Operation Watchtower is set in the wake of 9/11. Follow Nicholas Grayson, a haunted FBI agent; Belle Flower, a runaway from a family of circus freaks; and Senator Bryce Wexley, a man replaced by a better version of himself. What begins as investigation becomes revelation. What is known cannot be unmade.
Wexley watches his doppelgänger on tv while the world burns. Homeless and hunted, he eats a meal at Wong’s diner, man. Conspiracies and visions gnaw at him, and he feels the eyes upon him. Belle flees the man in gray. She waits at a library ragged till Red finds her. They speak of years lost and the towers burning. Sirens rise. He hides her under the dash and drives her toward his trailer. Grayson comes to San Diego. Agent Guthrie meets him. He calls his sister, answers his shrink, speaks with fellow jarhead, Boyd, of Mercer the psychopath. At Belle’s place, he finds a doorman slain, a home invasion, the air thick with loss. A jade Bronco tears away into the sunlit street like a beast unchained. They are all unaware how deeply they’re entangled in something monstrous and occult.
This podcast contains mature themes including psychological trauma, violence, religious extremism, suicide, body horror, and the breakdown of reality. It explores conspiracies, real historical tragedies, and occult imagery rooted in the horror role-playing game Kult: Divinity Lost. Listener discretion is strongly advised.
Nothing in Operation Watchtower is suitable for children. Some content may be distressing for survivors of abuse, veterans, and those sensitive to depictions of state violence or ritualistic harm.
If you feel unsafe or overwhelmed at any point, we encourage you to pause, breathe, and return when you’re ready. Or not at all.
The soundtrack to Operation Watchtower is the work of Dead Melodies, who builds with dust and echo. Music carved from ruin. A dirge for the dreaming. He weaves field recordings like ghosts in the walls and tunes the silence to sorrow.
If you’d have your own haunted life set to such sound—find him at dead melodies dot bandcamp dot com
Operation Watchtower is set in the wake of 9/11. Follow Nicholas Grayson, a haunted FBI agent; Belle Flower, a runaway from a family of circus freaks; and Senator Bryce Wexley, a man replaced by a better version of himself. What begins as investigation becomes revelation. What is known cannot be unmade.
Agent Nicholas Grayson is summoned into the dark heart of America’s hidden wars. Waco, Oklahoma City, and the Unabomber. Occult rites, state secrets, and black ops. Grayson knows the truth. Tasked to Operation Watchtower, he is sent to San Diego. Alone. His targets: Erik Dunlop, preaching the Fourth Aeon from a bookstore called The Veil, and Kurt Maurer, the warlord of Ocean Beach with runes inked in flesh. Meanwhile, Belle Flower flees from a ruthless assassin. And Senator Bryce Wexley staggers through visions of 3,333 screaming faces, doors opening into impossible corridors, twin horrors transforming him into a vessel.
Conspiracy is just the cover story. What festers beneath is ancient, sinister, and waiting.
This podcast contains mature themes including psychological trauma, violence, religious extremism, suicide, body horror, and the breakdown of reality. It explores conspiracies, real historical tragedies, and occult imagery rooted in the horror role-playing game Kult: Divinity Lost. Listener discretion is strongly advised.
Nothing in Operation Watchtower is suitable for children. Some content may be distressing for survivors of abuse, veterans, and those sensitive to depictions of state violence or ritualistic harm.
If you feel unsafe or overwhelmed at any point, we encourage you to pause, breathe, and return when you’re ready. Or not at all.
Agent Grayson doesn’t sleep. He surveils the cracks in reality. Groomed by the Bureau, haunted by the dead, and tethered to Belle Flower by shared nightmares. When the veil thins, he bleeds.
Raised under the big top, cut by family lies. Belle Flower ran—into code, into ghosts. Now she’s hacker Swift Knees 85, a whisper in forgotten forums. Her scars surfaced in other people’s dreams. Her truth is blood and binary. The Bureau can’t contain her.
Two Bryce Wexleys. Same face. Same scars. Same breath. One in D.C., one in a San Diego. One is a lie. Or both are. Trust no appearance.
Silver-haired statesman. Burned-out king. Senator Wexley rose from 9/11 dust with fingerprints on lies and power. Behind the flags and speeches, an ancient machine turns—funded by blood, masked by law. Watch his eyes. The mask slips soon.
Silas Mercer is the knife you never see. A fixer who walks the fault lines between state and syndicate, making people vanish—sometimes legally, sometime not. Wexley and Whitman don’t own him. No one does. When Mercer arrives, the bleeding’s been scheduled.
Wong Hsu serves coffee with a side of cosmic distortion. His eyes flicker, his clock lies, and his smile hides something ancient. The diner changes you. Some don’t walk out. Surveillance continues.
He doesn’t believe in peace. Only prophecy. Krieg’s tattoos bleed ideology—sunwheels, runes, ruin. He leads zealots with scars, not slogans. Compromise? That’s for the dead.
Erik Dunlop wears Armani like armor. His obsidian pendant reflects no light—just shadows. Prophet or predator? Every word a blade. Every appearance a reckoning. Watch the pendant. Track the lies. Shadows follow.
Red Mathers, a junkie from the circus. Haunted by what the marquee never named. His veins whisper secrets the Bureau can’t ignore. Some wounds bleed truth.
They call him “Long Haul.” Buck Flanagan never left the big top. Marle Brothers Circus clings to his chest like a ghost. When San Ysidro went down, it wasn’t what he said, it was what he didn’t. Haunted men don’t talk. They run.
The Black Labs wound the earth; men descend and are unmade. The Archons do not speak—their silence is law. Grayson bears scars like scripture, the body a gospel of exile and judgment. Surveillance knows you, owns you. Beneath stone, the Entity dreams. This is not story but truth—ash, blood, silence.
There are things beneath this country. Things sewn into the soil… into memory. You hear them, if you listen long enough. Bleeding dreams. Government lies. Sacred rot.
Operation Watchtower is not a story–it’s a wound. And wounds whisper. Listen… before they seal it shut again.
You think you’re free? No… you’ve never been free. Every shadow you cast, every breath you take, is written into the record. They built the Watchtowers long before you were born. I’ve walked their halls. I’ve held the sword of flames… and I’ve seen what it does to men who think they’re in control.
The truth isn’t hidden. It’s burning, right in front of you. And soon… you won’t have the luxury of looking away.
The Black Labs wound the earth; men descend and are unmade. The Archons do not speak—their silence is law. Grayson bears scars like scripture, the body a gospel of exile and judgment. Surveillance knows you, owns you. Beneath stone, the Entity dreams. This is not story but truth—ash, blood, silence.
