The journalist shrugged. “Maybe. It’s something new, is what interests me. Two years of martyrdom operations that all look more-or-less the same and now this weird one. An autonomous vehicle bomb from a group of fanatics who think autonomous vehicles are the devil.”

“Yeah,” Manny agreed, “that does seem weird.”

The bartender walked up and offered Manny his pick of the finest liquor in this particular warzone. Manny ordered a Shiner. It was the one beer a drinker could find across both the Republic of Texas and the Austin autonomous region. He looked back at the looping footage. They both watched it twice more. Then Reggie spoke up again.

“What have you heard about Pastor Mike?” he asked.

Manny stiffened a little bit at the name. He’d heard it, of course. Vague stories of rioting in Kansas, a fundamentalist uprising inside the southernmost territories of the United Christian States. He hadn’t thought much about it at first. But two years ago Pastor Mike had moved to Texas, shortly before the Heavenly Kingdom had declared itself. It was hard to say exactly what role the preacher played within the organization. But he was certainly its most visible “face.”

“I know who he is,” Manny said. “I know the Republic let him in because they thought his followers might provide a buffer against Austin’s influence. I know that blew the fuck up in their faces.” Manny took a long drink and continued. “That’s an old story around here, the Republic using those god-fondling nut-fucks to push back against the leftists.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow and Manny instantly regretted his crude response. He didn’t really care about religion one way or the other, but whenever he came out to the front it was hard to not get a little angry. Especially after a drink.

“Sorry,” he said, “it’s been a long day.”

Reggie looked down, coughed and took a sip. He looked back at Manny, took another sip, and said, “You know that’s another subject I’d rather like to cover.”

“What?” Manny asked.

“Anti-Christian sentiment in North America.”

Manny grunted and looked down at his drink. The Brit barreled on.

“You’re not the first North American I’ve heard express anger toward Christians,” he said. “In California, Cascadia, the North American Federation, I’ve just seen a lot of hate…”

“Look,” Manny interrupted. “Me, I’m a man of peace. I love everybody. But this continent’s been torn apart and bleeding out for the last twenty years. Lotta people hate Christians. The ones that don’t hate Christians hate leftists. And everyone outside the American Federation hates capitalists. Hate, hate, hate.”

Manny took a gulp of his beer and set it down, a little harder than he’d intended. He looked Reggie in the eye and finished, “There’s exactly one thing all the broken bits of this continent have in common. Hate.”