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A quote: “Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.” — Jane Austen
I’ll start with a story …
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I was brought up by grandparents fresh off the boat, explaining my flawless language. My passport and documents were unimpeachable having belonged to a woman long vanished and unmissed. I’ve truly become Helga Baumann.
Placed as a low level clerk over time I gained enough company trust to have access to the information my government needed.
How I was discovered? That terrifies and fascinates me. Everything had worked so well. Now I stand nose to nose with the Gestapo agent who tracked me. Her face is strangely familiar.
She sneers “I’ve wanted to meet you. My name is Helga Baumann.”
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Now, it’s your turn …
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. featured image, cropped, by Martin Lopez from Pexels
Andrew says: I had the idea for a time machine two days before the wedding. There it was in my head, clear as day. I made some notes—I’d build the thing when we got back from the honeymoon.
But the police met me at the airport when we came back. My step-father had been murdered, shot with my gun, my fingerprints everywhere. But my foreign-country-honeymoon alibi was just too good, and they had to let me go.
I don’t know what he did to push me to finally kill him. I guess I’ll never know.
Interrogator: This interview, Agent Stoykova, is being recorded. Comrade Putin is very interested in your answers. As an agent of the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation, your mission was to seduce the 2016 Republican candidate for president.
“Yes,” she answers.
Interrogator: Why did you fail?
“The guy with the shaved head,” she says.
Interrogator: What do you mean?
“Every time I got close to the candidate, this weirdo with an orange wig would pop up out of nowhere and say he was Donald Trump.”
Interrogator: His name?
Asnavett, Asnacretti. Something like that.
Interrogator: Michael Avanetti?
“Yeh, that’s it.”
Cameron says: As I sat in the chair, I had to admit that the setup was masterfully done. My life spread out on a board. Threads connecting me to different events. The light in my eyes contrasted sharply with the dark room. Then the questions, one after another. Asking what I was doing, what I thought about something, where was I going with my life. No detail was too trivial, no question could go unanswered.
After what felt like a small eternity the lights were turned on and both my interrogators were smiling. “All right. I guess you can date our daughter.”
nicole says: as she sits, all she can think is that the room is dark, cold, and smells like a basement. She was on her summer break from college and out of no-where she was taken into custody and interrogated for what seemed to be days. She was a college professor from Amsterdam and traveled to California for the summer. What do they want with me? who are these people they are asking me about, why am I here?? She continued to deny any relation to any of the persons that they asked her about, They had yet to tell her how or why, they thought she knew them.. she was lost in a country that she was unfamiliar with and she had no one on her side.. She heard the knock on the door, a man came in and said, “your free to go, sorry for the inconvenience”. Why do you think she was brought in?
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