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Agent Buried Alive (Ch.5): Born into the Project  (continued)
    by JAMES CASBOLT

Agent Buried Alive (Ch.5): Born into the Project I remember one early afternoon at this time being driven to the Greenham Common military base in Berkshire by two men in a white car. Many of the details of that time have come out under regression therapy, but I have always remembered pulling up to the front gates of the place. The next chain of events is as follows: The man in the front passenger seat turned around to me in the back and said, “They keep nuclear weapons here.” I later discovered this was actually a front to keep the base secret so children could be trafficked in and out of the facility. Nuclear weapons may have been kept here, as well, but the primary reason of the Greenham Common base was to channel children underground to various facilities around the country. We drove though the base into an underground tunnel. There was a two-lane road in this large tunnel, and we drove down it until we came to a flat underground car park with an army truck parked on the left-hand side. There were two booths here, with security guards sitting in each one. The tunnel went further on past the two booths. On my right-hand side, I could see a group of approximately fifteen children standing by a door. All the children had blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and there were men in military uniforms and suits standing to the left of the children. They were not saying anything and just appeared to be standing there waiting.

I was taken out of the car, handed a blanket (the tunnel was cold) and huddled together with the other children by the man in the passenger seat who was dressed in civilian clothing. The group consisted of mostly boys; some girls were in the group, as well. Most of us appeared to be roughly the same age, but some looked slightly older and taller. We were then ushered through the door on our right by one of the men in suits and walked down a couple of hallways to a room, which was a classroom type setting. The room contained chairs with desks in front, and we were all told to find a desk and sit down.
The man stood at the front of the room, and we all waited for what seemed like a couple of minutes before a woman came into the room. She was pushing a trolley and wheeled it around next to our desks. She then handed each of us a type of puzzle, which we had to put geometrical shapes together. The woman was middle-aged with dark hair, pretty, and wearing an office-type dark skirt and white shirt. When we all had our puzzles, she stood at the front of the room and told us we had three minutes to put them together. She said “go,” and started a stopwatch. I cannot remember how well I did, but she instructed us to stop when the time was up and then came around with a clipboard marking our results down.

After this, things turned very nasty. A group of men rushed in suddenly through the door on the right, which the woman used to enter. They dragged us out of our seats roughly. We were terrified, screaming, and struggling. Then we were carried roughly and some of us dragged out of this door and into the outside hallway. The woman was shouting something in a loud aggressive manner, which seemed to be directed at us. Still screaming and terrified, we were then strapped onto gurneys and wheeled down a couple of corridors into a medical-type setting and injected with drugs by doctors in lab coats.
We were then wheeled down more corridors into a large, darker room with many large cages that housed large dogs and what appeared to be large wolves. I also remember hearing the sound of large cats (tigers or lions) and other animals deeper into the room, but I could not see that far into the darkness. The men who had dragged us out of the classroom were standing there with the woman, and she ordered them to unstrap us from the gurneys.

This they did, and we all stood together huddled for protection. By this time, the drugs had kicked in, and we were in a state of chemical-induced calmness and compliance. The woman told us we were going to play a game to “choose one.” I also remember her saying something about the “first chosen one,” which now smacks to me of Masonic terminology. Add to the fact of Female Goddess energy being worshipped in Masonry, and many of the rites being controlled by a female “Mother Goddess” figure, I believe what happened next was a Masonic/Satanic ritual. The woman seemed to occupy the Mother Goddess role, as she then proceeded to hang a bunch of coloured ribbons onto the wall on her left side and told us to pick one ribbon each. This we did and then stood back together again. She asked, “Who has dark purple?” and everyone looked down. The room was lit up with a kind of fluorescent or infra-red light, and our ribbons glowed with a psychedelic aura.

A small girl to the left of our group said, “I have,” and the woman nodded to one of the men who then grabbed the little girl and roughly carried her towards a cage on our left. She was struggling and crying, and as we all whimpered in terror, he opened the door and threw her in with a large snarling dog that had been barking and going crazy since the man picked the little girl up.

It appeared to be an Alsatian type dog or wolf but was much bigger. This animal picked the little girl up in its jaws like rag doll and started to shake her. It is difficult for me to remember much after this, and I’m not sure I want to. I even feel guilty about witnessing this event and even writing about it. Another survivor of similar projects told me this is very common and is called “survivor’s guilt.”

