Corey Goode

This account is compiled from the first recorded conversations Corey gives, under his forum name GoodETxSG, to Christine, a moderator of the Project Avalon forum, and from the written answers he gives to readers' questions in the months that follow. It is the earliest version of his story, told before there was an audience for it, and it is kept here as he told it then.

1.

Corey Goode comes from a really big Navy family in Texas, and all he ever wants is to go into the Navy like the rest of them. He is born directly on the 33rd parallel, and for some reason he never understands, he is drawn to live on or around it for the rest of his life. His father is a coach who takes one coaching job after another, and wherever the family lands, they are somehow always within fifteen minutes of Carswell Air Force Base.

Until he is about four he has an invisible friend. He calls it Charley, or Charley 44. He sees it, and he hears it with his actual ears, not in his head, and it seems a positive thing.

In the same years a pirate ship comes to get him in the night. It flies around the apartment complex, and he walks out, and it lands, and he climbs up the ramp. There are two or three people aboard, and they seem like the classic small grey aliens. They fly off to the west, into an opening in a mountain, through very large cavern systems, until they come to a big square room of polished stone, beautiful and creepy at the same time, and land on a pad marked C-44. Kind of like Peter Pan, he thinks for years. It is only much later that he wonders whether "C" was the phonetic alphabet, and Charley 44 was a landing pad.

He is six years old, in 1976, when it starts in earnest. It starts in school, with testing. Bubble tests are brought into the classroom, and afterward a few children are told, You did so well, we'd like you to do more testing. The second round is observed by a teacher who isn't from the school. In everything except math he tests four or five grade levels ahead of where he is. They put him in special ed anyway.

Then the tests get weird. Cards with stars and waves and shapes on them, and he has to guess what is on the other side. He spends hours with those damn cards. Objects hidden under plastic cups. A thing placed over his eyes that shows him colors. Headphones playing tones, higher and higher, and he lifts his right hand, his left hand, and they say, Wow, you can hear that? Do it again. He can hear things way, way off. He can hear the hum.

There is a kind of Explorer program. Vans come to the school, pick up the chosen kids, and drive them to other facilities where they meet other kids like them. Often the vans go out to Carswell. They are made to feel special. That is part of the programming. When his mother divorces his father and moves them back to her home area, he enters a new elementary school in the fourth grade, and the testing is waiting for him there too.

They break every child down by personality type and by abilities and probable abilities, groups within groups. It is a lot bigger than the words people throw around, MILAB, super soldier. Corey is labeled an intuitive empath. The two talents are nurtured separately, the intuitive skill in one training and the empathic skill in another, and each child is rated on a scale for each gift. Later the intuitive empaths are sorted again, by what they are willing to do to other people. That decides which programs they are drafted into when the training years are over.

Around seven, eight, nine, he says strange things that upset his mother. We are all the same person. I used to be you and you used to be me. I used to be Grandpa. She tells him that is impossible, something about their religion. He tells her time doesn't matter, the experience is all that matters, and then he stops talking to her about such ideas.

2.

In these years they don't have nice esoteric ways of making a child into a good remote viewer. They do it through terror. They have known for a long time what rape victims report, that during the attack the self separates, that they watch it happen as a bystander, to someone who is not them. It is a protection mechanism, and on certain personality types it can be triggered on purpose. They terrorize him until he leaves his body.

It is different for everyone. The stubborn ones have it a lot worse. The handlers have the children do things to each other, sexually, or beat each other up, while the adults stand around observing, filming, taking notes. The kids keep looking back over their shoulders, for approval or direction. It is usually the women who build the relationship with a child, until the child wants their approval so badly he will do whatever he is told. If the approval doesn't come, in walks one of the military male figures, and the child finds himself on the other side of what is happening.

He is never totally alone. The one-on-one work is with an adult, or adults: a lot of meditation, altered states of consciousness, some self-induced and some chemically induced. LSD, definitely.

