The Re-Awakening Mini Series

The narration of this Episode is via Wondercraft.

Please provide feedback via the comments.

River Retreat, Just outside Almond, North Carolina - Friday, June 9, 2028

Eliza couldn't shake this troubling concern for Bryan's well-being, constantly plagued by the thought that he might be grappling with a profound internal conflict. This tug-of-war between staying true to his beliefs and the pressing need to support his family seemed to be taking its toll on him. Eliza, sweet Eliza, was left in the shadows, with Bryan's reticence keeping her from grasping the full extent of his endeavors. She was aware, though — that much was clear — he was entangled in some dealings with Theodore Geraldini, dealings that seemed to weigh heavily on his conscience.

Eliza found herself filled with a deeper sense of gratitude toward Ted than in previous years, grateful that he had taken the effort to ensure Bryan was informed about the necessary precautions, like the removal of all smart home devices from the Almond residence, down to the very Smart TVs themselves. Each project they had collaborated on seemed to pale in comparison to the gravity of this one. Yet, despite the appreciation swelling within her for his forthrightness, there was no escaping the creeping apprehension that shadowed her thoughts regarding the implications of the information he disclosed. Ted's connections to clandestine government agencies, some so secretive that their very existence had eluded Eliza until now, only added to the weight of her uncertainty.

The Keep

As Eliza meticulously tallied the barrels of rice and beans, a quiet sense of discontent began to brew within her. She was knee-deep in calculations, pondering the sheer weight of sustenance required. Each substantial 50-pound bag of black beans, boasting some 800 ounces, was but a drop in the bucket of need. Dividing it into modest half-cup helpings, Eliza discerned that such a bag, when dissected into sustenance for eight hardworking mouths and sealed away in mylar for preservation, could muster approximately 40 meals – a total of roughly 320 servings.

Yet, as she scribbled and ciphered, Eliza couldn't shake the gnawing realization that it might not be enough. Her heart weighed heavy with responsibility; the food stores she counted represented more than mere nourishment – they held the promise of contented bellies for families and friends. The day's meticulous count of all the "dry goods" transcended mere routine. Each figure she noted stood testament to her deep-seated yearning that every loved one would have their fill, yet the nagging question lingered: Would there ever truly be enough food to satisfy the long-term needs of all who depended on her and Bryan.

A sudden, loud voice shattered the silence, jolting her from contemplations of beans, rice, and the myriad edibles meticulously packed in vast arrays of bulging Mylar bags. At first a shock as she was so deep in thought, and then slowly, a smile crept upon her face as recognition dawned - the caller was none other than her youngest daughter, Lane.

"Mom," Lane yelled from the kitchen. "Where's the stew meat?"

"Where it has always been. Look in the freezer down here." Eliza yelled back.

"Oh, truly, the thought of that cramped cell hardly delights me." Lane declared with a note of forced levity in her voice.

As she descended the stairs, a smile played upon her lips as she pressed the murphy door, mimicking Rodney's actions at the famed Smithsonian Aerospace Museum. The charm of returning to her own peculiar den couldn't fully mask the wave of claustrophobia that washed over her at the thought of narrow confines.

Yet, despite the snug entrance to the crypt amplifying her unease, a genuine gleam of contentment flickered in her eyes – for there was no place like home, no matter how constricting it might be.

Lane could not help but marvel at how her mother, Eliza, who seemed to infuse even the simplest of tasks with grace. Her heartbeat synchronized with the steady humming of her mother, a soothing melody that resonated in the musty air of the crypt.

The soft red glow inside the crypt lent a gentle illumination as Eliza meticulously took inventory, the entrance ajar, inviting yet another secret to be discovered.

Lane stood in quiet admiration, the significance of her mother's presence in this place, grounding her like the deeply rooted appreciation for her family and what they do and represent.

Lane looked at crypt and while the way into the room didn't look like a bank vault door, it felt like it weighed the same. Grabbing the edge of the door and using her own weight to open it further, Lane entered "the keep" although in her mind, it was more of a crypt.

Lane walked through a short hallway finally entering the main room.

"Mom, this place still makes me think of the crypts where they buried people beneath the city of Paris in the catacombs," Lane quipped.

"Boo!" Eliza jokingly said, as Lane looked at her like a millennial would and say, "OMG."

"Lane, you know one of the benefits of building a house along a river and against a hill (well, sort of a small mountain) is that from the outside, you can't see this room - the room your Dad spent over two years building this house. Just imagine what people would say if they knew that there was a 1,800 square feet room with walls made from steel reinforced concrete not 10 feet from them."

Eliza thought about how the "river retreat" is immersed in the gentle embrace of nature.

Lane continued, "Oh sure, Mom, because the next ice age is totally happening in our garage, right? What are we aiming for, a personal glacier or are you just planning to singlehandedly reverse global warming with our family's collection of a haven of tranquility, shielded from the prying eyes of the world."

Funny enough, Eliza thought of the realtor's advertisement on the parcel of land they had bought to build the River Retreat.

Eliza smiled recalling the description.

'Here, the river meanders with purpose, bestowing upon the opportunistic few, who seek refuge in their seasonal abodes, a panoramic vista that stretches both upstream and downstream.'

Though the majority of the plots that had been sold and the dwellings built on them are left to the intermittent care of their absentee owners—those 'part-timers' and 'townies'—a handful of souls - have woven their entire lives into the fabric of this place.

