"Deep in a research complex in San Diego, California, the lights on many instruments and machines beeped warmly in the empty night. The halls were hollow and vacant, that days researchers gone home towards the end of a long day. The walls and floors beamed and pulsed, as Dr. Arnold Vaulkner remained behind running tests in his own private laboratory. His lab assistant, Theresa Palmer, eyed him questioningly from the side. 'Should we run a few more?' Dr. Vaulkner smiled grimly, unsure how to proceed. Many things needed to be done. This was important work. The research complex, Amalgamated Research Facilities, had been used to serious work for a long time. Human subjects were no stranger to ARF, who routinely supplied such test subjects with food, shelter, and a small stipend at the end of each research project. The Graphical Identity Spectrum whirred in front of Dr. Arnold Vaulkner, reassuring him there would be no need for concerns about continuing. The GIS was more than capable. 'Sure, I suppose. This is getting serious. These results need to be studied.' Theresa nodded, and went to the waiting room to collect another subject. The third of the day, an older, short, meek bald man, subject 3C, was shuffled in. The GIS read out digital charts, results, and analyzed data immediately on a high tech screen. 3C was moved into the testing area, with scrubs, and told to stand perfectly still. The purple beam shot out of GIS to a dull, low hum, and smoothly scanned over 3C's body. The data created instantly in front of Dr. Vaulkner and Theresa Palmer's eyes. They both reacted with a low whistle. Yet again, no digital human identity, or soul matrix, in sight. They exchanged a look, as 3C looked around curiously. Dr. Vaulkner shifted. 'That's the modern world. No need for a soul at all.' The subjects were acting strangely lately; and today they barely seemed human. There was nothing left to do but conclude that the IV virus had reached full pandemic levels. IV, or Identity Virus, was reported to have developed in 1950, grow worse in the eighties, and now in 2023 have reached maximum levels within the population. That's what the infected were reported to do. Lack any kind of social or psychological identity, or soul, at all. It was like being able to record that nobody was there... The subjects in the waiting room were banging around. Subject 3C started bumping his head on the glass in front of him. This again. Dr. Vaulkner gulped nervously. Theresa looked at him worriedly. Nobody was there. Security had gone home for the night. The banging sounded louder, as the waiting room door audibly crashed open. The doctor and his assistant jumped, avoiding the waiting room doorway and 3C's detection. Trying to find someplace to hide, they both split up and got behind separate machines in the large, darkened lab room. A few tense moments. Trying to find weapons. The infected IV subjects roamed around the dark lab, moaning, bumping, and disappearing from sight. Theresa screamed. Subject 1C, a large, younger man, and the first subject of the day, had grabbed her violently from behind. Dr. Vaulkner grimaced and backed away. She had been a good assistant, but this is how pandemics were. Bodies dropped all the time. He bolted for the door, grabbing his keys off the table as he threw himself toward the dimly lit parking lot a few hundred feet away. He quickly unlocked his car and revved it. Time to go. He had an apartment nearby in the city downtown. He would wait it out there. Dr. Arnold Vaulkner gasped as he arrived at the square in the dark of night. They were milling about by the hundreds, stumbling around and pounding on the empty cars. It had happened. The virus had finally triggered. This was it. Armageddon. He was one of the only ones with an identity, or soul, left. Arnold prayed for survivors, as the IV infected noticed him turn his car slowly around. They lurched in his direction, the warmth of a human soul gone from their vacant eyes."

"Tut, tut, tut, on your sexual strut, Pout, pout, pout... ...On your sexual clout, Misery, misery, misery condoned... ...Why in your life have you never been boned? Politics, graves, and articles fair... When it comes to real highness, Earth, why are you not there?"

"Oh hell yea, they boarded, They're out of this place, Just what were those khakis, and did you see that face, Where did these people come from, From where did they depart, I would guess deep down in the sewers, only there would this start... When they pulled themselves dripping, Out of the sewers and slime, Do you think they chose to dress, Like they committed a crime, Thrift stores withstanding, Donations taken by par, Do you think they bought that shirt, Or got run over by a car... Its like aliens had landed, and took over this place, And passed out cheap shoes, And gave them hair cuts from space, Their hoodies are defiling, The sweaters look very mean, I hope they're wearing that outfit, To keep their other stuff clean... Is this what we've done here, By Duke and RTP, To lets these folks come here, And wear bad clothes that look free, Could you role in some resin, Go make friends with a duck, And come clear back to the hangar, And look like you give a little more of a f***."

