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good-chimes · 10 months ago

Text

[HOTGUY!] HAS ONE NEW MAIL

Users with permissions to this shared mailbox:

Bdubs (role: Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes, Actor). Last login: Today.

Cub (role: Hotguy PR Agent). Last login: Today.

Scar (role: IT’S ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE ONE AND ONLY!). Last login: 215 days ago.

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: are you there?

is this hotguy’s email? i thought you were coming on patrol?

Why do you NEVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE

-cg

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To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub (if that’s your real name),

Now that you’ve been working for Scar for several weeks, I realized I never sent you any AGENCY INTRODUCTION documents. That’s okay! None of us are perfect, despite what you might feel when you look at me.

For your ENJOYMENT and EDUCATION, here are:

The Founding Principles of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

1. Bdubs is Scar’s favorite employee.

1a. Bdubs is also Hotguy’s favorite employee DESPITE the fact he does not technically work for Hotguy, and no upstart new PR agent is going to change that.

2. Hotguy’s identity is a secret. You must never reveal that we both work for the same person. Take it to your grave if you have to.

3. However, if you see someone talking shit online about Hotguy or Scar you should immediately defend his honor. I often do this and you can see the results in the shared folder admin\arguments_bdubs_has_won. You might not be as good as me at winning debates on the internet—don’t worry!! I can give you tips.

4. Here at the agency, we have the HIGHEST STANDARDS in responding to emails from the public. I noticed there are SEVERAL HUNDRED UNANSWERED EMAILS sent to Hotguy’s addresses that redirect to our shared mailbox. Scar is a very busy man! It is YOUR JOB to clear these out.

5. We are open and helpful with everyone. Except hostile journalists. And the TCG. And the tax authorities. And anyone who might want Scar to do anything unreasonable like ‘be on time for something’. Keep this in mind as you go through the inbox.

All The Best!!!

Bdubs

P.S. I have noticed that admin\important_documents is now full of files called ‘virus1.exe’ ‘virus2 (gov encryption).exe’ ‘virus3 (might be sentient).exe’ etc. Explain this!?

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To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: RE: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Yeah man cool this all sounds great

Scar seems to have a few email addresses that feed into here. i’ve sent replies according to which one the public emailed:

[email protected] — i replied to some of these but then i kinda got bored and started sending links to cool space facts instead. People will appreciate these i’m sure.

[email protected] — sent everyone a bulk reply of “Thank you for EMAILING_HOTGUY!! Hotguy loves you!”

[email protected] — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume

[email protected] — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume minus the shirt

[email protected] — sent everyone who gave their address some trick arrows. Only some of them will explode.

[email protected] — redirected this one to spam

[email protected] — also redirected this one to spam. replying to the IRS just encourages them.

inbox zero, my friend. we’re ready for the next concerned citizen to write to us. Let’s go.

Cheers,

Cub

P.S. don’t worry about the viruses. Just a hobby. they’re in \important_documents because I needed a folder that scar never clicks on.

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To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub,

Interesting. INTERESTING.

Don’t think you’re going to work your way into Scar’s affections with CLEVER VIRUSES and SHIRTLESS PICS OF HIMSELF. I see your game.

I’ve been Scar’s agent for years and I think when things heat up you might find this job too hot to handle.

All the Best!!!!

Bdubs

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

Subject: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy (civilian identity unknown),

We are currently undertaking a review of your recent vigilante activities as ‘Hotguy’.

Vigilantes (‘heroes’) are encouraged to protect citizens and cooperate with the TCG. For this we require vigilantes to regularly communicate with their TCG liaisons, attend emergencies on request, and support law enforcement operations.

None of our emails to <[email protected]> have been answered—I was going to say ‘in some time’, but I checked our file on you, and it turns out the right word is ‘ever’. You have never answered an email from the TCG. I am sure you can see why this is an issue.

We do admittedly have some difficulty getting vigilantes to ever listen to us, but this is a new low in obstructionism.

We have requested your assistance in investigating thefts from two biotech laboratories, vandalism at a local redstone supplies shop, and multiple call-outs to security incidents at Mumbocorp. You have completely ignored all of these requests. We note you have instead caused widespread chaos, disrupted several TCG operations, and at one point impersonated the Mayor in order to trick ‘Doctor M’ into purchasing a non-existent bridge.

May I remind you that vigilante activity is only legal insofar as we decline to prosecute heroes for property damage. Kindly reach out to our liaison department immediately so we can work together on collaborative action under the direction of the correct authorities.

On behalf of Head Agent V. Berger,

Special Officer #49

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: are you there?

who is answering hotguy’s emails and why have you sent me a list of top supernovas! this is NOT HELPFUL

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To: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Thank you for reaching out about the availability of Hotguy. Hotguy is unable to respond himself because he is rescuing kittens from tragically falling into rivers, an activity that has fully occupied him for the past eighteen months.

This is quite the list of criminal events, my friend. I thought the TCG had this kind of thing under control. It’s concerning that you don’t. Doesn’t make your TCG department look super great, huh?

Thinking about it, this really seems like something the Police Commissioner should know about. If you’ve lost the Commissioner’s email address, don’t worry. I found it on a forum.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy’s PR Agent,

I understand as a law-abiding Hermitopia resident, you may be alarmed at descriptions of disorder intended for Hotguy’s eyes only. Please do not be concerned. We also strongly recommend you do not forward this chain to the Police Commissioner. As you will see from the news, the city is peaceful and everything is completely under control.

Kind Regards,

Special Officer #49

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

THERE ARE THREE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH LASERS ON FIFTH STREET

tell hotguy to call me he’s not picking up!!!

-cg

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To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Regrettably Hotguy is not available as he is escorting orphans to the North Pole to tour Santa’s workshop.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

it’s JULY

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To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Hotguy believes in being prepared

is this really cuteguy? what’s going on?

-Cub

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i was coming back from patrol and going to pick up my pizza. i always get pizza, cub, you have to understand this is an important part of patrol.

when i turn the corner to my normal pizza place there are

AT LEAST FIVE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH BEAK-MOUNTED LASERS

ALL OVER THE STREET

BETWEEN ME AND MY PIZZA

they’re milling around and scratching like someone just dumped them here. whenever they squawk they burn a tiny hole in the nearest wall. i tried to get near one to look at the device on their beaks and i nearly got my finger burned off.

now i’m on a roof. i want my PIZZA, cub. i’m a close-range fighter and i’m not getting up close with a laser chicken. this seems like a hotguy problem!

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Helloooo,

My name is Pearl Moon, and I’m a reporter with the Hermit Herald. I heard Hotguy has a new PR agent at this address. I’m not going to lie, I’m delighted. Hotguy’s a great guy for a quote, obviously, but getting hold of him is kind of a nightmare.

I’m at the scene of the Eighth Annual Fried Donut Festival. I’m contacting you because a citizen running a stall has allegedly just seen a, I quote, “weaponized chicken”.

According to them, it shot an “adorable laser” into their supplies, punctured a hole in their fruit toppings cooler, and ran under the stalls. I’ve been on this beat for a while and this sounds like a Doctor Monster or a Zedaph special to me. Personally, my money’s on Doc.

I know your client and Doctor Monster go back a long way, so I was wondering if we might see Hotguy himself swooping in?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

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To: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Concerned Journalist,

Thank you for your email. As you know, Hotguy is currently in Canada fighting smallpox by shooting individual bacteria with a special crossbow, for which he has received a commendation from their Prime Minister.

I’ve just contacted him to get a quote about the chicken and he definitely said, “Seems bad.”

Enjoy the festival! Feel free to send Hotguy a souvenir donut box to my address.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

there’s some kind of festival with crowds of civilians going on in the next street. the chickens are wandering towards it. to make everything worse, i think i saw a newsreader van.

this is funny but also very bad.

i’m going to see if i can lead the chickens away from the festival with some bait, since hotguy’s obviously too busy admiring his own biceps in the mirror to help. i’ve got half a granola bar and an apple core. this is going to work really well for eight hundred chickens. here goes nothing.

if hotguy wakes up from his afternoon nap, you can tell him we didn’t even need him.

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Cub,

I’m pretty sure Canada doesn’t have smallpox anymore. I don’t think anywhere has smallpox.

New update: Several hundred chickens have just erupted into the festival from a side street. They all appear to have lasers. The sheer weight of poultry has overturned two artisan donut stalls, which has caused what I’m going to describe as “mass panic” as people try and avoid the laser beams. People screaming, people running, everything coated in a fine layer of powdered sugar. No injuries yet, but it looks like the Prize-Winning Triple Marshmallow Churro Donut display will never be the same again.

Also, I swear I just saw Cuteguy.

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i got ONE chicken with the granola bar and NOW IT’S DECIDED IT’S MY BEST FRIEND. it keeps trying to fly into my arms! this is not helping!!

its friends are now all over the stalls. the laser chicken breed has discovered a new staple food and it’s fried donuts. this is NOT my fault. clearly none of this is my fault.

oh god now there’s two TCG agents coming over to see what all the shouting is about. the chicken radius is growing. there’s a folk band on a bicycle and a chicken just launched itself into their tuba.

i’m going to try and round the rest of them up. keep the TCG off my back and tell hotguy to do ANYTHING HELPFUL AT ALL.

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Cuteguy is in the middle of a huge crowd of shouting people and appears to be clutching a chicken. Also, Doctor Monster has turned up. He’s trying to give a dramatic speech about his “evolved chickens” from a nearby rooftop through a loudhailer, but I’ll be honest, everyone seems more interested in Cuteguy.

#laserchickendisaster and #whereishotguy are trending on Chatter, but no sign of Hotguy yet! Sure he doesn’t want to give us a longer quote?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

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To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

I have a cool contraption that you could probably use for catching chickens. downside is you do need some plutonium. Not much but, like, not a legal amount.

Alternately i also have a great recipe for roast chicken

-Cub

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

we are not roasting these chickens, cub, the chickens have done nothing wrong!! And WHY DO YOU HAVE PLUTONIUM, WE TOLD YOU TO STOP THE DARK SCIENCE. DO SOMETHING USEFUL ABOUT THIS FESTIVAL SITUATION INSTEAD.

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Doctor Monster has now turned his loudhailer on Cuteguy and accused him of stealing his evolved chickens. He seems very upset. The Doctor has declined an interview, but I’ve got some incredible photos and the powdered sugar really suits him.

I’m trying to get a quote from Cuteguy but it’s quite difficult to even see him through the crowd, and the chickens, and the German street band, and the displaced donut vendors, and the TCG agents who are trying quite earnestly to get to him, and—did I mention—the chickens.

My camera team is getting some great footage, but do you know what his plan was here?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

everyone in the crowd thinks i own these chickens!! one of the chickens has set fire to a hot oil vat and a journalist is after me and an old lady keeps trying to hit me with her handbag!!!

DOC IS NOW TAKING POT SHOTS AT ME FOR NO REASON AT ALL. I HATE THIS JOB.

i’m behind cover

it won’t last

if you don’t get hotguy here now i’m never speaking to him again

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To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

nooo you’re doing great man, knocking it out the park. Doesn’t sound like you need Hotguy.

you’re a hero too, right?

-Cub

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

okay cub listen.

i don’t WANT hotguy. if i could fix this chicken situation without the city’s most annoying vigilante turning up to take the credit, believe me, i would have done it already.

but you know what hotguy can do? he can win the crowd. hotguy’s always on the right side. nobody would ever accuse hotguy of owning fifteen hundred laser chickens. he tells people about hope and teamwork stuff and they believe him.

oh god

the TCG are here and i’m apparently target number one.

they’ve just spotted me on this gazebo and i’ve got no good roof to jump to. i’ll have to make a run for it. if you don’t hear from me again, i might have got arrested.

hotguy spouts all that rubbish about teamwork, but hey, it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t believe in it himself!

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To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: what I’m about to suggest is legal

we should help him huh

do you know where scar is? like which cell phone towers might be close. I’ve got a map of the towers if you can give me a location.

-Cub

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To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: this sounds NOT legal

BDUBS TO THE RESCUE, AS ALWAYS. You’re welcome.

Scar is actually recording a snack commercial over on Twelfth Street. Details in projects\casting_directors_bdubs_is_not_feuding_with\dumb_projects_we_have_to_book_for_money\Sparkle!Cereal!

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To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: this is 100% legal white hat hacking definitely

okay I’ve remotely accessed Scar’s phone and put a klaxon on it. Should be audible two hundred yards away.

I’m gonna call him now.

-Cub

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update from your reporter on the ground (still no quote from the guy himself?)

Cuteguy has been showing great stamina in the chase that’s been going on. The camera crew is impressed!

