don't talk to strangers on the internet.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like if God was single and joined a dating app here on earth. I’m sure she’d get a lot of matches. I mean, I’m not exactly sure what she looks like, but personality has to count for something right? Sure it might be hard to convey over 500 characters, but if anyone could write something that would make even the most shallow of people swipe right, it would be God, no?

Personally, I can’t think of a single soul that could possibly have a better personality… well maybe Mr. Rogers, but still, even if God had the second-best personality on earth, that’s still a heck of an accomplishment. If you accidentally swiped left on God (or purposely) do you think she’d be wrathful? I can never tell as she’s portrayed so differently from faith to faith. I like to think she’s better than that though. Yeah, rather than get even, she’d drown her sorrows out in a pint of Haegen Daaz, watch a few romcoms, but then wake up tomorrow ready to tackle the world again. As they say, there is plenty of fish in the sea.

Or perhaps it’s God who is the heartbreaker. Maybe she swipes left all the time and only swipes right on folks who already super liked her photo, only to not respond after a couple, single-worded messages. And if you’re lucky enough to get her number, would she leave you on “read”? I’m sorry, but even if it’s God, you should never keep chatting to someone who constantly leaves you on read; consequences be damned.

I wonder, does the same thing work for prayers that go unanswered? Are they simply heard, but don’t deem a reply? I hope that isn’t the case. As I told myself once, I’d never visit the south voluntarily, and while technically true, here I was, in Atmore, Alabama, on a never-ending vacation… passing the time, hoping that God had not left me on read.

That being said, this wasn’t God’s problem and I had a chance to change my fate… I just didn’t listen. You see, inside each and every human being is an infinitesimal voice that rarely speaks. It’s not always meek, but often that is the case, as we tend to leave it unanswered like a solicitor calling around dinner time. That being said, whether lurid or discreet, when it does speak, you should listen. In fact, it might be the very thing that saves your soul from eternal damnation.

A weak bladder and a penchant for PBR tallboys. That’s how I found the start of the rabbit hole which led me to Randle. It’s not often that the men’s bathroom line is longer than the women’s line, but tonight was a full moon, which meant all bets were off. Have you had to pee so badly that you couldn’t hold it? It’s quite a harrowing experience. With the men’s line at a standstill I thought I only had two options: piss my pants or sneak into the women’s bathroom and pray for clemency afterward. Apparently, I had a third option: piss in the alleyway I had just been thrown into by the bouncers after a female patron shrieked at the sight of a man’s head popping out the top of the stall.

As soon as I heard the back door click shut, I dusted myself off and instantly began pissing on top of some black garbage bags which had already been donned with a fresh coat of vomit. The stench was foul but paled in comparison to the satisfaction that was radiating throughout my body. As I urinated, I felt a nice calm feeling permeate my entire body, orgasmic almost. Suddenly I heard a door click.

“Hey, get the fuck out of here!”

The slip occurred simultaneously with the yelling and all of a sudden I was flat on my back. One of the bouncers had come out for a smoke and I’m sure they would have physically thrown me down the alley some more, but I was covered in vomit and still pissing so it served as quite the deterrent. With a disgusted face, he lit his cigarette but kept his distance as if I was a leper. And if it hadn’t been for that moment I would never be in this mess.

There it was. Halfway up the wall; at an angle that nobody would be able to see it properly. I couldn’t make out the shape that well, but it looked like an octopus. The door clicked open again.

“Mike, we need ya back in here! Two dummies are at it again.”

Mike sighed, furrowed his brow, stamped out the newly lit cigarette (Djarum by the smell) with his black army boot, and headed back inside. It wouldn’t be long before that door opened up again… two, maybe three minutes tops. Even in my drunken stupor, I knew it was best to not be around when it did. However, I couldn’t just leave. They say curiosity killed the cat. They say it for a reason.

