Previously: Everyone in the country knew the State of the Union was going to be a fraught event. Everyone expected tension, pressure, protests.
But no one expected total coordination. No one expected overwhelming choreography.
NBC News Live Coverage, February 2, 2027, 9:02 PM EST:
DAVID MERCER: …Are you seeing this? The President has barely begun his address and there appears to be some kind of colored mist pouring from the ventilation systems…
[Members of Congress begin to stumble. Security moves toward the podium. The camera shakes.]
DAVID MERCER: Oh my God, people are rushing for the exits but the mist is spreading rapidly…
There were over two dozen protest groups gathered outside before the speech. Each had a banner, a cause, a chant. None truly knew why they were there, only their myopic objectives. Some were loud. Others, still. Like the calm before an exhale.
Inside the House Chamber, the mood was tight. Formal. Ritualized. The President began to speak: “Mr Speaker, Mr Vice President, Members of Congress, and my fellow Americans…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Thick mist shot from the ceiling vents and burst from capsules hidden inside the seats. Within seconds, color engulfed the chamber — swirling violets, oranges, greens. A psychedelic fog. A soundscape rising.
— We’re now hearing what sounds like music coming through the House audio system—this is not part of the planned event —
A tribal beat. Echoed voices. Chants in counterpoint:
awaken.
awaken.
awaken.
…the feed is becoming difficult to see through the colored fog—we’re trying to get information from our team inside but communications appear to be —
Movement in the haze. Shouts. A ripple of bodies rising, turning.
—wait, did you hear that? Were those gunshots?
Later, people joked about it — “the biggest ayahuasca ceremony in history.”
As if that made it less terrifying.
As if what happened was human made. It wasn’t.
Nor was it ceremonial. It was a system slipping its leash.
A hallucination inside a hallucination.
TikTok Livestream, @ResistanceRising, February 2, 2027, 8:57 PM EST
ANDREA DELGADO:
They’ll all be sitting in there tonight — comfortable, protected, clapping for themselves while our rights burn.
Congress needs to wake up! Look at us. Thousands, in the cold. We see what they refuse to acknowledge!
They call us alarmists — well maybe it’s time for an alarm. Because if they won’t wake up to what’s happening, then we’ll be their alarm clock.
They’ll have to walk out through us. They’ll have to see us. And they’ll know:
We! Are! Not! Asleep!
The “shamans” appeared without warning.
Twenty-two Nexus operatives. Silver robes. Platform stilts. Headdresses that turned them into geometric giants — three extra feet of height, spiraling fractals embroidered in black and chrome.
They didn’t march into the crowds. They materialized.
We! Are! Not! Asleep!
They walked calmly through the crowd, guided by unseen hands. They breached the barricades in waves, followed by protestors caught in their wake.
Marcus Williams let seven through the checkpoint he controlled. No resistance. Just a nod, and the gates opened.
We! Are! Not! Asleep!
Elsewhere, the barriers dissolved as bear-spray canisters loaded with psychedelics hissed past barricades and into police lines.
Smoke bombs flared, hypnotic and heavy.
Officers staggered. Protestors surged.
We! Are! Not! Asleep!
And the silver figures moved steadily forward — tall, slow, silent.
Toward the House Chamber.
Excerpt from “Inside the Manifestation: A Nation in Trance” — PBS Documentary, 2028 (Archival Interview conducted February 4, 2027, at Northern Neck Regional Jail, Virginia):
INTERVIEWER: Mr. Reynolds, you were identified by multiple witnesses as one of the individuals in ceremonial attire who entered the Capitol that night. What do you remember about your actions during what people are now calling “The Manifestation?”
JASON REYNOLDS: [staring blankly] I — I wish I could tell you. Everything about that night is just … gone. I remember being at the protest, feeling this sense of purpose, and then … nothing until I woke up in police custody. It’s like someone cut that entire section out of my memory.
INTERVIEWER: You’re aware that eleven people died that night. Two from your group. Aren’t you concerned about facing serious charges?
JASON REYNOLDS: [shifting uncomfortably] How can I feel responsible for something I have no memory of doing? I didn’t know what the group… I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t... anyone. It was like my body was there, but I wasn’t in it.
As protestors stormed the Capitol, the shamans moved like dancers in a slow-motion ritual.
They didn’t shout, they didn’t run.
