The high priest confiscated your identity.

Though not rare, the confiscation of personal identity is often completely hidden under the thick, greasy, skin of society's top shelf. Orville Redenbacher, Don Johnson, and the Everly Brothers have all had it happen to them, not to drop iconic names or anything. They hung out at the VFW lounge far too long if you catch my drift. The high priest got to them, boy.

Just like your eventual demise, with time as the only factor working on your side. Any high priest has power, but if we really look hard, this high priest has at the least, top level abilities. He hangs out by the barrier. The reality barrier that is, that lies somewhere beneath a layer of fat and a strong shield of dynamic blood vessels. Don't cross it or fuck with it and you'll be fine. It looks to be appealing, the flowing life blood, the pulsating, wholesome fat layer, but don't be so stupid as to poke at it or even gently touch it to sense its texture. You'll be knee deep in the shit the next thing you know, with not one fucking alternative route out. Not one route out.