State Security, the file

In the vast offices of State Security (SS), twilight reigned. The scarce light came mainly from the many monitors, behind some of which concentrated faces could be seen. Thunderer was one of those faces. He stood, absorbed in thought, before his 34-inch screen, the crease between his eyes growing deeper and deeper. No matter how badly he wanted everything to run smoothly and easily, it never quite did. Irritating problems—born of chance, oversights, mistakes, or some combination of the three—kept disrupting the rhythm of the supposedly well-oiled machine of the deep state, and could even cause malfunctions. And the job of people like Thunderer was to make sure that didn’t happen.

The agent was reading the file of a certain John Williams. He was reviewing moments from a case that would be laid out in detail at the upcoming meeting. The individual was thirty-two years old, married, no children, average height, a freelance video editor, with an income last year of $35,765—an ordinary nobody, a mediocrity, a loser, nothing special. He looked like… well, like a mediocrity. And yet this very little man, hiding under the alias Prometheus, had dared to spread anti-state propaganda on social media, trying to enlighten the population about some of the methods of psychological and social control used by the services.

“Ordinary people should mind their ordinary little lives—the worries and problems the authorities provide for them—so they don’t raise their heads and start thinking about nonsense. Otherwise they disrupt Order, causing losses for the State,” Thunderer reasoned. “And whenever there are ruptures in the System, they always dump the blame on the services—which means people like me are held responsible,” he finished his thought.

From what he’d overheard, nothing particularly dramatic had happened—especially against the backdrop of other, far more serious incidents—but it was still a bad mark. A sign that something in the precisely engineered social mechanism wasn’t working properly. Thunderer returned to the file.

Owns his home, no loans, he continued reading with mounting irritation. The situation was clear: this John Williams had too much free time and too few problems and stressors. “You loosen the leash even a little and the plebs start climbing on your head,” Thunderer ground out through clenched teeth, unconsciously jutting his broad jaw forward.

“And the little bastard doesn’t even have kids,” he noted after another moment. Clearly, John Williams wasn’t merely useless—he was downright harmful, sowing confusion and chaos in the virtual environment, which had long since become more significant than the real one. “Instead of minding his brats and paying off loans like everyone else, this shithead reads books that aren’t for his peasant skull and engages in subversive activity.” Thunderer’s irritation swelled, along with the redness in his bull-like face. “On top of that, he sprawls in his own place while the meek pay off their apartments for decades and don’t whine! There’s something fundamentally wrong with this supposedly sophisticated system if it allows that!” he thought. “Endless patch-jobs are needed, wasting energy and resources that could go elsewhere.”

Maybe the democratic façade was simply too expensive, and in the end plain totalitarianism was a simpler, more rational solution, the agent wondered. But since he was, after all, a pragmatist, he cut those reflections short and turned his attention back to the case.

His eyes moved over the description of Williams’s psychological profile: 95% heterosexual, strongly pronounced libido; choleric with above-average neuroticism; high intelligence; creative; but also with above-normal paranoia—otherwise with high standards for himself and for life.

“Good. He’ll be no trouble at all to crush like a flea,” Thunderer smiled with spite. He felt enormous satisfaction—bordering on pure joy—whenever the System put such individuals back in their place. A triumph of Order over Chaos, of the natural hierarchy, of the will of the strong over the demands of weaklings the current system tolerated far too much.

He sensed someone behind him. Hades loomed—one meter ninety-five—over the seated Zeus, watching the screen with indifference. His build was on the lean side, and his grayish eyes glinted in the half-light.

“At five we’ve got a briefing on this guy,” he began, nodding toward the file on the screen. “Case familiarization. But I heard the directive is to handle it delicately,” Hades added.

“Fine,” Thunderer growled, displeased. “My hands itch under these velvet gloves, but if that’s the directive—what can you do?” He pulled an ironic face and spread his arms in feigned helplessness.

“We’re just executors, Zeus,” Hades smiled, showing large white teeth. “Maybe one day you’ll get the pleasure of deciding fates single-handedly—but not now.” A measured irony ran through his tone.

Thunderer gave a noncommittal snort and turned back to the monitor.

The Briefing Room

At exactly 5:00 p.m., everyone who was supposed to be present was present in the conference room. The agents sat on swivel chairs around the oval table, waiting for the meeting to begin. Most of them were turned toward the video screen, leaning back, some in executive poses with casually crossed legs. On the screen was the photograph of John Williams and part of his file. The emotions visible on the agents’ faces ranged from mild boredom to irritation.

One of those present, known as Cronus, stood up and began in a brisk, clipped tone:

“Gentlemen, the case we are about to discuss has been transferred to our department from the highest level. Until now it was handled by Social Stability (SS), with its network of subcontractors. After a prolonged series of failures, leading to a state of chaos and public scandal, the case was taken away from our colleagues and transferred to State Security—that is, to us.”

