Editor’s Note: In July of this year, I published the first draft of the first chapter of a piece of anarchist fiction I’ve been working on. I’m currently about 130 pages through and have written and re-written the hell out of the first two chapters.
In this post, you’ll get to read those couple of chapters. Please enjoy and let me know what you think of my currently untitled book. -Shane
Email: [email protected]
Adam raised the AR-15 up to a ready position, peered down the iron sights, and focused on his breathing. This latter step wasn’t entirely necessary since this wasn’t target practice, but good marksmanship was habit by now. Bang, bang, bang! He squeezed off seven or eight shots and then…click…click…nothing.
“Fuck,” Adam muttered to himself calmly, “I wonder what broke this time.”
Adam started trudging back to the house from the shooting range, the gun slung over his shoulder. He entered the small clearing which formed the quarter mile long trail between the two destinations. The aroma of nearby sassafras was quite pungent and a musty smell would linger before drifting away. Adam had learned to attribute this odor to the constant process of death, decay, and rebirth out here in the wilderness.
He stepped over the fallen trunks of decaying oak trees and around the spot on the trail that was always a mud hole, regardless of whether the summer was extremely wet or as dry as the desert. A steep, wooded valley came into view on his right and his eyes immediately traveled to the old GMC truck thirty feet below. Over the course of many years, Adam figured at least 75 or 80, the Earth had actually formed around the front half of the vehicle, leaving mostly just the rusted bed protruding into the dry creek bottom. He always wondered how the vehicle ended up down there in the first place and why the previous owner never reclaimed it. The house finally came into view as the trail expanded to the width of an off-road vehicle.
Before he began The Outpost, this land was only utilized for entertainment – riding, camping, and partying with friends and family. While that still happened numerous times throughout the year, it primarily served as a semi-permanent autonomous zone. It was a meet-up spot for radicals of all stripes and flavors, as well as a place to build freedom, whether that took the form of converting vans to live-aboard rigs, hacker spaces, or for manufacturing unregistered firearms.
The latter was on Adam’s mind as he entered the front gate to the house. His four-legged friends/early alert systems greeted him with an onslaught of nibbles and kisses.
“Nora, Claire, get down!” he yelled, shoving the playful canines down to the ground.
He forced his way inside and entered the kitchen. He spotted his GhostPad on the bar and threw open the screen quickly. The firmware hardened laptop sprang to life. When the Linux Tails animations disappeared and his desktop was in view, he launched Signal on his Android virtual machine. While the messaging app was booting, he returned outside and took a seat on the porch swing. Not long after he was seated, the dogs scurried around his feet, then started doing mad dashes around the yard.
“Dmitry, I tested out the newest AR model I’ve been messing with. I’d posit a guess on what I think is wrong, but you know I’m an amateur at this shit,” he typed up and sent.
“Adam, nice to hear from you,” Dmitry quickly typed back. “Send me over the updated CAD files and I’ll take a look. As an aside, how can you live in The Communist State of Illinois while being such a lover of guns?”
This was a question Adam got frequently, and rightfully so. Since he and Dmitry only became recent acquaintances, they hadn’t gotten these obligatory questions out of the way yet.
“Listen, I know the criminal tyrants up in Shitcago and Springfield like to scratch a lot of oppressive shit on paper, but they can’t come after what they don’t know exists. And I’m not about to voluntarily get fucking fingerprinted.”
While he awaited another response from Dmitry, he retrieved his stash, a mason jar full of marijuana, and rolled a blunt. This was a favorite part of his day. Sure, he enjoyed smoking, but he loved this view of the wilderness that surrounded his house even more. Ahh, the peace and quiet. Just a year ago, he had acquired this 22-acre plot of land in rural southern Illinois. The closest “neighbor” was half a mile away, and all that could be seen from the porch was thick forest and a couple of fields near the main entrance of the property. Since moving here, he’d been busy converting it into a self-sufficient piece of land, or as self-sufficient as he could make it. A permaculture farm produced much of the food. Chickens and assorted livestock provided meat and eggs. A well on the property administered fresh drinking water, untapped by any municipal authorities. An array of solar panels, fed into 38 deep cycle batteries, electrified the property most of the year round.
