This book is a fictional representation of true events in which names, initials, and situations have been changed to secure safety for my loved ones, professionals who have helped me at great risk, and myself.
This is the story of American corporate and governmental life today, thanks to the Cold War that spawned the CIA Operation Paperclip and MK-Ultra mind control programs. Even the secret space program now in operation began with Nazi physics and mind control. Because all of this has been cloaked for over a half century in “national security,” the American public is oblivious to the existence of the evils now embedded in the very structure of its institutions and government agencies, like the post-9/11 Department of Homeland Security.
It is long past time to awaken the public to what victims like myself are undergoing every day and night of the week at work and at home.
Los Angeles, California
Absolute Mind-Controlled Sex Slavery and Silent Murder
Time: 2017-10-01, Sunday night, 8 pm PST
Place: My home in Irvine, California
“Another night to face an attack,” I thought silently, staring through the kitchen window toward the dark, quiet backyard.
My ex-husband, our four children, and I had just finished dinner at the large dining room table of the 4-bedroom, single level house in a quiet cul-de-sac near University of California Irvine, an affluent neighborhood of white and Asian professionals. Irvine has been consistently rated as one of the safest cities in the United States. What irony. I know too well what an illusion safety is in this city where I have been living for eleven years.
Heavy hearted, I closed the window blinds and thought about what I could do to prevent being abducted during my sleep, as tomorrow would surely be another stressful day at work. For an Information Technology (IT) systems analyst working at one of the largest mutual fund companies in the world, I know what “busy” means: the first few weeks of October when the trillion-dollar financial company must report last quarter mutual fund investment performance. IT staff would have to make sure all of the company’s websites were updated with the latest statistics, and mutual fund marketing materials would have to be delivered to investors and brokers, dealers, etc. I would be leading or attending back-to-back project planning meetings to schedule work for the upcoming week, responding to loads of emails, messages, and phone calls to coordinate with staff and contractors at international offices, not to mention that I would be filling in job performance self-evaluations as the rumors of mass layoffs mounted. Most daunting for me would be thinking of how to deal with the very dark secrets hidden inside and beyond my mutual fund company.
It was 8:08 pm. My ex-husband sleeps in the bedroom at the front end of the house, my four children and I in the three bedrooms at the far back of the house. The living room, study, kitchen and family room lie between, with the backyard and side yard open to the large cul de sac where cars are always parked. My ex-husband was lying on his bed drinking and watching TV, two of our children were watching a movie in the living room, the third was in the study chatting with friends online while the fourth was studying in their bedroom.
A thought in my mind directed me to one of the children’s bedrooms. I lay on a child’s bed, feeling comfortable despite our uncomfortable conversation. I had talked to my child before about how my brain and body had been involuntarily implanted with nanochips, that I had been subjected to MK-Ultra programming and constantly abducted for program “tune-ups” and slavery. The child strongly refused to believe or listen to anything about it. All the same, I asked the child if they would mind my taping the door to the hallway so that the broken tape would indicate that I had walked out of the house during the night. The child became furious because they do not want to believe I am forced to walk out to torture. Refusing to listen to anything more, the child stood up and stormed out of the room.
I knew I should get up immediately and leave the room, as I was now isolated from all witnesses. But a hypnotic comment was remotely transmitted to my mind: How soft the bed is, how comfortable it is lying here. I’ll just lie here a few more minutes . . . Without my conscious command, the toe on my right foot involuntarily wiggled up and down three times. I had seen this pattern before: a trigger for a “fall asleep” program, which includes a hypnotic command that if my right toe wiggles three times, I will fall deep asleep in a few minutes. It was now too late to stand up and leave the room. My mind was moving into trance, all my thoughts slowing down to almost a numb state.
At 10:00 pm sharp, a remote electromagnetic wave was transmitted to my brain to make me wake up. A minute later, my children returned to their room. I remembered absolutely nothing about what had happened between falling asleep and waking up. The entire time, everyone else had been in the other end of the house and no one had gone into the room where I was “sleeping.”