“We all know how vital control over public discourse and information flows is for the state. This is the foundation of Order and Stability in society. That control is exercised through methods with which we are all well acquainted, and which are implemented by agents, operatives, and collaborators at various levels within digital networks and society at large.”

Cronus leaned forward, placing both hands on the glossy tabletop, emphasizing the importance of what he was about to say.

“That is precisely why it is so important that the overwhelming majority of the population remain unaware of these methods. This guarantees the stability of the state and society. This individual,” he turned toward the screen and glanced at the photograph of John Williams, “displays an interest in the sciences of informational, social, and psychological influence that is entirely inappropriate for his social status, and persistently attempts to spread propaganda on the subject through social networks. He clearly imagines himself as some kind of enlightener. A Prometheus, gifting fire to the people.”

Cronus added the last sentence with open contempt, then turned sharply back to the audience.

“You all understand, colleagues, that this is unacceptable.”

“Rather bold, actually,” noted one of the attendees, a fair-haired man around thirty-five, dressed in a dark shirt and gray tie, known as Apollo. “Doesn’t the man fear consequences?”

“Either he’s too stupid, or completely unhinged,” added a man in his mid-forties with a well-groomed black beard and slicked-back hair, twirling a pen between his fingers. This was Ares. “For far less than this, luck tends to run out.”

“I’ll spare you the speculation,” Cronus resumed. “The individual doesn’t care. He’s playing all-in, so to speak. For years he has been aware that he lives in a controlled society—one he does not approve of, nor does he accept the role assigned to him within it.”

“Liberal,” Cronus added with disdain, as though that explained everything.

“Then it’s clear,” said another voice from the half-darkness. The speaker, known as Thanatos, snapped his fingers. “This infection needs to be cleaned out.”

“Things got out of hand long ago,” Cronus clarified. “Due to the ill-considered actions of our colleagues from Social Stability, problems accumulated over time and eventually resulted in this mess. The case gained public visibility and escalated into a political issue. It became known to many—politicians as well as ordinary people. Some of the collaborators involved turned out to be friends, relatives, even neighbors of the subject, which introduced emotional entanglements. There is also a risk of further information leaks.”

He paused deliberately.

“Direct action is not an option.”

“What is the current strategy?” asked a man in his fifties, wearing glasses and a dark suit, known as Uranus.

“‘Grounding.’ Binding the individual with responsibilities, dependencies, and problems. Forcing him to fight for his own survival and that of a family and children. Creating insecurity in his life and pushing him into the precariat class, so that he has neither the energy nor the desire to engage in anti-state activity. The cultivation of complexes and neuroses. Degradation.”

“So—back into the herd,” Apollo summarized.

“Yes. A family. A responsible, ‘good’ wife,” Cronus smiled maliciously. “Children. A mortgaged home. Lack of money. Loans. Stress. Nerves. Family conflicts and infidelities on the part of the faithful spouse. Round-the-clock work. Overtime. Neuroses. Doubts. Complexes. Ulcers. Likely divorce and loss of housing, and so on.”

“All perfectly normal things from the life of ordinary people,” he added, his grin stretching ear to ear.
“We must return the lost sheep to the flock—to the bosom of Civilization.”

The Case History

“Well, it’s obvious this hasn’t been working very well so far…” Uranus remarked dryly. “How long has this case been going on?”

After a brief silence, Cronus replied:

“It’s true—it hasn’t worked. As I said, the actions of incompetents have turned this case into something nearly chronic. But that is no reason to assume it will pose any particular difficulty for us.”

“You didn’t say how long,” Uranus pressed.

“Just over five years,” Cronus answered curtly.

Whistles and muffled exclamations of surprise rippled through the room.

“Disgraceful!” exclaimed a dark-haired man with a square jaw, wearing a black shirt that strained against an impressive musculature. This was Heracles. “And this is what they call a System!”

Murmurs of agreement followed.

“Well, let’s not judge our colleagues too harshly, despite some rather serious mistakes,” Cronus said, making a conciliatory gesture with his hands. “As you’ll see from the history of the case, we’re dealing with a combination of factors that led to the current situation. What matters now is that we focus on the facts and develop an effective approach. Many individuals and interests are involved, and”—he paused—“there’s hardly any need to explain that the stakes are high.”

After a moment of silence, allowing the weight of the situation to sink in, Cronus continued.

Talent Acquisition

“As is well known, the System is always searching for talent—not only in prestigious schools and academic circles, but across all layers of society. Raw diamonds can be found anywhere, even on the street.”

A wave of grinning irony spread through the room.

“Should we leave them to chance—or worse, allow them to drift toward destructive causes hostile to the State and society? Of course not. The System thinks of everything.”

