The Ghost in the System

Life under socialism, as it turns out, isn’t just about community kitchens or group knitting sessions; it’s a land of endless surveillance, where yesterday was especially dICEy.

Whether it’s organized crime, political intrigue, intelligence undercover, or simply the work of psychopaths, you realize that you’re in the middle of it.

And you? You refuse to be an “asset” to anyone. They’re not going to mess you into any ops—real or imaginary—without you signing off on it. You’ve been used enough, and now even socialism seems to want a piece of you. Nope, thanks!

So, about the psychopath and his network: you could care less about their supposed “intelligence.” Money? Ha! Meaningless. But start messling with people’s lives, and that’s where you draw the line.


Time to Analyze the Situation—Point by Point!

1. Waiting Time
So, you’ve got a meeting, and it starts with 30 minutes of you waiting. The entitled British woman who seems like she’s got a PhD in “Unprofessionalism” say it clear, wait!
You wonder, is she just naturally this obnoxious, or is it part of the act? You’re betting on both.
She’s probably in her organization just to “spread gossip and rumors”—they must’ve picked her out of a casting call for “Person Most Likely to Meddle.”
It’s intelligence work, but her door bell job description sounds like “Spy / Mean Girl Hybrid.”


2. Patience? Yes, But Not for This
Look, you have patience, but not for games. If someone’s going to ask anyone personal questions, you expect them to actually understand THE QUESTION and adapt it to the level of people understanding. But here, in socialist reality-land, your answers are irrelevant—no one’s actually think. It’s like talking with a parrot.


3. The Setup
You go for coffee, sit down for more than 10 minutes, and, surprise, surprise, they’re on to you.
Here come the players: a man, a woman, and—ah, your former friend, the “soul from your past.” The woman’s undercover moves are so obvious she might as well be wearing a sign. Meanwhile, your old friend still has that “I-used-to-be-cool” energy. Dangerous? Sure. Weird? Oh, absolutely.


4. Direct Broadcasting 101

You’re savvy enough to realize you’re on some kind of broadcast. The people around you are talking like they’re on a script.

The whole setup is screaming, “Operation You’re-the-Patsy,” and it could be a legal thing, an illegal thing, or just some bizarre British “let’s mess with you” scheme.

No time to decode it now, though; you’re too busy recording everything for later analysis. Eyes darting, behaviors, details, clues… Yep, they want you in their game.

But sorry, folks, the answer’s NO.

Who knew you’d become the hottest target for… something?

They steal your personal belongings, break into your apartment, target your personal life, and probably take your dog life, too.

They may think they’re breaking you down, but you’re here to stand up. Your freedom of speech is still yours, and they can’t have it. And you will speak! A world to hear about the mess that they did to your life and how dirty involved is the intelligence in socialism!

Why you? Why are they after you?

Are you some lost heir to the throne of Random Nonsense?

This could be organized crime, some deep-state revenge, or just your average intelligence operation run by civilians on a budget.

There’s no time to puzzle it out. All you know is that you’ve seen it all before, in different places, with different faces. And here you are again—full-circle in the land of social surveillance.


5. Face to Face with the Psychopath

After realizing you’re being stalked, you resign yourself to playing this absurd game. You know he’s going to pop up at some point, your “ghost.”

And sure enough, just when you think it’s safe, he reappears in a whole new disguise, like a bad sitcom character.

But it’s the control aspect that gives him away. He waits until the end of your meeting to make his grand entrance—classic narcissist move.

Is he afraid of dying, or just that his socialist gig is up? Either way, you keep your cool, even if you’re screaming inside.

This guy loves broken people—he wants to break you, too. Not happening.

You might not have the experience to match him move for move, but there’s one thing you know for sure: you won’t play his game.

December is coming, and you’ve decided: in this socialist wonderland, you’re nobody’s pawn.

You’re just a regular person, not a socialist spy, not an undercover operative, just… a person. So you say a big, loud no thanks to his delusions of power, his dark schemes, and his spy games.

Goodbye to the ghost, the psychopath, the surveillance state—and welcome, December!

Here’s to living on your own terms (even if “they” don’t like it).

The 6’7” Tall Indian Isn’t Indian: Living Under Constant Surveillance

No average Indian is 6’7″. And yet, he’s there—watching me. I have no idea why.

At first, I thought maybe I’d witnessed something I shouldn’t have over the course of my career. But nothing I’ve seen stands out enough to justify this level of scrutiny. I haven’t been involved in anything beyond my professional job taking care sometimes of low-level gangsters—those who were stabbed, shot, or mentally disturbed by drugs or alcohol. So why the tracking?

Then I realized: I’d managed to spot an undercover intelligence officer on something dirty. Not one, not two, but several. Not from a single service, either, but from multiple.

Somehow, an untrained civilian like me, at all related with intelligence or secret services had clues on undercover operatives. And that made me a liability in their eyes.

So now, I have a tail 24/7. Every part of my life is under observation. Neither the job application responses are coming back. Are redirected!

I talk on the phone with voices cloning modulators wishing at the end of interview “have a nice Covid day!” Something like they aim to lose your minds!

And I can feel their frustration. They hate me because I undercover them and they are dirty “intelligent” networks.

They hired a behaviorist, trying to figure out how an average woman like me could do this.

Could I have contacts with other agencies?

To them, the idea that this could be natural is absurd.

This clue I realized was just two days ago: no average Indian is 6’7″.

And no Indian I know would stand in a coffee shop with a pretty smile for an old lady in a worn-out rain jacket. It wasn’t just the height that stood out—there was something about his vibe, his stance. He wasn’t there for coffee. He was there for me.

In surveillance work, you don’t wait at every point in someone’s routine. You only wait at the last place, the destination, because everything in between is just checking in. And this guy knew exactly where to be: the final point.

He’d studied my routine, my bus stop, my shop, my coffee stop. Everything.

And that’s when it shine to me: they didn’t just know me. They monitored me, every step of the way, like clockwork. And for what?

Just because I spotted the undercover game they thought was airtight? Monitored 24 hours a day. Every car trip, bus trip, or cab, becomes a case study for them. Naked or dress up they study me!

My question is simple: why am I being punished for being a good observant? Is my profession . I must be the best observant!

This constant surveillance strips away my normal life. Pictures with naked me overflow the internet, same as videos. They have fun messing around. WHO coordinate them?

Police refused to be involved! Too high to extend!

Catching a bus, waiting for a coffee—nothing feels like it’s just for me anymore.

I see these dirty agents around me, pretending to blend in but missing the mark every time. A right to privacy is supposed to be THE right.

And now that’s been taken from me just because I notice things others don’t.

The experience has left me wondering: is this what awareness costs?

If I can be tracked for no reason other than seeing what’s in plain sight, what does that say about the balance between security and privacy?

At what point do we say enough?