The Research

I have come to the conclusion that the real estate agency G is behind all the problems described so far.

I started sharing this story, first writing to Pravda and Rossijskaja Gazeta in Russia, thinking that given the current global climate, they might be interested in sharing with their readers what is happening in civilised Germany. I then contacted Jornal do Brasil, as there is a Brazilian citizen involved in this story, and finally I wrote to the Berlin Zeitung, as this group is based there and they should be interested in events happening in their area. I also contacted Danish and Swedish newspapers.

I posted on a Facebook page, asking if there were any G. customers who had been diagnosed with psychosis. The aim is to find others who have been tortured like me and to pool our experiences. It's probably not the right channel, but with the means at my disposal, I have to start somewhere.

My attackers enjoyed the show step by step. They remained connected to the device the whole time, and every time I sent an email, the agency supervisor was contacted and updated in real time. I got the most satisfying feedback when I wrote to the Russian newspapers. They know that if the story were to be taken up and published, a storm of shit would rain down on the heads of all Germans. After the Nord Stream break, the two countries are certainly not mincing their words, and the supervisor showed some agitation.

Imagine if this forced the government to intervene within G. It would not be Bö's head that would roll, but that of the supervisor and the entire secret team.

If I found other individuals among G's clients who had been diagnosed with psychosis, I could check whether they were smokers, whether they had smoked in their apartments, and whether they had had terrible experiences like mine. If I'm lucky, I'll find someone whose divorce was caused by this. Going back to the time of my hospitalisation, I remember that girl who said she was being attacked by her neighbour with electromagnetic waves because she smoked in the house and wanted to separate from her husband because he didn't give her enough support regarding what she had experienced. She had three children at the time of the incident. I, on the other hand, did not have time to have children with my ex-wife. Bö's requests to the agency meant that I could not have that pleasure. I wonder if she was also a client of the same agency as me at the time the events took place, or of another agency. Perhaps this is a modus operandi of German estate agencies with their smoking clients, or against heavy smokers.

When I confronted her during my stay in the psychiatric ward, I remember that she was convinced that this was a technique used in Poland, or by Polish specialists. Poor thing, she couldn't imagine that it could be her own condominium agency conducting such torture, such an operation.

These attacks have a very common modus operandi in Germany. I am inclined to think that there are many cases of psychosis similar to mine, people who smoke at home, who are clients of large real estate agencies, who are attacked inside their own homes, who have had a falling out with their neighbours. They are stuffed with drugs without any real need to do so, forced to participate in therapies they do not need, hiding in society because they cannot openly communicate what has happened to them. We become marginalised, we lose our loved ones because they believe we are sick, and some, like me, are constantly harmed because we do not bow to the law of the strongest.

I decided to start a Facebook page on psychosis in Berlin, because, given my personal experience, I believe I am an expert on the subject. I am looking for others who, like me, have been attacked by these demons.

   Motivated by the search for other psychotic patients who, like me, have been attacked in their homes because they are smokers, I began researching the relationship between these two principles on Google.

Zusammenhang zwischen Psychose und Rauchen, or the relationship between psychosis and smoking, produces the following generic note from Google's AI:

The correlation between psychosis and smoking is the subject of intense debate in research. On the one hand, smoking seems to increase the risk of psychotic illnesses such as schizophrenia. On the other hand, people with psychosis often resort to nicotine as a form of self-medication to cope with symptoms such as anxiety or social isolation.

On the website https://www.netdoktor.de/symptome/halluzinationen/, there is exactly the category I was looking for:

Bodily hallucinations: those affected have the sensation that their body is being manipulated from outside (e.g. irradiated or electrified).

Who knows how many people have been attacked like me and described this phenomenon. If there is a real category, the number of people attacked must be high, and these are all cases of attacks not reported to the police. The system is organised in such a way that smokers are free to be attacked for the common good. Instead of inviting them to go to the police and file a complaint, they are told they are psychotic, take this medicine and it will pass. If the patient continues to smoke at home, they will have another attack, which will be classified by doctors as a second attack of psychosis, and so on. Everyone is free to attack smokers. When they attack my ex-wife with the electromagnetic wave technique I described earlier, will she be labelled psychotic? They will also say that the disease is contagious, since her ex-husband was psychotic and she is a smoker, she has a high chance of becoming psychotic like me.

I have already described at length how these attacks are perpetrated today, using invisible weapons and unconventional techniques unknown to the police, against a category of people who are unwelcome and unwanted, to the point of organising an operation that has been going on for three years, as in my case. We are so unwelcome in this apartment building.

They exploit existing research and the correlation between smoking and psychosis to perpetrate attacks on domestic smokers without any chance of being discovered. No sane person would ever think that these are attacks directed at smokers. The medical community is already aligned in this direction, with smokers who describe an attack they have received being labelled as psychotic, as happened to me.

The perfect plan

 We have the technical expertise, he already has the technology. After hacking it, we can break up the couple without too many problems. We ask you to monitor him constantly throughout his day because once the device is activated, you will have to ensure that their sexual relations are unsatisfactory. Once this happens and the couple separates, it is very likely that they will decide to leave the apartment. If this is not the case, we offer a post-separation service to help you vacate the apartment. No one will notice a thing; this technology will leave no trace.

This is most likely what the representative of the agency offering its services to Bö was saying.

The old man rubbed his hands with joy. The neighbours rejoiced at the intervention of this organisation; it gave them the confidence that a solution would soon be found. No plan was more perfect than this for getting rid of the annoying tenants below.

In Italy, we say that the devil makes the pot but not the lid, meaning that evil deeds cannot be hidden forever and sooner or later the truth comes out.

So the constant use of this technology over three years hasn't remained an enduring mystery to me, and after reading quintacolumna.net, I set out into the past to reconstruct the actions of this group of cowards.

The premature ejaculation, the psychiatric hospitalization and psychosis, the separation from my wife, the severe headaches and ischemia, the vibrations in my limbs and sleep torture, the twitches in my testicles and the rashes on my armpits, not to mention my expulsion from Germany, were all the work of this group, their daily work, and their service to the community.

Bö just had to sit at the computer all day and observe my life, press a button when I was having sex with my wife, and my relationship with her would soon be ruined. The G agency's statistics probably indicated that couples leave their apartments in the event of a separation, perhaps out of resentment at having been dumped by their partner or because one person alone could barely afford the cost of the apartment. In short, one way or another, the apartment would have been abandoned.

There was no resentment on my part. I know how difficult it is to find stable housing in Berlin, and all things considered, I still loved my ex-wife enough to let her use the apartment. After all, she had found a stable job and could afford the entire cost of the house.

What wasn't in their plans, besides the fact that my ex-wife would keep the apartment, was my stamina and my acumen. Bö had immediately used the theragnostic nanorobot to cause premature ejaculation, then to cause the kidney attack at the end of October 2023, and finally, he had placed this device in my skull to emit electromagnetic fields, causing severe headaches. All this while I was still at home, at B Strasse XX. They were so confident in their plan that they thought I'd never realise it was all their doing. By October 2023, I was certain these attacks were due to external factors; I was already blaming him in front of the psychologists at Weissensee Hospital.

The agency had provided the old man with the technology to monitor my body, probably with the recommendation to dose the interventions to make them undetectable, but the old man, eager to speed things up, had already been caught long ago. I believe the timetable given to him by the agency was not respected; in fact, driven by haste and the discomfort caused by the smoke in the house, he caused the ischemia, which was detected right here in Germany. They weren't supposed to leave any traces, but Bö, thirsty for power and eager to make me pay, didn't follow the instructions he received.

Following my departure from Berlin and the presence of my ex-wife in the apartment, the situation became more complicated. Not satisfied with my departure from the capital and still facing the problem of smoking in the house, what solution remained?

They had no means of monitoring my wife; I was the only one of the two with this technology.

The technology I have works worldwide via 5G, so they had to insist and force me to cancel the rental agreement.

I think I've become a legend within this agency; enduring their torture for all this time is no small feat.

I repeat, Bö, since you're watching, you're crazy if you think I'm giving you my house, you and your Nazi friends, read that again carefully.

I wonder if this group would have behaved this way even with a German, or if the fact that I'm an Auslander made things easier for them, sweeter.

The fact is that the plan evolves and changes depending on the conditions on the ground. Now the battlefield has moved to Italy, Sardinia. The goal remains the same: to obtain the liberation of the apartment.

The tools to achieve this liberation are still the same: the brain implant to see and hear what I do and say, and the theragnostic nanorobot to perpetrate the torture. It's just a matter of having the right amount of imagination to use them best: sleep torture, inflammation and irritation of the armpit, constant live chat conversations to let me hear their discussions. They can no longer play with the organs in my abdomen because of the tumor, but with what remains, they can still do something positive.

In the long run, however, even their unshakeable convictions about the success of the operation diminish. The cancer won't leave much time to continue down this path, and my position remains firm. They must already be thinking of a plan to attack my ex-wife.

They haven't been very successful so far. I haven't begged them to stop, nor have I shared this story with my ex, which they expected me to do immediately to try to quell her unhealthy smoking habit and perhaps hope for an end to this torture. They were counting on me telling my ex-wife about all this, as if she'd ever listen to me. If I'd told my ex-wife this whole story, she'd have thought I was crazy. Now they expect my ex to change her lifestyle once the news of my cancer or my death reaches her. But I know her well enough to know that won't happen, so I'm sure that under pressure from Bö, this organisation will soon change its focus.

Luckily, I already know their methods; I'm describing them in detail after years of trying.

There's a great essay by Fabien Deruelle on ResearchGate: "Microwave radiofrequencies, 5G, 6G, graphene nanomaterials used in neurological warfare," which explains how radiofrequency technologies can be used in neurological warfare. I'm sure this organisation will use this technology to break my ex-wife's smoking will. It's invisible and silent technology. They'll have to be careful, though: other people live in that wooden building, so the doses will have to be calculated so as not to disturb other residents. Furthermore, my loved ones are aware of the whole story; if something similar were to happen to my ex-wife, I hope they'd be smart enough to inform her. Moreover, she's a fighter too; it'll be a long fight for them.

I don't give them any hope. They've seen my ex-wife without clothes every time I've seen her. They've seen me shit and masturbate; through my eyes, they've seen my parents shit when I accidentally entered the unlocked bathroom at home. They deserve far worse than a daily cloud of cigarette smoke or marijuana.

The plan was perfect from the start because this technology is shrouded in global secrecy, no one knows about it, and the independent studies launched into the properties of graphene are far from describing a brain implant that connects to advanced telephone networks present throughout the world and so persistently installed in every corner of the globe, capable of transmitting and receiving data. On the internet, there are links to DARPA research, which has been studying how to make a graphene-based brain implant since before 2010.

Unfortunately for this group, I didn't give in to the torture; I learned what they were doing, how this technology works, and I took everything they did to me. The future will confirm this theory of mine; it's a shame I can't be there to see it.

The so-called perfect plan is showing its cracks because my resistance is initially ignored by the gang, then the cancer shows up, confirmed by their tests, and later the oncologist says I have 10 months to live. Meanwhile, my ex-wife moves on with her life, inviting whoever she wants to her long-desired home and continuing to smoke. The dream of Bö, the other neighbours, and G real estate agency crumbles little by little, even turning into a nightmare with the news of my cancer. I am the key to achieving the long-awaited peace and farewell to the smell of smoke, but I don't give in. It doesn't take much to destroy a dream. I can say it myself: I hoped for a longer relationship with my ex-wife, and I loved living in Berlin.

So a battle of wills turns into tragedy. I know perfectly well how my story will end, but I'm so sorry I can't know how my tormentor's will end. What has become important over time is to make the future even more complicated for him and his gang. I'm putting in every effort to do just that.

Naturally, I invite anyone who's read this far to show up at my ex-wife's house at B Strasse XX, Berlin, with a couple of beers and a few joints of marijuana—it will be the only Latin surname on the doorbell—to give Bö and the whole merry band what they deserve after this treatment. They'll be thrilled to have you there. My ex-wife is a friendly and open person, she'll certainly appreciate the surprise and won't refuse a few words over a cold beer.

If you haven't already regretted what you've done so far, Bö, you'll have time to do so in the future. I'm counting on my ex-wife. Your hands were itchy and you couldn't wait to intervene. Let's play together for as long as I have left. I know you'll be hooked up to this device until my death. I'm already prepared for your company, and I've already told you that I dedicate my life to you, just as you are dedicating yours to me. Surely they hadn't foreseen this end for you when they presented you with the perfect plan.

Torture Conducted Through COVID-19 Vaccine Technology

It all started in November 2022. My wife happily informed me that we had received an invitation to visit an apartment in Pankow and that if we liked it, we would be assigned it.
Berlin has grown significantly in the last few years, becoming one of Europe's major capitals and welcoming migrants from all parts of the world, and it will continue to do so for a long time to come. Finding a house is a great stroke of luck at a time when the city is constantly experiencing these migratory flows, and we had already received exceptional extensions to stay where we were and had an urgency to find a new, stable solution. We accepted the house without visiting; we had no other choice.
December 2022, move-in time, there is work in the new house and paperwork to be done.
From Sardinia, my father and B come up to support us. In the meantime, we young people get busy with the van, moving our belongings from one apartment to the other, my father begins solo painting the hall of the new house. Among the peculiar things about this new mustard-colored building jumps to the eye the name of a tenant, Bö. As fate would have it, my father's family nickname is Bo, so I take a picture and send it to the family chat, the name sticks with me and will never be forgotten again.
Once the first period of settling into a bare house has passed, renovation work begins: the kitchen is bought and assembled, a tiler and a fitter are hired to redo it. Outcomes a not bad kitchen with glossy orange tiles with a view of the mustard-colored building. A very cosy kitchen with a park view. Sofas and shelving for the living room, reluctantly, no room for a dining table, so we'll make do with a small table in the kitchen.
Let's not forget one detail, a wooden floor throughout the house with planks more or less 10 cm wide.
In this new love nest, we have continued with our smoking habit, and wisely, we think, to devote only the living room to cigarettes and joints.
The house begins to take its shape and is very cosy, friends compliment us for finding such a gem in a neighbourhood also well served by public transportation.
Late February 2023, I met him for the only time: he knocked around 11 p.m. on the front door and missing my wife, I rushed to open it. A man a little shorter than me, balding, eyes impossibly wide.
My German was not at the current level at the time and I could not understand him well, but basically, he was pissed because we were smoking in the house. Needless to say, I had just smoked weed and I was stuffed, such was the impetus and roughness of this speech in German.
Numbly, I ask if it is possible to repeat. I wanted to really understand what he had to say; alternatively, I invited him to write me a letter so I could show it to my wife. My request makes him even more nervous, and muttering an answer that sounds like a threat, he picks up his feet and walks upstairs.
Never would I have imagined that that would become a key moment for both of us, but not only that, for the fate of the entire building.
What I did not realise right away was that the apartments are not hermetically insulated because of the wooden structure, and that all it took was an open window in a room adjoining our apartment to feel a draft of fresh air into the house. This was from above, below or from the side. Our idea of dedicating the room to smoking made smoking a problem for 3 other families.
After more joints and some days, I forgot about the neighbour's visit. I reported it to my wife, who, like me, did not pay too much attention to it. I was ending my work experience at Booking.com, as the company had decided to close its Berlin office and relocate its services. My wife was looking for new jobs, plus we were preparing to leave for Brazil, my wife's homeland and the destination of our first vacation together.
In March 2023, I had an inflammation in my armpit, a hair became infected and I was forced to resort to surgery to remove the cyst that formed as a result.
In April 2023, we leave for Brazil, this is my second trip to this wonderful land, I master the language and I am not afraid to express myself.
My wife is nervous during the trip and we argue often, plus I do not offer great amateur performance, she does not hesitate to point this out to me. We also fight at her mother's house. I could have avoided saying certain things, but unfortunately, that's how I am.
I am left with the wonderful places visited and the warmth of the people; no one is afraid to talk to me, and even the little old ladies who see me running through the streets of Agudo, deep in Rio Grande do Sul, have something to say to me. It's a whole different game from faraway Germany.
In the past, I have suffered at times from premature ejaculation, but never to the levels as at this time, it is as if an electric shock hits the base of my penis every time I am about to make love to my wife. In those moments, I gloss over these details and try to enjoy the present.
Back from Brazil in late May 2023, I started the paperwork for ordinary unemployment in Germany. I had in fact worked 7 years for Booking.com and according to the law I was entitled to a full year of unemployment. Our plans were to enjoy 3 more weeks of summer in Sardinia, my home and homeland, so that we could then start again in mid-August with Berlin life.
We also enjoy our vacation in Sardinia, including beaches sea and good food. Sex unfortunately goes as usual, this damn electric shock at the base of my penis does not leave me. At the same time we continue with our life, beers cigarettes and joints.
Upon our return to Berlin in mid-August 2023, I immediately enrolled in a German course level B2, paid for by the German state. My wife continues for a while with odd jobs, a cleaning company and an event company around Europe, where she does presentation technician for big doctors events.

Around this time, I begin to get the first feedback from neighbours: the apartment is so poorly insulated that you can hear neighbours talking in their apartments. In one of these eavesdropping discussions, the downstairs neighbour Bo, clearly asks what appear to be employees of G, the company that administers the building, for our expulsion from the house as smokers. This request is also made on another occasion by the upstairs neighbours, the Bö.
Confident of the lease and the fact that it cannot be terminated in any way, I remain waiting for a letter of complaint from the apartment building that will never arrive.
Sometime between late August 2023 and early September, another event takes place concerning our unhealthy habits: on returning from a jog around the neighbourhood, I notice that many people are present upstairs, they are all talking at once, they are moving around that they sound like an army, impossible not to hear them. I notice that a G employee is present again, and among the other people, I believe it is the investigator Bö has approached to solve the problem, they return to point out to her that we are heavy smokers and also smoke marijuana. I feel like they are spying on my movements. I smoke a cigarette on the balcony and masturbate in front of the computer. The gentlemen present upstairs repeat verbally the actions I perform in German, clearly describing them, until the icing on the cake, “er masturbiert sich.” Clearly, they spy on me, but I am unable to find holes in the ceiling; I have no idea what technology they use to look through the wooden floor.
I pretend not to have realised this and continue with my activities. No letter of complaint has ever arrived home.
September 2023 flies by fast, the German course is stimulating, and we get to October, the month of our birthdays, in the blink of an eye. We celebrate both anniversaries with our friends and enjoy the city.
Having received a hefty severance package from my job at Booking.com, I don't have much urgency to find a job, and the unemployment money combined with the money brought home by my wife is enough to live comfortably.
At the end of October 2023, the 30th to be exact, the first attack happens. I wake up at 2 a.m. with a stabbing pain in my side, wake up screaming from how much it hurt and at the same time hear a little girl laughing downstairs. My wife wakes up from the fright and asks me how I am. Still in pain I describe to her the sensation of a wave of energy surging through my body.
It was clearly not a pain caused by my body, and suspicious by the child's laughter at 2 a.m., I quickly got the idea that the pain was due to external causes. Restless because of the attack suffered, I decided to go knock on the neighbours downstairs to ask what they had done, sure that the child's laughter was related to such an attack. I receive no response, although movement is heard in the apartment.
Dissatisfied with the outcome of the visit, I went down to the street and called the police. With my German, I try to describe the attack, a beam of energy passing through my body, definitely due to external factors. The operator invites me to report to the station to file a complaint the following day. Sadly, I return home, get back into bed beside my incredibly worried wife, and scream, “I'll make you pay.” As a result of my shouting, a police cruiser showed up below my apartment building, and I think someone had called the police just because of my reaction. I go back to bed, telling myself that we will think about it the next day.
The next day, my wife invited me to go to the hospital and get some check-ups.

We show up at the Alexianer St Joseph's Hospital in Wannsee, Berlin, and I talk to psychologists and recount the attack that took place at night, convinced that my neighbours used some technological devilry to attack me in my sleep.
The doctors invite me to stay in the hospital, and I am admitted to the psychiatric ward, where I stay for two weeks. During this time, I was given all the appropriate tests, including an MRI of my brain and blood tests. I recount that I smoke marijuana daily, and after several therapy sessions, I am described as psychotic because of smoking marijuana.
I am prescribed Risperidone as medication, 2 mg daily, according to the doctors, it will help me combat this psychosis if I stop smoking marijuana as well.
During this time, I meet another patient who tells a similar story to mine; she believes her neighbour is attacking her with electromagnetic waves because she also smokes in the apartment. She makes the decision to separate from her husband because she does not receive enough support regarding the case. My wife visits me 3 times in 2 weeks of hospitalization, we start to split up as well.
Upon my return home, I followed the doctors' advice and take prescribed psychotropic drugs because of psychosis, stopped smoking marijuana but continued smoking tobacco. My wife does not, she still smokes marijuana.
November 2023, Berlin winter sets in immediately, temperatures near 0 and heavy coats. Incredibly, we have freezing temperatures even at home, I'm sure neighbours leave the windows of their rooms open at night to spite us. Fortunately, I came from Italy equipped, I have a large goose comforter with me that provides excellent shelter against even the most intense cold.
The war with Bö goes on; in fact, both my wife and I continue to smoke in the house.
At this time, another strange thing happens. When I get into bed to sleep, I have the feeling that the floor is vibrating and I have a hard time getting to sleep. The episode repeats several times, I perform tests with a vibrometer on my phone but all is quiet. I realise that it is me who is vibrating. I start having sleepless nights.
December 2023, for Christmas I decided to buy an electric toothbrush for the house. The package arrives in the building when both my wife and I are away, but through Amazon we get a notification that the product has been picked up by one of our neighbours.
Normally, during the time I worked for Booking.com I would pick up packages for all the neighbours, since I worked in the home office, and when the neighbour received notification of the delivery, he would come and pick up the package directly from me.
In the case of the electric toothbrush I ordered, the name of the neighbour who picked up the package is missing, so my wife goes around the apartments and asks everyone if they found our package.
Incredibly, no one has received our package. The GrSa neighbours informed my wife not to disturb at Bö because Mrs. Bö had just lost her husband, and surely no one would answer.
Incredulous at the information delivered by my wife, and convinced that Bö is alive and well and pursuing his personal battle against me, I again manifest my idea to my wife, convinced that GrSa lied for him.