Recovered Memory: D.S.’s Revenge
After I fell asleep, a remote-controlled electromagnetic ray communicated to the chips in my brain to adjust the brain to a semi-trance, the most vulnerable state for hypnotic induction. A subliminal sound was remotely transmitted to my mind. The sound included a number of phone ringtones followed by spelling out an alphanumeric code followed by the command for “Betty”—an alter personality created by severe torture during my recent trip to Columbia, Missouri—to wake up and come to the surface.
The creation of alters is accomplished through torture, drugs, and hypnosis. On September 6, 2016, I had gone to Columbia, Missouri to see a private investigator (PI) who ran a full body scan to determine the location and frequencies of nanochip implants implanted in my body without my knowledge. While driving my rental car from Columbia back to the airport, a heavy sleep wave was sent by the perpetrators following my car, along with the instruction to pull over and take a nap so I could later continue to drive safely. After I was asleep, I was abducted to a nearby adult sex toy shop and electroshocked until my psyche split and created another personality the perpetrators named “Betty” to hold the memory of the horrible torture. “Betty” was gang-raped and severely tortured with “sex toys” and torture tools of the trade kept in the adult sex toy shop, all of which was filmed “for advertising the sex toys.”
These extreme tortures led to programming “Betty” as a sex slave, her job being to absolutely obey the master who called her out and to perform anything commanded, including all kinds of sex with anyone, anytime, anywhere, no matter how perverse, degrading or harmful. When summoned, “Betty” takes over my body and becomes the controlling personality.
“Betty” took control of my body. The subliminal microwave voice commanded her to walk out of the house and enter a black car waiting for her in the cul de sac. She felt a shiver along her spine: black cars were used for transporting sex slaves for sex slavery and/or torture. “Betty” had no choice but to be transported, the memory of the torture that had created her in Missouri still so fresh and fierce that even to think of it for a second made her body tremble and every cell scream. She could imagine no way to escape and had to obey in order to survive.
Quietly, “Betty” left the child’s bed, walked out of the bedroom and down the hall, lowered her body so as to crawl under the long table in the family room and then through the curtains covering the patio door left open for her so no one in the house would notice her exit. The side yard gate was also left open. Outside the patio door was a pair of shoe covers that “Betty” now put on over her sandals. Outside the backyard she walked along the cul de sac sidewalk to the black car quietly idling, its lights off. She opened the door and slipped into the back seat. In the front seat were two young Mexican men. Silently and quickly, “Betty” was driven to a single-family rental about 200 meters away. The garage door opened, the car entered the garage, and the garage door rolled back down.
Following the voice in her head, “Betty” got out of the car, entered the house by the side door, walked down a hallway and turned into a bedroom where an old Mexican man named D.S. awaited her, the master for this night.
When “Betty” entered the bedroom, D.S. was monitoring the secret app on his phone, an app he used to monitor and control me that was linked to the network of the central monitoring program I’d been sold to. With a satisfied smile on his face, he closed it. Everything had been executed perfectly so far, including the silent microwave voice remotely projected into my skull earlier to manipulate my thoughts so I would take a shower and change into new sexy pants, persuade me to enter my child’s bedroom, quarrel with the child, drive the child out, fall asleep on the child’s bed, etc.
D.S. scrutinized his slave for the night: a middle-aged, 5’6” Chinese woman with an attractive face and slender body. Despite her age and the birth of four children, she has maintained smooth and fine skin and looks much younger than her age. What makes her unique in the underground slave market is that she is also intelligent, highly educated, and creative, which had already made him a small fortune when he sold her to the U.S. government secret space program two years before.
He knows her well. She was his Senior Information Technology Analyst in a government agency for seven years. She had also been the “pretty woman” that he’d tried without success to lure with job promotions,who had then turned whistleblower and reported a million-dollar questionable expenditure that he’d managed to the agency. The most hateful thing to him was that she’d dared to tell co-workers about the rapes she’d endured and pointed suspicion at him. Now, she was his totally mind-controlled slave that he could humiliate and torture at will until deciding to eliminate her with no trace or consequence.
“Betty” stood emotionless in front of him, awaiting his command. He could order her to do anything, but this time his taste was to command her to give control over to his favorite alter “Vivian,” the one he had personally created and reserved for himself. “Vivian” surfaced and took over my body. She is from the movie Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, about a high-end hooker who has a romantic encounter with “Edward,” a super-wealthy, handsome businessman. “Vivian” shares my body but only has memories from the time she was created, which was after I left the government agency. So she does not know who D.S. really is; she only knows her job is to please him and do whatever sex acts he wants in a classy way to satisfy his fantasy of being her savior, as in the movie.
