Everything so far

The Lensbreaker’s Field Guide — compiled edition

The Lensbreaker's Field Guide

by the_lensbreaker

This is a work of fiction.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Tom was shelving when she came in. New titles drop on Tuesdays, and it was Tuesday, so he had an armful of hardcovers when the prettiest girl, sorry, woman, walked into the store, probably in slow motion, Tom couldn’t tell. He was pretty sure he blacked out for a second. He didn’t drop the books though, so. He had that going for him.

She had long black hair, worn half pulled back with a few loose strands around her face, the way pretty women in movies always seemed to have some hair that was asking to be brushed behind her ear. Except she was here in real life, at the bookstore, his bookstore, the Provisions and Prose on Main. With her long hair and her sparkling eyes.

And she was talking.

Fuck.

Time snapped back into normal speed. “What?” Tom asked. His voice came out sounding stupid, he was stupid, this was stupid, act like an adult Thomas.

“Fliers? For the city council meeting on Tuesday?” She looked at him like he might be beaming in from another planet. Which, to be fair, he basically was.

“Cool. Cool. That’s cool. Cool.” Stop saying cool Tom.

“So can I…”

“She wants to put the signs up, Tom.”  Wade weighed in from the counter. Wade was Tom’s little brother. That he had Down syndrome did not stop him from being the smarter of the two of them, especially right now. Tom had forgotten he was there for a moment, even though he was always there, ready to ring up customers as they came to the counter. Which, to be fair, was happening less and less these days.

“Oh! Yeah, for sure. Go ahead. Uh.” Tom looked around him then unceremoniously dumped the books he was holding on the front display table. One fell on the floor. He picked it up and as he did, another slid off.

“I’ll take em.” Wade held out his hand. “He gets nervous around pretty girls.”

“Women!” Tom practically yelled. Jesus.

The woman smiled at Wade warmly, like they shared a joke, and it was the kind of smile that was so perfect it was like a circle, impossible to recreate by human hand. “Do you mind?”

“Nah. We can hand them out at the counter, too.”

“Oh man, that’d be great!” She beamed at Wade, and not for the first time in his life Tom would have given everything to switch places with his younger brother. “God you’re being so much nicer than the guy at the hardware store.”

“What, Gary? He’s a fascist.” Tom couldn’t help himself. Gary was an asshole.

The woman turned to him, then and Tom felt her gaze like the warmth of the sun. “You should definitely come to this meeting,” she said.

“Will you be there?” Tom asked, then wished he hadn’t. “I’m not a stalker.”

Her smile faded.

“I think you need to leave before he says anything else stupid,” Wade offered.

“Yeah. Uh. Anyway. They’re gonna be taking a vote on the Flock cameras they want to install. So we need—”

“Man, fuck Flock cameras,” Tom said, and he meant it. He’d read some articles. They were license plate trackers, but they were also unwarranted search on every American in every city where they were placed. Cops kept using them to stalk ex-girlfriends, and they gave their data to federal agencies even when cities had policies in place that precluded that kind of collaboration. “They’re putting them in Lawndale?”

“They already did. They put them up with basically no public awareness, but now the contract is up for renewal. This is a vote that could get them to take them down. So, we need to pack the room with people who get it. People like you.” She tipped her head to Tom. “And yes, I’ll be there, too.”

Tom took a flier from Wade. He could do it. Tuesday nights had been slow lately. Even if Susan couldn’t cover the shop, it wouldn’t be a big deal if they just closed for the evening, as long as all the new releases were shelved during the day. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

This time when she smiled it wasn’t the bright smile she’d offered a minute before, but it felt realer for that, the way it touched her eyes, the gentle slope of her mouth. Stop looking at her mouth. “Good. See you there--?” she held out her hand.

“Tom.”

“Maritza.”

As she walked Tom did NOT watch her go because he was an adult who respected himself and also women. Instead, he turned to pick up the book that had slid to the floor. It wasn’t even damaged.

“You’re an idiot,” Wade offered.

Tom didn’t argue.

Tom wasn’t just there because Maritza was there. He’d been to city council before. All small business owners have cause to be friendly with the council. Lawndale was a midsized city, and their council meetings were—unless books were being banned— typically pretty chill. But today the meeting was absolutely overrun. A quick glance around at the signs and Tom could tell most of his neighbors were in agreement— get the Flock out of Lawndale.

Tom leaned against the back wall. There were still a few open seats, but his father’s voice rang in his mind. Bill Fairbanks would never have sat down when there were women and elderly folks without seats, so Tom Fairbanks wouldn’t either. Dad hadn’t been perfect— the PTSD from Operation Iraqi Freedom didn’t help— but he’d had a kind of dignity that Tom still admired, even all these years after he’d passed. He wondered what Dad would have thought about the government setting up cameras to spy on everyone all the time, and chuckled to himself. He’d have been here right next to Tom. Probably threatening violence, honestly.

And there she was.

Maritza stood on the far side of the council chambers, too far for Tom to try and go say hi or anything. She was with a group of people, most of whom were carrying anti-Flock signs. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, obviously, but he could see her eyes alight with whatever it was. She was clearly the leader in the group, the way everyone listened to her intently. Stop staring.

Council President Jay Reardon gaveled the meeting to order. Tom liked Reardon. He was young, smart. Had the bearing of a teacher’s pet, which wasn’t Tom’s favorite vibe, but fit for small town governance. Had voted for the small business tax breaks for actual small businesses like his own, when Provisions and Prose had really needed it during the pandemic. Tom had written his office a thank you.

“I understand we have a lot of commenters today,” Reardon started. “So we’re going to ask all statements to be limited to one minute.”

One minute?

Tom looked down at his notes. There was no way all his commentary could fit in a single minute. Usually City Council meetings allotted three minutes per speaker. As others clearly came to the same murmuring realization, Reardon gaveled again.

“And if anyone is found to be disruptive, they will be removed immediately.” He looked meaningfully at the police officers that dotted the room. “And charged with disturbing a public assembly.”

There was more angry buzzing. Instinctively, Tom looked to Maritza, but she didn’t look surprised. She was, however, glaring at Reardon in a way that made Tom resolve to never be on her bad side.

There had been some tetchy and tense meetings in Lawndale before. Tom had been to a few of them. When the Moms for Liberty circus had come through town, Tom had been sure there’d be a fistfight after. There wasn’t, despite all the yelling. But there’d never been threats of criminal charges before.

Most of the comments were, as Tom predicted, hostile to the new surveillance technology that had been sold to their small city. Gary, the fascist, testified in support of it and Tom had never been less surprised in his whole life. Fucking Gary.

When it was Tom’s turn, he did his best, but got flustered and ran out of time. They turned off the mic while he was talking and everything. He yelled something about liberty, and people clapped but he felt pretty stupid. But as he stepped down from the podium, Maritza caught his eye. She flashed him a thumbs up, and Tom felt his ears burn a traitorous red even as his chest inflated with satisfaction.

Hours of testimony passed.

Some of the council members at least tried to look like they were paying attention. Reardon mostly did. But Councilman Laredo, who represented the rich part of the town in the hills, made none. He ate dinner, had side conversations. Tom decided he hated Laredo.

And then Maritza spoke.

The entire group she was with deferred their time to her, and by the procedural rules that meant she got to use all of their minutes for her testimony. There was some muttering as the city council tried to block her, but no one was able to mount a real argument against it and so she proceeded.

“We appreciate your concern for our safety,” Maritza began. Shoulders back, voice strong. Tom wished he’d looked a bit more like her while he was speaking. “And we want you to know that we reciprocate it. That’s why we gathered here today—” she motioned to the group she was with. “Have decided to form our own private security firm that will monitor you. For your safety. We have purchased a number of Flock cameras and leased private properties near all of your homes—” She held up a piece of paper Tom assumed was a sample lease agreement as she spoke. At this a few of the council members made noises of dissent. Laredo yelled something that was lost in the general buzzing of the room. Some people were laughing, Tom among them. “—to ensure your safe passage, daily. If you would like to access any of the data we collect, we would be happy to share it with you for a fee. This is, of course, all in the name of your safety.”

Tom joined the people cheering and missed some of what Maritza said after that. He couldn’t believe it. It was perfect. Reciprocal surveillance. It forced the council to sacrifice their own privacy or be hypocrites. With lawful permission on rightfully established property, owned by a private company that’s open to selling personal data, in the name of dubious “safety.” It was so on the nose.

He didn’t know Maritza well, but man, she was something else.

But as the trolling had its intended effect on the audience, Tom noticed the police moving. And before he could even really understand what had happened, two officers flanked Maritza. When one slapped the cuffs on her, there was an outcry.

Tom joined with the mass of people who moved to block the exit, heckling the police. For her part, Maritza looked unbothered, but Tom was fucking bothered.

“What’re you arresting her for?” he yelled.

But none of the cops answered. Instead, they yelled threats at everyone in their way. One pushed Tom back hard, his elbow in Tom’s stomach, and Tom reeled back, winded.

“You heard her!” Laredo shouted. “She was threatening public officials!”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing to us!” Tom shouted back. But Laredo only smiled. He’d heard Tom, and he didn’t care. Tom looked to Reardon, but the council president was doing his best to pretend he couldn’t see nor hear everything that was going on.

“You can’t arrest us all!” Someone yelled.

Reardon kept gaveling but no one was listening.