After this search, the package does not turn up, I am forced to ask Amazon again to send the product.
In the meantime, my parents worried about my hospitalisation strongly urged me to return to Sardinia to relax and disconnect from this stressful situation.
I leave for Sardinia and actually manage to disconnect from the events in Berlin; I have felt for months that I was being spied on.
January 2024 starts with the school routine, the German course resumes after the Christmas vacations, we continue as usual smoking in the house, my wife still works for the cleaning company in the evenings. It is too cold outside even for the neighbours who no longer open the windows to air the premises.
I seem to hear the downstairs neighbour fiddling with something near the wall where we have the back of the bed in the bedroom. She seems to be cleaning the wall at 11 pm at night.
I have a feeling that Bo and Bö have come to an agreement to solve the problem of smoke and I hear nighttime traffic in the stairs of the building, from the floor below to the floor above and vice versa. Everything is made of wood and therefore creaks, so for me used to concrete buildings and isolated environments, it is a constant eavesdropping of sound and movement.
The nights continue with this vibration inside my body that I cannot explain, also I start emitting a hissing sound from my nose that annoys my wife by taking away her sleep. She asks me to sleep in a different room, no longer able to rest because of my night breathing.
I take over the couch in the living room and turn it into my bed, and because of the vibration, I stay up late and smoke before finally getting to sleep.
Between February and March 2024, I started having severe migraines, I feel like waves are going through my body, I am weak and in a bad mood. I get the idea that the neighbours are using equipment that emits strong electromagnetic fields that can pass through the house walls, so I bought a GQ EMF 390 electromagnetic field sensor capable of continuous recording that exports the recorded data in Excel format to the computer.
The data recorded during this period seems incredible to me, the electric field limits for Italy are 15 volts per meter, my device records a peak of 1000 volts per meter and other absurd measurements at different times of the day. I sent these recordings to the Bundesamt fur Strahlenschutz, the office that evaluates electromagnetic fields in Germany, and asked for their evaluation of some recordings. I was told that they evaluate recordings made with their devices and invite me to reserve one, but being sure that I am being spied on daily, I know that whoever between the two neighbours who uses such instruments would stop at that time. I continue to make recordings with my machine anyway.
Sex with my wife continues to go badly, we hardly make love any more. In March 2024 we go for a trip to Prague, and there again we have the same mean experience topped by an electric shock at the base of the penis.
Of course we enjoy the city, we tour around but the relationship is now soured.
April 2024 goes on like the previous month, with severe evening migraines when I am at home smoking. I managed to achieve B2 level German at the end of the course. I am very satisfied with that, it was quite a challenge to learn the basics of German grammar.
During these months, I update my friends T and H on my feelings. The two of them believe the story of the attacks with electromagnetic waves to be impossible, and even though I have data to support my theory, they do not want to believe that the “deceased” Bö is still alive and waging this war against me.
I don't understand why the neighbours don't come back down to talk to us about the problem. It is obvious that the downstairs neighbour is also traumatised by this, and with some kind of complaint, I am sure I could change my wife's mind about smoking in the house as well. Not that I haven't tried, I have asked her many times to go to the balcony to smoke, I now only smoke on the balcony because I know I was harming my neighbours. She replies that she wants to smoke sitting on the couch and be comfortable inside the house, she doesn't think the fumes bother these people, besides Bö is dead, why make such a big deal about it?
I also write to G's condominium contact, Ms. M, to inform her that the neighbours attack me with EMFs and ask why we have never received a complaint letter from the condominium administrator. I was sterilely told that they will conduct verifications with the tenants and let me know.
They'll let me know my ass. I never received any more response from the condo administrator, and meanwhile, the attacks continue to be carried out against me.
I always have the feeling of being spied on, it never leaves me. When I seldom sit in the living room to smoke, I imagine the Bö above me with a conical gun shooting its waves toward me. I repeatedly check the ceilings of the house for the hole from which he spies on me, but find nothing; I spend my time with the EMF recorder at my side intent on watching his numbers. I bought several of these devices, the first one I bought is an Erickhill RT - 100, it detects electric and electromagnetic fields, the display lights up red as soon as the detected information exceeds the guard parameters, the second device I bought is a GQ EMF 390.
Despite the devices I do not gain serenity, rather it is a swooping descent into the abyss. Why so much fury, why so much base and hidden violence against me? I already know the answer, it is the discussion the neighbours had in September 2023 with the condominium administrators, they want us out of the building and that's it, any means to get there is permissible even if it is to exercise violence and go against any law. Smokers will not be tolerated.
I'm still trying to move on or at least look at it. I think at the end of my regular unemployment I'm going to register with the job center and apply for a cloud engineer course, it's a growing field and I've always liked working with computers.

In May 2024 my ordinary unemployment ends so I start the registration paperwork at the job center, having achieved B2 level my old tutor still invites me to apply for other positions so I try the selection to work as a security officer for the Berlin airport. Alas, I do not pass the language tests, my German is not good enough.
In May 2024 my wife asks me to leave the house we live in. Either she moves out or I move out. She can no longer stay with me and therefore, becomes my ex-wife. Considering how things are going with the neighbours, I decide that I will be the one to leave the house, so I hope that the tormenting migraines will leave me and I start wandering around my friends' houses.
Between May 2024 and September 2024, I found asylum and lodging in several places:

By a friend that doesn't want to appear in this writing, near Lichtenberg
In Neukolln, 12051, at my friend P's house.
In Reinickendorf, 13407, a temporary lease for 2 months, July and August.

In all these places, I keep getting the damn electromagnetic waves, and as if the Bö followed me to these places as well.

During my stay at the first house, at the home of the man who doesn't want to be named, I decided to stop the drug treatment recommended by the psychiatrist, I find no relief or benefit in the therapy, I continue to have severe migraines and my limbs vibrate and shake at different times of the day, mainly at night when I go to sleep.
At this place I begin to hear the voice of the Bö talking to another lady. I am convinced that he has followed me to this domicile to continue the torture with EMFs and I do not understand why since I have now left B Strasse XX.
I share these thoughts with my friend, who invites me to go talk to the lady and clarify this. I go upstairs several times to Mrs. H, but I am never received, the door always remains closed, even though I am sure of the presence of someone in the house. One morning when we go grocery shopping, we see Mrs. H through the window looking at us, and on the way back from the supermarket, we try again to go and knock on her door, but we still get no response.
I am more and more convinced that Bö has followed me to this domicile. I stay hours on the balcony checking the street to see if he is coming or going out of the building. I have never seen him pass by.
I hear from my friend that someone is using a drill upstairs. I remember hearing drilling at both B Strasse XX and the Neukolln apartment, I get the idea that the Bö has machines that are capable of generating EMFs connected to the power grid of the apartments where I am through the adjacent apartments to perpetrate his torture, I am convinced that he has spoken in person with such neighbours (Ba in Neukolln, H, A in Reinickendorf, all apartments on the floor above where I stayed), I am convinced that in all these places there are holes in the floor that connect to the power grid of the apartment below.

In July 2024 I get in touch with a computer security company, Gehackt.de, I want to prove that my devices, cell phones and computers have been hacked. I cannot otherwise explain how they can follow me to all the places I stay and carry out torture.
A check of the applications available on the cell phones and computer is performed, the expert assisting me finds no security-threatening applications.
During the correspondence with this company, I am asked to send modem data in order to run a check on ip addresses and devices that have been connected to the router, also from this check, according to the expert, nothing relevant comes up. Some time later, I realize that emails are missing from the correspondence with this computer security firm, specifically those emails where I was asked to send the modem data and the checks they would perform. Upon my request for more information about the modem check, Gehackt.de replies that no check on the modem has been performed and that no request has reached them. I realise that I performed the modem data check with a third person, not from the security company I hired. The said person was able to operate on the router in my home and on the computers connected to the network, the entire time this fake check was going on. Not only that, whoever operated also managed to forge correspondence with the security company and meddle with communication in order to get me to share modem data with him.
After these checks, which were evidently unsuccessful given the false correspondence, I realize that the photo I took in December 2022, upon my first arrival at my new residence at B Strasse XX, where I was taking up the building's intercom because the surname Bö is too similar to my family nickname Bo, has been changed: instead of the name Bö on the intercom now appears Bu.
This photograph was sent around December 20, 2022 on Whatsapp on the Botza family chat from my number +4915781923576 and shared with my family members because of the similarity of the surname in the intercom with our nickname. In addition, the photo was automatically saved on Google Photos.
Whoever was helping the Bö carry out his operation had edited the photo on Whatsapp chat, on Google Photos and on my personal hard drive connected to the computer at home in B Strasse XX. After a check on my family members' phones they too confirm that they have the photo with the updated Bu version.
Bö had disavowed his name in order to continue the operation and delegitimize me in the eyes of my family members to whom I was telling the events I was experiencing.
Mentally noting these facts, I decide to go to the police and file the first complaint against him for hacking computer devices.
I try to tell the whole story to the police but I am not taken seriously, the officer gets impatient after 10 minutes of conversation and I am sent away from the police station. I am told that they have more urgent work to attend to.

They do, however, issue me the complaint sheet even though despite my repeated pleas, they avoid taking under custody the computer devices I wanted to leave with them: cell phones and computers, camera memory cards with photos of the anomalous EMF readings taken at the Berlin summer domiciles.
To get away from this stressful situation, I decide to go to a hotel for a couple of days. I book a room for a couple of nights at the Hotel Bohemia at Karl Marx Strasse 262 between August 4 and August 6. I wonder if it is possible that he can follow me to these places as well.
Incredibly at night I feel my body vibrate again and I seem to hear Bö's voice and what I am convinced at the moment is H. What are they doing in the middle of the night in the hotel room on the floor above mine? Did they also follow me into the hotel to perpetrate the now habitual torture? Incredulous at having to deal even in the hotel with my stalker and his method I turn to the front desk in the morning informing them that I am being followed by a stalker who is probably also inside the facility, I give his name to the guy at the front desk who reassures me that such a person has not taken any rooms.
I leave the hotel and take a trip to Neukolln to eat, I get a Sudanese dish with chicken and felafel, I have been a glutton for this pairing lately.
Time to get back to the hotel and the voices of Bö and H return.
I am incredulous, despite being assured that there is no such person in the hotel I hear them over me. I think that maybe it was Mrs. H who booked the room in her name, and I remember that I have not yet shown ID at the front desk. Perhaps Bö and his stalker companion have not presented such a document either. Since there is a police station within walking distance, I convince myself to show up there and file a stalking complaint, describe the affair to the assisting policewoman, and inform her that Bö has followed me to all the domiciles I have been to lately. The policewoman enters Bö's name into her system and comes up with a list of 20 calls made by him to the police. She activates one of these calls in front of me and Bö can be heard complaining to law enforcement because I smoke marijuana at home. Unfortunately for him, in Berlin it is legal to smoke in the house, the police can't do anything. The policewoman informs me that if I see the Bö around I can immediately contact law enforcement and they will promptly intervene.
After making the report, I go back to the hotel and the voices are repeated, I go outside the property and contact the police force, saying that my stalker is inside the Bohemia Hotel. The police officers quickly arrive, ask me a few questions, and come over to talk to the person on duty at the front desk. When they come out, they tell me that the person I indicated is not in the hotel and invite me to relax.
I wish I had been able to relax. I convince myself that the room was booked by H, a name I did not provide to the police, and since I complain that no one checked my ID, I am asked to show my passport.
I spent another night again disturbed by vibrations in my legs, in my back. I do not sleep well. The plan to relax, to sleep peacefully in the hotel did not work.

The next day, the day I check out of the hotel, I decide to wait for the two of them to leave the hotel, although I do not know H's face, I am sure I can recognise the Bö among a thousand people. I spend the whole day lurking under the trees near the hotel, checking the exit and only leave the area for 5 minutes to buy food and drink. No one comes out in the guise of the Bö. I am sure they are still in the hotel and do not want to leave. The policewoman who assisted me in making the complaint said that if I could take a picture of Bö in the vicinity of where I am, this could be used as evidence of stalking and be used in my favour, given the complaint I made.
I wait another day outside the hotel and in the evening make the acquaintance of an Albanian man staying there, a worker in the city's road construction sites.
I tell him why I am there, why I want to photograph this man. He kindly offers his assistance, invites me to enter the hotel with him, go up to the room above the one I occupy, the one where I believe the Bö is, break down the door and beat this man. I reply that I want to follow the rules, I want to make sure this man is brought to justice.
We kept talking about Germany all evening, had a few beers together, but I never stopped keeping an eye on the hotel door.
Late at night, finding me still there in the vicinity of the facility, he offers to sleep with him on the floor of his room.
Undecided what to do, whether to stay off the property again or accept the invitation, I head with him to the room. I spend the night sleeping on the floor with my ears wide open. The room is right next to the stairs leading to the reception area, if someone passes by, it takes me a few seconds to open the door and look who it is.
In fact, I am sure he is still in the hotel, I can hear him talking in the room above us.
No one in his likeness passes by, and early in the morning, as the Albanian sets off to work, I leave the hotel and return to my observation post near the building. I allow myself just a few minutes to go get something to eat at the gas station across the street, always without ever losing sight of the hotel door.
Mid-morning, I seem to overhear a phone call between the Bö and what I believe to be his investigator, the one who concocted this plan. Concerned about my presence not being able to leave the Hotel Bohemia freely, the investigator offered him to send someone to beat me up on the street to create a way out.
Concerned that I might be beaten up by a stranger, I notice the hotel's security cameras and place myself right under their frame. Using the secondary phone, the one I believe was not hacked, I sent an email to the police indicating my location and writing that I feel threatened. An Arab guy arrives and parks a rental car right next to me, gets out of it, looks around, and drives away talking on his cell phone. After a few minutes, two police vans loaded with officers arrived and pulled into the gas station parking lot. I greet them as happily as I ever have with law enforcement, and continue the operation of checking the entrance.
No one comes out looking like him; I continue to wait.
In the afternoon, my friend P comes up to see me; he lives five minutes from the hotel and knows that I am keeping an eye on the property to photograph the Bö exit.
He tries to talk me out of this plan, he knows I am days in this place and he doesn't believe my tormentor is there. But I am sure of it, I heard him above the room, and I still hear him, he is here somewhere, watching me.
I refuse P's offer to go back with him to his house, and after two beers drunk together, he leaves me alone again at my control operation.
I spent a sleepless night waiting for the miracle. A faithful companion of this experience is the strong migraine caused by the electromagnetic waves that never goes away.
I hold on and the third day of the vigil is done, merchants from neighbouring businesses begin to recognise me, I have been there long enough to have become part of the landscape. I hobnob with some of them and tell them the stalking story.
I seem to hear Bö and H's voices coming from the hotel's attic. I think they are looking for a way out through the neighbouring buildings.
I change my angle of observation, arranging myself at the intersection so as to keep an eye on the side street as well.
Another morning passes, P comes back to see me in the afternoon with a hair machine and a few beers, and asks if I can shade his head. I start cutting his hair on the street, in the blazing Berlin sun.
He tries again to convince me to go home, but I don't give in. Not yet. I am convinced that sooner or later the two of them will have to go out somewhere. So I wait.
I have waited three days outside the hotel, but no one in the guise of the Bö has come out. I have convinced myself that every day they extend their stay in the hotel by one more night to avoid being photographed. And I keep hearing their voices-the Bö and H are definitely there.
I spend three sleepless, wakeful nights around the Hotel Bohemia before I have to desist. I contact P and ask him if I can crash in his bed. He graciously agrees to my request. Of course, the sleep has not been restful; I am suddenly awakened by the usual migraine. I return to my temporary residence on the other side of town in Reinickendorf.
I have in fact found through Facebook a temporary rental solution, a room in a shared apartment for the months of July and August. Needless to say, even here the magnetic fields recorded by my instruments go through the roof, the migraines never leave me, and after some time spent in this apartment, I become convinced that Bö has contacted the upstairs neighbours, the A family, again. I imagine him telling them that I am a dangerous person because I am a smoker and for that reason, he is hunting me down. I can hear this discussion between him and the head of the family. I am sure he has visited this domicile as well.
Life goes on and because of this new lease, I have to make a new registration at the Jobcenter in Reinickendorf. Given the change of domicile, the talks started with the Jobcenter in Pankow are cancelled, I had already presented them with the intention of starting a cloud engineering course and they were enthusiastic about it.
To complete the application, I need a crucial document, the registration certificate of the new domicile. I made an appointment online and it is scheduled for 11/09/2024, ten days after the lease expires. German bureaucracy. Because of this timeline, I cannot get clearance to attend the course.

One has to wait for the official registration of the apartment.
I was not very comfortable in Reinickendorf, the house was disorganised and there was no one to talk to, for this reason I often split my time between my friend who doesn't want to be quoted and P's houses. I talked a lot with both of them about this matter, moreover, when the attacks with strong electromagnetic fields took place I was often in their company and neither of them had ever felt any effect on their bodies. This gave me reason to think about it. If the environment was being contaminated by these strong fields that generated my headaches, how was it possible that they were not receiving any torment? I could not explain it. They said that everything I was feeling was a figment of my imagination; after all, I was a psychotic patient and on medication. The instruments however, could not lie, I measured almost 700Volts per square meter most of the times.
I confronted several times with a cousin of mine, S, a signal expert with the Italian army, he is in charge of preparing signal jammers to prevent the activation of car bombs or explosive devices. He was somewhat puzzled by the images of the recordings I sent him, saying in fact that in domestic dwellings such levels of electromagnetic fields were almost impossible.
After all these migraines and the recordings made and sent through Telegram, I thought I should undergo another check-up. So I book in the second half of August a magnetic brain scan at the MRT Akademie at Fasanenstrasse 85 to see if everything was in order in my head.
I informed the doctors that I have been suffering from migraines for months and that I had undergone the same check-up in November 2023 at the Alexianer Berlin Weissensee Hospital, where no brain problem had been found.
Just before the scan starts, I feel something move in my head. As if a tiny object was moving from the head box toward the torso. After the scan, the doctor invites me to his office and informs me that he has found ischemia in the brain. I was not surprised by this, after all, I had been suffering this kind of attack for months, since at least February 2024 when I had been detecting large electromagnetic fields. The doctor invites me to see a Neurologist immediately.
The first thing that comes to my mind is to inform this merry band of their work and what they have done to me. I go into a copy shop and photocopy the medical report of the ischemia, add another sheet where I beg them to stop this torture and go to each of them. The first address I go to is B Strasse XX, to the Bö house. I still have the keys to the building, so I walk to the fourth floor and knock on his door. Of course, I get no answer but I know that they are inside the house. I deposit the letter in front of the door and go down one floor to wait for someone to open it. I stand at the side of Bo's apartment in the meantime waiting for someone to open the door on the fourth floor, and am again inundated with electromagnetic waves. As if rays are emanating from the Bo house, causing me yet another migraine. After about twenty minutes, someone opens the door on the fourth floor and picks up the letter, mission accomplished, first delivery made.
Later, I deliver the letter with the medical report to both Ba in Neukolln and H and A. It seems only fair that they know what this treatment is leading to.

As I moved from one part of Berlin to another between my new house in Reinickendorf, my friend who doesn't want to be quoted and P's house, I noticed other strange things. The maps of the transportation lines that were at the stops near my landmarks were absent, or rather had been detached. It wasn't that I didn't know my way around the city where I had lived 13 years, but I thought it was strange that all of a sudden these directions were missing. At the same time Google Maps was starting to freak out, giving wrong directions, making people take very long and inconsistent routes without respecting the logic of reaching the destination as quickly as possible. It happened like this on the day of the neurological examination. Appointment made at Dr. Ines Peglau, Friedrichstraße 235, Google Maps suggests I get off at Friedrichstrasse station and walk on. When I arrive at Friedrichstrasse, I realise that the distance separating me from the neurologist's office is sidereal. I will never be able to walk to her and arrive in time for the appointment. So I block a cab and give the driver the address. Doubting even the driver's Google Maps I watch the buildings dart by one after another and count the house numbers. When we arrive at number 235 I ask the driver to stop and say that we have arrived. He replies that from his Maps there is still a block of buildings missing. I interrupt him and ask him again to stop because we are at our destination.
I am sure of it, Bö does not want me to make the doctor's visit to the Neurologist and has put the hacker to work to confuse the Google Maps directions and try not to get me there.
Once at the Neurologist, I informed her that I have been subjected to strong electromagnetic fields for months and that, in my opinion, this has caused the ischemia. I do not find her very convinced of what I am telling her, she is impatient and looks nervously at her watch. Maybe she already wants to be somewhere else at that moment. She still writes down in the report what I am telling her and asks me if I take medication for these migraines. I am skeptical, to stop these migraines would require taking Bö off whatever damn electronic toy he and his gang have been using for months.
I informed the neurologist that I am not taking any medication, I don't believe in medication that much and before this experience, I have never had any other experience of such destructive headaches. She prescribes me a headache medication and a cardioaspirin to keep my blood pressure under control and makes me go away.
I had a long discussion about this ischemia with my parents. From the beginning I believed that this medical finding was due to repeated EMF exposures. They do not believe that one person can do as much harm to another human being as I am describing in these writings. Blessed trust in the human being.
As a result of these experiences, I received a visit to Berlin from my family members, my father and Aunt Angela came to see me worriedly. My friend who doesn't want to be quoted, who already knows them, offers to put them up at his house and goes to sleep over at his girlfriend's.
The first thing we do is to go look for Bö. Father has heard so much about him that, of course he wants to see him in person.
Once we get to the building that used to be my house, we all notice that the last name in the doorbell is Bu. Of course my father notices it too and points out that I've seen it wrong and that I don't remember things well. As if I can forget about the person who is making me pay for it.

Annoyed by the news, I try to counter that I am sure of what I am saying, that the original name in the bell was Bö and not Bu. Surely this was done to deflect my gathering of information on the matter.
My father rings the intercom, hoping to get an answer, but nothing, no one answers.
While I am there, I need to get some documents from the computer, I need to do my tax return and I need the documents saved in my folder. So I ring at my ex-wife's and go upstairs. She lets me into the study where she keeps the computer and has me search for the necessary documents. Incredibly, the very files I need are missing. I checked more than once but nothing. I am incredulous. I have downloaded these documents more than once from the company platform and I was sure I had stored them properly and instead, they are not there. Since I am there, I also check the external hard drive, I have the copy of the documents there and also a backup of all the photographs taken with the cell phones. To my amazement, I find neither the necessary documents nor the intercom photo with Bö's name on it. How is this possible? How did he make these documents disappear?
Empty-handed I leave my former home, no documents, no photo.
As soon as I leave the house, I communicate the discovery to my family members and I get the idea to turn to a business that is right next door, Datenrettung Berlin GmbH, which restores deleted data from hard drives. If there is a possibility of recovering such images and documents from the external drive, I have to try. A lot of dough flies with this operation and it takes at least 2 weeks before the technician can recover the data from the disk to pour it into a new one.
With no data and without having met Bö, we go home. It has been a hot and unsatisfying few days. We take a few trips together to Friedrichshain and have pizza with all my friends. My family members' visit lasts only a few days.
At the end of August 2024 I am still homeless for the next period. I discussed with H the possibility of sharing his apartment, but the fact that I spent all the time in his house checking EMF detectors worried him and finally made him desist from pursuing that option. I was without housing, the contract in Reinickendorf was expiring at the end of August. I was looking for other solutions on the Internet and asking acquaintances if they knew of some solutions, but I had no luck. I had no choice but to try with the new landlord. So I wrote to Mr. HM to ask him if there was any possibility of extending my stay in the apartment, and fortunately, he confirmed that the room was free and available. With the Jobcenter practice still in progress, at least this was good news, I could continue to stay there and at the same time pursue the Cloud Engineer course.
A few days before the end of August, Mr. HM tells me that the room is no longer available because he would have to give it to a friend of his in an emergency. Despite my obvious protests, he confirms that there is nothing he can do, he is unable to help me or offer me another solution.

