TOM OWENS HADN’T spent this much time in front of a TV in his entire life. Maybe his entire life combined. He
couldn’t get enough of all the news coverage of the bombing at Virtual Spaces. He hadn’t even realized there were
so many news sources. Most of them got a few details right, but none of them got them all right. He was starting to
understand people’s discomfort with biased media r eporting.
Owens didn’t think he’d been this excited about something since he realized he could whiz through any math
course. The proof was finishing calculus in the sixth grade. He was finally getting recognition for his
accomplishments. Even if the media didn’t yet know his name, they were still talking about his actions. He wasn’t
particularly good at communicating with other people. Owens hoped Ellis Warrenton was working on the public
statement they intended to send out.
Right now, Owens had the TV tuned to a local news station. The anchor was a woman who looked like a version of
every girl he’d gone to college with. Neat, dark hair, perfect teeth, symmetrical face. The news anchor’s name was
Eileen Schilling, and he liked her professional, no-nonsense delivery.
When Schilling announced that a woman from Staten Island who’d been walking along the sidewalk in front of
Virtual Spaces had died in the hospital from injuries received from the bomb blast, it made Owens consider
different bomb models. If he could build a weapon that caused people to die over the course of several weeks, the
news coverage would ramp up exponentially. In this case, maybe he could use a radioactive isotope or some kind of
poison next time.
He liked looking at problems through a scientific lens. This gave him
one more experiment to conduct when he was ready.
He was easily able to tune out the interview that followed, with the grieving husband of the woman who’d died.
Those were the kind of details that wouldn’t help him with his mission. He intended to save the world whether the
world wanted to be saved or not.
When Owens finally surfaced from his little TV-news-watching world, he realized Kimmy was sitting in the rickety
recliner in the corner of the room. She was wiping tears from her eyes with paper towels.
He asked, “What’s wrong?”
Kimmy sniffled and pointed at the TV with a damp paper towel.
Owens looked back at the TV, where the interview with the husband of the dead woman was still going on. That
must’ve been what was making Kimmy so upset, but he couldn’t understand it. When the newscast moved on to the
weather, Owens looked down at the notebook containing details about the explosive device he was making for their
next mission.
Ellis came trotting down the stairs, his penny loafers echoing on the hardwood surface. Owens envied Ellis’s casual
but elegant style. Most of the time, it didn’t seem like he put any effort into it either. Now he was dressed in jeans
and a button-down shirt with some kind of splashy brand- name sweater.
Still thinking about the media coverage, Owens said, “When are we gonna write our statement about the bombing in
Manhattan? We’re not just doing this for fun. People have to be forced to pay attention to climate change. They
need to realize what Big Tech companies are doing to us.
You’re better at putting words to those kind of ideas than I am.”
Ellis k ept his calm demeanor and sat in a comfortable chair across from the couch. “I’m working on it now. I’ll
leave it up to you how we get it into the public without it being traced back to us personally.”
Owens nodded. That sounded like a reasonable plan.
Ellis tapped the notebook on the coffee table that Owens had just been writing in, and looked inquisitive. Owens
was quick to put his hand on the notebook so Ellis wouldn’t pick it up. “It’s my idea for our next project.”
The tall man leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re on board with us. What did you have in
mind?”
“I’ve been looking at the Con Edison station in Queens. Not only does it provide power; they also intend to use it in
the future to harness power from
Canada. That’s not the way to improve the environment. It still d epends on fossil fuels for virtually all of the power
in the city.”
“I thought that was something we were going to do later.”
“We rise and fall with public attention,” Owens said.
“We also rise and fall with cash. We need to have an infusion of capital.
I think hitting a bank sends a good message, and we can also profit from it.
You’re not a communist, are you?”
Owens didn’t respond.
Ellis said, “I’m looking at the long view. We need to be pr epared to operate as a group well into the future.”
“No one cares about banks.”
“I care about banks. That’s why we’re going to target one next.” Ellis’s voice had risen in volume during the
conversation. Now he stood up.
Owens tried to match him by standing up as well. It was a mistake. The difference in their heights alone made him
feel inferior. “I’m going to work on the Con Edison device.”
Ellis reached out and grabbed Owens by the shirt, pulling him close and growling, “I’m in charge. We’re going to
hit a bank, make a statement, and get some capital. Is there anything you don’t understand about that?”
Owens felt utterly helpless. It was infuriating. He was back to questioning his decision to join these guys. He
wondered if he could kick Ellis in the groin hard enough to es cape. He tried to work up the courage.
Ellis looked at him like he knew what Owens was thinking. Then he released his grip and shot Owens a last,
threatening glance before stomping back up the stairs.
Owens didn’t understand how things had turned bad so quickly.