“It’s ok!” Maritza called out. But no one was listening to her, anymore, either. The anger in the room had reached a boiling point. Realizing this, Tom stepped back. She was right. They needed to deescalate. He pulled the guy next to him back, too, as gently as he could. Slowly, others started to follow suit.

Eventually, the police left with Maritza in cuffs. Tom was dimly aware that the meeting proceeded but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. What the fuck just happened? He’d never seen anything like it. He caught the eye of the woman who’d shown up with Maritza, and gave her the best “what the fuck do we do?” face. She motioned him over.

“Here,” she said. No introductions, no small talk. She pulled out her phone. “Let’s get you in the signal group. We’ll crowd source her bail. We’ve got a little funds, already.”

“Yeah for sure.” Tom pulled out his phone and poked around until he was part of the chat. “I mean, you don’t think they’re actually gonna keep her in there, do you?”

“I have no idea,” she said. She looked tired. She was older than him, maybe in her forties, and didn’t have the look of someone who’d be an activist so much as she looked like someone who likely owned a minivan or who had a strong Jell-O game. “But we thought this might happen, so. They’re not exactly on the up and up on this one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. They tried to get this passed without taking a public vote. If we hadn’t caught it, it wouldn’t have even been on the agenda.”

“Man, what the fu—”

“Exactly. Anyway, you’re in now. They’re gonna renew tonight, but we’ll send out alerts for meetings and next steps. See you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure.”

“Great.” She turned away from him then, again, no niceties, just on to the next person. Tom let his eyes wander back to the dais, where Reardon was saying something he could only vaguely hear. But then, as each council member held up their hand, Tom realized what he was seeing.

The exact moment the council voted mass surveillance in on his city.

The precise moment privacy died.

Wade was home, of course. He had a girlfriend, Bea, but he didn’t go see her unless Tom could drive him or Bea’s mom could drive her. So, he was right where Tom had left him. Eating a grilled cheese sandwich off a paper plate in front of the TV. Old Batman cartoons from the aughts glowed blue against his brother’s soft face. No matter how mad Tom was about anything— and he was fucking furious— seeing Wade always had a way of calming him down.

“Was the pretty girl there?” Wade asked by way of greeting, without turning.

“She got arrested.”

“Oh dang.” Wade took a bite of his sandwich. “Get me a Capri Sun?”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, man.”

Tom’s phone buzzed in his pocket. The signal chat was popping off, and so far they’d crowd sourced what felt like plenty to bail Maritza out. Tom had kicked in, obviously, but he still felt powerless. Small. Like there was nothing he could do to make anything right. He loved Lawndale. Sure, it was a little podunk, and yes, they could absolutely do with some better options for restaurants. The “sushi” restaurant on Main was. Well. It was probably singularly responsible for more food poisoning than any other location in the state. But this was his home. He’d grown up here. He liked it in part because it felt like the corruption of the state and federal government didn’t really touch them. But now all of that was coming crashing down around his ears.

Tom handed Wade his Capri Sun, straw already in. Wade could do it himself, Tom knew that, but he needed to feel useful so powerfully he’d take whatever he could.

“Did she do murder?” Wade asked.

“No. She just. She stood up for all of us, and they didn’t like it, I guess.”

“That’s not fair.” His voice wasn’t surprised, really, just matter of fact in the way Wade often sounded. He took a long sip from his Capri Sun, and the foil packet crumpled inward.

“It’s really not. It’s really fucking awful, actually. I mean, we’re supposed to have a democratic process for this kind of shit, but they didn’t even care. They didn’t care! They just. They just ran this right over all of us, even though basically everyone who was there was against it. What’s the point of elected officials if they ignore you the minute they have power? I mean, this is going to affect all of us. This is our privacy, our safety. And they just sold us right down the river, and for what? So one of our cops can run checks on his ex-wife’s plates? I don’t get how they thought this was ok! It’s not OK! It’s— it’s—”

Wade chuckled, and for a moment Tom felt heated until he realized his brother was reacting to Batman. The Joker pranced across the screen.

“Why do you like Batman so much?” Tom asked. He wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“‘Cause. He fights for what’s right.”

“So does Superman.”

“Yeah but Superman doesn’t break rules.”

Tom sat down next to Wade on the couch. “That’s a really good point, man.” He reached over, and snatched Wade’s sandwich and took a bite.

“Yes you can have a bite, Thomas, thank you so much for asking.”

But Tom wasn’t really listening anymore. For his whole life, Tom had been a rule follower. It was something that had bothered his father throughout Tom’s childhood. That Tom was soft, that he was obedient. And sometimes, if Tom was honest, it was not something he liked about himself.

Sometimes, if he was honest, it was not because Tom was good and honest. It was because Tom had a streak of cowardice that his father had always sensed. And now, that cowardice felt untenable. Unjustifiable. The image of Maritza being led out in cuffs ran through his mind over and over again, the way the council had voted those fucking cameras in, despite the will of the people. The way they used the rules to quash dissent. He couldn’t lie to himself about the way that made him feel. About the way that changed something fundamental, deep inside him.

His phone buzzed. The signal chat.

“Someone’s gotta do something,” said the newest message.

And they were right. Someone did have to do something.

THE LENSBREAKER'S FIELD GUIDE

by Tom Fairbanks

Preface

This is a field guide for the patient, precise disabling of the machines conducting warrantless mass surveillance in our communities. This advice is painstakingly thorough. Maybe you can get away with not doing it. But I’m putting it here because I don’t want you to get caught.

The will of the people is overwhelmingly clear. We do not want mass surveillance. We do not want our patterns of life harvested for corporate profit. We do not want to be subject to dystopian control. Yet our will is being trampled - our protests repeatedly ignored by countless police departments and politicians working secretively with nefarious for-profit tech companies.

When, in the course of human events, it becomes clear that the system designed to secure life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - that system meant to protect us from unreasonable search and seizure - has been invaded by a foreign pathogen, the people must act as the body politic’s immune system: to identify, isolate, and destroy the infected parts before they spread.

Fighting in the day - in city councils and at protests, talking to your neighbors and people you disagree with - is mandatory. But the fight must be taken to the night as well. We strike now, before the right to privacy and ability to be anonymous vanishes altogether.

On Anonymity

Anonymity is the counterbalance to power. It is the failsafe the masses have always possessed when oppressed by the few.

But anonymity is now under threat. For the vast span of human history, there was always sanctuary in the crowd. To move through the world without being cataloged, to hold unobserved thoughts, and to associate in private were fundamental sources of dignity and power. It is only in the last fifty years - a blip in our history - that the advent of modern computing has disrupted this balance. Suddenly, our lives can be reduced to records in a dataset and processed by an AI model. With the right mix of data the patterns of our lives are laid bare. Technology has the potential to extinguish anonymity altogether.

The tech elite have realized. Having conquered industry and politics, they are closing in on absolute knowledge of every individual. Yet one check against their power remains: the coordinated will of the people. If they oppress too boldly, the people can rebel.

Yet rebellion requires secrecy. If those with unlimited resources gain perfect knowledge of every one of us, they can identify and stop dissenters well before they can form into a movement.

This is not a side effect; it is their aim. Internet tracking, purchase histories, secret warrants, and hundreds of thousands of privately owned sensors and cameras now record our lives without consent, oversight, or probable cause. They hide behind the lie that this is for our safety. Behind this lie, they seek control. They seek to extinguish our ability to resist.

Losing anonymity is a one-way door. Once every step we take is captured, logged, and analyzed, we can never don anonymity to take our rights back again. We must not tolerate the death of anonymity. We must use it to strike at its attackers while we still can, acting as the immune system humanity desperately needs.

We should be allowed to have secrets. That is our one eternal dignity - and no system has the right to take it.

Skills

The following skills or attributes are useful for lensbreaking, in rough priority order.

• Awareness - detecting others at night, keeping strong situational awareness while working.
• Planning - methodically laying out your mission, ensuring your tools are ready, prioritizing.
• Mindfulness - keeping internally calm, not getting lulled into a false sense of security.
• Risk tolerance - getting caught has serious consequences. Being comfortable with this is mandatory.
• Backpacking/trekking - laying out your pack such that you know exactly where everything is at all times.
• Stealth - being effective in making yourself unnoticed or unseen. Pass without a trace.
• Reconnaissance - gathering data about your targets, movement routes in order to build strategies.
• Tool dexterity - working with small hand or power tools. Modifying equipment.
• Marksmanship - if using projectiles. Allowing you to take out targets confidently from within 100 yards.
• Sleeping - ability to make the rest of your life work around 3-4 hours of waking time in the middle of the night.
• Patience - being able to call off a strike or an entire mission when conditions are against you. Waiting for the right moments.
• Agility / sure-footedness - walking around in the dark with no light. Often in places people normally don’t walk.
• Good sense of direction - knowing your territory like the back of your hand, and how to quickly extract yourself.
• Technological fluency - ability to transact on the internet anonymously, share information without being tracked.

Don’t worry if you don’t have all or many of these. Most are learnable.

