The narration of this Episode is via Wondercraft.
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Reagan Airport DCA, Friday, Friday June 9, 2028
Preparing to leave for the Airport
Bryan went through the motions of his familiar DC exit routine, tucking his clothes away with precision. Couldn't help but chuckle to myself - it's pretty much just like prepping my GO bag. Every item had its rightful slot in the order of things, from the toothbrush right down to the skivvies. Checking off every item in my head, Bryan made sure every bag, and even he himself, was ready to go.
He caught his reflection in the mirror — today's "travel" Bryan was a far cry from the office version. Decked out in khaki hiking pants that didn't know the clutches of a belt, a fishing shirt billowing freely, and trek-ready boots, he had transformed. Pockets? Yes, they were accounted for: house keys, phone, wallet, and the separate stash for cash.
That’s all I need, really, just the bare necessities for hopping on that plane. Backpack's coming with me, stocked with the survival kit—brush and paste for the teeth, backup money, a couple days’ worth of clothes (can't forget the essentials, socks and undies), meds, my notebook and tablet for scribbles and swipes, charger and power bank, not to mention the water bottle.
Bryan couldn't help but grumble under his breath about having to tote around an empty water bottle, all thanks to the stringent TSA regulations. Meanwhile, it irked him to no end that on his last trip, he had seen illegal immigrants seemingly sidestep these same strict security protocols with impunity since their "identity" was not known.
Once he had his checklist complete and was ready to go, since Bryan was only on the 2nd floor, he opted to walk down the stairs.
Entering the lobby, Bryan heard that familiar voice asking...
"Taxi, Mr. McDonald? It's Friday. I have one waiting for you." said the doorman.
"No, not today. I am taking the train." Bryan responded.
Bryan felt a creeping sensation of unease every time he even considered using Uber or Lyft for a ride to the airport. The thought that an invisible tracking signal was emanating from his very pocket – his phone, a beacon of his whereabouts, was unsettling enough. But to willingly provide these ride-sharing conglomerates, known to barter in the currency of transit data, with his precise movements felt like a betrayal to his own privacy.
No, Bryan couldn't let them have that satisfaction to notch another data point on their expansive, omniscient maps of personal trajectories. The airport journey would have to be made by less revealing means.
As Bryan meandered through the familiar streets on his routine 10-minute trek towards the Farragut West metro station, a carousel of ponderings spun in his mind, each thought lingering for its turn to be scrutinized. The faces of his family surfaced a kaleidoscope of expressions that brought both comfort and duty; he could almost hear the modulated timbre of his father's advice mingling with the laughter of his sister. There was a warmth there, an anchor in the tempest of the everyday.
His strides carried him closer to the station as he contemplated his friends, a band of chosen kin whose quirks and camaraderie painted the monochrome of daily life with vibrant strokes of belonging. They were his respite, the ones who knew without asking when silence was a plea for conversation when a grin was a facade for worry.
Suddenly, Bryan's attention turned to a man shouting, "Who the fuck are you? I want my fucking money." Looking left, Bryan saw a man wearing a 'health' mask grabbing a trash can. Lifting the trash can over his head, the man threw the can into the window at the PNC Bank Building.
What happened next puzzled Bryan.
Several other people who had been walking by, picked up whatever they could and began to throw at the window. In an instant, it shattered. It was like an instant riot.
With each step, Bryan's urgency surged, a burning need to distance himself from the chaos behind him propelling his feet forward. "Only one block left," he murmured into the empty air, hastening his stride toward escape,
As Bryan neared Farragut West Station, a symphony of sirens drew closer to the bank, signifying turmoil from which he would thankfully remain detached.
Moments later, stepping onto the Blue Line platform, Bryan's thoughts ran to the members of his mutual assistance group, the MAG, a collective aligned not by blood, but by belief and mutual support. With them, Bryan had delved into the depths of concern for privacy, a construct continually on the precipice in their digital age.
Within the clandestine constellation of Hermes, conversations flowed free from the vigil of prying eyes, theorizing and safeguarding against the intrusion of surveillance that crept like ivy over the walls of personal freedom. While he still had service, Bryan opened his phone, selected the Session app from the Secure Folder, picked Badger as the recipient, and typed
Session: Panther to Badger: CHARLIE Watch.
Session: Badger to Panther: BRAVO One still in process will change to preparing for CHARLIE, out.
Session: Panther to Badger: Roger, Out.
Bryan and the support group - all of which had animal names to mask their real name - had established Alpha Codes for the level of unrest in the Country kind of like DECON for the US Military. Each letter code: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, and Echo had a series of actions for preparedness. CHARLIE initiates the change from strategic preparedness to tactic.
"Let's move," Bryan urged himself, his voice barely a whisper. He had been counting the seconds, each one a steady drumbeat heralding an overdue train's arrival. Bryan had waited 2 minutes to meet the train. It was late by over 2 minutes.
