There is no hope in hell Ray and I are going to make small talk to pass the time, fucker! With my head up against the passenger window I try to clear my mind. Between Ray and the Director my nerves are shot. I kinda fade off thinking about the past 2 years hoping to pass the time traveling to God knows where...
When I got the job I was hired because I wasn't the best in my league, or the top of my class. In retrospect, after 2 years of interviews and counseling people involved in the highest classified projects on some very head spinning shit they needed a disposable fool that wouldn't be missed at the end of our agreement. After the world I seen nothing could have prepared me for what I walked into. The people I work for are far worse and sinister than the than some of the hardest operators I've spoken with.
On my first day I went to a DARPA Medical facility, I had a complete physical including setting a baseline on cognitive abilities, oh yeah a few government mandated "vaccines" than to an underground facility for a briefing. Again how fucking dumb was I, all geeked up, felt like 007, walking around like a peacock, when in reality they were laughing at this useful idiot who would trade his life to jump a couple levels above his proper station just for a taste of a world that I could experience no other way. A one way street...
I met a man, his name was simply the"Operator". The rules were this he told me," You are counseling people in the field under extreme stress, Your session unlike a real world shrink will come with 100% immunity from prosecution for your clients, Some agents are suicidal from guilt having to make unsavory choices, and the rule of law does not govern our missions, because they never happened, Your job position has unique penalties associated with it, namely death, if you leak any information said in conference, death, any questions?
The operator than continued in a serious tone,"You will not contact this department for any reason, you will however have one emergency contact in your career, use it wisely. All contacts and meets will be handled through this device", and tossed me a smartphone than continued, Again you will never talk as long as you live about anything you hear in the course of this project, everything you hear by our standard is protected, and confined to a SCIF facility of our choice, Welcome to the team Confessor", and so ended our conversation...
3 months in, I reached a moment of horrifying disgust, on the verge of panic so powerful that I said fuck my life! One Way Street motherfuckers it is. The client appeared to be a professional on the verge of retirement. He was simply "The Travel Agent". He almost got clipped because of an email scandal called pizza gate. Though he wasn't named directly in the scandal he was the labor coordinator for manpower in a human trafficking network catering to DC's elite and powerful. This fucking wormy cunt was so enmeshed in his own mortality his job was just a means to an end, total sociopath his stress wasn't the sins of his action, he wasn't here because he was haunted by the abuse and murder of victims in the course of his work, not even, it was the pressure of an elite human trafficking ring collapsing around him that had him flipping the fuck out. I tuned out the details of these victims and all the names of the elite players involved during the session. That night I was tortured by what I heard and was triggered all week no matter how hard I buried the conversation. Than a second session popped up on the schedule, it was the Wormy Fucking "Travel Agent" Fuck No!!!
I said fuck it, at this rate im going to have a short career, I'm using my one emergency contact, I am not dealing with the Travel Agent. Than I'm in the meeting the operator is talking to me, let me remind you the penalty for disclosure of any of your client's mission related confidential meetings is death, no court, am I clear? "Yes" I said with a stomach full of regret, I said bravely, "What if I chose not to see a client?". The Operator said rather dryly,"how would you like a dirt nap?" "OK", I said getting up attempting to run out," nice talking to you, thanks I'm on my way, see ya later." "Stop", said the Operator. "Take a seat and listen real close, I'm going to tell the Boss you had a damn good reason to call, and because your problem was security related we are going to move you to another part of the country, I'm not telling the boss what you said about not doing your job, Now it's your turn to get the Fuck out of my office, by the way, don't ever call again!"the Operator boomed as I was running out of his office. Two weeks later I was sent to St.Louis and had to leave my penthouse on the Ocean in San Diego for a possible security threat, nice job slick, I will keep my mouth shut next time...
