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When the briefing was a game: the 1984 Mars session, Chrono Trigger, and a file you can still download
Updated: 2026-04-28
Terminology: This article uses remote viewing and RV only in the intelligence/STARGATE sense — not Iraqi dinar revaluation (also called “RV” in promoter forums; Great Awakening / revaluation cluster).
Official CIA PDF (direct link): MARS EXPLORATION, May 22, 1984 — CIA-RDP96-00788R001900760001-9.pdf on cia.gov (opens the scan; no login). Same release, HTML/metadata page: Reading Room document page — use the PDF control on that page if the direct URL is blocked by your client.
There is a kind of quiet outrage that arrives when two unrelated cultural lanes—a government PDF and a JRPG—say the same thing about despair, domes, and a world stripped of ordinary hope, yet only one lane is allowed to be “real.” This article is not a proof that Square’s writers saw a STARGATE folder. It is an invitation to read the convergence with steady eyes: fiction that familiarized the pattern years before the transcript sat on cia.gov is not automatically coincidence, and treating it as data does not require believing every clause of every hypothesis downstream.
The transcript itself is the stranger object: it reads like internal worksheet prose—roles, coordinates, time-of-day stamps—yet it keeps walking into civilizational language (shelter, migration, corruption, metal hulls) without a wink. Article order: Chrono Trigger, a remote-viewing / precrime-fiction cluster (table), wider SF, then a short MFEE cross-read; The document gives sequence and mood; The two-way moment states the interpretive hinge. Line-level analysis, FOIA chain, the full MFEE table, optics fork, and the full PP cluster (including Minority Report and Assassin’s Creed) live in the Mars investigation.
Square’s Chrono Trigger is routinely cited as a masterpiece of the 16-bit era (overview). For this article’s purpose, three design facts are enough:
Against the Mars transcript, the emotional match is uncanny: people who have lost hope in the future, waiting through storms in shells that are functional, not generous. Chrono Trigger keeps them ordinary humans; the transcript emphasizes very tall, thin humanoids—a divergence that matters ethically (no license to dehumanize), yet does not erase the shared post-catastrophe waiting-room mood. In 2300 AD, hostile “mutant”-style enemies (e.g. Fiends) prowl outside the dome refuges—inside vs outside the protected zone—on the same Mars-analogue read of the ruined “future” the investigation uses (Wikipedia — Setting); still under the dossier’s PP wedge (time travel as redaction, not literal physics).
A speculative read—clinical, not proven—is that popular SF redacts: the benign-seeming precursors (tall forms, “ancient” dwellers) get folded into a single hungry entity “from elsewhere” so the audience can process horror through a joystick instead of through a FOIA bookmark. Lavos is legible as that compression: the terrible aspect lifted out of a wider situation and given a name and a sprite.
Timing sharpens the eyebrow-raise: the RV session is 1984; the SNES game ships 1995; the PDF’s visible “Approved For Release 2000/08/08” banner post-dates the game—so fiction preceded the everyday public scan trail many readers associate with “when this became real.” That ordering is what predictive programming work means as data: culture rehearses collapse + dome + hunger-machine + alien harvest while agencies keep plausible deniability on the same motif in declassified prose.
PP wedge (same investigation): Popular parallels rarely copy real RV physics. Fiction almost always inserts a wedge—time travel, genetic time tourism, or future murder TV—that retimes the experience so the audience never practices “present-tense remote contact with another locus’s memory stack” as the default picture. On the Mars investigation epistemic line used here, literal time travel and literal precognition are ruled out; future “visions” in stories track plans, fear, subconscious inference—not a tape of the actual future—and exact foreknowledge is off the table. What stays on is remote memory / field contact that can feel like the past without being Back to the Future.