Since Adam discovered a freedom strategy called “vonu” a few years ago, a setup like this has been his dream. The goal of vonu was to become as invulnerable to coercion as possible by adopting radical lifestyles. Off-grid homesteading lay somewhere in the middle on the scale of “radical.” A more distant dream he had was to build a safe haven for radicals; a place where traveling vonuans could find shelter, supplies, and camaraderie – but, he didn’t expect things to progress so quickly, both good and bad.
In recent months, a number of vonuans and anarchists would visit; some would stay a night or two, others would stay for months at a time and work on the farm in exchange for food and other supplies. Since Adam already had a high-quality 3D printer, a Ghost Gunner milling machine, and other crypto-anarchist tools and hardware, The Outpost naturally turned into a safe haven for manufacturing too. Fully-functioning and reliable plastic rifles were nearly perfected. Ghost Guns were built out of 80% lower receivers, milled out of steel blocks. Hackers developed privacy tools, bitcoin wallets, and other open source software.
But The Outpost wasn’t open to just anyone. The activities that happened there were oftentimes outright illegal and explicitly subversive. Secrecy was a must and every individual who visited was thoroughly vetted by either Adam or one of his trusted allies. Practicing strong security culture was a must in order to keep him and his associates from being kidnapped and thrown in a cage by the State, or preyed upon by some other non-governmental violator of person or property – in this particular area, the latter consisted mostly of meth heads. Either way, Adam and his cohorts haven’t had any problems with public or private coercion thus far and wanted to keep it that way.
While he was building The Outpost, the outside world was slowly deteriorating into chaos. Gold had been completely outlawed. Any gold not turned in was seized in raids by federal task forces. Shortly after that, silver was also banned. Although more difficult to enforce, the threat was real enough that most Americans complied without a fuss, while examples were made of those who didn’t. Anyone found to possess bitcoin was subjected to heavy fines and imprisonment. Even cash had been completely phased out and replaced with the Federal Reserve’s new “blockchain”-based dollar. Money could now be created wholly out of ones and zeroes, no printing presses required. The federal government also instituted the Freedom Credit Program, a program similar to the Chicom’s social credit system, which incentivized citizens to be obedient and subservient in order to receive their universal monthly income of $1,000. Sadly, most would sell their souls for far less.
This proved to be effective and became the driving necessity of The Outpost. Privacy-minded individuals were forced entirely underground if they were to avoid the surveillance state and have any semblance of freedom; namely, via barter and bitcoin. Outside the underground, little or no resistance was raised by the populace except from Patriot militias who were outraged by the State’s brazen encroachments of civil liberties. Every so often, a tussle would break out and the Patriots would participate in what they called “civil defiance.” Basically, civil disobedience, but with guns, very much in the spirit of 1776. On a couple rare occasions, some feds even caught cases of lead poisoning.
Despite all of this, bitcoin flourished and the price currently sat at ~$100,000 per coin. The bitcoin blockchain was tightly monitored, which meant that most transactions took place off-chain via the lightning network, with the highest security/privacy possible. Of course, the State used the innovative tech to settle international payments with other governments, but laws are only for the peasants, not for the rulers. The State had been hard at work trying to nab criminal bitcoiners, and they’d been quite successful, as most people practiced little or no security culture. Most people got caught selling bitcoin to an undercover agent; operating as a money transmitter without a license. Other careless individuals got their doors kicked in for operating lightning network nodes in the clear (i.e. no Tor). Fewer found themselves imprisoned for life for operating illicit marketplaces on the deep web.
Outside of the USSA, however, some smaller countries in Europe, Liechtenstein and Switzerland among them, spontaneously made bitcoin the default medium of exchange, not via a government mandate, but by the spontaneous order of the market. The smaller, more passive governments of these countries adopted it as well and encouraged the use of privacy-enhancing bitcoin technology. It wasn’t out of the kindness of their hearts, but rather, they wanted to ensure their citizens were protected from the western surveillance dragnet that had taken over the entire world.
