In A Dream, In A Vision Of The Night…
The year was 1998. I (Allie Anderson) had made the short drive to a rural location to attend the meeting all townspeople had been made aware of. The small, makeshift room was filled with people who gazed curiously at the displays on the snap-together plywood walls. Folding metal chairs made up several rows in the middle of the room, where those gathered for the informational meeting were soon to be seated. Charts and laboratory photographs lined the walls of this temporary, portable building. It had the feel of a traveling carnival’s funhouse: room corners, held together by folding hinges, could be spotted by the careful observer, and one could somewhat effectively track where the collapsible structure’s joints would fold flat once the assembly was over and it was time to take the nomadic production to the next town. But, unlike any carnival that’s anticipated and voluntarily attended, this was a mandatory meeting for all registered residents of the tiny town. The government had sent out notice that all citizens were to be here to witness the unveiling of the military’s new, revolutionary super-weapon…
A bald, thin man wearing glasses and a lab coat called attention to those who were milling about the room; as he did, people agreeably sat down, expectant smiles across their faces. A modest team of qualified, professional-looking people then began to introduce the groundbreaking technology that had been genetically designed in a laboratory to guarantee victory against all enemies in what would likely be all future warfare.
A small door on the left side of the room opened, revealing a sign indicating that all attendees were to line up, single file, and prepare to walk through to the other side. As it swung open, the man in the lab coat announced proudly, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…the Splicer.”
A hush fell over the audience members as they craned their necks to try to see what was in the next room. When I got through the door, I realized that the makeshift nature of the presentation seemed to have elevated. This wasn’t just one portable room, but rather was one of many connected into a small labyrinth of cheap plywood walls posing as a transportable government office. I began to get the feeling that we were somehow being toyed with, but the wowed expressions on faces around me told me I was alone in my suspicion. We were then ushered into little circus-like cars, much like the kind a carnival ride would sport, which then took us on a “moving display”: We were taken through a series of rooms filled with photographs, posters, and charts—and there was even an audio file that played the voice of a man narrating various facts about the Splicer’s development. As we sat in these mini cars, we were carried from room to room, and in each one, we were given another portion of the Splicer’s story to cover its conception, its visionary scientists, and the series of pioneering methods by which the weapon had been designed.
Once again, I looked at the people around me. Each smiled with fascination, gleeful in advance of possessing such a powerful military tool. I wondered at their blissful acceptance of this and wished I could celebrate with them. But something wasn’t right. In fact, several things weren’t right. First, the makeshift nature of the building we were in lacked the quality that such cutting-edge military development would seem to deserve. Second, there was a kindergarten-like quality in the sound of the audio narrative played over the portable loudspeakers that sat in each improvised room. The narrator’s tone and the “chinsy, brink-dink” quality of musical interludes between commentaries had the likeness of every book-and-cassette story set I had enjoyed as a small child (you know, the ones that explain at the beginning that the child is to listen for a bell cue, then turn the page). Further, this nomadic-campaign-style reveal of cutting-edge warfare technology didn’t seem characteristic of the military at all, which I found suspicious—especially when information about most truly ominous means of warfare is kept highly classified. And, I wondered why the meeting’s leaders were talking to us as though we were toddlers; they fronted larger-than-life smiles such as those a parent displays when attempting to get a small child to take a spoon full of medicine, while using sing-song vocal tones. Worse, I wondered why no one else seemed to notice anything strange.
As the car I was in entered one of the final rooms of the exhibit, the methodology of the Splicer was finally revealed. Its tactic was brutish and simple. It was made to kill people, but strategically. It would identify and capture a person’s scent, then hunt for that person until it found and killed him or her, or until it came upon his or her corpse, which would allow the monster’s “kill mode” to disengage. (At this time, it would find its way back to headquarters for a new assignment.) These “beasts,” the narrator explained, were engineered to “live” for many days without food or water, never wavering from their mission. In times of war, one could merely turn them loose on the enemy with the right scent cues, and they would pursue relentlessly until they fatally conquered their prey. The whole thing was unbelievable, really; no animal within creation has such capabilities. But that, we were assured, was the beauty of lab-designed bioweaponry. The impossible becomes the possible.