In disbelief, I think that once again the Bö had a hand in it, either he or someone on his team bought Mr. HM off from giving me the room. Who knows what was reported to him.
Incredulous and without alternative solutions, I turn again to P: I inform him that the previously booked room was cancelled suddenly and that under these conditions I was obliged to return to Italy. P offers me asylum with him for a good week.
At his home, during the first week of September 2024, the magnetic wave attacks begin heavily again, I hear drilling in the adjoining apartment. I am convinced that the two tenants of the adjacent apartments have also been bought out and have left their homes available to Bö and his team. Sleeping is hell, it is not possible, I am sick all the time. I take pictures of disconnected devices from electrical outlets that give off electromagnetic fields between 600 and 700 V/m. Without power, they give off such high EMFs. I take photos and videos and send everything to my signal expert cousin, S. He replies that with those levels, I am lucky to have only encountered ischemia. All this happens when I am home alone, I showed the photographs to P but of course, he has no technical training to understand what those numbers meant. As I check the surfaces for other visible effects, I find one of those hooks that hold the cables attached to the ceiling on the floor. The same technique used in Brixener Strasse, it is as if they are looking for the power grid of the apartment below to pump the voltage of the grid and make it harmful.
I tried to sleep in this environment for several days in an insane way. I knew that they were purposely attacking me and that even in the P building, they managed to buy off the tenants. I bet they were all on vacation to allow the Bö team maximum freedom of movement. All united with one purpose: to kick me out of Germany.
The last few nights I spent in the park, leaving P's house at night, looking for a quiet corner to shelter under the trees and trying to sleep, albeit with the terrible vibration in my head, the one that almost certainly caused the ischemia. Sleepless and painful nights, my tormentors were making the best of it.
When the time comes to leave for Sardinia, I am almost relieved, finally free of these torments, I think.
But no, I keep hearing the voice of Bö and what I think is H. How is this possible? I get the idea that they are using my phone to spy on me, but mine is turned off. I'm on a plane, travelling, and I hear them. Unbelievable. I think they have the ability to move from one instrument to another, that they are watching me from the iPad of the passenger next to me. But how do they do it? What technology do they use? I spent the plane ride digging into my knowledge, trying to find a justification for these effects.
I am sure I am not crazy, it is not just any voice I hear, but that of the Bö and H, they are speaking in German. Can a psychosis speak a language that is not your own?
When I arrive in Sardinia, I throw myself into my parents' arms, I cry, I am afraid that these subjects will take me out with the snap of their fingers. I am 42 years old, and I have never experienced anything like this before. Sharing your mental space, your self, with two voices that are always speaking in a foreign language. I don't understand.

What can you do? You carry on, every day is a new day, you have no choice but to get back up.

I try not to listen to what is going on in my head and think about the moment I am living in.

I tell my parents and my doctor about all this. Unable to find any logic in what is happening, I rely on the knowledge of others, on experts.

My doctor advises me to go to the mental health centre, where I go willingly, hoping for a definitive solution. The psychiatrist who examines me also confirms the diagnosis: psychosis. I am prescribed Risperidone again, to continue the treatment I was undergoing in Berlin. 2 milligrams a day. Months of Risperidone, but it doesn't work. Bö in my head speaking German, him and the woman. Is it possible that I have psychosis with Bö's voice? That this man has traumatised me so much that I only hear him? I don't believe in psychosis at all, but to reassure my parents, given the stories I have told them, I am willing to take all the medication recommended to me. I have no other choice, I am unable to formulate a credible hypothesis.

Of course, the electromagnetic wave attacks continue in Sardinia. I talk to a friend of my father's who is an expert on the subject, and he dismisses the numbers I show him as impossible. He tells me that the device I use to take the measurements is definitely broken. I am who knows how many kilometres away from Berlin, but nothing has changed. The treatment my tormentors reserve for me is always the same.

Why? What do they want? I am no longer in that flat, I no longer smoke in their rooms, so why? The flat. That is what they want. They want to torture me until I break down and ask to cancel the lease on the flat. Psychopathic Nazi lunatics. He can't go to my ex-wife, who thinks he's dead, and tell her to stop smoking, otherwise she'll start to believe the stories I've told her. And I was rubbing my hands with glee at having left my ex-wife with Bö. I could just imagine him trying to argue with her to get her to stop smoking in the house. But no, the lie about his death has to hold up, the key to eliminating the problem is me, it's always been me.

Once I understood why, all that remained was to understand how.

It was a technique that left no traces, it was invisible, perhaps electromagnetic waves given my measurements, it passed through walls, it worked on planes, it caused physical torment. It occurs to me to start researching nanorobots and advanced medical technology. This is how I discover theragnostics, a medical discipline that uses radiopharmaceuticals to treat tumours, combining medical scans directly inside the body with drug treatment directed at the diseased cell. Researching further, I come across a Spanish website: 

laquintacolumna.net. 

I discovered research carried out on Covid-19 vaccines and the graphene technology contained in them. The Spanish website contains images of tiny microchips contained in Covid-19 vaccines, examined under an electron microscope, which are described as possible nanorouters.

Damn Bö! How far had he gone to solve his problem with smoking in the house? At that moment, a whole new world opened up to me: everything I had been through in the last year was because of this nanotechnology, from premature ejaculation with my ex-wife, to the kidney pain I experienced on 30 October 2023, to the repeated migraines that led to ischaemia thanks to a nanorobot emitting electromagnetic fields in my brain. A nanorobot inside my body that works on command, remotely, capable of emitting electromagnetic and electric fields, capable of moving inside my body, from one area to another, from one organ to another. Imagine the Nazi. That's why he never came back to talk to me, he had this technology at his disposal. Now I understand what he meant when he said he was going to ruin my life.

But that wasn't all. How could I explain the voices I heard? Given the proven existence of this technology, there had to be another one, not yet detected or officially recognised by any scientific research. A brain implant capable of transmitting images and sounds remotely and receiving audio. That was the only way to explain why he always knew where I was and why I constantly heard the sound of his voice and H's. Psychosis, I was told. If doctors were more informed about the evolution of science, many would not be labelled as such.

In my mind, I went back to the first and only time I met him on the stairs, at the end of February 2023. He had been conducting this operation against me since at least March 2023. He had been watching my life since that moment and playing with it. Glued to a screen and conducting his operation. I realised that H was not who I thought he was. Over time, I realised that this other female voice I heard in my head was a translator working for him. Unable to understand Italian, he had hired someone to translate for him.

I apologise, Mrs H, for thinking you were in my head.

I had finally understood the magnitude of the operation this group had set up to take my home away from me: technology unknown to ordinary mortals, torture, a translator, a computer hacker to manage my devices, an expert who manoeuvred the nanorobot inside my body on a daily basis, and perhaps a supervisor of the entire operation, someone convinced that they knew human nature well enough to assess the reactions of the tortured person on duty and apply the right amount of pressure to get what the person who commissioned the operation wanted. Germany hadn't changed since Nazism; they were still dangerous madmen.

The idea that there was a group of people in Europe who tortured human beings for a living was new to me. We talk about regimes in the Middle East, Assad's and Saddam's prisons, but I was in the heart of civilised Europe, where policies of dialogue had created the Eurozone, a place where millions of migrants want to go.

Thinking back on what had happened to me, their voices in my head, the torture I had endured, I was filled with rage. They had taken everything from me and made me suffer like a dog.

All this fuelled me. Me against the Nazis. They could knock my teeth out, but I would never give them what they wanted, and a dispute that could have been resolved with a single letter now held four families in a building in check.

With this new level of awareness, it was easier to deal with the emotional stress and physical pain caused by the torture. There were at least three people constantly trying to ruin my life, maybe four. It took a lot of effort on their part to keep doing what they were doing. What's more, Bö has been locked up in his office for years, dedicating his life to destroying mine. I couldn't help but be happy about the attention he constantly showed me. He made me feel important; at least to one person in this world, I was important. If they were so intent on torturing me even from a distance, now that I was in Sardinia, it meant that they had no tools to use against my ex-wife, who still lived there.

I imagined that these people are used to working with subjects who can't wait for the torture to end, so they usually get what they want right away. Who knows how many couples they have ruined in their careers? But with me, they picked the wrong subject. I am driven by revenge. I don't care about being tortured. I want to make them all pay for thinking they could solve the problem this way. They decided to lie to my ex-wife, they organised themselves to make me look psychotic and crazy, they continued to torture me despite causing me ischaemia, they made my own family doubt my mental health. I have decided to dedicate my life to them, I will make them understand that I am not the solution, day after day.

With this state of mind, I passed September 2024. It must already be cold in Berlin, while here in Sardinia it is still hot, so much so that I still go to the beach.

My friend B and I often go to one of the most beautiful beaches in Sardinia, Berchida. This is an area subject to landscape restrictions, you cannot build for miles. Mobile phones don't work in this area, there's no signal, so after my research into the technology contained in Covid-19 vaccines, I think it's an area where I can isolate myself from the connection of these nanomachines inside my body.

I am wrong again, the connection is there too, I can hear Bö and the translator in my head. They never stop talking, damn it. There is no part of the world where this technology does not work. It worked in Brazil, Germany, Italy, always connected. It occurs to me that perhaps Berchida is covered by the signal for law enforcement devices. I think it transmits on frequencies that are not those of mobile phones but are present in the area. Or perhaps there is a satellite connection activated for this brain implant. I have no scientific basis for understanding how connection technologies work.

I come to the conclusion that only a Faraday cage can disconnect this system from the network and from the people connected to the other side. I discuss the matter with my father, building a Faraday cage in my room to ensure a safe place to sleep. No way, says my father, he thinks it's a crazy idea.

I spent September 2024 with tremors throughout my body caused by the theranostic nanorobot. I read all the articles available on the website laquintacolumna.net and discovered the interesting research by Dr Campra, who analysed random samples of Covid-19 vaccines and confirmed the presence of graphene in them. This research naturally obsesses me. I want to understand what is available to the public and on the internet.

Towards the end of October 2024, for my birthday, I decided to return to Berlin, taking advantage of the last cheap direct flights. I intend to take at least one suitcase of my belongings and the necessary documents.

The unfortunate person hosting me this time is my French friend A, my old colleague from my days at Booking.com, with whom I had shared many experiences and who is a really nice guy.

A lived in Eberswalde, a town 40 minutes by train from Berlin, which was ideal for my needs. He lived on the top floor of an apartment building where I had never met anyone during my previous visits. Adrien has now moved to another part of Germany for work.

When I arrived, A told me that he had had new neighbours for a few months, right in the flat next door.

We spent Saturday morning relaxing at his place until work began in the neighbouring flats, both the one where the new neighbours live and the one behind Adrien's living room, in the adjoining building.

To my utter amazement, and knowing the German rules, I wonder what they are doing on a Saturday morning.

It immediately occurred to me that my tormentors are building the cage that emits electromagnetic waves around A's living room, where I will be spending my nights during my stay, as they had already done at P's house.

I go out to smoke on the balcony, visibly nervous, the reason for which A does not know, and I meet a group of three workers on the neighbouring balcony, that of A's new neighbours. They are all smoking and wearing blue overalls, they look at me as if I were the reason for their work there and it seems to me that they are laughing. I cannot imagine what awaits me.

As I said, my intention was to pick up the things I needed to return to Sardinia, but also to take advantage of the opportunity to celebrate with my friends.

I arrive there on the eve of my birthday, so after a round of messages and calls, I organise the usual group of friends to meet up in Berlin.

We party in bars, drink and share news with each other.

I have faded memories of that evening. I hadn't taken any drugs, just beers, and I thought I could keep going for hours like that, but it seems I fell asleep in a bar at 1 a.m.

I had the feeling that someone had pressed the “sleep mode” switch and put me to sleep. I had a similar reaction in the summer with P: we shared a little MDMA and I went to sleep incredibly quickly, while P didn't sleep all night.

I thought that the brain implant is capable of altering sleep and wake cycles, and that these people interacted in one way or another according to their needs.

My birthday party was therefore sleepy. I remember that my friend who doesn't want to be quoted wanted to go dancing, but many clubs were closed, and the only one we found open wouldn't let us in.

We woke up together at my friend who doesn't want to be quoted house, which often served as a dormitory for me and A after long Saturdays in Berlin. Near his house is Berlin Lichtenberg station, which offers a direct connection to Eberswalde, where A lives, so in the morning we went home.

That night at my friend house who doesn't want to be quoted was the last night I managed to sleep during this trip. I spent the following nights unable to close my eyes.

Six nights in a row without sleep, with the usual two voices in my head, Bö and the translator, morning and evening, a well-calculated psychological torture. I felt as if my brain was being electrified continuously, just enough not to hurt but enough to prevent the natural sleep cycle.

Not a minute of sleep in six nights. It wasn't humanly possible, there was something in my body that was affecting me to such an unnatural extent.

The night before my departure for Sardinia, I had everything ready, my bags packed, my documents in order, my clothes organised. At around 10 p.m., I was unexpectedly seized by convulsions, my body responding to the lack of sleep with a violent crisis. A picked me up and threw me into the shower fully clothed, doused me with hot water and tried to calm me down by telling me that the water would help my body relax. He was convinced of it. Unfortunately, it didn't work completely, and after the hot shower I was still suffering from severe convulsions on the air mattress in his living room.

He asks me if I want him to call an ambulance, I gladly accept his advice, and an ambulance comes to pick me up a few minutes later. I am taken to Eberswalde Hospital, where I explain that I haven't been able to sleep for six days and that, due to severe migraines in the past, I was diagnosed with ischaemia in August 2024.

I undergo yet another brain scan, the results of which I will not receive at the time of discharge, after which I am sedated.

I only manage to sleep for a few hours, and at 4 a.m. I am awake again due to the electric shock to my brain, which I will eventually get used to. Given my condition, I try to ask the nurse on duty for yet another sedative, in the hope that I will be able to sleep again.

The nurse gives me another sedative and I try to sleep, at least I try.

It is not possible. My torturers release this slight electric field into my brain, making it impossible for me to close my eyes again.

I spend my days in bed with the GQ EMF 390 electromagnetic wave meter. I am not sure I can explain this theory to the doctors.

I told them that I consumed cannabis at A's house and that I was registered as a psychiatric and psychotic patient because of this use and that I take psychotropic drugs. I have always slept like a happy baby after smoking cannabis, this is the effect of the devices in my body, but if I expose my theory to them, they will label me even more as psychotic.

I spend three days in hospital, where I am not given any further tests. My sleep problem persists, and I sleep four hours a night. When I ask for yet another sedative to help me sleep longer, I am told that I have already been given the maximum daily dose and am invited to talk to my psychiatrist to resolve my sleep problems.

When I am discharged, my return ticket to Sardinia is ready. I spend my last night at A's, where I manage to sleep for a few hours, and in the morning I head to the airport. The voices of Bö and the translator are always with me. I stop over in Rome and change planes for Olbia. Finally, I am home again. Once again, I am in tears in my parents' arms, understanding the capabilities of this organisation.

I try to get back into a routine once I'm home: I take an online course on energy resource management that keeps me busy with two to four lessons a week, I go to the Mental Health Centre where I share stories of these tortures and the voices talking in my head, I explain to my psychiatrist the theory of graphene in vaccines and the power of this technology. These are futile attempts, as conventional medicine has marked this topic as taboo, given that all drug agencies have denied the presence of this material in vaccines.

I am alone against an organisation that has infinite capabilities and torments me every day on commission.

My torturers have meanwhile abandoned electromagnetic waves, perhaps after causing me ischaemia, they have had a change of heart. However, they have found another way to harm me: sleep torture. As soon as I lie down in bed to fall asleep, the theranostic nanorobot kicks in, connecting to some nerve in my body and causing widespread tremors in various parts, mainly my legs. Try falling asleep with a leg that vibrates. So from 10/11 p.m. until 3 a.m., they prevent me from sleeping. This has been going on for three months straight. I spend my nights with my eyes close, trying to rest, but falling asleep is impossible, and I only manage to do so when my torturers stop, late at night.

I share this information with my parents, my psychiatrist and my doctor. They ask me if I want to take medication to help me sleep. I have never needed medication to sleep; it comes naturally to me when I am tired. I refuse medication to help me sleep and carry on naturally. These are sleepless nights; I sleep 4-5 hours a night if I am lucky. My legs vibrate continuously when I try to fall asleep. It feels as if the nanorobot connects to my spinal column to touch the nerve endings that reach my legs, and that's where the tremor comes from.

What cheers me up is that on the other side of the connection is the whole group: Bö, the translator, the big boss who is leading the operation, and I think also the physiologist who knows which nerves to touch with the nanomachine. If I don't sleep, they don't sleep either. Three months like this, with these voices in my head. Bö asks several times when I will give in to the torture, and the head of the operation replies that it will all be over soon. As I said, we spend three months like this. They expect me to start whining and asking them to stop. They have no idea how much I hate them.

It's not just the night-time tremors, they manage to make me collapse four times during this period, I lose consciousness and faint on the floor several times. Just before this happens, I feel like a bubble bursting in my brain and suddenly I lose consciousness. Every time I wake up on the floor with my limbs shaking uncontrollably. This also happens in front of my friend B, who is concerned and offers to call an ambulance several times. Every time I refuse this option, I know full well that it is the group that has caused this reaction and every time I recover within 10 minutes. Besides, they have already sent me to the hospital too many times, I already know that the doctors cannot find this technology and would not believe my stories.

During one of these torture sessions, Bö informs me that I have a tumour. I have already read that theranostic nanorobots are used to perform medical scans, and I have been a smoker for over 20 years, so I am not surprised. Of course, I don't know whether to believe it; it could be something said to scare me and cause further psychological pressure.

At my first appointment with my family doctor, I share this information, which she simply dismisses as part of my ongoing psychosis. I try to request tests to check for a possible tumour, but they are refused.

Needless to say, this kind of attention and torture has exponentially increased the number of cigarettes I smoke. I smoke a lot because I am always nervous, and I am always nervous because I am always being tortured.

Morning wake-up sessions also begin: the nanorobot is placed on the palm of my hand and emits a strong electromagnetic field. I find myself waking up repeatedly at 5 a.m. with a strong tingling sensation where the radiation occurred.

Endless torture. In this context, I organise myself and write my first letter to the German secret services. I inform them that one of their fellow citizens has been carrying out an operation of torture for about three years using the technology contained in the Covid-19 vaccines, consisting of a theranostic nanorobot and a brain implant, with the aim of extorting the apartment where my ex-wife lives. I provide them with all my contact details, but so far, at the time of writing about this experience, I have never received any feedback from them.

At least during the course hours, the people connected to the brain implant avoid talking and let me follow the lessons in peace. Outside of these moments, the group is always connected to this implant, commenting on my interactions with other people, Bö asks questions and the translator translates for him. Bö is learning Italian in the meantime, by having things translated for him, he is learning the basics of my language. He is connected to this device from early in the morning, as I said, he wakes me up at dawn, and remains connected until I go to sleep. This is the effort he puts into trying to free up our flat. Every now and then, in the place where he is, which I believe is the room above my old office, his wife comes in to inform him that my ex-wife smokes marijuana. During one of her visits while her husband is on surveillance duty, she informs him that my ex-wife has another man.

I'm not at all surprised that my ex-wife has another man. After the treatment I received from Bö, with shocks to my penis to simulate premature ejaculation, she'll want to have some fun. I really hope he is also a smoker. I am glad that Bö has not solved any of his problems by kicking me out, and I also hope that this man does not have the same technology in his body as I do, so that he cannot repeat the operation performed on me.

From January 2025, they also launch another type of attack: using electromagnetic pulses, they infect the hair follicles in my armpits, causing cysts and infected areas to form around the follicles. These operations, repeated every 10 days, cause infections in the armpit area. I have wounds in my armpits that expel infected fluid on a daily basis.

My dermatologist writes: 'For about two months, there has been the appearance of inflamed subcutaneous nodules in the armpit area, with the subsequent formation of a fistulous tract and discharge of purulent material. The patient reports similar, less severe episodes in the groin folds. Diagnosis of hidradenitis suppurativa'.

I am undergoing a 12-week treatments of Bassado, an antibiotic, but there has been no improvement in the armpit area. In fact, my tormentors continue to irradiate the hair follicles at intervals of 7-10 days between treatments so that my armpit wounds cannot heal. Living through the coming Sardinian summer, with maximum temperatures of up to 45 degrees during the hottest periods, with this underarm problem is not the best thing in the world.

I feel the nanomachine moving from one side of my armpits to the other, passing from one hair follicle to the next, and once it finds the right follicle, it lights up for a few moments and emits the electromagnetic field that will inflame the hair follicle. Not only that, but the nanomachine travels kilometres inside my skull, following every ridge of my brain, rotating countless times inside this vital space that was once mine alone and has now become this organisation's playground. How many times has this happened in these three years of torture! Imagine feeling an object moving inside your skull and knowing that these movements are controlled by a scientist who has studied for years to the point where his studies serve to satisfy an old man who wants to torment his young neighbour, a troublemaker who has not been resolved through conversation. God, what a fate I have been dealt.

I am only alive to endure this torture and make my tormentors pay dearly, so I am glad that my ex never received a visit from this man asking her to stop smoking. If he cannot inform her because the lie of her death must remain intact, then I will do everything I can to make this period last as long as possible, and so be it if I cease to live. I am now motivated by infinite hatred and therefore ready to continue this confrontation with Bö for as long as it takes, even if it lasts my whole life.

With this new type of torture, lack of sleep at night, sudden early morning alarms and heart attacks, we will go on all winter until spring. I am committed to not giving this group any satisfaction. I feel like those boxers who take blow after blow but never go down. It is an epic struggle against an invisible but not silent enemy. Their conversations in this live chat take place directly inside my head.

Every time I think about how much time Bö is dedicating to torturing me, ruining my life, and getting our flat vacated, how many people are busy on the other side assisting him, I find enjoyment in it and am reminded of Georg von Frundsberg's motto, “many enemies, much honour”. I have to do everything I can to motivate myself and try to get excited about even the little things.

I had to give up many small things, such as thinking about finding a new partner because they would have carried out the testicle shock move again to ruin any new relationship. Playing sports was not possible; on several occasions, when I went running alone or played football with friends, they directed the nanomachine into my lungs to create pressure and cause me to have reduced breathing capacity, which led to breathing crises. Even on the rare occasions when I tried to masturbate, they electrified my testicles.

They were vigilant 24 hours a day, they didn't miss a single detail of my life and, thanks to the translator, they understood everything. I also had to be careful how I spoke or expressed myself, as any sign of weakness would be exploited by them.

On 29 April 2025, at around 11 p.m., as I lie in bed, they connect to the device again. There is Bö, the translator, the detective and a new voice. I feel a slight discomfort in my groin and realise that they are checking the area where the tumour should be. I think the new voice belongs to an oncologist. After the scan performed by the theranostic nanorobot, the oncologist says I have 10 months left. Bö is panicking, perhaps realising that his plan to extort my apartment will not succeed. There is too little time, and I still show an iron will not to give my torturers what they want.

