said. Dellia went back to the couch to watch. “We can now confirm that the protesters are targeting local divisions and, uh, various other assets of Silte Corporation across the nation.” But which ones? she thought. “We advise that you do not approach any business or property with ties to Silte if at all possible until further notice. Our team has put together a map of the currently affected areas which you will find on our ONN app. I’ll give you a moment.”
Searching the room with her eyes, she located her tablet near the couch under a discarded pair of jeans. With trembling fingers she managed to sync it with the TV to bring up a map of the US. She tapped the flashing icon and the map zoomed to her loc ation; she only had to scroll a short way to be sure the area between her apartment and the lab was safe. Zooming out showed that the only red blobs indicating threats were centered around Silte headquarters, far enough away to be safe—for now.
I better hurry anyway , she thought, already in the process of pulling the jeans on. If they get to the lab before me… She had to be in and out first, just to be sure. She had no way of knowing just how far they might take it; the news seemed to be content with a vague description of the night’s events and hadn’t elaborated. Dellia had a disturbing vision of an angry group of protesters ambushing her on the way there and killing her just for being tied to Silte. The tragic part was, she could soon be their only salvation…if Silte did what she suspected they were planning to do.
But they might not use it.
That hope was quickly shattered when she looked up at the TV. The live footage, focused again on the swarm around the Silte skyscraper, showed private cops tossing gas bombs into the crowds. People looked away from where the canisters fell, some shielding their noses and mouths in anticipation, but the gas never came—at least not in a form they could see. Dellia knew what was there, though.
They had used it, the bioweapon. She had no choice now but to carry on with the plan.
“Uh, we’re not sure what we are seeing there,” the nervous anchor said as the shot returned to his makeup-caked face. He seemed to be half-paying attention to a sound in his right ear that only he could hear. Perhaps it was just the cynicism that came with years of working for a Silte company, but somehow Dellia knew the man was being carefully coached on how to continue with this story while maintaining the network’s best interests—or something like that. ONN, it would seem, feared Silte. Or was controlled by Silte; both were equally probable.
Censorship or no, Dellia had seen all she needed to see. She went to her bedroom and donned slip-on sneakers, then traded her worn T-shirt for a less casual plain blue blouse so she wouldn’t look too suspicious going into work at three in the morning. She filled an old backpack with a couple changes of clothes, her tablet, and a few other essentials. Glancing around, she felt a creeping regret about leaving everything behind. No time to get materialistic. She made sure to turn off all the lights and devices before leaving her bedroom.
In the living room, the TV still droned on. “I don’t think anybody realized violence like what we saw tonight would come from the thus-far peaceful Anti-Corp movement.” The a nchor was talking to a second man on screen. “Yet the protesters tonight viciously attacked the brave Guardian Police Association officers with what appears to be makeshift gas bombs. As a society, are we going to put up with this?”
The man’s shameless lie was appalling. Dellia had seen the video—in fact millions had probably seen it, or would tomorrow. But seeing was secondary to being told what to think for too many people. Those people would believe the lie every time, and that infuriated her. “TV: Off,” she said.
“Well, I think, Vic, that the thugs got what they deserved and—”
“TV: OFF!”
Dellia
Searching the room with her eyes, she located her tablet near the couch under a discarded pair of jeans. With trembling fingers she managed to sync it with the TV to bring up a map of the US. She tapped the flashing icon and the map zoomed to her loc ation; she only had to scroll a short way to be sure the area between her apartment and the lab was safe. Zooming out showed that the only red blobs indicating threats were centered around Silte headquarters, far enough away to be safe—for now.
I better hurry anyway , she thought, already in the process of pulling the jeans on. If they get to the lab before me… She had to be in and out first, just to be sure. She had no way of knowing just how far they might take it; the news seemed to be content with a vague description of the night’s events and hadn’t elaborated. Dellia had a disturbing vision of an angry group of protesters ambushing her on the way there and killing her just for being tied to Silte. The tragic part was, she could soon be their only salvation…if Silte did what she suspected they were planning to do.
But they might not use it.
That hope was quickly shattered when she looked up at the TV. The live footage, focused again on the swarm around the Silte skyscraper, showed private cops tossing gas bombs into the crowds. People looked away from where the canisters fell, some shielding their noses and mouths in anticipation, but the gas never came—at least not in a form they could see. Dellia knew what was there, though.
They had used it, the bioweapon. She had no choice now but to carry on with the plan.
“Uh, we’re not sure what we are seeing there,” the nervous anchor said as the shot returned to his makeup-caked face. He seemed to be half-paying attention to a sound in his right ear that only he could hear. Perhaps it was just the cynicism that came with years of working for a Silte company, but somehow Dellia knew the man was being carefully coached on how to continue with this story while maintaining the network’s best interests—or something like that. ONN, it would seem, feared Silte. Or was controlled by Silte; both were equally probable.
Censorship or no, Dellia had seen all she needed to see. She went to her bedroom and donned slip-on sneakers, then traded her worn T-shirt for a less casual plain blue blouse so she wouldn’t look too suspicious going into work at three in the morning. She filled an old backpack with a couple changes of clothes, her tablet, and a few other essentials. Glancing around, she felt a creeping regret about leaving everything behind. No time to get materialistic. She made sure to turn off all the lights and devices before leaving her bedroom.
In the living room, the TV still droned on. “I don’t think anybody realized violence like what we saw tonight would come from the thus-far peaceful Anti-Corp movement.” The a nchor was talking to a second man on screen. “Yet the protesters tonight viciously attacked the brave Guardian Police Association officers with what appears to be makeshift gas bombs. As a society, are we going to put up with this?”
The man’s shameless lie was appalling. Dellia had seen the video—in fact millions had probably seen it, or would tomorrow. But seeing was secondary to being told what to think for too many people. Those people would believe the lie every time, and that infuriated her. “TV: Off,” she said.
“Well, I think, Vic, that the thugs got what they deserved and—”
“TV: OFF!”
Dellia
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