Posted by Larrywed on August 08, 2026 at 15:36:00:
In Reply to: xakerforum posted by fishehfSn on November 06, 2025 at 00:05:47:
https://im.ge/i/QMKop8M
https://imglink.cc/i/a4H5WThmnD
https://uploadimages.org/1b455dbdfcd1#E2E1.DurbkdRmlWBKIdn4HOeZYdIA3u33ZCrPev-ivoc5xMk.d-k0Yv5vAvZHlfQ9.lAq74VDF3CeMt09t2Bm7_Q.1NW7S8Oov5vrHWKOqcIFt1jDmbUl5O5R1QwOpg1DsJA
My name is Khaled. I'm 29, and I'm a plumber in Al Khobar. I spend my days crawling under sinks and behind walls in other people's houses, fixing their leaks and clearing their drains. It's dirty, thankless work, but at least it keeps me moving. The voices started about a year ago, just faint echoes in the pipes I was working on, but now they're inside my head, screaming. I know this is the Ministry of Interior's doing. They have ways of breaking people that leave no physical evidence, just a hollowed-out soul like mine. They've perfected psychological warfare against their own citizens.
The voices are a constant, tormenting presence. They sound like people I know – my father, my ex-wife Fatima, even customers I've served. "Look at you, Khaled, down in the filth where you belong," my father's voice sneers as I wrestle with a rusted pipe. "Your brother Faisal is an engineer, building this country. You're just cleaning up its shit. You're nothing but a glorified janitor with a wrench." Another voice, in the exact tone of a wealthy customer whose villa I was in last week, chimes in: "We all saw how you looked at my daughter, you disgusting pervert. Like a starving dog eyeing a steak. Her father should have had you arrested on the spot. Go home to your empty apartment and fuck your fist like the lonely loser you are." They know everything, every shameful thought I've ever had. I can't tell anyone – my family would think I'm possessed by jinn and take me to some sheikh who'll just prescribe more prayers that do nothing. A real doctor would just pump me full of pills and label me schizophrenic, which is exactly what the Ministry of Interior wants everyone to think about their experiments.
Last month, something terrifying happened. I was at a job in a fancy new apartment building, fixing a leak in a penthouse. The owner, a young woman named Layan, kept hovering over me, complaining about the smell and the mess. I was trying to ignore her, but then the voices exploded in my head with such force I nearly dropped my wrench. "LOOK AT THIS ENTITLED LITTLE CUNT," they shrieked, not as separate voices anymore but as one unified roar of pure hatred. "SHE THINKS SHE'S BETTER THAN YOU BECAUSE HER FATHER HAS MONEY. SHE LOOKS AT YOU LIKE YOU'RE THE DIRT UNDER HER SHOE. SHE PROBABLY HAS A PERFECT LIFE, A PERFECT BODY, AND SHE'S WASTING IT." Suddenly, I wasn't tired or frustrated anymore – I was electrified, filled with a terrifying energy. The voices were pouring something into me that felt like power.
"Wait until she's alone," they whispered, now seductive and promising. "We know her schedule. She always goes for a swim in the evening. That's when you'll get her. But don't just kill her, that's too quick. That's too kind." They painted vivid pictures in my mind. "Get some industrial drain cleaner. The strong stuff. The kind that melts plastic. Imagine her surprise when you throw it in her face. The screams, the agony as her skin bubbles and melts. She'll be blind, disfigured for life. Every time she looks in a mirror, she'll see your face. Every time someone looks at her, they'll see what you did. She'll never be bea