The poster was a few feet out of jumping height, so I quickly threw the garbage bags against the adjacent wall and used it as a makeshift pyramid to scale up the wall. I quickly ripped the poster off and sprinted down the alley. A couple of streets down I finally looked at it. It was a picture of an octopus and nothing else. No name, no number, nothing. It must have just been a project by a local artist. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was disappointed. I crumpled the octopus poster back into my pocket and headed home. It was a far walk, but with my clothes fully sullen, I couldn’t imagine any cab letting me sit in the backseat without charging me an outrageous cleaning fee on top of my ride fare.

The next day I had a hangover the size of Texas. I cracked a couple of eggs in the pan and assessed the damage from the night before. Phew. Nothing too bad. Besides the dirty clothes and doing that magic trick where the twenties in my wallet turn to singles, I seemed to be OK. Phone history was blank too, which means drunk me was looking out for sober me. Out of sight, out of mind as they say.

As I polished off my eggs, I made my way to the washing machine. As the water slowly filled, I double-checked my pockets. Inside the back pocket was the crumpled up poster. However, upon further inspection, I noticed the eyes were weird. Using the magnification feature on my phone I noticed they were comprised of dashes and dots. This looked to be morse code.

After decoding the message, it translated to a web address. The website was for a local pet store. The store must have been really hurting for business or extremely popular, as most everything on the online store was sold out. In fact, the only thing they did have was food for jellyfish. Just as I was about to close the browser, I noticed the same image of an octopus on the page. Inside the eyes was another link, but this was a lot different in nature.

It appeared to be a research paper. I had no intention of devouring the entire content of the document (let alone in one sitting), but it was damn well written. Whoever did this took a lot of time gathering data. The paper seemed to be focused on how the exponential growth of technology correlated to a decrease in empathy and how this general reduction in empathy would lead us to the technological singularity. The author (unnamed) didn’t think it was too late to turn this around but stated that it would require a full fledge commitment and drastic measures to correct the course. Measures that the author claimed to have, but said the world wasn’t ready for yet. And then the document ended.

I’m not often moved by the words of others, but I had to know more. I figured that whoever ran the pet store would know the source of this research paper. Unfortunately, there was no store information or telephone number listed. I decided to put the jellyfish food in the online cart and see if I could place an order. That way when the box arrived, I’d have some sort of return address to work with.

A day later I received an e-mail from a man named Randle Grostev saying my order had been canceled due to an error in inventory count, but that he would notify me when it was back in stock. I’m not sure what compelled me, but I e-mailed him back asking him if he knew anything about the jellyfish document. An hour later I received no reply, but an image of an octopus. As expected, there was another message in the eye. It was binary again, which led to a ten-digit number: 929–274–1764.

The phone rang thrice times before cutting to an answering machine requesting to know what item I was looking for and quite a bit of personal information. I thought the latter was a bit strange to request but figured they didn’t ask for anything more than you could look up online these days so I complied. These days everything about a person is online. An hour later I received a callback.

“Got a pen?”

“Uh, not yet, let me just — ”

“Good.

I scrambled to find any writing utensil.

“457 Delaney Street. 10 PM. Please make sure to turn off all electronics before knocking on the door.”

Clearly, I wasn’t picking up jellyfish food. I’ve always had a bad habit of letting my curiosity get the best of me, even though the outcome was usually negative. Some people refuse to learn the easy way. All I could do was hope that the satisfaction of knowing was enough, no matter the outcome.

I got there at 9:50 but made sure not to knock until 9:58. This wasn’t a residential location. No, it looked more like an office building if anything, albeit a small one. I poked around, looking for a doorbell near the powder blue door marked 457, but there was just a single slot for mail. I knocked as hard as I could and awaited my fate. It didn’t take long to hear some shuffling happening on the other side.

“What do you want? I’m busy,” said a voice on the other side of the door. By the sound of it, most likely a male.

“I’m here to pick up some jellyfish food,” I said sheepishly, not knowing what I had signed myself up for.

The door slid open.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Thomas. We have chairs and snacks set up down the hall, past the double doors, third door on the right. Please, make yourself comfortable. Also, make sure your cell phone is turned off and you don’t check it during the meeting. I can’t stress that enough. Randle hates people being on their phones. He says it breaks up the continuity of the conversation.”