Navigating the Metro, a sense of heightened alertness never abandoned Bryan. His trepidation had taken root ever since the subway incidents that marred the previous year. Despite his discomfort, the subway cars continued to teem with throngs of commuters who, day in and day out, disembarked unscathed. Yet, Bryan couldn't shake the gnawing concern that had lodged in his psyche. With the specter of violence that shrouded New York, Chicago, and Washington DC, he made his way through the underground labyrinth, his gaze darting with vigilant caution.
Boarding the train that was a linear conduit to Ronald Reagan Airport, affectionately abbreviated to DCA, Bryan cradled this personal world of thoughts. Each rattle of the carriage on the tracks underscored his ongoing internal dialogue, a testament to the interwoven lives and ideals that propelled him not just to destinations of steel and glass, but deeper into the introspective journey of his own values and visions.
DCA Airport Train Station
Ted saw Bryan exit the train. Actually, in all this time, Ted had not seen Bryan on a Friday and almost did not recognize him without his suit on.
"Bryan, over here." Ted beckoned. "Did you see the news? Was that Hermes?"
"I'm not sure Ted. If it was, then it is already live and in the wild." Bryan replied.
Ted continued, "well I didn't know anything about test this week."
Bryan looked at Ted, "what? testing? This week."
Ted shot back, "No, what I meant is that were no tests for Hermes this week. Especially, live real world tests."
"Oh, ok. But do you know if this is Hermes? It sure looks like it." Bryan quizzed.
Ted withdrew just a bit, "No, I don't know if it was Hermes, but if it was, wow, did you see that the social media chatter went back 18 months?"
Bryan stared intently at Ted, his gaze sharpening as he caught that almost imperceptible flicker across his face. The subtle blink, the quick glance upward to the right — all the subtle tells of deceit. While certainty eluded him, every fiber of Bryan's intuition screamed that Ted was cloaking the truth in a thin veil of lies.
As Bryan inquired about the subsequent phase of the Hermes testing protocol, the distant rumble of thunder punctuated his words with a menacing cadence. The air grew thick with tension, mirroring the mounting apprehension that clawed at his insides whenever the project was mentioned. For a brief moment, he and Ted sought assurance in their surroundings, their eyes darting around like a pair of startled deer, grasping for the solidity of reality amidst their anxieties.
"Why so jumpy, Bryan? It’s merely the prelude to a downpour," Ted remarked, the lightness in his voice a stark contrast to the heavy foreboding borne by the wind. Yet, to Bryan, the tempest's growl seemed to bode ill for the Hermes Project, as if nature itself was voicing its qualms about the path they were about to tread.
"Well, I've got a lot on my mind with the 4th of July party coming up at our home in Almond." Bryan said as he was mentally working his way through his pre-flight check list.
Little did Bryan know, that with an ominous whisper of digital surveillance, Hermes, already lurking within the bowels of Bryan's smartphone, chronicled the "get together"—the term almost a macabre euphemism—and its predetermined location. This data would be used to "associate" anyone at Bryan's location with a meeting that most likely will produce useful information for cloning Bryan's social media account and creating entries if needed.
In short, Argus recorded and triggered Hermes that Bryan was having a party on July 4th in Almond North Carolina with a group of people. Feeding this data into Hermes was simple as Hermes monitored all audio coming through the Argus system. And with the current level of quantum computers, transcribes all audio into sentiment analyzed records.
This transcription was useful in case Hermes was asked to make a "guilt by association" relationship between people if needed.
"Try to get some rest Bryan. We have a full plate of work starting week after next with Hermes and the testing." Ted advised.
"You're right, Ted. I do need to chill the hell out. But I did want to re-offer that you are welcome to join us in Almond for the 4th of July."
Ted lifted his head again looking up to the right again. "Well, I might just do that. Gretchen and I might drive over if the gas prices are below 5 dollars a gallon. How many people are coming?"
"Including my immediate family, 25 - maybe 30." Bryan said, thinking the number was more like 40 with 25 being members of the TEOTWAWKI (tee-o-t-wak-kee) group he was building. TEOTWAWKI - The End of the World as We Know It. What a funny word Bryan thought. Much better than the SHTF - The Shit Hits the Fan - that most people know.
Argus made a note of the use of the term TEOTWAWKI as the video and audio centric Artificial Intelligence (AI) watcher listened in on Ted's phone.
"That's a lot of people! Where do they all sleep?"
"Some bring their own campers, others have built small cabins on the property. It's sort of like a big reunion but most of us are not related. For the most part, everyone contributes in one way or another to the holiday event."
All the details being chronicled by Hermes through the audio capture from Argus.
Ted noticed the next train had come and was offloading. "Hey, what time is your flight?"
"In about 90 minutes. It's time for me to head to the gate." Bryan bemoaned. "Before I head out, I want to make sure you know you are more than welcome at the River Retreat."
"I know Bryan and thank you for offering. Gretchen and I will likely have a quiet weekend and holiday with our neighbors."
"Ted, you know the welcome mat is always out for you."
"I know Bryan."
And with that, Bryan and Ted shook hands. Ted boarded the train to go back to Arlington, and Bryan walked down the hallway connecting the train station to the terminal.
