Of Biden and Adrenochrome, A Secret Service Agent’s Story

By Michael Baxter

  A Secret Service agent assigned to protect the exterior of Joseph Biden’s Delaware home stopped in his tracks as an unspeakable cry, the wailing sound of death, emanated from within the house. He spoke into a concealed microphone in a cufflink: “Celtic in trouble, entering the house.” A moment later, a voice crackled in his ear. “Do not enter the bedroom. The situation is stable.”

But it was too late. The agent had drawn his weapon and charged in, his face going pale as he crossed the threshold. A pungent scent assailed his nostrils. On the bed lay the withered shell of a man who both resembled and didn’t resemble Biden, a bare torso pressed against a mattress, arms spread like wings, a guttural, gurgling sound escaping parched lips. A polyethylene tube ran from a withered arm to an I.V. bag beside a bank of diagnostic machines that monitored Biden’s vital signs. A clump of hair, brittle and grey, lay on the pillow upon which his head rested, canted slightly to one side. The shape on the bed looked emaciated and dehydrated—almost desiccated—like a dried prune. Its hollowed cheeks fluttered as the mouth let out a barely perceptible whisper: “Candy.”

The Secret Service agent was dumbstruck. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. He had been tasked with guarding the President of the United States—a high honor within the Secret Service—who was supposed to be poised, stoic, regal, dignified, articulate, resolute, and healthy—but saw only a scrawny, sick frame that couldn’t even lift itself out of bed; it could hardly speak, and when it did, it repeated the same word: Candy. The feeble frame’s sorrowful, sunken eyes beheld the agent, its mouth muttering “candy” thrice before another Secret Service Agent, accompanied by Jill Biden and a physician, barreled into the bedroom, admonishing the agent present for disobeying instructions to not enter the household.

“I don’t understand what’s going on here,” the agent said. “I came into the room before I got the message not to. Can someone tell me what’s going on?” the agent, Andrew Cunningham, asked. 

The date was April 5, 2021, and Covid-mania had gripped the country. Forty-two states and territories had issued mandatory stay-at-home orders, shuttering businesses and bringing life, as we knew it, to an abrupt halt. Pervasive mask and vaccine mandates had rolled like a firestorm across the country, and persons eschewing the government’s unconstitutional mandates were treated as if they had leprosy, shunned by the vaccinated lunatics who embraced the regime’s narrative. The economy was failing, people feared stepping outdoors, and Biden had retreated to the bedroom of his Delaware home.

Agent Andrew Cunningham had been in the Secret Service for eight years. After high school, he attended Arizona State University and obtained a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice. Upon graduating, he applied for a job at the Secret Service and passed the Top-Secret security clearance checks needed for employment. Most people would call him a wholesome guy, a man with conservative values with a wife and one child, with another on the way, a home, a mortgage, and a dog—he believed in democracy and wanted to serve his country.

He entered the Secret Service a GS-7, the government’s starting pay grade, and excelled in practical leadership and marksmanship, earning the envy of his peers. A year after graduating from the Secret Service’s intense four-month training school at the Federal Law Enforcement Center, Cunningham was promoted to GS-9 and began protecting foreign dignitaries visiting the United States. In March 2019, he was part of a detail guarding Israeli Prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who had come to the U.S. to see President Trump in D.C. He got to shake their hands, and he would later say shaking hands with President Trump was an immeasurable honor and that the President projected an unbreakable, shimmering aura of righteousness and strength.

When the Plandemic hit and the world started collapsing in on itself, Cunningham spent more time at a desk than escorting heads of state, twiddling thumbs and sifting through meaningless paperwork. He missed fieldwork.

A presidential election came and went. Much of the country went bonkers over a few thousand Trump supporters peacefully protesting a stolen election. And Cunningham would soon represent a man he despised, a decrepit beast so entrenched in the Deep State, so surrounded by coffers of infinite dirty cash, that his phony victory over Trump was practically a foregone conclusion. Although Cunningham loathed Biden, his station forbade him from publicly disparaging the President, even a fake one. Paperwork suddenly seemed preferable to laying eyes on a man he detested beyond his ability to articulate.

On April 4, 2021, Cunningham received a call he dreaded. He was made part of a four-man team sent to guard the President and the First Lady at their Wilmington, Delaware, home. Unlike the other agents, who had access to the home’s interior, Cunningham was told to patrol the exterior and to stop any vehicles encroaching on the alcove of the Biden residence. He was told Biden had isolated himself for fear of catching Covid, as administration members with whom Biden had close contact had tested positive for the virus. Only Biden, Jill, and two “approved” agents could enter and leave the house. He didn’t understand why he was relegated to yard duty while less experienced agents could freely enter the home, but he was compelled to obey orders.