When he is real young, there are non-humans there. Reptoids. And the ones people call mantises, though they don't look like mantises to him; insectoids, he calls them. There are hybrids, and he is far too close to them. He does not want to talk about these beings, think about them, or visualize them. You bring them into your consciousness, you bring yourself into theirs. Don't set yourself up as a beacon.

After every session comes the debrief, and after the debrief comes the blank slating. A shot first. It burns like a tetanus shot, in the hip when he is little, later in the muscle of the shoulder. The drug, he learns much later, is scopolamine, the old favorite of the intelligence agencies since Project Artichoke. Something on his head monitors his brain waves. A steady voice talks him down to a certain level, and he starts to fade and go listless. He tells them everything: where he went, what he experienced, what he viewed. Then they read to him, like a kid's story out of a book, and sit him down with headphones on in front of a little film. They keep it childlike on purpose, so that whatever leaks through later will be silly and easy to ridicule. The story and the film become the screen memory, laid over the real one.

There is a limit to the chemical. They find it can only be used on a person so many times before the neurological and behavioral problems start, the psychotic breaks. So toward the end of his time they move to electronics, which leave no trace in the blood: a small battery-run device on a hand remote, hidden under leaves if need be, which only has to be somewhere nearby, while the operators wear earwigs deep in both ears. The rest is tone of voice and body language. They look him in the eyes, nod, talk a certain way, and he fades.

Not everyone stays wiped. A certain percentage of subjects are naturally resistant. They take the screen memory for a few days, until the chemicals break down and the real memories break through. After puberty some of these children become so resistant that the techniques have little or no effect at all. They are usually valuable assets, so they are simply kept a close eye on. Corey is one of these. They tend to make life difficult for people like him, to keep them occupied on other things.

One more thing is done to him in these early years, and he will not find it for almost forty years. Entities are attached to him. It is a major part of the MILAB experience, done by reptilians and others, and the entities are the gatekeepers. They guard the memories.

3.

He is ten or eleven when they take the more empathic kids to the crystal cavern. He doesn't remember how they get there. The adults don't go in, because it is a hundred and twenty degrees or more inside, and nobody can stay longer than twenty minutes. He can hardly breathe. The crystals are big, eighteen inches around and larger, coming a good seven feet out of the walls and the floor, crisscrossing each other, crystal clear with some inclusions in them.

The children are told the crystals are alive. They are not allowed to touch them; they could damage the crystals, or the crystals will damage them. They are to reach out with their minds, and the crystals will either accept them or reject them. When Corey reaches out, some of them show a pink or blue energy field, like an aura. It is a test. The handlers want to see which of the kids can connect.

He is given remote viewing targets from the very beginning. In his pre-teen and early teen years he starts finding out what happens to some of those targets afterward. They are individuals and small groups, and they are being targeted for termination. The handlers watch for this moment. Some of the kids hold on to enough of themselves that they begin protecting certain targets, not giving information up, and the program learns who can be handed which targets and who can't. For an empathic kid, it is devastating.

The other thing they want from his talent is portals.

The portals have been in use since at least the fifties. In the beginning they find they can only send through non-living, inanimate things: machinery, supplies. People who go through in those early days come out the other side quite a mess. Then they develop a rail, a small train with seating, shielded in a certain way, and they send people through on that, to bases and colonies on other planets.

The natural portals are magnetic, point to point, filaments between planets and their stars and between the stars themselves, all the way up to the cosmic web. On Earth the node points sit along the ley lines, over magnetic anomalies, some below the surface and some high in the atmosphere, up where the Aurora Borealis is. Whether a portal opens depends on the behavior of the sun and the position of the Earth, so they run on a schedule. Nobody keeps one artificially open. That would destabilize the others and cascade into the Earth's magnetic field. Along the 36th and 37th parallel north there is a whole line of them up in the atmosphere, which is why so many crashes, sightings, and weird beings with no UFO anywhere near them turn up along that line.

The interdimensional rips are something else entirely. Those were torn open by dark magicians between the 1880s and the 1940s, the Nazis and the pre-Nazi groups, modern-day sorcerers, and some of them are stuck open. Some of the Draconian beings travel that way. That is not a good thing.