He is currently being pursued by:

1. Doc

2. Doc’s cyborg guard robot

3. Two TCG agents

4. Three hundred and sixty chickens (approx.), one of which believes Cuteguy is its best friend

5. Several animal activists attempting to recapture the chickens

6. A bar crawl that seems to think they’re doing a parade and wanted to join in

7. A German band on a long bicycle with two clarinets and a man trying to shake a chicken out of his tuba

Cuteguy is…looking back over his shoulder?

Oh, wait! Situation update paused!

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

HE’S HERE

HE’S ACTUALLY HERE

FINALLY

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To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Hotguy has arrived!

He’s swooped in with three trick arrow shots that set off fireworks above the crowd, rappelled straight up to Doc on the roof, and started a fist fight with him. It’s very dramatic. I’m not sure he’s actually landing any of those blows.

Helpfully for Cuteguy, no one is looking at him anymore. He’s surreptitiously putting distance between himself and the TCG agents.

Doc is now making another speech while fighting Hotguy. If I’m honest, he seems pretty happy he’s finally getting the credit for his own evil plot. We’ve got a close-up on him. Doc would like us all to know that this is the future of poultry, the future of lasers, and possibly the future of donuts? Last part a bit unclear as at that point Hotguy threw his loudhailer off the roof.

Meanwhile, Cuteguy is trying to lure the chickens away from the civilians with pieces of donut. This would be working better if the crowd weren’t all shoving forwards to try to get a better look at Doc.

Doc has taken off on a jetpack declaring he’ll “be back!”. Hotguy has given him a thumbs up.

Oh, now Hotguy has finally caught on to what Cuteguy is trying to do and is chivvying the crowd to help herd the chickens away with donuts for bait. Donuts are flying. The crowd is now enthusiastically participating in this donut-tossing activity. The chickens are delighted. Hotguy has spotted our camera team chasing him and we’re getting a lot of that action-shot this-is-my-good-side pose.

Hotguy and Cuteguy work together pretty well when they get going, huh?

Now Hotguy has swung down to land in the middle of the crowd and put an arm around each of the TCG agents, who are heavily dusted in sugar and look somewhat sheepish. What a nicely framed shot! Almost as if Hotguy pushed them into position for the cameras.

Well, I suppose I’m writing an article about how much Hotguy helps the TCG.

Your client owes me one.

Doc’s guard robot has rounded up the chickens that Hotguy and Cuteguy have funneled back into a nearby alley. It seems to be putting them in large nets. The local pizza place has a sign that says RIGATONI JONES PIZZA: CLOSED DUE TO CHICKEN EMERGENCY, and for some reason Cuteguy seems upset about this. Excitement over, I suppose?

I do hope you tell Hotguy how helpful the Herald was! Next time he’s got a tip-off to share, just tell him to remember your friendly local journalist Pearl Moon.

He knows where to find me ;)

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: hmm

You know, Cub, I’ve been thinking. That wasn’t bad, how you got hold of Scar. NOT BAD AT ALL. I am starting to think you might be a useful type of person to have around.

All The Best

Bdubs

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To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

cheers man

i’ve rigged the klaxon so it plays when either of us or cuteguy calls scar. if he waits too long to answer it starts to play the whole Lilo and Stitch movie audio. if anyone asks this is not technically a virus.

-Cub

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To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: hmm

I LOVE it. I love it.

You know, I have a whole list of casting directors I think you could test some virus development on. It would do them good. Keep them on their toes!! (I believe this is called…“white hat”).

I am HEREBY going to let you into my most SECRET FOLDER.

<[email protected]> has shared admin\nemesis_list

Maybe start with ‘casting_directors_who_do_not_recognise_bdubs_talent-spotting_genius’ and ‘producers_who_were_rude_to_scar’

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To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

leave it to me, man

we’re gonna go far

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ START | PREVIOUS | NEXT ] [ MERCH ] [ MISC ]

My piece for the Hotguy comic zinethology! Thank you so much to editor @antimony-medusa and designer @cocoabats (I have used tumblr’s format for most of it because my eyes are too bad for pdf scaling on my phone, but for the FULL INCREDIBLE HOTGUY EXPERIENCE you will want to download the actual zine at @hotguycomiczine!!)

#hgcz #hotguy comics zine #if you like it I really recommend downloading the zine where the design is so much better!!#cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #bdoubleo100 #pearlescentmoon #grian #long post #cw: arguments #glossywrites

398 notes · View notes

posttexasstressdisorder · 6 months ago

Text

A mole infiltrated the highest ranks of American militias. Here's what he found.

ProPublica

January 4, 2025 8:26PM ET

John Williams kept a backpack filled with everything he’d need to go on the run: three pairs of socks; a few hundred dollars cash; makeshift disguises and lock-picking gear; medical supplies, vitamins and high-calorie energy gels; and thumb drives that each held more than 100 gigabytes of encrypted documents, which he would quickly distribute if he were about to be arrested or killed.

On April 1, 2023, Williams retrieved the bag from his closet and rushed to his car. He had no time to clean the dishes that had accumulated in his apartment. He did not know if armed men were out looking for him. He did not know if he would ever feel safe to return. He parked his car for the night in the foothills overlooking Salt Lake City and curled up his 6-foot-4-inch frame in the back seat of the 20-year-old Honda. This was his new home.

He turned on a recording app to add an entry to his diary. His voice had the high-pitched rasp of a lifelong smoker: “Where to fucking start,” he sighed, taking a deep breath. After more than two years undercover, he’d been growing rash and impulsive. He had feared someone was in danger and tried to warn him, but it backfired. Williams was sure at least one person knew he was a double agent now, he said into his phone. “It’s only a matter of time before it gets back to the rest.”

In the daylight, Williams dropped an envelope with no return address in a U.S. Postal Service mailbox. He’d loaded it with a flash drive and a gold Oath Keepers medallion.

It was addressed to me.

The documents laid out a remarkable odyssey. Posing as an ideological compatriot, Williams had penetrated the top ranks of two of the most prominent right-wing militias in the country. He’d slept in the home of the man who claims to be the new head of the Oath Keepers, rifling through his files in the middle of the night. He’d devised elaborate ruses to gather evidence of militias’ ties to high-ranking law enforcement officials. He’d uncovered secret operations like the surveillance of a young journalist, then improvised ways to sabotage the militants’ schemes. In one group, his ploys were so successful that he became the militia’s top commander in the state of Utah.

Now he was a fugitive. He drove south toward a desert four hours from the city, where he could disappear.

1. Prelude

I’d first heard from Williams five months earlier, when he sent me an intriguing but mysterious anonymous email. “I have been attempting to contact national media and civil rights groups for over a year and been ignored,” it read. “I’m tired of yelling into the void.” He sent it to an array of reporters. I was the only one to respond. I’ve burned a lot of time sating my curiosity about emails like that. I expected my interest to die after a quick call. Instead, I came to occupy a dizzying position as the only person to know the secret Williams had been harboring for almost two years.

We spoke a handful of times over encrypted calls before he fled. He’d been galvanized by the Jan. 6, 2021, storming of the Capitol, Williams told me, when militias like the Oath Keepers conspired to violently overturn the 2020 presidential election. He believed democracy was under siege from groups the FBI has said pose a major domestic terrorism threat. So he infiltrated the militia movement on spec, as a freelance vigilante. He did not tell the police or the FBI. A loner, he did not tell his family or friends.

Williams seemed consumed with how to ensure this wasn’t all a self-destructive, highly dangerous waste of time. He distrusted law enforcement and didn’t want to be an informant, he said. He told me he hoped to damage the movement by someday going public with what he’d learned.

The Capitol riot had been nagging at me too. I’d reported extensively on Jan. 6. I’d sat with families who blamed militias for snatching their loved ones away from them, pulling them into a life of secret meetings and violent plots — or into a jail cell. By the time Williams contacted me, though, the most infamous groups appeared to have largely gone dark. Were militias more enduring, more potent, than it seemed?

Some of what he told me seemed significant. Still, before the package arrived, it could feel like I was corresponding with a shadow. I knew Williams treated deception as an art form. “When you spin a lie,” he once told me, “you have to have things they can verify so they won’t think to ask questions.” While his stories generally seemed precise and sober — always reassuring for a journalist — I needed to proceed with extreme skepticism.

So I pored over his files, tens of thousands of them. They included dozens of hours of conversations he secretly recorded and years of private militia chat logs and videos. I was able to authenticate those through other sources, in and out of the movement. I also talked to dozens of people, from Williams’ friends to other members of his militias. I dug into his tumultuous past and discovered records online he hadn’t pointed me to that supported his account.

The files give a unique window, at once expansive and intimate, into one of the most consequential and volatile social movements of our time. Williams penetrated a new generation of paramilitary leaders, which included doctors, career cops and government attorneys. Sometimes they were frightening, sometimes bumbling, always heavily armed. It was a world where a man would propose assassinating politicians, only to spark a debate about logistics.

Federal prosecutors have convicted more than 1,000 people for their role in Jan. 6. Key militia captains were sent to prison for a decade or more. But that did not quash the allure that militias hold for a broad swath of Americans.

Now President-elect Donald Trump has promised to pardon Jan. 6 rioters when he returns to the White House. Experts warn that such a move could trigger a renaissance for militant extremists, sending them an unprecedented message of protection and support — and making it all the more urgent to understand them.

(Unless otherwise noted, none of the militia members mentioned in this story responded to requests for comment.)

Williams is part of a larger cold war, radical vs. radical, that’s stayed mostly in the shadows. A left-wing activist told me he personally knows about 30 people who’ve gone undercover in militias or white supremacist groups. They did not coordinate with law enforcement, instead taking the surveillance of one of the most intractable features of American politics into their own hands.

Skeptical of authorities, militias have sought to reshape the country through armed action. Williams sought to do it through betrayals and lies, which sat with him uneasily. “I couldn’t have been as successful at this if I wasn’t one of them in some respects,” he once told me. “I couldn’t have done it so long unless they recognized something in me.”

2. The Struggle

If there is one moment that set Williams on his path into the militia underground, it came roughly a decade before Jan. 6, when he was sent to a medium-security prison. He was in his early 30s, drawn to danger and filled with an inner turbulence.

Williams grew up in what he described to me, to friends and in court records as a dysfunctional and unhappy home. He was a gay child in rural America. His father viewed homosexuality as a mortal sin, he said. Williams spent much of his childhood outdoors, bird-watching, camping and trying to spend as little time as possible at home. (John Williams is now his legal name, one he recently acquired.)

Once he was old enough to move out, Williams continued to go off the grid for weeks at a time. Living in a cave interested him; the jobs he’d found at grocery stores and sandwich shops did not. He told me his young adulthood was “a blank space in my life,” a stretch of “petty crime” and falling-outs with old friends. He pled guilty to a series of misdemeanors: trespassing, criminal mischief, assault.

What landed Williams in prison was how he responded to one of those arrests. He sent disturbing, anonymous emails to investigators on the case, threatening their families. Police traced the messages back to him and put him away for three years.

Williams found time to read widely in prison — natural history books, Bertrand Russell, Cormac McCarthy. And it served as a finishing school for a skill that would be crucial in his undercover years. Surviving prison meant learning to maneuver around gang leaders and corrections officers. He learned how to steer conversations to his own benefit without the other person noticing.

When he got out, he had a clear ambition: to become a wilderness survival instructor. He used Facebook to advertise guided hikes in Utah’s Uinta Mountains. An old photo captures Williams looking like a lanky camp counselor as he shows students an edible plant. He sports a thick ponytail and cargo pants, painted toenails poking out from his hiking sandals.

Many people in Utah had turned to wilderness survival after a personal crisis, forming a community of misfits who thrived in environments harsh and remote. Even among them, Williams earned a reputation for putting himself in extreme situations. “Not many people are willing to struggle on their own. He takes that struggle to a high degree,�� one friend told me admiringly. Williams took up krav maga and muay thai because he enjoyed fistfights. He once spent 40 days alone in the desert with only a knife, living off chipmunks and currants (by choice, to celebrate a birthday).

Williams struggled to get his survival business going. He’d hand out business cards at hobbyist gatherings with promises of adventure, but in practice, he was mostly leading seminars in city parks for beer money. He would only take calls in emergencies, another friend recalled, because he wanted to save money on minutes.

Then around New Year’s in 2019, according to Williams, he received an email from a leader in American Patriots Three Percent, or AP3. He wanted to hire Williams for a training session. He could pay $1,000.

Finally, Williams thought. I’m starting to get some traction.