They glided — perfectly spaced, like nodes in a living circuit.
Each seemed to conduct scores of protestors near them, but they also moved in sync with the others, as if receiving instructions — not from a person, but a pulse. Journalists would later invoke metaphors like starling flocks, ant colonies, algorithmic pheromone trails.
The shamans, it turned out, had taken prophylactics — cognitive buffers to dull the psychedelic fog. It kept them tethered. Focused.
Some would later claim the prophylactics failed — whether that was a lie, a legal tactic, or something else, no one knows.
Excerpt from “Inside the Manifestation” — CNN Special Report, March 15, 2027:
HOST: When you were inside the Capitol that night, did you feel in control of your own actions?
DIANE FOSTER: [long pause] No. God, no. But it wasn’t like someone was controlling my limbs or anything that direct. It was more... have you ever seen those videos of starlings in flight? Thousands of birds moving as one? It felt like that.
I’d feel this… like, pull, toward certain areas. The music seemed to be guiding us. And those people in the costumes — they’d make these hand gestures and suddenly I’d feel like there was only one possible direction to move.
HOST: But you were conscious of what was happening around you?
DIANE FOSTER: [nervously laughs] Conscious is a strong word. I was aware, but not … present? [pause]
The hallucinations were intense…
Within minutes of the mist release, nearly everyone in the House Chamber was deep in it.
Colors swam. Faces multiplied. Voices looped and layered.
The AV system kept pulsing music — tribal drums, submerged bass, something like chanting but more angular, and soaked in reverb. It spread outward. And inward.
The shamans moved through the corridors, their flocks trailing behind — swaying, laughing, crying.
Some people clung to the walls. Others just sat down, legs folded, eyes wide open but gone.
A few Representatives managed to exit the Chamber, but they, too, were far gone. They wandered the Capitol’s interior like lost pilgrims — mouths moving, hands tracing invisible shapes in the air.
… I remember thinking I could see the air currents, like ribbons of color showing me where to go. And I’d look around and realize twenty of us were all moving in perfect unison. I was terrified. But I just couldn’t break away from it. Like sheep being herded.
The line between protestor and participant had long since dissolved.
Some crawled. Some danced. Some whispered in imaginary languages, eyes glazed and wide. Others just wandered in a daze.
In the Rotunda, the shamans and their swarms circled back through the fog. They passed the retreating stumblers. Some they beckoned, fingers curling in slow hypnotic waves.
Some followed.
Back into the Chamber.
Excerpt from “The Aftermath: Lawmakers Speak Out,” Politico Magazine — February 21, 2027:
“I’ve never experienced anything remotely like it. I see the videos now with the colored mists and can still hear the music. They became the same to me at the time, and I still can’t shake it,” said Rep Michael Hernandez (D-CA) in describing the effects of the compound. He continued:
“When someone shouted ‘Get down!’ across the chamber, it was like watching a streak of red lightning zigzag through the fog. I kept reaching out to touch these... these projections that weren’t really there. And every movement created these trailing images — people’s arms, heads, everything, leaving these ghost images behind them.
“I remember trying to focus on the Secret Service agents, but each one seemed to multiply into five or six identical copies…
“The most terrifying part wasn’t the hallucinations though—it was a brief moment of clarity when I realized something catastrophic was happening to our government. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it, because I couldn’t even trust my own senses.”
By 9:16 PM, the shamans entered the Rotunda.
Chaos reigned.
Some of the unwillingly dosed were screaming. Some stood transfixed, gazing at their outstretched hands or swaying in silent awe.
But most were somewhere in between: caught in a feedback loop of light, sound, motion.
The shamans moved like clockwork. Each took up a precise position around the room’s circumference. They raised their arms and began.
Slow, synchronized gestures whose effects rippled outward without touching anyone.
It wasn’t the people they were conducting. It was the room itself, which seemed to breathe and sway.
Excerpt from “Phenomenology of Ego Dissolution in High-Dose Psychedelic States” by Dr. Sarah Markham, PhD (Journal of Psychedelic Studies, Vol. 10, Issue 2, September 2026):
“When experiencing what the literature refers to as ‘ego death’ or ‘ego dissolution,’ the subject no longer perceives themselves as a discrete entity confined within the boundaries of the physical body. The sense of ‘I’ temporarily dissolves. During this phase, the individual may continue to perform physical actions but without conscious direction or intentionality. To external observers, these behaviors often appear dissociative or psychotic in nature.