Glossary

Because they are long-standing concepts for describing covert missions, many military terms are used throughout this field guide. Others are invented or slightly modified from their original meaning, and so are included below.

baseline: as in, the baseline for the environment in which you’re operating. Includes patterns of sound or light that normally happen where you are. Consciously registering noises and light changes as “part of your baseline” allows for better situational awareness.

change site: A hide site used for the purposes of switching between guises, and possibly leaving behind gear while executing subsequent steps of a mission.

civilian guise: your true identity. How you would dress normally for a given situation, with no effort to disguise who you are.

exfiltration: The withdrawal of personnel from a hostile or dangerous location, often covertly, after a mission is complete.

extraction: The removal of personnel from the general area of operations for a mission, typically by a dedicated pre-established mechanism or plan.

FFP: Final firing position. The last covered/concealed position before engaging a target. Even though the word firing implies projectiles, "FFP" will be used herein to describe all positions from which we strike.

hide site: A concealed, temporary location used for observation, rest, or staging while remaining undetected by enemy forces.

infiltration: Covert or stealthy movement of personnel into a hostile or dangerous location, avoiding detection to reach a target area.

insertion: The act of moving personnel or assets into the general area of operations for a mission, typically by a dedicated pre-established mechanism or plan.

LEO: law enforcement officer.

melee strike: disabling a sensor by direct physical damage; destroying the pole or dismounting it from the pole; painting or smashing.

ranged strike: disabling a sensor by hitting it with a projectile; typically leaves the damaged hardware in place.

stealth guise: aka black bloc. An all black, full body, identity-concealing outfit. Closer to a Halloween costume than a normal outfit with only extremely generic items shared with your normal wardrobe.

street guise: clothing, appearance, and mannerisms such that you don’t look out of place moving around and loitering in public on city streets. Different from your typical clothing with only extremely generic items shared with your normal wardrobe.

CHAPTER TWO

Tom got the laser pointer from Amazon.

He’d seen a video online from that guy from the Lincoln Project that you could break the Flock cameras with just a simple 532nm wavelength green laser (but of course absolutely shouldn’t), and he’d never bought something faster. He could even do it on his walk to the bookstore. Tom had offered Provisions and Prose as a meeting place for the Signal group to discuss next steps now that Maritza had made bail.

So he stuffed the laser pointer in his pocket, and strolled through his neighborhood, just like he always did, making small talk with neighbors, just like he always did, as he made his way to Main Street, just like he always did.

There were three cameras on his route to work, a brisk fifteen minute walk. So just like that he could down three cameras. Bingo Bango Bongo.

When he got to the first camera he looked around. It was positioned on a tall black pole mounted over a traffic light in front of the elementary school. But since school was out for summer, the neighborhood was pretty empty. Down the street, an older guy was mowing his lawn with earbuds in. Closer by, he could see that at least one person was home— shifting shadows behind a curtain— and he could assume that at some point someone else would likely walk by. So. Now was as good a shot as any.

He pulled out the laser, and pointed it at the camera lens. There was no fizz pop of the camera breaking. No tell-tale smoke emanating from it. So, he held it there for a moment longer. His hand shook wildly as he held it. It seemed like maybe one out of every ten thousand milliseconds the laser was actually trained on the lens, and the rest of the time it bounced around. Did that matter? Tom had no idea. Finally, after about a full minute, Tom put the laser away. He felt a little silly.

He walked along his normal route, noticing for the first time how many of the houses had surveillance cameras. Was he on someone’s Ring just now, destroying the Flock camera with his laser? Should he be lasering all the Ring cameras, too? It felt different to destroy someone’s personal property than it did to break a private company’s unwarranted surveillance, but the distinction felt fuzzy at best.

The second Flock camera was positioned on a traffic light, right off the highway exit. To get a good shot at it, Tom had to stand in a weird, liminal not quite sidewalk, not quite onramp spot and point. The only good news was the camera was lower this time, so he had an easier shot at it. His hand still shook like crazy, but he couldn’t really fix that. The laser itself was green, like he was a Jedi, a thought that pleased him a little more than he’d care to admit. Because the camera was at his height, he could see directly into the lens as he lasered it. It was like he was staring directly into the laser itself, the green was so intense.

“Ugh,” he hissed. Tiny black spots popped across his vision and he blinked through the weirdness. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it felt weird, wrong. He pocketed the laser.

His burgeoning life as a vigilante was off to a rather unimpressive start.

The third was right on Main. He stood across the street from it and pointed his little laser at it, assiduously smiling and acting normal and comfortable with everyone who walked by. And for the first twenty seconds or so, Tom felt like a criminal mastermind. And then—

“What are you doing?” It was Gary. The fascist.

Tom pocketed the laser. “Nothing.”

“You were pointing a little green dot at that camera,” Gary said. His voice was petulant, like Tom was his big brother and Gary was going to tell Mommy on him.

“Ok, Gary,” Tom said in his best ‘ok boomer’ voice. Gary glared at him. Tom smiled back. “I’ll see you at the Fourth parade.”

Gary scoffed. “You know I don’t participate in that. They never clean the street up after and it’s—”

“BYE GARY.”

Since Thursdays were usually Tom’s day off— no new releases, slower sales day— Susan was behind the counter at Provisions and Prose. Susan was Tom’s only employee, other than Wade. She worked fifteen hours a week. She was between sixty-five and one billion years old. Her hobbies included standing very still, reading celebrity chef’s memoirs, and eating Grape Nuts. He knew about the Grape Nuts because she talked about it. A lot.

“Hey Susan.” Tom dropped his backpack behind the counter. From the look of the till not much had happened that day. Everything was tidy, and only a couple books were stacked there for re-shelving. “I can take over.”

“Ok.” She gathered her thin cardigan around her shoulders. “So cold,” she murmured to no one. Then she shuffled toward the back to grab her purse.

Tom pushed the fixtures around so that he could put out some chairs, just like he did for the rare author events he hosted. As he was unfolding chairs, people from City Hall started coming in, and a few lent him a hand so it went more quickly. Imagine, Tom thought. Having a real staff. Then he laughed to himself. He loved this bookstore, but it wasn’t exactly a gangbusters business. And anyway, it was nice that it was small. Dad had paid off the store ages ago. It meant Wade always had a job when he was up for it, and Tom had just enough income to make their lives comfortable. It was a good arrangement.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was a lot to lose.

When Maritza came in, people cheered, Tom included. She smiled, but he could tell the attention made her a little uncomfortable. She managed to wave everyone off, and it wasn’t long before she was able to call the meeting into order. She was much more comfortable in the role of practical leadership than she was accepting applause, a posture Tom both respected and found deeply endearing. He wished more politicians were like her.

“For reasons that are probably obvious I can’t get into what happened at City Council last week at least as it pertains to my arrest,” Maritza said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk next steps.”

There was a rumble of agreement.

The woman who’d walked in with Maritza, the middle-aged woman Tom belatedly recognized as the one who’d invited him to the Signal chat, started passing out some FAQs about Flock cams that people could distribute. There was some back and forth about op-eds, letters to the mayor, and calls to council members who seemed on the fence about cancelling the contract. But no one seemed terribly hopeful about any of it. The contract had been renewed.

A younger guy, who Tom realized, was better looking than him raised his hand. He had the kind of lean fitness that came from lots of bodyweight workouts and strict dietary discipline and blessed genetics. He must be Maritza’s boyfriend, Tom thought. Probably got everything that he wanted.

“I think it’s time for us to consider taking some of the cameras down ourselves,” the guy offered. He was wearing, Tom realized, all black. When he’d entered the shop he’d been wearing a face mask. Smart.

“Like with one of those lasers?” Tom asked. “I saw online that—”

“No.” The guy stopped him short. “That’s bullshit. Doesn’t work. Human hands shake too much, and you’d need to fire the laser exactly at the lens, like bullseye, for like five whole minutes to get it to work. Not to mention the fact that doing that without the correct protective eyewear could get your eyes damaged permanently.” Tom rubbed his eye, shaken as the guy went on. “That’s just some shit people are saying online. Like the copper wiring thing. There’s no way you could hawk that to a scrapper, they’d know it was illegal and they’d boot you out. Maybe you get a couple bucks off someone who doesn’t recognize it. Also, say you do it say you set up a tripod and set the laser up on it, and you actually do the near impossible thing of getting that camera offline, no one would be able to tell, so other people who are also doing this might—”

“Ok. Thank you, Fox. I’m gonna stop you there for now.” Maritza smiled warmly, but she looked taxed, worried. “Wanting to destroy the cameras is a reaction I completely understand. This is a really charged thing, our rights are being stolen. I get that. It’s also an undertaking with a lot of risk—”

The guy, Fox, apparently, opened his mouth to argue, but Maritza held up a finger to forestall him.

“A lot of risk that can’t start in activism spaces like this one,” she said, meaningfully. “And we’re here today to discuss next steps for our group.”

There was some more murmuring at this. Fox snapped his mouth shut but he looked annoyed. He didn’t speak again, though. Tom rolled the laser around in his pocket, feeling stupid.

Maritza led them all in thinking of affinity groups that could be brought in on this fight— from the libertarian board gamers who met at the dive bar further down Main on Wednesday nights, to the immigrant’s rights groups that already existed around Lawndale, and from the state. Tom offered up the Antifascist bookclub that met at his store when they could get their acts together, and Maritza had rewarded him with a broad smile that nearly knocked him over.

As the discussion continued, Tom sidled up next to Fox.

“So,” he whispered. “The laser thing doesn’t work. Are there. Other ways?”

Fox smiled. “Yeah man. You can saw ‘em down. Stomp them out. You can shoot them down. Guy in California just got arrested for knocking them down with his truck. I saw another guy online using spray foam. Lithium grease. Lotta ways.” He looked Tom up and down. “But you gotta be able to run.”

