Chapter 23: Media Burn

A city faces chaos as a terrorist attack unfolds, revealing dark secrets and the hunt for those behind the devastation.

A group hallucination forms in the minds of the citizens of the city.

The setting is familiar, an accentuated electric blue desk, the background a visual mish-mash of corporate architecture and slogans shifting and changing to capture and hold attention.

An orange-skinned, dark-suited man, drenched in self-tan and rolled in makeup, sits behind the news desk with both palms flat upon the table as if he's holding a sermon. Complete with bleached blonde hair and a ten-megawatt smile, he repeats the day’s headlines being prompted to him. The messaging runs into his head and then into ours.

“We have breaking news. My producers confirm this is a BN1 Exclusive. There has been,” he pauses for effect, hand going to his ear. Closing his eyes for a moment as if listening intently, “The facts are still filtering in, but we can confirm there’s been a terrorist attack in the Stacks.”

He opens his eyes, and his face is somber, as next to him a screen appears with images of the nightmare, harshly cut. The chaos of the scenes screams through.

“Take a look,” he gestures as the inset enlarges to full view.

The disorder in the Stacks: archival footage of riots and angry mobs, establishing shots of its highway-straddling location, followed by shaky shots of a large swath of the Stacks, blackened and smoking, close-ups of electronics burnt out and equipment still sparking as technicians try to repair BN repeaters. Their colleagues pull them back as cascading showers of sparks build to an electrical fire.

The shot changes and widens to show blackened bits of technology everywhere, all pointed at by angry, gesticulating Stack residents. Their hands wave and their mouths move, but no voice is given to their actual words. The shot cuts to the back of a man wearing a bulletproof vest, surveying the scene.

“Joining us now is our very own award-winning field reporter, Herman Shaw. Can you hear us, Herman?”

The back turns to reveal the tight smile of a middle-aged man with rolled-up sleeves, a bulletproof vest, and a deep blue helmet with a familiar white BN emblazoned on the middle of his forehead.

He smiles at the camera. “Loud and clear. It is chaos down here in the infamous Stacks, notorious for lawlessness, and today it has been hit by this incident. Looking at this swath of damage, it’s clear the area has been attacked by terrorists.”

“Is it any cells we know?”

“No, this appears to be a new group. But BN is exploring all known links, and their best Mind is on the case using, I’ll tell you off the record, an obscene amount of Compute resources to track down these people before they do any more damage to our city.”

“I feel better knowing that,” the anchor says theatrically, wiping his brow, careful not to disturb his makeup. “What do we know about the attack?”

"Along a path roughly ten meters wide and 150 meters long, we're seeing a dead zone of electronics." Shaw gestures dramatically at the destruction behind him, carefully positioning himself to block the view of a distinctive scorch pattern radiating outward from a single point. "The directional EMP weapon—" he emphasizes the word weapon, though the blast pattern clearly suggests an Override surge, "—has completely destroyed every device in its path."

The camera pans across jury-rigged equipment, lingering on the most dramatic damage while avoiding the epicenter. Behind Shaw, a BN technician examines a fried implant, mouthing what looks like "magical signature" before a Security officer steps into frame, blocking the view.

Shaw continues his performance, "Computers, tablets, solar panels, even some implants. If it has circuits or connects to the Net, it's fried to a crisp." He strategically moves to block the view as agents collect electronics burnt out from within – telltale signs of an Override discharge.

"It is chaos down here in the infamous Stacks," Shaw declares, while BN Security efficiently contains the scene, their movements suggesting this isn't their first incident. "Looking at this swath of damage, it's clear the area has been attacked by terrorists."

"Oh my, that looks serious," the anchor says, following his cue.

“It is. Just the other day we showed you the bloodbath in the Stacks, but this is different. This is people’s livelihoods. People on the margins. People with nothing,” Herman says. He notices a man getting too close and pushes him aside. “Desperate people. Back, sir, I’m broadcasting here.”

“Help us! Send food, not cameras!”

“Get him back, he might be involved. He might be resistant,” Herman Shaw yells and pushes the man backward. BN Security takes over, and the man disappears in a huddle of armed personnel.

Shaw and his camera turn away. The crowd retreats, standing quiet and subdued behind him. In the background, a man yells and screams until a harsh electrical zap cuts it off.

"Sorry about that. This is the Stacks," says Shaw with a stern glance around. "Based on irrefutable evidence from the scene and authorized data collection, we've identified the suspects."

“Who are they, Herman?”

“Two key figures with suspected accomplices.”

“The suspense is killing me, Shaw.”

“One young lady, Omnia Davids, AKA Omni. No priors, but a known hacker with anti-corporate leanings. And another sketchy character, known only now as Murph. His digital record is patchy, but he’s a suspected criminal vagrant and dangerously unstable. Known drug user, suspected seller. BN systems have on record at least one attack on a BN Security agent with the intent to do grievous bodily harm.”

Photographs of Omni and Murph are shown on the screen, both scowling at the camera.

"But to truly understand people like this, we must see who they're willing to harm. Here we are with Clayton—that is your name, sir," says Shaw, concern etched on his face as he places a brotherly arm on the taller dark-skinned man. Behind them, the camera catches glimpses of other residents picking through smoking ruins before quickly panning back.

The man, in stained brown clothes and the aged remains of a blue visibility vest, trembles slightly but confirms, "Yessir." Excerpts of Clayton's record and personal information appear briefly in the public feed, while his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

"Tell me what happened to you and your family."

"We were having our midday meal at home—" Clayton's voice cracks, and Shaw tightens his grip supportively, "—recycling and scrapping done for the day, everything peaceful and normal—when suddenly it all exploded." His eyes drift to something off-camera, perhaps his home, before Shaw subtly redirects his attention.

"Exploded?"

"Yes, all of it shoots out electricity and sparks. Our screens, holos, my cooker—" The man's façade crumbles momentarily as he takes off his cap and rubs his head, revealing burn marks on his forearm. "And my panels."

"Panels you bought with your own blood, sweat, and tears no doubt." Shaw's voice rises theatrically while in the background, a child can be heard crying before the audio feed cuts briefly.

"Yessir. Scrapping for years to afford those. To bring power into my home." Clayton's eyes harden. "My little girl, she needs—"

The man breaks down into a sob, and Shaw smoothly steps between him and the camera, hugging him briefly before moving him off frame.

"It is unfortunate to witness such distress as a result of this horrifying act." Turning to his crew, Shaw calls out urgently, "Sandra? Sandra! See to this man's family, make sure they're taken care of."

Shaw walks away and shakes his head. “I cannot stand people who do this.”

The images of Omni and Murph come up again on-screen and are sent to all online bulletin boards, flashing in the visual cortex of every person with a BN-sponsored implant. Overriding their privacy settings.

In an instant, they’re known to everyone, their images and crimes burned into the minds of every citizen in the city.

In a derelict office building across town, a tall blonde man stands up and brushes his hand to the side to clear the bulletin. He makes a harder cutting gesture to override the emergency broadcast rating.

“So he’s still alive … ” The man pauses to rest a hand on the shoulder of his second-in-command. “Send out a team to find Murph. It’s time he answered for what he did.”