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Up in his tower, watching the skies, Mark, the greatest of all time, couldn’t contain his laughter. The jets streamed across the sky, leaving behind the thick, white trails of control. Chemtrails, designed to keep the masses weak, confused, and docile.
Mark smirked, watching the unsuspecting people below, breathing in their daily dose. "Ah, they still don’t get it," he chuckled. "Every breath brings them closer to obedience."
Just to be safe, Mark poured himself a quick glass of anti-serum, downing it in one gulp. "Wouldn’t want to inhale too much of that myself," he said with a grin.
He watched another plane streak across the sky, releasing more of the toxic mist. "And they still think it’s just condensation." The laughter came again, uncontrollable, echoing through his empty office.
The control was absolute. The fun, endless.