I am equally surprised. I have not had the opportunity to have any tests done because my doctor refused to allow them, and now I am being told by a German oncologist how long I have left to live. I am determined to fight to the end. You will never take my home away from me, not while I am still alert.

I thought that after this check-up, my tormentors would stop torturing me, given the doctor's response, but it is a false hope.

I continue to be woken up early in the morning, around 5 a.m., and the meetings in my head continue, with three, sometimes four or even five people all talking at once using the connection to my brain implant. When these moments happen and I am with other people, I fall silent, trying to understand what is being said inside my head and isolating myself from the real world. They always comment on what I do, exchange opinions, and never remain silent.

This also happens the first few times I go to the beach between the end of May and the beginning of June 2025. They spend their time talking to each other in my head in German. Germans in general do not seem talkative when you see them, but those who connect to my brain implant have the ability to talk for hours, and in the real world, all I can do is remain silent, overwhelmed by the vast amount of information passing through my head.

In May 2025, I pluck up the courage to share this story: I write to Maurizio Martucci, an independent journalist who runs the Oasi Sana website, collaborates with Casa del Sole TV and investigates the applications of new technologies. After some time, he replies and shares with me research carried out in Italy on the subject

https://oasisana.com/2022/06/30/ricerca-shock-benzi-cipelli-grafene-nel-sangue-degli-inoculati-ora-indaghi-la-magistratura/

It seems to me that 2+2=4. Discovering that there is research on the magnetic properties of graphene, its ability to communicate on certain frequencies, confirms that everything I have experienced is more than real. Part of society is investigating this technology but does not know the real implications, not as I have experienced and known them.

Continuing to read these pages, I come into contact with activist Claire Edwards, owner of the following page.

https://forlifeonearth.weebly.com/graphene-oxide-information.html

I contact her directly and describe the story centred on Bö. To my great pleasure, she replies with ‘I believe you’, a relief I did not think possible at this stage.

This gives me more strength, so over the following days I write to all the German newspapers with a brief account of the torture carried out by one of their fellow citizens for the extortion of the flat. I have not yet received any response to these letters. The mainstream media is far removed from this type of news; no one considers the vaccine to be a real weapon, as is done on these sites I have found.

There is no point in giving up. Thanks to the encouragement given to me by Edwards, I am writing this text and reworking the events I have experienced more than once. Everyone has the right to know what has been inoculated into us.

We are now at the end of June 2025, and the live chat meetings have continued until now. They have never said anything important, as usual they comment on my actions and count the cigarettes I smoke during these moments. There are mainly two of them, Bö and the translator, occasionally joined by the torturer or investigator and sometimes the head of operations. They talk to each other, knowing full well that I can hear them. They know what they are doing, they know they are torturing me, and they repeat these actions consistently. Whoever offered him this solution told him that people get tired and give in. Fortunately, there is cancer. I intend to go out with a bang and give nothing to this group of Nazis. After me, it will be my ex-wife's turn, but I am preparing the ground to make any attempt at attack risky for them. They are not capable of solving problems with words, so I assume that when I disappear, they will try to influence my ex with attacks similar to Havana Syndrome, strong electromagnetic fields to cause sleep loss, headaches, mood swings and who knows what else. I don't think anyone has kept them busy for so long, poor Bö. They had promised him a quick solution to the problem, but instead, he met me. Over the years, he has got to know me. He already knows that I won't give him anything. He already said so during his conversations via the brain connection.

He's afraid I'll come looking for him, he knows that what he did is beyond the limits of acceptable behaviour, and I think he's read enough about my culture to know that certain things are paid for with your life in my part of the world. He's not the only one who's afraid, I think his wife shares this feeling with him. I'm tempted to take back possession of my flat in Berlin just to be close to him and make him sweat. I could break down his front door with a crowbar, squeeze his neck tightly and enjoy his last breath. I've thought about it several times in recent months. If I can't get him, I'll get his wife and repay him in kind. You took my wife away from me, and I'll take yours away from you. Revenge is always sweet. However, there are different ways to exercise it, and so far I have chosen to do so through my ex-wife, who is a smoker. I am sure that her Brazilian soul is not very welcome among these quiet old Nazi Berliners. They have been torturing me for years, and I have been in Italy for a year and a half, so I am pretty sure that my ex-wife's lifestyle is not appreciated by my former neighbours, given the duration of this remote torture via telematics. It is not as sweet as squeezing their necks, but I am sure that every winter, they think of me and curse my resistance and stubbornness, as well as my ex-wife.

Lost in these thoughts of revenge, we arrive at the day of regret. They all connect to the device and begin to apologise and express their regret to Bö. At least five people expressed their regret to him because the attacks did not work. Could it be that the team of torturers has stopped to let me live out the last months of my life in peace? I have already seen enough from them to know that there is no room for illusions. They work tirelessly to achieve one thing and have never shown a shred of humanity. After all, those who carry out torture are not human. However, in the following days, I notice the absence of the usual discussions in my head caused by the brain implant; they have finally fallen silent. There is no more noise in my head.

I am under no illusions; they have simply lowered the volume of their communications. I know that the old man is always spying on me and watching what I watch, even as I write this text on the computer. The morning alarms continue, not constantly, but a couple of times a week, just to let me know that he is present and watching, not forgetting that my right armpit is on fire and releases a mixture of pus and blood every day. He has given up his freedom to carry out this mission, so I know very well that until the day I die, or he dies, he will be glued to the screen watching what I watch.

The ironic thing about this situation is that he has been paying for this service since February/March 2023. There will be dozens of payments made through his bank account to finance this operation, and the translator has to be paid monthly. He will even deduct the costs of these services from his tax return, under the heading “torture to my neighbour”. Similarly, there are payments for holidays, hotels and trips for the Ba family. They are so sure that they will never be investigated by the police for these acts that they do everything in the open air. What does it take to lie and say that he has been taking Italian lessons for over a year? Does he have his notebook? Has he practised the grammar of my language? Are there sheets with writing exercises?

What is certain is that I do not forget, and I have come to understand all this over the past three years. Let's move forward with curiosity. What will come next? What other part of my body will they target after my brain and armpit? Like a boxer, I take the blows.

I am just a target for them; they have never shown a shred of humanity. The mere fact that they think they can shatter a relationship between two people speaks volumes about the intentions, capabilities and professional coldness of this group.

So we come to July 23rd. I changed jobs three times over the summer. First, I worked as a receptionist at a campsite for about ten days. However, when I requested a day off, I was informed that I was not a welcome employee and was asked to leave. My second job was for a company that manages about sixty apartments in the San Teodoro area. The hours were gruelling: I had to get up at 5 a.m. to leave at 6 a.m. and then return home at 6 p.m. I travel daily between Nuoro and San Teodoro, where the houses are located. Here, too, I work as a receptionist, welcoming arriving guests, registering their documents, and collecting payment. Unlike my previous job, here I have to check that the apartments meet the company's standards, tidy them up, and clean them if necessary. After two weeks of this impossible pace, I contact a hotel on the Costa Smeralda that is looking for reception staff, and incredibly, I am hired after a telephone interview. My experience at Booking.com, combined with my language skills, is immediately appreciated. My third job is at a 4-star hotel, where my colleagues are calm, kind, and very helpful. They patiently explain the numerous functions of the hotel management program to me and train me to perform the tasks that follow one another throughout the day.

The Bö and the translator are connected throughout all these experiences; the person in charge of managing the theranostic nanorobot is also active during this period, and my work uniforms are constantly stained with the liquid that leaks from my right armpit.

In this context, I come to the decision that the time has come to take my revenge. I can no longer bear to suffer these tortures knowing who is perpetrating them and knowing where he lives. It occurs to me to return to Berlin. At the end of the summer season at this hotel, I will return to Germany and take back possession of my home. I still have to decide how to share this information with my ex-wife. Should I kick her out of the house and take possession of it for a year, or simply ask to use the living room as my bedroom? My dream is to meet Bö on the street, but I know he watches everything I do and will never let himself be found. Will he stay locked up in his house like a rabbit, or will he be threatened by my presence and move away while I am in Germany? Now that I am aware of the technology they use, would I be able to explain it to the police? Or should I file a complaint through a lawyer, telling him the whole story? I am sure that the organisation would intervene in defence of Bö, I know what to expect, but I am ready to share my research with the police. Besides, these are the last months of my life, I have to make the most of them. They have to shit blood for the last months I breathe.

It becomes a priority to work as long as possible to set aside the resources necessary to do all this. So I arm myself with patience and decide to work to the best of my ability. I have about three months of work here in Sardinia, living in a hotel with no expenses, and I am offered meals every day.

The Costa Smeralda area is disproportionately expensive; a pizza can cost up to 30 euros depending on where you go to eat. It becomes almost impossible to go out for a beer, firstly because I have afternoon and night shifts, as I have to learn the duties of the night porter, whom I am supposed to replace on his day off, and secondly because the few contacts I have in the area are also working, and it is difficult to meet up.

It's July 25, 2025, 3 a.m., Bö and the translator are still connected to the device, I've just finished my shift at the new hotel where I'm working, and I've gone back to writing on my computer. These are hectic days. I am learning how to work in a hotel, learning the tasks necessary to perform my role to the best of my ability, and dealing with a rather complex room management program. The couple connected to the brain implant is with me all day and will not go to sleep until I do. Yesterday, we stayed up together until 4:30 in the morning.

I am looking for a German lawyer specialising in crime so that I can report this story to the police, and on the other side of the connection, they are very attentive to everything I write and say.

Unfortunately, I cannot prove in court that they are using the technology I have described. I only have medical evidence of cerebral ischemia found in an eight-month interval between checkups, and I can only accuse the whole group of injuries. The hope is to direct the police to the agency that offered this solution to my torturer and put some pressure on them to demonstrate the despicable methods they use to assist their clients.

The name of the first investigator who was present at the end of August 2023 at Bö's home together with the G agency employee is on file with the real estate agency, which will certainly have drawn up a report of the meeting.

The payments made by Bö to this agency/company are all on his bank account and can easily be traced back to the company. What service did this company offer its clients? How did they help him? I wonder if they will be able to track down the doctors who tortured me and who are certainly on their payroll. Why does an investigation company have doctors on its payroll? I hope they can comb through every last detail. After all, they succeeded in their plan, evicting me from my home and from Germany. Of course, the translator translated all this for them. Am I the first case in the world of a client who has no guarantee of confidentiality with his lawyer? Who knows what a deathly silence there will be in my head when I find the right person and can finally explain the case to him. I have already prepared a file with part of this story translated into English to send. In fact, I have already sent a few requests and, of the lawyers I contacted, only one has replied. You have to pay a fair amount of money to pursue the complaint.

Maybe it will all end up like the other complaints, going nowhere, but I am firmly convinced of what I am experiencing and I have to continue on this path. As I said, I will show them that I am not the solution to their problems. All I need to do is prove that they caused damage to my brain with unconventional weapons to create a precedent and ensure that they don't lay a finger on my ex-wife.

This could trigger a series of complaints and counter-complaints. They could formally accuse my ex-wife of causing cancer to all the neighbours. It would be a very long lawsuit that would affect everyone's personal rights. Are you free to smoke in your own home or not? Why isn't there a clause in the condominium regulations? This would expose the poor building conditions of most Berlin apartments, which are built of wood and poorly insulated, and might cause the rental prices of such properties to collapse.

Throughout this whole story, consumed by hatred for what I had experienced, I was forgetting one possible player in this scenario: the real estate agency G, the one that rented me the house. What if this investigative agency, this group of people connected to the device described so far, who are carrying out this torture, had been hired by the real estate agency? After all, it would be up to them to solve the tenants' problems. Is it possible that they are behind providing these services to Bö? That they authorise and finance an operation of this kind against their own problematic tenants to kick them out? Surely it is them that the police should turn to first, they have the reports of the tenants' complaints, they have received the requests to have us evicted from our homes. The police know that because of Bö's countless calls, they couldn't solve his smoking problems. There is no law against smoking at home, so it's clear that he had to turn elsewhere to find a solution. Furthermore, if this service were offered directly by G agency, there would be no payments made from Bötze's account to a company specialising in security and problem solving, but the cost of this three-year operation would be borne by the real estate agency that is seeking a solution for its annoyed tenants.

A quick check on the internet reveals that this company had a turnover of a lot of money in 2019, which I think is large enough to finance operations of this kind and protect the interests of its tenants.

Rather than thinking that Bö is shelling out thousands of euros to finance all this, it is more logical to think that G agency is behind this plan. It is ironic to think that the money my ex-wife pays in rent is used to pay the salaries of my tormentors.

So, from March 2023, with the approval of the agency that rents me the apartment, the operation to evict me from my home will begin, in reality, to evict us both. They are so powerful that they can afford to use these techniques on their tenants; they have such high-level connections that they have access to technologies unknown even to the police. Another reason to be proud of myself.

Every day I discover something new. It was incredible to think that Bö alone had commissioned such work. Too many families were involved in a building they owned, not to think that they were involved in the whole affair. After a year of suffering these tortures, I wondered who was above him and who was manoeuvring the whole operation. This is all an internal operation within G agency.

This explains the change of surname from Bö to Bu on the doorbell. Their intervention has always been providential in terms of assistance. Did they draw up a new rental contract? Fortunately, the calls to the police were made using his original name, and the switchboard will also have recorded the address. There were about twenty calls made, so it is clear that he wanted to eliminate the problem once and for all, and it is logical to assume that, without the intervention of the police, he turned to someone else. The change of surname was a summary attempt at help, but it can always be verified that it was him who called, even from his voice.

The translator has been on the payroll since July 2024, but I don't know who is paying her yet. Will G agency pay? Will the doctors who carried out the torture also be on the payroll? All these people who worked on my case should be paid; they devoted a lot of time to me. It will be a lot of work for the police to come through G's agency payment records to find the people who worked on my case. How much will three years of torture cost? Will the Ba family also be in their accounting books? HM from Reinickendorf? Everything is done in the open, with an invoice or receipt issued for tax purposes. As normal as drinking coffee in the morning.

Fortunately, I worked in a large company, so I know that such a company is divided into specific departments. There must be a special department dedicated to solving problems created by problematic tenants, just like me and my ex-wife. My case is handled by this office, just as I handle hotel reservations. This office settles the accounts of all these characters, named and unnamed, that I mention in my story. This is where the payments to everyone who worked on my case originated. The circle is closing in on my tormentors. Now that I have reached this point, I cannot rule out the possibility that they may decide to eliminate me with a snap of their fingers. 

Why not write in the condominium regulations that smoking is prohibited in the apartments? It would be easier than conducting a violent operation of this kind against one of their tenants.

I am very satisfied with the silence that now reigns in my head. They no longer speak; my German friends have fallen silent. Even understanding who the great enemy is fills my heart with joy, I know whose ass to go after. I contacted them myself to ask for their help, and they replied that they would let me know. Who knows how much they laughed while I was asking for help, and they continued to torture me. Sadists. It would have taken very little to avoid all this, but confident in their considerable resources, they didn't think twice about torturing a man.

With so many specialists available, I don't understand why they left this operation in Bö's hands. They could have found much more qualified personnel to handle an operation of this type. Was it because we were close by and he wanted the satisfaction of destroying me? Or was it because he had enough free time to devote to monitoring me? It takes a long time to carry out an eviction operation of this kind, and he had enough time. The error of causing ischemia was certainly his doing, and it would be the basis for this complaint. With everything else, we can build a mega case around it.

Well, another point to discuss with my lawyer, a lot of work for the police.

Now, we need to think about how to prove their involvement in the whole affair.

The search, like the unequal struggle, continues.

My ex-wife will never be stopped by this story or by my death from cancer; the agency's hopes for redemption will surely be dashed. They'll be forced to comply with their client's demands, which will require more decisive action. Therefore, I feel compelled to limit their scope of action as much as possible.
I want to make things clear: I'm the first to recognise the harmfulness of smoking; I'll experience it firsthand. I know how wrong it is to smoke in an environment like the one in the apartment on B Strasse XX, where the smoke seeped into other apartments. I can't stand the way this situation was presented to me. The pettiness of the plan, the rape carried out on my body. The anger accumulated over time. This anger could be the same as the one my tormentor feels for me, for my constant resistance, for refusing to bow to the common good he pursues, the common good that justifies the violence and the methods used.
I'll make you lose more sleepless nights, Bö, and then I'll leave you as empty as a burst condom. You'll carry this experience with you and hear the Samba dance for a long time to come. I won't give you lessons in manners or problem-solving; you have a solid head and you can clash it with mine as long as you want.

27 July 2025, today the boss's boss connected to the device and watched me for a couple of hours while Bö recounted the fuss I am trying to stir up to bring this matter to light. They had a discussion and, because of the information I am spreading, the big boss informed my neighbour that there will be no attack similar to the one against my ex-wife to evict her from the house; Bö and the others will have to fend for themselves. This means that they have to expose themselves again and show up at the door on the third floor to complain to my ex. Doing so will only confirm this whole affair. Either he or the neighbour downstairs are forced to drop the mask of lies they have been wearing so far and present the problem to her. This is a necessary step if they want to file a complaint for damage from secondhand smoke in the future. After three years of living in that flat, she will certainly have something to say. She has always smoked quietly at home and no one has ever bothered her, as they were hoping to get the flat vacated through the torture I am describing. Once this situation becomes clear, bam, here are my writings. Were you busy torturing me for three years, by any chance? Why didn't you come forward with this problem right away?

I won't be there to enjoy the scene, but there will be plenty of opportunities to bring this story to light. If you ever read these writings, my ex-wife, remember that this angry Nazi has seen you naked several times. Ask him directly and look him in the eye when he answers.

They didn't like the fact that I opened a page on Psychosis in Berlin. They fear that I will find others treated the same way I am and make them understand what is really happening to them. I accused them again of being Nazis. In the past, they tortured and tormented the Jews, and now they are picking on smokers in search of a healthier society and perfect tenants. They have decided that they will not let me sleep tonight, applying the right electrical currents to my brain again. I have been tossing and turning in bed for two hours without being able to sleep, and I have been awake since 7 a.m. It is now 3:15 a.m. They still believe they can break me. Give me a way to find the other psychotic patients in Berlin, and we will see who will spend sleepless nights.

28 July, it's 11:30 p.m., I've just finished my shift at the hotel and I'm back in my room writing about today. With the boss's boss present in live chat, they performed a new scan on my stomach and are calculating how much time I have left. They probably want to see if I can file a complaint through a lawyer.

In the meantime, I have to continue my work and leave as much information as possible about this story. I have to be clear and lucid so as not to miss anything.

In the meantime, I am publishing the link to the only German scientist who has come forward to explain what is contained in vaccines:

https://www.bitchute.com/video/An0NPf7GSymL/

H R is the only one who has come forward on the internet and explained what is in vaccines. I would like him to be called as a witness when this case goes to court. It will be difficult to find specialists who can confirm the technology described here and used by my torturers. Will it be possible to prove that this is the technology that caused so many psychoses in Berlin? Perhaps throughout Germany?

There are professionals who work with this, and I think they enjoy ruining other people's lives, or at least those who assisted Bö in destroying my life seemed to enjoy torturing me.

30 July 2025. They haven't let me sleep for two nights, applying a slight electric charge to my brain and preventing me from falling asleep. At this rate, we will repeat the experience of Eberswalde, where they didn't let me sleep for six nights in a row. If this happens again in the same way, I will suffer convulsions once my body succumbs to exhaustion. This will most likely happen during my shift at work. They don't realise that the more they do this, the more they enrich my story with details for those who will follow it. I'm not afraid, I've been through this once before and I'm ready to go through it again. This won't be enough to break my will. I've accepted so many things over the last three years that what's happening now is nothing.

1 August 2025. I haven't slept properly for days. My tormentors continue to torture me with the theranostic nanorobot. They place it on my spine and make it vibrate slightly throughout the night, just enough to keep me awake.

In the afternoon, there was an argument between my neighbour and the supervisor on duty. The former wanted to continue with the sleep torture indefinitely to break me down, while the latter refused to continue in that direction. My neighbour knows that if they don't hurry up and break me, his dream of seeing the apartment vacant will not come true.

Thanks to the shift supervisor's decision, I finally managed to sleep peacefully for a couple of hours, even if they were restless hours: I dreamed about everything, from my parents to my closest friends. I only slept for a couple of hours because I had to work at 5:30 p.m. My neighbour and the translator waited quietly for me to wake up.

As I write, it is 9:20 p.m., and I have just had yet another medical check-up of my internal organs, assisted by the doctor. They have confirmed that the tumour has spread to other organs, and of course Bö has urged the supervisor to give me more decisive, more robust treatment. He wants me to die before I dies. I already know that I will end up back in hospital with convulsions due to lack of sleep, but I am not afraid.

They comment on what I write as I write it. In three years, he has never disconnected from this system and has always kept his eyes on the monitor. He is confident that with this technology and the assistance provided by G agency, he will get what he wants. On the other hand, I am sure that I will never request to terminate the contract, so I can say that we are both confident people. Let's see how this story ends, where all this confidence will take us.

I won't hide the fact that I'm a little worried about the night ahead. After several disturbed nights, I'd like to sleep peacefully, like this afternoon. The supervisor who has begun to voice his complaints about the torture techniques used will not sleep peacefully. A company that tortures its customers, imagine that. Over time, several supervisors have succeeded one another in validating the requested torture, and I wonder how they manage to walk calmly among ordinary people. In my previous company, we were about 650 employees, including 50 senior agents and about 30 team leaders. What are relations like within G agency? According to Google, this company have a lot of employees. Wouldn't you expect there to be a dozen supervisors dealing with customers to be tortured? Not all of them are the same, of course. Some are willing to accommodate all of Bö's requests, while others do not accept everything the old man demands. In addition, these G employees are occasionally required to work night or evening shifts. Several times, discussions between Bö and these managers took place at night.

These people walk among you; perhaps you have already exchanged a few words with them in a bar. As a government-controlled organisation, it can be said that they take public money to do what they do. Money obtained from the taxes I have paid from my work. They are part of a system that accepts this behaviour, which, with the excuse of achieving greater security, accepts the compromise of being able to torture its own citizens as necessary.

I am happy to leave this world with a BAAM; remaining a puppet in their clutches for much longer would be far worse than the end that awaits me.

The Bö, unable to count on my emotional breakdown and the termination of the contract made by me voluntarily, will have to cut and run. He has no way of confronting my ex-wife after three years. I have offered him a peaceful old age in a nursing home with his wife; letting a future tenant complain to my ex is the only way to help his companion on the second floor. I don't think the agency will terminate the lease without sending a letter of complaint. They all counted on my breakdown; it's always happened that way in their history. Everyone breaks down sooner or later. I already have two hospital stays behind me, plus a separation and being kicked out of the country where I wanted to live, two years of well-conducted torture. I think I have thick skin, I just have to prepare myself for another difficult period, then it will all be over and even the torture will fade into the background.