"Blue on black, and just as things go... A boombox to Neo, Not much did he know... Two dogs on a leash, And one was just groomed... While parking at houses, In blazes that zoomed... Let's god kill a planet, And archons abound... If you are not lawbreakers, Why is no one around?"

"They come from down yonder, yon hither and thro, To tell of their vittles, whittles, and so, From a town of magic, and might, Pittsboro... A base, an ace, the scruples of Area51, A hone, a drone, bust under the sun, To create, an artificial, chosen one... Of Bass Bicher's envy, and Passive's delight, To turn upon wonder, for 'magic' and 'might', To be torn asunder, by blunder, and The Dark One's light..."

"Welcome after all this time to Durham, North Carolina, We all respect Wooly Bull but let us face this is no China, Southern seasons after all but we admit things could be fina, We won the NCAA in two thousand and one and are still in the reclina... A grave certificate of absolute egregious graduate degrees, So much going on in the English department you call feel it in the breeze, So quiet in the cathedral you can hear last Sunday sneeze, Cheerleaders so lucky to have their job they clearly prayed down on their knees... A master of psychology would not know what is going on, So many doctors in the hospital they clearly work until it's dawn, A football team whose greatest play is sit back and kind of yawn, A parking lot so full of prii they have never once tackled a fawn... The most established ownership a private school could yet afford, A place where no amount of inconvenient effort could be ignored, Yes it is true you may get kicked out if you drive a Ford, At least good old Durham still has a place where we worship the Lord."

"Oh boy Mommy, look Daddy, I've been accepted at large, With a two point oh GPA, And thighs the size of a barge, Do you think they liked empty, Just how pitiful mean, I look when I roll through garbage, And can't seem to keep myself clean... I study nutritions, I read the back of things blind, Why go to ECU uncle, When they'd only leave me behind, I am loved in Arizona, They must think I'm a king, 'Cause I just got my acceptance letter, And just take a look at this thing... The cooks are all bawling, The faculty is in tears, They just can't stand my weight excellence, And all of my studious fears, Why not leave from Carolina, Why indeed wouldn't we all, When standards of our scholastics, Are simply aim your best near the stall... Yale and Harvard just accept this, When you'll probably reject, 'Cause you won't let anything in, Unless it's Intel erect, Arizona is the best, NYU wouldn't agree, Because New York let Dr. Quinn study teeth, With a half ass english degree."

"Jim team, Jim beam, now what happened here, I'd say, it'd seem, it's all a bit queer, Down south, my mouth, down yonder, down here, Run about, scream and shout, and want everything, dear. Well Hell, well fair, it's all upon gas, It's yours, for free, so you kick my ass... How now, brown cow, cuz now things have switched, Took over, the world, and all you did was bitched, Now what? S'all gone, and you want your do... Well, guess, what, there's a universe, and we'll eat that too. How's that? So fat! I didn't quite want it... ...So, hook me up, with a satellite, that can cover and front it. And in a jiffy, look spiffy, 800,000 lbs, I suppose, But now I look great, with a fantastic new nose! Who wouldn't? Why hire? Why work here at all? Cuz now we got what we wanted, and now, Nothing is all..."

"Thou art thy sin, thy seed, and thy false belief. Thou, art thou. Thou art Constantine Apocalypse Demons. Thine atheist, thine false prayer. Thy keeping of thine face to thyself, and not to others. To win thy world upon falsehoods, and spread thy plague upon others. For thou hast no strength, no beauty, and no decency, to conquer in the Light of God. But only to hide in the shadows of thy deception. Look upon his face, and know that in the Light of God, he beeth. And be banished. Forever."

"A picture's worth, A thousand words, Tell me, old lady, Why are your eyes so blurred... An H-Zombie core, To Venom and fro, Of crimes and high treason, Where then do you go? Glorious affiliations, A Venomous glow... Tell me, since Never Forget, Why did you never know?"