3. The Decision

They had agreed there’d be no semiautomatic rifles, Williams told me, so everyone brought a sidearm. Some dozen militiamen had driven into the mountains near Peter Sinks, Utah, one of the coldest places in the contiguous U.S. Initially they wanted training in evasion and escape, Williams said, but he thought they needed to work up to that. So for three days, he taught them the basics of wilderness survival, but with a twist: how to stay alive while “trying to stay hidden.” He showed them how to build a shelter that would both keep them dry and escape detection. How to make a fire, then how to clean it up so no one could tell it was ever there.

As the days wore on, stray comments started to irk him. Once, a man said he’d been “kiked” into overpaying for his Ruger handgun. At the end of the training, AP3 leaders handed out matching patches. The ritual reminded Williams of a biker gang.

He’d already been to some shorter AP3 events to meet the men and tailor the lesson to his first meaningful client, Williams told me. But spending days in the woods with them felt different. He said he found the experience unpleasant and decided not to work with the group again.

This portion of Williams’ story — exactly how and why he first became a militia member — is the hardest to verify. By his own account, he kept his thoughts and plans entirely to himself. At the time, he was too embarrassed to even tell his friends what happened that weekend, he said. In the survival community, training militias was considered taboo.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Williams was hiding a less gallant backstory. Maybe he’d joined AP3 out of genuine enthusiasm and then soured on it. Maybe now he was trying to fool me. Indeed, when I called the AP3 leader who set up the training, he disputed Williams’ timeline. He remembered Williams staying sporadically but consistently involved after the session in the mountains, as a friend of the group who attended two or three events a year. To further muddy the picture, Williams had warned me the man would say something like that — Williams had worked hard to create the impression that he never left, he said, that he’d just gone inactive for a while, busy with work. (Remarkably, the AP3er defended Williams’ loyalty each time I asserted he’d secretly tried to undermine the group. “He was very well-respected,” he said. “I never questioned his honesty or his intentions.”)

Even Williams’ friends told me he was something of a mystery to them. But I found evidence that supports his story where so many loners bare their innermost thoughts: the internet. In 2019 and early 2020, Williams wrote thousands of since-deleted entries in online forums. These posts delivered a snapshot of his worldview in this period: idiosyncratic, erudite and angry with little room for moderation. “There are occasionally militia types that want these skills to further violent fringe agendas and I will absolutely not enable them,” he wrote in one 2020 entry about wilderness survival. In another, he called AP3 and its allies “far right lunatics.” The posts didn’t prove the details of his account, but here was the Williams I knew, writing under pseudonyms long before we’d met.

One day, he’d voice his disdain for Trump voters, neoliberalism or “the capitalist infrastructure.” Another, he’d rail against gun control measures as immoral. When Black Lives Matter protests broke out in 2020, Williams wrote that he was gathering medical supplies for local protestors. He sounded at times like a revolutionary crossed with a left-wing liberal arts student. “The sole job of a cop is to bully citizens on behalf of the state,” he wrote. “Violent overthrow of the state is our only viable option.”

Then came Jan. 6. As he was watching on TV, he later told me, Williams thought he recognized the patch on a rioter’s tactical vest. It looked like the one that AP3 leaders had handed out at the end of his training.

Did I teach that guy? he wondered. Why was I so cordial to them all? If they knew I was gay, I bet they’d want me dead, and I actually helped them. Because I was too selfish to think of anything but my career.

Shame quickly turned to anger, he told me, and to a desire for revenge. Pundits were saying that democracy itself was in mortal peril. Williams took that notion literally. He assumed countless Americans would respond with aggressive action, he said, and he wanted to be among them.

4. A New World

Williams stood alone in his apartment, watching himself in the mirror.

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

He tried to focus on his mannerisms, on the intonation of his voice. Whether he was saying the truth or a falsehood, he wanted to appear exactly the same.

Months had passed since the Capitol riot. By all appearances, Williams was now an enthusiastic member of AP3. Because he already had an in, joining the group was easy, he said. Becoming a self-fashioned spy took some trial and error, however. In the early days, he had posed as a homeless person to surveil militia training facilities, but he decided that was a waste of time.

The casual deceit that had served him in prison was proving useful. Deviousness was a skill, and he stayed up late working to hone it. He kept a journal with every lie he told so he wouldn’t lose track. His syllabus centered on acting exercises and the history of espionage and cults. People like sex cult leader Keith Raniere impressed him most — he studied biographies to learn how they manipulated people, how they used cruelty to wear their followers down into acquiescence.

Williams regularly berated the militia’s rank and file. He doled out condescending advice about the group’s security weaknesses, warning their technical incompetence would make them easy targets for left-wing hackers and government snoops. Orion Rollins, the militia’s top leader in Utah, soon messaged Williams to thank him for the guidance. “Don’t worry about being a dick,” he wrote. “It’s time to learn and become as untraceable as possible.” (The AP3 messages Williams sent me were so voluminous that I spent an entire month reading them before I noticed this exchange.)

Williams was entering the militia at a pivotal time. AP3 once had chapters in nearly every state, with a roster likely in the tens of thousands; as authorities cracked down on the movement after Jan. 6, membership was plummeting. Some who stayed on had white nationalist ties. Others were just lonely conservatives who had found purpose in the paramilitary cause. For now, the group’s leaders were focused on saving the militia, not taking up arms to fight their enemies. (Thanks to Williams’ trove and records from several other sources, I was eventually able to write an investigation into AP3’s resurgence.)

On March 4, 2021, Williams complained to Rollins that everyone was still ignoring his advice. Williams volunteered to take over as the state’s “intel officer,” responsible for protecting the group from outside scrutiny.

“My hands are tied,” Williams wrote. “If I’m not able to” take charge, the whole militia “might unravel.” Rollins gave him the promotion.

“Thanks Orion. You’ve shown good initiative here.” Privately, he saw a special advantage to his appointment. If anyone suspected there was a mole in Utah, Williams would be the natural choice to lead the mole hunt.

Now he had a leadership role. What he did not yet have was a plan. But how could he decide on goals, he figured, until he knew more about AP3? He would work to gather information and rise through the ranks by being the best militia member he could be.

He took note of the job titles of leaders he met, like an Air Force reserve master sergeant (I confirmed this through military records) who recruited other airmen into the movement. Williams attended paramilitary trainings, where the group practiced ambushes with improvised explosives and semiautomatic guns. He offered his comrades free lessons in hand-to-hand combat and bonded with them in the backcountry hunting jackrabbits. When the militia joined right-wing rallies for causes like gun rights, they went in tactical gear. Williams attended as their “gray man,” he said — assigned to blend in with the crowd and call in armed reinforcements if tensions erupted.

Since his work was seasonal, Williams could spend as much as 40 hours a week on militia activities. One of his duties as intel officer was to monitor the group’s enemies on the left, which could induce vertigo. A militia leader once dispatched him to a Democratic Socialists of America meeting at a local library, he said, where he saw a Proud Boy he recognized from a joint militia training. Was this a closet right-winger keeping tabs on the socialists? Or a closet leftist who might dox him or inform the police?

He first contacted me in October 2022. He couldn’t see how the movement was changing beyond his corner of Utah. AP3 was reinvigorated by then, I later found, with as many as 50 recruits applying each day. In private chats I reviewed, leaders were debating if they should commit acts of terrorism. At the Texas border, members were rounding up immigrants in armed patrols. But Williams didn’t know all that yet. On our first call, he launched into a litany of minutiae: names, logistical details, allegations of minor players committing petty crimes. He could tell I wasn’t sure what it all amounted to.

Williams feared that if anything he’d helped AP3, not damaged it. Then, in early November, Rollins told him to contact a retired detective named Bobby Kinch.

5. The Detective and the Sheriff

Williams turned on a recording device and dialed. Kinch picked up after one ring: “What’s going on?” he bellowed. “How you doing, man?”

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Kinch continued, but they’d met years before.

“Oh, oh, back in the day,” Williams said, stuttering for a second. He knew Kinch was expecting the call but was confused by the warm reception. Maybe Kinch was at the training in 2019?

“Well I’m the sitting, current national director of the Oath Keepers now.”

The militia’s eye-patched founder, Stewart Rhodes, was in jail amid his trial for conspiring to overthrow the government on Jan. 6. Kinch said he was serving on the group’s national board when his predecessor was arrested. Rhodes had called from jail to say, “Do not worry about me. This is God’s way.”

“He goes, ‘But I want you to save the organization.’”

Kinch explained that Rollins, who’d recently defected to the Oath Keepers, had been singing Williams’ praises. (Bound by shared ideology, militias are more porous than outsiders would think. Members often cycle between groups like square dance partners.) “I imagine your plate is full with all the crazy stuff going on in the world, but I’d love to sit down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Williams said. “AP3 and Oath Keepers should definitely be working together.” He proposed forming a joint reconnaissance team so their two militias could collaborate on intelligence operations. Kinch lit up. “I’m a career cop,” he said. “I did a lot of covert stuff, surveillance.”

By the time they hung up 45 minutes later, Kinch had invited Williams to come stay at his home. Williams felt impressed with himself. The head of the most infamous militia in America was treating him like an old friend.

To me, Williams sounded like a different person on the call, with the same voice but a brand new personality. It was the first recording that I listened to and the first time I became certain the most important part of his story was true. To authenticate the record, I independently confirmed nonpublic details Kinch discussed on the tape, a process I repeated again and again with the other files. Soon I had proof of what would otherwise seem outlandish: Williams’ access was just as deep as he claimed.

I could see why people would be eager to follow Kinch. Even when he sermonized on the “global elitist cabal,” he spoke with the affable passion of a beloved high school teacher. I’d long been fascinated by the prevalence of cops on militia rosters, so I started examining his backstory.

Kinch grew up in upstate New York, the son of a World War II veteran who had him at about 50. When Kinch was young, he confided in a later recording, he was a “wheelman,” slang for getaway driver. “I ran from the cops so many fucking times,” he said. But “at the end of the day, you know, I got away. I never got caught.”

He moved to Las Vegas and, at the age of 25, became an officer in the metro police. Kinch came to serve in elite detective units over 23 years in the force, hunting fugitives and helping take down gangs like the Playboy Bloods. Eventually he was assigned to what he called the “Black squad,” according to court records, tasked with investigating violent crimes where the suspect was African American. (A Las Vegas police spokesperson told me they stopped “dividing squads by a suspect’s race” a year before Kinch retired.)

Then around Christmas in 2013, Kinch’s career began to self-destruct. In a series of Facebook posts, he said that he would welcome a “race war.” “Bring it!” he wrote. “I’m about as fed up as a man (American, Christian, White, Heterosexual) can get!” An ensuing investigation prompted the department to tell the Secret Service that Kinch “could be a threat to the president,” according to the Las Vegas Sun. (The Secret Service interviewed him and determined he was not a threat to President Barack Obama, the outlet reported. Kinch told the paper he was not racist and that he was being targeted by colleagues with “an ax to grind.”) In 2016, he turned in his badge, a year after the saga broke in the local press.

Kinch moved to southern Utah and found a job hawking hunting gear at a Sportsman’s Warehouse. But he “had this urge,” he later said on a right-wing podcast. “Like I wasn’t done yet.” So he joined the Oath Keepers. “When people tell me that violence doesn’t solve anything, I look back over my police career,” he once advised his followers. “And I’m like, ‘Wow, that’s interesting, because violence did solve quite a bit.’”

Kinch added Williams to an encrypted Signal channel where the Utah Oath Keepers coordinated their intel work. Two weeks later on Nov. 30, 2022, Williams received a cryptic message from David Coates, one of Kinch’s top deputies.

Coates was an elder statesman of sorts in the Oath Keepers, a 73-year-old Vietnam veteran with a Hulk Hogan mustache. There’d been a break-in at the Utah attorney general’s office, he reported to the group, and for some unspoken reason, the Oath Keepers seemed to think this was of direct relevance to them. Coates promised to find out more about the burglary: “The Sheriff should have some answers” to “my inquiries today or tomorrow.”

That last line would come to obsess Williams. He sent a long, made-up note about his own experiences collaborating with law enforcement officials. “I’m curious, how responsive is the Sheriff to your inquiries? Or do you have a source you work with?”

“The Sheriff has become a personal friend who hosted my FBI interview,” Coates responded. “He opens a lot of doors.” Coates had been in D.C. on Jan. 6, he’d told Williams. It’d make sense if that had piqued the FBI’s interest.

To Williams, it hinted at a more menacing scenario — at secret ties between those who threaten the rule of the law and those duty-bound to enforce it. He desperately wanted more details, more context, the sheriff’s name. But he didn’t want to push for too much too fast.