He went on:

“About six years ago, a program designed to scan for potentially dangerous individuals—those who could, if properly guided, become genuinely useful—flagged John Williams due to his anarchistic writings in public forums. At the time, he posed no serious threat and could easily have been ignored. But some ambitious employees apparently decided to turn him into an asset for the System, thereby advancing their own careers and earning bonuses, naturally.”

A brief pause.

“Thus, a decision was made to integrate the individual into the structures of the System.”

“Recruitment?” Ares asked.

“Not exactly,” Cronus replied. “‘Absorption’ would be a more accurate term. Binding him with dependencies until he became—how shall I put it—hopelessly reliable.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Isolation Protocol

“For this purpose,” Cronus continued, “the subject first had to be detached from his environment—friends, relatives, spouse, colleagues, and so on—in order to render him vulnerable and psychologically dependent.”

“Standard procedure,” Ares agreed, yawning theatrically. These were basics from early training.

“Yes. His marriage was identified as the primary obstacle to the plan. His relationship with his wife did not fit the desired template, and it was therefore decided that she would be replaced with an individual suitable for the role—someone capable of exerting the necessary influence during the period of cohabitation. With our assistance, of course.”

No one spoke during the brief pause that followed.

Operation “Fatal Love”

“And so,” Cronus continued, “Operation Fatal Love was initiated. The original idea was simple: the subject would fall in love with the selected replacement spouse, and things would proceed quickly and smoothly.”

“But, as almost always,” Zeus interjected dryly, “things went sideways.”

“There’s no need for irony, Zeus,” Cronus frowned. “When things go wrong, you know whose fault that is. Ours.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

“Our job—the job of the services—is to lubricate and drive the social machine in the right direction, to fine-tune it, upgrade it, and repair it as necessary, until we build a perfect mechanism. Until we achieve Perfection.”

Zeus decided it was wiser to say nothing. Cronus was absolutely right.

Where Reality Is Forged

“The attempts to establish contact between Williams and the selected individuals were carried out through a limited number of channels,” Cronus continued evenly, “given that the subject did not lead a particularly active social life. There were attempts at supposedly ‘chance’ encounters via mutual acquaintances, but the primary activity took place online—on social networks.”

“There, of course, the possibilities are far greater,” he emphasized.

“That’s where reality is forged,” remarked an agent who had remained silent until now—a stocky man with a shaved head and a long compensatory beard, around fifty-five years old. He was known as Hephaestus.

“Precisely,” Cronus agreed. “Whoever controls virtual reality controls reality as a whole. Today, almost everything passes through the internet. Nearly every activity in the real world is mediated by some digital service. Monopoly over those services means control over social processes.”

He warmed to the subject.

“Whether we’re talking about job-search platforms, dating apps, rental services, video-sharing sites, news aggregators—whoever controls these platforms becomes a dispatcher of social processes. What the user sees, which listing or article catches their attention because it appears first or is highlighted in some way, depends entirely on whoever stands behind the platform. Which job offer you see first, which dating profile you say ‘Hi’ to, or whether you decide you need a specific yoga course after searching for meditation—any of this can be decisive.”

“A playground of limitless possibilities for the social engineer,” Cronus concluded enthusiastically. “An indispensable instrument in the realization of the societal project.”

A wave of excitement spread through the room. The future belonged to those who understood the power of the internet—and knew how to use it.

Sex Without Attachment

“However,” Cronus continued, his tone dropping, “these attempts did not work as expected. ‘The bachelor’ showed no emotional interest in any of the selected candidates. His interest was limited strictly to sex.”

A few eyebrows lifted.

“Apparently, his relationship with his wife had been emotionally satisfying and complete. He felt no need for romantic involvement or emotional entanglement. Regardless of the virtual setups and theatrical performances, Williams remained entirely indifferent.”

He paused briefly.

“Although some chats escalated into sporadic meetings, the moment he realized he would not get the kind of uncommitted sex he was looking for, he lost interest. He became suspicious that something was going on. In some cases, he even behaved arrogantly and provocatively.”

Cronus glanced at his notes.

“On one occasion, he mocked the woman outright, calling her ‘a prostitute trying to sell herself for far more than she’s worth.’”

“Well, what else would she be?” Ares burst out, amused.

Cronus ignored him.

Pattern Recognition

“By that point—if not earlier—his first suspicions likely emerged that he might be the subject of some kind of operation,” Cronus continued. “Too many identical attempts were made. He likely recognized a pattern and began to suspect that something was happening.”

“Sloppy work. Unprofessional,” Uranus muttered.

“That must be noted,” Cronus agreed. “The suspicion that something was amiss likely contributed to Williams’s growing interest in the sciences of psychological and social programming. He began devoting increasing attention to books on the subject.”

Disapproving sighs echoed through the room. Every frog was supposed to know its own pond. Otherwise—chaos.

Escalation

“The case gradually but steadily increased in significance. Williams expanded his presence in the digital space and, accordingly, his propaganda against the System. He became an ever more irritating thorn in more and more eyes.”

