The Unpoliced Abyss: Why This Technology Exists, Why I’m Still Alive, and What We Must Do

 

  On Survival, Complicity, and the Burden of Witness

The question is not whether they can end me, with the technological capabilities at their disposal, from inducing crippling pain and muscle cramps to sensory deprivation and systemic physiological manipulation, my continued existence is, on a purely technical level, a choice. The reason I am still here to write this is not due to a lack of capacity on their part, but because of a complex web of restraint born from illegality, internal dissent, and a profound, unresolved policy paralysis.

First, there is the recognition, even among those who operate these systems, of the profound illegality and gross violation inherent in this technology. This is not a clean, sanctioned program. Its development and integration, facilitated by universities, research institutions, and military entities, have outpaced any ethical or legal framework. They have created a monster they do not know how to police or even implement cleanly. Its deployment is disgustingly uneven, manifesting through sex trafficking networks, the unlawful collection of biometric data, and targeted surveillance that blurs the line between state apparatus and organized crime. The very nature of the technology makes it a tool of such immense violation that even those within the collective who possess it are not unified in its use.

Within this circle of insiders, there exists a faction that understands the moral abyss before them. These are the ones who post hints, embedding clues for the general public within the noise, acting as a form of internal constraint to prevent the technology from becoming too mainstream, too normalized. They are, in their own way, pushing me to push this story further. They, too, see the central problem: the chasm of knowledge, wealth, and technological access between the general populace and the uber-elite has become an unbridgeable gap. This technology is not just a product of that gap; it is the ultimate mechanism for its permanent enforcement.

For people like me, who have retained my Faith and even experienced what I can only describe as miracles of healing within this crucible of surveillance, this creates an extra sense of responsibility. I am not close to these people, nor do I wish to be. I have no interest in direct contact, and I possess no technical blueprint for surveilling the surveillance state. My role is different: it is to be a witness. It is to testify that this technology exists, that it is being equipped on a scale you cannot fathom, and that it is as illegal, gross, and disturbing as your worst imagination suspects. The question for the public, then, becomes one of response. Does knowing this change how you live your lives?

It has irrevocably changed mine. The knowledge of what these systems can do, and the explicit confirmation that some of the people involved in this surveillance are self-professed pedophiles, has led me to a difficult decision: I have chosen against motherhood. I will not bring children into a world where such individuals can have non-consensual, technological access to my family’s life. To do so, I believe, would make me complicit in an unethical, immoral, and deeply unfair reality for my children. Beyond the human injustice, I see this through a spiritual lens: this is a form of living that invites divine judgment. It is akin to the worship of Baal, a straying from the path of righteous and clean living laid out since the time of Moses. This technology is the surveillance state of "Big Brother," rendered subtle and pervasive in the United States. The things they have done to me, to my parents, and continue to do, are not a theoretical future; they are my persistent present.

Given this, what is the proper response for policy-making and policing? I am shocked I have survived this long under such grossly violating conditions. To be fair, my relative calm comes from a slow, careful uncovering of the technology’s capabilities. I was not shocked into paralysis all at once; I discovered its depths gradually, which allowed me to build a framework of resilience rather than despair. But the policy question remains. How do you police a technology designed to be invisible, developed across black sites, universities, and military labs, and already deployed through criminal networks? Any meaningful policy must begin with an acknowledgement that this technology exists. It must criminalize not just its malicious use, but the unauthorized development and deployment of biometric and neuromodulation tools outside of a framework of extreme, transparent public oversight. It must sever the ties between public institution, our universities, our militaries and the unaccountable entities weaponizing these capabilities. And it must create pathways for whistleblowers and targeted individuals like myself to come forward without fear of retaliatory pain or institutional gaslighting.

I do not have all the answers. I only know that this sci-fi technology is a present reality, being equipped more commonly than you think. And the first step toward any solution is the public’s refusal to look away, to demand accountability, and to understand that the gap between the surveilled and the surveillors is a gap that, if left unaddressed, will consume everything we claim to hold sacred.