Mixed Media on wood, ready to hang.

Signed on the front.

This painting is a loose spin-off from a novel I’ve published on Amazon kindle, ‘Doctor Floovax and the Hide-Cellar Project’
...
Somewhere high in the snow capped ridges near Matterhorn shone an eerie row of lights from a rockface. Getting closer one could see it wasn't a rock at all, but a Chateau of grey stone and steel, grafted onto the high mount like a finely moulded tumor. The lights, the glass-coated illuminators of the Illuminati within, all but invisible to the wandering eyes of passers-by in their fancy sightseeing choppers. For the last three years though the choppers and the damned useless feeder tourists filling their metallic bellies had been few and far between.
That suited Dr Dirlewanger Floovax just fine.
For fewer eyes on their alpine hive the better, and boy, had their days and nights been busy. Things were going well. Operation Livestock was by all means a success yes, but there was the expected drawbacks. Pockets around the world, clusters of zie damned unvaxxed still roamed, seemingly unhindered by the hardcore Corporatized-Government efforts to boot them out of both job and society with zie Health Mandates. This vexxed Dr Floovax to no end.
"Herr Doctor?" an assistant said appearing by the Doc's side.
"Ja?" said Floovax peering through the eyepiece of his massive telescope pointed out the roof of the perspex-covered dome. He'd been peering into the night sky for longer than a while.
"Phone call, Line-3."
Floovax sighed, letting go of the eyepiece. "Ja, ja," he grumbled, walking back through the rows of scientists and technicians hunched over screens monitoring the blips and bloops that flashed in their faces.
"I'll take it."
"It is Herr Klaus."
"Ja, ich wissen das."
It had been a busy night. Busier than usual. Usually they'd spend the night delegating amongst one another on the overall success of their propaganda machine run by mainstream media and which newsreader was to be awarded the Bullshitter of the Year Award at the November Bullshit Awards Night (really, there were so many it was hard to know who deserved it more) but not this night. The Bilderberg-322 Shuttle had landed at the Hex-1 Lunar Base an hour ago carrying a precious cargo of Adrenochrome to replenish the rapidly oxidizing cells of members of the Lunar-lifestyle loving top thirty families, all of whom had been living it up on the moon for decades. Yes, even immensely wealthy Reptilian Chimeras had their use-by-dates.
But this year was special.
They had their tickets. Yes, and their front-row seats to watch the kick-off of the Sixth-Extinction get underway. Bets had been set, who would stand and who would fall. Who would live and who would die. Zie feeders could have their childish football and soccer games. Zie Elite's would have zis.
"Klaus? Floovax hier."
"Ja Floovax," Klaus said heartily. "Got a problem."
"Was ist das?"
Apparently nine unvaccinated Nile-Mice had escaped planet Earth, having built themselves a fully-functional spaceship out of rusty nails, barley-seed husks, Nile River driftwood and old termite-eaten wooden pallets buried in sand out behind the pyramids by Ramesses who only dumped them there because he was running late for dinner at mum’s on the day they put the last capstone brick on the roof of the big one.
"How many unvaxxed you say? Nine?"
"Ja," Klaus jabbered, shoving another handful of writhing crickets into his disgusting mouth. "Nine..." crunch, crunch... "But don't fret old partner.,” washing them down with a glass of liquified HEK-293.” We have zie Space Corpse on it."
"Really?" Floovax queried. "Zie Space Corpse? Which ones?"
"Zie Pharaoh's Division under Einsatzgruppen General Von Wormwood," Herr Klaus said, "He was one of my Young Global Concubines you know?"
"So," Floovax gasped, "you really called in zie heavy artillery on these ones eh?"
"Ja," Klaus giggled, "and see how they run! See how they RUN!"
Floovax scurried back across the floor of the control room to his telescope, quickly adjusting the coordinates until he had the nine Nile-Mice centred in his view.
"I see you now," he grinned, rubbing the smooth edge of his right orbital bone which nearly a century ago cupped his eyeball. "Seven down, only two to go,” he muttered as he watched the complicit doctors and nurses of Space Corpse scurry around the solar system in their flying hypodermics poking the unfortunate Nile Mice with their totally safe jabby-jabs. “Seven…Seven stiff corpses floating in the sky, by big blood clots did they die,” he sang. “Oh so safe, oh so safe, oh so safe…”
Yes, with the vast bulk of the world's medical practitioners (useless feeders themselves although neither Klaus nor Floovax would ever tell them that) having abandoned the Hippocratic Oath for the New World Order's 2020 updated Hypocrit's Oath for Big Bucks and having completing Phase 1 and 2 of mass-vaccinations of useless feeders it was now time to roll-out Phase 3; the roundup of mandate escapees by any and all means necessary.
"Vie vill get zem all!" Dirlewanger Floovax began laughing maniacally. "Like zie Barbarossa, VIE VILL POKE HOLES IN ZEM AAAAAAAAAAALL!"