'You people look sick' an echoing voice played about the small room somewhere between a hall and a utility room. There was a podium, chairs and a table that could've been half a ping-pong table, there was also a boiler dutifully ignored and rumours of rodent creatures incubating in the steam-stained walls.

A sound like women's footwear came from the corridored entrance to the chamber, hollowly clicking on the on ground that was still technically the hospitals. 'You people look sick' rang out this voice a second time; this voice came from somewhere, the now... and the hallowed then, slightly more tightly pitched than was remembered but with the same level of fever pitch, crowd kettling intensity.

16 backs turned away from the noise, 16 straight, broad, dangerous backs owned by men who's entire live a were a pretension to strength beyond strength, worship of the fierce paternality of another age; some wondered if it had ever been. Brows that never bent in anything other spite quartered on the standing grave of an entrance. Without the conscious mind's telling. eyes widened, pupils dilated, blood instantly gushed in a race to fill every aspect of their physique, sweat percolated on the stocking'd skin of feet, hearts burned burned burned.

Instant feelings too massive to be anything but experienced and possibilities so other worldly they smashed through the now, triggering memories of a pleading Hari Krishna's to open their heart chakras. Their minds were completely and collectively fucked.

'You people... look sick' Words lost all meaning. Communication broke down. There was a spontaneous erection.

A portion of a foot cut through the complete darkness to pass into the threshold the light. Uniformly brown, toned as healthy muck that's been shit through a healthy cows anus, fed on grass picked by a knowing master.

'You people are really sick'

On 'sick' His full glory passed into the light. they witnessed a bristled mouth moving with artillery precision, it managing to bombast impossibly on syllables meant to snake. They saw brown eyes and skin sagging just how it was meant to. This was a transmission from the inner workings of the crucible of truth. Thomas Aquinas never met Jesus. Tom Cruise never met L Ron. Fags worshiped filth. The Jews, they knew god but and chose to turn away.

The true believers of Chapter 88 stood in the presence of Hitler. Returned. There was no black lining around him. There was depth to him. There was no halo. His skin was skin. He was there, in person returned after death. Looking how he did on the reels. Same voice. Same presence. Nothing out of place. They had won. They'd won more than was possible. Vindication of an entire life struggling against the tide tasted of infinity. Reichs beyond time.

The 88 dropped to their knees. The conversation they had thousands of times before cut short and forgotten; the conversation they always had. There'd been no new information other than what They did. They They They. They were wrong. They would pay. Again. And again. Uniformed boots would shake the foundation of the heavens.

153 years after his death he had returned, he was back, for those who persevered. Outside of history and then back again. Unlike anyone or anything before. Defiant of the natural order. Though maybe this was the new way. God sent him back.

'You people look sick'

The phrase was disregarded by the crowd, it didn't make sense so it was put to the side for later perusal.

'Alert the other chapters' He said.

Simone galloped to the congregation machine in the corner and sent out the impulse. They all knew now. The tribe had now seen what he had seen. They would believe. Instantly the room was filled with more people, eager to witness the coming of their saviour. All the world's faithful packed into the room. Not many now but enough to rule the world!

Hitler opened his mouth as if to speak. Took a half step back. His eyes glazed over. The lights dimmed. The congregation machine showed the connection to the outer world went red, they were alone. He was in control.

In silence still standing in the threshold of the doorway of death, away from the world, the leader will tell us the secret.

'Whylllllllllyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeee' His tongue shot out his mouth like a half brained Mauri. He began making a sound only found in places of heavy industry in the middle of the 20th century. A light formed at the back of the mans throat. Something was dreadfully wrong.

Bees and lava began to shoot out of his mouth. This was the end, how cruel a way for a meme to end. They didn't know. In the chaos there was surrender.