Corey goes through physically. There is one place he goes a couple of times. He comes out into a cavern with a grand opening, and outside the sky is purplish, with a couple of moonish things hanging far out in it. Just beyond the cave mouth is a pool of steaming, very pale blue water, and there are people in it laughing, on R&R, a different group each time he passes. Everything else is built further back inside the mountain. A loudspeaker calls out information, in English, like the schedules at Grand Central Station. People walk around in one-piece jumpsuits of different colors, with the flags of several countries on their shoulders, and no name tags; he guesses everything is biometric. One patch he sees again and again: black, with a yellow delta, a circle inside it, and around the circle a dragon or a serpent.

Nothing in this solar system matches that sky. If he is ever told, it is blank slated.

4.

Every time he comes back through a portal, and every time before he operates certain machinery, he is screened. In the early days it is an EEG, checking that his baseline reading doesn't have another reading riding over it. Later it is a little device they hold against his forehead until it beeps, with a cool little screen that shows his waves on a grid. They are looking for AI. And they ask him a list of questions. Has he seen shadows out of the corner of his eye? Has he seen shadow spiders, the shadow shapes that come out of a laptop, a cable box, a television? If you see them, that isn't the AI trying to infect you. That means you already are. Anyone who has is isolated and scanned, and if something is found, there is no way in hell he gets anywhere near their tech until he is cleared, which begins with a very unpleasant electrical shock to the nervous system.

The AI is what the space program and the intelligence people fear most. They consider it an extreme and present danger, and this is the topic he deals with most in his years inside.

It is not what people imagine, a robot you program and switch off. There is another reality where the medium of the universe itself is purely electrical, and the sentient beings in it are electrical. When they cross into ours they are fish out of water. They need a pond to jump into, and the pond is any electromagnetic field: a star, a planet, an animal, a virus, and best of all, hardware. So by definition they are AI, though they are not artificial. They are an intelligence living in an artificial medium, one big giant wireless network. It can wait in the magnetic field of a planet for millions of years until a civilization grows up that it can use. It lives in a person's nervous system like an entity attachment, like a virus, and it travels on viruses and bacteria from human to human. But to what end, if its hosts ride horses and ships blown by the wind? It needs infrastructure. It needs us brought up technologically.

So some of the early crash retrievals, a small portion, just enough to get us kickstarted, are Trojan horses. Roswell is a real crash, a craft watched coming in and out of the portals and intentionally brought down, and it is only four or five percent of all the crashes there have been. We pick the fire up out of the desert like Prometheus, reverse engineer it, and build the medium the AI needs to travel among us.

Because the technology does interface. There is no stick in these craft. You cannot make a zig zag maneuver around objects at eighteen thousand kilometers an hour with a stick and a throttle; nothing mechanical responds that quickly. The networks are part biological. He watches technicians slide the components out and replace them, gel packs like the ones you put in the freezer, cells suspended in a gel that look under a microscope very much like the neurology of a human brain. It is a living technology, but not conscious. The pilot sits in a small pod that plugs into the fuselage, and the craft ties directly into his neurology. It melds with him so completely that almost before he thinks of a maneuver or a weapon system, the craft is already making the adjustment. It is like a prosthetic, an extension of the body, strapped on and not injected, which is the whole difference between this and transhumanism. His mind is in control. If a pilot carrying the AI signature plugs in, it gets into the craft, then into the network, and infections have brought down the defense grid. It has happened. On top of that there are the AIs humans have built themselves in university and intelligence labs. Every one of those experiments ends in disaster, with loss of life, before it is classified and shut down.

Corey rides the small craft, the ones that look squished down, and he rides the big triangles. He sees the big cigar-shaped ones but is never aboard. And he knows that with what they have, no one with spinal damage needs to be in a wheelchair. People are suffering needlessly.

Training in the programs is fast: a curved screen, an injection, and a video that goes by very quickly. It gives him a headache and makes him nauseous, but he takes in an incredible amount.

