Chapter 9
The Elite Gathering: Who Attends
"This is their main form of communication. They don't call people on the phone. They don't meet at the Bohemian Grove anymore."
The Guest List
Donald Marshall does not deal in generalities when it comes to naming the attendees of the cloning stations. His list is specific, hierarchical, and global in scope.
"I have to tell you Queen Elizabeth is there. Stephen Harper, Canadian Prime Minister. Obama is there. Vladimir Putin is there. The Pope is even there."
He continues: "All kinds of heads of different factions of different things. The head of the Mexican drug cartel is there. The mafia in Italy is there, man. Everybody is there."
And then the summary statement: "Like most of the leaders from the G20 countries go there. About 14 of the G20 countries and then there's leaders from countries that don't even fit in the G20 that go there too."
This is not a small club. According to Marshall, the cloning station functions as the primary meeting place for the global elite—a permanent, nightly gathering of political leaders, monarchs, intelligence chiefs, organized crime bosses, religious authorities, and celebrities, all convening in clone bodies while their real bodies sleep in beds scattered across every continent.
The Communication Function
The significance of this claim extends beyond the identity of the attendees. Marshall argues that the cloning station has replaced all previous methods of elite coordination:
"This is their main form of communication too. They don't call people on the phone. They don't meet at the Bohemian Grove anymore. Since they got cloning, they meet at the cloning station when they go to sleep, each of them."
This resolves a persistent question in conspiracy research: how do the most surveilled people on earth coordinate without detection? In an era of signals intelligence, satellite monitoring, and ubiquitous digital surveillance, how do heads of state conduct business that leaves no electronic trace?
The answer, per Marshall, is that they don't use any medium that can be intercepted. They don't call, email, text, or meet in physical space. They meet as clones, in a facility that exists outside the surveillance apparatus, during hours when the rest of the world believes they are asleep. There are no recordings, no transcripts, no flight manifests, no hotel registrations. The meeting leaves no evidence of its own existence.
Cross-reference: The Bohemian Grove is a verified private retreat in Monte Rio, California, where political and business elites have gathered annually since 1878. Its existence is not disputed—it is a matter of public record. Richard Nixon, on the Watergate tapes, described it as "the most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine." Alex Jones infiltrated the grove in 2000 and filmed the "Cremation of Care" ceremony, a ritualistic event involving a mock human sacrifice before a large stone owl.
The Grove has historically been described as the world's most exclusive gathering—a place where wars are planned, presidents are selected, and deals are struck outside the reach of democratic oversight. But it has a problem: it is known. Its location is public. Its membership is partially documented. Its existence can be protested, infiltrated, and reported on.
If a more secure alternative existed—one that required no travel, left no paper trail, and could not be infiltrated because it operated in a physical space that the public doesn't know about—the Grove's importance would naturally decline. Marshall's claim provides exactly this alternative.
The Social Hierarchy
The cloning station is not an egalitarian space. Marshall describes a rigid social hierarchy among attendees:
"There's privileged ones there and there's underprivileged ones there, and people are pretty mean on people."
At the top of the hierarchy: political leaders, monarchs, and the "bloodline families" who Marshall says have served the Vril for generations. These are the "privileged" attendees—they come voluntarily, they enjoy the experience, and they hold power within the station's social structure.
Below them: celebrities, who were introduced later to provide entertainment. Then: coerced participants—people who were brought to the station against their will and kept there through threats and memory repression.
At the bottom: Marshall himself.
"I'm not privileged there. Pretty low on the totem pole there. Actually, probably the lowest."
His position is that of a worker—a songwriter, an entertainer, a court jester who produces creative output for the amusement of the powerful. He has no authority, no protection other than his usefulness, and no ability to leave. His value lies solely in his creative ability, and when that ability falters, his treatment degenerates into abuse.
Queen Elizabeth and the Vril
Marshall makes specific claims about Queen Elizabeth II's involvement with the Vril:
"Queen Elizabeth is really in with these things, okay? Her family has been for a long time."
He says she keeps a Vril as a pet—a Type 1 specimen she has named "Matilda." He says Henry Kissinger similarly maintains a pet Vril called "Herbert."
"Some of these people, they get a pet lizard, one of their very own, like Elizabeth's one is called Matilda, and Kissinger's one is called Herbert."
The detail is almost comically specific—names for pet Vril, as one might name a dog or a cat. But the specificity is consistent with the pattern across Marshall's testimony: he does not deal in vague allusions. He names names, provides details, and offers claims that are precise enough to be falsified if incorrect.
Marshall describes the relationship between the royal family and the Vril as generational—a partnership that has persisted across centuries:
"These bloodlines, all that they are are super inbred, okay? The edicts of Lucifer, like my family are down with this stuff. That's why I don't talk to them anymore. 'Inbreeding makes you strong. Pedophilia keeps you young. And helping lizards gives you good luck from the devil.'"
He dismisses these beliefs as manufactured justifications:
"It's pretty sick. So anyways, you know, all that stuff is not true and they know it. They just keep it going for like some stupid club. Like the devil club. 'Oh, we're cool, we're evil.'"
The Political Dimension
Marshall describes the cloning station as the actual seat of global governance—the place where decisions are made that are then implemented through conventional political channels:
"This is where they discuss all political, worldly affairs."
The implications are sweeping. If the world's most powerful political leaders convene nightly in a space that is invisible to democratic oversight, then the visible machinery of government—parliaments, congresses, the United Nations, the G20 summits, the bilateral meetings covered by press pools—is performative. The real decisions have already been made, at the cloning station, in the hours before dawn.