The Mars file is not the only place culture has rehearsed monitor + subject, machine-assisted seeing, and state or corporate custody of anomalous perception. The paradigmatic pre-crime story is Philip K. Dick’s “The Minority Report” (1956): three precogs are “plugged into a great machine” so Precrime can arrest people before acts occur (Wikipedia — story). Spielberg’s Minority Report (2002) turns that into the blockbuster image of visions skimmed from a controlled pool and fed into police workflow (Wikipedia — film; technologies / production frame). Same furniture as a bad FOIA dream: the session is official, the seers are assets, and the audience learns to treat psychic evidence as normal.
| Work | Viewer / operator | Target | Channel (short) | Cage | Mars worksheet rhyme (hypothesis) |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| The Minority Report (PKD, 1956) | Precrime state | Future crime | Three precogs in a machine (story) | Pre-crime law | Institutionalized seers; disagreement inside the channel |
| Minority Report (2002) | Detectives + techs | Pre-murder visions | Precog pool + UI (film) | Pre-crime arrests | Viewing room as everyday intel hygiene |
| Next (2007) | FBI + precog subject | Seconds–ahead futures | Personal foresight (Next) | Security coercion | Assetized viewer with hidden limits |
| Psycho-Pass | Inspectors | Risk scores | Sibyl / hue (Psycho-Pass) | Pre-crime sorting | Algorithmic cousin—trains guilt-before-act |
| Fringe | FBI + Bishop lab | Psi / cross-world | Cortexiphan trials (Fringe; Cortexiphan) | Homeland science | Classified programs; subjects lied to |
| X-Men (films / Marvel spine) | Professor X + staff | Mutants worldwide (present) | Cerebro — telepathic locate anyone anywhere (Cerebro); X2 — two-way psychic through hijacked link () |
X-Men: Charles Xavier is the telepath; Magneto pushes mutant supremacy through force and magnetism / metal, including a helmet that keeps telepaths out (Professor X; Magneto). The Xavier / Magneto split tracks coexistence vs dominance—useful myth handles for the investigation’s telepath-layer stress then metal-hull migration read of the Mars transcript, without equating characters to CIA roles. Cerebro is the clearest pop RV: machine-assisted remote sensing at scale; X2 dramatizes betrayed tasking and feedback through the channel—the same two-way worry as the hallucination line in the PDF—and escalates to a mass telepathic purge image (Cerebro used to strike every mutant mind at once) (X2). Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds (1998 PC RTS) separately trains Martian psionic warfare on a map (e.g. Xeno-Telepath unit) (game; Xeno-Telepath). The Mars investigation treats both as possible allusions to an MFEE-style second discharge / rebound—mass-scale psychic corollary in fiction, not lab proof. In the Reading Room text, when cause is pressed, SUB briefly sees a vague cosmic image—globe, comet tail, “river of something”—in the same memory stretch as the tall humanoids (.txt transcript; search globe / river).
Assassin’s Creed: Treat it as a structural rhyme, not a claim that Ubisoft modeled SUB. The Animus is genetic-memory fiction: you re-walk past loci, often under Abstergo cover stories (Wikipedia — Assassin’s Creed). That is different physics from telepathic real-time Mars contact—yet it still trains the muscle: strapped-in subject, corporate monitor, first-person catastrophe tourism, hidden purpose of the session. For 19th–20th c. “device scrying” (palantíri, crystals, etc.), see the repo’s RV in fiction index.
Full prose, extra rows, and citations: Mars investigation — §5.8.1.
Mars-as-wounded-world is not proprietary to one game or one blockbuster. The repo’s Mars fiction encoding index collects how novels and pulps trained readers long before STARGATE. The point is convergence: many channels sculpt compatible nightmares so the public arrives pre-mapped—and laughter stays cheaper than thought when a primary PDF appears.