Cronus spread his hands.

“You understand—an unbound electron. No children. No loans. No mortgage tying him down for twenty or thirty years. No fear of missing payments. A qualification that provides him with relatively good income. Free time. Calm. Intelligence. Dissatisfaction. Writing against the System.”

He paused.

“And most troubling of all—his growing understanding that he himself was under observation.”

He let the words sink in.

“A walking testament to the helplessness of the services. A bug in the System.”

“More like an annoying fly,” Ares said contemptuously.

Leaving the Comfort Zone

“At that point,” Cronus continued, “it was decided that Williams needed a change of scenery. To be removed from his comfort zone.”

A few knowing smiles appeared.

“That meant a change of job. Healthy—” Cronus smirked, “—stress. Adaptation to new conditions, new supervisors, new colleagues. And perhaps, from all that, something beautiful might emerge.”

“Strike while the iron is hot,” Hephaestus noted meaningfully.

“Exactly. The ‘beautiful’ was waiting for him at a new position in a corporation already selected by our colleagues from Social Stability,” Cronus said, the cynicism in his voice unmistakable. “After starting the job, Williams was to be sent on a supposedly short business trip, together with the designated female colleague.”

The room grew attentive.

“The goal was simple: separate him from his wife and familiar environment. Create favorable conditions for the planned romance. The trip was to be extended on-site due to ‘unforeseen circumstances,’ of course. During that time, the colleague was expected to do her job—to turn Williams into a lovesick dove.”

Cronus paused, letting the image linger.

Total Relocation

“Following the anticipated divorce and subsequent marriage to the new partner, Williams and his new wife were to be reassigned to a branch of the corporation in another city. Housing would be provided in a closed residential compound reserved exclusively for company employees.”

Murmurs of approval spread through the room.

“Complete separation from his former life,” Cronus continued. “Installation into a new environment—fully controlled. Including the wife.”

The Long Game

“There were, of course, difficulties in persuading the woman to play the role of spouse—and potentially to give birth,” Cronus added matter-of-factly. “But in the end, the matter was resolved with money, additional health insurance, and guarantees that the arrangement would last no more than two or three years—until the child was old enough and things settled into the intended groove.”

A few chuckles followed.

“She was also guaranteed the freedom to see her current partner at least twice a week while playing the devoted wife. Needless to say, convincing that partner also required effort—time, nerves, money.”

Cronus shrugged.

“After the planned period—two to three years—a divorce was scheduled. Another proud addition to the club of single fathers.”

His smile returned.

“The current apartment was to remain with the woman after the divorce, following fabricated accusations of domestic violence. Williams would be left with almost nothing—no home, no wife, no social environment, and a child to raise alone.”

He spread his hands.

“That is how one becomes hopelessly reliable.”

Skepticism

“There’s the fish already in the sea,” Ares muttered skeptically, “and they’ve already got the frying pan ready. The whole thing was doomed from the start. New job, falling in love, divorce, remarriage, kids… sounds like wishful thinking.”

“Ares,” Cronus replied coolly, “one of the most important qualities for working in the services—for the privilege of standing above others and deciding their fates—is Faith. Faith with a capital F.”

He leaned forward.

“Faith—and the unwavering Will to Power—work miracles. Remember that.”

Ares said nothing.

The Unexpected Variable

“In short,” Cronus continued, “Williams was fired. Abruptly. Without complications. It came like a bolt from the blue. There was no real reason—he had been doing his job for years. The justification was the standard one: ‘incompatibility with corporate culture.’”

He paused.

“Everyone expected him to immediately start looking for work and eventually land in the designated position. But a new problem arose.”

Cronus sighed.

“Williams decided to take some time off. To think. The unexpected dismissal provoked him to connect the dots, to build a strategy. He was in no hurry to work.”

“Well, the gentleman owns his apartment, and his wife works,” Zeus remarked coldly. “They only take care of themselves and have no children. Why wouldn’t he enjoy a bit of leisure—and maybe start plotting something?”

Cronus nodded grimly.

“Yes. We are still far from the ideal state of total dependence of the population on basic living conditions. Remnants of the middle class persist. Property. Savings. Excessively high-quality education leading to inflated expectations. Too much freedom. No patriotism. No respect for ideology or religion.”

His irritation grew.

“The education system produces pretentious egoists. And there you have it—chaos. Everyone wants to ‘self-actualize.’ No one wants to work. No one wants children. Let alone go to war.”

“It seems the System itself isn’t doing its job properly,” Zeus offered his advice. “It needs to be squeezed a bit. Cut social spending. Raise prices. Raise rents. Increase health insurance costs. No aid, no protections. Generate unemployment. Dismantle what little remains of the unions. In short—no more free lunches for the plebs! Then they’ll really bend!” he exclaimed, carried away.