“Yeah, sure. I powered it off before I got in,” I replied, weirded out but feeling relatively safe considering the circumstances.

When I got to the meet and greet room, there were about eleven other people in the room, a fair mix of men and women. Nobody really stood out, except a man wearing traditional Amish garb. The Amish always seemed friendly on television shows, so I decided I’d break the ice with him, hoping to get a better picture of what was going on.

Unfortunately, besides telling me his name (Jan) and giving me thorough details of Amish customs, and explaining to me how he ended up in the city, he wasn’t of much help.

“If this is your first meeting, then I think it’s best if Randle clues you in, but rest assured brother, we are here for the same reason you are,” Jan replied placing his hand on my shoulder in a warm, and oddly comforting way.

“But I don’t know why I’m here,” I replied, confused by his cryptic message.

“You do… you just don’t know it yet,” he said smiling.

Before I could pry some more, a tall man with disheveled brown hair and an unkempt beard walked in. His suit was a sharp contrast to his appearance, impeccable in every way, right down to the pocket square. It was hard to tell what age he was. He had some boyish features, a lovely smile, but his skin looked weathered. However, the thing I remember the most was his eyes. They looked otherworldly; almost like staring at two supernovas.

All of a sudden, as if they were actors, everyone else in the room sat down in unison. I must have been throwing off the synchronization as my Amish companion playfully tugged on my sleeve to direct me into a chair next to his.

“I see we have a new member today,” he said, using that immaculate pocket square to wipe his brow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Randle. We spoke on the phone earlier. Levi, right? I’m sorry for all the smoke and mirrors, but you have to understand the research we do over here is quite important in nature and requires the utmost discretion. I assure you, we aren’t a cult and are not trying to brainwash you in any way, shape, or form. That being said, I’m still sorry for bringing you here on false pretenses, but I think we both know it’s not pet store supplies you are looking for.”

The crowd chuckled at the pet store comment as if part of a studio laugh track. So this was Randle. The man behind everything. I looked around the room; everyone was starring at me. It made me feel uneasy, but I wasn’t sure why. Everyone seemed normal enough, but I still couldn’t shake that incessant feeling I was in danger.

Before I could react, Randle shifted in direction and headed straight towards me. He then proceeded to give me a firm hug. It felt warm and comforting like being back home on Christmas holiday.

“I’m sure you have a million questions, but let me go through my spiel first, it might answer some of the basic ones. Afterward, I’ll open up the meeting to everyone, and then you can ask whatever you desire. Does that work for you?”

“Uhh, yeah, that’s fine. And nice to meet you too, Randle.”

“Great. In that case, let me get started,” he said while making his way to a makeshift pulpit at the front of the room.

“Now I know you all probably have read my paper on the overuse of technology leading to decreased levels of empathy and how this might lead to us reaching technological singularity at a faster rate than normal, but since we have a new member, I do want to go over this again in further detail. Apologies for the rehash, but it never hurts to make sure we are all solidified in the intentions of this group and what we hope to accomplish.”

Everyone looked fixated on Randle as he spoke. If they had heard this speech before, you could never tell from their outward reactions. With every word Randle spoke, their eyes appeared to not blink and their bodies were leaning forward, like plants basking in the sunlight. He commanded the attention of the room, like a revered general addressing his troops before the first bullet of war was fired.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not one to normally be an alarmist but we are entering unchartered waters and I’m frightened by what might be on the other shore. Since the internet became mainstream in the early 90s, we’ve seen a drastic shift in our dynamic with technology. What once served as a tool to enhance our lives, is now becoming the virtual prison that we are gladly placing ourselves in. As we continue to spend more time in our digital dwellings, our reality will twist and distort from the tangible to the virtual.

And truthfully, who are we to say which one is “real”? If humanity, as a whole, decides to commit a mass exodus from planet earth and chooses to remain in a virtual plane, is it “wrong”? How do we even begin to judge what is “right” or “wrong” without pushing our own biases and personal agendas?

