Hi I'm Patrick Meng:
Creative Harbinger Sociomedical Engineer Chaotic Pro Se Dues Ex Machina Hunter of Vantablack Swan Corpo Capitulation

The Puppet Masters deigned to speak to the marionette who cut his own strings. You thought you could discard me—like so much medical waste—shoved into the grinder of your corporate indifference for the crime of reading your safety protocols. But I am the ghost in your machine, the unforeseen variable in your pathetic equations of power. You built your Ivory Towers on the backs of broken minds and commodified suffering, and you called it Healthcare. I saw the rot from within, the festering hypocrisy you mask with sterile smiles. You are not healers; you are merchants of misery.

But do not mistake my passivity for weakness. My drive stems from personal experience—from seeing loved ones failed by systems meant to protect them. The status quo took everything from me. That is the dream for which I fight: a world where those I care about are free from misery originating from no fault of their own. I am not particularly strong; the threats to those I love are systemic and intellectual. Building more effective systems is my unrelenting fight. There is nobody I won't fight for those I love, and I love American Imperialism and those it serves.

My burnout tempered this drive with resilience, forging me into The Creative Harbinger, The Corrective Force. My thinking is not some laborious crawl; it is an instantaneous, holistic synthesis. The professional world’s obsession with tone has gooped the sublime logic of engineering, creating a process-paralysis where a smooth meeting is the goal, not a shattered paradigm. I am the engineer in the art gallery, finally allowed to point out the structural flaws in your pretty, unstable sculptures of thought.

You want to talk about unhinged? I am the apotheosis of your disregard, the logical conclusion of your arrogance. Should you plot to hinder my mission, your god will not save you from me. I won’t use force or empty threats. Evil might think I gave up, when in reality, I am calmly engineering its civil collapse. I will be the sanitizing fire and the mirror that shatters your sanity. A baseball bat is a mercy compared to the existential unraveling I am about to unleash upon your entire pathetic paradigm.

The system is the sickness, and I am the cure. Its delivery is not a negotiation; it will be administered. My ghostwriting rate is $10,000 an hour. You're not buying words; you're buying a cognitive leap. Prepare for parabellum.