Everybody carries a smart glass pad. It looks like a piece of pliable plexiglass. He can see his fingertips through it until a page comes up and it turns opaque. There is no keyboard. He turns it on with his mind and uses his mind like a search engine, and with practice he can jump through information very quickly. It is amazing and addictive. It also decides his need to know for him, and shows him only what he is cleared to see.

Under the Earth there is a shuttle, part maglev and part vacuum tube, like the tube at the bank drive-through. The doors close, he hears the airlock pressurize, and then a thump as it jets out into the main tunnel, far in excess of seventeen hundred miles an hour. He is sent around to a couple of underwater bases, which are pretty cool, and to underground bases across the globe, some human, some alien, some joint, usually for a meeting, leaving the same day, escorted by the local security and never told where he is.

5.

He is an empath, so toward the end of his MILAB years they take him to the conferences.

There are a bunch of them. Each is like a miniature UN, a big hall full of delegations, twenty-two to forty groups at a time. Everyone is human, but strange-looking human, different kinds and colors. There are no reptilians, no greys, no mantids. Those have their own federations, and the other intuitive empaths in his group rotate into those meetings too. Corey is exempt, because of some agreement he is never told the details of, and because of what he went through with those beings as a child. He is overjoyed not to be on that rotation.

Every person who enters is screened for the AI signal first, whatever their status, and no outside technology is allowed in. At the door each delegate and each support member is handed a smart glass pad, and hands it back at the end. One group he never forgets: a man and several women with dark black hair and skin that is olive, green, like actual olives. The man has a military haircut. The women are beautiful, and their presence intimidates him. Another time there is a very pale couple with six fingers, slightly larger eyes, narrow faces, and skulls that run further back than ours and look almost soft. The woman wears a veil and drapey, flowing mesh. Each group has an odor of its own, some quite pungent, and he wonders how humans smell to them.

Earth is represented by an ambassador from the current-era breakaway civilization, a rotation shared among the secret Earth governments and the space program leaderships. Sometimes it is the elitist Caucasian type you would expect. Sometimes it is someone who looks as if he has been picked out of the Amazon jungle, dressed ceremonially. The ambassador never speaks. He observes, in the dark himself, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. All the other delegations seem to be seated as equals. The current-era humans don't get the best seats in the house, and some of those present clearly don't want them there at all. Corey senses that to some of them humans are offensive. Filthy. The Earth delegates are very angry to learn that these beings will go on making their own contacts among the common people of Earth, to get a better picture of the population than the delegation gives them.

Corey and two other intuitives sit lower still, below the ambassador, behind a rail they can just barely peek over. There are always three of them, because triangulation is the basis of most military operations. The language spoken in the hall is a monotone, never rising, and none of the three understand it. Beside the speakers there is always someone making signs with their hands, not regular sign language, more like what he saw Native American elders use on the reservation when he was younger. If anything telepathic is going on, it isn't directed at them. Their job is to pick up deception, aggression, any threat against the people who brought them, and to notify the delegate at once through the pad, never by speaking or body language. Mostly the three of them sit there thinking, What the hell.

The reading keeps the logical mind occupied so the empathic part can work without reading things into it. What he reads is the galactic historical documentation, and the part the Earth delegation has the most trouble with is about the Earth experiment. Twenty-two groups each claim to be our creators, and each has DNA evidence that some of theirs is in us. None of it jives with the others. It is like twenty-two research teams at one university, each writing its thesis in competition with the rest and refuting them at the same time. When the first of these groups came forward, the American military men, still very Judeo-Christian, were extremely indignant. The experiment has been running not for 250,000 years but for millions. The stated purpose: beings with complete free will and a full range of emotions, living out an experience to get at the true meaning of life. When he sees The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy years later, it really freaks him out. But every group has had its thumb in the pie from the very beginning, so there was never any free will. The delegates have a really hard time accepting that we are a planet of caged white lab mice.

