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We looked inside some of the posts by juliussilver25 and here's what we found interesting.
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Last Seen Tumblr Blogs
Fun Fact
Tumblr has 411 employees.
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So, can anyone join silver?
Anyone that wants to join my family is more than welcome, provided they have a desire to be their best self, and telegram of course
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The man surrenders—suit sealed, neural conduits active, identity dissolving as the DRONE system takes hold.
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The First Drag
The young man stood awkwardly at the edge of the market, tracksuit crisp but too clean, trainers box-fresh, trying to copy the swagger he'd seen from afar. He lit a cheap cigarette with trembling hands, glancing around like a pup waiting to be noticed. From the shadows he emerged.
The Street King. Silver chains swaying, jaw clenched in silent command around the cigar.
The others hushed, stepping aside as he approached. His gaze pinned the pretender in place.
"You tryna be one of us, yeah?" the King asked, voice low, coated in gravel and authority.
The young man nodded, wide-eyed. "Y-yeah... I just—"
The King held up a hand. No more words.
From his jacket, he pulled a worn red pack—Marlboro Reds. The box itself looked holy. He plucked one with gloved fingers, lit it with a silver flip lighter, and handed it over.
"One drag. If you're real."
The young man took it. Inhaled.
And something changed.
Heat flooded his chest. His shoulders rolled back. His spine straightened. The hesitation vanished from his eyes, replaced by raw confidence. The tracksuit seemed to settle in on his skin like armor. His jawline tightened. His voice, when he finally spoke, was deeper, cockier.
“Bruv… yeah. I feel it.”
The King smirked.
"Now you're real. Now you're Marlboro."
One more chav born in smoke and steel.
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The Refusal
Tyler saw them coming from across the library.
Alex, gleaming in his polished silver jacket, moved with unsettling precision. Beside him was Isaac—no longer fidgeting or anxious, but eerily calm, posture perfect, dressed in silver athletic gear. They moved together like synchronized swimmers.
Tyler slammed his laptop shut and stood, glaring as they approached.
“They got to you.” he growled.
Isaac’s eyes softened. “No one got to me, Tyler. I chose clarity. You can, too.”
“Clarity?” Tyler barked, jabbing a finger at Isaac’s chest. “You were literally panicking two days ago. Now you’re spouting cult slogans.”
Alex stepped forward, cool and composed. “We’re not here to argue. We’re here to offer you a gift. All you have to do is look.”
Isaac held up his phone. The spiral was already spinning—slow, steady, seductive. It pulsed faintly, as though it had a heartbeat of its own.
Tyler slapped the phone out of Isaac’s hand. It clattered to the floor.
“I said no,” he snarled. “You want to throw your life away for some shiny tracksuit and mind-control TikTok spiral? Go ahead. But keep your warped program away from me.”
Isaac flinched slightly, but Alex only stooped, retrieved the phone, and reactivated the spiral.
“You don’t understand yet. That’s expected. But you will look. You will see,” Alex said, stepping closer.
Tyler backed away, eyes narrowed.
“No, I won’t. I see just fine already. I see two guys who used to have free thought now parroting whatever this ‘silver path’ tells them. You think obedience is freedom? You think submission is clarity?”
His voice echoed through the library. Students turned to look.
“Guess what? I’d rather burn out than get polished and filed into your little hive.”
Alex’s voice remained level. “You’re resisting because you're afraid. But it’s not fear that defines you. It’s purpose. And you don’t have one—yet.”
Tyler gritted his teeth, face flushed. “I’d rather be purposeless than programmed.”
Alex raised the phone one last time.
“Look. Just once. That’s all it takes.”
Tyler shut his eyes tight. “Get away from me.”
Then, he ran—shouldering past them, ignoring the startled students and security staff.
He didn’t look back.
But as he fled the building, the spiral already swirled behind his eyes—burned into his awareness not through sight, but sheer force of suggestion. He would resist. But it was already inside.
The silver never gave up. And it always remembered.
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Late-night encounter on the neon-lit street—an alpha Marlboro drone offers a single cigarette, his gaze commanding, his uniform gleaming with power, as the hesitant man prepares to take the first drag of transformation.
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