“Zeus,” Cronus countered, “I share your enthusiasm, but you must agree—this is not your domain. You know very well that things are complicated. It’s not that simple. We’re talking about a delicate balance. Push too hard in one place, and a problem emerges elsewhere. So let us do our job properly, and leave the System to those who are trained to run it.”

Zeus snorted.

Low-Intensity Pressure

“To push Williams into seeking employment more quickly,” Cronus continued, “our colleagues from Social Stability initiated a methodical campaign of low-intensity pressure and psychological harassment. The goal was to increase stress and insecurity, forcing him to act in order to reduce them.”

In social media, Williams began to be shown an increasing amount of content related to inflation, unemployment, rising prices, and similar topics. Trolls were instructed to attack him with personal insults, repeatedly telling him he was a useless parasite, and other familiar refrains. Advertising engines bombarded him with personalized ads related to poverty—saving money, discounts, loans, selling property, and the like.

“In addition,” Cronus said, “it was expected that tensions between him and his wife would escalate—to arguments, perhaps even a rupture. Fights over money. Accusations that she was supporting him. That they were burning through savings. The usual.”

He paused.

“But three months passed. And there was no effect.”

A murmur spread through the room.

“In fact,” Cronus continued, “the only result was that Williams increased his activity on social media and became even more provocative and inconvenient. And yes—he decided to work freelance.”

“Hit it one place, it bursts somewhere else,” Hephaestus muttered.

Anomalous Psychology

“There are individuals whose psychological profiles fall at the extreme ends of the distribution curve,” Cronus said with a shrug. “Where reactions are not always predictable, and standard methodologies lose effectiveness.”

He glanced around the room.

“Unfortunately, Williams turned out to be such an individual.”

During this time, the woman selected for the romantic operation—the prospective colleague meant to seduce Williams—grew tired of waiting. She found another partner, fell in love, and withdrew from the project. Despite attempts to persuade her to wait a little longer, it became clear that affection cannot be forced.

“Given the uncertainty of when Williams would seek employment, and the evolving situation with the woman, Operation Fatal Love was terminated. The project dried up, so to speak.”

Cronus sighed.

“You can imagine the disappointment this caused to many people. All the preparatory work collapsed. Negotiations. Fees. Psychological priming. Efforts to destabilize his marriage. Attempts to tune him toward ‘new love.’”

He shook his head.

“Instead of bonuses, those involved received fines. Promotions were missed. Some were even demoted. Funding for the agency was reduced. Results matter.”

“Just because of this case?” Uranus asked, surprised.

“At that point,” Cronus replied, “the case had already become sufficiently politicized in certain circles due to the noise Williams was generating online. By itself—nothing special. But gradually it turned into a tool. Used in funding disputes between agencies. A pretext for mutual accusations. A pawn in internal rivalries.”

The irritation spread through the room. Several agents unconsciously put themselves in the place of the unfortunate colleagues from Social Stability.

The Decision to Crush

“To maintain a society,” Zeus snapped, “some people have to disappear.”

“So much work for one miserable nobody,” Ares added.

“The development of events angered many people,” Cronus continued. “Influential people. And so a decision was made: Williams would be crushed. No more velvet gloves. No flirtation. No finesse. Just crushed.”

He let the words hang.

“The objective was to be achieved from a position of force. Plan Grounding was activated.”

Plan “Grounding”

“Plan Grounding targeted all pillars of the personality, leaving it with nothing to lean on—inducing collapse. Reduced to nothing, the subject would become malleable clay in the hands of the System, ready to accept whatever was imposed.”

Despite Cronus’s outwardly calm tone, a suppressed predatory satisfaction could be sensed beneath the surface.

“This time, however, people at higher levels went too far. Williams was subjected to total surveillance—both in real life and online. Nothing was overlooked. Monitoring and wiretaps were even installed in his home.”

Cronus shook his head disapprovingly.

“You don’t need a hammer to kill a mosquito,” Hephaestus remarked.

“Exactly,” Cronus agreed. “Such reckless risks only lead to complications. These are actions criminalized by law—at least for now. A good professional does not break the law; at worst, he dances on its edge.”

He sighed.

“But let’s continue.”

Methodical Breakdown

“Self-esteem. Love of freedom. Honor. Faith. Dignity. Morality. All were targeted by Plan Grounding. Deprived of these supports, the personality disintegrates. The remains become susceptible to psychological programming.”

He ticked the goals off mentally.

“Harassment and neuroticization to the extreme. Activation and construction of inferiority complexes. Induction of guilt. Instillation of fear for the future. Disorientation through hybrid and misleading signals—such as suggesting that all of this was ‘for his own good.’”

“I love it when it’s brutal,” Ares exclaimed eagerly.

Neighbors as Instruments

“Since Williams spent most of his time at home, working on freelance projects, without a workplace social environment, much of the pressure was outsourced to his neighbors—members of the System’s social network.”