1984 - 8 years old. Taken by father from Brighton, when visiting him on holiday, to the Burnham Beeches OMEGA location in a private section of woodlands on government land. Subjected to snake shamanism rituals here. Again, most, if not all, procedures in Project Mannequin are filmed in the name of science. Father also programmed at the OMEGA location as a child and adult. He was regularly taken here as a child by his father.

Details of programming session are as follows:

We were staying in an expensive hotel, and my father went out to make a phone call. He returned to the room and told me we were going for a drive. I questioned him about the trip, and he said, “I can’t tell you.” We drove to Burnham Beeches not saying a word most the trip. It was just getting dark as we arrived. We parked and were met by another man who talked to my father; I was led away by this man. We went into the woods, and I saw people gathered there with robes and hoods. Some of them were holding some kind of lit staffs, which illuminated the darkness. They formed a circle around me and started to chant in a strange language, which looking back on it now, sounded Hebrew or Aramaic. Like in 1981, English terms, such as “chosen one,” were also included in the chanting.

A woman in a robe approached me (this may be the same woman from 1981) holding a small, multi-coloured snake. She pulled the sleeve up on my arm and pushed the top of the snake’s head to agitate it. It hissed, and she directed it head to my arm, which it then bit. The poison seemed to kick in quite quickly, and I went into an altered state and got very ill. After a certain amount time, I recovered, and some of the people who were wearing robes were now naked. The woman brought another snake to me (this one a slightly different colour but still small), and I was bitten again. I got very ill again and this time I almost died. I was injected with a drug to revive me, and I recovered. I was then taken off to the left where a hole had been dug with a coffin next to it. The coffin was opened, and I saw it full of large snakes. I was in a very weak state and was lifted up and put in the coffin. I was then buried alive. It seemed as if I was buried for hours. There was no escape for me in the coffin, so I dissociated and went somewhere else in my mind.

Note: The larger snakes in the coffin seemed to be non-poisonous.



1986 - 10 years old. My mother and I moved to Reading with my step-father. I was taken by two men while playing in the local woods at the end of Recreation Road, where we lived, and transported to the AL/499. As an adult, the little girl who lived opposite me got in contact with me out of the blue. She told me she had large memory gaps and remembered seeing TR-3/Firefly-type special forces aircraft landing in the local woods when we were children.

I was later contacted by NSA operative “Sylus” and supplied my Project Mannequin file regarding this training session. Other contacts whom I trust in the intelligence community confirm this file as authentic:

TS (R) - CLAVIUS TS

Subj: X4566-2 (casj)

Assessment for Covert Tasking:

(1) Unstable implant (series TETRA) has made X4566-2 unsuitable for liquidation CovOps.

(2) Recommend X4566-2 be retained for obs. and released into general pop. for FALLOW-RIGHT double-blind testing.

COMD-CLAVIUS

Oct 4, 1988

Details of programming session as follows:

A training area was set up in one of the large rooms in the AL/499, and a small audience came in and took their seats. A very famous politician, who I will not name at this time, was in attendance. I was to participate in a bare-knuckled fight with another of the older boys from the second unit.

Commander Clavius was my handler at this time. He was a dark-haired man with a thin to medium build and approximately 5’11” tall. Sometimes he wore suit pants, a white shirt and tie, and other times he wore a dark special forces “all in one” type jumpsuit that I have seen many people wear over the years. He had an American accent and bad breath.

When the fight began, I hit the other boy with a right cross and knocked him onto the floor, then stomped on his head. At this point, the fight was stopped, and I was greatly praised by Commander Clavius. After this, a kitten was brought in as my reward, and then events turned savage again. The handlers always went from being extremely kind to sadistic in order to confuse you. I was handed a knife and told to stab the kitten to death. I refused, and the commander screamed in my face and started slapping me. I still refused, and the beating became harder. I started to dissociate and went into a kind of stupor. Another man, with an American accent, in the audience yelled “Kill it yourself,” to the commander, to which he replied, “Yes sir.” He then killed the kitten himself. I dissociated deeper, and my trance became deeper.

Because I failed this test, I was deemed unsuitable for physical assassinations and my training started to go down the remote viewing and mastery of subtle energy route. However, the physical martial arts training continued, and by sixteen years old, they decided to try me on my first hit in Brighton (but we’re getting ahead of the timeline).

Session culminates in 2nd OSIRIS genetic engineering procedure.