As we entered the next room, what I saw horrified me. It was a giant cage, and displayed inside were several of these Splicer creations. My first instinct was to look intently at the cage, hoping its construction bore better integrity than that of the temporary building we had been touring. It did appear to be strong, which was good, since the snarling beasts were growling at passersby, charging at the cage walls, and attempting to break through its bars. The creatures’ fangs were enormous and sharp, their frames looking something like an overgrown, spiky hyena with deranged eyes boring into the souls of the individuals they glared at hungrily. They were formidable foes indeed, and I wondered why we civilians were being shown these monstrosities. Worse, I wondered still why nobody else seemed to find the entire display amiss.
Then, I got my answer. With a downward “whirring” sound, the cars all wound to a stop. Concerned-looking officials approached each car, instructing passengers to disembark and meet in another room. Clearly something had gone wrong. We were seated in more rows of folding chairs in similar fashion to those in the first room where we had met, and the man in the lab coat who had originally addressed the crowd walked to the front of the room and began to nervously address the assembly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “there has been a problem.”
A low murmur spread across the crowd.
“Two of the Splicers have escaped…” He paused, fidgeting with his hands while looking down nervously. “The fact that they have moved from their cages indicates that each one has triggered on someone’s scent and has already begun pursuit. Understand that this is an ultimate threat. At least two of you are in grave danger. They are masters at stealth, will stop at nothing, and will continue their hunt—even if they’re wounded. We have no way of knowing which people here are in danger, but we do know that these weapons are extremely dangerous, they are very hard to kill—impossible for a civilian, in fact—and they’ll remain committed to their endeavor until they successfully find and kill their target.”
The voices across the room began to sound panicked. People looked around at one another, as if hoping for a visual cue that could indicate danger. The speaker raised a finger so he could continue addressing the crowd, and the wave of voices finally fell again.
“Fortunately, such complications were considered in advance of bringing these informational meetings to each community, and we have come prepared with a remedy. In order to guarantee the protection of everyone here, we must implement this solution immediately.”
A woman, presumably a nurse or other type of medical personnel, came into the room pushing a medical supply cart. Across its stainless steel top shelf, a countless number of small syringes, preloaded and still capped, sat next to a package of individually wrapped alcohol wipes and a few other medical-looking materials. This all seemed far too “convenient,” and the skepticism I had felt since arriving reached an all-time high. Glancing at those around me, however, I saw relieved faces. People were smiling again, and many were whispering things like, “I’m so glad they came prepared,” and “Oh, what a relief!”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man again addressed the crowd, silencing them, “allow me to present what we call SMART-DNA. The contents of these syringes contain a solution that, while completely safe in every way, will make such subtle changes to your DNA that your body’s chemistry will adjust, altering the scent it releases. By allowing us to administer this solution, each of you will be guaranteed that the Splicer will not be tracking your scent. I’m afraid it’s for this reason that nobody will be allowed to leave today until the SMART-DNA inoculations have been administered. However, it is a simple and painless procedure, and will only take a moment of your time. Then, rest assured, the Splicers will disengage from the altered scents, and all will be well.”
I looked around in disbelief. I had a million questions. None of this added up. Why had they really brought us here? The military never goes from town to town showing off its most recent form of warfare, so this display did not make sense to me in the first place. Then, there was the sheer irresponsibility involved in exposing civilians to such beasts that could potentially target single individuals of the general public. How had they lacked the foresight to realize that such creatures should be kept under top-notch security, but then somehow had the anticipation to arrive with enough DNA-altering vaccinations to inoculate all attendees? I also wondered what was in the vaccine that would be powerful enough to change one’s DNA, yet was still somehow supposedly safe? How did the “scientists” behind this know the substance wouldn’t alter other functions of the body besides just the scent it put out?
And, why were these people still talking to us as though we were five years old?!
As I looked around incredulously, attempting to put into words my first of many protests, I was dumbfounded by the pleasant expressions on everyone’s faces. They had been scared for a minute, but now each person only looked relieved that the powers that be had brought a solution; never mind that they had been the ones who had brought the problem in the first place! As attendees were directed to line up, single file, in front of the stainless steel cart, the nurse-appearing woman began to administer SMART-DNA inoculations (the acronym SMART was never explained).
I walked, stunned, amidst the crowd, looking for anyone else who seemed to be disturbed by this suspicious turn of events. I found no one. Not one individual seemed to be angry about the setup, hesitant about receiving the syringe’s contents, or otherwise wary of any aspect of all these circumstances. Everyone just seemed to be glad the problem was about to be solved, as each person sequentially lined up to receive the SMART-DNA injection.