A day later, Cunningham was patrolling the yard of the Biden home when he heard an unearthly moan and cry for help originating from a window to the fake President’s bedroom. He keyed his microphone, saying, “something might be wrong with Celtic,” but heard no reply. Celtic—the Secret Service’s codename for Biden—was in danger, he said as he drew his sidearm and entered the domicile, peering around corners and clearing the house. He paused at the door to Biden’s bedchamber. He glanced about, hoping to see the other agents or Jill rushing to Joe’s bedside. Cunningham wanted none of it. When no one showed up, he entered the bedroom and saw the unimaginable.

Jill Biden and the second Secret Service agent rebuked Cunningham for stepping in the household sans permission. Cunningham gawked in stunned silence as Biden’s physician, Dr. Kevin O’Conner, charged into the bedroom carrying a syringe of viscous liquid, which he inserted into the I.V. tube dripping fluid to Biden’s arm. “Candy,” Biden said, a smile crossing his face as the concoction dripped into his veins. He suddenly sat up straight, pulling the I.V. from his arm and saying, “I’m better now.”

Minutes later Cunningham got a phone call from Secret Service Director James Murray. “Now that you know, you keep your fuc**** mouth shut,” Murray told him, even though Cunningham didn’t comprehend the scope of what had happened until another agent revealed to him that Biden had been addicted to a pharmaceutical cocktail called Adrenochrome since 2009.

Cunningham heard that Biden’s addiction to Adrenochrome had become so acute that he needed an infusion every few days to avoid falling into madness. Without it, he shriveled into a ball of incomprehensible insanity. Through research Cunningham learned that Adrenochrome was made of adrenal fluid harvested from the adrenal glands of tortured children and synthetic opiates.

He resigned from the Secret Service a week later, saying the job and raising a family were incompatible. James Murray threatened him plainly to keep quiet about what he had seen at Biden’s Delaware home. A month later, Cunningham moved his family to Switzerland.

  Cunningham says he’s still in disbelief. He saw a man with one foot in the grave suddenly stand up and dance a jig after getting an Adrenochrome poke. After witnessing what he had, he said he could not work for the government. He and his family won’t return to the United States until Biden is gone and President Donald J. Trump restores complete order to the Republic.

Oversight Chair: Very Odd That Trump Indictment Announced Day After Biden Bank Records Released…

Marines Abort Mission to Arrest HHS Director Xavier Becerra

United States Marines sent to arrest Health and Human Services Director Xavier Becerra on Friday aborted the mission after spotting nearly three dozen federal goons guarding the inside and outside of his palatial home in northwest Washington, D.C., a source in General Eric M. Smith’s office told Real Raw News.

Becerra, he said, is wanted for “Covid crimes” against the people of the United States, which include misusing part of HHS’ $120 billion annual budget to payoff state officials for continuing lockdowns and mask mandates into 2021. Everyone from Andrew Cuomo to Gretchen Whitmer got a slice of the pie in exchange for frightening the public into believing masks and frequent boosters were necessary to protect lives, and that they persuaded the public to adopt the “new normal,” a state to which an economy, society, etc. settles following a crisis, natural or manufactured.

If all information is accurate, Becerra employed intermediaries to surreptitiously distribute $35 billion among 5,700 officials, medical professionals, and hospital administrators in the first half of 2021—a treasonous act for which he, our source said, must face a military tribunal.

White Hats have sought Becerra’s arrest for nearly that long, but the sneaky HHS director had been hiding in Poland to avoid getting apprehended by the military.

Our source said that United States Army Cyber Command learned that Becerra had reentered the country via Andrews AFB on March 13 and was spotted near his D.C. home—one of five properties he owns–a day later. On March 15, General Smith assigned a recon squad to surveil the residence, but the Marines reported that the home was dark and empty, and that Becerra was nowhere to be found. A day later, Cyber Command told Gen. Smith it had intercepted messages suggesting that Becerra planned to host a St. Patrick’s Day party at the D.C. residence on the evening of March 17.

“The general was suspicious; the news sounded too good to be true. Becerra isn’t even Irish. Gen. Smith felt obliged to investigate, and the recon team was still in the area. He moved a platoon from North Carolina to Washington and put it on standby while the recon unit revisited Becerra’s house,” our source said.

When the recon team scoped out the residence Friday night, they heard music pulsing and saw lights flashing inside the house. They could see silhouettes of what looked like people dancing and drinking inside. They also saw a dozen armed federal thugs kneeling behind bushes and hedgerows and a sniper perched atop a tree in Becerra’s yard. As they watched, the front door opened, and three men in tactical gear with rifles slung across their shoulders stepped outside to smoke cigarettes.

“It’s a trap,” the recon lead radioed to the Quick Reaction Force (QRF). “It’s unlikely the target is here, and if he is, 30 feds are swarming the place. Please tell Eagle.” Eagle is General Smith’s codename.

The general, our source said, ordered the unit to stand down since it was pointless to risk a bloody firefight if Becerra wasn’t on the property.

“Only Cyber Command and the White Hat council knew of the operation. There’s a leak, a mole. General Smith has polygraphed and interviewed all council members several times and is confident they are trustworthy and loyal. He’s told USCYBERCOM commander Gen. Nakasone to do the same, since the leak must have originated there,” our source said.