Tom could’ve done with the last. He wasn’t out of shape. He walked a few miles every day, and when he was feeling cheeky he’d go into his crappy garage gym and lift the same weights his dad used to. But like sure, he got it, he wasn’t Captain America.

“Are you doing...” Tom started.

“Of course not,” Fox said, though his voice dripped with disdain. “I would never participate in illegal activities.” He gave Tom an ‘are you fucking stupid’ look and sidled away from him. Just a minute later, Tom saw him slip out the front door, mask back on, into the night.

Distantly, Tom was aware that the meeting was proceeding. And for as much as he respected Maritza, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated. All their next steps were going to take ages. It’d probably be months before a meaningful coalition could be formed. And in the meantime, everyone in Lawndale was less safe.

Fox was right. And clearly there was a lot more information out there about this than Tom realized. But if he searched it out at home, he’d be leaving a digital footprint. At the public library though...

He let his mind spin as the meeting wrapped up. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Maritza walked over to him, startling him from his reverie with a tap on his shoulder.

“I want to thank you so much for letting us use your space, Tim.”

“Yeah, of course!” Tom smiled like it was school picture day. Idiot. “You’re welcome any time. That’s like. One of the whole reasons to have an indie bookstore in the neighborhood. For community meetings. Also it’s Tom.”

“Oh!” she flushed a very pretty pink. “Oh my god I’m so sorry. Tom.” He liked the shape her mouth made when she said it. “Thank you. Any books you’d recommend? I feel like I should buy something while I’m here. You know. Support my local indie standing in the face of the technocratic fascist surveillance state?”

Tom nearly exploded with pleasure. “Tell me what you like to read!” he said, finally, firmly in his element. “And I can take it from there.” Tom listened as Maritza rattled off books she’d liked— mostly fiction, mostly by women authors, and all books Tom had heard of, some of which he’d enjoyed. She had good taste. Of course she had good taste. Eventually, she purchased a copy of Yesteryear, which she’d been meaning to read, but that Tom knew he could recommend with some confidence. It moved fast, was whip smart, and also had some really biting commentary on the resurgence of right wing propaganda being disseminated on social media. There was no way she wasn’t going to like it.

And, in a moment of unfathomable smoothness on his own part, he managed to both comp the book and make his parting line to her “Come back and tell me what you think.”

She grinned, tucked it in her purse. “I will,” she said. And it sounded like she meant it.

Tom had heard it said that 4am is the time everyone thinks of when they think of the ‘middle of the night.’ So he left his house at 3am, just to be spicy. Wade was dead asleep. Tom had checked. Wade didn’t tend to wake up in the middle of the night, but one of the things that made Tom most leery about all of this was the idea that Wade would wake up, need him, and be alone. But Tom— who had something of an insomnia problem anyway— hadn’t seen Wade up and about in the middle of the night basically ever. It’d be terrible luck if he started now, but not something, Tom figured, he ought to count on happening.

He also knew he needed a disguise. Wade had an old Batman cape he’d worn for Halloween years ago. It was surprisingly heavy weight considering it was a Halloween costume, and it hung all the way to Tom’s ankles. But the idea of stepping out of his home and literally any of his neighbors seeing him dressed all in black, masked up, wearing a Batman cape was enough to make Tom realize he needed to leave in one outfit, and then change into another out of view of both his home and random security cameras.

It was all much more complicated than he’d originally imagined when he’d gone to a small air rifle business— one that didn’t demand ID and that accepted cash— and purchased his first pistol. He’d spent some time as a kid and teen with his dad at the firing range. It’d been a while, but he figured he knew the basics. How hard could it be? Sneak out at night. Shoot down a few cameras. Go home. Rinse and repeat.

But tonight as he stepped out of his house, his backpack filled to bursting with the cape, a black women’s stocking to pull over his face, his disassembled air pistol, and the stupid green laser (just in case!) Tom felt shaky. Not in his conviction. He knew what he was doing was right. But in his surety that he was going about this in the right way.

Light reconnaissance during the day had given him a sense of which of his neighbors had cameras on their houses, and Tom took care to walk outside what he imagined was probably the cameras’ range. He snuck down to Blue Jay Park, where he figured there would be less light at night, and also no witnesses, to change.

Tom, who had no children of his own, felt like a trespasser immediately. And not the fun kind. The creepy kind. The sicko meme. Pulling the stocking over his face was weird for myriad reasons— it stuck on his eyelashes and smooshed his nose— and had the added bonus of making it nearly impossible to see. Yes, his face was obscured. But so was his vision. He could barely see the strings on the Batman cape to tie them around his neck. Then he had to pull it off to assemble the pistol anyway, so he felt even more stupid.

But not as stupid as he felt when he turned around, and realized that for all of this curséd sequence, he was likely in view of a camera he hadn’t noticed, pointed in toward the park. Not a Flock camera, just an older camera that had probably been posted more than a decade ago. Tom wondered if it even worked, but knew he had to act as though it did. At least he’d been facing away from it the entire time. Still. Stupid.

He almost called it all off right then and there. There was no crime in walking into a park and putting on a cape. If he just went home none would be the wiser, and he’d have taken no risk. No broken cameras, no reason to check the footage. But he’d gotten himself so pumped up for this. So, despite his better judgement, Tom pulled the stocking back over his face, and snuck off camera and moved toward his first target.

Now and then a car drove by, but they were easy enough to evade by ducking out of sight. Drivers, he realized, were not particularly observant. They just wanted to get where they were getting.

The Flock camera they’d set up on the traffic light in front of the elementary school.

He was nearly there when two kids, probably high schoolers, blocked his path. He could hear them laughing amongst themselves, the languorous giggles of kids who’ve smoked the better half of a dime bag. Luckily, it was a dark night. They probably hadn’t seen him, and also wouldn’t see him if he held still. So, ducking next to a bush, he crouched down on the sidewalk, pulled his cape over himself, and hoped they were simply too stoned to notice him.

Faintly, Tom could hear the teens approaching. And then to his horror he heard: “Does he think we can’t see him?”

“Hey uh,” came the other voice. “Whatcha doin man?”

The first kid laughed. “Don’t! He’s being so super sneaky!”

They both howled with laughter at this. Tom waited for them to pass so that at least they would not see anything identifiable about him and he could, somehow, try to cling to some shred of dignity. As their laughter faded into the distance, Tom stood, and pulled the stocking off once more. He almost died of embarrassment all over again. The stocking had completely skewed his sense of lighting. Of course those fucking kids could see him. He was directly under a streetlight.

What were they even doing out this late, where were their parents? Tom shook his head. His interior monologue was starting to sound like Gary.

So far none of this was going how it was supposed to.

The camera itself was mounted over a traffic light. If he approached it from behind, he’d be able to get directly underneath the camera without being seen by it, and then he could shoot it out from directly below. Seemed easy enough.

When he finally got to the underside of the camera, Tom pulled the stocking over his face and approached. The pistol he bought was small, like a sidearm not a rifle. So he needed to get close. But even standing directly under it, Tom could hardly see what he was pointing at as he shot at the camera.

Air pistols are quiet, but they’re not silent. And the noise it made was much louder than Tom was anticipating. There was the PLUNK of the air pistol firing, but also the THWING of each slug hitting its target. When he was out of ammo, he stopped firing. Was the camera destroyed? He couldn’t even tell.

Slipping away as quickly as he could, Tom crouched behind a car, and lifted the stocking so he could get a better look, but he still couldn’t tell if he’d done anything meaningful to the camera. Fuck.

This was going to take so much more research.

THE LENSBREAKER'S FIELD GUIDE

by Tom Fairbanks

PART 1

Anonymous and Undetected

Breaking a surveillance camera is easy. You could, in broad daylight, walk up to a camera on foot, pick up a medium-sized rock, and hurl it at the camera. Repeat this process until it is visibly in pieces. Done.

Yes, it’s true - you’ll have taken out a mass surveillance camera. But you’ll also be easily caught by the authorities if they try at all.

So the challenge is not in the breaking, it’s in the breaking while leaving no possible way for yourself to be caught.

The actual mechanics of your strike matter much less than your ability to do so while disguising your true identity. How to arrive at a target anonymously and then return home remaining anonymous and undetected, this is the primary skill to master from this field guide.

Stealth

The number one way to mask your identity is to not be seen in the first place. This is accomplished through stealth.

What stealth means varies widely depending on who or what you’re trying to evade. Practicing stealth in the wilderness while hunting or as a soldier in enemy territory is very different from that in urban or suburban settings. In the case of lensbreaking, we’re very much in an urban/suburban setting. We strive to evade the notice of pedestrians on the street, motorists in passing vehicles, and residents in surrounding structures.

Stealth is not the same thing as simply hiding behind something. Sometimes stealth involves hiding, but more often it just means being theoretically visible but blending into your surroundings such that you don’t seem out of place.

When actually hiding during stealth, for instance by hunkering down behind a tree or a bush, the goal is rarely to be impossible to see. While being completely hidden breaks your subject’s lines of sight to you - it also breaks your line of sight to them. When hiding you don’t know when the coast is clear or if it’s time to abort hiding and start fleeing. Much better is to stand in the deep dark in a position someone is unlikely to look and watch as your subject passes without noticing you.