A *ding* came from the GhostPad as he took a lazy drag from the blunt.
“Alright, there’s the updated CAD file. That should work,” Dmitry typed back. “I know, I’m just giving you shit. It’s not much better here across the Mississippi. I’m sure you have your reasons; maybe you can run me through them when I visit in a couple days?”
“Yeah, we can discuss that in-person, not over Signal. But hey, let me get back to you later. Looks like the LiberVan crew is here. Thanks for fixing that file,” Adam typed back.
“Sure, we’ll talk later. Let me know how it goes.”
Adam closed the GhostPad and stepped out to greet the new arrivals, an extra blunt in hand. Three vans had pulled into the driveway ahead of him, just on the other side of the wooden fence, but only one had begun to spew passengers out of the sliding back door.
He welcomed his guests, “I’m sure you guys could use this after the journey. Any problems with bludgies?”
Benjamin, an early 30’s man with an infectious smile and clothing he’d apparently been wearing for several days, jumped down from the live-aboard Sprinter van excitedly and grabbed the blunt. “Hell yes, I could use that. No, no problems with bludgies. We would have been screwed without CryptoNav, though. Someone reported a massive checkpoint on I-70, but we took the backroads. We should check the DeepNet to see if there’s any footage uploaded. The fucking gestapo is out of control.”
He effected an exaggerated German accent, “Papers, please.”
Juliette, who still had not gotten up from the kitchen table inside the Sprinter, chucked an empty can angrily. “It’s truly infuriating that since basically the entirety of humanity failed to learn from history, we still have to suffer with them.”
“Well, you’re home now. Leave those worries in the city,” Adam reassured her.
The door to the second Sprinter van slid open. Tom and Regina emerged with one big bag each. “We come bearing gifts!” Regina said warmly, both her and Tom reaching into their respective bags, handing out party favors to everyone in attendance.
“Oh, shit, what do we have here?” Adam said, a little excitement in his voice.
“Well, we know you’ve got the shrooms and the flower covered, so we brought dab-coated chocolates and some Molly,” Regina responded.
Juliette finally stood up, as her nearly 6-foot tall, slender figure came into full view. She donned black yoga pants and a tight-fitting black tank top, her accoutrement finished out with long, flowing blonde hair in a ponytail. She exited the van and walked over to embrace Adam. “Oh, you know Adam and I stick to psychedelics. Ask us about Molly later though,” she said and laughed.
The weed was kicking in and the world was slowing down. The worries disappeared and the feeling of freedom overtook them all. But there was liberty to be built.
Benjamin handed the blunt back over to Adam. “I know we’ve only been gone a couple weeks, but what’s new? Did you ever get the lightning network node setup?”
Adam took a couple additional quick drags off the blunt before responding. “I’ve got everything installed and the entire bitcoin blockchain downloaded…which is slow as fuck over a multi-hop VPN if you were wondering…but, the laptop I’m using isn’t going to work. It doesn’t have a solid-state drive. I’ve got another solution in the works, just haven’t gotten around to it.” He passed the blunt over to Juliette, his other arm firmly around her. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t work, but it was worth trying at least.”
“Fuck yeah, man. I wish more people were like you – you aren’t afraid to fail. I mean, I was like 12 when I started making those failures, but that’s how you learn; it’s the Trivium method of education – bottom-up learning,” Benjamin said.
And Benjamin truly had been making such mistakes since he was at least 12. He grew up in southern California, the only child of two business executives that cared more about their work than about nurturing their son. So, instead of spending his time at home, he stayed at the library after school and consumed all the information he possibly could on computers, mostly from books, but also from Internet sites. He quickly became enamored and by about halfway through his tenure in middle school, he had largely decided that school was irrelevant, and that he would much rather spend his time seated behind a keyboard and monitors, not in some desk being lectured at by some underpaid (or overpaid, perhaps?), half-brained public school teacher.