They were instructed to harass him through noise: footsteps, knocking, fake renovations, disturbances of peace. All of it coordinated with surveillance, timed precisely to moments when Williams was engaged in specific actions—working intently, looking into a mirror, using the bathroom.

“It didn’t happen every time,” Cronus emphasized. “Only occasionally. So he would never be certain. Always guessing.”

Most of the time, the noises were subtle. Quiet. But constant. Methodical.

“The Chinese water torture.”

“Elegant,” Apollo nodded. “Terror with style.”

“Drop by drop, a pool forms,” Hades added quietly.

Digital Synchronization

“In parallel,” Cronus continued, “the digital channel—already in use—was intensified. And just like the noise operations, it was synchronized with the surveillance and wiretapping inside Williams’s home.”

The agents listened attentively.

“The actions of internet trolls on the social networks where Williams conducted his propaganda were now directly tied to his real-time actions and states. For example: if the individual had just eaten spaghetti Bolognese and then sat down at his computer, a troll would soon post something mentioning spaghetti Bolognese. If he had been in the bathroom due to stomach trouble, another troll would casually reference diarrhea. If he had argued with his wife and called her, say, ‘a stupid duck,’ one of our collaborators would immediately post a comment about stupid ducks.”

Cronus spread his hands.

“In short—constant highlighting and referencing of moments from the miserable Williams’s daily life. His actions, reactions, fears, thoughts, complexes. Again, all of this was done carefully, so that the subject would remain in a state of psychological confusion, without being entirely certain that he was being observed.”

Nods of approval followed. This was quality madness-induction.

Invisible Theatre

“Simultaneously,” Cronus went on, “our colleagues from Social Stability relied on the technique known as Invisible Theatre. Here, hints, suggestions, associations, and triggers are delivered by planted individuals in public spaces—on the street, in shops, cafés, and other places—people who appear to be complete strangers to the subject.”

He smiled faintly.

“In this way, the subject might overhear a key word he is sensitive to, spoken ‘by chance.’ He may see a person or an object in which he recognizes himself. He may be irritated by methodically repeated gestures, clothing, or behaviors.”

He chuckled.

“In that sense, clothes with slogans or prints may be a sign of bad taste—but they can also be extremely useful.”

Laughter rippled through the room, infected by Cronus’s self-satisfaction.

Calibration

“As you can see,” he continued, “the possibilities for influence—both in real and virtual space—are vast, provided the subject has been pre-calibrated to react to hints, associative signals, and recognition.”

“These strategies are implemented based on the subject’s psychological profile, supplied by IT monopolies. As we know, they create profiles for everyone based on behavior online and in the real world.”

Cronus leaned forward.

“Add to that the subject’s current situation—whether he is troubled, distressed, hopeful—and the rest is handled by psychologists. In recent years, psychology has made significant progress in the field of psychological programming.”

“Mmm. We really need to choose our psychoanalysts carefully,” Ares attempted a joke.

The silence that followed forced him to clear his throat.

Corporate Insight

“Today,” Cronus continued, unfazed, “almost all advertising and recommendations are personalized—even the ordering of search results. Everything is determined by the individual’s psychological profile. IT corporations know a person better than he knows himself.”

“That gives them the ability to pluck any string they choose,” he added. “And if this is done consistently, over time, statistics show that consciousness, decisions, and life trajectories can be altered in the majority of cases.”

“How productive cooperation between nationally responsible business and the state can be,” Hephaestus observed with a mix of satisfaction and irony.

“Exactly,” Cronus smiled. “It saves the services billions, and guarantees corporations peace of mind.”

Anchors and Associations

“In Williams’s case,” Cronus continued, “this cooperation allowed our colleagues from Social Stability to learn everything about him—down to the smallest details. This made it possible to apply influence so subtle, harassment so elegant, that nothing could ever be proven.”

“Excellent,” Thanatos said quietly.

“Williams is not particularly tall—about one meter seventy-five,” Cronus said. “Against many others, he might even appear short. Part of Plan Grounding was to make him perceive himself as small, insignificant, unremarkable.”

He listed the variables calmly.

“Body type. Skin tone. Facial features. Hair and degree of balding. Teeth. Posture. Overall presence.”

“To that end, it was decided to associate his self-image with a specific object—negatively. A small, old car. A gray Volkswagen, for instance. Cheap. Mass-produced. Slightly dented. Worn. Unremarkable.”

A few smiles appeared.

“The goal was to influence his self-esteem. Over time, to degrade it. And through that—his psychological profile. And then—his life.”

Conditioning

“That was only one association,” Cronus added. “Others included dwarfs, disabled people, bald men, unattractive males, small dogs—Pekingese, Pomeranians, lapdogs. Objects in which Williams was trained to recognize himself.”

“They also served as psychological anchors, triggering conditioned responses. For example—see a small dog, identify with it, feel your stomach tighten, your mood sour.”