This is accomplished through situational awareness, considering what your subject’s threshold of awareness is, and adapting your behavior to fall below that threshold.

Situational Awareness

Your number one advantage in stealth is that you’re looking for them but they don’t know to be looking for you. You notice everyone coming first in order to get first-mover advantage. Anytime you’re on a mission and you get surprised by a person or vehicle of which you were unaware, consider this a failure and try to learn from it. While traversing between locations, your awareness should be spent scanning your environment to be the first to notice others.

Military reconnaissance teams have a practice called S.L.L.S. (pronounced "sills”). It stands for “stop”, “look”, “listen”, and “smell”. It’s a reminder to halt your forward momentum and force your senses to recalibrate before you commit to the next step.

When you stop, you immediately eliminate your own noise, allowing your senses to tune into the environment rather than your movement.

Then you look - scanning near and far for shapes, silhouettes, or glints of light that break the natural pattern of the night. A person walking at night is visible for two or three blocks if you pay attention to the long sight lines down streets. A car’s headlights are even more visible, casting light up to ten blocks, but also bouncing off of every street sign meaning you can use these reflections to know when a car’s headlights have appeared behind you.

You listen for giveaways of incoming human presence: the faint clomp of distant footsteps, car radios, the increasing whooshing road noise of a car that’s getting closer. The corners of street blocks act as sound breaks, meaning that when a car turns a corner nearby there is often a step function increase in the amount of noise you hear. Note also that wearing a hood over your head impairs your hearing. When performing S.L.L.S. it’s a good idea to temporarily drop your hood for the sake of better listening.

Finally, you smell - which in the military context is meant to give early warning of signs of human activity like fires, car fumes, etc. In urban environments these types of signals are less relevant, but smell is a good placeholder for stopping for a second to breathe and be present in the current moment. Take it as a cue to be mindful, and check in fully with what you’re feeling as well - it’s part of your current situation.

By running this quick S.L.L.S. check, you convert your inherent advantage of being unseen into decisive action, ensuring you are the first to detect rather than the one detected. Make a practice of S.L.L.S. whenever you enter a new area of operations or transition into a new phase of your mission.

Threshold of Awareness

It’s not possible for humans to take in and process the entirety of sensory input around us; it would overwhelm our senses. In order to cope, we filter what we pay attention to and notice stuff above a certain level of important. This is our threshold of awareness. When practicing stealth, our goal is to fall below this threshold of awareness in other people. Either by blending into the baseline environment if we are going to be easily visible, or by moving such that we won’t be easily visible in the first place.

Drivers of cars are the easiest to evade because their threshold of awareness is pretty much confined to traffic indicators and what’s in the road directly in front of them. Their night vision is ruined by their headlights, and they have a lot of stuff to pay attention to as it is.

People inside surrounding structures are also fairly easy to evade: we’re operating late at night so no one is likely to be staring out of their window keeping watch. And walls and windows have a strong amount of noise blocking. It’s really just loud noises that have the possibility of waking someone that will draw their attention.

Other pedestrians are trickier. A group of people walking around or loitering together are likely to be making noise and be more focused on each other than their surroundings, but a solo pedestrian can pose problems. They are on the same level as you in terms of night vision and hearing and since they’re alone at night, will have their heads on a swivel scanning for threats.

Adapting Your Behavior

To not be noticed by cars, see them coming first and move to be behind something that will mostly block your silhouette from being seen. Step behind hedges, walk partially up driveways, stand behind tall foliage. You’re not trying to hide all parts of your body in doing this, you’re just making it very likely to have the car pass without noticing you. As long as you’re keeping your awareness up you should have a lot of time before you’re in visibility range. Drivers aren’t scanning the dark sides of the road so it doesn’t take much to evade notice. You can usually sit or stand in a way where you look casual enough if you’re being observed from a different angle. Because of how easy it is to evade cars, and the fact that cars can sometimes be LEO, evasion is usually worth the effort.

For people in structures, it’s mostly about being aware of when you’re making noise and realizing that stealth is broken. Don’t make loud noise until you’re ready to flee immediately after. For smaller noises, do pay attention to single rooms that jut out away from the main mass of a house. These are likely bedrooms so choosing to make noise directly outside those windows is not ideal. Tripping motion-triggered lights are for the most part not an issue when moving in public or close-to-public areas - these go off all the time so the owner develops a blindness to them. If you happen to be trespassing in less trafficked areas, then definitely be aware not to trip these lights. Private security cameras should be avoided - always try to walk past these from as far away as possible. More about these in future chapters.

For pedestrians, the best bet is normally to opt for blending into your surroundings rather than attempting to hide. This is because they’re on fairly equal footing with you in terms of threshold of awareness. Solo pedestrians especially may notice if someone ahead suddenly veers off the sidewalk into some bushes. The last thing you want to do is increase the alertness of people around you by being seen acting suspicious. Better to act as if you belong. Be aloof towards their presence. Sitting down against a fence or pole, stopping to tie your shoe with your back towards them, fiddling with small items in your hands are all good mannerisms to adopt to avoid seeming suspicious. Only go for evasion if you’re confident you’re out of sight in the first place, they don’t seem to be seeing you, and you are confident they’ll pass without noticing.

Dogs

Special note here about dogs. First, to be clear: all dogs are good dogs. Period. But as it pertains to your stealthiness, they’re a major problem. They are S-tier detectors. Spend enough time moving quietly in still neighborhoods at night and you’re bound to set off a dog at some point. They’re extremely perceptive, often detecting you from across a street. What mainly triggers them is your lingering in a particular place. When a dog gets set off, there’s nothing to do but to pack up, move on, and adjust your plan accordingly.

CHAPTER THREE

Wade sat at the front counter of Provisions and Prose, flipping through a magazine without much interest. Tom was doing a bit of housekeeping— returns, the most depressing part of being a bookseller— pulling all the books that hadn’t sold to send back to publishers and distributors for refunds. It was a pretty robust pull list. Sales had been a little slow. Though, the anti-Flock organizing night had been a bright spot, both in sales and in Tom’s experience.

It wasn’t like he thought about Maritza all the time. But she came up now and again in his thoughts a normal amount for a beautiful woman to come up in his thoughts. So when she walked into the store, black hair shining, Tom felt like he’d conjured her with his mind.

“Hey!” she said brightly. She gave Wade a fist bump, which Wade loved. Wade was big into fist bumps. “How’s it going, dude?”

Wade lit up like the sun, and chatted a bit with Maritza. Tom took the opportunity to get his body regulated, breathe slowly, moron, and to find a good spot for the stack of books he’d pulled.

“Tom!” She smiled wide, and Tom felt a tug in his chest toward her. “You were right, it was so so good.”

“Yesteryear?” As if he didn’t wonder what she’d thought on a daily basis.

“I tore right through it, and I haven’t been able to concentrate on a book in ages. Got something like it for me? This time I’m paying for it.”

Tom put up his hands, don’t shoot, but couldn’t help the stupid grin he knew was stamped on his face. “Your money’s no good here.”

“Our sales are like, crazy down,” Wade chimed in.

Tom closed his eyes, let the moment pass. Wade was right of course (Wade was usually right) but it was not the time, man. He’d always been a lousy wingman.

“Really,” Maritza said, warmly. “I am delighted to support my local independent bookstore and its anti-mass surveillance ownership.” She elbowed him playfully in the side, and Tom nearly fell over sideways. She touched me.

Tom didn’t say anything (no way in fuck is she paying for a book), but he motioned to the fiction section and pulled some options for Maritza. He tried to pull fun stuff, the kind of escapism she probably needed in the midst of all her organizing.

“This one,” he handed her a copy of The Searcher by Tana French. “Does all the fun stuff of a police procedural mystery, but the main guy is a retired cop so he’s not allowed to do cop stuff anymore, which lends it a cool vibe without being like, straight up copaganda.”

Maritza smiled appreciatively at that. “You got my number.”

“I don’t actually,” Tom said, shocked by his own game. “Would it be weird if I asked for it now?” He could taste his heart in his throat, tin and thrum. She gave him an appraising look, and for a second Tom thought he’d been a little too bold.

“Yeah,” she said. “But only if you use it.”

Tom also shit his pants.

They exchanged numbers, and Tom gifted her the Tana French paperback. There was some argument about this, but it was settled that, when they went for coffee, Maritza would pay.

“Oh and also, if you’re not sick of me by then, there’s also a canvassing thing coming up.” Tom could see it the second she switched into organizer mode, the way her shoulders pulled back and her chin lifted. It was, he couldn’t help but notice, really hot.

“I saw on Signal. Was already planning to be there.”

“Great.” She looked to Wade. “You’re more than welcome to come too, man.”

“No, thank you, I’m not a big oooh look at me guy.”

“That’s not really—” Tom started. But Maritza’s laugh cut him off.

“That’s fair enough. Maybe we can get you to hand out fliers at the Fourth parade.”

“Maybe.” Wade had lost interest in this conversation and had returned to his magazine.

“It hasn’t hit the chat yet, but city council is talking about expanding the permitted usages, outside of what was voted on before,” Maritza said.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. I guess a lot of cities are doing this, so it’s possible the Lawndale PD could be using these for domestic violence, vandalism, terrorism charges, you name it. Not to mention sharing all the data with federal agencies.”

“Terrorism?”