6. The Hunting of Man

A forest engulfed Kinch’s house on all sides. He lived in a half-million-dollar cabin in summer home country, up 8,000 feet in the mountains outside Zion National Park. Williams stood in the kitchen on a mid-December Saturday morning.

Williams had recently made a secret purchase of a small black device off Amazon. It looked like a USB drive. The on-off switch and microphone holes revealed what it really was: a bug. As the two men chatted over cups of cannoli-flavored coffee, Williams didn’t notice when Kinch’s dog snatched the bug from his bag.

The night before, Williams had slept in the guest room. The house was cluttered with semiautomatic rifles. He had risked photographing three plaques on the walls inscribed with the same Ernest Hemingway line. “There is no hunting like the hunting of man,” they read. “Those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else.”

They spotted the dog at the same time. The bug was attached to a charging device. The animal was running around with it like it was a tennis ball. As Kinch went to retrieve it, Williams felt panic grip his chest. Could anyone talk their way out of this? He’d learned enough about Kinch to be terrified of his rage. Looking around, Williams eyed his host’s handgun on the kitchen counter.

If he even starts to examine it, I’ll grab the gun, he thought. Then I’ll shoot him and flee into the woods.

Kinch took the bug from the dog’s mouth. Then he handed it right to Williams and started to apologize.

Don’t worry about it, Williams said. He’s a puppy!

On their way out the door, Kinch grabbed the pistol and placed it in the console of his truck. It was an hour’s drive to the nearest city, where the Oath Keepers were holding a leadership meeting. Williams rode shotgun, his bug hooked onto the zipper of his backpack. On the tape, I could hear the wind racing through the car window. The radio played Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ’69.”

Kinch seemed in the hold of a dark nostalgia — as if he was wrestling with the monotony of civilian life, with the new strictures he faced since turning in his badge. Twenty minutes in, he recited the Hemingway line like it was a mantra. “I have a harder time killing animals than a human being,” Kinch continued. Then he grew quiet as he recounted the night he decided to retire.

He’d woken up in an oleander bush with no memory of how he’d gotten there. His hands were covered in blood. He was holding a gun. “I had to literally take my magazine out and count my bullets, make sure I didn’t fucking kill somebody,” he said. “I black out when I get angry. And I don’t remember what the fuck I did.”

Kinch went on: “I love the adrenaline of police work,” and then he paused. “I miss it. It was a hoot.”

By the time they reached Cedar City, Utah, Kinch was back to charismatic form. He dished out compliments to the dozen or so Oath Keepers assembled for the meeting — “You look like you lost weight” — and told everyone to put their phones in their cars. “It’s just good practice. Because at some point we may have to go down a route,” one of his deputies explained, trailing off.

Kinch introduced Williams to the group. “He’s not the feds. And if he is, he’s doing a damn good job.”

Williams laughed, a little too loud.

7. Doctor, Lawyer, Sergeant, Spy

Early in the meeting, Kinch laid out his vision for the Oath Keepers’ role in American life. “We have a two-edged sword,” he said. The “dull edge” was more traditional grassroots work, exemplified by efforts to combat alleged election fraud. He hoped to build their political apparatus so that in five or 10 years, conservative candidates would be seeking the Oath Keepers’ endorsement.

Then there was the sharp edge: paramilitary training. “You hone all these skills because when the dull edge fails, you’ve got to be able to turn that around and be sharp.” The room smelled like donuts, one of the men had remarked.

The week before, Kinch’s predecessor had been convicted of seditious conspiracy. This was their first meeting since the verdict, and I opened the recordings later with the same anticipation I feel sitting down for the Super Bowl. What would come next for the militia after this historic trial: ruin, recovery or revolt?

The stature of men leading the group’s post-Jan. 6 resurrection startled me. I was expecting the ex-cops, like the one from Fresno, California, who said he stayed on with the militia because “this defines me.” Militias tend to prize law enforcement ties; during an armed operation, it could be useful to have police see you as a friend.

But there was also an Ohio OB-GYN on the national board of directors — he used to work for the Cleveland Clinic, I discovered, and now led a subsidiary of UnitedHealth Group. The doctor was joined at board meetings by a city prosecutor in Utah, an ex-city council member and, Williams was later told, a sergeant with an Illinois sheriff’s department. (The doctor did not respond to requests for comment. He has since left his post with the UnitedHealth subsidiary, a spokesperson for the company said.)

Over six hours, the men set goals and delegated responsibilities with surprisingly little worry about the federal crackdown on militias. They discussed the scourges they were there to combat (stolen elections, drag shows, President Joe Biden) only in asides. Instead, they focused on “marketing” — “So what buzzwords can we insert in our mission statement?” one asked — and on resources that’d help local chapters rapidly expand. “I’d like to see this organization be like the McDonald’s of patriot organizations,” another added. To Williams, it felt more like a Verizon sales meeting than an insurrectionist cell.

Kinch had only recently taken over and as I listened, I wondered how many followers he really had outside of that room. They hadn’t had a recruitment drive in the past year, which they resolved to change. They had $1,700 in the bank. But it didn’t seem entirely bravado. Kinch and his comrades mentioned conversations with chapters around the county.

Then as they turned from their weakened national presence to their recent successes in Utah, Williams snapped to attention.

“We had surveillance operations,” Kinch said, without elaboration.

“We’re making progress locally on the law enforcement,” Coates added. He said that at least three of them can get “the sheriff” on the phone any time of day. Like the last time, Coates didn’t give a name, but he said something even more intriguing: “The sheriff is my tie-in to the state attorney general because he’s friends.” Williams told me he fought the urge to lob a question. (The attorney general’s office did not respond to requests for comment.)

Closing out the day, Kinch summarized their plan moving forward: Keep a low profile. Focus on the unglamorous work. Rebuild their national footprint. And patiently prepare for 2024. “We still got what, two more years, till another quote unquote election?” He thanked Williams for coming and asked if they could start planning training exercises.

“Absolutely, yeah, I’m excited about that.” Williams was resolved to find his way onto the national board.

8. The Stakeout

On Dec. 17, 2022, a week after the meeting, Williams called a tech-savvy 19-year-old Oath Keeper named Rowan. He’d told Rowan he was going to teach him to infiltrate leftist groups, but Williams’ real goal was far more underhanded. While the older Oath Keepers had demurred at his most sensitive questions recently, the teenager seemed eager to impress a grizzled survival instructor. By assigning missions to Rowan, he hoped to probe the militias’ secrets without casting suspicion on himself.

“You don’t quite have the life experience to do this,” Williams opened on the recording. But with a couple years’ training, “I think we can work towards that goal.” He assigned his student a scholarly monograph, “Alienation: Marx’s Conception of Man in a Capitalist Society,” to begin his long education in how leftists think. “Perfect,” Rowan responded. He paused to write the title down.

Then came his pupil’s first exercise: build a dossier on Williams’ boss in AP3. Williams explained it was safest to practice on people they knew.

In Rowan, Williams had found a particularly vulnerable target. He was on probation at the time. According to court records, earlier that year, Rowan had walked up to a stranger’s truck as she was leaving her driveway. She rolled down her window. He punched her several times in the face. When police arrived, Rowan began screaming that he was going to kill them and threatened to “blow up the police department.” He was convicted of misdemeanor assault.

Williams felt guilty about using the young man but also excited. (“He is completely in my palm,” he recorded in his diary.) Within a few weeks, he had Rowan digging into Kinch’s background. “I’m going to gradually have him do more and more things,” he said in the diary, “with the hopes that I can eventually get him to hack” into militia leaders’ accounts.

The relationship quickly unearthed something that disturbed him. The week of their call, Williams woke up to a series of angry messages in the Oath Keepers’ encrypted Signal channel. The ire was directed toward a Salt Lake Tribune reporter who, according to Coates, was “a real piece of shit.” His sins included critical coverage of “anyone trying to expose voter fraud” and writing about a local political figure who’d appeared on a leaked Oath Keepers roster.

Williams messaged Rowan. “I noticed in the chat that there is some kind of red list of journalists etc? Could you get that to me?” he asked. “It would be very helpful to my safety when observing political rallies or infiltrating leftists.”

“Ah yes, i have doxes on many journalists in utah,” Rowan responded, using slang for sharing someone’s personal data with malicious intent.

He sent over a dossier on the Tribune reporter, which opened with a brief manifesto: “This dox goes out to those that have been terrorized, doxed, harassed, slandered, and family names mutilated by these people.” It provided the reporter’s address and phone number, along with two pictures of his house.

Then Rowan shared similar documents about a local film critic — he’d posted a “snarky” retweet of the Tribune writer — and about a student reporter at Southern Utah University. The college student had covered a rally the Oath Keepers recently attended, Rowan explained, and the militia believed he was coordinating with the Tribune. “We found the car he drove through a few other members that did a stakeout.”

“That’s awesome,” Williams said. Internally, he was reeling: a stakeout? In the dossier, he found a backgrounder on the student’s parents along with their address. Had armed men followed this kid around? Did they surveil his family home?

His notes show him wrestling with a decision he hadn’t let himself reckon with before: Was it time to stop being a fly on the wall and start taking action? Did he need to warn someone? The journalists? The police? Breaking character would open the door to disaster. The incident with Kinch’s dog had been a chilling reminder of the risks.

Williams had been in the militia too long. He was losing his sense of objectivity. The messages were alarming, but were they an imminent threat? He couldn’t tell. Williams had made plans to leave Utah if his cover was blown. He didn’t want to jeopardize two years of effort over a false alarm. But what if he did nothing and this kid got hurt?

9. The Plan

By 2023, Williams’ responsibilities were expanding as rapidly as his anxiety. His schedule was packed with events for AP3, the Oath Keepers and a third militia he’d recently gotten inside. He vowed to infiltrate the Proud Boys and got Coates to vouch for him with the local chapter. He prepared plans to penetrate a notorious white supremacist group too.

His adversaries were gaining momentum as well. Williams soon made the four-hour drive to Kinch’s house for another leadership meeting and was told on tape about a national Oath Keepers recruiting bump; they’d also found contact information for 40,000 former members, which they hoped to use to bring a flood of militiamen back into the fold.

Despite the risk to his own safety and progress, Williams decided to send the journalists anonymous warnings from burner accounts. He attached sensitive screenshots so that they’d take him seriously. And then … nothing. The reporters never responded; he wondered if the messages went to spam. His secret was still secure.

But the point of his mission was finally coming into focus. He was done simply playing the part of model militia member. His plan had two parts: After gathering as much compromising information as he could, he would someday release it all online, he told me. He carefully documented anything that looked legally questionable, hoping law enforcement would find something useful for a criminal case. At the very least, going public could make militiamen more suspicious of each other.

In the meantime, he would undermine the movement from the inside. He began trying to blunt the danger that he saw lurking in every volatile situation the militiamen put themselves in.

On Jan. 27, 2023, body camera footage from the police killing of Tyre Nichols, an unarmed Black man, became public. “The footage is gruesome and distressing,” The New York Times reported. “Cities across the U.S. are bracing for protests.” The militias had often responded to Black Lives Matter rallies with street brawls and armed patrols.

Williams had visions of Kyle Rittenhouse-esque shootings in the streets. He put his newly formulated strategy into action, sending messages to militiamen around the country with made-up rumors he hoped would persuade them to stay home.

In Utah, he wrote to Kinch and the leaders of his other two militias. He would be undercover at the protests in Salt Lake City, he wrote. If any militiamen went, even “a brief look of recognition could blow my cover and put my life in danger.” All three ordered their troops to avoid the event. (“This is a bit of a bummer,” one AP3 member responded. “I’ve got some aggression built up I need to let out.”)

After the protests, Williams turned on his voice diary and let out a long sigh. For weeks, he’d been nauseous and had trouble eating. He’d developed insomnia that would keep him up until dawn. He’d gone to the rally to watch for militia activity. When he got home, he’d vomited blood.

Even grocery shopping took hours now. He circled the aisles to check if he was being tailed. Once while driving, he thought he caught someone following him. He’d reached out to a therapist to help “relieve some of this pressure,” he said, but was afraid to speak candidly with him. “I can check his office for bugs and get his electronics out of the office. And then once we’re free, I can tell him what’s going on.”

He quickly launched into a litany of items on his to-do list. A training exercise to attend. A recording device he needed to find a way to install. “I’m just fucking sick of being around these toxic motherfuckers.”

“It’s getting to be too much for me.”

10. The Deep State

On March 20, Williams called Scot Seddon, the founder of AP3. If he was on the verge of a breakdown, it didn’t impact his performance. I could tell when Williams was trying to advance his agenda as I listened later, but he was subtle about it. Obsequious. Methodical. By day’s end, he’d achieved perhaps his most remarkable feat yet. He’d helped persuade Seddon and his lieutenants to fire the head of AP3’s Utah chapter and to install Williams in his place.

