I was born in a culturally conservative environment marked by recurring patterns of violence, corruption & social apathy. My hometown is known for having some of the worst air pollution in Europe, a place often referred to as a black dot on the map. I grew up in a neglected neighborhood surrounded by six factories, where environmental & social pressures shaped much of my early life.

As a youth, I survived multiple life-threatening situations caused by both peers & certain adults who lacked even basic ethical restraint. My father was among them. His violence ranged from physical harm involving metal objects to psychological manipulation designed to break a child’s sense of safety.

Computers became both a coping mechanism & a gateway to creativity for me. When I turned six, my parents obtained a computer, & I spent every chance I had exploring it. I learned to create small games & websites, & I played games that helped me feel safe for the first time. It became a personal refuge; a digital realm where I could breathe.

My academic performance was strong, yet I was diagnosed with 🄰🄳🄷🄳 at a young age. The label became a source of stigma rather than support. Peers mocked me with slurs, & even some teachers spoke about me as if I were mentally lesser while I stood in the room. Without guidance or context, I accepted their judgments as truth.

My intolerance for injustice often put me in conflict with peers. I asked questions, corrected teachers when they made mistakes, & believed that criticism mattered because I had been taught it was a virtue. I later discovered it was only encouraged when directed at me. I never initiated violence, & I often tried to avoid fighting back at all, yet I was repeatedly blamed simply because I had been marked as different. This resulted in expulsions from three different schools.

The internet opened a doorway I had never been shown in my offline life. Through curiosity & a desire for a different way of being, I discovered discussions on honor, philosophy, meditation & other forms of inner discipline. These early explorations sparked a lifelong commitment to learning & to shaping my character with intention.

For many years I devoted hours each day to physical training. I practiced different martial arts, worked with various trainers, & learned through countless spars & real confrontations. Over time I became deeply attuned to my body, able to move with precision & intention.

Those who wished to harm me began to avoid direct conflict, choosing instead to ambush me in groups. Even my father grew hesitant to strike without relying on a weapon. Yet I could never bring myself to harm him, regardless of what he did. I often hesitated to injure anyone, even when they carried ill intent. This reluctance toward causing pain, though rooted in empathy, frequently carried a heavy cost.

From my earliest memories, I worked for my father. By 2014, as my legally required schooling approached its end, he took me to a foreign country where we labored with almost no rest until 2018. During those years, my shifts often lasted between 12 & 18 hours, most commonly around 16. The chronic exhaustion became so severe that I began experiencing vivid hallucinations caused by sleeplessness.

Since my return I devoted most of my waking hours to training. I practiced multiple martial arts, worked with different trainers, & learned from countless sparring sessions & real confrontations. Over time I became highly attuned to my body; precise, fast, relentless.

People gradually stopped assaulting me one-on-one; attacks shifted to ambushes in groups. A policeman once attempted to recruit me into the military through intimidation; I refused to enlist.

A typical day looked like this; a 10 km run across three terrains; urban streets, a garbage- & glass-strewn sandy road, then woodland by a river; which took about two hours; followed by bojutsu & kenjutsu practice; then another 10 km run to a park to train outdoors in any weather; or, if the battle-gym was open, training there instead; completing three classes; boxing, kickboxing & MMA. Between classes I practiced capoeira, ki-aikido, & developed my own techniques.

I built many useful connections & was preparing to open my own dojo. My idea was to revive an ancient gladiator spirit; adapted, safe, & legal; to bring a new kind of discipline to modern combat sports.

In late 2019 I contracted a severe illness which nearly killed me. At the time mask-wearing had social stigma locally; I sometimes wore one, but not consistently. Not long after, I became critically ill; sleepless for two weeks, coughing blood-tinged mucus, barely surviving twice. When I recovered, my body was permanently altered: chronic weakness, fragile joints, constant injuries. Later diagnosed as Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, a condition which can be devastating.

During the lockdown, the president issued orders without following the legal process required in a republic. Police enforced those orders regardless of their illegality; violence followed, & civilians were killed. This was a national event, not a personal conflict.

Mask-wearing became rare & socially rejected. I chose to wear one anyway; indoors, & outdoors as well. I understood this would bring hostility, but reason mattered more than approval. I did not wear it early enough, & I paid for that mistake with my health.

Eight months passed & my health continued to deteriorate. I abandoned the national health institutions & their apathetic doctors & took responsibility for my own survival. I first learned of veganism; the systematic torture inflicted on innocent animals for products derived from their suffering; & adopted it for ethical reasons. Only afterward did I begin studying nutrition, physiology, & evidence-based health science, searching for a way to live within those values.