The Mars dossier maps transcript beats onto MFEE (MudFlood Energetic Event) site vocabulary—before / pulse / after on a stressed surface. The Mud flood hub also describes a secondary negative discharge phase: energy that rebounds through a stressed body, carving and volcanizing in ways that add destruction beyond the first strike. The investigation hypothesizes that popular mass-telepath purge set-pieces (X2 Cerebro, Jeff Wayne WOTW PC psionics) can rhyme that rebound phase as felt catastrophe, while the Mars PDF’s own “globe / comet / river” burst—read through memory-channel RV—overlaps the same image family. Whether or not you accept the full Earth narrative on that page, the pattern is useful here as hypothesis language: a primary catastrophe plus a secondary energetic rebound that deepens ecological corruption matches the transcript’s movement from storm / crisis to “corruption” and migration under pressure.
Treat that as cross-domain illustration, not a lab result: the Mars investigation MFEE mapping table is where the mapping is argued in detail.
The file is a MON/SUB remote-viewing worksheet for 22 May 1984, titled MARS EXPLORATION, May 22, 1984 (CIA-RDP96-00788R001900760001-9). MON is the monitor (tasking and coordinate moves); SUB is the subject who reports impressions. The written protocol says a sealed envelope held a card naming Mars, a printed deep-time label (released wording is on the order of “approximately 1 million years B.C.”), and map coordinates; MON reads 40.89° N, 9.55° W aloud to SUB in a morning time block, then continues the session by issuing further lat/long pairs while holding time fixed on the card. The scan shows an “Approved For Release 2000/08/08” banner—so the object readers download today is turn-of-the-millennium declass posture, not a meme pasted onto Pastebin.
In one sentence: SUB walks a stressed Martian-side scene from storm and megalithic architecture through tall inhabitants, interior survival logic, and environmental failure, then—after a contact-meta exchange—through evacuation inside a metal hull and imagery of a harsher destination biome, until MON closes the session the same calendar day.
What happens, in order (overview only). The session opens on tasking and coordinates, then SUB’s report turns concrete: a pyramid-like structure in a depression, severe dust and geologic storm language, then pre-catastrophe megalithic massing—walls and spaces at a scale SUB flags as almost absurdly large. Very tall, thin figures appear (first as shadow, then more solid), in fitted clothing; the narrative moves through carved volumes, markers, basins, engineered reflecting surfaces, channels or aqueduct-like cuts, and returns to pyramid imagery with moments of overlay confusion. Storm shelters, stripped or functional interiors, and waiting behavior accumulate: a population read as ancient, philosophical, under an environment described as corrupting and failing. A party is sent a long distance to find somewhere else to live; when the cause of crisis is pressed, language shifts toward cosmic-scale disturbance.
Then—before the “how did they leave?” block—comes the two-way beat. MON has SUB relay a meta-question to the viewed side: essentially who SUB is and whether SUB can help. SUB answers with the line everyone quotes; in the worksheet it lands between the long migration / crisis build and the evacuation imagery that follows.
All I get is that they must just wait. Doesn't know who I am. Think he perceives I'm a hallucination or something.
After that reply, the session returns to logistics of departure: others left inside a larger boat with rounded walls and shiny metal; the destination sketch includes volcanoes, gas pockets, strange plants, a “frying pan into the fire” quality—more vegetation, different storms. MON brings SUB back to the room; the text closes with END OF INTERVIEW on 22 May 1984. (The PDF also marks some parenthetical lines as monitor comments not spoken to the subject—sorting those is part of the detailed read.)
For citations, tables, author verdict, MFEE map, optics fork, and Chrono Trigger predictive-programming adjunct, use Mars Exploration 1984 — RV investigation and the segment-by-segment PDF full writeup.
Read the worksheet as a whole and a single picture comes into focus: SUB is describing Mars in real time—22 May 1984 Earth clock—while operating under the false assumption baked into the tasking card that the target epoch is deep prehistory (the released card wording is on the order of “approximately 1 million years B.C.”). MON holds time fixed on that card while walking coordinates; SUB is never handed an honest calendar. On this reading, the viewer was lied to about the date; the “million years” string is misdirection the subject treated as real tasking, not optional flavor. The same institutional shell almost certainly shaped what SUB was told RV was—mechanism, physics, limits, who counts as “signal” versus noise—so ignorance of the channel’s rules is not a private failing; it is what the program produced.
