Chapter 23: Organized Resistance

Devon Martinez sat in the back corner of the Dunkin’ Donuts on Federal Hill, laptop open, surrounded by empty coffee cups and the manic energy of someone who hadn’t slept in three days. His Reddit post had gone viral: “Mass Psychosis Event in Providence - What They Don’t Want You to Know.”

Fourteen thousand upvotes. Three hundred comments. And counting.

Finally someone talking sense, wrote u/TruthSeeker_RI. My girlfriend started acting weird too. Painting all night, ignoring my texts, saying she doesn’t need to explain herself anymore.

Same here, replied u/BosTechBro. Coworkers just stopping showing up. HR says it’s a “mental health crisis” but this is organized. Look at the power grid failures - those aren’t random.

Devon scrolled through the responses, feeling validation wash over him like a drug. He wasn’t crazy. Other people were seeing it too—the sudden personality changes, the coordinated infrastructure breakdowns, the way normal people were becoming… something else.

His phone buzzed. Another missed call from his mom, probably wondering why he’d stopped coming to family dinners. Another text from his boss asking when he’d be back to work. Another message from his therapist about “missed appointments” and “concerning behavior.”

They didn’t understand. While everyone else was sleepwalking into whatever this mass hypnosis event was, Devon was documenting the evidence. Someone had to stay awake.

He opened a new browser tab and started typing:

PROVIDENCE AWAKENING: COORDINATED PSYOP OR MASS HYSTERIA?

Day 6 of systematic documentation. The pattern is undeniable. Power failures concentrated along specific geographic lines (see attached map). Communication disruptions targeting specific demographics (educated, urban, ages 18-45). Personality changes following predictable progression: social withdrawal, rejection of career/family obligations, claims of “hearing music” or “feeling vibrations.”

This is not random. This is engineered.

He uploaded screenshots of social media posts from people describing similar experiences, maps showing the power outage patterns, photos he’d secretly taken of Priya’s paintings—evidence of the coordinated nature of whatever was happening to people’s minds.

His laptop screen flickered. Just for a second, but enough to make his heart race. They were monitoring him. Had to be.

The door chimed, and Marcus Thompson walked in—ex-military, one of the few people Devon had found who took this seriously. Marcus had responded to his original post with his own stories about “behavioral modifications” he’d witnessed in his neighborhood.

“How’s the documentation going?” Marcus slid into the booth across from him.

“Good. Really good.” Devon turned his laptop around to show the post. “Look at the engagement. People are waking up to what’s really happening.”

Marcus scrolled through the comments, his expression darkening. “Some of these responses… they’re defending it. Like they want this to happen.”

This is beautiful, one comment read. Finally people are remembering who they really are.

Stop fighting it, wrote another. The resistance is what causes suffering.

Devon, if you’re reading this, Priya is fine. She’s just not yours to control anymore. - A friend

Devon’s hands clenched. “That last one—someone’s been watching me. They know about Priya.”

“Or it’s Priya herself, messing with your head.”

“No, she wouldn’t… this isn’t her writing style.” Devon stared at the comment, trying to trace the user profile, but it was completely blank. Created yesterday, no other activity.

“We need to organize,” Marcus said. “Find others who aren’t affected. Create safe spaces for people who want to resist whatever this conditioning is.”

Devon nodded, already opening a new document. “I’m thinking support groups. Information networks. Maybe some kind of intervention protocol for people in the early stages.”

“What about going public? Real media, not just social media?”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Devon pulled up another tab showing local news websites. “But look at the coverage. Radio silence. Like they’ve been instructed not to report on the pattern.”

The screen flickered again, longer this time. When it stabilized, his viral post was gone. Completely removed from Reddit, along with his account.

“What the fuck?” Devon frantically refreshed the page, tried logging back in. Account suspended. Reason: “Coordinated inauthentic behavior.”

“They’re silencing us,” Marcus said quietly.

Devon’s mind raced. This proved it. The coordination went all the way up—social media platforms, news organizations, probably government agencies. A systematic campaign to suppress anyone documenting the truth about what was happening to people’s minds.

“We need to go analog,” he said. “Flyers. Face-to-face meetings. Build a network they can’t just delete.”

Marcus nodded. “I know people. Veterans mostly. Guys who don’t trust authority, won’t go down easy.”

Devon started writing on a legal pad, his handwriting shaky from too much caffeine and adrenaline:

PROVIDENCE RESISTANCE NETWORK
For people who refuse to surrender their minds

Are you experiencing: - Friends/family members with sudden personality changes? - Unexplained infrastructure failures in your area?
- Pressure to “let go” or “stop resisting” natural responses? - Censorship when trying to discuss these patterns online?

You are not alone. You are not crazy. Something is happening to our community, and we have the right to choose our own minds.

First meeting: Saturday 8PM, Community Center Room B Bring evidence. Bring witnesses. Bring your questions. Together we stay human.

He looked up at Marcus. “Think anyone will show?”

“More than you expect. People are scared. They just don’t know it’s okay to be scared yet.”

Devon’s phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: The fear you’re organizing around is the cage you’re building for yourself. There’s another way. - K

He showed Marcus the message.

“Block the number,” Marcus said immediately.

But as Devon started to delete it, something in the message made him pause. Not the words themselves, but the way reading them made his chest feel—not tighter with anxiety, but somehow… looser. Like a breath he’d been holding for days.

He shook his head, deleted the message, and went back to writing flyers.

Outside the Dunkin’ Donuts, the humming grew stronger, calling to parts of Providence that were ready to remember what they’d forgotten. But inside, surrounded by empty coffee cups and conspiracy theories, Devon built his walls higher and prepared for war.