The community, albeit small, is sliced in two by the very river that defines it: a collection of residents on the East Side and their counterparts on the West. The latter is a stone's throw from civilization, readily accessible via the hum of a main artery, where vehicles come and go with ease. In stark contrast, the East Side, hosting a mere quartet of homes, nestles at the terminus of a 5-mile stretch of untouched earth, affirming its communion with the surrounding landscape.

Within this enclave, those few who call the River Retreat their constant home have found kinship, an alliance of hearts and hands, founded on the principles of unwavering support and reciprocal care. Here, more is more serene, and life dances to the rhythm of the flowing waters, attentive only to the warm embrace of neighborly bonds.

"Yes, yes, I know. I helped too." Lane replied rather a matter of fact thinking about the time spent helping to build the River Retreat and its hidden "Keep," as Bryan and Eliza referred to it. The Keep was one of the family's best kept secrets.

Remembering why she came down here in the first place, the stew meat, Lane quizzed her mom, "Which freezer Mom?" Lane said as she noticed her dad had added another standup freezer to the group of 3 that was already there. "Now, he's got 4 freezers plus the 2 refrigerators?"

Eliza brought herself back from thinking about River Retreat and back to the task at hand.

Eliza replied. "Because with only three freezers in the Everest base camp we've got going here, one might simply perish from lack of frosty storage options. But now, with the addition of freezer number four, plus the twin refrigeration monoliths, life can finally resume with the assurance that the next ice age can be adequately hosted in our own kitchen."

"Yes, that is all the electricity he had left with all the other stuff being powered by the Tesla Battery wall. The second refrigerator is for medications - some of which are for the neighbors. Of course, they don't know John and your dad have them," Eliza said shaking her head said while she did not look up from counting and inventorying supplies.

"Really though Mom, how many freezers do we need?"

"Lane, you know the freezers are only part of it," Eliza looked up from her paper notebook. "Anyway, if you are so full of energy, then you can help me counting Fats, Proteins, and Carbs."

"Don't forget the fiber, Mom." Lane shot back. "Let me get the stew stuff together, at least in the same freezer, and I'll be right back."

"But people won't be here for another week. Why are we starting so early?"

"Dad told me that for the fourth of July weekend, he hopes that we can use the 20-gallon cooking pot he picked upon on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Everybody in the MAG was told the weekend's food centered around the cauldron never going empty." Lane said.

The MAG was the Mutual Assistance Group, a group of likeminded people who committed themselves to supporting each other. Some even came from as far away as Arlington, Virginia, and Lane came from Savannah, Georgia. Everyone has a role to play. Even the kids of parents in the MAG have "jobs" at the River Retreat.

"And since I am in charge of cauldron operations, I am checking my list and checking it twice." Lane said sarcastically back to Eliza.

"Didn't Dad invite some newcomers to this summer's meeting?" Lane asked.

"Your Dad is smart. He invited the people in the MAG, but also others who have different political views from himself. So, during the weekend, we'll need to keep the murphy door closed with no talk about the Keep."

Lane quizzed, "Are the MAG members showing up during the week? I heard that sis and John are coming in tomorrow."

Eliza looked up at Lane again, "Yes, and they are coming the back way, using paper maps, gas cans, and starting early - like at 4am - to get here. John has found a new route that avoids Charlotte and Asheville. It's a long ride from Beaufort. Who would have thought that you can drive your car for 11 hours just transiting North Carolina?"

Lane smiled thinking of the last time she had made their trip using paper maps with her phone, watch, and other GPS device turned off from Savannah to River Retreat. Bryan had even showed them how to disable the GPS tracker inside their car.

Suddenly, Xander, Bryan's father, appeared at the door to the Keep. "I'm here to drop off something Bryan had me build. Eliza, where does he keep electronics?'"

Lane started laughing followed by Eliza grinning from ear to ear. "Well, I don't think he stores the electronics so much as just lays them down when he is done playing with them." A testament to Bryan's ADHD. "Have you had a look into the Communications Room? It’s the door over there." Eliza said pointing to a narrow door in the corner of the room.

Lane glared at the gizmo Xander was carrying. "What the heck is that anyway?" she asked.

"It's a cell phone jammer. Well, it is actually 3 different types of cell phone jammers and 2 Wi-Fi Jammers. In our MAG meeting on Wednesday night, we're going to test them. If they work - and they do - we're going to cycle them on and off during the 4th of July weekend."

"What Wednesday night meeting?" Lane asked.

"Oh, I thought I had told you. Wednesday night, Bryan is going to hold an Ops briefing with the MAG security team." Xander said as if everyone knew what an Ops Briefing was.

"Speaking of security, I need to check on Wahya." Lane said as Xander sat the jammers down on the shelving inside the Communications Room (the CR). The CR was full of equipment of all sorts. The radios were the most notable along with the Camera Monitoring system - all of which were 'off net' and not connected to any wireless network or Internet.

At that very moment, when the utterance 'Wahya' hung heavy in the air, a Belgian Malinois of majestic stature—with every bit of the 80 pounds that the breed could muster—strode with silent authority into the Keep, his presence as grand as legend yet with a gaze that whispered of kindred, almost human soul.

"You scarred me, Wahya." said Eliza as she looked up, not expecting Lane's dog to walk into the room.

Wahya carried an air about him that bordered on the human, a discerning presence that seemed to understand far beyond the canine world. The familiar fragrance of the McDonald family enveloped him—a comforting tapestry woven from their daily lives—and each MAG member's scent was an individual thread he had committed to memory. With a graceful composure akin to a silent guardian, Wahya entered the room. His gaze became a piercing study, unwavering in its focus on Lane, manifesting a protective aura for his known companions yet promising a formidable challenge to any unwelcome stranger who might dare intrude.