Now he had access to sensitive records only senior militia leaders could see. He had final say over the group’s actions in an entire state. He knew the coup would make him vastly more effective. Yet that night in his voice diary, Williams sounded like a man in despair.

The success only added to his paranoia. Becoming a major figure in the Utah militia scene raised a possibility he couldn’t countenance: He might be arrested and sent to jail for some action of his comrades.

With a sense of urgency now, he focused even more intently on militia ties to government authorities. “I have been still collecting evidence on the paramilitaries’ use of law enforcement,” he said in the diary entry. “It’s way deeper than I thought.”

He solved the mystery of the Oath Keepers’ “sheriff”: It was the sheriff for Iron County, Utah, a tourist hub near two national parks. He assigned Rowan to dig deeper into the official’s ties with the movement and come back with emails or text messages. (In a recent interview, the sheriff told me that he declined an offer to join the Oath Keepers but that he’s known “quite a few” members and thinks “they’re generally good people.” Coates has periodically contacted him about issues like firearms rules that Coates believes are unconstitutional, the sheriff said. “If I agree, I contact the attorney general’s office.”)

Claiming to work on “a communication strategy for reaching out to law enforcement,” Williams then goaded AP3 members into bragging about their police connections. They told him about their ties with high-ranking officers in Missouri and in Louisiana, in Texas and in Tennessee.

The revelations terrified him. “When this gets out, I think I’m probably going to flee overseas,” he said in his diary. “They have too many connections.” What if a cop ally helped militants track him down? “I don’t think I can safely stay within the United States.”

Four days later, he tuned into a Zoom seminar put on by a fellow AP3 leader. It was a rambling and sparsely attended meeting. But 45 minutes in, a woman brought up an issue in her Virginia hometown, population 23,000.

The town’s vice mayor, a proud election denier, was under fire for a homophobic remark. She believed a local reporter covering the controversy was leading a secret far-left plot. What’s more, the reporter happened to be her neighbor. To intimidate her, she said, he’d been leaving dead animals on her lawn.

“I think I have to settle a score with this guy,” she concluded. “They’re getting down to deep state local level and it’s got to be stopped.” After the call, Williams went to turn off his recording device. “Well, that was fucking insane,” he said aloud.

He soon reached out to the woman to offer his advice. Maybe he could talk her down, Williams thought, or at least determine what she meant by settling a score. But she wasn’t interested in speaking with him. So again he faced a choice: do nothing or risk his cover being blown. He finally came to the same conclusion he had the last time he’d feared journalists were in jeopardy. On March 31, he sent an anonymous warning.

“Because she is a member of a right wing militia group and is heavily armed, I wanted to let you know,” Williams wrote to the reporter. “I believe her to be severely mentally ill and I believe her to be dangerous. For my own safety, I cannot reveal more.”

He saw the article the next morning. The journalist had published 500 words about the disturbing email he’d gotten, complete with a screenshot of Williams’ entire note. Only a few people had joined that meandering call. Surely only Williams pestered the woman about it afterwards. There could be little doubt that he was the mole.

He pulled the go bag from his closet and fled. A few days later, while on the run, Williams recorded the final entries in his diary. Amid the upheaval, he sounded surprised to feel a sense of relief: “I see the light at the end of the tunnel for the first time in two and a half years.”

Coda: Project 2025

It was seven days before the 2024 presidential election. Williams had insisted I not bring my phone, on the off chance my movements were being tracked. We were finally meeting for the first time, in a city that he asked me not to disclose. He entered the cramped hotel room wearing a camo hat, hiking shoes and a “Spy vs. Spy” comic strip T-shirt. “Did you pick the shirt to match the occasion?” I asked. He laughed. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

We talked for days, with Williams splayed across a Best Western office chair beside the queen bed. He evoked an aging computer programmer with 100 pounds of muscle attached, and he seemed calmer than on the phone, endearingly offbeat. The vision he laid out — of his own future and of the country’s — was severe.

After he dropped everything and went underground, Williams spent a few weeks in the desert. He threw his phone in a river, flushed documents down the toilet and switched apartments when he returned to civilization. At first, he spent every night by the door ready for an attack; if anyone found him and ambushed him, it’d happen after dark, he figured. No one ever came, and he began to question if he’d needed to flee at all. The insomnia of his undercover years finally abated. He began to sketch out the rest of his life.

Initially, he hoped to connect with lawmakers in Washington, helping them craft legislation to combat the militia movement. By last summer, those ambitions had waned. Over time, he began to wrestle with his gift for deceiving people who trusted him. “I don’t necessarily like what it says about me that I have a talent for this,” he said.

To me, it seemed that the ordeal might be starting to change him. He’d become less precise in consistently adhering to the facts in recent weeks, I thought, more grandiose in his account of his own saga. But then for long stretches, he’d speak with the same introspection and attention to detail that he showed on our first calls. His obsession with keeping the Tyre Nichols protestors safe was myopic, he told me, a case of forgetting the big picture to quash the few dangers he could control.

Williams believes extremists will try to murder him after this story is published. And if they fail, he thinks he’ll “live to see the United States cease to exist.” He identifies with the violent abolitionist John Brown, who tried to start a slave revolt two years before the American Civil War and was executed. Williams thinks he himself may not be seen as such a radical soon, he told me. “I wonder if I’m maybe a little too early.”

I’d thought Williams was considering a return to a quiet life. Our two intense years together had been a strain sometimes even for me. But in the hotel room, he explained his plans for future operations against militias: “Until they kill me, this is what I’m doing.” He hopes to inspire others to follow in his footsteps and even start his own vigilante collective, running his own “agents” inside the far right.

In August, I published my investigation into AP3. (I used his records but did not otherwise rely on Williams as an anonymous source.) It was a way of starting to lay out what I’d learned since his first email: what’s driving the growth of militias, how they keep such a wide range of people united, the dangerous exploits that they’ve managed to keep out of public view.

Two months later, Williams published an anonymous essay. He revealed that he’d infiltrated the group as an “independent activist” and had sent me files. He wanted to test how the militia would respond to news of a mole.

The result was something he long had hoped for: a wave of paranoia inside AP3. “It’s a fucking risky thing we get involved in,” Seddon, the group’s founder, said in a private message. “Fucking trust nobody. There’s fucking turncoats everywhere.” (Seddon declined to comment for this story. He then sent a short follow-up email: “MAGA.”)

Sowing that distrust is why Williams is going on the record, albeit without his original name. He still plans to release thousands of files after this article is published — evidence tying sheriffs and police officers to the movement, his proudest coup, plus other records he hopes could become ammo for lawsuits. But Williams wants to let his former comrades know “a faggot is doing this to them.” He thinks his story could be his most effective weapon.

Every time militia members make a phone call, attend a meeting or go to a gun range together, he wants them “to be thinking, in the back of their heads, ‘This guy will betray me.’”

62 notes · View notes

warningsine · 2 months ago

Note

what is the best way to get safer/more anonymous online

Ok, security and anonymity are not the same thing, but when you combine them you can enhance your online privacy.

My question is: how tech literate are you and what is your aim? As in do you live in a country where your government would benefit from monitoring private (political) conversations or do you just want to degoogle? Because the latter is much easier for the average user.

Some general advice:

Leave Windows and Mac operating systems and switch to Linux distributions like Fedora and Ubuntu (both very user friendly). Switch from Microsoft Office or Pages/Numbers/Keynote (Mac) to LibreOffice.

You want to go more hardcore with a very privacy-focused operating system? There are Whonix and Tails (portable operating system).

Try to replace all your closed source apps with open source ones.

Now, when it comes to browsers, leave Chrome behind. Switch to Firefox (or Firefox Focus if you're on mobile). Want to go a step further? Use LibreWolf (a modified version of Firefox that increases protection against tracking), Brave (good for beginners but it has its controversies), DuckDuckGo or Bromite. You like ecofriendly alternatives? Check Ecosia out.

Are you, like, a journalist or political activist? Then you probably know Tor and other anonymous networks like i2p, freenet, Lokinet, Retroshare, IPFS and GNUnet.

For whistleblowers there are tools like SecureDrop (requires Tor), GlobaLeaks (alternative to SecureDrop), Haven (Android) and OnionShare.

Search engines?

There are Startpage (obtains Google's results but with more privacy), MetaGer (open source), DuckDuckGo (partially open source), Searx (open source). You can see the comparisons here.

Check libRedirect out. It redirects requests from popular socmed websites to privacy friendly frontends.

Alternatives to YouTube that value your privacy? Odysee, PeerTube and DTube.

Decentralized apps and social media? Mastodon (Twitter alternative), Friendica (Facebook alternative), diaspora* (Google+ RIP), PixelFed (Insta alternative), Aether (Reddit alternative).

Messaging?

I know we all use shit like Viber, Messenger, Telegram, Whatsup, Discord etc. but there are:

Signal (feels like Whatsup but it's secure and has end-to-end encryption)

Session (doesn't even require a phone or e-mail address to sign up)

Status (no phone or e-mail address again)

Threema (for mobile)

Delta Chat (you can chat with people if you know their e-mail without them having to use the app)

Team chatting?

Open source options:

Element (an alternative to Discord)

Rocket.chat (good for companies)

Revolt.chat (good for gamers and a good alternative to Discord)

Video/voice messaging?

Brave Talk (the one who creates the talk needs to use the browser but the others can join from any browser)

Jami

Linphone

Jitsi (no account required, video conferencing)

Then for Tor there are various options like Briar (good for activists), Speek! and Cwtch (user friendly).

Georestrictions? You don't want your Internet Provider to see what exactly what you're doing online?

As long as it's legal in your country, then you need to hide your IP with a VPN (authoritarian regimes tend to make them illegal for a reason), preferably one that has a no log policy, RAM servers, does not operate in one of the 14 eyes, supports OpenVPN (protocol), accepts cash payment and uses a strong encryption.

NordVPN (based in Panama)

ProtonVPN (Switzerland)

Cyberghost

Mullvad (Sweden)

Surfshark (Netherlands)

Private e-mails?

ProtonMail

StartMail

Tutamail

Mailbox (ecofriendly option)

Want to hide your real e-mail address to avoid spam etc.? SimpleLogin (open source)

E-mail clients?

Thunderbird

Canary Mail (for Android and iOS)

K-9 Mail (Android)

Too many complex passwords that you can't remember?

NordPass

BitWarden

LessPass

KeePassXC

Two Factor Authenticators?

2FAS

ente Authenticator

Aegis Authenticator

andOTP

Tofu (for iOS)

Want to encrypt your files? VeraCrypt (for your disk), GNU Privacy Guard (for your e-mail), Hat.sh (encryption in your browser), Picocrypt (Desktop encryption).

Want to encrypt your Dropbox, Google Drive etc.? Cryptomator.

Encrypted cloud storage?

NordLocker

MEGA

Proton Drive

Nextcloud

Filen

Encrypted photography storage?

ente

Cryptee

Piwigo

Want to remove metadata from your images and videos? ExifCleaner. For Android? ExifEraser. For iOS? Metapho.

Cloak your images to counter facial recognition? Fawkes.

Encrypted file sharing? Send.

Do you menstruate? Do you want an app that tracks your menstrual cycle but doesn't collect your data? drip.

What about your sexual health? Euki.

Want a fitness tracker without a closed source app and the need to transmit your personal data to the company's servers? Gadgetbridge.

#anon

34 notes · View notes

the-penguin-of-baskervilles · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 15

Summary: Lloyd takes things too far in his threat against Deputy Russell and has to change tactics mid-stream. Princess and Zach decide to push back against Detective Roth's allegations.

Word Count: 3,936

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of drug trafficking, murder, legal proceedings, spy/intelligence agencies, corruption, stalking, violence, threatening, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess & the Lawyer Chapter 15

Lloyd stood at the stove stirring a noxious mixture of gasoline and aluminum hydroxide. Pungent fumes hung thick in the air, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with a bandanna.

The screen door slammed, and familiar footsteps echoed through the hall.

“Ugh! What is that stench? Did a gas line rupture?”

Elliot’s voice rang through the house before he came around the corner into the kitchen.

His bright-eyed appearance was in sharp contrast with Lloyd’s sleep-deprived state. Knowing his cousin had been left in charge of their captive all night, Lloyd couldn’t help but draw the obvious conclusion. Elliot’s excessive cheerfulness was derived from a more potent source than caffeine - he was smoking ice again.