Tom appeared behind a cloud of smoke and passed two joints in opposite directions. “That’s exactly right. You guys know I’m a freelance engineer and that I make really, really good money. I know my shit. Do you think I learned that in government schools? Hell no. I learned that tinkering with stuff and reading engineering books in my spare time. Anyone can learn anything; it’s just that when humans are forced to do something, in this case, compulsory education, it’s less enjoyable. It also doesn’t help that college degrees are gearing towards specialization; specialization is for insects. You have to examine all elements of the human experience, which means different fields as well,” he explained thoroughly.
Tom’s mind flashed back to Christmas 2005. His parents had gotten him a soldering iron. Strange present for a teenager, but Tom was no normal kid. He had been asking for it and they didn’t really see the harm in it. Well, when his parents came home from work Monday evening (as he was still on Christmas Break), they found a number of electronics dismantled on the kitchen table. Tom was in the middle of “repairing” a circuit board on his dad’s laptop and had just finished up “service” on the family television. Needless to say, Tom’s parents learned their lesson and exercised more caution going forward, while still ensuring and fostering an educational environment.
“Goddamn, I’m glad you guys are here,” Adam said. “Come on, let’s get your vans hooked up to our power and water. Juliette, would you mind checking the DeepNet for any new videos?”
“Yeah, no problem. Can I use your GhostPad?”
“Of course, it’s on the porch. We’ll be back in a few.”
Adam assisted Benjamin, Tom, and Regina as they moved their vans to the back of the property and plugged into the off-grid setup. The van hook-up spot was nestled comfortably under a patch of thick foliage, preventing most any potential overhead surveillance; it was also one of the best places to escape the heat in summer. They began the short trip back to the house when Benjamin tapped Adam and Tom on the shoulders.
“No one has any digital devices on them?” Benjamin inquired.
Adam and Tom patted their pockets and a chorus of “No’s” rang out.
“Good,” Benjamin replied. “I’ve been let in on something from a close, trusted ally. You’re all probably familiar with him and I’ll tell you in due time. Point is, something’s happening. We need to have a conversation about this when Dmitry and Jay arrive in a couple of days. In the meantime, let’s go meet back up with Juliette.”
“Alright guys and Regina, there was one new video, but it wasn’t on the DeepNet. I got pinged through the local mesh. We’ve got a problem,” she said, turning the laptop towards the others as they walked onto the front porch. The look of utter shock was glued to her face for all to see.
“What kind of problem?” Adam squinted and hurried up to the laptop. As the image loaded, it was evident that this was a video taken from a drone. A few dozen people were crowded onto a street in some city, all on their stomachs, hands restrained behind their backs. Each prisoner had a menacing armor-clad officer standing over them, a rifle aimed at their head. More cops had formed a perimeter keeping a larger crowd at bay.
“Oh my fucking god,” Adam breathed.
On the screen, a man dressed in dangerously blinding attire entered the frame. He seemed to examine the prisoners, as if they were cockroaches under his men’s boots. He said something, gave a signal, and the unmistakable pop, pop, pop of reports came through the laptop’s speakers.
“At least 30 people were just executed in the streets of downtown Chicago.”
Everyone remained silent, in shock, as Adam sparked up another blunt and paced around the porch. Obviously, Shitcago was 4 hours away, some 250 miles, so this wasn’t a short-term threat. The enemy wasn’t at the gates, as it were. But despite how bad things had gotten, none of them thought the political climate would deteriorate that quickly.
After a minute or two, Adam returned to the circle and passed off the blunt. “We all knew it would come to this at some point. The shock of it happening in our lifetime is over. I propose these as our two tasks tonight: 1) Get in contact with Dmitry and Jay, and 2) Let’s do a livestream. This is an opportune time to talk about Second Realms. They’re absolutely necessary now. What do you think?”
Tom quickly replied, “We need to recommend people leave the USSA if they can. ‘If you have a passport and can get a flight, take it,’” Tom concluded, and walked out the front gate without another word.
