The narration of this Episode is via Wondercraft.
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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 asshole," 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.