1989 - 13 years old. I started secondary school. My mother insisted I attend Denefield School in Reading, which was much farther away from my home than from the other schools I could have attended. I later discovered that Denefield was connected to Project Mannequin in more ways than one. Here I was the target of nearly every bully in the school. These boys were older, bigger, and stronger than me. I believed I was helpless against them.

One afternoon, I was attacked on the field by two older boys who then proceeded to break my arm and some of the bones in my face. I was lying on the ground with my arm broken, and they stomped on my face. My mother was called, and she took me to hospital. I remember feeling no pain on the way to hospital. My arm was mangled, and metal plates were put in. I spent weeks in hospital recovering.

When I came out of hospital, I discovered child pornography tapes in my step-father’s bedroom and watched them. These included children being raped in Masonic lodges by men dressed up in Egyptian-type robes. It also included homosexual orgies in these lodges, where the men were positioned in triangle patterns on the floor. My step-father was abusing me! The beatings by the older boys continued at school and in my local area after school. I believed there was no escape for me and dissociated further in my mind.

1989 - 13 years old. I attended a local fair in Reading town centre with a group of friends. I smoked my first joint before we entered. I saw the older boys who had been bullying me, and they saw me. They followed me to the far end of the fair, and two of them dragged me around the back of the toilets, pulled my coat over my head, and gave me a beating. When this was finished, my coat was stuck over my face tightly and was suffocating me. I couldn’t pull it off. A boy watching came out of the crowd and ripped it off me. I stood up and saw one of the boys who had just beaten me up, standing with his group of friends. He was around 17-years-old, and I was terrified of him. I suddenly felt an energy of courage and strength enter me. I ran over to him and knocked him out with one punch. All his friends were shocked and stepped back.

This gave myself, and the friend I was with, time to get out of the fair. We walked across the bridge and looked back to see the gang of approximately fifteen youngsters running after us and over fifty youngsters running after them to watch the action. My friend yelled “run,” and we sprinted off. If we could make it past the bridge and into the pub at the end of the street, we would be safe. Just as I thought this, a black boy raced ahead of the crowd and started to catch up with us. His speed was incredible. I believed if I got caught, I would die.

He grabbed hold of me and held me until the others caught up with us. We were caught under the dark bridge just before the pub. They left my friend alone, but I was sat upon by the smaller group, while the large crowd gathered around to watch. A long, drawn-out beating commenced, while my friend screamed for them to stop. At one point, I felt if I were hit in the face again, I would die. At this point, my consciousness left my body. I then saw the scene from above looking down on my own body, but my body was still fighting. A large Jamaican lad came toward me to finish me off, and I hit him with a right cross that knocked him on his back. I then covered up, as ferocious blows started to reign in again from the others. I laid on the floor semi-conscious, and my shoes and jacket were taken. A couple of spectators from the larger crowd now ran in and kicked me in the head. Eventually, everyone headed off, and my friend bravely followed to try and get my shoes and jacket back. The lad, whom I knocked out at the fair, came back to attack me again while I was lying on the floor. My friend ran back and screamed, “He’s had enough!” He looked at me on the floor, and the walked off.

As I lay on the road, cars were driving around me, and no one stopped to help me. My friend came over and took me to the pub. We rang my mother to come and take me to the hospital. When my mother and step-father picked me up and take me to the hospital, I could remember ringing my mother, and just after this, I forgot my own name. My face and head were horribly swollen, and the doctor said I was lucky to be alive and whoever did this, were “animals.” I stayed in the hospital for a few days of observation. My family unit was fully DID by this time, and compartmentalizing trauma came very easily now. I never saw my friend again after this.



1990 - 14 years old. My mother decided “enough is enough” and moved me down to St. Ives, Cornwall with my father, who had just been released from prison for drug trafficking. I went through my 3rd OSIRIS genetic engineering procedure just after this on my 15th birthday, and the handlers of Mannequin now stepped up training and ops to the next level. I later discovered that my NSA handlers needed to have me in a less built-up rural area, as the number of my vehicle pick-ups had increased.

Within one week, I was set about by the local gang on the sea front even though I had done nothing. I now carried weapons most of the time, as I had sworn to not be hurt anymore, so I proceeded to batter them with nun-chucks. No one messed with me after that. I got home and broke down in tears. “Why does everyone hate me?”

I met a local boy who was also programmed, I found out later, and we ordered replica guns from a magazine. We then decided to rob the local Spar supermarket with masks on. On the way to the shop, my friend got scared and changed his mind. I said to him, “There’s nothing to it, but to do it,” and ran into the shop, and he ran in behind me.