Juliette spoke up for the first time in about five minutes. “Let’s schedule a Gun Printing 101 course for when Dmitry gets here, too. If there’s anything we can do to prevent another one of these acts of democide, we have a duty to do it,” she said softly but seriously.
“I’ll take care of contacting our people,” Benjamin said. “Let’s start the livestream in two hours. You guys are fine out here?”
“Yeah,” Adam replied, as he laid down on the reclined pool chair. Juliette took a seat beside him and he took her into his arms. He looked over at Benjamin and continued, “Let me take care of calling Dmitry. I’ll do that now.”
Benjamin nodded and walked inside, leaving Adam, Regina, and Juliette alone on the porch. Adam pulled out his Dark Android, re-opened the Signal app, and located his recent conversation with Dmitry. He tapped the call button and the encryption magic happened. The app made a dial-up Internet-type sound and a voice emerged from the other end of the phone.
“Adam, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. What’s up? Did you test out the files?” He asked.
Adam stood up and began to pace around the porch again, “No, no. It’s something else. Is there any way you can come tomorrow instead?”
Dmitry paused a few moments before replying, “Well, I had a couple of *ahem* deliveries to do the day after tomorrow, but I suppose I can just use one of our couriers.” There was another brief moment of silence while Dmitry came up with plans on the fly. “Hm, yeah, I can. Why?”
“We need you to lead a Gun Printing 101 online training session. Like, this needs to happen yesterday,” he responded, the urgency explicitly clear. “Check the local mesh and you’ll see what I mean. The last six digits of the hash are 4b173a.”
“Got it, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
Adam ended the Signal call and relayed the information to Juliette and Regina.
Juliette grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled him back down to the pool chair. “So, how did you meet this guy again?”
“A friend-of-a-friend. He’s been working on 3D printing guns for a lot longer than I have, and he’s in a precarious position. One California State Senator lobbied the Freedom Credit Program fascists to force him out of aboveground channels. Now he’s found a home here at The Outpost.”
The women nodded in agreeance, any concerns by the wayside.
Adam leaned over and kissed Juliette intensely for a handful of seconds as Regina looked on and smiled.
“I’m going to get the livestream setup. Wanna help?” Adam asked Juliette.
She got up and followed him inside the house. They passed through the kitchen and a double door into the recording studio. Posters with anti-government, anarchist sayings were plastered on all the walls and a large desk sat at the center of the room. Microphones, microphone stands, mixers, and an array of cords filled the cluttered desk. They grabbed a couple laptops, a spare six-channel mixer, a handful of microphones with applicable stands and cords, and the confidence to deliver a message that desperately needed to be heard.
“Testing 1, 2, 3, check 1, 2,” Adam said into the first microphone, while staring at rapidly dancing lines on the audio editing program. After a minute or two of tweaking, he found the sweet spot, quickly repeating this process for microphones 2-5. And, in a matter of minutes, they were ready to go with an hour left to spare. At the same time, Tom walked back up the sidewalk towards the front porch, papers in hand and thick glasses on. He looked like a true crypto-geek.
“I’m curious, dear, where are you going to recommend people relocate to?” Regina asked Tom.
Adam grabbed Juliette’s hand and walked her inside before they could hear Tom’s reply. They’d hear it in an hour anyway. For now, though, Adam led his anarchist queen into the bedroom for a little private, physical activity.
A short time later, Adam and Juliette emerged from the bedroom and walked into the adjacent living room, where Benjamin was seated in front of the 10-monitor setup. A few screens displayed the current market price of bitcoin across a few worldwide exchanges. The others contained seemingly incoherent computer-babble, probably a new piece of software he was working on, in addition to a couple encrypted chat channels.
Benjamin tapped away on the loud mechanical keyboards for a few seconds and scooted back over to another monitor. He felt like he was being watched and noticed that the sinners had come in behind him, “Real subtle, you guys. You do realize this is a small house with thin walls, right?” Benjamin asked, laughing.
Adam blushed a little, but didn’t say anything. He’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he had nothing to say.