D.S. gave a coded command. “Vivian” automatically took off her clothes and began performing sex moves mimicking the prostitution scenes in Pretty Woman. D.S. looked down at her, the woman he was not able to conquer in the real world, knowing that if she were not programmed with alter “sex kitten” personalities, she would never do any of this for him. But now she is his MK-Ultra slave and he is her master and he can treat her body like a doormat any time he wishes. She dares not show any resistance to physical abuse or the humiliation of degrading sex acts. When he is about to finish, he orders “Vivian” to assume an anal sex position so he can finish with anal sex. While he dresses, “Vivian” stands, awaiting his next command. Normally, he would order her to clean her body of any trace of sex, but today he moves on to other agendas.
Torture for interrogation
One of D.S.’s agendas is to ask about his future fate. Some MK-Ultra slaves are specially trained by the U.S. government to have paranormal psychic abilities. He calls out a code that makes “Vivian” go under, then calls out another program code for “Golden,” a male alter created to perform complex tasks. D.S. asks “Golden” when and how would he die. “Golden” clarifies that he does not have the psychic power to see the future but can see past lives. D.S. does not believe “Golden” and asks which alter can see the future. “Golden” answers “SkyWalker,” another alter created by military programmers to perform secret space-related tasks. D.S. did not know the code for “SkyWalker,” so he pressed “Golden” to tell him. “Golden” said “SkyWalker” cannot be called out by a code; he can only be called out by a special wave form to the brain that only the military has the equipment to create.
D.S. does not accept that answer either and decides to electroshock “Golden.” He takes out a small box with two wires ending in clips and attaches the clips to my vulva. (Golden is a male alter but must share my female body.) D.S. turns on the switch and a strong electric current shoots into my vagina and then into my whole body, now uncontrollably tumbling and twisting in pain. “Golden” still insists he cannot see the future nor does he know “SkyWalker’s” code. D.S. repeats the electroshock several times, then finally gives up. He then asks “Golden” about his past lives. Emotionless, “Golden” describes what he sees in two of D.S.’s past lives.
D.S. is disappointed but has no time to linger on his future or past, as he has a third agenda for tonight, which is the most important one. He heard that I have collected evidence on the implanted chip and have been actively doing deprogramming with psychiatrists to recover lost memories. He knows I have booked a trip the following day to do more deprogramming and another trip the day after for another full body scan. With existing memories recovered and more evidence to be revealed, he and the secret entities behind him are afraid that I will discover the dark secrets that they have concealed so successfully. He fears that his cover as a retired high technology executive will be blown and his crimes exposed, so that he will need to expedite my elimination.
D.S. switches “Golden” for “Betty,” ordering her to another bedroom. On a table adjacent to the end of the bed is a machine that looks like a medical device. It has a desktop component with a big round opening in front, and an arm bar connecting somewhere else. “Betty” is ordered to sit on the end of the bed and face the machine, her private parts and abdomen facing the round opening. It is a commercial X-ray machine intentionally modified for slow murder, its protective components removed so that the X-rays can reach a maximum harmful level.
D.S. leaves the room grinning. From another room, he turns on the machine and shoots X-rays into “Betty” so her soft organs absorb a maximum ionized radiation. He pushes the button that feeds hundreds of doses of X-rays far exceeding the allowed limits of radiation treatments. He has used this method on me many times, both when I am sleeping at home and when I am in altered states after being abducted. Radiation leaves no telltale marks, and when the target eventually develops cancer and dies, there is no suspicion. The CIA has used this proven silent murder method for decades. D.S. will use it to terminate the woman he has such mixed feelings about.
The Mexican drivers notified D.S. that the movie my children were watching at home was almost over and that they would soon be returning to their bedroom. It was time to send me back so my absence would not be discovered. Quickly D.S. wraps up his X-ray death operation and orders “Betty” to put on her clothes. Another command wipes “Betty’s” memories of what happened that night, and the drivers return “Betty” to the children’s bedroom. Once “Betty” is lying on the bed, a remote voice commands her to return to my subconscious and for me to take control of my body. At 10:00 pm sharp, I am awakened on my child’s bed by a remotely projected signal. Within one minute, my children return to their room. I stand up and walk out.