I stuck my replica Berretta in the face of the girl behind the till and demanded the money. My friend made a few of the people, who were standing around, go to the back of the shop as he held them at gunpoint. The girl went pale and became unresponsive as I demanded the money. I jumped over the counter and tried to open the till myself. I don’t know what button to press, so I began to push them randomly. An alarm went off on the till, and people in the back of the shop began to shout. I panicked and actually shouted my friend’s real name, “xxxx, lets go!” We ran out of the shop and ran home. We told my father what we’d done, and he seemed proud of me for it. Approximately half and hour later, there was an armed response on the street outside the flat. My father hid the replica guns at the back of the flat for us. We waited for the door to be kicked in, and it never came. The unit was there for the young lad who lived next door, as he had been in trouble with air guns in the past and was a prime suspect for the armed robbery in our small community. The next day, the robbery was on the local news, and my father seemed even more proud of me.

The police ended up catching up with us a couple of weeks later, as I basically told my girlfriend what I had done trying to impress her. She ended up telling her father, who was a policeman. My friend and I ended up in Truro Crown Court. My solicitor told my mother that I could face years in prison. We ended up being sentenced to 28 days!

I had never seen pain on my mother’s face like just before and when we were sentenced. She twisted her face up into inhuman shapes and expressions when I looked at her from the dock. I had seen her do this before, when she was angry, but never like this. The other boy’s mother did not do this.

I was transferred to Feltham Young Offenders Institute, and there were boys there who were serving years for armed robbery with a knife. I was accused of being a police informant by the other boys for having such a low sentence. Bullying was rife here, but strangely enough, I was left alone as I stood up to the top dog on the first day. He beat another boy with a sock containing toiletries the moment I got on the wing and then threw the weapon on my bed in my cell. I took the weapon and walked straight up to him, looked him in the eye, grabbed his hand, and placed it in his hand. I said to him, “I don’t want to be involved in this.”

Three boys in my wing attempted suicide during the short time I was there. There were rumours of sexual abuse taking place in one of the shared cells, and this cell was shut down. At night, I heard guards coming up the metal stairs, doors being opened, and boys taken somewhere and returned later. When I came out of prison, no one wanted to mess with me. I had now acquired degenerate thinking. I thought guns, weapons, and violence were the way to happiness, as people would fear me and not hurt me anymore.

1992 - 16 years old. I had not long been out of prison, as the criminal case took about a year to go to court. I was on license and signed a document saying I was prohibited by law to have anything to do with all firearms for a certain amount of time. I was back in St. Ives, and my mother went away for a few days; she left my aunty in charge of me. I received a phone call and told her I was going to Brighton, and there was nothing she could do about it. I got my first tattoo, which resembles an evil alien face, on my right shoulder and jumped on the train to Brighton.

When I got off, “John,” one of the male members of my unit, was waiting for me. I can’t recall exactly what was said, but he handed me a bag with a loaded 9mm Smith and Wesson in it. The gist of the conversation was basically this: “You know your target, here’s the gun, go and get him.” I walked down to the sea front and waited outside a bar. There was man sitting outside on a table drinking a pint of beer. He had short, sandy-coloured hair, a short muscular build, and was wearing a short sleeved shirt.

I was fixated upon him. I took the gun out of the bag, slipped off the safety, and walked up to him. I then emptied most of the clip into his head and chest and saved a couple of bullets in case anyone tried to stop me as I ran off. When I started to shoot, everything went quiet in my mind. I was later told by a man involved in the intelligence community that the hit was carried out for the famous politician I saw in the AL/499 when I was ten years old.

I ran off after I killed the man, and the next thing I remember was sitting on a beach over half a mile away. I was coming down from a huge rush of adrenaline, and I felt very pleased with myself, as if my superiors were going to be very happy. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt me anymore, I thought. I took off my clothes and went for a swim in my boxer shorts. After this, I walked further along the sea front, and “Jenny,” the one female member of my unit, met me, took the bag off me, and proceeded to give me various post hypnotic commands. I forgot what I had just done and returned home on the train. After this, I attended a party at my auntie’s house in Brighton, and a girl told me about a shooting on the sea front. When she told me this, I didn’t even remember doing it.

This timeline will be continued in the next chapter, as it emotionally exhausting writing this.

End of Chapter 5


ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED
http://www.jamescasbolt.com/book/chapter5c.html


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