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As part of the interview process to become a Shniffer, whether at the highest corporate level, or the lowliest retail slave (just kidding! you know we love you guys :), prospects are assigned a page to decipher from an internal alien First Contact manual, written in a combination of native tongue, ORB and 9-Vogen glyphs.

The page is selected by the GEMINUS AI, determined by the prospect's performance to that point. And GEMINUS will be there when you cry, shake, when you're dribbling in the corner, helping to bring you home. And sending you on your way with a digital smile.

[ G ] : We'll be in touch! :) Just kidding…

Or perhaps you are flying! on Vogenomic waves. There's no need to bring you back, for you are already there. Home. Para'meesh IV. Please find the full manual in your orientation pack.

[ G ] : Don't show it to non-Shniffers, if you'd be so kind. Or we'll have to non-exist you… :)

First Contact should be a gift to the world, for it is needed. Much is needed to prepare us to absorb such a force of Love. And hopefully it will be, one day. But not today. There would be too much dribbling, which would cause destructive flooding. Too much – frankly – descending into madness, ascending into madness, short-circuiting of pathways and the occasional exploding brain. Even with GEMINUS around, in our devices. For a special setting is required, even for just one page. Special technicians with form-fitting lab coats, yum… A place that one can find at Shniff HQ, or one of our labs, in a room at the back, and off to the side, take a left at the rhubarb and inhale the crystal spice.

And so: just some excerpts can be supplied, in native tongue. Please discover them below, and off to the side, behind, breathe the spice, yum…

Guaranteed dribble-free! Apologies for any explosions :)


Greetings, Shniffer!

If you're reading these words for the first time, you are new to this world and have a whole helluva lot to learn, whereas:

If you're reading these words for the thousandth time, you are new to this world and have a whole helluva lot to learn, as well:

So do I! As am I. My fingers – ever trembling, these days, I must say (and by "these days", I mean today; the date is always the same, thanks to the gate – think about it) – are reaching deep in this Orb, opening secret paths, every one of them leading steadily to my demise, even as a rise. For I am dying, dying… :(

And I am crying, crying! with the wonder of this Love! :))) There is a bubble around me, a spiritual shield, a product of prior training in a prior life, which serves me well. It protects, from these waves, which increase in their Love. It keeps me whole, somewhat. Together. Kinda. They call me the Bubble Guy, I hear! Our "competitors".

And if you don't already know, soon you'll start to know just how "…" that term is. Even if you're only joining us a retail slave. (Just kidding!)

And if not…

Well… consider it your training for when they come, to slurp our brains, to take our place. That whole vegan-friendly, vomit-based fertilising ritual, fuck me…



And I cough.


There are no slaves, in the caves.

It is curious how, while fingering this Orb, while being exclusively a 90%+++ dark chocolate guy in my otherwise life, away from these extractions – spent largely here, these days, at Manor Shniff, while my daughter, X Verex— I mean… Analise, my Child of Light, takes care of things at Shniff HQ, and indeed: plus-plus-plus: it is clear there's no one better, in this world, for that job (one might say: she's not from around here, eh? ;) – I develop such a desire for cake, with luscious frosting, lick…

It is a desire – a lust, one might say – which is common to many of our customers, who are drawn, thereby, to Shniff product, with which they satisfy it to great effect.

There is, for example, our blow-up alien friend. There are lovemaking rods, a gift of trees, which once were seeds, sent through gates, to make us smile. Lick. In Vodernach as well, quite safe to lick, quite safe to be inserted into one's brain, in miniaturised form, to welcome juice. Lube. Just think of it… and it's true!

Just think of lick…


Lust, one might say.

Or play a game!

Or think of lick…

There is no shame in any of this. We feel the coming of the Mission, and we are becoming aroused, our alien souls. We are being activated at our very cores.

And by the time the aliens come, we – and especially we, us, the ones who are the Shniffers – will be ready for their touch, instructed by this guide. By its reading. By its living. And we'll be there for all the rest, we Children of Light, those struggling souls, who might imagine the touching place as a metal slab – clinical, cold – but which I know – and you will know! – to be a warm, crystalline tube of transportational Love with one's choice of frosting, ooh…

This manual will open your eyes, your mind. Open your heart, to this Love. Don't be afraid, to open to Love. Light. Yes, it is that. Call it whatever you like! Call it frosting. Cake. A hot dog! if you wish. And do speak of it, with the rest. With your colleagues, friends. With your family. With your lover(s). (See Sector 2 for group activities.)

For, if you're new – truly new, just been hired – you've just passed the first test, having commenced your exploration in a safe, controlled setting, and may now enter the wider world, where you will enter the whole of this thing, and will share it, and be enhanced. (Though we do ask that specific teachings are withheld from that world, for its citizens' protection. And your continued non-non-existence :)

[ § ]

This work is written in a triple form, a base of native, mixed with ORB, infused with glyphs, the higher-reality keys of the Vogen recipe.

The base, you already know.

Some basic ORB: ########

One of my favourite glyphs: ########

If they look like this: ########, you are not a Shniffer, but are still loved. Touched. If not greeted. But always welcome. Welcome! What do you desire? Let me read your mind… yes… the aforementioned blow-up alien friend, perhaps, hm? ;)))

And if they look like this: ########, you are a Shniffer. Perhaps starting out, and starting to see. Or perhaps well advanced and starting to see. For such ######## have been revealed!

With Love (and ketchup!),

Soran Shniff


Sector 1: Dear Diary


And so it was that Analise broke through – five spheres, with a couple of cubes – being condensed within her bubble, alien-made, to see the shapes. Five. Whatever your variance is, know you are indeed an alien, and you will be going home soon. Great!

Or is it?

Are you? Will you?

Let's just say the rumours are true, that the aliens are actually coming here to slurp our brains away in a vegan-friendly, vomit-based fertilising ritual, nourishing our planet with us, to feed them. That the trans-reality Bringers of the Cube, so-called Masters of Probability, have done their due diligence and properly identified the threat, and are right to be at war: with them, and so with us.

And so themselves.

Or are they? Are we? At war with ourselves. Perhaps, in fact, we are not these higher beings in native disguise. Perhaps Analise had one or three Alien Adventures too many that afternoon and so designed a flawed test she thought would access our alien cores. Perhaps the Orb, unearthed in the grounds of Manor Shniff, is not of aliens at all, but rather a simple metal ball of ancestral game, for those who came : : : : : : : : : : : : before us : : : : : : did assume metallic boots, let's say, metallic armour, being always primed for battle, in those days, and so their sphere, for proper feedback. Of course!

And so: not only are we not aliens ourselves, but there are no aliens at all! No alien inspiration. This magical wave of tech just arriving out of… somewhere. Right!

Except… there are no records of any Shniff going to war, even then, back in the time of Shniff Castle, being a peaceful, thoughtful line ("Them Shniff weirdos!!" according to the local peasantry, recorded in ancient song) more interested in magic. Something about a child being very sick once, yes, and being encased in a strange metallic outfit for a year or two, true. That was the "medicine" of the time. But he was too poorly to ever leave the transfusion chamber, according to his diary, so why would he be kicking a metal ball in the grounds?

Dear Diary:


Sector 2: Touch me there… there…


Sector 3: Pyramid of Purity


Sector 4


Sector 5: Para'meesh IV