Deja Vu AscendancyChapter 352 Post Aftermath Press Conference
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Deja Vu AscendancyChapter 348: The Resurrectee's First Press Conference free porn video
Friday, June 1, 2007 (Continued)
Before the press conference was due to start, we decided to have it outside the front of the Adults' House. The light rain that'd been going for a while had stopped during the wait, we preferred not to have reporters invade our home (reporters hot on a story aren't the sort of people you want in your home), and having the conference outside meant there was less chance of one of my distinctively Negroid loose hairs being found by a nosey reporter looking for a cunning scoop. Analysis of one of Ron's pre-resurrection shed hairs would show it had Mark's DNA in it. We could do without accusations of fraud, even if we could refute it because the hairs were impossible. They looked like the hairs of a Black, but had genes for a light-colored Caucasian, so as per the email, when God had changed "all of Ronald's cells now contain Mark's DNA", It must have changed ALL of Ron's cells, even those in discarded hairs. It would be best not to have that come out though because it made it seem too likely that I'd been Mark all the time.
[In case you're wondering, genes serve as blueprints for the body, but those blueprints aren't translated directly into action. The hair follicles don't say to themselves, "Right, it's time to grow the hair longer. I'll check the DNA to see whether to make it black and kinky, or blandly straight and light brown." What happens is that there are several levels of message decoding and passing between the DNA and the hair follicle because human bodies have a truly ridiculous number of indirect processes. It's as if a guy reads the DNA, and phones someone else with the information. That person sends the next person in the chain an email. The recipient pays for a plane to write a sign in the air, where someone else sees it and writes a letter to the next link. That person ties a note to a carrier pigeon who delivers it to a guy who uses a blinking flashlight to signal in Morse code to the hair follicle, telling it to grow straight and brown. Human bodies can truly be that indirect. Somewhere along that process, my subconscious intrudes with my order, "Ignore what you've been told; Mark wants Negro hair. Pass it on."]
My being topless now seemed too deliberately exhibitionistic, so I put on a T-shirt. I was still insufficiently dressed for the cold, but I wanted my non-angelic physique to be seen and I could simply say that I couldn't feel the cold, which might add a little bit of credibility to our story. I ordered my body not to report the cold to my brain, as the temperature wasn't cold enough to do any damage. I could've used a heat blob to warm me, but that would seem too strange to the infrared camera of the UAV I expected above us sooner or later. [I detected some brief Ku-band radiation "sooner", less than an hour from now.]
Dad assisted me in my walk outside, as I was apparently still having trouble managing my legs. Donna carried a chair for me to sit in, and I suspected so she could hover around behind me with her tits in the shot most of the time. She's very proud of her dual accomplishments. I must admit to encouraging her by giving them lots of appreciation, praise and attention. I might have to cut back on that if she gets much more carried away about them.
Mom intercomed down to have the reporters escorted "up the garden path" (literally and figuratively). They'd been accumulating in the uncovered parking lot just inside the front gate on the other side from the Staff Quarters, corralled there by our guards. The reporters were shepherded up to the interview area, where I was sitting with my families spread out to either side of me. Mom and Dad closest, then my sisters and then the Williamses.
Just before the reporters arrived, Mom whispered to Donna, "Don't do anything sexual! Remember Ron's your brother now."
"He was..."
I NP-clamped Donna's mouth shut, before "before" emerged. Some of our guards were nearby, so I couldn't say much; but "Grrr!" proved to be sufficient. Donna was still looking ashamed when the media arrived.
I'd been hoping that some of the reporters would come running at me, so the Guardian could appear and deal with them in a memorable way, but our guards had the reporters under too much control. That alone should tell you how good our guards are.
We're experienced enough in doing these interviews that we hadn't bothered to plan out its details. Mom started, "I'll summarize events and then we'll take questions." Mom didn't pause, carrying straight on with, "As you know, our son Mark was kidnapped and illegally held in Portland for several days by the Department of Homeland Security. Then he was transferred to one of Homeland Security's offices in Washington, DC, where he was subject to illegal experimentation. After several days of that, they transferred Mark to the CIA, who took him to their secret bioweapons laboratory underneath Fort Dodge, Iowa, for even worse medical experimentation, where Mark and over two hundred CIA criminals were killed in mid-February last year. The CIA has constantly refused to return his body to us.
-- "When Archangel Michael mentioned his offer to resurrect someone deserving, and that he'd put Jonathon Winters in charge of determining the shortlist, I sent an email to Jonathon's organization asking whether our son Mark would qualify..."
Mom went on to describe the events that brought us to where we are now, including the fictitious visits by Archangel Michael and the angel that took over from him. (All the angels' appearances were fictitious really, but some were more fictitious than others.) The resurrection was described in detail - not that there was much of it - with Mom making a big deal about Ron's sacrifice and gift.
Mom finished with, "For the last couple of hours we've been talking to Mark, even though his words have been coming out of Ron's body. It's been a very peculiar experience, but it's been a very convincing one. There's no doubt that our son is back." Mom gave my shoulders a squeeze, then offered the press, "Are there any questions?"
As it turned out, there were. I'll present them in a somewhat logical order, even though they came in a much more chaotic fashion. I'll leave out the dialogues around the particularly stupid questions, such as "Are you glad to see your family?" Sheesh!
"Are you really Mark?"
"Are you asking the body or the mind?"
"Ahh..."
"The mind!" yelled a more mentally flexible reporter.
I answered, "The mind is Mark."
"How will you prove it?"
"I haven't thought about that. My families know I'm Mark from talking to me and I'm too busy getting used to what's happened to me to worry about anyone else."
Mom added, "It's been traumatic for Mark. From his point of view, three hours ago he was being illegally held against his will inside a CIA laboratory having increasingly dangerous medical experiments done to him. Then all of a sudden he's in a different body and he's told it's a more than a year later.
-- "The angels said that Ron's DNA would be changed, so a DNA test will prove it. I don't know whether it'll take time for new cells to be made with Mark's DNA, or whether it's changed already, but we could get a test done tomorrow to find out."
-- Mom turned to me to ask, "You don't mind giving a sample tomorrow, do you darling?"
I answered, "I'm used to being strapped down, having holes drilled in my skull and samples of my brain scooped out, so a blood test will be easy." My blood being pinkish gray was the most obvious reason I'd included the crap about my body chemistry being changed. I prefer for that not to be discovered because it was so weird, but it was hard to see how we could avoid such a basic identity test. As I was on camera, it was best to pretend to have no qualms whatsoever about being tested.
"You've got a hole in your head?" asked one of the reporters hopefully. Apparently he had a hole in his too: a cavernous one, in the center.
"In my OTHER head."
"Oh," as he realized his mistake, his realizing it assisted by his co-workers laughing at his mistake.
Another reporter asked, "What did it feel like to be resurrected?"
"It was like blinking and when my eyes opened I was in new body and new location. The CIA's experiments were so bad it was obvious they would never let me go afterward, so I knew I was going to be killed when they'd finished with me. So you can imagine how happy I was when I blinked and suddenly I was no longer a prisoner and my families were around me."
"You don't remember anything?"
"Not about the resurrection, no."
"What about God?"
"He's got my undying gratitude."
I got some laughs for that, then the original reporter asked, "I meant, do you remember anything about God?"
"Not a thing. As I said, it was like I blinked. Mom's already described the resurrection so you know that the only divine presence I was in, was a few seconds with the two angels, and for most of the time I thought one of them was a bright lightbulb. I was in too much shock to be good at noticing things."
"Do you believe in God?"
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