From the abduction house just 200 meters away, D.S. must be monitoring all my home activities from his phone app, perhaps saying to himself, “So far, so good.” But a doubt might be lingering in his mind: What if she remembers what happened tonight? What if she remembers that I did not have time to clean the telltale traces of sex?
My Life Before Government Whistleblowing
Born to be a boy
I was born during the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) in the fall of 1970 in Changsha, Hunan Province, in the south of the People’s Republic of China. My mother was an accountant in a state-owned commercial administration organization. On the night I was born, she attended her organization’s nightly mandatory “Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung” class until 9 pm. My father was a lecturer on mechanical engineering at the state-owned university in Shanghai and could not return home for my birth.
My mother knew she was about to give birth but not the gender of the baby. Two years before, she’d had a daughter and desperately wanted a boy. In traditional Chinese culture, only boys carry the family name and are valued. Her moderate economic status meant she and my father could not afford more than two children. Based on how she walked and the shape of her abdomen, every neighbor was certain she was carrying a boy, which made her happy. In fact, she had secretly determined that if the baby were a girl, she would kill her and pretend it had been an unfortunate accident or natural death. No one would suspect her and she might have another chance at a boy.
It was a warm night in the capital city. She prepared a pot of hot water and liners in case she gave birth at home. The hospital was next door and an OB/GYN doctor lived upstairs in her apartment building. When the contractions began, she felt it was too late to go to the hospital so she asked one neighbor to call the OB/GYN upstairs and another neighbor to ride a bicycle to her mother’s house about ten minutes away and bring her to help with the birth. Both the doctor and my grandmother arrived in time.
When the doctor handed me to my grandmother, my mother asked, “Is it a boy?” Before the doctor could answer, my grandmother, who knew my mother’s plan, said, “Yes,” then took me to the water barrel for a bath, after which she wrapped me up. My mother, satisfied she had a son but exhausted from the birth, quickly fell asleep.
The next morning, the neighbors woke my mother to congratulate her on her second daughter. When my mother insisted I was a boy, the neighbors laughed. “We all know it is a girl – the doctor told us.” So it was too late for an accident or natural death. Word was out.
How I survived the following years, I do not know. My mother never had a son; after me, she aborted all her babies. I never had a good relationship with her, although we have gotten along much better in recent years. I was, however, very close to my grandmother, a traditional Chinese woman widowed in her 40’s who endured poverty and hardship to raise three daughters by herself. She was kind, soft-spoken, never complained, and always helped others. She loved and cared for me, and I loved her dearly. She died when I was 17 years old.
School years in China
In some ways, I performed as well as a son might have. I was a cute baby, always smiling, after which I went on to a state-owned preschool. There I exhibited so much gymnastic talent that I was selected by the province-owned Sports Committee to be one of several dozen child athletes to be trained exclusively as State gymnasts that might one day represent China in the Olympics. But during preparation class away from my beloved preschool teacher, I cried day and night for her until the Sports Committee discharged me and sent me back to my preschool.
I strove to be a well-rounded student and excelled with very good GPAs throughout elementary, middle and high school. I was good at math and literature, track and field, and snapped up medals in sports competitions. In high school, I won a writing competition for my essay “My Mother”, in which I portrayed a tender, kind-hearted traditional Chinese mother based on my grandmother, not my mother. It was broadcast over the school radio station, and I was selected to be student reporter for the radio station, which was where I met my first crush – a handsome student news announcer with a sweet voice. When he passed a love note to me, however, I did not respond, nor did I see him ever again after graduation. This pattern of being attracted to handsome boys with a charming voice would continue.