“You know how they are. Everything’s terrorism now. They charged those protestors with it just last month.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m sure Jesus has nothing to do with it.” She sighed deeply, and tried to smile, but Tom could see how troubled Maritza was. Maybe because he shared her concerns. This was bad. After how disastrously his first attempt at shooting down a camera had gone, he’d been wondering if he should even try again. He’d gone back to the camera by the school during the day to see, and realized that, because of the angle he’d shot the camera with, all the slugs had simply ricocheted off. All that faff and nothing to fucking show for it.

But now hearing that the cameras were going to be used for whatever the fuck the police felt like using them for, he knew he had to keep going. It wasn’t time to give up, it was time to level up.

“Do you think we can get the churchy folks into the coalition if we tell them Jesus would have hated Flock?”

Maritza scoffed. “If you figure out the messaging, I wish you all the luck in trying.”

Tom pressed his hands together in mock prayer. “May the good lord guide me.”

“You guys flirt weird,” Wade said.

Tom watched Maritza’s cheeks flush a warm pink.

“Mind your business, Wade.” Tom opened the door for Maritza, just for something to do with his hands. “See you soon.”

Tom practiced. He practiced putting his gear in and out of his pack. He practiced readying the pistol— putting on the suppressor, loading it, taking off the suppressor and unloading it. He was careful to always load the gun wearing black, nitrile gloves, so that his prints would never be on any slugs, but he took them off for everything else. He practiced taking off and putting on his disguise as quickly and smoothly as he could. He practiced this all in the privacy of his bedroom where Wade wouldn’t see him because there was a nonzero chance he looked like a lunatic, and that didn’t need to be witnessed by the Fairbanks family’s greatest shit talker.

It was a bit like being a Boy Scout. A lot of pack management. He needed to know where everything was in his pack, at all times. He could hear his dad’s voice echoing in his mind, yelling, really, to keep his gear organized and accessible. All that yelling had paid off, eventually. Tom wasn’t a good Boy Scout, but he was going to be good at this. He had to be.

As he got set to leave, Tom peeked into Wade’s room. Just to be safe. Wade was snoring away, his face soft with sleep. If Tom was going to do this, he needed to do this right. To never get caught. Because Tom’d be damned if he left Wade to their mom again. She wasn’t a bad person. But she couldn’t handle Wade on her own. She was too distractible, too fragile herself. After Dad had died Mom kinda lost it, drinking and forgetting things, and that’s when Wade had moved in with Tom. Tom had promised Wade, there and then, that he’d always have a home with him, and he fucking meant it.

Failure just wasn’t an option.

Tom peeked through the little windows in his front door. The street was silent. Which made sense. It was 3am. He lived in a sleepy part of town, mostly families and old folks. Then he hefted his larger pack onto his back, and slipped out into the night.

A lot of fretting had led Tom to realize that he actually needed two disguises. One for walking around, and one for the actual strike. That way, if he, Tom, was somehow captured on camera leaving his house, he would not be the same figure who was then captured on camera walking around, and definitely not the same figure seen shooting down a Flock camera. So once he was about a few blocks away from his house, Tom ducked into the bike lane that cut through the lightly forested area behind the high school, set up well off the actual path in the undergrowth, and changed from his regular Tom clothes into black bloc gear: a black sweatshirt with no logo, black pants and black boots he’d gotten from a thrift shop, and a nylon balaclava. He left the larger pack there, now using a smaller pack he’d nestled inside it. Using the same backpack across disguises, he’d realized, made the whole costume change thing moot.

Having changed, Tom could move a little more confidently. He wasn’t Tom anymore. He was just a weird guy, moving through the night. For his own amusement, he named the interim disguise Arthur Dent. As Arthur, he could move differently than he would as Tom. To the point. Stepping up driveways to avoid being seen by the sporadic cars. Jumping fences.

Then, once Tom was closer to the Flock camera he wanted to shoot down, Tom hid again— this time in a small park he didn’t even know the name of, that boasted one toddler-sized play structure and zero cameras. He was glad he had practiced changing so many times. Changing in the dark in the bushes wasn’t easy, but at least he had a lot of reps. He stowed his sweatshirt in his pack, and put the Batman cape on. Having learned his lesson about visibility with the stocking, this time Tom wore IR blocking welding goggles that had been like $30 on Amazon. His field of vision was limited, but at least it wasn’t pitch black.

And he grabbed the prepared air pistol.

The second, smaller pack he stowed in the bushes where he’d changed, and then he headed on his way.

The night was cool and crisp for a summer evening, but Tom could feel the sweat forming beneath the balaclava. He did his best to breathe slowly, calmly. If he could keep his breath calm he could keep his body calm. Teaching his body to be on alert, but not to be panicked was, he realized, a skill of its own. A skill he could learn, was learning, was using right then.

Even though the one by the school made him the most angry, Tom didn’t want to hit that one again, so soon after his first (pathetic) attempt. So he’d scouted out another camera. This one was on the freeway onramp most people in town took if they were headed to Pine Crest, where all the outlet shops were, and the Costco. Countless people drove by it every day. If he could successfully take this one out, a major point of data collection would be down. The camera itself was on a breakaway pole, and unfortunately in a brightly lit patch. He needed to shoot it through the lens, which meant he had to shoot from the front. So he’d be on camera. But Tom was full in disguise this time.

Since Flocks collect license plates, the lens was facing toward the freeway. Tom had walked by this spot a lot of times, and tried to scout alternative means of approach, but unfortunately, the only way was just to walk up the side of the well lit onramp, position himself about six or seven feet from the front of the camera, and shoot.

Which is exactly what Tom did.

Even at around 3:30 in the morning cars still came by about every five minutes or so. There was no way to time it such that he’d be inoculated against another car driving by, so he had to be on high alert for cars, ready to duck into the darkness if another car came, while also still getting where he needed to go.

Facing the camera, Tom felt a wave of disgust. Here it was, the avatar of big tech there to steal and sell everyone’s data. The personification of eroding civil liberties. The glass of the camera’s lens shone in the streetlight. Tom took aim. He fired.

On the fourth shot, the glass of the lens shattered, and a spray of shards showered onto the ground. It was more satisfying than Tom cared to admit, but it was also very clear: he’d done it. The camera was done for. He grinned beneath the balaclava as he sprinted away.

Jay Reardon used to take meetings all day but about a year into his time in office, he’d stopped. They were all the same. Whining, annoying, listen to me and my niche fucking opinions. Jay didn’t have time for it. He wanted to be mayor of Lawndale within the next five years, and governor of the state within the next fifteen. He simply did not have time to meet constituents at coffee shops to talk about their sidewalks and their feelings.

But unfortunately, he still had to meet with fellow city council members.

Don Laredo had scheduled this meeting a week ago, which was an unprecedented amount of foresight in Don Laredo’s career so far as Jay could remember. Don was a fucking moron. But he was a useful fucking moron, and so Jay made time for him even as he fantasized about the day when he wouldn’t have to take any more meandering, pointless calls with this bloviating blowhard. At least it was happening in Jay’s office where he could surreptitiously keep his eye on his desktop while Don talked.

Don rapped on the door (too loud, always too loud) before blundering in without awaiting a welcome response.

“More cameras down,” he boomed.

Jay motioned for him to shut the door, for fucking discretion, which Don did after rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. So this meeting was technically illegal. Good thing he’d come in yelling about it. Thanks to state law, city council members were not supposed to talk about official business out of the light of public meetings.

“You were saying?” Jay said. It was a good thing he’d had so much practice masking disdain from his voice. Not that Don was a creature of subtlety.

“We got what, two hundred cameras around the city?”

“Yes.”

Don hefted himself into the chair across from Jay’s desk. “Well, my buddy over on the force was telling me, at least thirty of them are down.” He picked up the framed photo of Jay’s wife, and smiled lasciviously.

No. He was not a creature of subtlety.

“What do you mean down? Like for maintenance?”

“No. Taken offline by vandals. A lotta them got sprayed with paint, and that’s easy enough to fix once Flock finally comes out to repair ’em. But the queue for maintenance is like a hundred years long. And a lotta them been sawed down. One even got shot out, on the freeway onramp. No maintenance appointment is gonna fix that. More expensive to replace than repair.”

Jay furrowed his brow. This would come out of the police budget, and the police were always bitching about needing more money no matter how much money Jay shoved down their throats. “How much is this costing us?”

“Well, it’s not free!”

“Has this been reported to Finance?” The financial oversight committee was the greatest thorn in Jay’s side. Other than his constituents.

“No. LPD hasn’t and you know I’m not gonna.” Don rapped his knuckles on the wood of Jay’s desk. Too loud. Jay knew what Don meant without Don saying it. Both Don and Jay had taken substantial campaign donations from a local hedge fund manager. And both Don and Jay knew very well that those donations would stop if they didn’t support Flock, where the very same hedge fund manager was heavily invested.

“Well. If Finance doesn’t know and LPD isn’t saying anything I don’t see why it’s our problem.” Jay turned back to his computer, checked the rest of his schedule. Mostly calls. “All the focus on Flock will blow over. I’m moving forward with pressing charges on that one organizer, and you’ll see. The rest will fold when they see we’re throwing the book at her.”

“And the vandals?”

Jay shrugged. “I’m sure the police’ll do the same. They’re attacking cameras, Don. I’m sure we’ll get them on tape sooner rather than later.”

Don sucked his teeth dubiously. “That’s fifteen percent of the cameras down within a year of them going up.” Jay didn’t realize Don could do math.