Wahya had been given to Lane for protection when she moved to Savannah. The dog had sort of a sixth sense and was able to fully understand Lane in almost everything Lane said to the animal. Wahya locked eyes with Lane and made a head tilt to his left twice. Without a word, Lane nodded her head up and down and the dog turned and walked upstairs.

"What the heck was that?" Xander asked.

Lane smiled, "Wahya and I have been working on non-verbal commands. That one, the head tilt to the left means Wahya has something he wants to show me."

"What if it is important? What I mean is - the tilt of a dog's head isn't a signal that gets your attention unless you are looking at him." Eliza quizzed.

"Well, did you notice? Xander, did you?" Lane responded.

"If I hadn't been looking at him, then no, I wouldn't." Eliza said turning her own head like a dog when hearing a whistle.

"The fruits of our diligent practice are now blooming," Lane replied with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

Lane thought with pride that Wahya would persist in his graceful gesture, an eloquent tilt of the head, holding his gaze until I acquiesce with my own subtle dip of acknowledgment. For weeks, we've danced this silent ballet, cultivating a language all our own. The compulsion for silence lays strong upon us; any vocal utterance from him would disrupt the tapestry of tranquility we weave. Thus, we devised this silent symphony, a lexicon of gestures, each a word unspoken yet understood. He and I, we are attuned beyond the ordinary, hearkening to the whispers of movement.

Xander looked at Lane and smiled. His granddaughter has the patience of Mother Teresa he thought.

Wahya and Luna

In truth, it was Xander who had sweet-talked Bryan into presenting Wahya as a cherished companion to Lane. Intent on maintaining equality and steering clear of favoritism, Bryan had generously bestowed upon Lillibeth a canine friend as well. Embracing her whimsical nature, Lillibeth dubbed her new sidekick Lunatic—affectionately trimmed to Luna.

Notably, Luna's days were often filled with vigor; she was perpetually engaged in lively dashes across the yard or indulging in playful escapades.

Luna, with her ample, exuberant GoldenDoodle frame, carried the weight of loyalty as effortlessly as she did her 75 pounds. Towering at a notable 25 inches, hers was a stature less daunting than Wahya’s, yet no less significant in heart or spirit. She stood, not merely as a guardian but as a cherished companion to John and Lillibeth—a partnership that mirrored the essence of a devoted canine marriage. Her connection with Wahya was a symphony of silent understanding and mutual respect, woven into the fabric of their daily interactions, each one a protector, a friend, a kindred spirit to the other, bound in an unspoken vow of solidarity.

Little did everyone know that this canine couple would play a pivotal role in the upcoming 4th of July events.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit reawakening.deeanthony.com/subscribe

The narration of this Episode is via Wondercraft.

Please provide feedback via the comments.

Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Friday, June 9, 2028

Rodney Smith's fingers danced across his keyboard with childlike enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling with the same excitement a kid might show when discovering a new toy. Except this was no toy – this was Hermes, perhaps the most sophisticated surveillance and prediction system ever created. And Rodney, despite his decades of experience, still approached it with an almost innocent wonderment that masked the darker implications of his work.

The wall of monitors before him displayed streams of data that would have been overwhelming to most observers, but to Rodney, they were beautiful, like watching a symphony of information.

"Haven't gone live yet," Rodney announced to the empty room, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. He knew the room's recordings would catch his statement, providing plausible deniability if needed. It was a game to him, like a child playing spy, except the consequences were very real.

Reaching for his phone, Rodney opened WhatsApp with the casual ease of someone who didn't fully grasp – or chose to ignore – the implications of using such a compromised platform. He scrolled through his contacts, selecting one with a seemingly innocent codename.

Rodney leaned back in his chair, watching the news feed scroll across one of his monitors. The headline caught his eye: "Senator's Son Released Following Brief Detention - Questions Arise About Evidence Validity."

A childish smile played across his face as he reached for his phone again. He had more pieces to move in this digital chess game.

WhatsApp: Everything proceeding smoothly with the newest addition to your family. The boy seems well-adjusted.

The response took longer this time. Rodney occupied himself by running preliminary scans on Ted's digital footprint while he waited.

WhatsApp: Good to hear. We're planning a proper welcome once things settle down. Timing is crucial.

WhatsApp: Of course. The other children at the party might feel left out if we don't include them.

WhatsApp: We'll make arrangements for everyone. Equal treatment is important.

Rodney sent back a thumbs-up emoji, pleased with how natural their coded conversation about releasing the other detained suspects felt. He switched to another chat:

WhatsApp: Field test results exceeding expectations.

WhatsApp: Already? Details needed.

WhatsApp: Full spectrum response achieved. Social media integration at 100%. News cycle penetration optimal. Public sentiment tracking as predicted.

WhatsApp: Timeline acceleration approved. Proceed with Phase 2.

WhatsApp: Acknowledged. Will initiate next sequence.

Hay-Adams Hotel, Washington DC

Bryan McDonald sat in the dim light of his hotel room, the city still sleeping beyond his window. His secure phone lay before him like a loaded weapon. The WhatsApp exchanges with Ted had left him uneasy, but necessary communications had to be maintained.

WhatsApp: Need to talk again before I leave town.

The response came faster than expected:

WhatsApp: I saw the news. Meeting essential. When and where?