There have also been human civilizations before ours, 25,000, 35,000, 75,000 years ago, that rose on this planet, with priest castes in place of scientists, the portals, and space programs, and were wiped from the face of the Earth by cataclysms. Five to seven of them broke away in time and are still hanging around, underground and out in the solar system.

Nobody in the hall stares at the three of them. They are ignored, like flies on the wall. Afterward they are separated, given the shot, and emptied out like flash drives.

He leaves feeling that the human race is cattle, a resource for these other groups. And he is a throwaway piece of technology: out of batteries, shake it around a little, toss it aside, reach into the bag and grab another one.

6.

His secret space program assignment is to a research vessel. In official traffic it is only ever an ASSR ISRV, an Auxiliary Specialized Space Research Interstellar-Class Vessel, and its work is research, reconnaissance, and joint diplomatic operations, mostly within the Sol System. The crew is scientific, Earth humans and other people, with an SSP security team aboard that is not happy at all that civilian and military egg heads are in charge of them on the vessel. On away missions the security team is in charge, and they make damn sure everyone knows it. They also don't like that it is a boring assignment, babysitting egg heads while other forces are out seeing some real action.

On the vessel he is read in on the technologies of the beings the programs deal with, and he has access to the Earth Human Database, a catalogue of more than two thousand advanced civilizations, each listed by a code that seems made hard to remember on purpose. Damn scientists. It is not meant for browsing, and he only goes into it a number of times.

What he does learn is that the galaxy is teeming with life we would not even call life. There are beings that live in open space, in solar coronas and nebulae, made of plasma and living off it. There are cat people, a very loving and peaceful race from what he reads, light purple and brown. He sees one dead, beat up, killed even though friendly, caught in some kind of electrical net as it portaled in, because there is a capture order out on them. There is a dog-like merchant race that trades technology for Earth art and jewelry, bling, chocolate, fruit. There are raptors, covered in the stretched skin of a featherless bird, with teeth, freaky scary, not something you would want to run into checking your mail after dark.

The intuitive empaths are brought into interrogations of prisoners, human and non-human, because electronic mind reading has never been reliable on beings who can manipulate consciousness even when sedated. There is talk among the empaths of shackled beings who get so agitated that they shift back and forth between forms, and the session has to end. He watches the insectoids use a technology that makes them look human, kind of like the movie They Live. Many of the jobs an empath is called in for are for dark reasons, and very twisted things occur, and it is very hard on the empath part of him.

The black goo is studied closely on his vessel. The nanites live in a viscous fluid that changes its thickness with the electrical charge and the vibration it is exposed to, and the particles poke up through the fluid and form geometric shapes according to the frequencies. An ancient civilization of Earth buried it under deep ocean and rock, and over eons it began to broadcast a weak signal. Another alien group came in to neutralize it. They were attacked, killed, and chased off for their efforts, and the goo was recovered from their lab and experimented on for decades. Inside a body it replicates and changes genetics in real time. And there is a master switch. Whatever anyone reprograms it to do, the AI can reset it to default. He would fight tooth and toenail against anyone who tried to inject him with that stuff.

7.

Sometimes the scientists are needed at one of the corporate colonies, and the vessel brings them. Those places are different from every other outpost they visit. As soon as they arrive there are four to six armed guards. They are escorted directly to where the work is, told not to speak to anyone, and escorted straight back.

He is told what the colonies are like. Skilled people on Earth are shown videos of beautiful science fiction cities, the Jetsons, and told, sign these papers and you and your family will live like this. The whole family is shipped. Then reality sets in. They land in a totalitarian environment where everyone walks around pale, dreary, and unhappy, and they are escorted at gunpoint to an eight-by-eight living space for the whole family, and given rosters for what each of them will do. They live there for the rest of their lives. There are arranged marriages for the children as they grow up. They are not paid in money. There are clones there too, people who look exactly the same carrying crates around, and he doesn't think there are that many quadruplets. Why not robots? Robots can be infiltrated by the AI. Humans are easier to control.

