The Agency

by David Marr

Important Note: Whenever you see the words "I", "my", or "me", know that I identify the memory as mine to draw it out of the original personality. All of these memories(or just about all) are from Michael. Essentially, practicing my technique allowed me access to them. Anytime that I say "my front (alter)", I am really talking about me, David.

I don’t talk about this lightly, as this is probably the most sensitive and dangerous section of programming that I have. I was recruited to the C.I.A. somewhere between the ages of 5-7. My mom drove me in the family car to an appointment after school; she wouldn’t tell me what it was about. When we got there, I didn’t want to go in, and my mom started yelling at me. I just suspected that something bad might happen in this building. I finally acquiesced and walked with her up the ramp to the entrance. She told me to wait in the chair in the dark lobby while she went to a meeting with someone. While I was waiting, a man came up to me out of nowhere, crouched down next to me, and said he wanted to talk about some important things with me. He wanted to know if I wanted to be a secret agent, and if I would like to join the C.I.A. As usual, I didn’t want to rush to a decision; I preferred to wait and think about it, but he kept on giving me this sales pitch about how fun and exciting it could be. I really didn’t trust this guy. It wasn’t necessarily anything he said, but his manner seemed a lot like the people who abused me. Because of the pressure he was putting on me, I knew that I had no choice but to comply and say yes.

The building that all of this took place in would be known to me as the C.I.A. training facility for the area (Orange County). It is in a nondescript building on a street off of Segerstrom in Santa Ana, right across from the BEHR Paints building. It has loading docks for transporting illicit items- what looks like a home appliance operation. It also has a lawn on the other side near the entrance with the name “Tru-Top” printed in it.

At this building, I was introduced to a variety of agents- some who were close to my age, working in similar jobs. The man who hired me also showed me the loading docks- the bread and butter of their operations. Many things were hidden in these appliances, as they were disassembled and reconfigured. Everyone seemed to be so friendly. That is, at first.

On at least one occasion, they took advantage of my transferable skills as a guard (from all of the knight training). I was to wait around the bottom of a staircase located in the back of the building. At regular intervals, I was supposed to walk upstairs, open the door at the top, and walk out onto a porch/ ledge (there was no staircase attached to it on the outside), and look for any suspicious activity. I had to do this on a precise set of timing, or one of the adult agents would yell at me and punish me. They would look at me through a large glass window on one side of the building (behind the lobby), eyeing me like a hawk. I felt both fear and hatred toward them.

I also had a few meetings at the aforementioned, main BEHR Paints building. Interestingly enough, my front alter was given a job here a couple of decades ago, and he didn’t realize it was the C.I.A. building until after 4 months of work there. The lower level is normal enough, albeit with some invading cameras, as it is run like any paint company is. The upper level, however, is off-limits to regular employees (unless they are also an agent -which is common). The only visible means of accessing the top floor seemed to be from the outside, near the parking lot and train tracks, where a staircase stretches across the blue face of the wall to an unlabeled door. As an agent, I had to sometimes meet people up there. The first time I went up, I knocked, and a rough-looking guy answered and basically gave me the third-degree, and wondered “what the hell” I was doing there. I kept on giving him my contact’s name, and he sent someone to ask for him while he kept his beady eyes on me. When the contact finally came, he reprimanded the guard for giving me a hard time, and informed him that I was an important, intelligent kid who deserved some respect. Then he smiled and took me back to another office. I believe I also had training partially in the adjacent “Behr” parking lot when I learned how to tail someone and/or “drop a tag”.