2 August 2025, today they finally let me sleep. They are using the connection to the device to discuss how to solve the Bö problem, not even caring that I can hear what they are saying. Many of the solutions they are discussing have been reported in these writings, along with the countermeasures. If they could hack into a device inside my ex-wife's body in the same way, they would have done so already, but unfortunately for them, she doesn't have this technology, so they need other solutions. They could pick up the phone and discuss the matter that way, it would be easier and they would avoid me hearing everything, but they are very sure that this connection to my brain is untraceable.

They still haven't managed to find a solution for Bö. Under these conditions, my ex-wife will keep the flat and, without any warning about the problems associated with smoking, she will continue to smoke. To think that communication is so simple, they have managed to create this extreme situation out of nothing. These Germans are definitely not skilled communicators. Now they find themselves with a hot potato and don't know who to pass it on to. I'm glad my neighbour has been hiding in his office for three years. It's like the story of the Sardinian bandits who hid in caves to escape the police.

They allow themselves to scan me whenever they want; I've been a puppet in their hands for too long. Tonight, there is continuous radiation in the abdominal area. I don't rule out that, with the techniques at their disposal, they are trying to limit the spread of the tumour to keep me alive longer so that they have more time to torture me into changing my mind about the flat.

3 August 2025, tonight I was on night duty at the hotel again. I carried out my duties and then devoted myself to researching people involved in the search for the truth about the vaccine. I wrote to M P, the journalist who coordinates the website https://www.notonthebeeb.co.uk/, inviting him to read my blog for information about the technology that has been inoculated into us. I contacted Member of the European Parliament S B, who asked the European Parliament about the possibility of graphene being in vaccines, explaining that I have been tortured for three years by a large German real estate agency that wants its apartment back through this hypothetical technology. I wrote again to R D of Quintacolumna to advise him to read my blog, where I describe this technology. As always, during my days and nights, the German duo was with me, reading and commenting on everything I wrote. There was a curious discussion between my neighbour and his wife, who is perhaps fed up with her husband's obsessive attention towards me. She must have pointed out to him that I am now terminally ill and that he should stop harassing me like this. He replied that I am a dangerous person, that everything I write is a bomb that could blow up the whole operation. As if this operation could succeed... I have no intention of giving up; on the contrary, I will continue to do everything I can to bring this story to light. I told him that the pen has killed more than the sword, I want them to be intimidated by my actions as I was by theirs for a certain period of time. I am also preparing a chapter of the story to leave to my ex-wife, I want her to be prepared when they come for her. I thought I would inform the German community that is openly opposed to vaccines about what happened to me, about what is in the serum. I haven't found a reference site to write to, but there are numerous pages on Facebook. I have prepared a text inviting people to read it and attached the link to my blog. I will soon write on all these pages. In short, it was another interesting night. My Teutonic friends are afraid of how the Facebook community might react to the information contained in the blog.

The situation is draining everyone's energy, even those who are not directly involved in the operation, such as Mrs Bö, who expressed her grievances to her husband at 4:00 a.m. She is watching her husband rage against another human being and subject him to constant torture for something they will never achieve. Not to mention the tumour, the bonus malus of the story. They see me fading away day after day, and they know they have contributed greatly to this. I have already suggested several times to Bö that he devote himself to his wife. His psychopathic plan is driving her away from him, but he will only realise this at the end of the race, when he is forced to return to normal life, assuming he can leave the house.

In the meantime, Mrs Bö has to do all the housework herself: go out shopping, take out the rubbish, deal with administrative paperwork and whatever else everyday life throws at her. They live on the fourth floor, and every day the poor woman has to climb all those stairs. When I ran into her on the third floor, my floor, she always looked tired and looked at me as if I were a monster, intimidated by my presence as a smoker. Does she look at my ex-wife with the same fearful eyes?

I can only imagine how Bo feels, who jumped for joy when she first heard about the operation and has found herself living in a bedroom that has smelled of smoke almost every day for three years. She knows very well that I'm not giving up. I think that smile of joy faded long ago and that she wishes me ill every day.

What about the supervisors? They sold the quick and decisive solution, but now they have to deal with Bö's pressure every day to take more and more decisive and brutal action, and despite the pressure, the situation remains the same. I wonder how annoying it is to deal with the same dissatisfied customer every day.

As a customer service employee, I empathise with them and feel sorry for them, even though they are the ones who recommended this plan and authorised every act of torture.

I hope they start to understand that these methods don't work with certain people.

I would very much like to think that in the future, they will recommend dialogue a little more often.

As I have written several times, we could have resolved this issue in February 2023 with a letter, but the old man had no desire to write. So we continue with this merry-go-round, another winter approaching for everyone. Me with this cheerful, festive company in my head.

5 August 2025, today my Teutonic friends spent the whole evening plotting to kill me before cancer takes me away. They are rather annoyed that I am posting the story of vaccine technology on German anti-vaccine websites on Facebook. They don't like the fact that I am not giving in to their torture and that I have figured out who is behind the whole operation. The tool they control cannot be traced using normal medical and anatomical pathology research techniques, so it would look like any other accident, a heart attack, a brain haemorrhage, something common for a man of my age and a smoker. This gang certainly knows what they are doing.

As if that could scare me, they have already taken everything away from me. I have two things left: the lease they want so badly and my life. They will not get the first one, whatever the cost, and I am giving away the second to prove everything I have written above.

What a memorable fight, David against Goliath. Of course, they read what I write and get agitated; it is a continuous series of confirmations.

I'm not the type to stick to my guns forever. If new facts are presented to me, if improvements are discussed, I'm often the first to change my position. On this issue, however, I am uncompromising. I won't budge an inch, even if you stick your finger up my arse. Threats don't scare me.

The night passed quietly, they haven't eliminated me yet. But I'm sure they're thinking about it, it would be risky to let the natural cycle of events continue and let me die of cancer, it could lead someone to believe other parts of this story. It would be just as risky to kill me, it would really mean getting their hands dirty, more than they already have. Besides, the goal is to get the flat free, not to kill me. However, they are gradually compromising the possibility of forcing the release of the flat, given my numerous warnings that my ex-wife could be targeted after me. If I wanted to put a spoke in their wheel, I think I'm succeeding quite well.

They tortured me so much that the idea of suicide has been in my head since January 2025. I am not afraid to die; I have thought about it so many times in recent months. At the same time, the idea that my torturers had devised such a plan ignited in me the sacred fire of writing, which is why I started writing this text. What is happening to me could also happen to others in the future, and I would like to leave my knowledge to posterity so that everyone can know what is possible in this world as a result of the COVID-19 vaccination campaign.

My torturers are always connected to the device, at any time of day or night. The brain implant is able to tell them when the sleep period ends and the brain reactivates. Perhaps they have an alarm set for this too.

What need for control and security has generated the need for this technology?

I can die happy, life has given me everything after all: a beautiful family, a group of friends who have known me since I was a child, enough women to be able to say I know what love is, incredible travels, culture and great enemies worth dying for. I have had a full and satisfying life, I have never lacked anything. To die with such great and powerful enemies, so as not to give away my home, I find very honourable. I sincerely hope that this information will help the next victims of this agency and bring their devious methods to light. I have only slightly tasted the sweet pleasure of revenge, in relation to my German neighbours, so I hope that others can bring to light the assaults carried out in the homes of this agency's tenants and the relationship with the number of psychotic patients in Berlin. I would not want psychologists and psychiatrists who may be aware of the methods used by these large real estate agencies against their tenants who do not follow the rules to be complicit in this scenario.

So quick to label as psychosis the description of an attack received in one's own home with technologically advanced weapons unknown to the masses.

I wrote to a university in Berlin that treats psychotic patients and asked them, for statistical research purposes, how many of their patients were smokers. Of course, I never received an answer to my question, but I am very curious about the correlation that exists. Imagine if I had asked them where such psychotic phenomena first occurred in their patients. How many alarm bells would have gone off on the other end?

All I had to do was search Google in German for ‘psychotic patients and smoking’ to find the answer:

"Psychotic patients smoke more often than the general population, which leads to physical and mental health problems. Studies indicate that smoking can increase the risk of psychotic illnesses and aggravate such disorders. At the same time, nicotine can improve cognitive deficits in some patients and potentially alleviate negative symptoms."

Just think, there is a relationship between psychosis and smoking. And here's another discovery. So it's time to add things up. If I was attacked by my estate agent because I smoke at home, it is very likely that others have suffered the same fate. So are there anti-smoking teams all over Germany freely attacking all those domestic smokers who bother their neighbours?

People who cause others mental problems that don't really exist? Real attacks that force smokers to take psychotropic drugs for a long time? Real attacks that cause the breakdown of a family unit? People whose profession is to attack others, those monster smokers?

On 6 August 2025, I posted an article on Reddit explaining the various attacks perpetrated against me and dismissed by psychologists as psychotic phenomena:

https://www.reddit.com/r/Psychosis/comments/1miv8op/comment/n76ncjp/?context=3

I want to find other people who have experienced the same type of attacks; I am sure they exist.

I wrote to a collective of journalists, https://correctiv.org/, telling them about my idea, namely the possibility that large real estate agencies attack their most unwelcome tenants with advanced technologies to make them believe they are experiencing psychotic episodes in an attempt to make them abandon their unwelcome actions. Forcing people to undergo psychiatric treatment because they do not follow the rules of the common good. We will see if they take the case into consideration.

The duo monitors me daily through the brain implant and, as before, every email I send is reported to the agency manager.

8 August 2025, they didn't let me sleep last night, same method as before, a slight electric current applied to the brain. They remained connected to the device and commented every time I turned over in bed throughout the night. They think that sooner or later I will tire of the treatment, but they are deluded. I will let them do it, every night I am defenceless. Only my willpower keeps me going.

With every cigarette I light, the Bö puffs, twitches, finally comes alive like a person in pain. He shows his distress at the situation that has arisen, it is not as it was sold to him. He is beginning to believe my words, the words of the prey. I never made myself feel that way except for the torture they did to me, beyond that I always knew I had the upper hand. I know very well that I am the one who has something the other side wants. If there is one thing I have never lacked it is stubbornness, the G group who suggested this tactic to solve the problem is also discovering it. It is they have not yet discovered the character of my former lady. How many more surprises in B strasse XX.

They have intensified the attacks again because they are pressing everyone not to spend the winter again with the smell of my former lady's cigarettes, but I am as tough as the Barbagia mountains, I will not break.

This resistance is my revenge for having adopted this method, for having gambled with my love life, my future. Now all I have left is resistance: steadfast, fearless, courageous, at times self-destructive. If there is a way to prove what has been done to me, I must follow this path to the end and make everyone, from the first to the last, pay for their actions. They don't think much of me because I am the enemy, the one who changed the status quo of their peaceful lives, but I have my own interests to protect. This story, this technology must be told. These are times when problems are no longer solved by talking but by exercising violence. So I welcome their violence and respond with my resistance and perseverance. You will not take my home away from me while I am alive. These days, they broadcast information about the genocide in Gaza on television. If they have fought for 70 years for their land, what are my three years of resistance? We must resist for a long time to come. I will not be the solution to their poor communication skills, their overconfidence in these technological means, their sense of superiority over others to justify the violence they carry out. 

Every day they wait for me to break down mentally and emotionally, which is why they attack me every day. They hope that every day will be the day they break me. Every day that passes is a victory for resistance, for life that goes on despite the difficulties created not by chance but by a group that deliberately seeks to cause harm with a specific goal in mind. Every day that passes, I laugh at their efforts and smile at life at every opportunity that presents itself. They know very well that revenge drives me, they spend their time wondering when the fuel in my tank will run out. I am defending my home, my friends, the fuel will not run out. There is no day circled in red on my calendar.

They continue to monitor my health as if I were a head of state, with the nanorobot travelling between my internal organs and performing daily medical scans. I can tell because I feel a slight discomfort in the irradiated organ each time. I always feel a slight discomfort in these areas when the nanorobot's magnetic field increases in intensity and performs the scan. I am a subject of interest, so the voyeurs monitor the situation daily. They know more about my body than I do myself. They discuss it among themselves and plan their next moves based on this information. Basically, they stand by and plot, and old Bö has nothing else to do anyway. From his high seat in B Strasse, he has promised himself to resolve the annoying situation for all the tenants involved, whatever the cost. Surely no one expected to reach this point. According to the real estate agency experts, the torture perpetrated with this device should have resolved the situation much earlier. Instead, here we are, enjoying another day in each other's company. The translator has not taken a day off since July 2024, constantly busy translating everything I write and say, a workaholic. I have come to the conclusion that she must not have a family or a partner, otherwise how could she reconcile such long working days with a personal life rich in affection? She never goes out, she doesn't make phone calls during the day, she doesn't even go shopping, she never leaves her monitor either.

10 August 2025, the “good” manager must have been working at the agency last night, because nothing happened to me during the night and I slept peacefully, unlike previous nights. When I wake up, the magical duo is still there, connected. They observe my daily life, stoic. I am pleased with their company; it is better that they continue to target me than my ex-wife. I have become accustomed to it. If I want to keep the flat, I must accept that my mind is home to the voices of these two individuals. I will let them enjoy the show for a long time to come. What the old man doesn't want is to spend another winter like the previous ones, but I have a different idea. Let him enjoy as many winters as possible. Since they haven't been able to find another way to deal with the problem, it's the least I can do.

I opened a channel on Bitchute where I posted the first video, a summary of the torture I suffered and the theory behind the company that administers it:

https://old.bitchute.com/channel/G9k9hcFqAyB3/

I decided to show my face, because I believe in what they are doing to me. The German voyeurs did not take it well. First, the managers on duty were alerted, then the managers on duty alerted their boss. Nervousness is finally spreading in Germany. The keywords of the video are Covid vaccine, torture, Germany. I have no idea how many views it will get, but the video is there, and the Internet never forgets. I mainly want to be a guide for others, to inform them about what is happening to their bodies and why. In these cases, there is always a reason.

Of course, they rewarded my initiative with a good dose of night-time vibrations, making it impossible to sleep. Mrs Bö went to see what her husband was up to in his office at 5 a.m. and found out that I had posted a video on the internet. She left the studio horrified. So now there will be two of us not sleeping tonight.

I'm enjoying keeping a diary of what's happening; my initiatives are starting to annoy them. If I keep this up, I'll probably be able to teach this merry band a little manners.

As usual, when they decide not to let me sleep at night, they allow me a couple of hours of sleep in the morning. It's now 2 p.m. and I've had maybe four hours of sleep. When I wake up, Bö and the translator are already connected, and there is a third person with them whom they are explaining the evolution of events to. They watch me write and comment with sterile ‘Ja, Ja.’ They wait for me to update the information on the blog to check how many visitors I've had and measure the spread of information.

   Bö is begging the managers to kill me. He is afraid that the discovery of my cancer will motivate my family to open an investigation into the facts described in these writings. Although the technology is secret, there is enough independent research to justify what I have described so far. Furthermore, it would be enough to cross-reference the telephone data in the possession of the German police with the change of surname on the doorbell and in the rental contract to consider G agency involved in this plan, without even considering my ex-wife's account of the neighbours' testimony about Mr Bö's death. Everything fits. If it takes the cost of a life to bring the truth to light, so be it. The important thing is to expose this organisation, these acts of torture, this absurd idea that you can take someone's home away from them and destroy their life just because they smoke indoors. I don't think Mrs Bö would last five minutes of questioning on these matters. Who did her husband turn to after not getting help from the police? What solutions did they propose to resolve the problem? How was it possible to remove me from my home? All questions that will be followed by a series of lies, mumbling, “I don't remember” or “I don't know”. Bö knows what he's playing at from the start, so he might be able to withstand questioning, perhaps by lying convincingly, but he'll always be on the back foot because he'll have to explain why his neighbours lied to my ex-wife. One way or another, the web of lies will unravel.

While searching for material about the vaccine, I found a fairly comprehensive video with videos and comments from doctors about its content:

https://www.bitchute.com/video/poIT5ixn380T

I think it explains very well how our bodies have been hacked. I also believe that it is very easy to take control of this technology to control a human body, exactly as I described in my experiences. All you need is the right knowledge.

The joke of discussing my murder is happening more and more often. They continue to test the integrity of my psyche to see if I break down, if I give in. They intend to use some of these writings to prove that I am psychotic, that I am hallucinating, that I hear voices that want to kill me. The plan is to prove that I am crazy and thus discredit everything I have written. In the meantime, I will simply report what they say, how they organise themselves to break me down every day. I did not study German for eight years for nothing, I know very well what they say and why they do it. They are masters at creating confusion and trying to break their victim's balance, not only with attacks that cause sleep deprivation. They read these words and feel disappointed, they will have to try again, with other attempts.

   14 August, just after midnight, a new character joined the live chat. Bö told him the whole story again. They've been watching me for a couple of hours. My old neighbour couldn't contain his nervousness this time either. He's on the ropes because everyone advised him to complain to my ex-wife, but now, because of the lie about his death, he can't do that anymore. He's backed himself into a corner. He keeps raising his voice, trembling, wanting a solution that can't be offered to him, and this makes him even more nervous. He's messed up everyone's life because he didn't want to write a letter, and now he's trying to put the estate agency in a position where they have to use strong-arm tactics to make me change my mind. I expected this. As time passes and I continue to smoke, the window of opportunity for this organisation is narrowing and the plan is showing more and more cracks. The lies won't hold up forever, unless the old man makes peace with himself and accepts that he has lost the battle. If he sticks his head out of his hole to try to get my ex-wife to stop smoking, he will confirm his existence. If someone else in his place goes to complain to my wife about the smoking after three years, they will have to justify this long period of waiting in which they have staked everything on torturing me and the fact that I would give in to them.

I have no idea who the new person participating in the live chat is, but I think it's someone high up in the agency, someone who has the power to offer unexpected solutions to Bö. Bö is hoping for this desperately, otherwise he wouldn't have lost his usual confidence, his certainty in the means chosen to solve the problem. The new guest's voice is not broadcast by the brain implant, so I don't know what he has said or what he continues to say as I write. My old neighbour became agitated when I opened my computer and started writing. He wanted to show the newcomer the threat posed by the existence of this diary, these writings.

Perhaps in the past they have never had to deal with people who understood their methods, who described, as I am doing, the torture they perpetrated to force a tenant to leave his flat. Every time I write it, I find it hard to believe: a company that tortures its customers, those who pay for a service they receive. An agency that doesn't send letters of complaint, but instead immediately uses heavy-handed tactics with secret technologies and torture that most of humanity cannot even imagine.

I expect another night of surprises, the usual tremors spreading through my body to prevent me from sleeping. Perhaps the newcomer is a new torture expert? Will he manoeuvre the nanorobots like no one else has done before? I will only find out tomorrow morning.

What I wanted to add to these writings is that my neighbour is losing his verve, his patience, his cold calm that he showed in the past when he sabotaged sex with my woman, when he caused me cerebral ischaemia with electromagnetic waves to my brain, when he enjoyed keeping me awake at night.

He is realising that it is becoming increasingly difficult to get my apartment back.

   14 August 2025, it's 1:00 p.m. The new guest who joined the connection last night was supposed to watch the night-time demonstration. Bö was supposed to show him that I can sleep despite the vibrations of the nanorobots in my body. The new guest must have been particularly surprised; he didn't expect anyone to be able to sleep despite the use of this technology. When I wake up, everyone is here, connected. The old neighbour is getting more and more nervous, which makes me happy. I've gotten used to their torture techniques, and while they were going on, the old man always declined all my offers to talk. They are still stuck on their original idea that they would be able to take my house away from me. Hurray for me for holding out so far.

   15 August 2025, tonight another guest connected to the brain implant. They observed me for a couple of hours and recounted my story of resistance to him. When new people connect, I notice. I reminded them again that Mr Bötze only had to write a letter to bring the problems of smoking to our attention, but now the time to save the situation is over. Their modus operandi has been exposed, their torture widely described. I renewed my determination to fight, I will never give up the house, they can torture me as much as they want, they can even kill me. I realise that my writings and videos are threatening the existence of an organisation larger than myself. Who knows how much patience they will have with me before taking drastic measures.

   I chose a noisy place to spend the evening of Ferragosto (15 August), at least I can't hear the voices of those shitheads. The place is called Mojito, Latin American music blaring, a cool Fernet and Coke and some pretty girls to look at. The clientele is young, but the music is catchy, lots of tambourines, just the way I like it, very lively. It's Ferragosto for me too, what the hell.

Lots of handsome Latin machos trying to impress, on the hunt for a free woman.

The duo are reading while I write, but who cares, they don't have Ferragosto in Germany.

At least I can feast my eyes, in the hotel I always have to behave in a certain way. Now everyone is free.

The first Fernandito goes down like snow in the sun. I don't think the German crowd appreciates the Latin rhythm, but that's the DJ's choice.

Great, there's table service. It's not a seedy place like my mentor Bukowski's, after all, this is the Costa Smeralda, I won't find any drunk Mexicans, but with time the audience will surely offer something.

Meanwhile, the place is filling up.

I was wrong, the audience already offers some gems, it doesn't take much to distract me from the war going on.

These Fernet Colas don't last long, the blink of an eye and they're gone. I'll have to spend some money to feel the effects of the alcohol. I'll do my best.

No use, even in this context I can't help thinking about the war going on, I have to prove myself worthy of the war my enemy has chosen for me. All the managers who have logged in so far must have confirmed to my enemy that they can't fire my ex-wife, terminate the existing contract. I have to stay tough and firm in my position and give the old man what he came for. Endless resistance. I'll make them bitterly regret their decision, and my ex-wife will contribute to their punishment. Bö needs to understand how tough this cannon fodder is. Don't give up.

I've decided that I'll make him go through another winter like this, no matter how hard he tries between August and September, we'll be dancing salsa in January. I have no intention of giving up, and every new day finds me steadfast in this idea.

We need another fernet cola. Today we're going to raise the alcohol level like we haven't done in months.

Stay with me, Bö, try again. I'll be waiting for you tomorrow. I'll steal your life like you stole mine. You've been glued to your computer for three and a half years. Let's see how long your wife puts up with you. How long Mrs Bo puts up with you. I'm doing this for you. To teach you good manners. You can always talk to my ex-wife, after all.

You don't know how much energy hatred releases, you don't know how much I can still hate.

In the meantime, the place has filled up, I already have a couple of asses dancing in front of my face. I can't complain about the view.

   18 August 2025, today the Teutonic gang really went for it, infecting a hair in my left triceps and another in my left armpit, making it extremely painful and difficult to move my left arm. There is infected fluid in the area where they operated and when I put on a T-shirt, I feel pain around my arm. This is the price I have to pay for challenging them every day, for resisting their despicable plan to take my home away from me. Several times today, I taunted the gang, telling them that I'm not afraid to die, and that whatever the cost, I will keep my home until the very end.

I know that the more time passes and the closer we get to winter, the more this gang will increase the intensity of the torture. I want them to do it, to live their lives knowing what they have done to me. Remorse surprises us when we least expect it, even for stupid things. Sooner or later, I will meet them all again, in those moments.