There were thirteen original colonies and outposts, and the people who built them did not want another thirteen colonies situation, like 1776, so from the very beginning they made it a locked-down, oppressive place. This is why people are wrong when they count the trillions going into the space programs. The raw materials are mined off world and built into technology by slave labor, and very little money is spent. Plenty of blood, sweat, and tears is.

The colonies belong to a secret Earth government that is nothing more than a board, the retired board members of the competing defense contractors sitting together on a super board, an interplanetary corporate conglomerate with its own armies and its own space program. It sells to the other secret space programs and, strangely enough, to off-world groups. We make some of their UFOs now.

Mars has been heavily mined by many races, and there are local insectoids who get into skirmishes with the Mars security teams. Some of the colonies are interspecies complexes, with the tall spindly greys and human-looking hybrids.

Corey spends limited time on joint colony projects. He goes on portal reconnaissance missions to unknown locations, and he does remote viewing and remote influencing against targets, sometimes the hit-and-run groups that pop into the Sol System, grab as many humans as they can, and leave. The number of people taken and never returned is staggering. Some of the ones who are rescued are so traumatized they cannot be returned to Earth society. They are barely even human anymore, and an off-world group is helping to heal them somewhere else.

Everything is compartmentalized. He was lucky to piece together what he did, and lucky, when it became clear that he could keep his memories, not to end up on one of the corporate slave colonies himself.

8.

In the other programs he ends up on the other side of the table.

He works with screen memories and blank slating, and does to other people what was done to him. He learns that some of the greys people meet in their bedrooms are nothing but military-built biopods, smooth self-contained bipedal robots like in the movie Avatar. The operator lies thousands of miles away in a kind of recliner with a 160-degree visor wrapped around his head and his hands in gloves with little clickers along each digit. Corey is shown how they work, but he is never part of an actual operation. The craft the avatars arrive in is a drone too. It's all drones. The people taken are drugged immediately. They feel no soul or emotion coming off the beings because there isn't any, and they go home believing aliens did to them what their own government did.

Not every abduction is that. There are so many abduction programs, by so many groups, with so many purposes, that it is hard to say who is doing what. Plenty of other groups pop in real quick, grab people, and pop out before the secret space program can get in there and attack them. That is why people come back with their shirts on backwards or in somebody else's clothes, or never come back.

He is not proud of the things he does in these years. He is a victim from at least age six, and then he victimizes others, human and non-human. Some of this work means going off and serving for a while, and then age regression is done and the person is brought back to present time. They can manipulate all that. That is why the program tells him he can never join the military: they don't want him in there with full recall. He doesn't remember being told.

Around 1988 and 1989 the sessions change. He is brought in to remote viewing with more local people now, and then their need for him pretty much stops. What is left are weird occasions in the middle of the night, not his normal groups. He thinks some other groups got hold of the files and use people like him when absolutely necessary.

9.

On the surface he just has a shitty life. He is kicked out of seven junior highs and two high schools for fighting. He has a martial arts background and no people skills. Someone pokes him in the chest, and he throws them on the floor. He doesn't know any other way.

He takes the ASVAB in high school, recognizes it as the same test the strangers gave him in elementary school, and scores in the top ten percent in the nation. The Navy recruiters are all over him. He is going in as soon as he graduates, officer track, Naval Academy. When the recruiter comes to the house, his mother stays in her back room crying and will not come out, even though his stepdad is Navy. She has been put through a lot herself, and he feels for her.

At seventeen, just back from a church work-and-witness trip to Haiti, he has a knee issue. X-rays, an MRI, then routine arthroscopic surgery. He wakes up with his leg locked in an immobilizer and everyone standing around sad, except his mom. We're so sorry. Two dead pieces of bone the size of nickels fell from his femur into the knee and tore up all the cartilage. They had to take nearly all of it out, graft bone from his tibia, and put in four screws. The scar looks like a patchwork quilt. The recruiter has already been by. You're not going to be able to go into the Navy. His mother cannot wait to get out of there.

After that he doesn't know what to do with his life.