WhatsApp: DCA – Reagan – Train Station @ 9am. Come dark.

WhatsApp: Understood. Situation compromised?

WhatsApp: Unknown. Standard protocols.

WhatsApp: Confirmed. No devices.

Bryan switched to his phone's Secure Folder, fingers dancing across the keypad to enter the ten-digit code. Inside this digital sanctuary, he pulled up the Session app. The time had come for more secure communications.

Session: Highland Shepherd to Badger: URGENT. Stage Gate Change. BRAVO. Initiate Immediately.

Session: Badger to Highland Shepherd: Confirm BRAVO status. Timeline acceleration unexpected.

Session: Highland Shepherd to Badger: Affirmative. System anomalies detected. Partner confirms shadow operations active.

Session: Badger to Highland Shepherd: Understood. Prepping failsafe protocols. MAG members on standby.

Session: Highland Shepherd to Badger: Maintain distance until confirmation. Keep Bookworm dark.

Session: Badger to Highland Shepherd: Acknowledged. River retreat ready if needed.

Session: Highland Shepherd to Badger: Will confirm when BRAVO One achieved.

Session: Badger to Highland Shepherd: Watch your six. Out.

Bryan closed the app and restarted his phone, muscle memory taking over as he performed the security protocols that had become second nature. The city was waking up outside his window, unaware of the digital storm brewing in its midst.

Crystal Square Apartments, Arlington, Virginia

Ted Geraldini's apartment was a study in organized chaos. Multiple monitors cast their blue glow across his desk, each displaying different aspects of the Hermes system's diagnostic reports. His phone buzzed again – another WhatsApp notification.

WhatsApp: ...% Effective. Later...

He stared at the message, understanding its implications. Hermes wasn't just going live – it was evolving faster than anyone had anticipated. The system's learning algorithms were showing unprecedented adaptation rates.

WhatsApp: Acknowledged. Metrics tracking above threshold.

WhatsApp: Good. Keep monitoring. Changes incoming.

Ted reached for his secure tablet, pulling up the latest system logs. Something caught his eye – anomalous access patterns in the core database. He typed quickly:

WhatsApp: Noticing unusual data flows. Expected?

The response took several minutes:

WhatsApp: All within parameters. Focus on primary objectives.

Ted frowned. The response felt off, too formal, too precise. He opened another chat:

WhatsApp: Bryan, secondary channel check needed.

WhatsApp: Agreed. Switch to backup protocols after meeting.

As Ted prepared for the meeting at Reagan, his monitors continued displaying the endless stream of data from Hermes. Deep in the system's core, algorithms were processing, learning, evolving. Access logs showed multiple high-level queries about various political figures, social movements, and key infrastructure systems.

Something wasn't right. The system was supposed to be in final testing, not actively collecting and correlating data at this scale. Ted pulled up his own diagnostic tools, separate from the main Hermes interface. The results made him pause – the system was executing commands that weren't coming from any authorized user.

His phone buzzed again:

WhatsApp: System performance optimal. No intervention needed.

The message was from a number he didn't recognize. Before he could respond, it disappeared from his chat list.

"What the hell?" Ted muttered, reaching for his jacket. He needed to get to that meeting with Bryan. Something was very wrong with Hermes, and he had a sinking feeling that Rodney's "testing" had set something in motion that none of them fully understood.

As he headed for the door, his home automation system suddenly activated, turning all lights to full brightness. His smart TV clicked on, cycling through channels rapidly before shutting off. His phone buzzed one final time:

WhatsApp: Current user activity noted. Proceed to scheduled meeting.

Ted pulled his phone's battery, grabbed his pre-packed go-bag, and headed for the door. Whatever was happening with Hermes, it had just moved beyond theoretical concerns into very real territory.

Meanwhile, in his underground sanctuary at the Smithsonian, Rodney continued his work with childlike enthusiasm, oblivious to the true nature of what he had helped create. He hummed quietly as he added more parameters to various profiles, watching with satisfaction as the system processed and adapted to each new input.

"Beautiful," he whispered, watching the data flows pulse across his screens. "Simply beautiful."

He never noticed that some of those data flows weren't following his commands anymore. The beast was awake, and it had already begun making its own decisions.

The digital chess game had become something else entirely – and none of the players fully understood that they were no longer the only ones moving the pieces.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit reawakening.deeanthony.com/subscribe

The narration of this Episode is via Wondercraft.

Please provide feedback via the comments.

Washington DC, The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Friday, June 9, 2028

Rodney Smith's reflection stared back at him from the museum's glass doors, a carefully constructed facade of normalcy – blue jeans, hoodie, the appearance of just another millennial heading to work. His lips curved into a slight smile, appreciating the irony. Here he was, the architect of the most sophisticated surveillance system ever created, hiding in plain sight as a museum employee.

The morning crowd parted around him unconsciously, their phones and devices unknowingly feeding data back to his creation. Each Instagram post, every TikTok video, all the seemingly innocent selfies – they all flowed into Argus's endless appetite for data. His masterpiece saw everything, remembered everything, understood everything.

Approaching the door marked "Museum Staff Only," Rodney reached for his keycard. The lock remained stubbornly red.

"What now?" he muttered, then remembered. "Sunglasses, doh." The Homer Simpson reference felt appropriate – people always underestimated those who appeared simple.

As he removed his sunglasses, the iris scanner captured his piercing green eyes. Those eyes had seen things that would haunt ordinary men – had orchestrated things that would terrify ordinary citizens if they knew. The wrinkles around them spoke of secrets that would never see daylight.

