Dawn of the Antichrist
J. Michael Mullen
Copyright (c) 2020 by Michael Mullen. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or re-transmitted in any form or manner, including but not limited to:Internet, photocopying, emailing, posting downloading, or digital reproductions of any type without written permission from the author.
I urge readers to observe events from new perspectives. Things are not always as they appear. The real world is not the one in which we currently live. There are other non-worldly forces staging events and deceiving you about this mysterious Coronavirus that shut down the entire world without warning. There is that small part of you, deep within, that knows "Sumpin' Ain't Right."
"For we wrestle not against (humans) ... but against (the demonic orders), against (Satanic) powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12
From: USS Helm
To: Commander-in-Chief, Pacific
Subject: Search for (Indianapolis) Survivors
August 6, 1945
"All bodies were in extremely bad condition and had been dead for an estimated 4 or 5 days. Some had life jackets and life belts, most had nothing. Most of the bodies were completely naked ... horribly bloated and decomposed. Recognition of faces would have been impossible. About half of the bodies were shark-bitten, some to such a degree that they more nearly resembled skeletons. Sharks were in the immediate area of the ship at all times and continued attacking bodies until driven off by rifle fire."
A True Encounter
On November 2, 1975, President Gerald Ford and his honored guest, Egyptian President Anwar Sadat scheduled an historic international summit in my hometown of Jacksonville, Florida. I joined thousands of local residents who lined Beach Boulevard.
The crowd was hoping to catch a rare glimpse of the pomp and circumstance of a Presidential Caravan. I, however, planned to breach security and assault the limousine carrying the two Presidents. I was tired of being ignored. He could not brush me off just like that and expect me to do nothing about it.
Although it was late autumn, the blinding Floridian sun rippled the air as it bounced hard off the highway pavement. I covered my clear prescription glasses with cupped hands and peered far away, to where the road and horizon collided in distortion. I strained for a better view.
I glanced at my watch numerous times. He was overdue. I slipped behind the crowd and paced haphazardly. I twisted the hair on my mustache and lowered my head in thought. I was planning to charge through the crowd, evade armed security, and stuff my letter into the limo for a personal delivery to the President. I was very nervous, wondering if it was a foolish thing to do.
I picked a location where the Presidential Limousine would slow to a creep in order to make a sharp turn. The President would enter the gated community of a wealthy resident who hosted the meeting. At that point of vulnerability, I would have the opportunity to rush forward and hand-deliver my request through the window to the President.
As I awaited the Caravan, I paced the highway shoulder, debating with myself about whether or not my plan would work. I clutched my handful of TOP SECRET papers, knowing they were not really valuable. I wondered how much weight they would carry while looking down a Secret Service gun barrel.
The crowd stirred and sirens blared, alerting me that the White House Caravan had arrived. I edged to the front and watched the pompous parade of automobiles, as political hopefuls–from the governor to dog catcher–rode the President's coattails into town.
An impressive display of law enforcement officers drove in the Caravan with flashing red and blue lights atop their cars. Others on foot engaged in crowd control, including: the Presidential Secret Service, Florida State Troopers, Highway Patrolmen, the Jacksonville Police Department, Duval County Sheriffs, and an assortment of suburban authorities. Besides the usual security concerns for the President of the United States, there was the added fear of assassins gunning down Anwar Sadat (which they eventually did). Hence, a wall of armed guards separated the crowds from the Caravan. I was about to cancel my plans to blitz the President.
Suddenly a gaping hole broke the security line directly across from me, when the limousine slowed for a sharp turn at the entrance gate, just as I had hoped. Fate dealt me a clear approach, completely unobstructed, straight to the President of the United States who had his window down while waving to the bystanders. Instinctively I darted through the opening like a running-back who saw daylight to the end zone.