“Upon re-emergence of the ego, which can occur anywhere from minutes to several hours later depending on dosage and compound, subjects invariably report a period of profound disorientation. This transitional state can be conceptualized as the gradual reassembly of the self-construct from its temporarily dissolved components…”
Aaron appeared. Not a man — an egregore made flesh. A pattern, standing in a body.
From the mist-filled balcony, twenty minutes into the chaos, he materialized — as if conjured.
No camera caught his entry. One moment, there was only fog and sound. The next, a figure — silhouetted in violet light, framed by silver smoke.
Still. Upright. Rifle raised.
He fired twice.
The first bullet grazed the President’s left temple, spinning him sideways mid-rant.
The second struck a staffer in the chest, killing him instantly.
Excerpt from Medical Examination Report (declassified by North American Historical Archives: January 15, 2038):
CASE FILE: SSM-27-0045-P
DATE OF CREATION: FEBRUARY 3, 2027
TOXICOLOGY FINDINGS:
Blood analysis of the President confirmed presence of an unknown compound at concentrations of 2.8 μg/mL, approximately 4.3x the threshold for severe hallucinogenic effects. Additional metabolites consistent with exposure to DMT-analog compounds were also detected.
INCIDENT ASSESSMENT:
Based on ballistics trajectory analysis and witness statements, the President’s survival appears attributable to his severely altered mental state at time of assassination attempt. Video analysis confirms subject was attempting to physically interact with hallucinated visual phenomena precisely 0.37 seconds before projectile impact. This spontaneous movement caused the bullet to graze the left temporal region rather than penetrate cranial cavity as the trajectory analysis indicates was intended.
Following the failed shots, a Capitol security officer stationed in the balcony somehow had the presence of mind to lunge at Aaron.
They struggled — briefly, desperately. Then both went over the railing. They fell roughly twenty feet to the chamber floor below.
The officer landed — hard: multiple fractures, and unconscious on impact.
Aaron landed — not gracefully, but well enough: well enough to rise, well enough to move.
CNN LIVE AUDIO FEED — February 2, 2027, 9:21 PM EST
FIELD REPORTER: [breathless] … figures moving in the balcony section but the smoke or gas is still — wait! Oh my God! There’s a struggle happening in the upper level! I can’t tell what’s happening but they both just fell!
Two people just went over the railing! They’ve fallen to the main floor! Security is converging but in this chaos it’s impossible… impossible to — the music is still blaring and — I need to move back, they’re evacuating this section now —
Accounts diverge on what happened next.
Some witnesses say Aaron crawled. Others say he walked, slow and upright, like he was following a winding path that only he could see. But eyewitness reports from the House Chamber that night are not trustworthy.
Footage confirms he exited the chamber via a side corridor. Limping, disoriented, rifle still in hand.
He made it as far as the east service tunnel.
CAPITOL POLICE RADIO TRANSMISSION
TIME STAMP: 21:25
OFFICER JENKINS: Central, this is Unit 14. Shooter identified, east service corridor near Statuary Hall. Subject is armed, appears injured. Moving to intercept. Williams taking point. Nine officers in position. Awaiting instruction.
DISPATCH: Unit 14, confirm description of suspect.
JENKINS: Male, approximately 30-35, dark jacket, carrying what appears to be a rifle. Facial match to balcony suspect confirmed by Officer Williams. Subject is limping, attempting exit via service tunnel.
DISPATCH: Unit 14, be advised, SWAT team ETA three minutes. Hold position and —
[Transmission interrupted]
Police bodycam footage captured the rest — from five angles.
There is no ambiguity. Only tragedy.
Aaron Foster, surrounded, looks ready to charge — a cornered animal, teeth clenched, eyes wild.
Then he sees Marcus. Recognition.
He freezes, relief descends — first his face, then his body. The rifle drops.
His hands rise — trembling, slow.
Marcus walks toward him — left hand raised in a calming gesture, right hand steady on his pistol.
Ten feet away, Marcus speaks — one word, quiet, resigned. “Aaron…”
He raises the gun.
Not to the kevlar-protected chest.
To the face.
Two shots, clean and final.
Aaron’s body folds backward. Officers begin to rush in —
Marcus turns the pistol, places the barrel into his own mouth…
and pulls the trigger.
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