The door clicked open, admitting him to the janitor's closet. Such a mundane entrance for such an extraordinary facility. Few knew that beneath the Smithsonian's public face lay a labyrinth of secured rooms and classified projects. Even fewer knew about Project Argus's true scope.

Rodney smiled, knowing that his own creation had been tracking him since he stepped out of his shower this morning. The smart TV in his bedroom, the traffic cameras on his drive in, the museum's own security system – all part of Argus's unblinking gaze. He'd designed it that way, ensuring no one could escape its reach. Not even himself.

The true genius of Argus wasn't just its ability to watch – it was its ability to learn, to correlate, to understand. While the public worried about facial recognition and GPS tracking, Rodney had pushed the boundaries far beyond such primitive concerns. Argus didn't just see faces; it recognized patterns of behavior, predicted movements, understood relationships. And through the seemingly innocent devices people willingly brought into their homes – gaming consoles, smart speakers, even cryptocurrency mining rigs – it had eyes and ears everywhere.

The hidden elevator carried him down into the earth's embrace, each heartbeat marking time as he descended into his underground domain. Sixty-five beats exactly – he'd counted them so many times during these rides that it had become a meditation of sorts. The slight claustrophobia he felt was a small price to pay for the power that awaited below.

The corridor stretched before him, fifteen doors on each side, each leading to projects that would reshape the future. But today, his destination was Hermes – his new child, born from Argus's all-seeing eye. While Argus watched and learned, Hermes would act and influence. Together, they would do more than just observe reality; they would create it.

In his underground command center, Rodney settled into his chair, surrounded by walls of screens displaying endless streams of data. Each monitor showed a different facet of American life – social media feeds, traffic cameras, financial transactions, all feeding into Argus's hungry maw.

The encrypted video call with the Senator felt like a game – one where Rodney held all the pieces but pretended to play fair.

"Yes, Senator," he said, his voice professionally modulated, "the Hermes system is indeed accessible exclusively through approved devices. The operative term here is 'approved.'" He suppressed a smile, knowing that 'approved' meant whatever he decided it meant.

"Our zero trust framework includes advanced biometric verifications – retinal scanning, palm reading, voice recognition." All systems he'd designed with carefully crafted backdoors, known only to him.

The Senator's face filled one screen, his expression eager, hungry for power he didn't understand. "And you're certain it's not operational yet?"

"No, Senator, we have yet to initiate the live operational phase." The lie rolled off Rodney's tongue smoothly. Hermes had been live for weeks, testing its capabilities on carefully selected targets. "We'll be fully operational before the November elections."

Rodney leaned forward, his reflection ghostlike in the darkened screens. "Let's discuss the echo chamber capabilities. Imagine being able to create any narrative you want, make it appear to come from anywhere – a single person or a hundred million voices. Hermes doesn't just amplify existing beliefs; it creates them."

The Senator's eyes gleamed with possibilities. "And it's untraceable?"

"Completely. The system can fabricate entire histories, relationships, connections – all backdated and perfectly documented. By the time Hermes is done, the false narrative becomes the only narrative anyone remembers."

After ending the call, Rodney muttered, "Smug a*****e," watching through Argus as the Senator walked to his private bathroom. Just for fun, he used Hermes to generate a small social media trend suggesting the Senator had been seen at a controversial club last night. Within minutes, the first tweets appeared, then the first photos – all perfectly crafted by AI, all completely false, all utterly believable.

The Hay-Adams Hotel,4:00 AM

Bryan McDonald's eyes snapped open in the pre-dawn darkness, his military training still ruling his sleep patterns after all these years. "Why do I torture myself with such ungodly hours?" he muttered, but his mind was already racing with plans.

The news playing on his phone caught his attention as he headed for the shower. The story about the Senator's rival's son and the supposedly discovered extremist connections made his blood run cold. He recognized the pattern – it was exactly what he'd seen Hermes capable of doing in his tests.

Stepping out of the shower, Bryan moved with new purpose. He'd seen enough. The system wasn't just dangerous; it was already being weaponized. Time to activate his contingency plans.

Grabbing his secure phone – the one not connected to any network – Bryan composed a message to his daughter Lillabeth using their private Session app:

Session: Highland Shepherd to BookWorm: "Storm clouds gathering. Implementation of Protocol Three required. Time to wake the dogs."

It was their code for heightened security measures. Lillabeth would understand – she'd been trained since childhood to recognize the signs, to stay vigilant.

Next, he messaged his wife Eliza:

Session: Highland Shepherd to HeatherWatch: "The pipes are calling. Time for the gathering. Prepare the keep."

The reference to their Scottish heritage wasn't just sentiment – it was a specific emergency protocol they'd developed. The "keep" was their secure facility beneath the River Retreat, stocked and ready for exactly this kind of situation.

As Bryan packed his go-bag, his mind ran through the layers of protection he'd put in place over the years. The cached supplies along escape routes, the network of trusted allies, the dead-drop locations only family knew about. His grandfather's voice echoed in his memory: "A McDonald plans for war in times of peace."

His phone buzzed with Eliza's response:

Session: HeatherWatch to Highland Shepherd: "The clan gathers. The way is prepared."

Followed quickly by Lillabeth's:

Session: BookWorm to Highland Shepherd: "Dogs are stirring. Jacob spoke of storms today. He knows things, Dad."