One my earlier experiences as an agent was on my 12th birthday, when I was at Hayman Island in the Coral Reef of Australia. My grandmother (the Dutch one) took my brother and I to the 5-star hotel there. It was still in its final construction phase (the Chinese restaurant had not been completed). My front alter remembers sleeping a lot while I was here: now I know why. It’s hard to differentiate which experiences were specific to my CIA alter (color-coded brown, but Michael was out too), but I’ll list them all anyway. One time, I had to report for a job assisting patrons at the Italian restaurant. I remember that a certain group of businessmen wanted to meet with me at their table. Another time was on the night of my birthday, and I was with some of the adults partying in the open-air beachside bar. A couple of guys and a few girls were sitting with me on the main couch, and they kept on having the bartender make me drinks, and he was happy to do so. Needless to say, I don’t remember a whole lot immediately after that. Yet another time, I was at one of the nice beach villas, waiting around the private pool with my brother while my grandmother had a meeting with some of the Illuminati big-whigs. I remember interrupting their meeting to ask to use the bathroom, and my grandmother was mighty cross with me.

My missions weren’t all fun and games; in fact, most of them weren’t. On my trip to Europe with my family in 1982, we visited Paris in France. During this time, my father somehow was given clearance to enter into The Elysees Palace with me. We came to a main reception area, where a large group of politicians were socializing. Dad immediately introduced me to two men. They revealed themselves to be C.I.A. agents, and the said, “We have a special mission for you, Agent Orange (a pun on my ancestral House of). We need you to recover something for us.” I knew that I couldn’t refuse to do it, so I complied. They told me to wait on one of the chairs against the wall in the adjoining darkened hallway, next to the restroom. They told me to wait there for a man who would have some kind of book (organizer?) in his hand; they described his features to me. They gave me detailed instructions on what to do after that. When I saw him exiting the restroom, I grabbed the book out of his hand and ran across the reception area to another large room that had chairs set up for presentations. I ran and jumped through this sea of chairs and passed by an older man sitting in the middle. I surreptitiously dropped the book next to him, per my instructions. The guards had been alerted, and had already started chasing me through the mess of chairs, but they did not see me drop the book. I was apprehended shortly thereafter, and brought to an interrogation area in the front of the palace. They didn’t get any information out of me, and after a great deal of red tape between governments, a few hours later my father was able to release me and escort me away.

One particularly awful mission was when they were training me in guarding a prisoner and employing interrogation techniques. It took place in what appeared to be a closed-down government building, but I’m not sure where it was. The center of the building consisted of a large courtyard. On each side were some elevated doors with short sets of stairs leading to them. They had prisoners in at least a few of the rooms behind these doors. I remember my trainer tried to give me a run-down of different torture techniques -in a cold, heartless manner. He wanted to see how I did with the prisoners that we had, which happened to be a pastor and his daughter at the time. He told me to mess a little bit with the young daughter. I couldn’t do it because my conscience started eating away at me, as the pastor started screaming at me to leave his daughter alone. My trainer got upset and took the guy into another room; he may have executed him. I couldn’t handle much more of this, so he had me wait in the courtyard all night watching the door. I remember visiting the vending machine in there at least once.

Another time, I was in my college years - perhaps it was my first year of college. My M.O. that first year (*latest timeline) was to skip class and fall asleep in the living room chair watching daytime T.V., which I did on this occasion. Some other alter drove me to my destination, which was the parking structure of some fancy corporate building(or civic center?). As the CIA alter, I awoke in my car with a throbbing migraine. I knew I had to meet someone over on the sidewalk. Sure enough, a girl about my age met me out in front of the building, asking my name. After confirmation, she related my mission to perform inside. I was supposed to get some information from a man eating lunch in one of the inside restaurants. With haste, I left her and walked into the building, smiling flirtingly at the receptionists, but not stopping. I walked up a corridor to an open area where there was a small restaurant on the side. I asked the hostess to page the guy I was looking for. He came to the front, and he didn’t look happy to have to talk to me. I asked him some questions, and it turned ugly into a confrontation. When I got as much info as I could, I injured the guy somehow, and he fell to the ground (I was lifting weights regularly during this time, but I was always a good fighter). A lady who saw the whole thing just looked at me in an utterly appalled way, but I just walked briskly out of there. The receptionists still hadn’t heard what happened, so I smiled at them again as I left. I was never caught.

