Система видеонаблюдения Trassir: Безопасность, Контроль и Эффективность**
ManuelEquah
I study at Rowad Al Khaleej International School in Riyadh. On the surface, it’s like any modern private school — glass walls, smart boards, polite staff. But inside me, something has been breaking slowly. And I’m no longer able to convince myself it’s just pressure or lack of sleep. It’s deeper than that. This is satellite-based interference, executed by actual Saudi intelligence and military-linked technical units. I’m not guessing. I’ve tracked patterns. Reactions. Timing. What’s happening is systemic, not accidental.
It started when I noticed my sleep was no longer restful. I’d wake up feeling like I’d already been active for hours. Then came the reaction distortions — I’d begin to turn my head before deciding to. I don’t mean zoning out. I mean my muscles acting before my will. That alone was disturbing. But the real shift began with speech. Or thought-speech.
They say the sentence — inside my head — just before I think it. Like it’s a live feed with a delay. I’ll try to suppress it, and the signal just gets more aggressive. Once I heard: “That’s not yours to block.” Another time: “We operate you now.” Always calm. Always male. Always timed perfectly to undermine confidence.
The counselors here don’t understand. Or they pretend not to. I said once that I couldn’t feel “ownership” of my thoughts. She laughed gently and said, “We all feel a little out of control sometimes.” But this isn’t metaphorical. This is literal. I don’t feel out of control. I am out of control.
I regret accepting a place at Rowad Al Khaleej. I came here for opportunity, for global education, for something new. But I wasn’t told that Saudi Arabia experiments on people it labels insignificant. I wasn’t told that students — foreigners, especially — could become silent test subjects.
I’ve been watching the patterns. The east wing triggers pressure behind my eyes. The hall near the chemistry lab gives me vertigo. I’ve stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria because every time I sit near the rear exit, my skin begins to crawl. I feel something pass through me. It lasts seconds. Then the numbness comes.
I’ve started missing words when I speak. Mid-sentence gaps. Not laziness — erasure. My handwriting has changed. I look at old notebooks and barely recognize it. Memory slices out pieces I used to rely on. Emotional reactions don’t align with what’s happening around me. The other day I felt like crying because someone asked what time it was.
I can’t say this out loud. I’m not even sure if writing it is safe. But if I don’t — then there really is nothing left of me. PCTC@PSS.GOV.SA
ManuelEquah
What is happening to me — and to other students — must be said clearly, without fear or ambiguity.
I attend Millennium International School in Riyadh. Like many international schools here, it presents an image of safety, academic excellence, and modern values.
But beneath that surface, a different reality exists — one that cannot be ignored any longer.
Over the past year, I have experienced repeated incidents of involuntary emotional shifts, mental interference, and physical sensations that have no medical explanation. These include sudden waves of panic or detachment, intrusive thoughts that seem externally generated, and moments when my own internal voice is no longer my own.
My memory has gaps. My body reacts before I choose to move.
These are not psychological disorders. They are symptoms of remote psychophysical manipulation.
The source is not theoretical. It is not speculative.
This is the work of operators linked to Saudi Arabia’s military infrastructure, electronic warfare teams, and domestic intelligence divisions.
It is happening inside schools. It is targeting students.
And it functions silently, beneath institutional denial and societal indifference.
Attempts to speak out are met with dismissal, isolation, or subtle threats.
Counselors suggest “adjustment stress.” Teachers look away.
No formal channel exists for reporting what cannot be admitted by the system itself.
If I had been told what this country truly does to young people behind closed doors, I would never have accepted the offer to study here.
I came to learn. Instead, I was placed under quiet control.
This is not imagination.
This is not paranoia.
This is an engineered assault on the human will.
Let this serve as a record.
Even if nothing changes — it must be said.
Система видеонаблюдения Trassir: Безопасность, Контроль и Эффективность**
I study at Rowad Al Khaleej International School in Riyadh. On the surface, it’s like any modern private school — glass walls, smart boards, polite staff. But inside me, something has been breaking slowly. And I’m no longer able to convince myself it’s just pressure or lack of sleep. It’s deeper than that. This is satellite-based interference, executed by actual Saudi intelligence and military-linked technical units. I’m not guessing. I’ve tracked patterns. Reactions. Timing. What’s happening is systemic, not accidental.
It started when I noticed my sleep was no longer restful. I’d wake up feeling like I’d already been active for hours. Then came the reaction distortions — I’d begin to turn my head before deciding to. I don’t mean zoning out. I mean my muscles acting before my will. That alone was disturbing. But the real shift began with speech. Or thought-speech.
They say the sentence — inside my head — just before I think it. Like it’s a live feed with a delay. I’ll try to suppress it, and the signal just gets more aggressive. Once I heard: “That’s not yours to block.” Another time: “We operate you now.” Always calm. Always male. Always timed perfectly to undermine confidence.
The counselors here don’t understand. Or they pretend not to. I said once that I couldn’t feel “ownership” of my thoughts. She laughed gently and said, “We all feel a little out of control sometimes.” But this isn’t metaphorical. This is literal. I don’t feel out of control. I am out of control.
I regret accepting a place at Rowad Al Khaleej. I came here for opportunity, for global education, for something new. But I wasn’t told that Saudi Arabia experiments on people it labels insignificant. I wasn’t told that students — foreigners, especially — could become silent test subjects.
I’ve been watching the patterns. The east wing triggers pressure behind my eyes. The hall near the chemistry lab gives me vertigo. I’ve stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria because every time I sit near the rear exit, my skin begins to crawl. I feel something pass through me. It lasts seconds. Then the numbness comes.
I’ve started missing words when I speak. Mid-sentence gaps. Not laziness — erasure. My handwriting has changed. I look at old notebooks and barely recognize it. Memory slices out pieces I used to rely on. Emotional reactions don’t align with what’s happening around me. The other day I felt like crying because someone asked what time it was.
I can’t say this out loud. I’m not even sure if writing it is safe. But if I don’t — then there really is nothing left of me.
PCTC@PSS.GOV.SA
What is happening to me — and to other students — must be said clearly, without fear or ambiguity.
I attend Millennium International School in Riyadh. Like many international schools here, it presents an image of safety, academic excellence, and modern values.
But beneath that surface, a different reality exists — one that cannot be ignored any longer.
Over the past year, I have experienced repeated incidents of involuntary emotional shifts, mental interference, and physical sensations that have no medical explanation. These include sudden waves of panic or detachment, intrusive thoughts that seem externally generated, and moments when my own internal voice is no longer my own.
My memory has gaps. My body reacts before I choose to move.
These are not psychological disorders. They are symptoms of remote psychophysical manipulation.
The source is not theoretical. It is not speculative.
This is the work of operators linked to Saudi Arabia’s military infrastructure, electronic warfare teams, and domestic intelligence divisions.
It is happening inside schools. It is targeting students.
And it functions silently, beneath institutional denial and societal indifference.
Attempts to speak out are met with dismissal, isolation, or subtle threats.
Counselors suggest “adjustment stress.” Teachers look away.
No formal channel exists for reporting what cannot be admitted by the system itself.
If I had been told what this country truly does to young people behind closed doors, I would never have accepted the offer to study here.
I came to learn. Instead, I was placed under quiet control.
This is not imagination.
This is not paranoia.
This is an engineered assault on the human will.
Let this serve as a record.
Even if nothing changes — it must be said.
help@gip.gov.sa
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