“I followed your instructions and made a copy of Carl’s phone,” Elliot said, buzzing with excitement. “Guess what? Sheriff Holbrook’s texts are still on there, tucked away in some encrypted app. We could use it as leverage!”

Lloyd shook his head. “No. We can’t deviate from the plan. Did Russell agree to a meeting time?”

“Eleven o'clock at High Meadows.”

“Not a bad choice. Lots of entrances and exits,” Lloyd said. “I’m almost finished here. There’s water cooler jugs filled with this stuff piled up on the back deck. Bring your truck around and start loading them for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, man.”

Elliot bounded down the hall and Lloyd rubbed his tired eyes. He desperately needed some sleep unless he planned on asking Elliot for a bump of meth to keep him going. Lloyd shut off the stove, checked the final batch of chemicals, and rinsed his spoon in the sink. He stuck his head outside to inform Elliot he was going to bed and headed up the stairs.

Just as he lay down, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hansen? This is Judy Lange from the HOA. I wanted to let you know that the association swimming pool has been fixed and approved for reopening on Monday. Should I leave your keys in the mailbox for your house sitter, or wait until you’re back?”

Mrs. Lange didn’t actually hold an official position with the Homeowners Association. Her husband had campaigned for the post out of pure spite. His single-minded crusade against Della Collins’ window box planters and their “busy-looking” Ultra Star Petunias earned him a landslide victory in the election. He’d passed a statute banning all multicolored blossoms from public spaces and after his triumph, lost interest in executing the duties of his office.

Despite her eccentric husband, Lloyd found Mrs. Lange to be a reasonable person. Her annoying habit of speaking at a million words per minute was made up for by impeccable manners and a sharp sense of humor. Even Mrs. Collins, who was still torqued at Mr. Lange a year later, couldn’t resist her charms.

After his brain finally managed to process her rapid fire words, Lloyd grunted.

“The mailbox is fine. I’ll text my friend and let her know to pick them up.”

“Excellent. I apologize for calling you at such a time, Lloyd.”

Mrs. Lange’s voice carried a hint of horror, as if she’d just realized she had contacted someone in the midst of a family tragedy. Lloyd didn’t view the situation as such, but he recognized the apologetic shift in her tone as she launched into a long winded explanation.

“With everything going on, I am sure now is a terrible time for you… I just didn’t want to forget. You’re the most frequent patron of our athletic facilities. Well, usually the only patron to be frank. Mrs. Collins isn’t getting around like she used to after her knee surgery. Anyways, I’ll personally take those keys to your friend so they’re ready when you get back. And if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

She really meant it, Lloyd thought, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. If only she knew what the man who he was supposed to be grieving had done to him.

“Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll see you around.”

Already half asleep, Lloyd hung up the phone. His last thought was that he needed to call you. Hearing from Judy reminded him of home, and of you. It had been days since your last talk and that was far too long. Before the meeting with Russell, Lloyd promised himself he’d make time for a conversation.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You stalked back and forth in front of Zach’s desk, breathing hard, your fists clenched in frustration.

“I can’t believe his nerve! Can you believe this? Can you?!”

“Uh-huh.”

Zach grunted and continued tapping on his keyboard.

“He has the audacity to accuse us of leaking information to the media, without a shred of evidence? It’s unprofessional!”

Zach nodded, seemingly absorbed in his work.

“I spent so much time building them a database and now no one can use it. The whole process was exhausting and tedious and… are you even listening to me?”

“Yes. Roth is an infuriating bastard. I knew it from the start, and you thought he was cute.”

“I did not!”

“Did so,” Zach said.

“Did not.”

“Let’s not lose sight of our most important objective here.”

“Yes, let’s not. What is that objective, again?” you asked.

“Getting back in Roth’s good graces and thereby, restoring our access to information and resources.”

“I’m sorry, were we just in the same room? About twenty minutes ago, when Roth kicked us to the curb and Bishop had a melt down?”

“We’re not going to let our hard work go to waste. There’s more than one key for every lock, you know?”

“Uh… that’s not how locks work.”

“It is when you know how to pick locks,” Zach quipped.

“I haven’t even told you about my conversation with Mr. Liu!”

He resumed typing, his attention focused on the monitor. “No sister?”

“Well, that’s a very anticlimactic way of putting it, but yes. He’s certain that Julia didn’t have a sister.”

“That’s the conclusion I ended up at too.”

“Should we tell Roth?”

“I’d rather clear our names first,” Zach said.

“How?”

“Look at this.”

Zach pivoted his monitor to show you the screen.

You stared at a map of Arlington with a route highlighted in purple. Squinting, you noted the web address of a popular running app called PacePal. The account’s username was generic and the profile picture was an image of a man's athletic shoes.

“What am I looking at?”

Zach smirked. “This PacePal profile belongs to Peter Shaw. The account photo is of the same running shoes he’s wearing in the Twitter he shared last year of himself finishing the Miami Marathon.”

“Okay, not to make myself look like an idiot, but who is Peter Shaw?”

“A very tenacious investigative reporter with Rolling Stone Magazine. He’s also the only person who knows the real identity of the leaker, and thanks to his lax attitude toward social media security, we know where Mr. Shaw will be at two o’clock this afternoon.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, we’re going to give Detective Roth a taste of his own medicine?”

“I intend to serve him a fresh plate of crow as soon as humanly possible,” Zach said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Ruthless much?”

“I didn’t pull in that jackass Lattimer without a damn good reason. We’re onto something with Julia’s supposed sister and if we don’t keep pushing the trail will go cold. What do you say, Princess? Shall we go put Shaw on notice?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lloyd called you when he woke, but reached your voicemail instead of you. He sent a text instead and dove into the shower to scrub off the lingering stench of gasoline that clung to his skin.

None of the clothes he’d packed suited the character he wanted to portray tonight, so he rummaged through Joe’s closet in search of better options. In the back, he discovered a garment bag containing the winning ensemble: a navy suit with wide lapels, bootcut trousers, and a matching waistcoat. It screamed 1970’s gaudy at the top of its lungs.

To complete the look, Lloyd installed the hair extensions he’d sent Elliot to acquire from a beauty supply store two towns over. Cutting the remaining extensions into three-inch pieces, he applied them carefully across his jaw, smirking as he remembered April's suggestion that he should grow a beard. The overall effect was a cross between Jerry Garcia and Medusa on a bad hair day.

For accessories, Lloyd raided Joe’s dresser. He added rings, a gold chain necklace, and a pair of lightly tinted orange sunglasses. The oversized frames elevated the look from vintage inspired to unmistakably costume like - a perfect fit for the character he was putting on. He slapped on a strongly scented aftershave he found in Joe’s medicine cabinet and instantly regretted it when his eyes watered from the fumes.

Resisting the urge to wash it off, he turned his attention to more practical matters. Joe’s gun cabinet yielded a wide assortment of armaments. He owned weapons from every firearms manufacturer on the market in the past fifty years. Lloyd wasn’t keen to give a hopped up meth addict a gun, but circumstances demanded it. He picked up a Winchester Renegade and checked the ammunition.

“Hey, Elliot! How’s your aim these days?”

Elliot turned around from his task of cleaning up the kitchen and did a double take of Lloyd’s outfit.

“Better than most people’s. What are you wearing, dude? Are we going to make a drug deal or audition for Saturday Night Fever?”

Lloyd snorted at the question and held out the Winchester Renegade.

“I need you to watch my back while I’m meeting with Russell. Just in case things don’t go according to plan.”

“Understood. I’m the second shooter on the grassy knoll,” Elliot said.

They took back roads to the meeting spot. By the time they reached their destination, Elliot’s old truck was covered in mud from the unpaved roads that cut through the vast Idaho landscape. They were deep in the countryside, hidden from prying eyes of passersby on the highway by miles of barren hills.

High Meadows had once been a thriving venue for team roping and barrel racing events. Now, the clay earth he remembered as being meticulously groomed played host to an invasion of dandelions and scotch thistle. The red aluminum roof over the pavilion had faded to a dull rust color and the cedar panel fencing that encircled the space was bent with age and broken in several places.

He helped Elliot unload the water cooler jugs filled with the gelled fuel that he’d spent the morning cooking. Lloyd marked out a circle, about twenty feet in diameter, in the middle of the arena and cut a small trench into the ground. With Elliot’s help he poured the viscous mixture into the trough and raked the displaced dirt back into place.

They hid their equipment in the bed of Elliot’s truck and moved the vehicle into a ravine near the main access road to High Meadows.

Lloyd turned to his cousin. “Go take up position on that hill over there.”

He pointed to a spot beyond the dilapidated grandstands. “It has the best vantage point. Also, there’s a thermal scope in your backpack in case the night vision doesn’t cut it.”

Elliot slung his backpack over his shoulder and disappeared into the hills. Lloyd took his position in the arena as the sun settled behind the horizon. He lay down on one of the risers in the grandstands, propped his feet up, and dozed until the sun went down. Suddenly, the crackle of the Bluetooth in his ear brought Lloyd back to the present as Elliot’s voice broke him from semi-unconscious.

“Russell is pulling in,” Elliot said.

“I see the headlights,” Lloyd confirmed.

The beams of Russell’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the arena. Lloyd leaned casually against a pillar on the far side. The position gave him plenty of time to observe Russell as he approached. The deputy was clearly spooked - he’d worn a bulletproof vest over his khaki uniform.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Lloyd called out in greeting.

Russell stepped into the arena, his eyes scanning the space, trying to assess the situation.

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t Carl tell you? We’re the Canadians,” Lloyd said, flashing a mischievous grin.

Russell’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Now, let’s get down to business!” Lloyd clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Don’t look so tense, Luke. I’m here to make you rich, and myself even richer. You see, I came here to shake down a former associate, but the trouble is this jackass died before I could get to him. So, I found a locally connected businessman and squeezed until he spilled your name.”

The deputy’s nostrils flared, a warning sign Lloyd waved off dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of him.”

“What do you mean you ‘took care of him’?” Russell demanded.

“I took him for a swim in Redfish Lake, the kind you don’t come back from,” Lloyd said, punctuating that statement with a wink.

Russell’s shock was palpable. Lloyd gave him a beat to recover, but when he just got a blank stare in response, he shifted tactics and threw his arms out in exaggerated frustration.

“Oh, come on! Be fucking for real, bro. Do you have two brain cells left rattling around in that ugly mug, pig? I got rid of your dealer because, number one, he’s a snitch and I don’t fuck with snitches. Number two, getting rid of Carl gives you the opportunity to set up a more reliable distribution system. Isn’t that nice? An open playing field with no territorial disputes from the locals? You can thank me now, or later.”

Russell hesitated. Lloyd didn’t let the silence linger.

“Okay, then. You’ll thank me later. Look, about-”

“You really killed Carl?”

Lloyd sighed. “Would I lie to you? Me? I have a reputation to uphold, Deputy.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath, that’s what you are,” Russell said, edging backwards.

“Hey! We’re not done talking business!” Lloyd yelled after the man as he turned away.

“Yes we are. Go to hell!”

“Don’t walk away from me, pig! This isn’t the kind of conversation you can just walk away from!”

Lloyd’s voice echoed through the pavilion, ringing with anger.

Russell glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, Luke… My number one rule is simple: I don’t fuck with snitches. Rule number two? Dirty cops who know your face are bad business. You see, they always end up being snitches. It’s like different flavors of the same ice cream. Triple chocolate fudge or brownie delight, who can tell ‘em apart?”

As Russell’s hand went for his gun, Lloyd flipped open his lighter and tossed it on the ground. The carefully prepared mixture of gasoline ignited instantly, shooting up and forming a wall of fire that raced around to encircle them.

Taken by surprise, Deputy Russell instinctively moved away from the searing heat of the flames an action that inadvertently drew him closer to Lloyd.

“Isn’t this nice? I find it rather cozy, like stepping into a bubble of security.”

Lloyd chuckled, his smile twisted with madness.

“This is how you conduct business?” Russell hissed, eyes glinting with shocked desperation as the flames continued to roar around them.

“I find it refocuses the attention when a deal starts getting off track.”

“What the hell do you want?!”

“I’ve made myself very clear, Russell. You need to work on your attention span. Here’s the deal: we become business partners… or you become a victim of what I like to call ‘spontaneous human combustion.’”

“Spontaneous,” the deputy muttered, looking at the flames.

“I never really plan on cremating anyone,” Lloyd said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world to discuss incinerating your business associates. “Every time I’ve actually gone through with this, the whole thing happens so fast, it really does look spontaneous. Now, Deputy… What do you say? Ready to make a deal?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sat beside Zach on a park bench, trying to make the most of the slight shade of a tree that offered a tiny bit of respite from the blistering August heat. The sound of approaching footfalls was a major relief. Five more minutes out here and you would have melted. You glanced up to see Peter Shaw, a man of average height with close cropped dark hair, nearing your bench.