In the meantime, I continue to be proud of defending my home from these cowards, of enduring these tortures every day with this technology that will be exposed to the public in the not too distant future.

I am securing a future for my ex-wife with these writings and the vigilance of my loved ones. All they have to do is let the police read everything to expose the lies that have been told to get us to this point. I challenge them to attack her with their infernal equipment. I will prove that the entire condominium followed this madman in his eviction plan by verifying one lie after another.

I know you're not dead, Bö, and you're taking Gr Sa and Br with you.

Since you have chosen to play with me, I will try not to disappoint you. I will make sure that you too will suffer slowly, day after day, until a new and hated winter arrives.

They watch me as I write, exchanging nods of approval now that I have put the photograph of the building's intercom in my Word file. The names of those involved in this tragic affair are all here for future readers to see.

I remember that Bö, thanks to the intervention of the G agency, had his surname changed to Bu, in order to prove to all of you the agency's involvement in this attempted eviction.

It always cheers me up to summarise the facts, to think about what they came up with to get rid of a tenant. It would be interesting to hear the agency's unofficial version of events. What do they do when tenants complain about other tenants smoking in their homes? What procedures are put in place in the offices to try to resolve the problem? Is a letter sent to the problematic tenants? Why didn't my wife and I receive one? Why wasn't I informed that there was a problem when I contacted the agency representative by email to complain about the attacks carried out by my so-called dead neighbour? Because the eviction process was already underway, that's why. Because they had already handed Bö the tool to torture me and destroy my relationship with my wife, hoping that we would give up the flat because of the separation. How many other couples have you treated like this and caused to separate and divorce? How many others have you tortured in an attempt to get your apartment back and make some old man happy? I'll make you pay for your dirty tricks. As long as I have the strength to breathe, I will fight to defend my home and, God willing, expose your methods.

   Let's apply a little reverse psychology to the facts. I'll try to put myself in the police's shoes. My ex-wife smokes every day at home, sometimes even marijuana. Bö, our neighbour upstairs, called the police 20 times because we smoked marijuana in February and March 2023 alone. My ex-wife won't hide this information from the police and will confirm the story that neighbour Bö is dead, because that's what the other neighbours told her. The police will interview the other neighbours and Bö and ask why they lied. Why would you make your neighbour believe that another neighbour is dead? This is the first point for which I cannot think of a possible reason. Why is there a photograph with a name different from hims on the intercom? They will say that I was harassing them and that the name change was necessary to make me change my mind. What will G agency say about the name change? Will it be a new contract? What name is on Bö's documents? Bu?

Why did he stop calling the police if her neighbour is still smoking marijuana? What measures did he take to combat this? Did he complain to her neighbour? He couldn't have done that because he let her know he was dead. Why didn't he go and talk to his neighbour instead of telling this lie? Will they visit Br with the same questions? Does it bother you that your neighbour smokes? Why didn't you go and complain?

Then it will be the G's agency turn. There is a tenant who smokes and bothers the neighbours. What have you done? Have you received any complaints from the neighbours about this? Here they will deny everything I said, I heard. They will say that there have been no complaints and that it is all peace and love in that building. A building that does not inform its tenants about problems within the building? That doesn't even communicate? That despite me seeking them out about this problem because they were torturing me to make me stop smoking, they didn't even take action such as sending a letter or paying a visit?

After years of passive smoking, cancer can develop. Is it possible that they did nothing and didn't warn the tenant about the problem affecting others? Where is the administrator's responsibility? And here is my story, the use of such secret and powerful technology that only a few in Germany have dared to describe, such as Holger Reißner, who found it in all the vaccine vials and described it as a weapon.

Will the police want to investigate the attacks on my body that I have reported to Mr Holger Reißner? Will they check whether G agency has a divorce team within its ranks, operators capable of hacking the vaccine technology and using it to keep troublesome tenants in line?

https://www.parlament.gv.at/gegenstand/XXVII/SNME/143250

Will they be able to find psychotic patients who have been attacked in their own homes, G agency homes, by this formidable team?

If so, this would explain why all the neighbours avoided complaining to my ex-wife, their unshakeable faith in the divorce team and their success in this operation.

Yesterday evening, I wrote to the Institute for International Criminal Investigations, explaining that G agency uses graphene-based technology to torture its tenants, to cause couples to divorce, to cause psychological problems in order to resolve disputes between tenants and to evict them from their apartments.

I attached to my text the link to my blog where I recount my personal experience. The duo connected to the brain implant had to report the news to the manager who, once again, did not take my initiative well. They didn't think I was so combative when this story began, they thought I was just another poor bastard to destroy, like so many others before me. But time brings wisdom, and over time I understood how they operated and what kinds of tools they used, so my mission became to bring their work to light. I owe it to the hundreds of people in Berlin who have received the same treatment as me and don't know what happened to them or who ruined their lives. These are crimes against humanity, my dear Germans. Piloting a nanorobot into a victim's body to cause the reactions you desire, know that well. All this because you didn't want to write a warning letter to one of your tenants. You preferred violence to dialogue right from the start. That is the case with me and my wife. No warning letter, no warning, just violence against me.

I also contacted Dr. Giovannini, who performs blood tests under a microscope to check whether haemoglobin has undergone any changes as a result of the inoculation.

https://oasisana.com/2022/06/30/ricerca-shock-benzi-cipelli-grafene-nel-sangue-degli-inoculati-ora-indaghi-la-magistratura/

I am organising everything so that I can go to Mantua for these tests at the end of my work period at the hotel.

They infected a hair under my armpit again with the nanorobot, this time choosing my left armpit. For two days, I had mobility problems in my left arm and every movement was extremely painful, but I still worked at the hotel. The fluid from the inflammation swelled up my left triceps, and when I woke up this morning, I realised that the blister had burst. The T-shirt I was wearing was stained with a mixture of blood and pus. The sheets were also stained, so I had to change them.

It will be like this for a long time, targeted attacks to weaken and cause pain to my body in the hope that it will give up. The Germans still have a lot of work to do. Maybe over time I will come into contact with another person who is receiving the same treatment and then there will be two of us telling the same story. I'm spreading the word through all the channels I can think of: Reddit, Bitchute, Blogspot, Facebook. I'm sure that sooner or later someone else will read about it and we'll finally be able to put two and two together.

These agency torturers must have always got away with it until now, let's see if my patience will be rewarded. My self-esteem is not affected, there are at least three people who have been following me daily for three years, and then the translator joined in. I am a VIP and that boosts my morale. Not to mention that every day I suffer is one more day that three families suffer, enchanted like a rattlesnake by the little tune of the operation that G agency would have organised for them. They were crazy, they wanted to test the endurance of a Sardinian. Well, now the music isn't so enchanting anymore. I tell Bö every day when I hear him on the brain implant that all he had to do was write a letter, but evidently, he wanted to act illiterate rather than resolve it amicably. And so we all dance this Berlin waltz spiced with torture and cigarette smoke.

   Wouldn't there be a risk in attacking my ex-wife? Would they still justify the attack by saying that she is psychotic because she also smokes marijuana? Two people in the same flat? Attacked in different ways but both diagnosed as psychotic? Wouldn't that confirm my theory that there are too many psychotic attacks in G agency flats?

Won't it be obvious that something strange is going on after I've written this? That a company is using unconventional and untraceable weapons to attack its own residents? I hope that when it happens, my ex-wife will have read what I've written so that she won't doubt her sanity and will report it to the police as an attack by persons unknown. There is no physical evidence of the attacks (except for the ischaemia), at least I have not been able to produce any until I have my blood analysed to prove the presence of any nanotechnology. If she is as smart as I think she is, she will follow the path I have laid out and, depending on the effects on her body, she will know what tools she will need. They will be invisible waves, frequencies harmful to the human body, and she will need some technical background and precise measuring instruments. I hope for her sake that after the first attack she remembers what I told her when I was the one suffering them, only later did I discover that I had the transmitter directly in my head.

My writings are worth something, and I hope that the links I sent you with specialists in the field of frequencies will be useful. They have no other weapons to hurt you apart from these. The challenge will be long, dear Teutonic friends. It will not end with me, I am only the first half of this game you have chosen to play. And time is a tyrant.

I must do everything I can to file a complaint against G agency and blame them for causing my psychotic attack. It's the only way to put a spoke in their wheel. Coincidentally, after the complaint, my ex-wife will be attacked in the same way. I have to make sure they get at least a yellow card so they don't repeat the same actions, to really screw them over after what they've decided to do.

Well, I'm working this summer to find solutions, I'll talk to German lawyers about it, and all the public connected to the brain implant will be there to see it.

Of course, if I file the complaint and then they attack her, the pressure will rise a little. Maybe it could block their future plans to attack my ex-wife and force Bö to stay quiet in his office. The tone is already gloomy on the other side of the brain implant, which means I've hit the mark. It would be a move that would make any attack more than a coincidence, especially with their sci-fi methods. Then Bö will definitely regret not writing a letter.

I have just paid for the microscopic examination of my blood and bought flights to Verona, as this laboratory is located in Mantua, near the city where my brother lives.

In the Berlin control room, they immediately consulted on what this test could prove and what legal consequences it could have. They must have given Bö relatively reassuring news because he did not fly into a rage. The appointment is set for October, there is still plenty of time and anything can happen.

   22 August 2025, this month we are celebrating three and a half years of video surveillance through the brain implant. Bö, the translator and the manager on duty are here with me, connected to my eyes. They are counting the cigarettes that separate me from the end in order to plan the next step of the operation. They must have discussed it recently, as they are no longer particularly concerned about my intention to report G agency for the psychotic attack and ischaemia carried out with unconventional weapons. I don't care, as I said before, I'm interested in slowing down their operations, making it difficult for them to carry out what they have organised with such levity, as if it were a routine task, destroying people's lives as if they were specialists in doing so. These are dark times if your estate agency thinks it can get away with this kind of thing. I would very much like to meet the others who have been treated in this way, to see the emotions that would arise in them if they knew that there is a group of people paid and trained in this speciality. Would they believe it? That people do this for a living and that they have been subjected to such treatment? That the catastrophic end of their relationship, their marriage, was organised by the people who rented them their home? That their bodily functions have been altered by a device in their body, a device that they voluntarily and unknowingly allowed to be inserted into their body, believing in the reason of state, in a pandemic crisis?

I wonder how the secret services laughed when I asked for help on this subject, they who control everything and everyone. As if I would free you from this yoke.

These are dark times, the only thing we have left is freedom of speech, the power of storytelling, the hope that our voices will be heard and that together they will become a common scream.

   What professionals they are, continuing to torment my armpits with their nanorobots, trying to convince me in their own way, causing irritation, rashes, and pain that can never be traced back to them. They certainly know what they're doing. Unfortunately for them, I grew up on bread and resistance, so we're not even close to the point where I might start to wonder: is it worth giving them the apartment? We are now at such an advanced stage of the challenge that I expect surprises from them every day, every moment. After all, the old man has nothing else to do but pursue his idea of liberation, and we will always find ourselves from the moment we wake up to the moment we fall asleep discussing the language called torture and resistance. The old man and I understand each other quite well. I understand his torture and he understands my resistance, which is why we always find ourselves the next day resuming the dialogue that was interrupted the day before. We can go on like this for years. That is my intention. Of course, I haven't forgotten my intention to reveal the use of this technology on a person's body, nor to prove that it is my real estate agency that is conducting this operation.

I must admit that the loss of my free life has brought me a decidedly motivating challenge. Someone told me that God never gives us challenges we cannot overcome, so my resistance is nothing exceptional, it is simply the consequence of the motivation that drives this group to do what they have been doing to me for three and a half years. Being alone against so many is also a source of pride. Resisting to explain my existence to this gang of Nazis. Resisting to teach them that problems can be solved in other ways. Resistance has become my new faith, the new way to prove who I am. Before, I was interested in other things, I pursued knowledge, it gave me satisfaction to know more and more, my motto is: you learn every day. Since this experience began three and a half years ago, I have wandered in the unknown for a year and a half. Why was my body doing this to me? Why wasn't it responding correctly to my stimuli? By enduring these remote interventions, this torture, I understood, I learned, I satisfied my ever-present desire for knowledge. And so I realized that they wanted to find a way to control human beings, that a technology had been developed that gave the keys to another organism to those who had enough power to acquire it. I haven't found any other stories like mine on the internet, and I assure you that I've looked.

First of my kind, first to be tortured from within my own body. But also first in resistance. Come, my Teutonic friends, come.

I hadn't used the specific disinfectant for these wounds on my armpits for some time, but given Bö's insistence on torturing these areas, I had to dust off my survival kit. Luckily, I brought the whole set with me to the hotel, as I already knew they wouldn't give me any rest, even at work. These slimy creatures and their plan to take my home away from me. I'll write about these tortures until I expose your methods. I hate them only for taking away the woman I had decided to marry. The torture, the expulsion from Germany, the pain, they're just like oil in a salad, no big deal. From the beginning, I never lost my cool in analyzing what was happening, and I maintained a strange naturalness in dealing with the events that unfolded. Everything is the result of my resistance, my willpower. I'm not the only one pushing my limits; on the other side of the connection, they are also going beyond their limits. They didn't expect to still be here after three and a half years, having to convince me to terminate my lease, and every day has been a crescendo of pure emotion for them. It's hard to imagine their emotional development; there's an ocean of emotion between me, a Sardinian, and them, Germans. Despite their emotional coldness, something must have changed during these three and a half years. Unfortunately, they don't talk about emotions in the live chat.

   August 22, 2025. Tonight, the Germans made me visit by the oncologist online again. My time is running out. I could feel the nanorobot moving inside my intestine and touching all the organs in my abdomen. During the live chat, there was a flurry of exchanges and orders followed by affirmative “ Ja, ja.” Following this new check-up, I suddenly felt the urge to defecate. The situation is rapidly deteriorating. Bö’s voice is full of urgency. There must be a desperate desire to bring this matter to a conclusion in Germany. These writings are too threatening to the success of their liberation mission. I must therefore continue to describe what is happening so as not to miss the opportunity to thwart their plan. The torture will surely become more intense from now on; they cannot allow these writings to validate what will happen to my ex-wife later on. It's a pity I don't know how my words will be used; they are dynamite for their future.

I am leaving a good legacy behind me, the knowledge that intracorporeal technologies exist that can influence the life of a human being. Nanorobots for medical scans used for torture, brain implants that transmit audio and video and receive sounds. All the result of man's work over the last 30 years of secret research. Organizations like my real estate agency use these tools to make their tenants believe they have psychotic or schizophrenic phenomena in order to force them to start psychiatric therapy and make them give up unhealthy lifestyles, even causing couples to separate in an attempt to get people to leave their apartments. I've found the goose that lays the golden eggs. The big news of the century.

Where will humanity end up if even our private lives are violated by the existence of these technologies? We are all dormant carriers of these tools; we only need to be someone's enemy to run the risk of losing control of our bodies. I have found my powerful enemy, those who have tried to control my body to make me give up the idea of owning a home and who will continue to try. I don't know how long I can hold out, unfortunately, but I will try to remain faithful to my idea until the end. I don't know what pleasure they get from torturing a dying man.

Surely, if I hadn't been tortured so badly over the last three years, I would have smoked a little less and been able to enjoy a few more years of life. Instead, the real estate agency that has become the master of my body decided not to give me any peace right from the start, convinced that the massive doses of electromagnetic waves to my head would speed up the release of the apartment where my ex-wife lives. They only caused cerebral ischemia and even more desire to smoke, more nervousness, less control, more nicotine. Then came the 5 a.m. wake-ups, the sleepless nights and lonely smokes on my balcony, the sleep that never came back and the cigarette that accompanied those silences. Yes, you have worn down my patience, but not my desire to fight you. That has been there all along. What is mine is mine, not even your methods will take it away from me. The dates on these writings will not lie. I already know months in advance, as I write this, that you will attack my ex-wife, that in order to defend your fiefdom and the people who live there, you will invent other types of attacks. Fortunately, it is already written, I know where to direct my ex-wife.

   The constant, daily observation continues, 24 hours a day. They must not miss a single move I make in order to always stay one step ahead of me. On the other hand, there are five or six thinking minds, so even though they don't yet fully understand how I am or what I think, they manage to analyse me 80%. They are waiting for the moment when the complaint is filed with G agency through a lawyer to see if they will have room for manoeuvre with my ex-wife. They know that once the complaint is filed, they will have less chance of operating with impunity, so they have to stay glued to the screen. The old man continues to show a sickly attraction towards me. He cannot bear that, with the technology at their disposal and the torture already inflicted, I have not given in, so he wants to witness my capitulation step by step to finally get his satisfaction. I will give them all what they are looking for, what they are still glued to the screen for. Tonight I worked at the hotel, doing the shift from 11:30 p.m. to 7:30 a.m., and then I went to Olbia for the Fly Emirates staff selection at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Bö and the translator spent another sleepless night, waiting for me to find a certain type of lawyer during the night shift. It didn't happen. I was thinking about other things last night, even though the duo was still there. Who knows how much pressure Bö will exert to attack my ex-wife as soon as I leave this world. Who knows if those madmen at G agency will follow suit immediately. In the meantime, just to be on the safe side, the torture of my armpits continues, lest I suddenly give up my fight and decide to give them my German home.

They comment on my writings, the mere fact of keeping a blog about these events is a threat to their plan. This may be clear evidence of my lucidity in these moments of physical and psychological torture. They can discuss my lucidity and sanity with the people who worked with me this summer and evaluate their words.

The old man finds himself in the unusual position of having to pray for my swift death so that he can move on to the next phase of the plan, the attack on my ex-wife. It's not as if we were fighting over a kingdom.

On the other hand, these are the instructions he has been given by the agency: we cannot be attacked at the same time, as we would be able to confirm each other's version of events.

The quick solution proposed by the agency is nowhere in sight, and the nightmare of another winter with the windows closed is approaching in Germany. The temperatures should already be low enough.

An entire apartment building wants me dead, as if I were Darth Vader.

It will stay with them longer than they think, the consequences of the torture they have carried out and shared for a common plan, the use of this technology, the sleepless nights. It will haunt them in the future, in those moments when they think they are safe from these thoughts.

And they haven't even started working on my ex-wife yet. I am curious to know what they will get out of torturing her, what information she will glean from these writings and how she will use it.I have been thrust into a battle that I did not choose, but which, given my nature, I must fight to the end. To preserve what is mine, to defend what I believed to be my love. All I have left is resistance.

A word that has been used a lot lately in Ukraine and Gaza, loaded with a thousand meanings, rich in sweat and sacrifice.

I could try to lighten my situation with a 5G jammer, but after all this time, I would like the Germans to enjoy the whole show and take part of this resistance with them to understand how useless these methods are compared to my will.I hope my ex-wife gives them the same fight I gave them, to confirm once again that aggression is not the way to solve these problems.

   I finally found some people in Germany who might be interested in this technology and how it works. I wrote to Dr Barbara Kahler and journalist Christoph Hörstel. I explained to them the torture I am undergoing and how this technology works. I asked for their help; any advice they can give me about this story is welcome.

The gang is always connected to the device and has also taken note of this latest email. The supervisor on duty intervened again in the group discussion, perhaps to reassure the members of his circle about my attempts to get this story out.

I have to try everything. There are a large number of unvaccinated people in Germany and they need to know what they are avoiding with their decision.

I must admit, their plan is truly ingenious. They wear people down with their torture until they force them to do what they want, in this case, terminate the lease. The techniques used are unknown to most people because they exploit a state secret, or secrets: a nanorobot implanted in people's bodies under the pretext of defeating a pandemic. Who would ever imagine that technology, medical science and the evolution of nanocomponents have reached this point? Who would imagine that world governments have decided to introduce such a device into 90% of the vaccinated population? Who would imagine that this technology could be hacked by a real estate agency that uses it to forcibly terminate its tenants' rental contracts? Who would imagine that this technology is used to cause surprise attacks that force the victims to go to hospital and be diagnosed as psychotic? Am I the only one who has come to this conclusion because I have resisted for so long?

Yet this department works 24 hours a day, pursuing different targets every day. Has no one else come to this conclusion? I hope that others will also wake up and think scientifically. We are not psychotic; we are simply being attacked, continuously.

We are not liked by some of our neighbours who have sponsored this treatment, who watch our lives while the torture takes place and who hope at every moment that we will give in.

I gave my old voyeur neighbour the best years of my life, I showed him things he could not even imagine, his thirst for revenge turned into knowledge, he learned what resistance is and experienced it every day for three and a half years. Unfortunately for him, he drew the Black Moon from the tarot cards, that is, me. I immediately understood his purpose, his plan, his desire. I dismantled the conspiracy of a condominium and understood the reasons for their violence. When you understand, everything is easier, coming to terms with it becomes natural over time, and resisting for your ideals is a consequence. Imagine if I gave you my house, you bunch of scoundrels. I will continue to keep you busy as long as life breathes in me.

I remain concerned about when the time comes for my ex-wife. She imagines them as innocent old people. She cannot even dream of a fraction of what I am writing. When they attack her, she will wake up from this childish scenario and she too will try to understand: the why, the how and the who. It's all here in my writings and there, in the flats next to ours.

Miserable people, with such a narrow view of life that they are even afraid to speak. They lie to hide the truth, they are afraid to share their problems with others, they find it easier to play with other people's lives than to express their opinions. These people are difficult to deal with, they never tell you the truth, every glance hides a lie, they are capable of ruining people's lives rather than facing a problem head on.

I have never dealt with such devious people in my life, so cowardly and spineless.

Of course, the problem will not be solved with a discussion, but with another attack.

Will my ex-wife be smart enough to understand this? Will she be able, on her own or with the help of others, to shed light on the incidents that will happen to her? These crafty people use spy techniques, they have the support of the whole building and will hide their equipment in their neighbours' homes. She is lucky that they will not be able to see her field of vision as they do with me, so they will not be able to follow her every move. It will be risky for the agency's professionals; they will have to drill holes to install cameras and microphones, hire another translator and set up an operational base on site.

From a certain point of view, they had an easy time with me. Nowadays, it is impossible to prove that this technology is in vaccines, even if little by little someone is getting closer.Of course, they didn't imagine this resistance; they thought they would close the case in a couple of months, as is probably the case with others. The mere idea that they could have thought of taking my house away makes me laugh. Take my house away? Think again.

I'm still in the hotel, busy with my quiet night shift, checking that the wild boars don't ruin the lawn. I think about what they have done to me over the last three years and I am proud of myself. I have kept a dozen Germans busy during this time: the translator, the physiological torturer, the oncologist, the various shift managers, the project manager, all confident that their technology is the best, that this way of solving the problem is guaranteed to succeed. I have always felt them committed to reassuring my old neighbour that things would turn out as he wished. I like to play against everyone; when everything is unfavourable, I give my best. I have been doing my best for three years, resisting their tormented subcutaneous tests and guaranteeing the freedom of my ex-wife. Now I understand what it means to fight for freedom. I am happy to sacrifice myself for the person I loved, and I do not intend to give up my property.