My intention was to become a journalist, my dream job being to travel around the world and report on people’s stories. My father had always been supportive of me but promptly rejected my journalism dream. After my birth, he had moved back from Shanghai so he could be with his family. Since then, he had worked in a state-owned research institute as a research fellow in the area of Precise Metallic Materials (nano-materials). Just before I submitted my college applications, he wrote a 10-page letter to me to convince me that because of what he knew about the real world and my personality, always seeking righteousness and daring to challenge authority, he worried that I might be betrayed, raped, kidnapped, or die in prison if I became a journalist. He thought the most secure career for me was to be a mechanical engineer. I would always have a job and never need to worry about machines causing the trouble humans often do. I read his letter and thought about it the whole night, knowing how deeply he cared for my welfare. So I gave up my dream job in order to be “safe.” Later, I would learn in the cruelest way possible that safety has nothing to do with a job but much to do with whom I encountered on the job.
I went to a local university and studied Mechanical Engineering. I never liked the major. At heart I loved art, poetry, and Nature. I joined a student publishing organization my second year and met a boy I loved deeply, a handsome, artistic and sports-minded boy with a charming voice, slow, warm and sincere.
When I was a freshman, the infamous 1989 Tiananmen Square Protests in Beijing occurred. I joined a local protest in the square in front of the province government building. At the end of the local protest and without telling our parents, four enthusiastic roommates and I secretly decided to take a train to Beijing and join the protest in Tiananmen Square. But all trains to Beijing had been suspended. Stuck in the train station, we were puzzling over how to get to Tiananmen Square when a parent of one of the girls discovered our plan and picked us up. Later, we realized how close to death we had been. Had we boarded the train and gone to Tiananmen Square that day, we very likely would have been among the thousands of students shot dead by automatic rifles or crushed by tanks on the tragic night of June 4, 1989.
My entire second year of college was spent writing “reflections,” watching brainwashing videos to “correct” my mind, and attending mandatory military training. Fed up, I decided to leave China and study in the United States. I broke up with the boy I loved, determined to go abroad alone to a totally unknown place, not daring to look back. Our break-up broke his heart, and he never contacted me again. It broke my heart, too. We had worked together publishing news boards, etc., but had only dated for a few weeks. We’d never kissed nor even talked about sex. In that era of China, my education was very conservative, so I held the belief that sex before marriage should not even be considered.
I come to the United States
In 1995, three years after receiving my Bachelor of Science in Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering, I received my student visa for graduate studies in the United States. I have always been what is called a “quick study.” At Arizona State University in Tempe, I earned a Master of Science degree in Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering; later in my 40’s I earned an MBA at California State University, Fullerton. In my spare time, I earned various specialized certifications to advance my career: Certified Financial Planner certification, the ITIL (Information Technology Infrastructure Library) Certification, a Microsoft Certified Technology Specialist (MCTS) certification, and a Project Management Professional (PMP) certification, just to name a few. All of these advanced degrees and certifications paved the way for the seemingly promising career of a young professional woman. After Arizona State, I accepted a job offer as a systems software engineer of Siemens PLM Solutions to develop leading computer-aided design software in Cypress, California, and moved to Southern California in 1997. I worked there for nine years and was promoted to Advanced System Software Engineer.
In 1998, I married a Taiwanese schoolmate I had met at Arizona State, and over the years we had four children together. As I began having children, I decided to find a government job so I could have a more stable work schedule. I received my U.S. green card and later became a U.S. citizen. I changed jobs in 2006 to work for Riverside County as an Information Technology Business Systems Analyst III. In April 2008, I changed jobs again to work for a local government agency in Southern California as a Senior Information Technology Analyst, responsible for IT business systems and project management, application, development and administration. When I received the offer, I was happy. Everything seemed to be working out perfectly: I was well educated, financially well off, still young and pretty, had beautiful children, a successful career, a car, and a house. What a perfect life – until I met D.S. Then my entire life went into a downward spiral.
My ex-husband is the only man I have had sex with – in my conscious, free will state of mind, that is. I still maintain my habit of not having sex outside of marriage – in my conscious, free will state of mind. Even after thousands of rapes, forced prostitution, sexual torture as a mind-controlled slave, my body defiled again and again over the past three years, I can still say that I have been faithful in my body and maintained my purity and dignity before God, my family, and my children.
Whistleblowing Against Misuse of Government Funds
I never imagined encountering anyone like D.S., a 60-year-old Mexican man, in a U.S. government agency in the Orange County suburbs of metro Los Angeles. D.S. was senior manager of the agency’s Information Technology (IT) Division in which I was a Senior Information Technology Analyst. Indirectly, D.S. managed my work through my direct manager.