“Day after day. Systematically.”

He smiled thinly.

“Elegant psychological terror. Almost impossible to prove in court.”

The Pavlovian Method

“The calibration was carried out in both real and virtual reality. You all know the anchoring technique—the Pavlovian conditioned reflex.”

Cronus recited it clinically.

“Stimulus. Action. Effect. After sufficient repetition, the stimulus alone produces the effect. Just as the bell produced salivation, even without food.”

He paused.

“With this method, one can achieve much. Even make someone hate their favorite music—if it becomes associated with something negative.”

He waved the thought away.

“All of this is basic material. Mentioned for the record.”

Partial Results

“It took considerable time and coordination to apply this to Williams,” Cronus concluded. “The results were… mixed. Some effect was observed. Increased neuroticism. Heightened aggression.”

He hesitated.

“This reduced his effectiveness. Locked his consciousness into negative emotional loops. Made him more vulnerable to further influence.”

Ares raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

Cronus exhaled.

“But the fact that the case has now been transferred to us means the operation failed.”

The Fatal Mistake

“We must acknowledge,” Cronus continued cautiously, “that the operation failed. Otherwise the case would not have been transferred to us.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“Moreover, matters became significantly more complicated. Williams obtained direct proof that he was under constant surveillance inside his own home.”

A low murmur ran through the room.

“In the context of the escalating tension between him and our collaborators on social media, one of them lost control and directly communicated details from inside Williams’s apartment—including his current posture in front of the computer.”

A collective intake of breath.

“Against the backdrop of the accumulated pressure and suspicion, this led to shock.”

Cronus shook his head.

“The thin hints—the insinuations about things that the insinuator should have no way of knowing—which are usually such a pleasant and effective method of destabilization, tripped up inexperienced colleagues. In the end, they exposed the fact that the subject was being monitored in his own home.”

“Unforgivable amateurism!”
“Slobs!”
“Idiots!”

The voices echoed through the room.

Crisis on Steroids

“Yes,” Cronus said grimly. “That turned the crisis into one on steroids. Williams went into shock—but then managed to regain composure.”

He leaned forward.

“He realized the gravity of the situation and chose a course of escalation.”

“What course?” Zeus asked, his voice heavy.

“Primarily increasing noise in social media,” Cronus replied wearily. “Signaling what was happening through hints and indirect references.”

He sighed.

“Williams understood perfectly well that stating the truth outright would make him look like a clown. So instead, he began methodically alluding to events—veiled, but persistent.”

“Many people went on alert,” he added. “Tension rose like steam in a pressure cooker. The stakes increased dramatically.”

He paused.

“Our colleagues decided he had to be silenced.”

The Only Acceptable Solution

“The only socially acceptable way left,” Cronus continued, “remained the family unit. A planted wife. Children. Loans. Work. Stress.”

“A shotgun wedding,” Ares laughed loudly. “What idiots.”

“Yes,” Cronus replied flatly. “But Williams not only showed no interest in replacing his partner with what he himself called ‘a prostitute’—he reacted with rage to the very idea.”

“I can understand him,” Ares added, still amused.

Cronus ignored the remark.

Escalation to Madness

“For the past year,” he went on, “the situation can be described with a single word: madness.”

The room fell silent.

“The effort was intensified. The goal was to overload Williams with signals until his emotional buffer overflowed. To push his mind into the red.”

Cronus spoke steadily.

“There was not a single outing where, every hundred meters, he did not encounter planted actors. Women with small dogs. Gray cars. People who froze as he approached, pulled out their phones, and stared. Thugs glaring threateningly. Constant neighbor noise. Endless hints and provocations—from acquaintances and our people alike.”

He exhaled.

“Vile insults online. Everything was used.”

The room remained silent.

“The situation was critical,” Cronus added quietly. “And it still is. To this day.”

Unexpected Resistance

“So,” Uranus said coolly, “are we to understand that the subject did not break?”

“No,” Cronus admitted. “Surprisingly—he did not.”

A ripple of disbelief moved through the room.

“The only observable result was increased aggression and increasingly provocative behavior. Despite threats, harassment, and pressure, he grew bolder.”

Cronus paused.

“He simply stopped caring.”

“Someone should have cleaned this up long ago,” Thanatos said coldly.

Political Paralysis

“The case long ago became a political crisis,” Cronus continued. “Everyone wants it resolved, but no one has the courage to take political responsibility.”

He spread his hands.

“No one knows what tomorrow will bring. Today’s hero, who cuts the Gordian knot, may tomorrow become the scapegoat—due to a shift in political winds.”

“Jesus, what a mess,” Zeus muttered.

“Yes,” Cronus agreed. “And now we must find a way to end it.”

He straightened.

“Our duty is to ensure that the state and society function smoothly. That everyone knows their place in the social mechanism—and does not attempt to become more than what they were meant to be.”