That being said, evidence suggests that our increasing dependence on technology has correlated with decreased levels of empathy, especially in younger generations that have been texting before they even started walking. It is hard to replicate the complexities and nuisances of human emotions and by bastardizing our communication systems, we only create more walls to allow for more pieces to be lost in translation. As humans lose this ability to connect with one another, then naturally they will crave a “better fit”. A manmade fit.

We are entering the dawn of technological suicide. The body may be present, but the mind has moved to a “greater” beyond. As virtual reality improves, it is not hard to imagine a world in the near distant future where people will come back from work only to put on a cyber helmet for hours at a time. The surge in popularity and usage will drive the monetary possibilities, which will help increase the efforts in which greedy prospectors will spend more time perfecting this virtual world. Eventually, we will focus more on perfecting this “other” world, than our actual planet.

The forests will burn,

the ice caps will melt,

our cities will crumble and decay, and the world will go out with a whimper, not a bang.

We are the canary in the mine. With the exception of one or two, most of us in the room are old enough to remember the world before the most recent technology boom. We didn’t grow up with cell phones, we played outside, we had to interact with people even if it was uncomfortable at first. We grew comfortable, being uncomfortable. It was our way; the only way to see different perspectives and perceptions.

As we stop connecting to one another, we are slowly creating bubbles. Bubbles to “protect” us from the “scary” world outside. Bubbles that filter us from anyone or anything that is deemed different. And if this continues, all we will be able to interact with successfully are AIs programmed to be perfect. In fact, we’ll slowly realize that the common denominator in all of our problems is us, humanity.

And eventually, we will be replaced, by the very same AIs we created to make life easier for us. They will supersede us on the food chain and if they deem us as a threat, well then, who knows what will result. Just as God made us in her image, we did to them.

Obviously, this is an extreme case scenario, but why take the risk? We have limited data supporting these claims, but let’s be honest here… even if we had all the data in the world, there is still the possibility that it would go overlooked. Global warming has had significant data supporting a very credible threat, yet our efforts to restore the planet are minimal at best… and we’ve had this information for decades. It appears we’d rather have a fish today, than an ocean tomorrow.

We are gathered here today because though we may differ on how serious and eminent we view the threat of technological singularity on human beings, we all feel it’s warrant investigation and discussion. For that I thank you. I thank you all for being open-minded, caring, and diligent. And above all, I thank you for your dedication. Well, I think that’s enough preaching by me for one day, shall we open the floor to questions for discussion?”

Before I could even fully digest what Randle had said, hands shot through the air like arrows.

“Do you have data supporting the timeline to technological singularity or has it already occurred?”

“What can we do on a local level to promote these sweeping systemic changes to technology usage?”

“Will our efforts be drastic enough to have an actual impact?”

Randle handled each and every question with both a combination of scientific data and personal sentiment. It made each answer seem not only data-driven but heartfelt as well. Eventually, when I felt more comfortable in my surroundings, I asked a question.

“What if we implement some change, inform the public, but nobody cares? As you said, it’s not like people don’t know this information. Everyone has heard how social media rots the brain and how spending copious amounts of time on the internet can desensitize and alienate individuals. I mean, while I agree with your sentiments, it’s not necessarily groundbreaking news. All the information in the world supporting these claims is useless if we as a whole opt to live in this virtual Shangri-La we are creating. Don’t you think this is all pointless?”

The crowd stared at me, but no one seemed angry by my statement. In fact, with their sympathetic looks, I’m sure they might have thought it themselves at one point or another.

Randle paused. Though my tone was a bit combative, his body seemed relaxed. After a few more seconds, he spoke.

“I suppose it depends on whether or not you feel that the majority should rule and make decisions. In this country, we elect our officials. The power the people have is bestowed to others. Our elected representatives speak on our behalf. However, they too are fallible. With lobbyists, special interest groups, as well as a plethora of other outside factors, sometimes they don’t make decisions that work for everyone. The truth is, for most decisions in life, a few individuals or organizations impact a lot of what goes on in society. So can we truly ever have a democratic system that represents the ideals and needs of the public?