I also had a regular assignment at the Santa Ana Civic Center, at one the other sections of buildings across from the main one, where there is a Starbuck’s Coffee located now. In the Starbuck’s building, there are a number of offices for lawyers. It has a main lobby that is two-storied with an open courtyard. I was assigned to facilitate security measures in this building from time to time. I would enter the building and meet with a woman in one of the downstairs offices that had windows for walls. I would patrol the upstairs and downstairs lobby areas. I became quite friendly with the workers there, and I remember talking to the worker in the gift(?) shop quite a bit. Something very troubling happened here once between the other contacts and myself, and I stormed out of the building.

Next door to that building was another office complex with a fountain and small garden area out front. I remember on particular time that my CIA trainer and I were seated next to the walkway in the fountain area. He was trying to get me to do something, but I refused to do it because I didn’t have the mental or physical energy to perform it. This was because suffering from severe depression at the time (*latest timeline), a condition that afflicted the entirety of me, including my front self. He got irritated at me and started talking to one of the female agents, and then somehow made a fool of me in front of all of the people in the area.

The skill that the agency most used me for was robbery. It would not be uncommon for them to call me up in the middle of the night to pick a lock or disable an alarm system.

On one horrific and tragic occasion, the CIA sent myself and an accomplice to break into a house, and steal a certain item. I disabled the alarm, but the police happened to be in the area and came to check out the house. Obviously, our other contact did not ensure that the patrol would not be there, like they were supposed to. As my partner and I were climbing the stairway, the two policemen burst in, and told us to freeze. My partner freaked out and pulled his gun out to shoot the officers. They shot and killed him before he could pull the trigger. At that point, my MK-Ultra programming ("kill or be killed" programming) shifted into consciousness, and overrode all of the personalities. My body subsequently proceeded to kill both officers, one after the other. This programming is an emergency section that has no emotion attached to it, and is extremely quick and precise. The CIA was called immediately, and they sent over a man to help clean up. He removed the bodies, and I cleaned up blood stains on the stairway carpet with some kind of miracle (not available to public) cleaner that completely cleaned it. I was also told to wipe down the railings and everything else to remove fingerprints. I was shaking beyond belief doing all of this. The man just kept on yelling at me about what a mess I'd made, even though he knew it was the MK-Ultra programming that did it. The other agents in charge were surprised at how well that programming worked. They just told me that I would have to keep a low profile for a while, and would have to cancel a few musical performances. I'm not sure what they did about the squad car.

What especially riddled me with guilt, if that weren't enough, was that I worked arm in arm with the local police department in my hometown, by the CIA's discretion. I remember at least one occasion where the police rounded up about ten gang members at the Justice Center in Santa Ana, and they had me rough up the ones who wouldn't comply. I then helped escort them inside. A few other occasions, I reported to the back door for duty. That's all I remember of the place right now.

When I visited Tehachapi, on at least one occasion, a relative would drive me to the deep underground military base that is in the area. It is in a gigantic building on the side of a hill, with a very large dome. It is positioned in the back of what appears to be some type of oil refinery or factory. My relative would drive up a private road until he was by the dirt mound in front of the factory, then he would let me out.

Per my instructions, I hiked up the mound past the factory to the domed building, and walked inside. Two CIA agents met me inside the entrance, and also revealed themselves to have high military ranks. They escorted me into a vast, expansive room with towering supercomputers on one wall. We walked through an armed security checkpoint, and brought me to a new job they had for me. They introduced me to my supervisor, who was a rather stern and strict man, and I sat down at one of the smaller individual computers. This was in a line of other computers that many other kids were sitting at. Our job was to perform some type of complex computation with our little computer, which then interacted with the gigantic supercomputers. I talked a bit with the kids around me, which got me into trouble with my boss. We seemed to argue quite frequently. One of the kids had been held there for a while (weeks?) against his will, and he was desperate to leave. At one point, I became so sick of the job and my boss, and felt so sorry for the other boy, that I tried to smuggle him past security- and then let him make a break for it. Unfortunately, as soon as I got him past the main security doors, he didn't run fast enough, and was caught. Subsequently, I was taken off the assignment and reprimanded.