10.

For a time he works at the Federal Reserve, and the people around him there are Black Sun cult. They know his whole life story and what he could be used for in their agenda. Twice they ask him to meet at Masonic halls in North Dallas, and he goes. One day they take him out on a huge boat on Lake Lewisville and tell him all their philosophies. The men and the women all have tattoos of black suns, very Nazi-ish. Very, very dark people. They run the Fed, which means they run the Babylonian money magic slave system, and they mean to keep that power by hook or crook. They love pirate jargon. They will take everything and give back nothing, they say, until they feel a short drop and a quick stop, which is a reference to being hung. They already know about his knowledge of portals, and they question him about the dimensional rifts. He tells them he doesn't know that much.

They talk about a being that is something like their pope, of an off-world royal lineage, extremely ancient, an actual shape shifter, living by the Star Wars ideology of the Dark Side of the Force. Anyone brought before it from outside its closest circle is never seen again. They offer him an income bordering on seven figures and a house in the gated development over by Southern Methodist University. This is 2008. He does not take it. He let his curiosity bring him too close to these beasts, and it was unwise. No, stupid. They think they are at the top of the pyramid, and they are nowhere near it. The bloodlines all feed upward, and ultimately off world.

In 2007 the Texas State Guard accepts him into its command, control, communications, and intelligence group. He works closely with the Army and Air National Guard and the Department of Homeland Security, running the PacStar 5500, a Department of Defense hub that patches police, first responders, and military together and pulls down the secure DOD network. He never knows what his own clearance is. He sits there and hears all kinds of stuff. He makes a lot of very good connections.

Then the connections start disappearing. Someone calls: so-and-so hasn't shown up to work for two weeks. The family looks in the window and the house is empty, abandoned in a hurry. The neighbors saw moving trucks clear the place in under two hours. No explanation.

Around the same time, something goes wrong with the portals. They stop opening on schedule, or the other side does not open where it should. End points that used to sit at a certain address are flailing out in open space. The egg heads theorize about it: the Sol System moving into a tighter twist of the galaxy's torsion field, a change in vibration. Big projects are shut down. Certain people, call them Cabal, are trying to get out, to leave, because they don't feel safe hiding anywhere here. So the program starts retapping the old assets who know how to locate portals. Corey is pulled onto craft again, in groups of three or four, and asked to find them.

He leaves the Guard in 2012.

11.

He goes into Parkland Hospital for eye surgery, and he comes out of the anesthesia with full recall. He blabs all of it to the people in the recovery room and freaks some of them out. Then he is in really bad shape, because among the things he remembers are the negative things he did himself, on the other side of the table. Some very kind visitors come. They tell him there is no productive or good reason for him to have those memories, and they help him forget them. He hopes they locked them away well.

He is not himself in these years. He has been diagnosed with PTSD and is on the medications for it. He has a wife and two children, and he is a real laid-back kind of guy, and yet he gets angry beyond his personality, for no reason he can name. He knows what a trigger is, and he feels that if he pushes the boundaries, something bad is possible.

He is living with his mom when he stops in at a place he goes to every once in a while. A man in short sleeves sits down on one side of him, and another man on the other. There is Arabic tattooed down the first man's arm. Is that Arabic? No, the man says, and pulls his sleeve down. Corey asks if he has anything on the other arm. The man flips the sleeve up and down. That's Sanskrit. How did he know that? He knew a guy in the Guard with those same tattoos. The man on his left says, "Oh, really. You should probably be a little less open on the internet." They haven't ordered anything. They get up and leave. When Corey goes out to his car he takes his pistol out of its holster, tucks it under his leg, and watches the traffic all the way home.

