Those who are profiled by Lunacy.

They met.

They read.

They sang and danced and moved in such a way that it made all others around them uncomfortable and awkward.

They rang bells and hit gongs and banged on symbols until their fingers bled and then they taped them up and kept on going.

Collectively they looked like a ratty old train barreling down the tracks at light speed with whistles blowin' and lights flashing.

They raved over their dead and celebrated over their leaving.

They gave.

They sold.

They passed on to others what had been passed on to them so that, even if only by the smallest of fractions, the story that was told to them could also be told to others.

They ate and drank and were merry and they yelled in loud voices over one another at the setting of the sun.

And when morning came they rose from their sleep and cried and wept aloud at the rising sun.

They gnashed their teeth at it in disgust of it's robbing them of a true home coming.

"How dare you rise once more!" They said.

They listened.

They cried.

They imbedded into themselves parts of one another so that their experiences, whether good or bad, would not be shared alone.

And this was it.

This was what they had been called for.

This is what had been requested and required and longed for and desired.

It is what had been dreamt up.

It was the thing they knew had been created by the madness in the sky.

A plan, an architectural blueprint that, when looked at through the right heart, bred within it perfection.

And so they trucked forward in a fashion that made the Blitzkrieg seem feeble. And in their wake they left absolute destruction. Killing in their path death, hate, fear, lust, depravity, depression, sadness, and madness.

Hear me now.

Their steps approach and they have work that needs to be done.

And they will not stop.

Their call is from the highest of powers.

Watch.

You'll see.