D.S. had attended Catholic schools in his early years, then had joined the U.S. military. His biography states that he worked as a technician in the U.S. Air Force for a few years, then as a technician for almost ten years at Rockwell Collins, the large defense contractor in Southern California, after which he joined the government agency I was working for. He had been there for more than twenty years, beginning as an operation technician in the plant field, then working his way up into the Information Technology (IT) division.
I quickly gained a reputation as a very intelligent and beautiful woman in the agency. D.S. commented on how smart I was and more subtly on my appearance. He tried to lure me with job promotions so that I would be close to him, but I did not respond to these temptations. I have always been proud of my independence and dignity and would not trade them for anything. Our work relationship thus became more and more bitter, and he began using his authority to cause hardship in my work life.
In May 2013, I read in a department project report that our IT division was doing a Disaster Recovery project. It didn’t make technological sense to me. The project would create a new computer disaster recovery center to enable the continuation of the agency’s computer system, should the system in the main center fail due to natural disasters such as floods or earthquakes. The new computer disaster recovery site is very close to the ocean and just five miles from the main center. It does not reduce the risk, as normal disaster recovery centers should do.
I started privately researching the project and Agile Storage, Inc., a start-up company unknown to the IT industry at that time. I found out that in February 2013, D.S. had been in charge of using the agency’s purchase bid process to select vendors for the Disaster Recovery project, and Agile Storage, Inc. had won the bid. Agile has two offices, one in San Jose, California, and one in Durham, North Carolina. In March 2013, D.S. had issued a procurement request to a sub-committee of the agency Board of Directors asking for funds to purchase equipment and services for an IT project to build a Disaster Recovery Center in Plant 2 of the agency, five miles from the main information management center in plant 1. The Board had approved his request with an initial cost for equipment at over $1 million. D.S. had used multiple budget codes to cover it so the total cost would not be obvious.
D.S. discovered that I was researching the Disaster Recovery project. In September 2013, he seized my company computer and tried to use some of its contents to get me fired. However, I was able to prove that I had not breached company policy and so was able to keep my job.
On December 3, 2013, a co-worker in the agency close to D.S. told me that D.S.’s daughter had married and found a job in North Carolina at the same time in early 2013. I already knew from previous conversations with coworkers that in December 2012, she had applied for a job in our agency after graduating from college but had not been hired. I linked her move with Agile Storage's North Carolina office and the timing of her new job with the Agile equipment procurement and suspected that D.S. had cut a deal with Agile for his daughter’s job, plus perhaps sharing the procurement with him. I started to search for the contract and procurement documents, inquiring of co-workers involved in the project.
D.S. panicked when he found out about how far my inquiries had gone. At first, he threw promotions and other incentives my way to try to buy me off, but I was as uninterested as before and kept researching. On December 10, 2013, I called the agency’s union representative to discuss whether or not to report the procurement issue to the agency’s Human Resources department. When I returned to the office, D.S. tried to engage me in conversation. I ignored him, at which he threatened, "I have money," and walked away. This announcement was probably the beginning of his plan for revenge: to hire gangsters to target me.
Beginning in mid-December 2013, small things like my house key and electronic devices began disappearing, then reappearing a day or more later. Things inside my house were moved around. While shopping or doing errands, I was stalked everywhere by Mexican people. I panicked and called the police to my home several times to investigate, but they found nothing or simply did not believe me. I asked my church pastor what I should do and he said I should do the right thing: report D.S.’s alleged misuse of public funds. In January 2014, I went to the agency’s director of Human Resources and reported the alleged corruption. I also asked to be transferred out of the IT division to prevent D.S.’s retaliation.
I was not transferred and so had to endure being constantly threatened. D.S. scored my office wall with his car key, hinting that he would cut my throat in like manner. When I was standing behind a door, he punched it open and almost hit me in the face. During a department meeting on July 21, 2014, he suddenly changed topics, saying, “It is very easy for a person to die in a circumstance that you never expected.” He remarked that he still maintained his contacts at Rockwell Collins, the large defense contractor he’d worked for, and that they were working on some very advanced technologies. Back then, I did not understand his subtle threats. Later, I realized that he had been hinting at being connected with personnel in government secret programs through his connections with defense contractors, secret societies, and organized crime groups to which he would later sell me for use in the military’s secret space program and even as a human sacrifice at Satanic rituals.