“That’s Flock’s problem. I’m sure they’ll get them fixed.”

“That’s the thing!” Don was yelling again. Great. “They’re NOT! Some of them have been down for months, and Flock hasn’t done shit about it!”

“For the love of God keep your voice down,” Jay hissed.

It wasn’t until he could see the look of shock and disapproval on Don’s face that Jay realized he’d let the mask slip. He took a breath, and comported himself.

“The most important thing is that we keep it under the table. Last thing we want is press. So. How many of these cameras are visibly disabled?”

“How the fuck should I know, I’m not a janitor.”

Jay smiled through his annoyance. People don’t realize how close a smile and a grimace are, really. “Well, let’s figure that out. If we can even get shell cams up in their place, so people think they’re being watched. We get the Flock contract, they feel safe. Win, win.”

Don smiled at this, and Jay was relieved to hear the tetchiness was gone from his voice. “Dummy cams. Brilliant. You’re brilliant!”

“Not compared to you, my friend.”

They chatted a bit more about a few things— the new park being proposed, the looming teacher’s strike, and Don’s golf game. And finally, after taking the hint (Jay looking at the clock constantly) Don excused himself from Jay’s office with as much volume and pomp as possible.

Alone in his office Jay took a deep, steadying breath.

Don was mollified easily enough. But if enough of these cameras required expensive repair and replacement, the whole contract could be called into question by their fellow city council members. And questioning the contract would not lead down a road Jay wanted to walk. There were too many questions he didn’t want answered.

They needed to catch at least one of these assholes. And fast.

THE LENSBREAKER'S FIELD GUIDE

by Tom Fairbanks

Compartmentalized Identities

Stealth only goes so far. You will be witnessed as you move around at night. To protect your true identity you become a different person. Change your behavior, bearing, and gait. Most importantly, never cross the streams: your true civilian identity does not go anywhere near a FFP at night; none of your disguises ever go home.

Civilian Guise

Your true identity. The only guise that ever comes or goes from your home. Used for transit. Also used for legitimate in-the-daylight activities such as recon. But never used directly to carry out a strike.

• What: beanie, hoodie, exercise or casual pants, sneakers or exercise shoes. When used at night: a medical mask once you’re off your immediate block to reduce the chance that an acquaintance drives by and recognizes you.

• General bearing: out exercising, minding your own business. Cold / detached / focused on getting where you’re going or doing what you’re doing.

• Comportment towards law enforcement: Nothing to hide, no answers owed. It’s perfectly legal to walk around your city at night wearing a backpack, and if stopped you owe an officer zero explanation. Still - have a concept of what a plausible alibi is in your own head and act in a manner that is consistent with it.

Street Guise

In large metropolitan areas, society has a special type of blindness towards people living on the street. While it is a sad reflection on humanity in general, we have collectively developed an instinct to look away whenever we see an unhoused person rather than make eye contact and mark them in our mind. The street guise is the primary way to move around in a medium-to-large city at night and not look out of place.

• What: beanie, balaclava or bandana, older distressed work wear jacket with a large hood, ponchos, random old hoodies, older work wear pants or jeans, worn down shoes. Prefer navy, dark gray, or black colors. Aim to cover your nose, mouth, and brow, but fully masking your eyes makes you more conspicuous.

• General bearing: you’re shooting for “blending in”. Come up with mannerisms and behaviors that seem mundane, and use these whenever anyone may be able to see you. E.g. trying to light a nonexistent cigarette (carry a lighter), sitting down leaning against a wall, facing away tying a shoe. The idea is to seem to be going about your business without seeming suspicious. You’re just there, doing your thing and want to be left alone.

• Comportment towards law enforcement: Avoidant. Law enforcement treats unhoused people unfairly, especially those staying in a single place. If you’re sure you’ll be noticed by an LEO in this guise, then slowly and deliberately move on from that location. Loitering gives them an immediate pretense for further harassment.

One thing about the Street Guise, said plainly. This guise borrows an invisibility that isn’t yours. It exists because society has decided its unhoused neighbors are beneath notice, and if you misuse it, the cost lands on them— not you. After any incident on a block, police canvassing starts with the people actually living on it. You are wearing someone else’s anonymity. Treat it like it was borrowed, because it was.

Gray Guise

In smaller to medium sized towns an unfamiliar, potentially unhoused face might be more memorable than not. In these towns there’s a non-zero chance that a person driving past you will recognize you. This makes the Street Guise more of a liability. Instead optimize for clothes that break up your silhouette, covering key distinguishing parts of your body with plausible outfit pieces. Take into consideration: if someone who knows you gets within 20 feet of you this guise breaks down. But from 50 to 100 feet if you cover defining traits and move your body differently than you normally do, there’s a strong chance to evade recognition.

• What: rimmed baseball cap, bulky clothes, loose clothes. Gray and tan colors. One-size-larger-than-usual used flannels are a fantastic option. Items that cover your ears completely like a beanie are great. A face mask too, if that wouldn’t stand out against your town’s baseline. Hoodies or jackets with hoods can be good. Jackets with neck coverage. Basic shoes. Bulky belt.

• General bearing: again shooting for “blending in”. Walk like you absolutely belong wherever you’re going. You should never carry a functional cell phone— but a broken one, or anything phone-shaped, is a great prop. Jab at it while looking down, cap pulled low over your face and eyes and to a passerby you’re just another person absorbed in a screen.

• Comportment towards law enforcement: Oblivious. You’re just a person going about your night. What would a LEO even want with you? General confusion if addressed.

Stealth Guise

An all black, full body, identity-concealing outfit. Maximum concealment of your identity, form, and features. If you are seen, there is practically no way you’ll be identified. However, someone wearing what essentially looks like an all black Halloween costume is very conspicuous. Anytime you are seen you will make an impression. Your goal is to not be seen at all. Use this guise to strike and retreat quickly, and to hide entirely in shadow should anyone appear to witness you.

• What: Full face mask, full body black poncho, ninja costume, cape and cowl, monk’s habit, balaclava and goggles, full body cloak, large wool blanket. Gloves. Dark nondescript shoes. The ability to quickly put this on and remove it is key.

• General bearing: moving with intense purpose. Stealthy movements when approaching or retreating. Lie or squat with a cape or cloak to hide your entire body in darkness when needed. Run or sprint for short bursts when you need to move in the open. If you’re observed, keep moving, don’t speak.

• Comportment towards law enforcement: None. Unless it’s Halloween, this guise cannot withstand scrutiny from law enforcement. Exercise extreme situational awareness to always hide before spotted by an LEO.

Auxiliary disguises

When the goal is not necessarily to conceal your identity, but just move around in areas you otherwise shouldn’t without being noticed, consider these. The goal is for a casual observer to have zero thoughts about your presence.

• Hardhat + vest: it’s true that you really can walk almost anywhere if you’re wearing a hard hat. Add a clipboard and hi-viz vest, or a surveyor’s wheel, and no one will give you a second look.

• Landscaper: Knee pads, hi-viz vest, bandana, trash bag, gloves. Great for moving around near freeway on-ramps / off-ramps.

• Package delivery person: Amazon delivery person’s vest over any standard civilian clothes makes the entire disguise. Add a bandana and baseball cap + a clunky-looking electronic tablet and you’re able to move around residential blocks inconspicuously. Even in the 3AM-6AM hours in major cities.

What to Disguise

It’s helpful to analyze specifically everything we’re trying to hide.

Face

A picture of your face will very likely score a hit in a rudimentary facial recognition search. A computer vision algorithm detects specific anchor points on your face and derives fingerprinting geometries from them. The counter-measure is to simply mask these anchor points so they can’t be used. A bandana or a balaclava to mask the face; mind that an uncovered brow can be very distinctive for some people. IR can somewhat see through very thin cloth, though this is often overblown. Avoid nearly see-through fabrics and you will be fine.

Eyes

Sunglasses during the day, goggles during the night. Note that during the day sunglasses block visibility of your eyes, but these are transparent to IR cameras at night. And on the flip side, there are special lens coatings for goggles and glasses which reflect IR, but are transparent during the day.

At night, it’s very important to walk the line between concealment and your own visibility. If your eye covers are too dark, you’ll be less observant. Perhaps worse, if you constantly perceive things to be darker than they truly are at night, you will have impaired judgment about how much stealth you’re actually employing in your movements.

Airsoft goggles - the type made of solid plastic with a bunch of small perforations - are a really good option as they completely conceal your eyes but still allow a decent amount of nighttime light through. They don’t fog up, and are designed with a wrap-around form factor to not limit your field of view.

Body

Generally speaking, anything distinctive about your body should be hidden. If your build is particularly large or thin or short, find ways to make your disguise move you in the opposite direction. Flowy loose clothing, shoulder pads, or lifted shoes might be your friend.

Tattoos, Piercings, Facial Hair, and Other Markings

A tattoo or piercing caught on camera during a strike could give you away completely. Consider fully taping over your tattoos with duct tape (as well as adding random pieces of tape in other locations to obfuscate where you’re actually concealing something). Aside from intentional markings, consider that even temporary injuries or persistent bandaids on specific parts of your body can be tied to your Civilian identity. If you have a handlebar mustache or a distinctive beard, a Batman cape and cowl is probably not the best stealth shroud to use.