There it is, their perfect plan: to strip someone of their possessions without incurring any risk, simply by torturing them. But it's only fair that they learn that there are people who fight back, that they don't always win. Every night I go to sleep with this thought and wake up with a renewed desire to resist them.

I always hear their voices, my German has remained well trained even though I haven't set foot in Germany for a year, in their own way they help me.

It makes me happy to write about these things, I miss confiding these ideas to someone, P was usually my trusted listener, but writing about them frees me from the burden of my experiences.

Meanwhile, my left armpit is swelling up again, my German friends have infected another hair with the nanorobot. They are precise and tenacious in their torture, just as they are punctual in their weekly medical examinations of my abdomen. I have become their plaything, it feels like playing Operation, Nazi version. They know which points to touch and they know that the light bulb on my nose will light up.

They still wonder when my resistance will end, but the ticket they bought for the show does not specify the duration of the show.

They have chosen the wrong opponent. I am a person capable of sacrificing everything just for the sake of principle. If we add to that the lie about my neighbour's death, I am willing to hold out as long as possible so that the responsibility for this situation, year after year, falls on him. He sponsored me for this treatment, he chose to lie and hide to resolve the matter in this way, so I will keep him busy for as long as possible. He will spend more time watching my life, reading my writings, seeing my resistance.

At first I was desperate, I didn't know what it was, what was happening to me, why my body was reacting this way, but now that I know the reasons, I am calmer, almost cold, I expect surprises every night, I know that I will still vibrate, that I will still suffer. But I know that there is a perpetrator, a person who has decided to play with my body because he is pursuing an idea, and I will let him do it.

History has given me so many examples of passive resistance that I have treasured them. Let the aggressor attack, they will find the same rubber wall every night. They will always encounter the same peaceful resistance, they will not know what to do with their aggression. They cannot take away more than they have already taken from me. After taking everything away from me, only I remain, and I have always been enough for myself because I am sure of my means and who I am. I am a person who has decided to fight for resistance, to keep a house that I do not even use but that is mine. Defending my house seems so basic to me, I don't even have to think about it, it's not an effort, it's not hard work.

The effort is on the other side, realising that torture does not work, it does not lead to the liberation of the much-coveted house, not even with the efforts of a dirty dozen Germans. Every day they connect to see what I am doing, to try to break my balance, my psyche. I have grown so much stronger over the years, I could not believe I could resist like this. Their plan has generated anger in me and that anger has strengthened my idea of resistance. Subsequently, my whole being has drawn strength from their plan.

When the tumour takes me, they will be there to watch, to wait for my last words, to live my last moments. I know the old man will be there, he can't miss anything of this story, he is responsible for this plan, for this choice, and he will want to be there. I know that I will end up listening to his words last, and I feel disgust at the idea. It is precisely his voice that I will not want to hear at that moment, but I know he will be there to watch.

On the other hand, when you have an enemy, you want to be sure of his demise, so I bet he will be there until the end of the show.

Given my strong resistance, I believe they will apply more severe torture in the coming days to try to get me to terminate the house contract without having to perform any operation on my ex-wife. It is important to them that I terminate the contract of my own free will; they do not want to reach the point of having to set up a base in the building. The old neighbour's will is crucial to the continuation of the operation, and considering how far they have gone, I know they will not stop at my death.

Always present, always connected, they cannot risk missing a word.

These words will keep my memory alive, telling the truth that they fear will be believed, perhaps confirmed by others.

There is all the time in the world to reveal this technology, and all it takes is someone with enough memory to confirm what I am saying in the future.

There will be confirmation with cancer, with the attacks on my ex-wife. In time, given their need for action, everything will be confirmed. Even if the old man dies in the future, his actions, those of the agency, will remain in history to demonstrate what the dynamics between human beings can be. Their vile actions described here will remain in the minds of many, until they push the limits even further and someone else recounts facts similar to those I have described.

I firmly believe in what I write; what is happening to me is reality.

The problems in the building have not been solved by this torture, it has only driven me away from home, my ex-wife still lives a life that is disapproved of by the building. She continues to smoke weed and tobacco, inviting people who do the same into her home. The efforts of this group have been in vain and now, to my great pleasure, another winter is approaching. The efforts made so far have not changed the existing situation. Victims of the lies told, they cannot come to my door to complain. They have no choice but to insist with me and come up against my resistance.

   Spending nights in hotel messes up my sleep pattern. I woke up at 4 a.m. after a whole day spent sleeping. I woke up to the voices of Bö and the translator, already connected to the device, or maybe they woke me up? It's not easy to tell, but I'm sure they can do it, just as they've done other things to my body so far.

A new day is also beginning in Berlin, so I watched some videos on Instagram a little while ago. It's the usual grey and gloomy weather in Germany. I assume my neighbours have to keep their windows closed, and in the meantime, my wife is smoking. Ah, what a pleasure to think about it. The old man and his team are pressing hard, like Gasperini's teams, trying to take away my time from early in the morning. But I'm ready. They've shaped me for endurance over the years, so after a short walk outside the hotel, I sat down to write.

I think of all the people involved, hopeful in their decisive assault, how much longer will they have to wait for their coveted freedom from smoking? The court of wise men in Pankow will have to wait quite a while longer before they get the freedom they desire. I woke up in a good mood with the usual desire to battle with Bö, to show him the surroundings of the hotel, the Sardinian night, my writings. They got excited because I wrote that when they attack my ex-wife, they will have to set up a base in the apartment building, and this bothers them; revealing their plans always annoys them.

I hope to annoy them for a long time to come; after all, the feeling is mutual.

They justified that their attempt to warn me not to smoke in the house was the most they could do, then they moved on to manipulating my body. There are several ways to justify the violence they carried out. They convinced themselves that I would never realise what they were doing, but I have a long memory. I remember the first attack on my armpit in March 2023, so I can be sure of what I am saying. Causing me to suffer from premature ejaculation to separate me from my ex-wife is one of those steps they believed I would never realise, but time brings wisdom, and I have managed to connect this action to their work as well. What people. What a plan. How can anyone be so mean? Where are the others to confirm that this is a modus operandi? I have to get this story out there to find confirmation. These people do not deserve to walk free. What divine punishment should befall them for carrying out these actions? How can they sleep peacefully at night when their daily work is based on these interventions? People like this must be cold, with very few friends who are kept in the dark about their daily lives. I don't think they can tell a potential wife what they do during a working day. ‘You know, dear, we've been working for days to break up a couple.’ Who wouldn't slap you after a statement like that? What flows through their veins to even dream up such a plan? Am I wrong to call them Nazis? Should I coin another name for them? Manipulators doesn't quite cover their intentions; a manipulator doesn't control a nanorobot in another person's body. The people who do this are doctors, technicians, scientists, not just any old idiots. They are people who have studied and spent time acquiring this knowledge and show such a level of respect for human life, for a relationship between two people, for life itself.

Did I seem so ignorant that I didn't deserve a second chance? Did I give the impression that I didn't want to solve the problem? Yet I asked for a letter, not an obelisk.

I must not belittle myself as a human being, I have done nothing wrong, no one can tell me what to do in my own home. The problem existed and needed to be explained once, twice, three times. The old man did not want to confront me on other occasions, confident in his reasoning and superiority and in the solutions that would be proposed to him.

And so here we are, the solutions offered have alleviated the problem, driving me away from my home. But the problem is not solved if we are still at this point after three years, so I am sure that my ex-wife's lifestyle is not desired by this group of people, my lovely neighbours. They have been dirtying their hands for so long that I wonder how my ex-wife does not smell shit on the second floor.

Well, come on, people, Francesco is ready again today to embrace your entire organisation, all your mental discomfort with the logic found in this solution. These stories will reveal how despicable you are, and over time others will be added. I know I am not alone, otherwise how could I reconstruct your work, understand the repetitiveness and patterns of your routine. I know you do this to others too. I am running out of ways to offend you, I would like to coin some new words just for you.

Let's talk about armpit torture, who taught you that? Do you take lessons from the Iraqis, the Syrians torturers? Do you have a team of doctors at your disposal who enlighten you on how to torture your subjects of interest without leaving visible traces? I am sure that all these specialists are paid through IBAN transfers, they are all on your G agency payroll, perhaps hidden accounts to finance this kind of operations. I do not believe they are paid through the normal accounts of employees who do the normal work of a real estate agency. Sooner or later, your special torture section will be investigated by the law and your misdeeds brought to light. It is incredible that you have a section, a department of this kind. Professionals hired to carry out torture, you are the psychopaths. I am calm, investigating your reality is a pleasure, knowing that you exist and live your day doing this is the answer to my initial questions. It's a shame you didn't invest in a customer centre with more humane procedures; I would have expected this from a progressive country like yours. Instead, you use nanorobots introduced during the pandemic crisis, smart guys. That's the solution to your condominium problems. I'm ready to move on, guys, to welcome your discomfort, your indomitable solutions. I was born to challenge the status quo, and my experiences enrich my story. Bringing to light what you do to your tenants gives me pleasure; it has become my current mission. You hoped to throw me into despair, fear, abandonment of reality, into the darkness of your tortures, but instead you have forged a fighter for the truth, you have motivated me to bring this reality and technology to light, you have given me a reason to live after my loss. I will not stop trying until the end, I will never let you or Bö win. We will move forward step by step to demonstrate what I have in my body. I will find the technology that will disconnect this device from the network. We will reason about these facts with an analytical, scientific mind. I will expose this conspiracy against human beings, these technologies developed to control us, to see our small daily actions, and the world will know what has been done and who uses this technology and for what reason.

The problems of the Pankow apartment building are insignificant compared to the reality of things. My resistance to your methods is well established, and I will leave Bö the pleasure of savouring it tomorrow and the day after. It seems to me a fair price to pay for taking away the first half of my life; now I will devote the second half solely to you. You have given me reason to believe and fight, so I do not want to disappoint you.

   3 September 2025, past midnight, I finished my shift at the hotel. The last thing I did was accompany a couple of Brazilian tourists to their room and practise my Portuguese a little more. Many Brazilians have passed through here, so I was happy to express myself in my Italian-accented Portuguese; it's always nice to welcome guests in their own language.

This was another day of discoveries. I found the page of an Australian doctor who is investigating the vaccine with impressive equipment and has done an excellent job of exposing the presence of nanotechnology. More information here: https://drdavidnixon.com/1/en/topic/construction-video-1

The more information I seek, the more confirmation I find for my theory. Fortunately, the world is big and full of curious people. Unfortunately, I have not yet found any stories of torture like mine, but it's not bad to be the first of my kind; others will come after me.

Of course, I wrote to Dr Nixon and told him about my experience, how nanotechnology works inside vaccinated people and the surprise of the brain implant that no one expects.

From this page, I also traced back to the first research carried out in Korea:

Real-Time Self-Assembly of Stereomicroscopically Visible Artificial Constructions in Incubated Specimens of mRNA Products Mainly from Pfizer and Moderna: A Comprehensive Longitudinal Study

https://cdn.manula.com/user/15577/docs/20082024-lee-broudy-2-07042024.pdf

There is a mountain of studies on the subject, and the media's silence on this work is incredible. I am just the link between research and practice. So we have unravelled the mystery of what is happening to me. I repeat, this technology is hackable; anyone with the right knowledge can take possession of another human being.

I went a step further and contacted the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Torture. I told them about the intra-body technology I have in me and how it is used to torture me. I provided them with the scientific references I have published here on the blog and gave them a link to the blog itself. I told them how this estate agency used this technology on me in an attempt to extort my house and I hypothesised that this technique is used on other people for purposes ranging from simple “education” to torture, including a little tour of compulsory psychiatric treatment when stories of this violence are told to doctors.

Today, I did my part to bring the truth to light, and I also worked, which is no small feat considering the swelling that is forming under my left armpit. My German controllers performed medical scans again today. My days are getting shorter and shorter, and every day they hope that I will not open my computer to do research or write emails like the ones I wrote today. They were connected when I wrote to both Dr Nixon and the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Torture, and they did not take kindly to my initiatives. But I have no choice but to expose this operation; I have no other purpose in life now.

I hope I will last long enough to have my blood tested at the Giovannini biodiagnostics laboratory in Mantua, where I will finally be able to find out if there are any abnormalities in my blood composition, so that I can begin to make the first additions and corroborate my theory.

Let's see how long we can keep this story under wraps, dear German friends. It doesn't take much to uncover the truth. All you need to do is find the secret bank accounts used to pay all these medical specialists and you'll scratch the surface of this story. You'll wonder what a real estate agency needs these medical specialists for, and my version will be confirmed. Do you offer private consultations to your employees in case of cancer at 11 p.m? As confident as you are that this story cannot be proven, you have everything in your bank accounts, and someone will even put it on their tax return. Three and a half years of this type of operation costs money, and you have not paid all the specialists who worked on my case in cash.

   4 September 2025, 3:10 a.m., my elderly neighbour has decided not to let me sleep tonight, electrifying my brain to prevent me from falling asleep. I can sense that he is particularly irritated tonight, greatly annoyed that I am not giving in and that the building will have to endure another winter with my ex-wife smoking. How can I not give in, he wonders, after everything he's done to me. Dear Bö, it's all a matter of willpower, it's one of those things you can never take away from me. The whole gang is connected at this hour and forced to listen to the ramblings of the old man who wanted the problem solved long ago, but instead is still here glued to his computer to see if he can break me. He gets angry and sour, becoming unbearable even to those on his side by behaving this way. I wonder what my ex-wife did tonight to leave him so enraged. Oh well, now I'll spend the night with an angry Bö who won't let me sleep.

6 September 2025, half past midnight, I've just finished my afternoon shift. I've loaded a washing machine with dirty laundry and am waiting for the cycle to finish. This afternoon, the Germans subjected me to thorough clinical examinations. I think they also performed an operation on my intestines. During the procedure, when the nanorobot was operating, they caused me to burp repeatedly, which I struggled to suppress at reception. It was as if my intestines were being emptied of air, a sensation similar to heartburn but milder. I am almost certain that they operated because I felt my flesh being repeatedly pricked. They do whatever they want with my body through this technology; they have arrogated to themselves the right to operate on me and analyse me whenever they please. They feel superior to me and, thanks to their technology and the validity of their cause, they think they can afford to perform any operation on my body. I can only observe their actions and report them in these writings to leave posterity with an idea of the superiority that circulates among human beings just to conceive such actions. They can operate with any means with impunity in order to pursue their goal. These facts do not remain secret, and their intentions and ideas will remain written as long as the internet remembers them. It is unfortunate for them that the brain implant releases feedback of their voices and their actions are not hidden from me.

Today, I translated the research of Dr Lee Mi and Dr Broudy for my family, my family doctor and a cousin of mine who is a pharmacist, to prove to them the existence of independent research in this field. I also wrote an email to Dr Lee Mi and Dr Broudy to inform them of the discoveries I have made after these years of torture. I do not know if the Germans are still monitoring my email account and have allowed these communications to be sent to the two scientists.

My family does not believe in the existence of this technology. They understand that I am suffering, but they expect this information to be disclosed by a Nobel Prize winner in medicine. I tried to explain to my father that what they injected us with is one of the most important secrets of recent years, but he does not want to believe it.

I am waiting for confirmations. The research by Dr Lee Mi and Dr Broudy is quite comprehensive and focuses on a period of more than two years. In fact, it is still ongoing and is being conducted in a well-equipped laboratory.

My German friends are always connected and watching.

   7 September 2025, 23:46, just finished my shift at the hotel. Tonight I was thinking about how to track down these wretches. If I could test the IMSI catcher and see if the nanorobots connect to it, I could test what the nanorobots transmit and receive, and identify the server where this data is sent. Once the server is identified, I could trace the IP addresses of the individuals who connected to it and then I could try to find out how many of these bastards used it. I could trace the translator, Bö, all the managers at the G agency who connected to it, the doctors who carried out these tortures, and the oncologist who examined me. Could this server belong to the estate agency? The difficulty is accessing the tool with the little evidence I have at the moment, but I am sure that with this method, all these people could be traced. I have found another target to put on my agenda. In the meantime, my armpits smell of gangrene from how badly they have been tortured these days. Yesterday, I posted another video on Bitchute showing the bloodstains left by the wounds on my T-shirts. I continue to document what is happening to me without stopping. It does not require much effort, as it has become my reason for living.

   9 September 2025, I finished my night shift at the hotel at 7:30 a.m. and at 11:00 a.m. my parents came to visit me. We went to visit a nearby village called San Pantaleo. We walked around the village and around lunchtime we stopped to eat at a restaurant. Unfortunately, during lunch we discussed my situation. My parents do not believe that I have nanorobots inside my body. They think I am mentally ill and believe in the theory of psychosis. I asked them how it is possible that I hear two or three Germans speaking German in my head, and they say it is part of the psychosis. I got very angry and provided them with evidence to support my claims, the research by Dr Lee Mi and Dr Broudy. They said they had just started reading it and that it was difficult to understand everything that was written. I invited them to look for explanations on the internet for the most difficult parts, but my father believes that the internet is the home of hoaxes and therefore only false or untrue news can be found there. This view hinders my desire to purchase a 5G/Wi-Fi jammer, for example. I have a joint account with my parents where I have enough money to afford this technology, but because of their disapproval, I cannot make the purchase. I am waiting to receive my salary from the hotel and then I will order this device through a website. My parents do not understand how vital it is to use this tool, which would serve to disconnect the nanorobots from the network and prevent the German group from continuing to perpetrate their torture in the hope that I will cancel the house contract.

This situation is creating a huge rift with my parents. It was not enough what it caused with my ex-wife, now the situation is also worsening with those who gave me life. This is further fuel for my resistance and revenge.

The German group also enjoyed the discussion with my parents. They were connected the whole time during the chat, of course, and are very happy that I do not have their support.

So far, I have not received any replies to the emails I sent to various researchers around the world. I have to wait and hope that something comes out of the blood tests.

   My German friends are in a state of emergency, the tumour is spreading more and more, so medical examinations carried out by the nanorobot are becoming a daily occurrence. Bö and the translator are getting more and more nervous, demanding more decisive action. They cannot bring themselves to attack my ex-wife and must do everything they can to resolve the matter through me, otherwise too many confirmations would become certainties.

I will certainly die as the landlord, no matter what happens to me, but I will force this gang either to remain silent forever and accept that my ex-wife smokes in the house, or to take the initiative and expose their plan of attack against my ex-wife, which has already been described at length. At the cost of my life, I want to win against them. I will leave no room for their actions. Repaying war with war, there is no other choice. I will not see the rest of the story, but I will leave them with enough obstacles in their path.

11 September 2025, tonight too, the old man and his team decided not to let me sleep. They remained glued to their monitors while I stayed in bed with my eyes closed, trying to get as much rest as possible from my lying position. They continue to alter my bodily functions, mainly my normal sleep-wake cycle. They have no other means of persuading me to cancel the apartment contract, so they have to go to this lengths, depriving me of sleep, to try to get me to cancel. While they were busy controlling the nanorobots to prevent me from falling asleep, Mrs Bö pointed out to her husband that if they don't let me sleep, I'll go and smoke, and then the cancer will grow. Her husband doesn't care about the cancer; he knows he has to break me to get the room free, so he continues on his way. They have greatly underestimated my willpower; they thought I was a wimp like everyone else. After spending six sleepless nights in Eberswalde, staying up all night with their voices programming and controlling me in the background is a piece of cake. Their attempts do not affect my will in the slightest, so I remain calm and peaceful when this happens. I am so motivated to make them understand that their methods are wrong, and even though I find myself dealing with a team of four people who are watching me and trying to ruin my life, I do not lose my cool. I am always the one with the upper hand, and he is the one who suffers from September to April because his neighbour smokes in her flat. I will keep him busy for many more nights, all the nights I have left.

13 September, late at night, Bö and his wife have been arguing all night. His wife disapproves of what her husband is doing; she too. is convinced that a letter would have been enough to solve the problem. They were so noisy that I couldn't sleep for several hours, and in the end, when they stopped arguing, it was just me and my old neighbour with his team. They continued their anti-sleep torture; I don't think I slept at all, maybe half an hour. I am sure that the lady is not comfortable with the methods chosen by her husband to solve the problem and now she is starting to make him pay for it every day. The old man, on the other hand, is determined to have the flat vacated and has no other means of achieving this than to continue to assault my body. Now I also have to be a spectator to family quarrels. Imagine how this story has upset Mrs Bö. Everyone was promised an easy solution to the problem through these instruments, but instead I am resisting their torture. On top of that, I have cancer and the old man continues to use his instruments even though I am at the end of my life. The lady is really upset. I don't think she will be able to keep such a big secret to herself once I pass away. She is a good person and has never been able to adapt to her husband's methods, while he has sought the path of violence and revenge from the very beginning. When all this is over, they will find themselves face to face and the disagreements will be so great that they will no longer be able to stay together. The secret of this story will eat away at the conscience of the good Mrs Bö, and something unexpected will happen to my old neighbour.

The Bö couple have been arguing loudly for a couple of days. The wife no longer accepts her husband's behaviour, this absurd hunt he has been carrying on for three and a half years. I hear them shouting in my head at fixed, predetermined intervals. Every time she enters the study where he works on me, she always has something to say. She knows everything that is going on and has not approved of a single thing her husband has done so far. She also believes that a simple note would have been enough to make us stop smoking. Today, 15 September, Mr Bö woke me up at 8 o'clock in the morning. He wants me to smoke as much as possible so that the cancer takes effect as soon as possible. He won't be happy until he sees me dead. It bothers him greatly that I didn't give up the flat; in fact, everything he has done has been for the flat. He justifies himself to his wife by saying that he informed me that smoking is harmful and that these are just the consequences of my actions, yet he continues to keep me awake or wakes me up early in the morning. This morning, his wife must have caught her husband on the computer and flew into a rage. I woke up with their shouting in my head again this morning.

   Still 15 September 2025, today was a productive day, we had an honest chat between the three of us, myself and Mr and Mrs Bö. Mrs Bö has had enough of her husband's operation and has been saying so for days now. Mr Bö is now stuck in his chair of hatred and can see nothing but liberation from the flat through torture. I pointed out again that all he had to do was write a letter and I would be able to stop my ex-wife, but it's no use, it's too late now to cry over spilt milk. He is too proud to write a letter. In the evening, around 9 p.m., my ex-wife must have returned home and, as usual, she smoked. The Bö couple immediately became enraged about this, and the lady pointed out to her husband that this torture had solved absolutely nothing and that the Brazilian woman was continuing with her habits. I invited them again to leave a note on my door with the words: Please smoke on the balcony. It doesn't have to be signed; my ex-wife will understand that they are referring to her. Nothing doing. Although Mrs Bö continues to urge her husband to follow my suggestions, he stubbornly refuses to expose himself. He doesn't want to give my ex-wife any indication that I was right when I told her that our smoking was bothering the neighbours.

There is no way out. I am not giving up my flat, and Mr Bö is not giving up his torture. I couldn't help pointing out to Mrs Bö that her husband ruined my honeymoon with my wife in Brazil. It was too tempting. The old man won't listen to reason. He wants to screw me over until the end.