When the Secret Service Agents threw me hard on my back in the middle of the highway just ten feet from the President, I thought they were going to shoot me. They had not yet drawn their weapons, but I saw them reaching for their shoulder holsters inside their suit coats. They displayed no mercy as they pounced on their would-be assassin. They frisked me for weapons, but instead discovered the classified documents in my possession.
"Hey, look at these," said one to another in amazement.
"Those are Top Secret papers!" I yelled, squirming horizontally in their grasps. They perused my confiscated belongings. They were disarrayed by their unexpected find, and I seized the opportunity created by their confusion. I exaggerated my importance and name-dropped the biggest name in the world:
"The President of The United States released those to me! They're CLASSIFIED! And don't open that letter! It's the President's!"
The authorities examined my credentials and ...
"Hey, I think these documents are real," said one agent into a microphone. They passed them around. Each shrugged his shoulders. They gently picked me up and released me.
I brushed myself. I had nothing to lose by exploiting their astonishment. "It's urgent I get that letter to the President. It's Top Secret business."
The head of security retrieved the documents and returned them to me. "We're sorry, Mr. Mullen. We had no way of knowing. We'll see to it the President gets your letter right away."
"That's okay," I said. "I'll take it to him."
The agent quickly shoved a hand in my chest. "I said we'll deliver it for you." They escorted me to the outskirts, warning: "Don't ever do that again. It's a good way to get shot."
Two months later, in January, 1976, the President of the United States declassified all secret documents pertaining to the U.S.S. Indianapolis, several thousand papers, and ordered them delivered to my house as he left office.
"I can't wait to pay my five dollars and see the movie."
Ted Kreiter, Executive Editor, Saturday Evening Post
"Your project on the U.S.S. Indianapolis sounds better and better." Harold Kuebler, Senior Editor Special Projects, Doubleday
"Fascinating material. Beautifully presented."
Victoria Darwin, Darwin Publications, Burbank, California
I was the first person to ever see them, and every major publisher in America wanted to make a bid for the rights to publish it. But I would never complete the book. Two years into the project, something out of this world happened to me.
I heard Jesus say to me, plain as day, "Do not write that (Indianapolis).Write this."
He then supernaturally pulled me from my body and escorted me to a spiritual world of angels at war. He told me, "Write what you see."
When a passage in this book says, in quotes, "Write what you see," it is a vision from Jesus who showed me something to describe to you.
The Lord escorted me to the Dark World so often over forty years that I actually got to know SahTAHN (Hebrew pronunciation of Satan) well enough to write from his perspective. The Lord wants you to know the real SahTAHN. To discover his motives, and why he does, what he does. Then you will understand the scoop behind CODIV-19. The truth you will never hear anywhere else. That is why the Lord wanted me to write this book.
Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book.
We are facing the most terrifying moment in all Creation. SahTAHN, The Prince of Darkness, is currently in outer space waiting for his time to descend upon Earth, to establish his Kingdom of the World.
There is a human already born on Earth, and grown to adulthood. He knows who he is, and he knows why he was born. Daddy is coming to inhabit his body, so that he may defile the Temple of God by sitting on its Throne in Jerusalem, and to declare himself to be the one and only God.
"A Beast is coming to Earth, He's going to take over his Antichrist's body and people are going to be nearly terrified to death."
"And he's alive. He's here, right now. Not something far, far away, a long, long time from now. But now. I don't know who he is, or where he is, but I do know what he is. And what he is, is Evil, pure and simple. But he'll fool everyone, you see, because all the people who'll remain (after the Rapture) will be those who don't know any better. The people who'll have never paid attention to what was going on in the world. The people who thought the whole idea was a joke.
"But the Beast is real. He'll rise to power during your generation. Not my generation, but your generation. And that's why I believe I was kept alive. To tell you that.
"The truth is coming to pass, whether you're ready or not. And neither you nor I, nor anyone else, can prevent it, no matter what you believe. What you believe, does not necessarily change the truth. It's just too bad you believe, in what you believe."
William Hafford Sharp,
Survivor, U.S.S. Indianapolis
Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.