Juliette piped up, “You’re just jealous that he got to fuck me.” The trio laughed briefly and then the conversation shifted.
Benjamin motioned them over towards one of the monitors and showed them a black command line interface window; not aesthetically pleasing in the slightest. It read, Jay, check in. “It’s been an hour and I still haven’t heard from him. He’s probably fine, but we need him here,” Benjamin said, apparently slightly frustrated.
Adam started back outside and replied, “Jay’s a highly formidable individual, he’ll be fine. We’ve got other matters to attend to now, come on,” he motioned the others. They followed him out onto the porch where Tom and Regina were deep in conversation about strategic relocation.
“…Bella Coola, British Columbia really is an incredible location for wilderness vonu. I always make sure to spend a couple months there during the summer. If you think this is remote,” he trailed off, the message coming through loud and clear.
Adam casually inserted himself in the conversation, “Yeah, Bella Coola is great. But, changing gears, we should also try to use this livestream as a networking opportunity. We could use some more allies. I’m thinking international ones. It would be nice to have some contingency plans in place if we ever needed to leave.” He paused for a moment, “I suppose I should say when not if.”
They all nodded in agreement, as the beginning of the live event drew near. Adam looked over at the monitor, “Oh wow, there’s 1,200 people waiting,” he said slowly. His eyes got big.
“Well, boss, you can get us started,” Tom said, chuckling. He was a rather shy individual, so things like this always made him a little nervous. But, as long as he had his notes and citations, he was fine.
“Let’s all share the livestream around once more and then I’ll start it,” Adam said. He fired the link to the event across a number of Telegram and Signal groups; these folks would get it out on social media to reach the normies. The others followed suit.
“Alright, here we go,” Adam said, as he hit “Start Streaming” on his recording software.
All 5 of them were seated behind the bar-type counter, their faces covered with surgical masks and sunglasses over their eyes.
“Good evening, self-liberators,” Adam began. “We are anarchists/vonuans from The Outpost, located in Illinois, FEMA Region V. We come to you with information and updates. For any government agents that may be trying to hack our location, don’t bother; our open source, high school dropout hackers are better than your MIT graduates.
“By now, the drone footage has made its way around the mesh. There’s no need to panic, this seems to be an isolated event. But a precedent was set yesterday evening; as the State begins to lose control, it will lash out, and quite violently.
“We are but one ‘outpost’ for radicals and freedom pioneers; one exists in Texas, FEMA Region VI; one in Oregon, FEMA Region X; and one somewhat near Bella Coola, British Columbia. There are likely others, too.
“While we are extremely privacy and security conscious, we still wish to collaborate with other freedom cells around the world. We are seeking both digital and physical Second Realms, but prefer the latter. Please feel free to leave comments or contact information in the encrypted chat.
“Anyway, from last night’s events, the need for methods of self-defense have never been more important or urgent. For that reason, we will be hosting a Gun Printing 101 course; it will be free online. There will also be a primer on Ghost Gunning too. I just dropped the link in the chat – we hope to see all of you there.
“Before I turn it over to Tom here, let me introduce the idea of Second Realms for those who may be new. The First Realm is the statist-servile society; that’s why you are all attending this livestream. Because the entity that has a monopoly on the use of force put their proclivity toward violence on full display yesterday. This is what we are defending ourselves from; this is the society we seek to, in many ways, withdraw from. We do this through the development of temporary autonomous zones, aka Second Realms, but, in most cases, they are more semi-permanent with highly mobile capital; that way, the risk of confiscation is low, while a sense of stability can be achieved. We are finding cracks and fault lines within the global grid of control and alienation, and we are liberating these areas; but, before we are discovered, we will pack up and move somewhere else, using our invisibility and invulnerability to our advantage. Picking a fight with Leviathan is unwise.
“That should serve as a good enough introduction. Please read ‘Second Realm: Book on Strategy’ by Smuggler and XYZ for a wealth of additional information. You can find it at Anarplex.net,” Adam concluded his diatribe. “Now, on a slightly different note, here’s Tom to talk about strategic relocation. Tom, take it away, sir.”