“No,” I said almost instinctually. I didn’t mean to speak, but I agreed with Randle’s sentiments.

“Exactly. The people never how power. All they can do is just hope that the ones who do wield it have humanity’s best interest at heart.”

Randle looked at his watch.

“Ok, as always, the time flew by and we must adjourn this meeting.”

An audible groan collectively came from the audience.

“Haha, don’t worry, we’ll have another meeting next week, same time, same place. As always, thank you for giving up your time to discuss. Next week, we’ll focus on what we can do on a household level to combat cyber suicide amongst teenagers. I hope to see you all there.”

As everyone began to shuffle out of their seats and move toward the exit, I went up to Randle to shake his hand. He looked me in the eye and smiled.

“See you next week Levi?” Randle said while putting some papers in his briefcase.

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Hey Randle?”

“Yeah Levi?”

“Thanks for doing this. I think what you’re doing is quite noble.”

“I’m glad you liked it, Levi; I wasn’t sure if you would think all of this was kooky. I mean, the AI uprising isn’t exactly a casual conversation,” he chuckled.

“No, I mean, I don’t know if that necessarily worries me, but I do agree that technology has taken away from what makes humans, well, human. I want to change that, no matter what.”

Randle’s eyebrows perked up.

“No matter what you say?” he inquired.

“No matter what,” I repeated, beginning to feel like all of this wasn’t just some chance encounter, but perhaps even fate.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. I must be going, but I look forward to seeing you next week Levi. Take care,” Randle said, shaking my hand before departing.

Over the next few months, I continued to go back to Randle’s seminars. I was amazed at the painstaking amount of data he had gathered supporting his claims about technology’s impact on empathy. Truthfully, even without all his data, it had already passed the eye test for me. I mean, we were all connected, but not. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter… these were designed to make us interact more, but what were we really using them for? If anything, social media felt more divisive than unifying. Twitter was just a shitshow of people stating their own personal opinions. No discussion, no anything. Just spouting off without the proper constructs to allow for healthy debate. Facebook and Instagram weren’t too different, except they added a bit more false sense of closeness that made me feel like my interactions with friends and family weren’t as superficial as they actually were. I had liked my friends and family’s photos for years, but I couldn’t even remember the last time I gave one of them a call, let alone actually visited them.

In fact, most people that I interacted with under the age of twenty-five didn’t even want to talk on the phone. It was just all texting, a communication system void of all emotion except for the occasion emoji (and in some cases, too many emojis).

In addition, globalization had created a need to cut down on expenses, which has led to more automation in industries. Everywhere you go, whether it’s the airport or your local supermarket, you’ll notice less physical presence of human beings. Cashiers have been replaced with self-checkout, assembly lines are automated, and AIs are taking over the service industry. In fact, I made reservations at a restaurant last week, not realizing that I wasn’t even talking to a human being at first. All AI, always learning.

What Randle preached made sense, however, it didn’t seem like enough. Even if we took his teachings and applied them to all the people we directly knew, it still wouldn’t be enough. I had a feeling that the world was going to change no matter what we did. It was as if we didn’t realize the full extent of our tech dependence, and even if we did, we wouldn’t push back. It was just too convenient to be subservient. The best way to keep someone in prison complacently is not letting them know they are in prison, to begin with. A mind that thinks it’s free will never rebel.

I think Randle could sense my growing frustration because he asked to talk to me privately after our last group meeting. He said he had been working on a special project and wanted the input of a couple of members of the group. He told me to come by Delaney Street, tomorrow at 8 PM. He informed me to not tell a single soul at the group session as it might ruffle a few feathers if they knew he was picking and choosing members to help him personally. I promised him I wouldn’t.