For the next four years I pursued independent medical research. At the same time, I was still forced to perform physical labor. The strain repeatedly damaged my body; joints cracking, bones grinding, muscles tearing. My knees would bleed. I would become bedridden for weeks, sometimes months, unable to move without reinjury. Once I recovered enough to stand, the work resumed, & the cycle repeated.

I created books, YouTube & TikTok videos, websites, & an online community built around an ethical creed I founded. Meanwhile I suffered prolonged starvation & insomnia because pain from injuries kept me from sleeping. My father demanded money; I failed to meet his deadline. I applied to hundreds of jobs but employers would not hire me because of my chronic illness. Bureaucracy delayed disability documentation, & my health declined again.

When the deadline passed, I had exhausted every option. Despite pushing myself beyond collapse, I could not resolve my situation. By law, I still had the right to remain in the house, as my government 🄸🄳 address was registered there.

My father arrived with two men; acquaintances or hired muscle. They broke the gate & my father charged at me. The intent to assault me was unmistakable. I de-escalated the situation by quickly explaining that I was only still there because of the law, that I had already packed, & that I would leave immediately.

He took the keys, threatened me, & ordered me out. I left. With a damaged body & nowhere to go, my homelessness began. What carried me forward was not strength, but purpose.

I spent two days in the streets of Panceville trying every bureaucratic route & asking every business for work. Then I walked toward the capital, risking a dangerous highway to reach a bus station. In Whitetown I went nine days without sleep, slept once for 21 hours in a hostel, then stayed awake another four days. Food was scarce: mostly nuts, dried berries & the ocassional fruit. I met many people & learned how callous society can be.

An online friend from Finland who was homeless in his past; found an advertisement for what was presented as a vegan commune in the Fruit Peaks, a mountain near the Warwaterna capital, New Plantation. Unfortunately he had commited suicide later on in July 2025.

The commune was a deception. They were not vegan. They paid for animals to be killed for tradition & the pleasure of taste. This was concealed. I uncovered it gradually. Each discovery was a red flag I did not want to accept. I needed safety. I wanted to believe I had found it.

They sent me to one of their associates; a man with a plot of land & buildings surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire. I felt unsafe immediately. Many things happened there which reinforced that feeling. I stopped pretending I did not see what was in front of me.

An acquaintance I had met during vegan activism in Whitetown recognized the danger. She urged me to leave Fruit Peaks immediately & invited me to live with her instead. I did.

As my vegan roommate & I slowly learned to trust one another, we spent countless nights talking until dawn; sharing thoughts, fears, convictions, & hopes. In those quiet hours, something rare formed. There was no haste, no illusion; only recognition.

We grew close through understanding rather than need. Through laughter & silence alike. Through shared ethics, shared pain, & shared resolve. Love emerged not as a spark, but as a steady presence; calm, certain, enduring.

She is unlike anyone I have known. Exceptionally intelligent; emotionally perceptive; principled. Compassionate, honorable, honest. Deeply committed to animal rights & capable of clear, critical thought. Her beauty is striking, yet it is her depth that holds me; her warmth, her courage, her clarity of spirit.

In a period marked by instability, her presence brought grounding. Where my life was fractured, she was coherence. Where exhaustion threatened to hollow me, she reminded me why I endured.

I asked her to share her life with mine. She said yes. We became engaged; choosing one another deliberately, with open eyes, bound not by mere circumstance, but by love & mutual trust.

After I intervened earlier that day to stop a man from kicking a dog under our protection, retaliation followed. He returned with others; armed with melee weapons. One of them shattered our apartment window with a metal pole.

We called the police believing, naively, that law would restrain violence.

They did not.

From the moment they arrived, their posture was hostile. Not investigative; not protective. Aggressive. They assaulted us, I offered no resistance. I spoke calmly; appealed to their sworn duty; asked them to stop & consider the unlawfulness of what they were doing. My fiancée was kicked to the floor.

They laughed.

They enjoyed it.

Inside our home I was beaten. One of them pulled my hair & slammed my head into a wall. I was cut with a knife. When they placed handcuffs on me, they deliberately injured my wrist; later to claim I had resisted arrest. This was not chaos; it was intent. The violence continued inside the police station for more than a dozen hours resulting in many more injuries.

We now face fabricated criminal charges; designed to retroactively justify their actions. Charges that carry the possibility of many years in prison. We are contesting this through every bureaucratic, legal, & media channel available. We have evidence. Still, many have warned us that the courts are deeply compromised; that truth alone may not be sufficient.

What we learned was unmistakable: in this system, calling the police does not guarantee safety. It can mark you for destruction.

This was terror, executed under the color of law.