Zach stood up and moved to the center of the path, blocking access to the parking lot.

“Peter Shaw. I’m Zach Hightower and this is Y/N. I assume you know who I am?”

The journalist stopped a few feet away from Zach. He was dripping with sweat, but still had the energy to offer a cocky smirk. He glanced in your direction and arched an eyebrow.

“The investigative duo. Where’s Hansen? Isn’t he usually your partner?”

“I read your article this morning. It was very interesting,” Zach said.

“Thanks. What part did you enjoy the most?”

“I thought it was very well researched. You even knew where the recent evidence was being stored. That was a very… interesting… detail to include in the article.”

Peter shrugged. “I take pride in my work.”

“The other little thing that jumped out and grabbed me was about the evidence collected in the Nguyen case twenty years ago. Your source criticized the chain of custody related to Shun Nguyen’s cell phone. That was extremely specific.”

Shaw’s grin turned from smug to sly. “I always make sure my sources have a keen eye for detail. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“One more thing. The criticism you leveled at the State Police for handling the digital evidence from that cell phone? Well, it went over my head, but I’ve got a guy who’s a genius with that kind of thing. When I showed him the article he said you’d need to consult with an expert in digital forensics to break down those kinds of technical concepts as clearly as you did.”

“Actually, I’m just that good,” Peter said, crossing his arms.

“You have a degree in English and absolutely no background in tech. You’re not that good… but I believe your source is. The level of insight they gave you left their fingerprints all over that article, Shaw. Your man’s days are numbered. If you were as good as you think you are, his head wouldn’t be heading for the chopping block.”

The journalist snorted. ��Do you run, Mr. Hightower?”

“Only when someone’s shooting at me. Why?”

“Just wondering if you get any other forms of exercise, besides jumping to conclusions.”

“It’s more of a step-by-step chain of logic that links together quite nicely. You really are a good writer, Shaw - very organized. That made it much easier to fill in the blanks. Does the name Leo McKenzie ring a bell?”

The blood drained from Shaw’s face, turning his lips white. Zach grinned.

“Good talking to you, Pete. Thanks for your time! Come on, Princess, let’s go.”

“You’re way off base, Hightower,” he called after you.

Zach gave him a cheerful wave. “Hey, Pete, since you’ve undoubtedly got my number, why don’t you give me a call next time you need a source? I can teach you how to cover your tracks so you don’t keep burning through informants.”

Then he lengthened his stride, forcing you into a jog as you tried to keep up. Once you were in the privacy of his vehicle, you gaped at him.

“Are you crazy? Did you just invite that sleazebag to call you?”

“Sure. He’s made more progress on this case than anyone else. We can’t ignore that.”

“How did you know who his source was? Did you guess?”

“Deduction isn’t guessing and that look on his face was all the confirmation I needed.”

“We should tell Detective Roth.”

“No. Let him figure it out on his own. He won’t believe anything we tell him at the moment.”

“But the security of the investigation is at stake!”

“Not for long. Shaw will contact his source and alert them that we’re onto them. I want to give Detective Roth the chance to redeem himself. Also, if he can’t find a mole in his own department, I’m not sure I want to work with him.”

“Right. Hey, where are we going?”

Zach turned onto an unfamiliar exit, one that headed away from his office.

“I’ve got to make another stop. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Elliot drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You really freaked him out."

"Mmmhh."

"He's going to send those drugs up in flames."

The insight was spot on. Deputy Russell’s wavering commitment to the sale was becoming more evident as dawn broke. He had raced back to the security of the Sheriff’s Offices after meeting with “the Canadians” and spent the rest of the night holed up there. Through the front window, Lloyd watched his shadow move behind the blinds.

The silhouette moved from left to right, and then crossed back again, from right to left. Russell was already a paranoid bastard and introducing a real threat to his life may have been a step too far. His restless actions raised a red flag in Lloyd’s assessment of the situation. Watching him through binoculars from their high vantage point in the parking lot of the White Rivers campsite, Lloyd decided it was time to ease the pressure and give Russell an escape hatch.

He was too spooked to hand the drugs over directly to the Canadians. After the ring of fire incident Russell was probably more likely to shoot Lloyd if he ever saw him again instead of cooperating with him.

“We’re going to plan B,” Lloyd said. “Give me a burner phone.”

He held out a hand and Elliot pressed a device into his palm. Lloyd dialed and watched through the binoculars as the blinds of the Sheriff’s office raised. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew Russell was somewhere inside.

The call connected.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Lloyd spoke hoarsely. “Hello. Deputy Luke Russell?”

“This is he.” Russell sounded suspicious.

"This is Agent Ambrosio of the ATF. Do you have a moment to speak with me? Somewhere private would be best if possible."

"Yeah, yeah. I can do that," Russell said.

There was feedback as he moved, the the sound of a door closing. He must have gone to his office.

“Okay. I can talk now.”

"Russell, I'm calling about your boss, Sheriff Holbrook. Are you aware of the case against him?"

"Uh… you mean that thing from last year?"

"Eighteen months ago," Lloyd clarified. "The federal investigation into Holbrook's involvement with the drug trade has continued, which is why I'm reaching out. We need your cooperation."

"What can I do to help you, agent?”

"We have everything that we need to make an arrest. This is a courtesy call, Deputy. We're moving on him tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Oh… Wow… Okay, is there anything I can do?" Russell asked.

"We're still organizing things. Holbrook is constantly armed, and we're aware of how high-risk this operation will be. I’d be more comfortable with the situation I’m sending my men into if we had your cooperation.”

“Absolutely. Whatever you need, sir.”

Lloyd’s mouth curved into a smile. Pushing too hard may have been the right play after all. His prey had just swallowed the bait without noticing the hook that pierced his lip along with it.

Game. Set. Match.

All that was left to do was reel in his catch.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XVI

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Masterlist

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprincess

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-medstudent-help

@terry2227

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove

@babyevansblog

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister

@ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit

@rosedpetal

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish

@lavenderx0

@calwitch

@peachiestevie

@texmexdarling

@here4thefanfics

@rogersbarber

@spikeluv84

@dear-fifi

#the princess and the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #series: the princess & the lawyer #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x fem! reader #lloyd hansen au #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #chris evans characters #chris evans characters fanfic #chris evans characters fic #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fanfic

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professor-james-buchanan-barnes · 23 days ago

Note

Why am I hacking into your mailbox?

Cause I’m learning how and thought “hey, why not see what others are sending to Dr. Barnes today?” And then proceeded to get horny interested via how dirty you can be in emails…

I have no excuses BUT to be fair, everything was very immersive.

-💾

I'm going to pretend that you didnt say anything.

Note to self, make sure to put up an encryption on my mailbox later.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel rp blog #the winter soldier #mcu rp #james bucky barnes #professor james barnes #floppy disk

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inkedinfusions · 5 months ago

Note

AHHHH I LOVE THE NEW CHAPTER,ARMIN YESSSSS THE CONVERSATIONS ARE HAPPENING,THE QUESTIONS ARE GETTING ASKED,AND SASHA! SHE'S ONE OF MY FAVS AND SHE FELT SO IN CHARACTER,CONNIEEEEE LEVIIIII EVERYONE ELSE I LOVED IT

i recoiled when I read that one line that mentioned floch.

THE CHAPTER ENDED, FU-

Okay,Whenever I read a chapter I make myself think stuff like this and then laugh

eren being like: captain Levi is nice once you get to know him, he's not that scary

Y/n: trying to hold her fangirling in huh? Oh yeah totally

Levi: has been glaring at her because whenever she has her gaze on him he feels like she's hiding something there's something up with the brat

Stuck in mid terms exam currently but I was struck with a mental image after reading the part where sasha hit reader with the pillow

Don't ask me why but, remember that time when Eren cut his leg so he could stay at the hospital and what not and he was screaming and all that

I just imagined reader behind him as soon as he screams she just smacks his head with the pan until he stops and keeps smacking a bit to make sure he's down for the count because she does not want to deal with the fact he's cutting his leg and the fact she has to listen to him yell the whole way

Btw,when Eren gave Falco the letter to send to his friends,what do you think was written in it that made them come get him

I saw on Pinterest the same idea and it literally showed a perfect depiction of Eren giving Falco and his friends receiving and this is what the letter said

'you can either go down in history as a patriot or you can go down as a pussy'

My own ideas are like

'i'm being held hostage/I got kidnapped,you know what they say,4th time the charm'

'you either come and save me or you don't and you screw paradis ten times over, it's your choice really'

' I'm in Marley

Eren y-

Plus: Zeke y-'

'if I die it's on you'

' gonna go meet Reiner, we're just gonna have a chat'

Sasha!!!! I lover her but writing her is a little difficult because I don’t want to reduce her to her food obsessed stereotype but like,,, she does like food a lot. So I’ve been juggling that

Armin too!! HE IS SO DIFFICULT TO WRITE LIKE???? Please please please I have to redo his dialogues like three times before they aren’t all he would not fucking say that. I miss Zeke man, he was so easy to write dialogue for

Eren: Yeah, he’s not as mean looking once you get to know him

Y/n: He kicked you a bunch of times

Eren: well yes

Y/n pairing that amputated leg with a concussion love to see that

Oooo I never thought about that! Idk it probably was encrypted but with enough red flags to raise the Scouts attention. Like, even if he sought Falco out so he could put the letters in one of the Marleyan mailboxes, I still think the plan wasn’t explicitly written. Maybe something like, “hey you should como visit they’re having a festival” or something

I hope everything goes well with your midterms! :)

#ann answers #the key

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mysteriousdrone · 6 months ago

Text

The Militia and the Mole

by Joshua Kaplan

ProPublica is a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative newsroom. Sign up for The Big Story newsletter to receive stories like this one in your inbox.

Reporting Highlights

A Freelance Vigilante: A wilderness survival trainer spent years undercover, climbing the ranks of right-wing militias. He didn’t tell police or the FBI. He didn’t tell his family or friends.

The Future of Militias: He penetrated a new generation of militia leaders, which included doctors and government attorneys. Experts say that militias could have a renaissance under Donald Trump.

A Secret Trove: He sent ProPublica a massive trove of documents. The conversations that he secretly recorded give a unique, startling window into the militia movement.

These highlights were written by the reporters and editors who worked on this story.

In the daylight, Williams dropped an envelope with no return address in a U.S. Postal Service mailbox. He’d loaded it with a flash drive and a gold Oath Keepers medallion.

It was addressed to me.

Now he was a fugitive. He drove south toward a desert four hours from the city, where he could disappear.

1. Prelude

(Unless otherwise noted, none of the militia members mentioned in this story responded to requests for comment.)

2. The Struggle

Many people in Utah had turned to wilderness survival after a personal crisis, forming a community of misfits who thrived in environments harsh and remote. Even among them, Williams earned a reputation for putting himself in extreme situations. “Not many people are willing to struggle on their own. He takes that struggle to a high degree,” one friend told me admiringly. Williams took up krav maga and muay thai because he enjoyed fistfights. He once spent 40 days alone in the desert with only a knife, living off chipmunks and currants (by choice, to celebrate a birthday).

Finally, Williams thought. I’m starting to get some traction.

3. The Decision

Did I teach that guy? he wondered. Why was I so cordial to them all?If they knew I was gay, I bet they’d want me dead, and I actually helped them. Because I was too selfish to think of anything but my career.

4. A New World

Williams stood alone in his apartment, watching himself in the mirror.

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

He tried to focus on his mannerisms, on the intonation of his voice. Whether he was saying the truth or a falsehood, he wanted to appear exactly the same.

“My hands are tied,” Williams wrote. “If I’m not able to” take charge, the whole militia “might unravel.” Rollins gave him the promotion.

Williams feared that if anything he’d helped AP3, not damaged it. Then, in early November, Rollins told him to contact a retired detective named Bobby Kinch.

5. The Detective and the Sheriff

Williams turned on a recording device and dialed. Kinch picked up after one ring: “What’s going on?” he bellowed. “How you doing, man?”

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Kinch continued, but they’d met years before.

“Oh, oh, back in the day,” Williams said, stuttering for a second. He knew Kinch was expecting the call but was confused by the warm reception. Maybe Kinch was at the training in 2019?

“Well I’m the sitting, current national director of the Oath Keepers now.”

“He goes, ‘But I want you to save the organization.’”