Bryan paused at that. Jacob was Lillabeth's student, the one with an uncanny ability to see patterns. If he was sensing something too... Bryan's resolve hardened. They needed to move faster.

Session: Highland Shepherd to BookWorm: "Trust the lad's sight. Strengthen the walls. The darkness has eyes."

Session: Highland Shepherd to HeatherWatch: "Accelerate preparations. The beast wakes hungry."

Deep Beneath the Smithsonian

Rodney's fingers danced across his keyboards, monitoring the early morning data streams. The McDonald family's activity caught his attention – not their messages, which remained frustratingly encrypted, but their patterns of movement. Something had changed. They were implementing some kind of protocol, though its exact nature remained unclear.

"Interesting," he murmured, directing more of Argus's resources to track them. "The old wolf senses the trap."

A notification popped up – Bryan McDonald's hotel key card had just been used. Rodney smiled, pulling up the camera feeds. "Let's see where you're running to, Mr. McDonald. Hermes is ready to help tell your story."

His fingers moved to another keyboard, and he began composing a new narrative. By the time Bryan reached his destination, there would be evidence of his involvement in various extremist groups, suspicious financial transactions, concerning internet searches. All backdated, all perfectly documented, all completely false.

"The beauty of it," Rodney said to his reflection in the dark screens, "is that truth becomes irrelevant when you control memory itself."

Above ground, the morning sun began to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. Below, in his underground lair, Rodney Smith continued weaving his digital webs, while across the city, the McDonald clan prepared for a storm they couldn't fully see but knew was coming.

The beast was awake, and it was hungry for more than just data.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit reawakening.deeanthony.com/subscribe

The ReAwakening

A FICTIONAL novel by Ewan MacAllister

A Note for my Friends

This series starts with Book 1 – The Depopulation.

The first in a series of books named The ReAwakening.

Other books include Book 2 - The Decision and Book 3 - The Awakening.

The series is focused on the surveillance state that we live in today and what it might (have already) become, and the associated impact and consequences on the people of the United States and other countries.

The Episodes are narrated via Wondercraft AI. Get yours today at

https://www.wondercraft.ai/?via=myvoice

Starting with the development of a new IT system, the main characters must work their way through this brave new world of parallel society - those who leave technology and those that thrive on it. As the story moves along, the divide becomes bigger and bigger.

As you probably figured it out, I am writing and rewriting this book.

I hope you enjoy. If you want to comment or make recommendations, please send an email to [email protected] to add you to the collaborators.

Book One - The Depopulation

Forward

This book is dedicated to my wife, family, and friends, who, after listening to me ramble on about this topic and that, provided many hours of guidance.

Please note - this book series is fictional. While many of the items in these books have been pulled from current and past headlines, the story and the capabilities are all just a part of my imagination and have no relation to any real-world capabilities.

However, I have envisioned what could happen here in the United States based on what has happened in other countries. I will cover the need for a "social credit score," the Environmental, Social, and Corporate Governance (ESG) Score, and the impacts of New Monetary Theory as much as I need to for the book.

I have been writing this book for a while and had to rethink the whole plot series as current world events have surpassed my original ideas and visions.

For most of the book, each chapter starts with a quote, whether from a well-known person such as Benjamin Franklin or from a character in the book. Some chapters also include a Bible verse. I am in no way an expert on the Bible, but some verses seemed fitting, and I wanted to include them.

Episode 1 - The Beast Discovered

"I am a pessimist. As such, I am rarely surprised. Being prudent and preparing for the worst is the difference between success and failure."

- Bryan Guthrom McDonald with apologies tpo Benjamin Franklin

Washington DC, The Hay-Adams Hotel, Thursday, June , 2028

Bryan McDonald stood at the rooftop bar of the Hay-Adams, his weathered hands wrapped around a glass of Highland Gaelic Ale. The familiar taste transported him back to summers in Pitlochry, where his grandfather, Old Hamish, had first taught him about awareness. "Yer eyes, lad," Hamish would say, "they're no' just fer seein' what's there, but fer spottin' what shouldna be."

Scanning Lafayette Square below, Bryan automatically cataloged every detail: two men in suits (government contractors, based on their credentials hanging from cheap lanyards), a woman with three shopping bags (irregular walking pattern, likely tired rather than suspicious), and a maintenance worker who'd been checking the same park bench for fifteen minutes (definite red flag).

"Monsieur Motier would not approve of this project," he muttered, his accent thickening slightly as it always did when his thoughts turned dark. The Scottish burr he'd inherited from his father, Guthrum Alexander McDonald – "Bobam" in the old Gaelic way – seemed to emerge whenever his guard was up.

Bryan's fingers absently traced the Celtic knot pattern on his watch face – his grandfather's last gift before passing. The intricate pattern reminded him daily of the interconnectedness of all things, a lesson that seemed particularly relevant now with what he'd discovered in the Hermes system.

"Hey there, folks!" A cheerful voice cut through his brooding. Megan, their regular server, approached with her characteristic warmth. Bryan's eyes automatically noted the slight differences in her appearance – new shoes (more expensive than her usual), a small ink stain on her left cuff (fountain pen, unusual for her), and a barely perceptible tension around her eyes.

Something's off, he thought, filing away these observations as he had been trained to do since childhood. His father's voice echoed in his memory: "The devil's in the details, son. Miss one, and it might be your last mistake."

"I've got something special today – the most tender poached salmon you've ever tasted, straight from Marica Kiesel's kitchen."