I reported the office harassment to the Human Resources department which then conducted two investigations and concluded there was no evidence to support my claims.
My family life also took a hard turn. My husband and I separated due to unresolvable conflicts and finalized our divorce in May 2013 with shared custody of our children. I moved out of our family house and lived in another house in Irvine. When alone in my house, strange things happened: dizziness when I stood up from bed, unexplainable dirty bed sheets, objects in the bed, my clothes in changed locations, my cheeks with slap marks and hurting for no reason, pain in my private parts. Something was seriously wrong in my house. One day after serious hangover-like symptoms (I do not drink, smoke or take drugs), I concluded that I had been serially drug-raped in my own house by intruders. From all the experiences I had had with Mexican gang stalkers and from D.S.’s strange behavior when he faced me up close—his shortness of breath, nervousness, avoidance of eye contact, etc.—I suspected that he was one of the rapists.
I was outraged, but due to my inexperience with rape, I did not report it to the police or agency, as I did not know how to collect evidence for proof. I thought all evidence was gone after a few days. But at a co-worker’s retirement party, when I mentioned that I would leave the agency soon, too, she asked why I would leave such a stable and good-paying job. I said, “Because I was raped here and have to go.” The next day, she was still so disturbed by what I’d admitted that she reported it to Human Resources. They called me in and questioned me about the rape. I did not expect them to question me about it. I was so disturbed, hurt, helpless and outraged that I could not handle facing Human Resources staff members. Instead, I asked for medical leave from that day on.
D.S. was furious. The alleged rape was like a slap in the face that broke the public image he had spent years building: a government high-technology executive, a self-proclaimed Chief Information Officer (CIO). His hatred for me was at the tipping point. Possibly, this is when he decided to sell me as a slave to the government secret space program so I would be ultimately tortured, humiliated, and eventually killed, all without tracing anything back to him.
On July 6, 2015, I took vacation time and drove to a nearby park with my children. In the parking lot, a Mexican man pulled out a gun and pretended to shoot at me. Only later did I realize that they had staged this show to trick me into thinking D.S. had hired hit men to shoot me. Terrified, I left the parking lot with my children. The next day, I went to D.S.’s office alone and told him that I would leave the agency and not continue the case, that I wanted to settle with him. He said, "You can take all the pressure off your shoulders now." We shook hands to affirm we had made a deal and I left his office. A few days later, I received certified mail at home which said I had told D.S. that I was voluntarily leaving the agency, my last day being July 16, 2015. I did not contradict this.
I thought he would not bother me anymore, but that was not the case. He had set an intentional trap to trick me into leaving the agency so he could eliminate all evidence of the procurement project and his corruption could never be prosecuted. As for me—the only person who knew the truth—I would be sold to the secret space program and killed. The perfect crime.
In May 2016, D.S. retired from the agency. With no more Human Resources investigation of alleged corruption, he retired with full benefits, a six-digit pension paid annually until he dies, a reward from the agency for his excellent service, and a seemingly untainted social status as a retired executive. With the withdrawal of my case in Human Resources, he had it all. But he was still not content. He wanted more.
After quitting the agency and worried about the safety of living alone, I moved back into my ex-husband's house where I still rent a room. In July 2015, I found a new job at one of the largest investment companies in the United States with a location in Irvine. A new start, the D.S. nightmare gone.
Torture and Implanted Chips
On September 28, 2015, four days after I joined the investment company, I was food poisoned in a restaurant during lunch with my new co-workers. The perpetrators / gang stalkers sat in the restaurant to let me know they did it. They followed me 24/7.
In December 2015, at around midnight, I was sleeping in my living room when I was suddenly awakened by a heart attack that I thought I might not survive. I had never had any problem with my heart, nor had members of my family. From reading other targeted individuals’ testimonies online, I learned that directed energy weapons (DEWs) can be used to induce heart attacks, thus killing perfectly healthy persons without a trace.