“Thanks, Adam. Hi, everyone. I’m Tom and I’m a human being. More specifically, I’m an engineer who has been living out of a Sprinter van for the past couple of years, oftentimes in extreme wilderness areas. During the summer months, I park the van and wilderness vonu, living under an easily portable, cheaply replaceable tent. For these two lifestyles (wilderness vonu and van nomadism), I recommend two areas predominantly: the Siskiyou/Klamath Region in northern California/southern Oregon and Bella Coola, British Columbia. The weather can be a bit extreme, but with proper planning and mobile electricity/heat, it is easily doable. These areas are remote enough, so civilian and bludg traffic is quite low; there is an abundance of edible food in the areas, and, for those that partake in marijuana, Siskiyou/Klamath lies right in the Emerald Triangle. They’re absolutely beautiful, surreal places that serve as great refuges from the pandemonium of State,” Tom concluded after Adam pointed to the monitor.
“Sorry to interrupt, Tom, we’ve got a question in chat that I’d like to address,” Adam interjected. “SamAdams asked, ‘I’ve been perpetually traveling for years and I’d love to have a safe haven or five in the states. How do I gain access?’ Great question. So, obviously, it’s not easy. We require our initiates practice a vonu lifestyle of their choosing for some time, demonstrating that they are actually serious; we don’t have the time or tolerance for bullshitters. It sounds like you’ve already done that, SamAdams, so great. Start coming out to our raves and get to know folks; build up a reputation. After you’ve been vetted, then you’ll be invited out. Other ‘outposts’ might do things a little differently, but that’s the general path.”
Adam gave Tom the thumbs-up to continue.
Tom resumed, “Now, what about other locations for strategic relocation outside the realm of those two lifestyles? Well, generally speaking, and pardon my French, get the fuck out of the USSA; become a tourist, not a resident. I generally recommend island countries like the Bahamas or some places in Mexico that I won’t discuss here for OpSec purposes. Get your assets out of this country and plan on, sometime in the future, never being able to return. That’s the reality of the situation, everyone, I know it’s not a fun outlook. Look at it as a way of growth, though, as a way of resetting the clock and building freedom from the ground up…we can do it right this time. No Constitutions, Articles of Confederation, democracies, republics, or bullshit like that – just a common understanding and exemplification of the principles of freedom,” he finished. “I think that’s all I have, Adam, unless there are other relevant questions.”
Juliette turned her microphone on, “If I could jump in for one moment…if any of you are at one of these ‘outposts’ with likeminded people, cherish that time dearly; love, respect, and build each other up. Take time to appreciate the sacrifices we have all made and the foresight that we had to build self-sufficient lives,” she continued passionately. “Life’s too short. Don’t let the stresses of the State seep into our free areas.” She turned her microphone off and took a deep breath.
Everyone at The Outpost visibly nodded in agreement and the livestream chat exploded with the letters PLA, meaning Peace, Love, and Anarchy.
Adam jumped back in, “Beautifully said, love. Did anyone have anything else they wanted to chime in with?”
Benjamin nodded. “The time for building tools for personal freedom is when our livelihoods don’t depend on them. In some ways, that window has already closed, but in others, it appears to be closing rapidly. Come to our Gun Printing 101 course tomorrow, get a 3D printer, and start learning how to do this; get a Ghost Gunner and build your first rifle; learn how to code so you can work on encrypted communications and decentralized networks; get creative. There’s so much important work to be done. There’s so much liberty to be built,” he said sternly.
Adam jumped in, “We’ll go ahead and close out here; see you guys tomorrow. Stay safe and stay liberated, my friends.” Adam clicked the appropriate button on the media player and the voice of Milton William Cooper rang over the airwaves.
“Like it or not, everything is changing. The result will be the most wonderful experience in the history of man or the most horrible enslavement you can imagine. Be active or abdicate. The future is in your hands.”
Thanks for reading! Please consider giving me some feedback! I’d greatly appreciate it.
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