6. The Hunting of Man

If he even starts to examine it, I’ll grab the gun, he thought. Then I’ll shoot him and flee into the woods.

Kinch took the bug from the dog’s mouth. Then he handed it right to Williams and started to apologize.

Don’t worry about it, Williams said. He’s a puppy!

Kinch went on: “I love the adrenaline of police work,” and then he paused. “I miss it. It was a hoot.”

Kinch introduced Williams to the group. “He’s not the feds. And if he is, he’s doing a damn good job.”

Williams laughed, a little too loud.

7. Doctor, Lawyer, Sergeant, Spy

Then as they turned from their weakened national presence to their recent successes in Utah, Williams snapped to attention.

“We had surveillance operations,” Kinch said, without elaboration.

“Absolutely, yeah, I’m excited about that.” Williams was resolved to find his way onto the national board.

8. The Stakeout

Then came his pupil’s first exercise: build a dossier on Williams’ boss in AP3. Williams explained it was safest to practice on people they knew.

“Ah yes, i have doxes on many journalists in utah,” Rowan responded, using slang for sharing someone’s personal data with malicious intent.

9. The Plan

In the meantime, he would undermine the movement from the inside. He began trying to blunt the danger that he saw lurking in every volatile situation the militiamen put themselves in.

“It’s getting to be too much for me.”

10. The Deep State

Coda: Project 2025

Every time militia members make a phone call, attend a meeting or go to a gun range together, he wants them “to be thinking, in the back of their heads, ‘This guy will betray me.’”

#politics #democracy #democrats #maga cult #militia #fuck trump #brainwashing #the brainrot is real

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thecharleston · 9 months ago

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A message is sent out over radio on an encrypted channel...

STATUS UPDATE: Ahem... testing... okay, great.

Hiya to whoever's out there! This is Charlie Bergeron, multiverse field researcher speaking-- I came up with that title myself, ehehe. It's September, nineteen ninety-something, I think? That last sub-multiverse group... well, it was pretty awful! I'm glad to be out of there, honestly, but, ah, I had to flee to the nearest neighboring group for... reasons! My portal gun's on the fritz again, and I think I need to restock on the uranium it uses, so... I'm stranded for a second time now!

BUT THAT'S OKAY! This universe seems a little more like home. I mean, the town I've landed in-- Gravity Falls-- still seems... weird, if the non-zero number of gnomes I've seen is any indicator. But not as bad as the other place-- not even CLOSE. The air was so much thicker... blegh, that place was the pits! What kind of town name is Hatchetfield, anyway?

But anyhoo... I think I'm gonna ask around, see what I can see. That's where YOU come in, if you can hear this! If anybody knows anyone I can talk to who might be able to give me a run-down, please leave me a message in the conspicuously fake mailbox I've set up on Oak Street! I could REALLY use a hand over here! Up to my ears in busted gadgets, honestly... but I really gotta go, so, buh-bye! Um. Charlie Bergeron, over and out!

The radio returns to its usual static.

#ooc: everybody say hi to my feral scientist child!#she's twelve and should NOT be operating half the gadgets she's made SNDHSK #this used to be a hatchetfield rp blog but Charlie already travels the multiverse so. it wouldn't contradict anything i don't think #gravity falls #gravity falls rp #unreality

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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A new class of health care startups has emerged in response to the US Supreme Court’s decision to overturn the federal right to abortion last year. These “digital abortion clinics” connect patients with health care providers who are able to prescribe mifepristone and misoprostol, a course of care commonly described as the “abortion pill.”

These services, many of which were founded before Dobbs v. Jackson, are poised to eliminate a major paradox in the field of reproductive health: Medication abortion is currently the most common way to terminate a pregnancy, yet only 1 in 4 adults are familiar with it, according to a recent study by KFF.

These clinics operate in different ways—some provide live video visits with doctors and nurse practitioners, while others offer asynchronous counseling—but many have experienced a record number of patient orders (and increased VC funding) over the past year. According to Elisa Wells, cofounder of the nonprofit Plan C, their appeal is straightforward. “Their pricing is quite affordable, and there’s convenience in placing an order and getting pills delivered to your mailbox in three to four days,” she says.

Recent data suggests that telehealth clinics have been effective in expanding access to abortion care, especially for people living in remote areas or in states where the procedure has been criminalized, a finding that Wells’ team corroborates. Thanks to a new series of “shield laws” protecting clinicians from out-of-state prosecution—passed in 12 states, including New York, Maryland, and Illinois—these clinics are positioned to expand their reach even further.

Following the lead of other companies in the femtech space (a category that includes everything from kegel trainers to period-tracking apps), leaders at digital abortion clinics like Hey Jane and Choix have publicly expressed their commitment to users’ privacy as they grow. In a recent interview with Vogue, Hey Jane cofounder Kiki Freedman said that the service is “HIPAA-compliant and encrypted.” In an interview with Ms. magazine this January, a representative from Choix highlighted its “HIPAA-compliant texting platform,” while another interviewee suggested that “most telehealth providers are not checking IP addresses.” (Read more about how HIPAA actually works here.)

A common belief about virtual clinics is that they offer more discretion than their brick-and-mortar counterparts. “There’s definitely a privacy factor—these sites don’t ask a lot of questions,” says Wells. In a 2020 study of over 6,000 abortion seekers, 39 percent reported choosing a telemedicine option specifically to preserve their privacy. While some providers’ intentions seem genuine, privacy experts have pointed out that their services may not be as secure as users expect them to be (even if they are compliant with US law).

Last July, a team of researchers at the Markup reported that Hey Jane’s site passed along user information to Meta and Google, the world’s largest digital advertisers. While providers may not restrict access via IP addresses, our analysis found that most providers readily collected them. For telehealth abortion clinics, HIPAA compliance is just one part of the puzzle.

So which virtual abortion clinics take users’ privacy seriously, and which do not? How can users approach these services with safety in mind? Does HIPAA protect all information sent to telehealth providers? To find out, we teamed up with experts to analyze the privacy policies of five popular abortion-by-mail providers: Wisp, Choix, Hey Jane, Carafem, and Aid Access.

While the American Bar Association reported in April that “high-tech tactics” (like sending court orders to femtech apps) have not been used to successfully convict abortion seekers, prosecutors have used women’s text messages and search histories as evidence in a number of abortion-related cases. Because of this precedent, users should proceed with caution when handing their personal information over to telehealth providers. It’s not uncommon for vulnerable data to end up in the hands of third-party brokers who compile digital profiles of users before selling their information to the highest bidder. Michele Gilman, professor of law at the University of Baltimore, says: “Reproductive health data is being sold and transported into a much larger system.”

To make matters worse, the absence of a comprehensive federal privacy law, like the EU’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), leaves the burden of evaluating privacy policies to individual users. Considering that these policies have gotten longer and more difficult to decipher in recent years, this is a serious burden. For our evaluation, we consulted frameworks from the University of Texas at Austin’s Privacy Lab and the Digital Standard to arrive at four core factors.

Here’s what we found:

Data Collection (PII)

The GDPR’s American cousin, the California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA) has inspired proposed state legislation that supports greater protections for a specific category of data—personally identifiable information. While PII is broadly defined, Google interprets it as including your email address, full name, precise location, phone number, and mailing address.

The safest websites to use won’t collect your PII at all, but offering a mailing address to a virtual clinic is a matter of necessity here. In this context, it’s helpful to distinguish between companies that use your personal information to provide essential services and those that share this information with third parties. Austria-based nonprofit Aid Access fared the best in this category, encouraging users to access the service with virtual anonymity in its policy. Wisp fared particularly poorly here, citing its ability to send specific geolocation data to advertisers.

The majority of providers we analyzed categorize email addresses and the like as “personal information,” which is only protected by HIPAA if it’s stored alongside medical information. This makes it difficult to judge whether it’s being used appropriately.

Low Risk: PII is not recorded, Some Risk: PII is used for intended service, High Risk: PII is used by third parties

Law Enforcement

According to bioethics expert Sharona Hoffman, there’s a common misconception that HIPPA protects your medical information from being shared outside of your doctor’s office. The reality, she says, is that “HIPAA isn’t that protective. Consumers need to know that HIPAA has exceptions for law enforcement and public health.”

While the law provides safeguards for a particular subset of information (personal health information), it doesn’t cover all of the information you provide to a telehealth service. Even if it did apply, the rule allows (but does not require) health care providers to expose PHI when presented with a search warrant or other legal document. While providers could technically refuse these requests, most don’t. “It’s easier to comply rather than involve your medical office in litigation,” says Gilman.

Aid Access is a notable exception and has a track record of standing up to law enforcement (it even sued the US Food and Drug Administration last year.) When examining privacy policies, UT’s Privacy Lab recommends looking at companies’ willingness to hand over any data in the absence of a warrant or other legal document. Neither Carafem, Wisp, Hey Jane, nor Choix specify that they would require a warrant before sending information to government agencies or other legal entities.

Low Risk: PII is not recorded, Some Risk: Legal documents are required to comply with law enforcement, High Risk: Legal documents are not required to comply with law enforcement

Data Control (Deletion)

Sites that offer users more control over their data can deliver better privacy than those that don’t. While low-risk sites will allow you to delete and edit your information freely, some medical information that users provide to virtual clinics will still be out of reach. This is due to state-specific medical record retention laws, which can require health care entities to retain some records for up to 25 years.

Examining how much control companies give users over other information is a better proxy for understanding their general safety. While most of the providers we analyzed included data deletion protocols in their privacy policies, Choix and Hey Jane’s do not. In addition, the latter confirms that it retains data for an unspecified (“reasonable”) period of time.

While Wisp does offer a deletion protocol, it admits that requests can be refused for a variety of reasons, including “exercising free speech” and “internal and lawful uses” on behalf of itself or its affiliates. In addition to responding to requests, privacy-forward organizations will also proactively delete sensitive information, something Carafem does. However, Carafem does not specify a timeline or provide a general deletion request protocol. By contrast, Aid Access allows users to file deletion requests at will for most information.

Low Risk: Users can edit or delete data, Some Risk: Users can edit data, High Risk: Users cannot edit or delete data

Third-Party Sharing (Ads and Marketing)

Research scientist and privacy expert Razieh Nokhbeh Zaeem calls personally identifiable information the “currency of the internet” because of the myriad ways individualized data is collected, bought, and sold across industries. While almost all websites work with third parties in some way, telehealth companies should not sell or share your information with advertisers—but many do, as evidenced by Betterhelp’s recent settlement with the Federal Trade Commission.

If a company is collecting sensitive information and using it to market products and services to you, that presents some risk. If a company shares this information with other companies to support their marketing efforts, it’s a major red flag. As the Markup rightly points out in its privacy policy guide, mentions of “personalization” and “improving services” in these documents usually equate to ad tracking.

According to its privacy policy, Hey Jane uses personal data (and PII) to market its own services (“inform you about products”), while Carafem, Wisp, and Choix reserve the right to pass along information to third-party marketing partners. Choix’s policy claims that it “will never sell your data for third-party marketing purpose[s]” in one section but reserves the right to disclose data to its affiliates for “marketing” purposes in another.

Rather than limiting or removing the third-party trackers installed on their sites, some providers recommend that users generally opt out of cookie-based advertising within their policies, a strategy that is far from foolproof.

Low Risk: PII is not used for marketing or advertising, Some Risk: PII is used for marketing/advertising, High Risk: PII shared with third parties for marketing/advertising

The Bottom Line

In a post-Roe America, virtual abortion clinics provide an essential service, especially for people living in states that criminalize care. Early indicators have shown that they increase access to safe and effective abortion medications, but they don’t offer as much privacy as users are led to believe. With the exception of Aid Access, all of the providers we analyzed have a long way to go when it comes to protecting users’ privacy and earning their trust.

To manage risk when approaching these services (and accessing other information about abortion in hostile states), educators at the Digital Defense Fund recommend reducing your footprint by using privacy-forward search engines like DuckDuckGo, creating temporary email accounts for abortion care, and turning off location tracking on all of your devices.

While engaging in defensive tactics like these are practically useful, legal scholars like Gilman suggest that the reproductive justice movement will advance only when federal and state governments no longer rely on an outdated “notice and consent” paradigm for data privacy. “We need meaningful consent in the reproductive health space,” says Gilman. “Privacy policies today are more like adhesion contracts—suggesting that users ‘take it or leave it.’ It’s not realistic or fair to tell people they can’t engage with technology if they want to protect their privacy.”

Gilman recommends advocating at the state level for better privacy standards, especially if your representatives are considering new legislation. She also encourages people to demand increased protections from private companies, many of which are more flush with the “currency of the internet” than they would have us believe.

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