Datum: 17-07-2025
Door: ThomasTiz
Одним из преимуществ является то, что подъемный стол можно относительно легко адаптировать для выполнения множества различных задач.
Высота подъёма: 1000 мм.
Грузоподъемность от 500 до 2000 кг Высота подъема от 550 до 1600 мм.
Мы доставим Ваш заказ по Москве в пределах МКАД совершенно бесплатно, если его стоимость превысит 25 000 рублей. Подробности у менеджеров-консультантов.
Грузоподъёмность: 250 кг. Высота подъёма: 890 мм. Размер стола: 815х500 мм. Колеса: 125х40 мм. Гарантия: 15 месяцев.
Грузоподъемность: 1000 кг.
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Datum: 25-07-2025
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Datum: 16-07-2025
Door: Barryirode
Зеркало сайта Кракен стабильное и надёжное
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Datum: 14-07-2025
Door: GonzaloWex
I’m a student at Ajialuna International School. I’m not writing this to accuse a teacher, or complain about grades. This isn’t about the school’s rules or the curriculum. It’s about something no one talks about — because if we do, we lose everything.
I’m being controlled. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally. Physically. Neurologically. And the people behind it are not from some foreign power or shadowy conspiracy. They’re here. This is being executed by internal branches of the Saudi Ministry of Interior. The ones tied to population control, surveillance tech, and behavioral enforcement.
I don’t know what they call it. I don’t need the code name. I know how it feels.
At first, I thought I was just tired. I’d zone out in class. Stare at walls. Forget words mid-sentence. But it wasn’t sleep deprivation. It wasn’t boredom. It was induced silence. Someone switching off parts of me — remotely.
The voices came later. Not audible. Not crazy. Just inside. “Keep still.” “You’re not ready.” “Don’t talk to anyone.”
And it wasn’t random. It came when I pushed back — raised my hand, asked questions, wrote things they didn’t like. That’s when the tension in my chest would spike. That’s when the pressure in my forehead would start.
There are zones in this school where it’s stronger. The hallway near the admin office. The corner by the generator fence. Once I sat down on the stairs near the eastern gate and couldn’t get up for 10 minutes. It felt like my spine didn’t belong to me.
I can’t report this. Who would I go to — the police? They are the police. The Ministry runs everything. Teachers won’t say anything. They’ve been trained to redirect, not investigate. Parents? They’d panic, or worse — they’d doubt me.
If I had known the Ministry uses schools like Ajialuna as silent test fields, I never would’ve come here. They don’t need syringes or prisons. They just need time, and our silence. And so far, they’ve had both.
My memory is thinner now. I laugh less. I get angry at strange moments. I flinch when someone enters a room too quickly. But I’m not broken. I’m still tracking everything. I write down the interference patterns. I time the blankouts. I mark the phrases I hear. I don’t resist anymore. I observe. And I wait.
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