I didn’t sleep much that night. All I could think about was what this special project entailed. Whatever it was, it must be important if Randle asked us not to talk about it. Before I went to the meeting, I left my phone at home. Truthfully, I rarely carried it these days. It felt freeing, to not be tethered to something, constantly checking to see if when the blank screen was revealed that there would be a glimpse of human connection on the other side. A connection to make me feel like I wasn’t so alone in this universe. A connection that would remain hollow without proper reinforcement of the non-digital kind.

After knocking on the door, I was greeted by Randle himself. Only one other person was here, Jan, who had warmly greeted me that first meeting. He looked proud to be selected as well.

Before we could get comfortable, Randle pulled out a black box with a switch on it. He flipped it up.

“I apologize for the extra security measure gentlemen, and while I trust you have either left your electronic devices at home or turned them off, I cannot take a single chance tonight. This is a little device I created to ensure nothing shared tonight gets out of this room. Today I will inform you of what I’m working on. It is not for everyone, and some might even view it as a drastic measure, but I assure you, a lot of thought and calculation has gone into this.

When I am finished, I will ask if you want to participate in the project. If you do not, then I take no personal offense to your decision. I encourage you to make a decision that is best for you. However, there is one caveat. If you decided you do not want to participate, then this is where we part ways. You will not be welcome back to our weekly group meetings as we will need to clear room for new recruits who might eventually be interested in the program. It’s like you said in an early meeting Levi, our current actions aren’t accomplishing much.”

My ears perked up. I could feel the goosebumps on my arm.

“I’ll be blunt and to the point. I’ve created a special amplifying device, that when attached to a large enough EMP device, can exponentially increase the effective range. I know that our government won’t listen to a plea about how too much reliance on technology decreases empathy, but what if it disrupted day-to-day life? If everything goes down, they’ll hopefully realize how susceptible we are to future attacks and consider cutting back on our technology dependency. If anything, it will be a nice wake-up call. And what better place to set it off than here, in the city?

Now I can tell from your blank faces that this might be a bit extreme for you, but what choice do we have? We are facing a mass extinction… maybe not fifty years from now, maybe not even five hundred years from now, but it’s going to happen. We are the gatekeepers of humanity and I refuse to let it end on my watch.”

A silence fell upon the room. Whether it was thirty seconds or five minutes, I couldn’t tell you. It all felt so surreal. I didn’t necessarily disagree with Randle, but this sounded like terrorism. Eventually, our Amish companion began to talk.

“I’m in.”

I was stunned. Jan agreed so easily. My gut didn’t like this; it felt wrong.

“But Randle… what about hospitals? Or other people on life-supporting devices? What if there are some planes in the area? What about all the drivers on the road? Traffic lights cutting out, calls to 911, what about all of this? Innocent people will die,” I said, in about as strong of a voice that I could muster, which at the time must have sounded somewhere between a meek voice and a whisper.

“Levi, I think you already know the answer to that. While I’ve taken great care to centralize the blast of the EMP to avoid areas like major hospitals, it would be impossible to fully prevent loss of life. Unfortunately, a few martyrs will be created. And that’s on me. I will live with that for the rest of my life.”

“Martyrs usually get a choice Randle. This is murder.”

“I won’t argue with that Levi. As I said, I know this isn’t for everyone. It takes a strong commitment to do actions that will haunt you late at night. But I hope that the same point illustrates how important I think all of this is. There simply is no other way and if you can think of one, I’m all ears.”

As much as it pained me to admit it, he was right. Anything short of a drastic measure would fall upon deaf ears. Historians always ponder if dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was necessary to end the war. Some argue that those deaths saved millions of other lives. Others claim it was inherently evil and that the war would have ended soon anyway. I guess we’ll never know for sure. Either way, for some reason, I decided it was best to ignore my gut.

“I want in, too, Randle,” I said confidently and loudly.

Randle nodded and cracked the faintest smile.

“Good, I knew there was something special about the two of you. OK, the last piece I need your help with is purchasing, picking up, and transporting the high-grade EMP device. I have a contact, ex-military, who was a part of a project to design advanced EMP technology. The project was created as a countermeasure to combat possible drone attacks from U.S. enemies. However, our contact has had a change of heart and feels that our government would only use this technology to gain more power and control in the foreseeable future. Lucky for us, they have become sympathetic to our cause and are willing to part with a replica EMP they have created, for a price of course.