I had my second meeting with the Travel Agent, I had to listen to this fool or die, can't say what a mind numbing reality check that was, and a few weeks later the Travel Agent was deader than a hammer. His death saved me from being entirely swallowed up in the Darkness. I almost iced myself over this shit bag who was on his way out anyway. Not much was said, it was reported the Travel Agent died of a heart attack at his office, and the list of child charities that were publicly grieving over the loss of this mans death and leadership....no more Travel Agent, i'm going to permanently suppress that thought.
Than the grandest revelation was dropped on my head almost 2 years after the Travel Agent experience I'm trying to suppress. The DARPA medic after 2 years of small talk new I would see people on occasion for counseling, big names, my ability for secrets becoming legendary with that circle of the upper crust. The Medic begged me for a session, he had a secure room of his own design, and he was strangely someone I considered a good friend despite the circumstances that brought us together. "Sure why not, let me know", I said. Than I thought what do we need a secure room for? Do I even want to know...
The Medic and I sat at a small table across from each other, in a place of his choosing. He started talking to me about relationship problems he was experiencing with a fiancee he was having second thoughts about. While the Medic droned on about his issues he was writing in a notebook at a very fast pace, as if there was a real emergency going on, It completely unnerved me. I was just about to break in and ask him why he was writing like his ass was on fire? He immediately waved a hand in a stop/quiet gesture and continued writing under cover of a lengthy conversation. While the Medic was talking to me he slid me the notebook, and my heart felt a like cannon shot it into a brick wall. Dammit Mother Fuckers I panicked, I am not 007! I only had a split second to freak out because the first line said: "If you don't want both of us executed by a hit team you will continue to play along and counsel me on my Fiancee issues. The notebook is the only secure way for you to communicate. I looked up at the medic and nodded. It was my turn to play in the charade and I started to drone on relationship advice while trying to decipher the rest of the Medics writing in the notebook. It continued: your vaccines I injected you with the last 2 years are nano particles not viruses, you are a walking transmitter, no secret has ever been safe with you since your mission started. The SCIF facility is all part of the illusion to hypnotize your clients into feeling safe and running at the mouth. Your body Transmits information from voice conversations to wifi signals. If it's not written down on paper and burned all signals are transmitted and the Data is analyzed. I wrote, "Who analyzes the Data from my client sessions?" and passed the notebook, all the while the Medic and I took turns talking about relationship woes. The Medic wrote,"The Department", followed by the last bit of information he would write down for the session: " I'm moving on, I just got a major offer from Bill Gates, he told me the event of a lifetime was scheduled for 2020 and that no amount of money was off the table, I'm a fucking billionaire Confessor, and you were the subject that put a billion dollars on my table for all future work. I am doing 2 things tonight, I owe you the truth, I don't have time to thank you for what a Billion dollars will do for me, my family, my research. I almost owe you so much more, it grieves me so, and I am confessing to that I am part of something incredible in the year 2020 an event that like you can't be discussed or I too will pay the ultimate price. Take Care! Look for me in 2020!!! The Medic. P.S:. for a Billion dollars a fiancee is off the table! Russian Escorts Confessor, Russian Escorts!
After learning this shocking revelation that I'm a high tech microphone posing under cover as therapist for operatives where my life is collateral and insurance for secrecy which gives these clients the comfort of unburdening their souls. This adds a new level of diabolical and complex shit I have to ponder. If anything I take comfort knowing I helped the Travel Agent get a one way ticket with death, it helps me sleep better at least.
"We are almost here brother standby, 10 minutes", barked Ray, snapping me out of my daze. Ray threw a smart phone at me. On it was Kanye laughing his ass off at me. I told Ray next time you do something, which I won't name, I would force his big ass to drive a tiny car, and even better I've been watching the two of you live for the last 1/2 hour, You are lucky AF I'm meeting you locally and didn't have to drive 6 hours with that angry giant, Funny shit see ya Confessor...click
This story was originally posted on Steemit by me on January of 2021. It is also edited slightly from the original. It is a short serial novel I enjoy writing based on fictional characters and events influenced by years and years of research. Episodes 2-6 are on their way on Hive...