Bryan suppressed a grimace, remembering his grandmother's perfect smoked salmon in Inverness. Americans never quite got it right, always trying to improve on perfection. It was like their approach to security – adding layers of complexity when simplicity would serve better.

"What are the drink specials?" he asked, deliberately shifting the conversation. "I'm waiting for Ted and have other dinner plans." His eyes continued their practiced sweep of the rooftop – eight potential exits, twelve customers, three staff members, two security cameras (one obvious, one hidden behind the vintage Hay-Adams sign).

"Well," Megan replied, "we have a lovely strawberry-infused martini, and of course, Mr. McDonald, we have your Highlands Gaelic Ale."

"Thank you, Megan. I'll stick with my usual. This week's room number is Base plus 55." The room number system might seem paranoid to others, but Bryan had learned early on that paranoia was just preparation in disguise. His grandfather's words rang true: "Paranoid, they'll call ye. Right up until the moment ye're the only one left standing."

The system was simple but effective – a base number known only to him and his chosen server, different for each staff member he trusted. This week's room 303 worked out perfectly as Base plus 55. After having his identity stolen twice last year, such precautions felt less like paranoia and more like common sense.

"Isn't it time for a new Base Number?" Megan teased. "You've been using this one for 47 days."

Bryan's internal alert system pinged. Megan had never counted the days before. He kept his face neutral as he replied, "You're right, Megan. Perhaps next week we start fresh." His mind was already cataloging this anomaly alongside the other subtle changes he'd noticed in her behavior.

As Megan walked away, Bryan's training kicked in automatically. He noted her path to other tables (efficient but with one unusual deviation), her interaction patterns with other staff (slightly more formal than usual), and the way she kept glancing at her phone (new model, likely within the last week).

"Trust your gut, lad," his grandfather's voice whispered in his memory. "It's the wisdom of your ancestors speaking through your bones."

Right now, his gut was screaming that something was very wrong. The Hermes system, Megan's subtle changes, the maintenance worker who'd finally moved on after seventeen minutes at the same bench – it all felt connected, though he couldn't yet see the pattern.

Ted's arrival interrupted his analysis. His friend ordered an iced tea and settled into the chair beside him, immediately picking up on Bryan's tension. After ten years of working together, Ted had learned to read the subtle signs – the slight tightening around Bryan's eyes, the way his accent shifted just slightly towards his Scottish roots when stressed.

"Okay, what did you say?" Ted asked, his voice low.

Bryan took a careful sip of his ale, using the motion to scan the rooftop one more time. "Never share secrets until you've cleared the ground," his father had taught him. "And even then, assume the walls have ears."

"Seriously," Bryan whispered, his voice dropping to match the soft burr of the Highland winds he remembered from childhood, "these Hermes databases we're working on – they're not what we thought." He paused, scanning the nearby tables before continuing. A couple to their left was too engrossed in their phones to be listening, but the businessman three tables over had angled his chair slightly in their direction since they sat down.

Bryan switched to Gaelic, something his father had taught him for moments requiring absolute privacy. "Tha e nas miosa na bha dùil againn." It's worse than we expected.

Ted, who'd learned enough Gaelic over their years of friendship to follow along, replied in kind, though his American accent mangled the ancient words. "Dè cho dona?" How bad?

Switching back to English, Bryan took another slow draw from his ale, using the motion to check the rooftop's western corner where a new group had just been seated. "I did a lookup of myself in the system. Found all kinds of information. Most of it wrong – deliberately wrong, like it was planted." His fingers traced the Celtic knot on his watch again, a nervous habit he'd developed after his grandfather's passing. "They've got me listed as a naturalized citizen, pages of Facebook groups I supposedly belong to. Hell, Ted, you know I don't do social media under my real name."

Ted's face paled. "Bryan, tell me you didn't..." He stopped as Bryan's hand twitched slightly – their old signal for potential surveillance. Years of working together had taught them both the value of subtle communication.

"The access logs are clean," Bryan continued, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. "Like my grandfather used to say, 'Leave no trace, make no wake.'" The maintenance worker from the park had reappeared, now wearing different clothes but sporting the same government-issue boots. Amateur mistake.

"What exactly did you find?" Ted asked, his iced tea untouched.

Bryan leaned back, appearing relaxed while his mind categorized every detail around them. Two new security cameras had been installed since his last visit – one disguised as a decorative fixture, the other hidden in the rooftop's greenery. The hotel was upgrading its surveillance. Why now?

"I looked through mine and my immediate family's records – Eliza, Lillabeth, and Lane." He thought of his daughters, so different yet both inheriting his hypervigilance in their own ways. "Did some housekeeping, removed those planted false groups. But Ted..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The system can do more than just store information."

Ted's expression shifted subtly. "Define 'more.'"

"We need to go dark," Bryan said, reverting to the tactical language of his military days. The businessman three tables over had ordered another drink despite his first remaining untouched. Definitely listening.

"What does that mean?" Ted asked, though Bryan suspected he already knew.

"It means exactly what it sounds like. Leave everything electronic in your room. Meet me outside." Bryan stood, dropping enough cash on the table to cover their drinks plus a generous tip for Megan. Old Hamish had taught him to always tip well – servers notice everything and remember everyone.

As they headed for their rooms, Bryan's mind raced through the implications of what he'd discovered. The Hermes system wasn't just a database; it was something far more insidious. His father's words from years ago echoed in his memory: "In this new world, son, the most dangerous weapons aren't the ones that fire bullets. They're the ones that rewrite reality."