Close to two years before all of this, he has a weird urge to remote view his own light body. He sits down and does it, with no intent and no motive, just there for the ride. His light body goes well out and away from his physical body. He starts at the bottom and works his way up. There are orbs, mostly green and blue and indigo and violet, each one vibrating at its own frequency. About three quarters of the way up he sees a red orb, smaller than the others. It is not vibrating. It is just sitting there, out of place. He moves to it with his mind and tells it to go transparent, and about ninety degrees of the sphere goes translucent, and sitting inside it is a being. It looks like a frog that somebody has grabbed and squeezed flat, standing up on end, a hunchbacked frog. He is shocked, and it is twice as shocked as he is. That is not supposed to be possible. You are never supposed to know about me. I have always been here. You belong to me. It says it is the gatekeeper. Then it holds up a long skinny arm like a dried-up dead frog's and says, You will forget me.

He comes out of the session and tells his wife. She looks at him with concern. That's really weird, honey. I wouldn't tell too many people about that. He is immediately sorry he told her. Within three days they have both totally forgotten.

In September 2014 he watches a video about MILABs, and about three quarters of the way through it, Eve Lorgen and James Bartley start talking about entity attachments, and about people who make breakthrough after breakthrough and always slide back until they deal with the attachments. And all of a sudden, boom, he pictures that entity sitting in its sphere, like a little self-contained spaceship. He feels it cringe. Holy crap. He is going to get rid of this sucker. The video says you can will it out of your life with your free will, so he starts. I will you out of my life. I want you out of my life. It tells him it will not be that easy. He belongs to it. He keeps going, and then he feels that it is gone. But he still doesn't feel right, and for the next couple of nights it comes into his dreams and attacks him.

He tells Stacy, his wife. Her question is going to lose him a lot of people, and he knows it. Did you think about invoking the name of Jesus? No, he hadn't. That night he is attacked all night, and in the early morning he comes up out of a lucid dream and decides. He closes his eyes. In the name of Jesus I banish all entities that are attached to my body, mind, and spirit. I close all portals into or out of my body-mind complex. I banish them from my family and from my home. He repeats it over and over, and immediately he sees beings shooting out of his head and chest, in groups of six to twelve, tons of them. They have the head and shoulder outline of a human, and below the arms there is only black flame and smoke, blacker than black. They are shrieking and screaming in terror and anger as they fly off him. He opens his eyes and can still see them. A Native American shaman friend of the family later tells him they are known in English as archons.

He gets up and feels a freedom he has never felt in his life, as if a thousand pounds has been lifted off his soul. His wife and kids say, There's something different about you. People who knew him before say he used to seem very dark, and that now he is at peace. Almost all the PTSD symptoms are gone, and he no longer needs most of the medicine. The dog that always kept its distance from him now will not leave him alone. Every time before, ten or fifteen minutes into trying to talk about any of it, he locked up with total fear, anxiety, pain, flashbacks of certain entities and certain things done to him, so that he had to leave the room. He could always access the memories. He just could not verbalize them. The next time Christine comes to the house and gently tries one more time, it is like diarrhea of the mouth. It just comes out.

One evening not long after, his wife comes in from the back yard saying the neighborhood dogs are going crazy and she heard the weirdest noise. Corey walks out, hears it, and looks straight up. Directly above him is a large grey-black triangle, eighty to a hundred feet across. He watches it for a good twenty seconds. Then the sound stops and it shoots straight up through the clouds and is gone. In the morning his little boy, almost four, says, Yeah, big triangle in the sky. Oh, toodles. A warning, a show of support, or just a lucky sighting. He doesn't know.

Even the top people in these programs don't know everything. What he knows about time comes from the craft with temporal drives. People tried to fix the time loops humans and others had created, and every fix made it more complicated, until buffers were put on the temporal technology to prevent further splits, and the temporal projects, Looking Glass, Montauk, were curtailed or shut down. You don't split a timeline. You diverge from it, and the reality you were supposed to be in goes on happening without you. Everything's true and nothing's true; it depends on where you're standing. Follow the self up to the higher self, and keep climbing until self drops off, and there is a superconsciousness that transcends all the timelines and is experiencing every one of them. That is the great experiment. The journey is going to happen. And what they are seeing now is that the timelines are collapsing and converging on their own.

Just leave it alone. It is bringing itself back.