Thankfully, when I wake up an hour or so later, I’m less high and I have a hackin’ new always-glowing-red eye. It doesn’t fit quite right--it’s a bit too round, and it’s a little too small for my socket--but I fucking love it. “God, I look badass,” I smirk, looking in the rearview mirror of the parked cruiser. “Right Nat?”
“Th-that’s one word for it,” she replies, less certain than me. Still, this was a victory!
...well, that victory was short-lived. The spectacle quickly goes from the cruisers and medical cars outside the arcade to the sudden hijack of every TV inside and every Telescreen advertising unit along the entire oceanfront complex. Murmurs spread and grow as a bloody skull logo leaps to life on every live media stream in Telecom jurisdiction, quickly fading into a live video of a maniac in a bloody skull Darth Vader helmet thing addressing the world.
“Citizens of Telecom,” he booms, not in his real disturbingly nonchalant little psychopath Georgia voice but in his deep and horrific robotic voice, “it is an honor to address you all in this manner today. I am Kilroy, leader of the anti-Telecom pro-freedom organization Lágrimas de Sangre. You have probably never heard of us because your media has lied to you, deceived you, shielded you from the disturbing truths about your world and your beloved Telecom.” A montage begins to run of various news clips about sudden deaths due to ‘heart attack,’ ‘stroke,’ ‘unknown causes,’ etc. Each clip fades into footage from Skulls of the mind-killing tattoo projectors on the scene, showing the actual cause of death. “Your mind is an organic computer--nothing more, nothing less.
“The perfect, 1:1 scale mind mapping that allowed us to create marvels of nature like the ART has also allowed us to infiltrate your mind and to find exploits in its feeble coding. We have developed a certain series of flashing images, patterns, sounds, anything and everything you can dream of that will take advantage of these exploits in the mind and turn you into a vegetable. We can destroy your mind like a Trojan virus on an antique PC, and we fully intend to. People of Telecom, refuse to allow these corporate oppressors to censor your truth, to silence your voice and your votes! Reject their system, their false pleasures, their manipulation! Join us in returning power to the people! To freedom, to power with the people, not with our evil corporate overlords!
“This is your warning: to any sheep who wish to continue engaging in the Telecom system, to continue jacking into the neurolink Teleworld units--we will be attacking in 24 hours. Consider this a formal announcement of war: we will hack and destroy the minds of anyone connected to the Teleworld–through NeurOS, Teleworld Immersion Pods, home Teleworld neruolink systems, anything! I won’t tell you how long or how many attacks there will be, but rest assured: we are capable of far more than your oppressors. Can you really count on their protection against our attack when every television, internet and radio frequency was so easily hijacked by us universally? Will you sacrifice your lives to protect your ignorance and to enforce their status quo? Their empire is crumbling, and your futures and freedom lie beyond the boundaries of that toppling behemoth, not inside of it!
“And finally,” he continues, “to my dear, C.B.: you know who you are. If you’ve survived the tragic breakup I know you’re going through right now with your ex… before you get any big ideas about stealing my heart away to stop this party, know that the last dance is already in the hands of DJs around the world, and my removal from the dance floor will have no impact on the grand finale. I couldn’t stop the music if I wanted to. There are 24 hours until our sordid affair must come to an end--whether I’m alive for our midnight kiss or not.”
I sit stunned as the screens shut off and everything returns to silence. The gathering crowds also pause for a moment, and for just an instant, I’m hopeful they’ll heed the warning and not be dumb enough to--
“Man, the viral marketing for the new Dot Hack reboot is awesome!” I hear one guy say with a chuckle.
“Fucking LARPers,” a bald tough guy with a lisp laughs. “Like anybody would fall for that bullshit.”
“These ARG campaigns are getting ridiculous,” another voice in the crowd laughs.
“My crew’s infiltrating the Castle of Vaporsaurs tomorrow in the main Teleworld PVP server,” a girl laughs to her cohorts, “there’s no way in hell we’re not going through with this.”
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, NOBODY’S FUCKING TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY!
Kilroy’s words echo through my mind. For a moment my elitism gets the best of me and watching all this stupidity, apathy, and conformity makes me wonder if I’m making the right choice--then I snap back to reality. These people may be idiots, but they’re my idiots.
“I take it he was your ‘date’?” Nat asks, eyeing me suspiciously. “Did you discuss this with him over dinner?”
“We’d discussed it,” I reply. “But I didn’t think he’d be going through with it: at least, not this soon.”
“Did you get from that poorly encoded last bit of that message what I got? We’ve got a day, right?”
“Yep.”
“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“You already have a plan, don’t you?”
“Yep.”