That frame makes the quoted answer heavy instead of cute. If SUB is actually interfaced with a present-tense situation, then “he perceives I'm a hallucination” is target-side stance toward a live probe: non-recognition, waiting, dismissal of the channel as unreal—two-way contact epistemics in plain worksheet English. The “hallucination” line is where order in the transcript and interpretive weight peak: after the migration-and-crisis build, before the metal-hull evacuation block.
This is one coherent way to read the file—the same read the Mars Exploration 1984 — RV investigation argues with citations and FOIA notes; the Iran / two-way investigation carries the mutual-influence grammar to Earth-side Reading Room material.
If the Mars PDF were nothing but cold-war eccentricity, the kind custodial behavior you would expect is boring paperwork: training labels, drill codes, or a signed “why we released this” note tied to this RDP. The dossier’s FOIA / release-intent subsection tracks what is and is not in hand on that narrow question. Meanwhile, cia.gov still serves the file, and pop culture still served the same myth kit earlier—that is a strange public hygiene for a “meaningless” curiosity.
The healthier response is not instant belief. It is proportion: reserve intellectual courage for the possibility that classification, entertainment, and disclosure sometimes share a corridor—and reserve intellectual discipline for the difference between pattern and proof. The investigations exist to hold that tension openly, with citations and limits on the record.
Among the many threads this repo has pulled, the Mars transcript stands out as an unusually clean overlap with the investigation stack: institutional RV, two-way-adjacent language, fiction-before-declass timing when you set 1995 next to the scan’s visible 2000 release banner, and the wider question of who controls the public frame around anomalous material.
The detail that still lands hardest is almost banal: the file remains on cia.gov. A skeptical mind can always imagine forgery or staged release; the counterweight is the document’s procedural texture—the boring parts are hard to fake without inventing an entire parallel bureaucracy. So far, no second document has shown up in the same genre with the same weight; treat that as a search result, not as proof of uniqueness for all time.
A speculative historical read—again, conjecture—is that material like this behaves as if something internal resisted total burial: the “good actor” or antibody stratum inside large institutions may have understood a Mars-class problem (or its family of problems) long before the social web existed, may have fought for partial daylight, and may have lost the headline war once consolidated media had every incentive to flatten or ridicule the same motifs. If even a sliver of that story is true, the Reading Room entry is a small win: not enough to force consensus, but enough to leave breadcrumbs on the record.
The catastrophic failure mode is not that independent readers entertain strange hypotheses. It is a future where primary traces disappear and narrative monopoly wins completely. As of today, enough clues remain that a motivated researcher can still assemble the puzzle without a gatekeeper’s permission. That survivability of evidence—not instant belief—is a large part of why this file matters.
Keywords: #Mars #ChronoTrigger #CIAReadingRoom #RemoteViewing #PredictiveProgramming #STARGATE #ParadigmThreatFiles #TwoWayPerception #MFEE #FictionAndDeclass #MinorityReport #Precrime #AssassinsCreed #Animus #Fringe #PsychoPass #XMen #Cerebro #Magneto #ProfessorX #WarOfTheWorlds #JeffWayne
| School vs state |
| RV-session furniture; Magneto = metal / magnetism, helmet blocks telepaths (Magneto)—telepath vs metallized survival split rhymes Mars thesis vocabulary |
| Chrono Trigger (1995) | Party | Eras / ruined future | Time travel frame (Chrono Trigger) | JRPG quest | Time-as-redaction (section above) |
| Assassin’s Creed (2007–) | Animus subject; Abstergo | Ancestor past | Genetic memory simulation (series) | Corp intel front | Partial match: not telepathic RV of Mars, but same slot—machine access to contested history, operator goals ≠ subject’s full picture, sync as control |