This would explain a pattern that political analysts have long observed: the apparent convergence of policy across ostensibly rival nations. Policies that emerge simultaneously in multiple countries, as if coordinated. Trade agreements that benefit the same financial interests regardless of which parties are in power. Military interventions that proceed along predictable lines regardless of public opposition. The revolving door between government and industry, between intelligence agencies and media, between finance and regulation—all of these become legible not as emergent properties of systemic incentives but as the products of a single, centralized decision-making body that operates outside public awareness.
How Celebrities Got In
Marshall provides a historical narrative for how the cloning station evolved from a purely political gathering to one that includes entertainers:
"Back in the past it was a political thing. They bring all the leaders of the countries in together and they can all chat about stuff and enjoy this, you know, sacrilegious, forbidden place, this cloning thing, and do whatever they can't do in real life."
The problem was entertainment. Political leaders, by Marshall's account, are not particularly interesting company:
"Well, they got real bored with each other because most of them are fat and ugly and bald stuff. So they started bringing celebrities there."
The solution was to import celebrities—beautiful, talented, interesting people who could provide the entertainment and sexual variety that the politicians craved. The celebrities were brought in under the "selling your soul" arrangement described in Chapter 8: fame and career support in exchange for permanent clone availability at the station.
This created a new social dynamic. The celebrities, initially brought in as entertainment, became a draw in their own right. Politicians wanted to associate with famous people. Celebrities wanted to associate with power. The station became a nexus where fame and power intermingled in ways that the outside world could only glimpse in the form of unexplained friendships between politicians and entertainers, celebrities and royals, musicians and intelligence operatives.
The Police and the Doctors
Marshall addresses the obvious question: why don't the victims go to the police?
"Well, the thing is, they are the cops too. Like this is the linchpin in how the Illuminati NWO works."
Law enforcement, in Marshall's account, is not merely complicit—it is represented at the cloning station. Police officials, judges, prosecutors—people at every level of the justice system—attend the station and are bound by the same system of loyalty and blackmail that binds the politicians and celebrities.
"They have police and doctors and everything there loyal so that they can have clone sex with, like a Britney Spears or an Angelica Jolie or something, while they're sleeping."
The doctors serve a specific function: they provide the biological material needed to produce clones, they administer the drugs used at the station, and they ensure that the physiological side effects of cloning—the heart damage, the chronic fatigue, the unexplained illnesses—are diagnosed and treated in ways that do not raise suspicion.
This creates a closed system. The victims cannot go to the police because the police are at the station. They cannot go to doctors because the doctors are at the station. They cannot go to lawyers because the lawyers are at the station. Every institutional pathway that a victim might use to seek help has been compromised at the level that matters—the level of individual human beings who have been either inducted into the system or who are themselves drones.
The Rationalization
Marshall describes the attendees' attitude toward their participation with a mixture of contempt and understanding:
"Some of them are so used to it and some of them like going there and hanging around there. They're so used to it. They pull this transparent tube right out of their mouth and they hop off the bunk and they're like: so what are we doing tonight?"
For the willing participants, the cloning station is simply a part of life—another venue, another social circle, another set of experiences that happen to occur during sleep. They have rationalized what they do there in the same way that powerful people have always rationalized the exploitation of the powerless: it's normal because everyone does it. It's acceptable because no one gets caught. It's justified because the people being exploited are, in their view, less important than the people doing the exploiting.
"What are we doing when we're sleeping? It's a big waste of time. We can go there and have lots of fun."
The statement is remarkable for its banality. The most powerful people on earth, in possession of the most extraordinary technology in human history, use it primarily for entertainment, sex, and social climbing. The cloning station, in Marshall's telling, is not the war room of a master plan. It is a nightclub for people who are too powerful to need nightclubs—a space where the restraints of public life are removed and the occupants revert to their most basic impulses.
The Resistance
Not everyone at the cloning station is willing. Marshall describes a constant undercurrent of resistance—people who have been brought there against their will and who push back in whatever limited ways they can.
"Anyway, they'll threaten me never to talk about it, as long as I've been divulging this stuff on Facebook. They've been bringing me there and threatening me and stuff and then asking me not to mention them specifically what they have done there and stuff and panicking really."
The response to Marshall's public disclosures, he says, has been escalating threats and torture:
"Trying to deter me with stabbing my clones there, burning the clones and everything."
But the threats have not stopped him. Marshall claims that he cannot be killed—a claim he promises to explain later—and that this immunity allows him to continue his disclosures despite the consequences.
"They said, 'Nobody's ever going to believe me. You won't put it together in an eloquent way.' People think that technology isn't that advanced yet with cloning, because they just cloned the sheep, right? No. They've been cloning people a long time this way."
The dismissal is telling. The powerful people at the cloning station do not deny Marshall's claims to his face. They don't tell him he's wrong. They tell him he won't be believed—that the gap between what he knows and what the public is prepared to accept is too wide to bridge. That the very extremity of his claims is their best defense.
And they may be right. The question of belief—what constitutes evidence, what constitutes proof, and what the human mind is prepared to accept—is the subject of a later chapter. For now, the relevant point is this: according to Marshall, the most powerful gathering on earth happens every night, in a place that no one will believe exists, attended by people who rely on that disbelief for their protection.
In the next chapter, we examine the cloning station's darkest capability: the use of clone bodies for remote assassination and the "Megadeth" deterrent—a method of trapping consciousness in an infinite loop of death and resurrection.