Kevin Wikse vs. The Dark Queen of Mexico Part 2

Kevin Wikse vs. The Dark Queen of Mexico


I took Razor at his word. I trusted that for him to get justifiable revenge on me, to stab me in the back and add that delicious twist of salt and lime to the wound, he would need to be helpful, for a little while at least. The Tiger Shark began to fill up with the usual riffraff and degenerates, and if I didn't want to run into anyone else with a grudge and a score to settle, I better hit the streets.


Outside, Los Angeles roared with a life of its own; the heat wafted off into the open jaws of the darkening sky, turning to grit and grime that breathed on the pavement and the bodies of all who called this concrete jungle home. A cacophony of car horns, distant sirens, and the murmured conversations of the damned droned through the evening, not like the buzz of a beehive but a nest of hornets—one I was hell-bent on kicking.


I wandered through alleys and avenues, a voyeur in a world where the line between sanity and madness blurred into insignificance. The alcohol was in full effect, and the lights and faces merged into an ugly, glitter-dusted, and transgendered beast serenading me with the songs of deeply wounded humanity.


The whole world spun and turned upside down like I’d been sucker punched and then took a cheap shot from a barroom drunk. Had Razor spiked my drink? The neon lights convulsed and swirled. Everything turned black and red. The music of Los Angeles became capricious and then violently discordant. I braced myself hard, fighting to maintain my wits. Everything transformed into a graveyard of dreams and a crucible of nightmares. Humanoid figures shuffled towards me, their flesh bubbling and dissolving, eyes oozing out of their sockets like long, slimy worms. Men turned into monsters, and the landscape morphed into a vast urban expanse of abstract horrors. An experience that could drive a man insane.


Razor had slipped me my favored weapon before I left. An unexpected act of kindness that confused me then but made perfect sense now. Arm me and slowly raise the abyss around me. Let the horror make me open fire, and then I get gunned down by the LAPD. Someone had taken classes at Langley and put Razor in their pocket. Clever bastards. Little did they know my level of devotion to the spirit of vengeance. I found comfort in the feel of Hell's mouthpiece under my arm. The infernal preacher speaking apocalyptic prophecies and spitting judgment from the barreled mouth of a chrome-plated .44 magnum. It urged me to steal myself, to take this moment and peel back the layers to see beyond the façade.


This world I suddenly found myself in was a turbulent land of shattering glass and thunder, where all sense and security were born and died in the blink of an eye. It was merely temporary. Like all the other chemicals rattling and fizzing through my bloodstream, it would eventually release me back into the world I knew before. I’d take Razor to church over this, justified or not, but it wasn’t Sunday yet. I put my back against a wall and slid down. I would descend into insanity, surrounded by all the other fiends, addicts, and fentanyl zombies; madness would become my camouflage in this mangled landscape. 


I was jolted awake by the concussive sound of night crash-landing on top of Los Angeles. My lungs sucked in the darkness like a Hoover vacuum on overdrive. I quickly patted myself down. Gun, check. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Not robbed. Good start to coming back to consciousness. My phone showed it was just past 1 am. The city had transformed, the neon lights casting a lurid glow on the faces of those who thrived in the darkness.


This was the hour when the Los Angeles elite descended from their glitzy towers to mingle with, exploit, or pay to be exploited by the city's troglodytes. Los Angeles was like a vampire rising from its coffin, feeding on the dreams and despair of its inhabitants. The night had shifted from the drug-fueled discordant clamor of mayhem to the oddly soothing symphony of typical LA nightlife—not that it was much better, mind you. This was when the city’s true nature came out to play, revealing the raw, predatory instincts of what man feels safe doing in the dark. The beasts of the city were on the prowl, and I was right there with them, dancing on the edge of oblivion. 


A sharp impact met my foot, jolting me out of my haze, and my attention was immediately captured by a stunning platinum-blond Amazon towering over me, her leg cocked and ready to deliver another swift kick. "Hey, are you dying out here?" she asked, looking at me suspiciously as if I was already dead.


"Unless you are the Valkyrie here to fly me to Valhalla, I think I'll choose life for now," I answered, trying to keep my eyes from blatantly manhandling her huge and amazing tits—a task that, if it wasn't for her heartbreakingly beautiful face, would have been impossible.


She stood there, an imposing goddess of war, a cigarette just barely pinched between her ruby-red lips. She was wearing a slinky black dress and high heels, holding a knockoff designer handbag. She was uncomfortably flawless. I was just a lone street warrior, disheveled, unshaven, and barely clinging to sanity amidst the filth and garbage. Was love in the air, or was it the rank miasma of hobo flatulence and rotting Thai food? 


Time would tell. 


To be Continued...


-Kevin Wikse


Thank you for visiting my page. I am the only medium, remote viewer, and occultist who, with frightening and stunning accuracy, foresaw the COVID-19 pandemic/hoax and its sinister connections to China. Masks, weaponized and experimental vaccines, mandatory compliance, medical tracking on smartphones, the debacle of the 2020 election, the border crisis, the ILLEGAL migrant and CCP invasion, the specter of World War III, and the looming Magnetic Pole Reversal Global Cataclysm—I predicted it all. VAIDS (Vaccine Acquired Immunological Deficiency Syndrome) and even Dr. Fauci himself, all in my sights as early as 2014. Don’t believe it? See the complete, time-stamped, and documented evidence HERE. 

Additionally, I accurately predicted BOTH President Trump’s assassination attempt and that Joe Biden would not run again in 2024 for re-election in my “Merry Crisis and a Happy New Fear” 2024 post on 1/1/24. HERE

And that’s not all. My occult and remote influencing work played a pivotal role in the downfall of Jeffrey Epstein, the billionaire pedophile and human trafficker. This too is time-stamped and documented. Witness a true and authentic act of Solomonic conjuration from the Lesser Key, Ars Goetia. HERE. 

Please visit my Official Site HERE.




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