Digital Fingerprint

Your phone advertises Bluetooth and is connected to cell towers (for which location is known). And mass surveillance companies have already revealed plans to collect and store device signatures. Flock may easily roll this out as a software update, or may already have. Do not bring your phone, smart watch, medical devices, or any other Bluetooth-enabled items on strike missions. If you have a medical device that you can’t remove but that sends signals, purchase Faraday fabrics and fashion a body wrap around the affected area.

Unique Equipment

Be very aware of any equipment in your kit that is going to be on camera, and think long and hard about how distinctive it might be. If an investigator is able to freeze-frame on a bike you use or a specialty brand of slingshot you bought online, it’s possible that those purchases are the final clue needed to track you down. Opt to mask all branding and distinctive features by removing tags or covering with duct tape. Consider disguises for your equipment too. When possible, buy your distinctive equipment with cash, wearing a baseball cap and a medical mask. Or buy online with smaller businesses that will allow you to send a USPS money order - which does not require ID to purchase. Mail these purchases to an alternate address under a pseudonym.

Fingerprints

If you must handle a device (e.g., a Ring camera) or touch a surface (e.g., a metal pole or fence), wear gloves and/or have a disposal plan. The more you wear gloves, the better your dexterity while gloved will become. If shooting projectiles, wear nitrile gloves while handling and loading your ammunition as a 100% rule.

Gait

The state of the art on this is not as far along as people imagine. Like facial recognition, it’s a one-to-N matching problem, meaning that it requires a database of N possible matches against which to compare. Unlike facial recognition, there is no centralized database of everyone’s gaits, nor is there likely to be one soon. Therefore, gait analysis won’t be used to identify you out of the blue, at least as of 2026. Do keep an eye on the state of the art here, though.

However, gait analysis could certainly be used to confirm you as a suspect if you become a person of interest in an investigation. As such, it’s worth being mindful of when you’re likely to be on camera and varying your walking style. But this is a secondary concern to maintaining your ability to flee effectively. Rocks in shoes or strange orthotics are not recommended.

Hide Sites

Changing disguises is pointless if you are observed while doing it. Through daytime exploration and reconnaissance, find clandestine locations - Hide Sites - within your intended area of operations. Use these to change guises and prepare your gear. Spend as little time in Hide Sites as possible.

A hide site is a way to break the chain of traceability, so at a minimum a Hide Site has:

• No surveillance cameras directly monitoring the site

• No surveillance cameras monitoring the entrance or exit of the site

An ideal Hide Site has:

• Low foot traffic

• Limited visibility

• Limited approach directions

• No nearby neighbors that will be bothered by your temporary presence

• A location to stash and leave gear behind temporarily where it’s unlikely to be discovered

• At least a city block’s worth of distance from any intended strike targets.

Parks, forests, abandoned lots, large landscaping features like bushes, and areas between freeway on-ramps and off-ramps are all great sources of quality Hide Sites. If you’re in a very dense city, you may need to be less picky. When in doubt, spend a lot of time there just watching and listening before changing guises.

Mission Structure

The structure of a mission is dictated by the need to compartmentalize our identities. We leave home as ourselves, arrive at a Hide Site where we can assume an Alternate Identity. The Alternate Identity moves on to strike and then returns to the Hide Site to switch back to being ourselves again. We then return home.

Phases

• Departure: leave your home as you normally would if leaving your house in the middle of the night, with a medium to large pack. It should go without saying, but empty your pockets of any items not explicitly and intentionally part of your loadout. This most notably means your cell phone, but also your wallet, ID, and keys.

• Insertion: get from your home to your Hide Site carrying a medium to large backpack that contains both your gear and your other disguises. Change, unobserved, into your Street or Gray Guise including different shoes, pants, and backpack. Leave behind the first backpack and Civilian Guise. You’re now ready to operate. Hide the backpack as well as you can, covering it with leaves and dirt if that helps in the hiding. Note, though, that it is night and very low foot traffic is to be expected, so don’t worry too much.

• Infiltration: Move on from the Civilian Guise Hide Site to your intended strike location. Find a second sheltered position - a “forward Hide Site”. Use this forward Hide Site to ready your strike gear. It’s ideal for this location to be at least a short distance away from your striking position (a.k.a. the final firing position, or FFP) in case a rapid exit is needed from the strike. You may also change into your Stealth Guise at this point, employing a disguise within a disguise. The decision on whether this is needed depends on how exposed your final firing position is to casual observation and how quickly and easily you can switch in and out of the Stealth Guise. With gear readied, proceed directly to the FFP.

• Strike: Perform your strike. Verify your kill visually. Note that in the case of projectile strikes, this may mean staying and waiting for the next car to drive by and observing for the lack of IR flashes.

• Exfiltration: Once you’ve struck, you are at your maximum exposure. A crime has been committed, and some degree of noise or disturbance that may be noticed is the result. Bystanders may be calling authorities to make a report. The longer you stay nearby, the greater your risk. Depart that position, falling back to the forward Hide Site. Stash your gear and change out of your Stealth Guise. Then leave.

• Extraction: Return to your original Hide Site. Change back into civilian clothes and re-pack your larger pack. Return home.

The inner phases of this mission structure - Infiltration, Strike, and Exfiltration - may be repeated in a loop in a single night. E.g. leave home to your Hide Site, change into your Street/Gray Guise - approach, strike, and depart multiple targets - then return to your initial Hide Site before heading home.

Rationale

If an investigator gets evidence that the Alternate Identity struck a camera, and they trace the Alternate Identity’s movements backwards or forwards in time, the chain is broken at each Hide Site disguise change. They may know that Alternate Identity went into the Hide Site and then 10 minutes later a differently dressed identity walked out, but that’s weak evidence. Remember that the police won’t have the benefit of video footage tracking each and every one of your steps, just “a person dressed in a work jacket carrying a black sack passed by this Ring camera at 2 AM” and “a person of approximately the same build but wearing different clothes and carrying a different backpack passed by 10 minutes later”. Having these “identity breaks” ensures any evidence gleaned about one identity - any mistakes we make that might reveal our movements or tactics - doesn’t follow us all the way back home.

What You Leave Behind

It’s not possible to leave nothing behind. Footsteps and trampled underbrush will always be a concern. Always opt for hide sites that have been at least minimally worn down by human presence. Parks are the best and very beautiful at night.

Depending on your strike style, you may also be leaving forensic traces. These will be covered in their respective sections, but as a general rule always leave as little behind as possible.

Most importantly, never leave your equipment behind. Much of it has fingerprints on it, and that same item may have made an appearance on security cameras earlier in the night. Always return for a piece of gear that you’ve discovered you’ve left behind. Full backtrack. You can almost always find it.

Footage

Probably the most significant thing you’ll be leaving behind is your image on security cameras. Both residences and businesses are loaded with cameras. A bit funny to have to say given the overall subject of this field guide, but: you should do your best to minimize how often you’re on camera.

Ring doorbell cameras should be particularly avoided. Ring has a standing relationship with Axon to streamline police being able to get footage from residents via the owner’s Ring app. Owners get an anonymized and vague notification of a crime, and are given the option to essentially blindly contribute their footage to the surveillance state. This is another way evidence is gathered on every citizen— evidence that can be handed to law enforcement without a warrant— before a specific crime has even been committed. Yet another dystopian violation of our rights.

There are good news pieces with these cameras too: a lot of them are truly closed-circuit and will never be looked at unless the owner of the camera deliberately goes looking for something. And all cameras tend to have a very zoomed out perspective in order to capture the entire surrounding scene. This means that distance is your friend— passing 50 feet away on the other side of the street is typically enough to be fairly inscrutable on most cameras.

Probably the most interesting and surprisingly useful thing about cameras: they see a spectrum of light called Infrared (IR) that humans can’t see. This alone doesn’t guarantee that a given camera can see in the dark. In order to have night vision, a camera also needs to cast IR light over the scene itself. And if you have an IR viewer of your own, you can see those emitters light up at night— every camera suddenly as obvious as a porch light. Handheld IR monoculars can be had cheaper than you’d expect, and even the lowest quality ones do the job. Pairing the ability to detect cameras easily with the idea of crossing the street, you can now optimize your walking route to stay off camera as much as possible.

Much more on this later, but note that you can also use an IR-viewing device to verify that Flock cameras have stopped working.

Your First Mission

There is a lot of operational overhead involved in planning Hide Sites and FFPs, packing your gear, and switching identities - all in the dark of night. Add on top of this the actual mechanics of your strike and the stress of executing a mission with real stakes and it makes sense to have a dress rehearsal.

Start your lensbreaker career with a “night recon” mission. The objective: in the dead of night, deliver yourself into striking range of your target, observe, then return home safely, all while protecting your true identity. This includes using Hide Sites to change identities as well as packing the strike gear you’ll need for a true strike. You’ll go through all phases of a mission, which will allow you to make your mistakes before risk enters the equation. Take note of what went well, what went poorly, any discoveries you made about your gear or surroundings, and what can be improved. Every mistake or bit of good luck is something to learn from.

Upcoming Sections

• Know the Machine - how ALPR cameras work and why IR vision is so important.

• Strikes - melee attacks, ranged attacks, why lasers are complete nonsense peddled by people who have never been anywhere near a direct action in their entire lives. Also it’s insane to use power tools when wheel-based pipe cutters do a better job 100% silently.

• Mentality & campaign - how to be in it for the long run.