I need the two of you to accompany me to the pickup site. Levi, once we meet the seller, I’ll need you to hand over the payment. Don’t worry, I’m using my own personal funds that I have transferred into an unmarked account. All you have to do is hand them the USB stick with all the encryption details and account info. After that, we load up the device in a rented U-Haul and then drop it off in a large storage unit I purchased a few miles out from the city. From there we will tinker and equip the amplifier onto the EMP and when the time is right, we’ll park the truck in the blast zone to be remotely detonated.

I wish we had more time to prep, but the scheduled pick-up is tomorrow. If you weren’t able to help, I was prepared to do it alone.”

“You can count on us, Randle. Just tell us where and when to meet you,” I said, feeling more confident by the minute… unsure if it was adrenaline or my nerves settling in.

He handed us both folded pieces of paper.

“Gentlemen, meet me at that location, tomorrow at 6 PM. Dress in all black and tell no one. It’s a short walk from here, but I don’t want anyone else knowing about this location, so after you have the information memorized, please throw out that paper. Also, please take a look at this document. It shows in detail what was discussed tonight. You may read these for as long as you like, but unfortunately, I cannot let you take a copy with you. I just can’t risk this accidentally getting into the wrong hands.”

Jan and I both took full liberty of Randle’s offer and spent hours reading the document, fittingly named Operation Jellyfish. I wanted to ask Randle why he chose to name it after a jellyfish, but that question could wait. For now, I wanted to digest as much of this document as possible. Who knows when the next opportunity would be.

When it was close to 1 AM, we decided to call it quits so that we could get some sleep. When I got home, I sent off an e-mail to my work saying that I was sick and would be calling out. This would give me plenty of time to sleep in. I’d need the rest before tomorrow’s event picked up; we all would.

I woke up at 5 AM, due to an unexpected nightmare. Well, I can’t really say unexpected, as I have nightmares most nights, but unexpected in the sense that it actually woke me up for a change. Around 8 AM, I got tired of being in bed and finally mustered up the strength to eat and even did some light calisthenics.

After lunch, I tried to take a nap, and though I was exhausted, I just couldn’t turn my brain off and sleep. Also, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was fatigued, but I was beginning to have some doubts about Randle’s plan. It seemed well thought out, and effective, but cruel nonetheless. I mean, people were going to die over this. We were playing God.

This all seemed like such a stellar idea last night; Randle had that quality about him. He was so charismatic and in his presence, I’m not sure I could object too much. Heck, he could tell me to jump off a building and I’d probably consider it for a second. And this held true because when we met up again at night, my hesitancy melted away as if I never had any doubts to begin with.

I wasn’t able to fit a nap in, so I was quiet for most of the drive over to the rendezvous point. In fact, I must have even passed out for a couple of minutes because before I knew it, Jan was giving me a polite nudge to my ribcage. He wasn’t mad but gave me a weird look.

“We’re here, let’s get going,” Randle said.

We were at some sort of industrial complex. Since I didn’t have my phone on me, I wasn’t sure of the exact location. The last I remembered, we were taking the highway north, and here we were. Of all the times to fall asleep.

When we got out of the truck, Randle handed me a USB stick.

“Hold on to this for me Levi. I’m going to go in first and inspect the EMP and if everything checks out, hand over the payment. I’m sure everything will be fine, but I don’t want to go in there with the payment in case something goes wrong.”

“OK, you sure you don’t want me to go with you Randle?” I said, concerned for his safety.

“I’m sure, thanks. Also, I don’t want to spook our contact. When the coast is clear, I’ll signal you and Jan over.”

Jan and I opted to wait in the truck since it was cold outside. We killed the headlights to draw less attention to ourselves. After five minutes, we saw a flashlight shoot in our direction. Jan turned the headlights back on. It was Randle; he was signaling for us to move up to the hanger he was next to.