Since then, I have several times experienced ionized radiation poisoning at home, the attacks always occurring at night when I am asleep. A portable X-ray emission device must be nearby. The attacks cause severe nausea, vomiting, and hair loss.
I needed proof if I was to seek police protection, so I bought a radiation dosimeter sticker online (www.jplabs.com/sticker.html) which shows a color change in the sensor depending upon the radiation dose. After just a few days I wore the sticker, the sensor color indicated over 50 rads of radiation exposure, a dose that should cause clinically observable blood change. I took the dosimeter to the Irvine City Police, but they rejected the evidence, saying that there is no proof that this dosimeter belonged to me.
I then subscribed to a dosimeter monitoring service and bought the Instadose dosimeter (www.instadose.com) that reports radiation exposure readings to its server managed by its parent company Mirion Technologies. I wore protective lead while sleeping, put the new dosimeter under the lead cloth, and monitored the radiation level from the company’s website. For two consecutive nights, the monitoring services proved that even with lead cloth protection, I was being exposed to a dose equal to a chest X-ray each night. I took the monitor results from the Mirion Technologies website and showed them to the police. Instead of investigating my poisoning, the police sent me to a police department psychologist for being “paranoid.”
Radiation Mark Around Right Armpit
With no hope of help from the police, I tried to seek medical treatment for X-ray poisoning. But when I went to a local hospital or lab to draw blood and check for abnormality, the perpetrators followed me and had their members fill in the same prescription as mine, letting me know they had swapped my sample with theirs so that I could not have a true diagnosis. I witnessed this swap several times, but the lab or hospital would not believe me, classifying me as delusional, a typical response to targeted individuals.
On June 13, 2016, I flew to Rochester, Minnesota, to go to the Mayo Clinic’s ER room to be checked for ionized radiation poisoning. A former classmate works in the Mayo Clinic specimen analysis laboratory, so I thought my blood sample might actually be analyzed there. I was dead wrong: the nurse assigned to me not only swapped my blood sample but also IV-injected a nanochip into my body.
The first nanochip injected into an involuntary victim’s body is referred to as an anchor chip in that it opens the gateway to mind control via all future chips injected without the victim’s awareness. From this chip on, my life became absolute mind-controlled slavery with no return.
 Project MK-Ultra was the code name for a covert, illegal CIA human research program run by the Office of Scientific Intelligence from 1953 to 1973. It began with Operation Paperclip Nazis who entered the United States, Canada, and Great Britain with research they had derived from the brains and minds of concentration camp slaves throughout World War Two and has continued beyond 1973 using electromagnetic remote devices. For more, see Ellen Lachter, PhD, “Monarch Programming,” https://monarchprogramming.wordpress.com/category/mkultra/. See Chapter 3.
 Triggers are implanted to cause a slave personality to surface and respond to commands given by the master (“handler,” generally defined as a person who trains or has charge of an animal). Triggers can be a phone call, word or phrase, wiggling toe, etc.
 Subliminal means under the threshold of consciousness. Electronic subliminal messaging is unregulated by the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) not only in advertising, but television, film, and music sound systems. Voice-to-skull (V2K) technology transmits voice or any audible or subliminal sound directly into the hearing sense of the mind control victim.
 Alter personalities (alters) are created by shattering the personality with pain induction (torture). Each separate alter is then programmed to (1) perform a separate function (spy, sex slave, drug mule, verbatim memory recorder, assassin, rock star, actor, politician, CEO, etc.) and (2) hold memories that other alters and the original executive personality have no access to.
 Microwave hearing (microwave auditory effect, Frey effect) bypasses the ears and instead beams voices directly into the auditory cortex.
 Known in the West as the Tiananmen Square Massacre (April 15-June 4, 1989), troops with automatic rifles and tanks fired on student demonstrators. Students were calling for democracy, greater accountability, freedom of the press and speech. They were eventually forcibly suppressed on June 4, 1989. See Kris Cheng, “Declassified: Chinese official said at least 10,000 civilians died in the 1989 Tiananmen massacre, documents show,” Hong Kong Free Press, 21 December 2017.
 Units of absorbed doses of ionizing radiation equal to an energy of 100 ergs per gram of irradiated material. (Ergs are units of energy and work equal to 10−7 joules.)