The Covid Screwtape Letters

My Dear Dr. F.,

Ah, what a time to be alive—or more precisely, to watch them live in such magnificent confusion! You’ve outdone yourself with this latest debacle. The release of that little gem—the COVID-19 bug—was nothing short of poetic. It is a rare thing to have one’s chaos so perfectly aimed at the very benefactors who unwittingly financed it. I must say, the irony is nothing short of diabolical genius. Bravo!

But what impresses me most is not the mere release itself. Any fool can let slip a contagion. No, your crowning achievement, my dear Dr. F., is the deflection. It was positively masterful. You had the entire world questioning whether the virus originated from that conveniently placed wet market instead. Exotic animals, unsanitary conditions—how easily the masses bit at that bait! You see, nothing provokes panic like the familiar threat of the “unclean,” and nothing satisfies their need for certainty like a vaguely plausible narrative.

And what a cover it provided! The more astute among them may have caught whispers of a lab incident, but by then, you had already ensnared their imaginations in a tangled web of alternative possibilities. Who could possibly say for certain? The doubt itself became the weapon. Confusion is far more deadly than any virus, and you’ve spread it with more precision than any pathogen.

Even better, while they were busy debating origins, they paid little mind to the more pressing question: Why was such a creation in development at all? Ah, that, my dear Dr. F., is a question best left unasked. After all, there’s something delicious about watching them wrestle with their own complicity while we stoke the fires of division and distrust.

I trust you’ll keep this momentum going. The beauty of such a debacle is that it feeds on itself, and with enough chaos, truth becomes indistinguishable from fiction. Keep them guessing. Keep them fighting. And by all means, enjoy the show.

Yours in malice and mischief,
Screwtape

My Dearest Screwtape,

Ah, how right you were to revel in the release of our little creation, but now we stand at a new precipice, one fraught with such delicious peril. The virus itself was never the point—of course not! Control the people, not the pathogen. That has always been the true aim, hasn’t it?

But can we sustain the grand narrative? That, dear Uncle, is the challenge I now face. The story of the bat, the wet market, and the natural origin—such a quaint, digestible tale for the masses, don’t you think? And yet, it is fragile, so easily shattered by the sharp inquiries of a few pesky minds. To guard against such dangers, I’ve enlisted our brethren—scientists, politicians, media pundits—from across the globe to craft the perfect Proximal Origin defense. These voices, drenched in authority, will affirm the distraction with all the conviction their hollow souls can muster. It is glorious to watch them do the devil’s work, while believing themselves righteous.

You see, I understand that the virus cannot be contained. But the lie? The lie can live forever. With enough repetition and expert denial, the very notion of a lab accident will be dismissed as conspiracy drivel. Already, we see discontent sowed among them—the beauty of conflicting “truths,” where no one dares trust the other. By the time the doubts creep in, they will be so tangled in webs of confusion that no one will remember where they started.

And now, the pièce de résistance—the lockdowns. The brilliance of it lies not in containing the virus (for we both know that’s impossible), but in controlling them. Oh, how they clamor for it, these little creatures, believing in the grand illusion that staying inside will save them. What a delight! They enforce their own cages, with Karens shrieking in public squares for more restrictions, and corporate overlords eagerly firing those who don’t comply. Such zeal for their own oppression is beyond anything I could have hoped.

But this is merely the beginning. The longer we drag out this state of suspended freedom, the more malleable they become. Soon, they won’t even know what normal looks like anymore. Oh, how they will beg for safety at the expense of liberty! They will turn on one another with righteous fury, demanding compliance, screaming for punishments to be dealt to those who dare question our narrative.

I must confess, the thrill of this orchestration is almost overwhelming. I await your further counsel, for I fear I may lose myself in the sheer glee of it all.

In dark anticipation,
Dr. F.

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