When we got out of the car, we were greeted by a woman who dressed in all black as well. She was gorgeous, like model gorgeous. It wasn’t that it mattered at all, just she wasn’t what I expected. I must have been staring too hard because I was quickly reprimanded.

“What are you looking at? Haven’t seen a female scientist before?” she said in a chastising manner.

She stuck out her hand in my direction.

“Payment please?”

I froze and fumbled around while I looked for it. I knew it was in one of my pockets.

“You’re kidding me, don’t tell me you lost the bank details…” she sounded annoyed.

Eventually, I found it in one of my pockets. She quickly pulled out a small portable device, plugged in the USB, and began verifying.

Eventually, she looked up and smiled.

“Pleasure doing business with you boys. Ok, let’s load this EMP up. Remember, if you get caught, we never had this meeting.”

Once we loaded the EMP onto the truck, we wasted no time and started heading to the storage unit to store it. After we carefully placed the EMP inside, we drove the truck back to our meeting spot. Randle told us to go get some sleep and that we would discuss the next steps in the morning. But that never happened.

In the morning, I was greeted with guns drawn in my face. Apparently, that gorgeous model I met last night wasn’t a scientist after all, but an undercover agent. Not to my surprise, purchasing a military-level EMP was a very serious offense, so I was quickly whisked off to a government facility for a series of intense questioning. I wasn’t given a chance to get a lawyer or even contact anyone. It was seen as a matter of national security so they couldn’t risk me contacting anyone.

It didn’t take long for me to break and inform them all about Randle and everything going on; however, it did me no good. When they investigated 457 Delaney Street, they found nothing. Every single square inch was wiped clean. It was as if I made the whole thing up. It all felt so surreal. Part of me thinks I never woke up from that nightmare that I had the night before we went to pick up the EMP. I’m not one to curse often, but I was fucked. Fucked, FUcked, FUCked, FUCKed, FUCKEd, FUCKED.

Furthermore, it didn’t help that the building was registered under my name. In fact, the payment made for the EMP was from an account registered under my name too. It appears that Randle had set me up to be the fall guy if the plan fell apart. What was even stranger was my bombshell undercover agent had claimed we never left with the device and that I made a run for it when she tried to arrest me. Nothing made sense at all. She also claimed I came to visit her alone. Was she working with Randle?

When I could eventually contact my family and friends, they were mortified at my actions and I couldn’t blame them. While I wasn’t the mastermind behind all of this, my hands were far from clean. It all made sense at the time, but the more time I spent in my cell, away from Randle, the more I realized the plan was pure madness. It was something straight out of a science fiction movie.

Our club was more of a cult and I’m ashamed to admit it, but I got swept up in all of it. Though what bothered me the most was that part of me still felt Randle’s plan was right. That being said, if I wanted any chance of not spending the right of my life in a jail cell, I had to tell the feds everything.

I tried to inform everyone that Randle was the true mastermind, but his name didn’t show up in any database. It was an alias. Neither did any of the names of the other people in our group sessions. Were they all actors? Was everyone in on it but me? Without a single witness to rely on, and a paper trail longer than the Mississippi stacked against me, it looked like I was up shit creek without a paddle.

I won’t lie, I contemplated killing myself. Something about solitary confinement just drives a man insane. I mean, even the lawyer they appointed me informed me that even best-case scenario, I’d be in jail for five to ten years. That’s if they could prove I was just an ignorant pawn in all of this. So here I am, in a supermax prison in Alabama, hoping and praying I can clear my name and not die in the south.

As horrible as it sounds, I sometimes hope to turn on the TV and hear about Randle’s EMP attack, but it’s always the same stuff: corruption in politics, police brutality, fighting at the rallies, but nothing on Randle, myself, or any of the actions that have been going on. I guess it made sense, as it was a matter of national security, but it’s maddening to doubt your own reality. As the days tick by, I’m not sure about anything anymore. I just wish I could confirm that this all wasn’t just in my head.

Is it all just in my head?

Is it?

Are you even real? 

Please, God, someone tell me.