I expect another sleepless night thanks to their device inside my body, but I'm ready. These are the last months of my life and I know I'll have to devote them to him and his gang.

   I feel so sorry for Mrs Bö, she's going through hell trying to stop her husband. They've been arguing about me for an hour. She's suffering because of my situation, but it takes a lot of courage to report her husband, with whom she may have lived for 60 years, to the police, and she doesn't have the strength to do it yet. It almost seems as if she is crying in an attempt to stop him. I am almost tempted to ask my ex-wife if she has been hearing them shouting for two days, but this question would make no sense to her. I would like to help Mrs Bö in some way, but we are thousands of kilometres apart. We do have one thing in common, however: we are alone with a torturer who has no remorse for what he has done and will use any means necessary to achieve his goal. A man who does not even stop at his wife's tears. This is the man he has become in these three and a half years. They put the idea in his head and he can no longer help but follow it, without any interest in what he crushes along the way. These are moments of back and forth, like, “Do you know you're killing him?” and he replies, “JA JA JA”. Poor us for having met him on our path.

17 September 2025, I believe that my communications are still being hacked. I have not received any replies to my emails or requests for help sent to scientists investigating the technology used in vaccines, to the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Torture, or even to the first communication that was hacked, an email sent to the Italian Foreign Office asking for help when the electromagnetic waves in my skull were causing me ischaemia.

8 September 2025, Mrs Bö's screams wake me up at three in the morning. She found her husband playing on the computer with the device I have inside my body. I wake up with my right armpit releasing pus mixed with blood and feeling sore. I imagine this is due to the effects of the nanorobot that her husband was using in that area of my body. The two are still shouting at each other. The old man knows that I will go for a smoke after this night-time wake-up call, and his wife is very annoyed by this, almost to the point of tears. The lady is participating more often in the device's streaming. She knows her husband is doing something absurd, but she can't stop him. She has already threatened him several times that she would go to the police, but I know it is very difficult for her to take this initiative. She could be accused of participating in these crimes just for having witnessed them, even though from the beginning she advised her husband to seek more peaceful solutions. He never followed her advice. Mr Bö mocked me yesterday because I am convinced that G agency is involved in this operation. Perhaps it is not as I thought, perhaps there really is an investigation agency involved in solving the problems of harmful flatmates. If this is the case, the evidence can be found in Mr Bö's bank account and in the payments made between February and March 2023.

They might even think of killing me before the effects of the cancer are visible, as a way of discrediting this whole story. There is no other explanation for Mrs Bö's interventions, her interventions in my defence to stop her husband's actions.

Herr Bö refuses to accept defeat in this challenge; he still dreams of getting the flat for free through my submission. I am holding out, despite the sudden alarms, the sleepless nights, the bleeding armpits, I am still here resisting.

Mrs Bö knows the harm her husband has done to me, she has repeated the list of abuses to him more than once, but the old man continues on his way, determined to make me pay to the end for having resisted for so long. I already know that it will be the last voice I hear in this world.

I began to wonder whether Mrs Bö's presence was part of their strategy, a German comedy to make me believe that there is someone on my side, when in reality her presence and her screams only wake me up and make me nervous, inviting me to smoke yet another cigarette.

Today, too, I must hold on.

September 19, 2025, I am still awakened by Mrs. Bö's cries. It is 8:20 in the morning, and she is telling her husband that I am right. She cries as she does so, and he teases her, replying that yes, I am right.

He must have turned on the computer and activated the program, and immediately the argument broke out, broadcast on live chat.

Yesterday, I speculated on how my ex-wife uses her freedom. I imagined guests in my house smoking as if I were there. I told the Germans that their torture has not changed the state of affairs in that apartment in the slightest and that life goes on as before but with different actors. I told them that in my relationship with my ex-wife, I acted as a balancing force. I must have hit the mark. For days, I have been asking them to deliver a message to my ex-wife inviting her to smoke on the balcony. They are stubborn and do not want to expose themselves. Old man Bö wants to carry out his plan through me.

I haven't heard from the translator for days. I am mainly speaking to them in German to have direct contact with Mrs. Bö.

September 21, 2025, the morning begins with Mrs. Bö shouting “ich rufe die polizei.” It's 7 a.m., and the connection to the system is already active. Even before breakfast, Mr. Bö has to turn on his computer and activate the connection to his obsession. He has been doing this mechanically for three and a half years, and he is not ashamed of it even today. Before I hear the couple start arguing, I put my headphones on and start listening to Ennio Morricone's playlist. Fatal for the moment. The same playlist I listened to in Brazil when I walked along the long beach of Taipus de Fora chasing after my wife, who was walking alone because she was dissatisfied with my sexual performance during the vacation thanks to this shitty man.

September 22, half past midnight, the couple has been arguing for hours now. The old man has placed the nanorobot in my abdomen and started irradiating my internal organs. It causes a lot of pain when he does that. His wife constantly stops him and threatens to call the police. The old man threatens his wife that she is a witness to all these events and will not get away with it in court because she has witnessed the whole affair, but to me she is a heroine. She is constantly stopping her husband's initiatives, repeating that I am right in saying that a letter would have been enough, and she is fed up with watching this torture. Ah, what is love and what does it lead us to do? I endure torture for a past love, to give her the right to stay in the house that is ours, while my neighbor, out of love, witnesses the torture that her husband inflicts on my body every day. Today, Mrs. Bö saved me from her husband's evil intervention at least a dozen times. The poor woman is in a corner. She would have liked to call the police so many times, but the love that binds her to this psychopath and the fear of ending up in jail for a plan she didn't even want are too strong. We are both victims of love.

I'm tired. They woke me up early again this morning with their arguments. They keep arguing because the old man sees no other solution than violence against me, while his wife, poor thing, is forced to babysit him to make sure he doesn't cross the line. Not that this line hasn't already been crossed, but the bar of torture is raised every day. These idiots don't want to write this damn note to my wife. I'm also afraid for Mrs. Bö. If she ever picks up the phone to call the police, that madman might even hit her to prevent the call from being made.

I want to thank her in these writings because she has really done everything possible to prevent more serious pain from tormenting me, and given the relationship she has with her husband, a relationship I can only guess at given their advanced age, she has already done so much for me.

Unfortunately, Mr. Bö always keeps the connection open. They could resolve their disputes with the microphone turned off, and this makes me believe that he enjoys making me hear everything to cause further psychological pressure. I have to break down; there is no other way for him to get this apartment vacated.

This treatment has been going on for 3 years and 7 months. I have been hearing the voices for one year and three months, first only Bö and the translator and occasionally some guests, and for the last two weeks his wife has joined the live chat. The previous time was managed with the microphone turned off because I was not supposed to realize what they were doing to me, but I would say that I have managed to reconstruct what was done to me quite accurately.

I would therefore say with a good deal of certainty that this is also psychological torture, forcing me to hear more and more voices in my brain throughout the day.

This does not undermine my convictions in the slightest; there has not been a single day when I have thought of terminating the lease.

I discussed it again with my father. He finds what I am writing incredible. He does not think that the Germans or Bö could be looking for my house. He does not believe that the technology I am describing could exist. He would expect such technology to be advertised in newspapers, awarded a Nobel Prize, and discussed on television news programs. This technology is a global secret. Perhaps I am among the first to experience it firsthand for such a long period and to verify how it works.

I am certainly the first to write about it. I have searched the internet far and wide and written about my case of psychosis with voices in another language on various forums, using grammar that I have never even studied. I have totally rejected the idea of a psychiatric case and turned to science.

My dear torturers have decided to continue the torture on several levels and are achieving excellent results: separated from my wife, removed from my home, damaged in body and spirit, disbelieved and blamed by family and doctors.

Fortunately, I have found a few people who believe all this: my colleague K, my friends V and B.

Fortunately, I have found enough scientific references on this technology to believe that I have not gone mad, fortunately I bear the scars of their torture under my armpits, fortunately every time the nanorobot is turned on I feel pain. Fortunately, there are things that are not only in my head but also in my body.

Vergewaltigt = Raped, that's how you spell it in German. It was important to find this word to tell them, to say it in a way they would understand, to express my feelings to them, which I usually try to keep to myself because they don't deserve to know what I think after years of doing whatever they wanted.

After trying to share these thoughts, I think I'll try to sleep again.

September 23, 2025, 8:00 p.m. My Teutonic friends spent the whole night talking, shouting at each other. Of course, I couldn't sleep with these voices in my head. Bö constantly argues with his wife, who now never leaves the broadcast because she is afraid he might do something painful with the nanorobot. The topic of discussion is always the same: she accuses him of accelerating my cancer with these tortures, and he replies that he is aware that I will die. The lady continues to threaten her husband with calling the police, but he replies that she is just as complicit, and so it starts all over again.

I was sure that Bö would lose his wife by continuing down this path; one cannot remain insensitive to what he has done to me. Even if she wanted the apartment to be free, this was not how she wanted to achieve liberation.

In recent days, we have exposed sides of Bö that were unimaginable. He is a sadistic racist who enjoyed using these methods. He hates foreigners, and I suppose he has no children. How can such a man have the patience to raise children? In these conversations with his wife, he admitted how much this operation had cost him. He confirmed that he had paid all the people mentioned so far to get me to leave Germany, to which I replied that $10,000 is enough to save a person from Gaza and that instead of using this money for this absurd hunt, he could have saved lives and done good. The old man is so determined in his mission that he is convinced he is doing good, he is doing it for the whole apartment building, he is doing it for the neighbors.

Yesterday, when I was talking to some German guests from Hamburg, she told him that I am not a bad person, that he ruined the life of a poor asshole. That a letter would have been enough to resolve the whole matter. But Bö is insensitive to his wife's arguments and has no intention of stopping.

This is one of the first times he has left the microphone on for so long. They have been broadcasting for more than 24 hours and have finally decided on psychological torture. He has repeated more than once that he will continue until the end.

The irony is that I am the one who has to take psychiatric drugs because I hear voices in German in my head, while this criminal who has done all the things described here is on the loose and continues to torture me. He is the one who should be taking medication for the serious problem he has with his anger, his ideas, and his racism.

I don't think he voted in the last election in Germany, simply because he never leaves his office to monitor me, but if he could have voted, I'm sure he would have chosen the AFD because of his visceral hatred of foreigners. I believe he also has a sad story related to Italians, but he didn't want to tell me about it personally. However, he turned off the microphone and briefly explained the story to his wife.

The torture is mainly psychological now. I still have infected hair under my armpits, but the main problem is the absence of the natural silence that should be in my head, the lack of peace, the constant thought of resisting this form of torture. No one should be subjected to what I am going through, not even for the most precious things in the world.

After yet another night spent listening to my German friends, I decided to take action and ordered the following product online:

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/vodasafe-Signal-Detector-GSM-3G-4G_1601060185846.html

This device is capable of detecting the transmission band of any telephone devices. I want to prove that I have a device connected to the telephone network inside my body and that this band I have described so far is being used to carry out its torture on me.

Once the device was found and the order placed, my dear friend Bö flew into a rage with his wife, who was naturally concerned about the consequences of my actions. Now more than ever, the situation is becoming dangerous, and we are approaching the moment of closure.

Mrs. Bö is very concerned about this, her husband is in a state of total rage, and they will not let me test the operation of this device.

   September 25, 2025, 3:00 a.m. They wake me up again. They know I have cancer and that no one believes me. They know that no one believes I hear their voices, they know that no one believes that this implant I describe exists, and they know that if they wake me up, I will go and smoke. Unfortunately, that's what happened again, I smoked again. I feel sorry for all those people who didn't believe me when I told them about these events and for how they will feel when I'm gone.

I want to emphasize that this is a plan tailored specifically for me, to scare my ex-wife and try to convince her to stop smoking in the apartment. Once they realized that they would not get the apartment through torture, they had to switch to a plan to hasten my death. These Germans are cold and rational like few others. They tortured me for years and then pushed me into a slow and calculated suicide. They relish every moment of what they see.

Mrs. Bö constantly reprimands her husband for this criminal plan, but she still doesn't have the courage to go to the police. The old man, on the other hand, continues to show his pure hatred towards me and does not hesitate to continue with these nightly wake-ups and then confront his advisors every time I light a cigarette.

I was denied cancer tests because I am psychotic, psychotic because I reported being attacked by my neighbors on October 30, 2024, psychotic because I report hearing their voices in German continuously since July 2024, psychotic because I believe there is a brain implant and a nanorobot in the vaccine I was injected with in Germany.

They haven't left me alone since I left Germany. They have continued to attack me daily, interrupting my sleep and piloting the nanorobot to different parts of my body to emit electromagnetic fields that would wake me up, all to force me to leave an apartment. All this to follow the malice of an old man who didn't want to write a note to his foreign neighbor.

I am under constant medical supervision through this device. They check the course of the disease every day and program my alarms accordingly. They know when it's time to wake me up to add more nicotine to my organs.

A murder planned by them down to the smallest detail.

But I already knew it would end badly for me. I knew that because of their efforts, something bad would happen to me sooner or later. The only pleasure is that they won't take my house away, that the lies they have created will have to be carried on so that my ex-wife believes she lives in a normal apartment building. They won't be able to change her with my death, we never spoke again after the separation, they will have the same problems they have now, the same problems that led the old man to plan my slow murder. And if my ex-wife is still healthy and finds other smoking companions, Bö's little war will have been for nothing.

He is just torturing another human being, taking revenge on a stranger he has been looking for for who knows how many years.

   I can no longer bear to be treated this way. It has been four exhausting years of electric shocks, electromagnetic fields in my body, intestinal pain, severe migraines, sleepless nights, sudden awakenings, voices, and arguments in my head. Putting it into words does not convey what I have been through. A team of people assigned to destroy my life on demand—it's hard to believe, to think that people do harm for a living is absurd. No one should ever have to experience what I have described. The cruelty of a human being with the technology available today is endless, and all this happened in Europe.

I challenged him, I tried to reason with him, I mocked him, but I couldn't stop him. The old man continued with his scaled-down plan. Unable to get the apartment free, he tried to hasten my death to set an example for my ex-wife.

His wife knows about the evil perpetrated by her husband and cannot bear to live with this information; she hates him for taking this kind of initiative. She lost her man almost four years ago because of this plan, and after all this time, she found herself facing a monster. He is no longer the man she married, no longer the man who promised to defend the home. He has turned into a madman who can only achieve some sort of happiness, some sort of satisfaction, through my death.

There are other neighbors who smoke, on their own floor on the third floor, in front of the old man's door. Mrs. G smokes marijuana, but she is German and he has never had any arguments with her. There is another German smoker on the second floor, but he has nothing to say to him either. With me, however, it's a different story. I, an Ausländer, just had to learn from him. He had to teach me a lesson with a capital L because I smoked in the house. So he locked himself in his study three years and seven months ago and began to dispense torture. He did crazy things with this technology, he spent sleepless nights trying to get what wasn't his, and once he realized he couldn't get it, he did everything he could to hasten my death.

I'm tired of hearing their voices, I deserve silence and peace, they will be eternal.

   September 26, 2025, 3:00 a.m., I haven't slept for 24 hours, the couple's voices still in my head for a whole day. I'm using earphones to try to minimize their feedback, today I've chosen my Italian playlist. Of course, I worked at the hotel, a quiet shift. I wonder how my body can withstand this lack of sleep; maybe it has gotten used to it. Maybe it will make me pay the price all at once.

Bö keeps me awake all day with this damn instrument because he knows it will make me smoke. After all, it's the fastest way to go to the other world and end this torture without having to give up the apartment. The translator translates as I write, keeping the couple up to date on the drafting of my memoirs.

I'm not afraid, singing some of my favorite songs improves my mood. I was tired of hearing their voices while on duty at the reception desk, but the music recharges my energy.

I tried to sleep with the music on for over an hour, but I couldn't fall asleep even though I took a sleeping pill. In the silent breaks between songs, I could hear them talking in German. They too have been awake for 24 hours, which says a lot about their motivations for continuing this torture. Since my ex-wife has the house to herself and believes that the old neighbor is dead and that no one is bothered by the smoke, she has started smoking even in the small study where we kept our computers. This study is the least insulated room in the house, and these small open spaces at its edges communicate with Bö's study upstairs and the room downstairs where Br's son lives. I believe my ex is smoking in this space, expanding the polluted space of the other neighbors, but everyone has to keep quiet because they too believe in torture. My neighbors celebrated when my wife and I separated and I moved away from my home, but a year later they realized that I wasn't the only problem. I think that now, in my ex's house, only the bedroom is free from cigarette smoke; now, smoking is allowed in all the other rooms. This reasoning explains Bö's summer aggression, which has been keeping me awake since August in order to get me to terminate the lease before winter arrives.

Unfortunately for him, he's got the wrong end of the stick, and there's no way I'm going to give him what he wants. Every day, I try to impress upon him that this kind of torture won't get him anywhere with me, even if it kills me.

I'm happy to give them advice. I've already told them to come together with the children and point out to my ex that there's a problem with the smoke, but Bö has told the neighbors that he's dead, so the solution to everything is his torture, which, as I said, hasn't worked in terms of freeing up the apartment. These same tortures made me smoke like a chimney from the start of treatment in March 2024, when the migraines became daily (see ischemia in August 2024), tremors, and the first attacks on my nighttime sleep. I smoked like a chimney everywhere I went because of the daily tortures. Writing letters asking for help did not help either; on the contrary, the torture became worse and worse.

According to the creator of this plan, it would all be over quickly, I would never realize what was happening to me, and it would be easy to get the apartment vacated. In March 2026, Bö will have been locked in his office for exactly four years, so easy was it to get the apartment vacated. Four years of torture.

In the meantime, I have decided to write about what has happened to me. I have found scientific references to prove what I am experiencing, I have found possible equipment that can refute the presence of this technology inside my body, I have found doctors who are doing research in this field, and I have booked an appointment with them for a check-up.

I am doing everything I can to resist, to try to prove what has been done to me, to remove the heavy burden of being a psychotic who hears voices in German.

Head down, resistance, and pedal.

September 27, 2025, 4:27 a.m., another sleepless night. The couple has been shouting since midnight. Thoughts of suicide are becoming more frequent. The woman can't take this absurd torture anymore, but she can't stop her husband, who is foaming at the mouth with rage at the situation that is unfolding. He would like to torture me as much as he can, but his wife always stops him, constantly threatening to call the police. The old man doesn't care, accuses his wife of being guilty and then corners her with guilt and silences for a few minutes, then it all starts again. I wrote to my ex-wife to ask if she can hear the neighbors' screams, as they continue to scream at this hour.

I have no peace, I have no sleep, I can't sleep. The old man is determined to torment me until the end of my days and his wife is worried about my writings.

If this truth came out, it would be terrible for many, but I'm used to it by now.

Staying awake for hours and listening to this couple's arguments in German, one defending me, the other just wanting to attack me.

The old man knows he'll never get anything from me, so he's mentally determined to make me pay dearly for every second of the day. Not only by not letting me sleep, but also by talking at every possible moment, so that I feel his presence, so that I don't forget him and what he wants. He always talks, damn it.

The antipsychotic drugs are like glasses of water. I've been taking them for three years and they have no effect; in fact, my belly has grown.

The lady's pleas have no effect on her husband's malice. He has to keep going as long as I breathe.

Today I slept for three hours, if I remember correctly. I fell asleep around 7 a.m. and was already awake at 10 a.m. with their voices in my head. They're really treating me well.

As I write, I can hear at least three people besides the couple arguing exchanging feedback on my writings; today there are five in total watching. What a show, all part of this absurd plan to rid an apartment of annoying tenants. They should have stopped when I left for Italy, but they wanted the jackpot.

Ah, if only we could find the server where this system transmits, we could find all the IP addresses that have connected to it and make a list of these lovely spectators, accomplices, and architects of this failed plan. Where could this server be? In the company that received the first payment by bank transfer from my neighbor in March 2023? Careful as they are, no valid information will be found. Bö's computer has been connected to this server since March 2023. Will it be possible not to find a single piece of information about this old man's data traffic? Will it be impossible to find a list of other users who have accessed this server, such as the oncologist who checked on me at the end of April? The answer lies with the wizards of the internet and investigation. If there is justice in the world, it would be nice if they were all caught for their absurd plan.

Damn, a little note would have been enough to solve the problem.

   September 29, 2025, 4:28 a.m. No sleep again tonight, the couple is still up arguing. I haven't heard back from my ex-wife, my phone has been hacked, I'll go to the cybercrime unit and report the problem in a few days.

The couple has been quite talkative. They informed me that this operation was planned and financed by all my German neighbors, with Bö acting as leader and persecutor. The others participate sporadically in the show, but they keep each other well informed through a group chat on WhatsApp, where my old neighbor informs the others about the progress of the operation. I was very angry when I found out about this. Four families, rather than coming to my door and discussing the problem of smoking in my apartment in a civilized manner, have pooled their resources to pay for this absurd service of nanorobots inside my body. Among these families are children who are aware of this torture. What happens to me on a daily basis is frequently shared by Bö. They all know that I have cancer and they know that they have to push ahead with the plan if they want to achieve something before I die. It would be risky for my ex-wife to become the landlady, as another operation of this kind would have to be carried out.

I can imagine them meeting on the stairs, talking about the torture I am subjected to as if it were any old topic.

They all paid Bö to obtain this technology and service, and all this information is in his bank account, along with the name of the company providing this service, the name of the translator who translates for them, and the name of the oncologist who visits me often. The names are Sc, Br, and Bö. I may be missing a few, but you only need to check who the families adjacent to my apartment are to find their names on Bö's bank account. A handful of families who, rather than informing me, took the free decision to torture me until the end of my life in the Federal Republic of Germany.

The couple is shouting as I write. It should have been easy to get rid of me and my wife, but instead it turned into a book.

The worst thing is that there are children who know about this torture. I am amazed at the education they are given. Adults show their children the right to torture another human being, a fine example of how to deal with life's problems. I am talking about a group of about ten people who are aware of these facts and who exchange messages daily about how the torture is going. Mrs. Bö is in tears, I cannot sleep with their voices in my head, and the translator confirms everything to the supervisor on duty.

Another wonderful night of partying in my head.

October 1, 2025, 5:20 a.m., Bö wakes me up early. His wife is yelling that she's calling the police. It's been the same story for the last few days, the routine repeats itself. I still haven't heard back from my ex-wife about whether she can hear noise coming from my neighbors' apartment. Today, when I opened the original file for this blog, where I keep the version with full names and some other additional information, I found the document in Italian altered. Instead of the normal characters, there was a string of #############. Even my computer has been hacked if they can modify the files above. I continue to write, uncertain whether the blog might be deleted at any moment.

While the couple argues, the backup team is on duty, the translator and the IT technician assigned to monitor communications exchanged opinions on the fact that I realized that the computer has also been hacked because the original file has been altered.

My work experience at the hotel is coming to an end. I have written a lot during this time, slept little, and been tortured enough. Soon it will be time for serious checks.