Necessary Control

“There is no alternative,” Heracles said, leaning forward with both hands on the table, his muscles standing out even more. “Eight billion individuals must be controlled.”

“Undeniably,” Hades added in a dark tone. “Resources are insufficient for everyone to live like playboys in Paris. Someone has to work. And that work is stupid, thankless, low-paid, and dirty—yet indispensable. That requires people with low expectations, content with little.”

“Try telling that to liberals, idealists, and dreamers,” Zeus snapped. “To teachers and university lecturers who plant liberal ideas in young minds. They won’t understand you. They’ll call you obscurantists and villains. They’ll spit at you—and then push their destructive ideas even harder, until society collapses.”

“That’s precisely why society needs people like us,” Uranus said, joining in. “Ever watchful. Ever vigilant. Calm and rational. Chosen—by right and merit—to guide the path of unreasonable humanity.”

He straightened his back.

“We are the ones willing to make difficult decisions and take unpopular measures for the common good. Many may hate us—but time will prove us right. We accept this burden with dignity. It is our duty. Our calling.”

“Easy there, colleague,” Ares laughed. “Maybe the five lovers in your bedroom will applaud that speech while you pour them thousand-dollar champagne—but here, among ourselves, let’s not pretend.”

The room stiffened.

“No, we are not idealists,” Ares continued. “Every one of us is here out of self-interest. Money. Women. Cars. Power. Ego. Adventure. Travel. Self-expansion. That’s why we’re here.”

He leaned back.

“We are scum. Predators. We’ve ruined countless innocent lives to become what we wanted to be. And yes—that’s human nature. Let’s at least have the courage to admit it.”

“I do not entirely share your opinion,” Uranus replied, adjusting his glasses. He paused, searching for words—but found none.

“In every society there is natural selection,” Apollo interjected. “Some are simply better than others. It’s normal that the better ones have more resources, more opportunities, more freedom.”

Ares laughed sharply.

“What makes you better, man? Your blond haircut? Your grades at a university that cost your parents forty thousand dollars a year? Your free time to hit the gym daily?”

He shook his head.

“There are countless people out there who are better than you—and who never had, and never will have, your luck. And yes, believe it or not, there are people who refused to work for the services. They rejected the offer you gladly accepted.”

“They paid the price,” Ares went on. “They were marginalized. Crushed by life. We are not like them.”

“Yes—we’re bastards. And some of us at least have the balls to say it.”

Enough Philosophy

“That’s enough,” Cronus cut in sharply. “Everyone here knows exactly why they’re here. And this is a workplace, not a philosophy club.”

He scanned the room.

“These conversations belong in bars or restaurants—if they belong anywhere at all. There will never be agreement on these matters, and dissecting them helps neither our work nor our cohesion.”

Grumbles and sighs followed, then silence.

The Cliff Edge

“So,” Cronus continued, “we return to the matter at hand. The situation is in free fall. Either we find a parachute—or we steer the fall toward a place where it causes the least damage.”

No one spoke.

“Public calm must be preserved at all costs,” he said. “The scandal must not be allowed to grow.”

The AI Experiment

“For this reason,” Cronus went on, “those of us already familiar with the case conducted an experiment. We entered the parameters of the situation into a self-learning program—an artificial intelligence.”

The room stirred.

“We used two programs, developed by different companies. Full details are available to anyone in the department, but I’ll summarize.”

“The first program was an older model from a well-known corporation, developed several months ago. After processing the task, it produced a detailed report. Its conclusion was simple: the current policy must continue at all costs. It was deemed optimal—maximizing positives and minimizing negatives.”

Applause erupted.

“The second program was a more recent development, from a smaller but innovative company. Its conclusion, however, was radically different.”

The room grew tense.

“It recommended terminating the strategy entirely. Ceasing all actions. Allowing natural processes to restore balance. Any further intervention by the services was deemed counterproductive and harmful.”

A wave of outrage swept the room—boos, whistles, angry muttering.

“Written by amateurs!”
“Garage startups!”
“Utter nonsense!”

Cronus raised a hand, eventually restoring order.

The Stakes

“Colleagues,” he said calmly, “at the very least, we can see that the situation is not unambiguous.”

He looked around.

“We face long weeks of hard work. Politicians, social engineers, investors, and business leaders have placed their hopes in us. We have no right to disappoint them.”

He spoke slowly.

“Profits. Opportunities. Agency stock valuations. Funding. Political careers. Party outcomes. Influence between factions.”

“All of it depends on how this crisis ends.”

The Conclusion

“We cannot afford mistakes,” Cronus finished. “If necessary, we will work around the clock. But we will find an outcome that brings profit to everyone.”

“Everyone except John Williams,” Ares added.

“The individual must be sacrificed,” Cronus replied calmly. “In the name of society. In the name of the common good.”

“Yes,” Heracles nodded. “That will be best for everyone.”

Boyan Taksirov