“Mommmm…” I was jolted back into reality by my two-year-old son waking me up, looking for his breakfast. “Mom…are you awake?”
In 1998, I was too young and immature to appreciate the many layers of irony in his question. Was I awake? Not yet. Up to that moment, I had been absorbed in all the machinations of a young adult’s life, paying no attention to the direction of world politics, let alone to any discussion about the end times. (At that moment, I had one job: be a responsible young adult, and in many ways I wasn’t yet “rocking” the one role I had.)
Yet, as hard as I tried over the next several days to shake off the haunting quality of the dream, I wasn’t able to stop thinking about it. As years passed, in fact, the dream’s significance to me increased as I watched the powder keg that is modern society come closer and closer to its boiling point. As the powers that be progressively manipulate and shape the masses, my mind repeatedly and frequently drifts back to that “brink-dink” quality of the music that played over the kindergarten-quality voice of the narrator as he spoke of the military’s newest and fiercest weapon.
As I said, I had that dream in 1998. I was twenty-three years old. Today, such rudimentary phrases as “Splicer” and “SMART-DNA” seem childish or sophomoric in comparison with the high-tech terms that might be used in a similar situation in current-day labs. That was, however, years before such phrases as “smartphone,” “smart cities,” or “smart home” had become household terminology. It was as though there was a predictive element to my dream, although I never believed it to be a vision and won’t begin to claim it as such now. But, the nature of the crowd-control and manipulation tactics used in the dream weren’t the type I had—at that time—been alerted to or seen on a large scale. It was as though God showed me some identifying factors I should look for while observing our everyday society. In many cases, people are subconsciously aware that something isn’t right, but they struggle to put their finger on the source of what makes them wary.
We live in a society filled with evil. The master puppeteers are already at work in manipulating society to embrace Antichrist and usher in end-time events. Many people will placidly acknowledge this, but unfortunately they’re often spread too thin because of daily obligations; they’re politically disenchanted and exhausted (thus feel powerless); or they’re so busy trying to survive their own circumstances that studying the large-scale shape of the culture around them is an indulgence they don’t have the time or the energy for. Worse, it’s easy for many to relinquish the obligation of contributing to cultural changes to a church that appears to stand at the ready, but that is so “asleep” that it has become ineffective. As the evil that seeks to devour all of mankind pushes its final pieces into place, the fruitless modern church congratulates itself on having all the answers, while a lost and dying population hangs in the balance. The reference to a wayward culture may draw images of depraved individuals in the minds of many churchgoers, but the sad truth is that many of those who have gone astray are attendees of the local church who once promised that they would make a difference when this terrible day came upon us.
The world is in trouble, the world needs a Savior, and the Church needs to wake up.
The truth is, many manipulation tactics are used on individual and large-scale levels each day, shaping society to embrace the unthinkable. There are no longer “safe zones” into which humanity will not venture. Seemingly impossible or unspeakable things that haunted the horror and science-fiction genre of our grandparents’ nightmares are either happening on a societal level or have migrated dangerously close. And, as the populace becomes increasingly conditioned to embrace such atrocities, every passing day brings us one day closer to the time of the Man of Sin.
Whether we realize it or not, our society is being groomed to embrace End-Times events. And much of the Church is blissfully unaware that this is occurring beneath its nose. The tools being used to influence culture are recognizable tactics, each of which has a name. Once we are aware of their existence, they become impossible to ignore. And when we—as individuals or as the Church—understand the strategies of the enemy, we can begin to contemplate how to engage a counterstrategy. We are no longer shadow-boxing with an invisible enemy in a darkened room, but are empowered to action.
If you believe society is being primed to legalize and embrace unspeakable and heinous deeds, you’re correct. If you perceive culture as being groomed to usher in End-Times events, you’re not imagining things. And, if you are wondering why the Church seems to lack power in this urgent day and age, your concerns are well-founded.
If you feel that something isn’t right—in the secular world or the religious institution—you are not imagining it. The crowds are being controlled. The masses are inviting the end of days. The Church is missing its opportunity.
“Mommm, are you awake?”
I am now.
UP NEXT: A Glimpse of the Church’s Discernment