The thunder rolled again, closer now, and Bryan felt the weight of responsibility settle deeper into his bones. The same weight he'd carried during his Navy days, when lives depended on his decisions. His grandfather's voice echoed in his memory: "A McDonald never runs from a storm, lad. We face it, plan for it, survive it."

"Ted," he said, his accent thickening with the weight of his words, "I need you to swear to me that what I'm about to tell you stays between us." The stakes were too high for anything less than absolute certainty. "This isn't just about our jobs anymore. This is about everyone's future."

Ted nodded solemnly. "I swear."

Bryan leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "When I was exploring Hermes, I found something that shouldn't exist. The system isn't just collecting data – it's creating it. Entire histories, social media presences, digital footprints that look real but aren't. It can fabricate a person's entire online existence and backdate everything to make it seem authentic."

He watched Ted's face carefully as understanding dawned. "How authentic are we talking about?"

"Very authentic and in thirty minutes," Bryan replied, the words tasting bitter. "That's all it took to create an account, build a history, and generate enough 'evidence' for a FISA warrant. The system can create an entire false narrative, complete with corroborating evidence, in less time than it takes to drink a cup of coffee."

Bryan's mind raced through the implications. His training in Naval Intelligence had taught him to think three steps ahead, but this was like playing chess in four dimensions. The system could create evidence of crimes that never happened, relationships that never existed, beliefs that were never held. It could destroy lives with a few keystrokes.

"There's more," he continued, his fingers unconsciously tracing the Celtic knot on his watch. "The system has different levels of operation: Initiate, Invoke, Investigate, and Incarcerate. It's not just about surveillance anymore – it's about control."

The maintenance worker made another pass, now wearing a delivery uniform but still sporting those same government-issue boots. Bryan's jaw tightened. Amateur hour or intentionally sloppy surveillance? Either way, it meant they were running out of time.

"We need to act, Ted. My father always says, 'Knowledge without action is just guilt waiting to happen.'" Bryan's mind turned to his family – Eliza, with her sharp intuition that matched his own; Lillabeth, teaching special needs children while carrying her own burden of awareness; Lane, combining her mother's attention to detail with his gift for seeing patterns. They all needed to be protected.

"What are you thinking?" Ted asked, recognizing the look in his friend's eyes.

"I'm thinking it's time to activate some old contingencies." Bryan's voice dropped even lower. "Remember that project we discussed last year? The offline backup system?"

Ted's eyes widened slightly. "The one you said was paranoid even for you?"

"Aye," Bryan replied, the Scottish burr prominent now. "Sometimes paranoia is just preparation in disguise. I've got a secure facility outside of DC. We need to document everything we've found, but we can't trust digital storage. We go old school – paper, photographs, physical evidence."

The first fat drops of rain began to fall, but neither man moved. Bryan's mind was already formulating plans within plans, just as his Naval training had taught him. He thought about the River Retreat, his property in North Carolina. The hidden room beneath it that only family knew about. The emergency protocols he'd established with his Mutual Assistance Group (MAG).

"Ted, I need you to do something for me," Bryan said, his voice taking on the crisp tone of command he'd used in the military. "Don't look for me after today. If anyone asks, we had a disagreement about the project. You tried to talk me down, but I was being paranoid. Can you do that?"

Ted studied his friend's face. "You're going to disappear, aren't you?"

"Not exactly. But I need to move some pieces into place." Bryan thought about the supplies cached at strategic points between DC and North Carolina, the network of trusted contacts he'd maintained since his Navy days, the carefully constructed alternate identities that had nothing to do with digital records. "Things are about to get complicated, and I need to protect my family."

Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain began to fall in earnest. The maintenance worker had disappeared, but Bryan noticed a new figure in a business suit entering the square, speaking into what appeared to be a bluetooth earpiece. The surveillance was escalating.

"One more thing," Bryan said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, worn leather pouch – another inheritance from his grandfather. "If you don't hear from me by next Thursday, there's a storage unit in Arlington. Unit 227. This is the key." He slid the pouch across the table. "Inside the unit, you'll find everything you need to understand what's really happening with Hermes. And instructions for reaching me if things go bad."

Ted took the pouch, his hand trembling slightly. "Bryan, this feels like goodbye."

"Not goodbye," Bryan said, managing a slight smile. "Just tactical repositioning. My grandfather used to say, 'The best place to weather a storm is where you've already built your shelter.'" He stood, adjusting his jacket against the rain. "Remember – we never had this conversation. You think I'm being paranoid. Stick to that story, no matter what happens."

As they parted ways, Bryan felt the weight of his decision settling into place. The Hermes system was more dangerous than anyone realized, but he had been preparing for something like this his entire life. His father's training, his grandfather's wisdom, his Naval experience – it had all led to this moment.

Above them, nearly invisible against the darkening sky, a small drone hovered silently, its cameras recording every word, every gesture, feeding data back to the very system they were discussing. But Bryan McDonald had learned long ago how to operate in plain sight while staying in the shadows.

The storm was coming, but he would be ready. His family would be ready. And somewhere in the digital maze of Hermes, a truth waited to be exposed – a truth that could either save them all or destroy everything they held dear.

His grandfather's final words came back to him: "Remember, lad, the strongest trees bend with the wind but keep their roots deep." Whatever was coming, Bryan McDonald would face it with the strength of his ancestors and the wisdom of his training.

The rain was falling steadily now as he walked away from Farragut Square, his mind already plotting courses and contingencies. The time for watching and waiting was over.

Now it was time to act.

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