dark debts.”

Bono looks up, shocked.

Joe: “It’s in your name. It always has been. It’s why the old power hated you. ’43’ himself, the cowboy they put in charge, he didn’t see a philanthropist. He saw an irritant. He called you ‘The Pest.’ And he hated the name Bono. Because he heard it wrong. He heard BONE NO. The ultimate refusal. That’s why their puppets, the Bavarian Illuminati, didn’t just threaten you. They had to make it literal. They broke your bones in that ‘accident’ to try and break the meaning. To turn ‘Bone No’ into ‘Broken Yes.'”

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Jelly Versus Illumicorp

Nelly and Joe sat on the battered old couch in Michael Moore’s editing suite, the faint hum of the monitors filling the silence. On the largest screen, the Illumicorp training video was paused mid-frame — a frozen image of a smiling instructor in a dark suit, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

Michael leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.
“Here’s the thing,” he said gravely. “If a corporation were a person, it’d be diagnosed as a sociopath. No empathy. No remorse. Just a drive for profit, no matter who it crushes. And Illumicorp?” He jabbed a thumb toward the screen. “They’re the Ivy League of sociopaths.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “It’s not just greed — it’s engineering. They plan the misery.”
Nelly pulled her sweater tighter around herself, staring at the paused video like it might leap off the screen. “They don’t even hide it… they put it in these corporate onboarding videos, like it’s… normal.”

Michael hit play. The instructor’s voice was calm, even soothing, as he outlined strategies for “acquiring influence over governance” and “shaping public perception” — euphemisms for buying politicians and controlling the media. The imagery flickered between smiling employees, skyscrapers, and shadowy boardroom silhouettes.

Joe swallowed hard. “It’s not just the future they’re after, Nelly. It’s our future.”
Michael nodded slowly, his eyes dark. “And they don’t care if they burn the world down to get it.”

By the end of the video, the three of them just sat there in silence — each processing the creeping dread that this wasn’t a conspiracy theory or a dystopian screenplay, but a business plan already in motion.

The air in the room felt heavier. Outside, the city buzzed, oblivious. Inside, the three of them knew that whatever came next, the fight wouldn’t just be for survival. It would be for humanity’s soul.

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