The Source and it's TRUE Backstory

Minor spoilers for the main branch (chapter 51 onwards).

The sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, as if the heavens were mirroring the earth. The air at Jim Creek Naval Base carried a faint tang of pine and freedom, the kind of smell that made you want to puff out your chest and salute something (no, not that salute). But that was outside, out in the new yet old world.

Before me, there was a stage, and on the stage, a gathering of women re-enacted the work of Aristophanes. Their voices rang out, sharp and theatrical, delivering lines about women seizing control of society, redistributing wealth, and making men sleep with an ugly woman before a beautiful one (I'm not kidding, look it up). The irony was so thick you could cut it with a long sword.

"By Zeus, let us govern with wisdom!" declared the lead actress, her white tunic (which I had the foresight to order on Amazon, thanks Jeff) billowing dramatically as she raised a fist. The others echoed her with choreographed fervor. It was a performance for a golden age, and I was its sole audience.

I propped up on the seat in front of me, one polished loafer crossed over the other, my victory suit fitting me like a glove, a smug smirk tucked at my lips. I sipped on the crystalline champagne like I was Leonardo DiCaprio, the taste accentuated by the lingering smoke of the Cuban cigar I’d pilfered from my former superior’s office. Why the fuck did a U.S. base have commie tobacco and a goddamn theater had always been beyond me, but it only served to prove my point: the world had been a mess, and now I was the Jannie. I took another sip of my drink, delighting on the well deserved taste of victory it had.

Because I, Gaius Julius Maximilian (real name), had saved the West.

Six Years Earlier - 2019

Everything started when I was a not-so-little boy. Well, okay, I was 21, but not all of us conquer Anatolia by that point. I was holed up in my parents’ basement, in the small town of Nothing Ever Happens, Ohio. The place was a shrine to the good and the old: a dog-eared copy of The Art of War on my desk, a Jacobite flag pinned to the wall (yes, really), and a half-empty Monster Energy can that had been there so long it belonged on a museum. My PC hummed like Dom Quixote's loyal steed, its RGB lights casting a gay ass heroic glow across my face as I scrolled through the cesspool of the internet.

God, the screen looked to me like Dunkirk must have looked to the french. Some blue-haired feminist on Twitter (X now, for the zoomers out there) was ranting about "toxic masculinity" and how men needed to "unlearn" their instincts. Another post celebrated a new law letting women do… I don’t know, something about equal pay or whatever. The details didn’t matter. It was all noise at this point, all part of the same disease eating away at the our legacy. I slumped back in my creaky gaming chair, muttering the words that had become my mantra:

The West has fallen.

It was over.

The words looped in my head like a sacred chant, the type of stuff a Knights Templar would hum as he watched the city fall to the Ottomans. I opened Discord, ready to drop my manifesto in all of my friend groups (groups that, admittedly, hadn’t had a single message in a year). Normies. Gym Bros. Simps. They wouldn’t get it. My 21-year-old autobiography, a 47-page Google Doc of pure, unfiltered truth and noticing, sat unfinished in the cloud. Would they ever read it? I doubted it. Cowards.

My fingers hovered the Enter key, before letting the die be cast. I opened the desk drawer to fish out my 1911 and the few bucks I saved from my part time at Wendy's, the amount just enough for a last meal and an hour with some hoe. No reason to go out a virgin like that Elliot Rodger guy.

As I stood to give one last toast to my dying civilization, a voice cut through the silence of my room. Deep, resonant, like Morgan Freeman narrating an impending era of glory. "Gaius."

I froze. The can slipped from my hand, hitting the carpet with a sad fizz. "Who’s there?" I whispered, spinning around, half-expecting to see my mom at the door asking if I’d taken out the trash.

"Gaius," the voice boomed again, vibrating in my skull like I’d cranked the music on my headphones too high. "Open the Bible."

I blinked. The Bible? I hadn’t touched it since Sunday school, but it was still there, sitting on my shelf next to my Warhammer 40K figurines. I grabbed it, dust puffing off the cover, and flipped it open. My eyes landed on Leviticus 19:27: "You shall not round the corners of your heads."

I squinted. "Uh… what?"

"No, not that." the voice said, sounding mildly exasperated. "It was supposed to be a joke."

I closed the book and tried again, flipping to Joshua 1:9: "Be strong and courageous."

"Well, yes, that too." the voice said, "But not quite. Try again."

Third time’s the charm. I landed on 1 Timothy 2:12: "I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence."

"Yes" the voice boomed, so loud I swear it rattled the whole room. "That’s the one."

I dropped the Bible, my hands shaking. "Who are you?" I stammered, my voice cracking like I was 14 again.

"Take a wild guess." the voice told me, followed by a moment of silence. "I AM THE LORD. GOD THE ALMIGHTY." He declared with a magnitude 9.1 voice as I fell to my knees. "And I have a mission for you, Gaius Julius Maximilian."

"Okay, Okay" I pleaded, scared like a toddler in a Caribbean island. "What’s your mission?"

"The West has fallen, Gaius" God said, echoing my own thoughts. "Women have been led astray by false ideologies, by feminism, by progressivism. They’ve forgotten their purpose: to serve, to nurture, to not be hoes at least. Frankly, I don’t know why you people keep blaming the Jews. I thought it would be clear enough by now."

I nodded furiously, pretending 90% of my posts on chan weren't about Israel. "Right? It’s so obvious!"

"Your mission," God continued, "is to restore the natural order. You will awaken the truth within women, set them free from their confusion. You will be my instrument, Gaius."

My phone buzzed on my desk, and I scrambled up to grab it. A text from an unknown number: coordinates, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Washington state. "Go to this location," God said. "Your journey begins there."

"But God" I said, tears welling in my eyes, "Why me? I’m just… I’m just a Chud."

"Because you, Gaius." God said, the more toned voice pausing for dramatic effect. "You are based."

The voice faded, leaving me alone in the silence of the basement. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt, my heart swelling with purpose. I wasn’t just a Chud anymore. I stood, tossing my pistol and the hoe money back on the drawer, before striding up my mirror. After a moment of staring at my reflection, a small smirk stared back at me.

Because I, Gaius Julius Maximilian (real name) had been chosen by GOD to save the West!

My phone buzzed again. I glanced at it, ready to receive more divine guidance.

"Bro, why the fuck did you send us a shooter manifesto?"