Then Klein, that sanctimonious bastard, appeared on the screen. Breece knew it was over then. Klein would never be reading for a majority that had found for Kim. His hand closed around the transmitter that would start the ball rolling.

“So Ordered!”

Still he didn’t press the button. What would the crowd do?

“YOU ARE ORDERED TO LEAVE THE PARK IMMEDIATELY!”

His thumb crept closer, but he didn’t press. Would they fight? Would they rise up? Now that they’d been told to go home, to be good little citizens and do as they were told? Would a hundred thousand protesters rip the guns out of the hands of a thousand cops, and start the revolution?

Come on, he whispered to himself. Do it. Show me you can do it. Show me you can do it without me.

A single Molotov flew into the air, and he cheered.

Yes! You can do it! You don’t need me! His hand relaxed in his pocket. They weren’t all sheep after all.

Then the crowd tackled the thrower, tackled the one who’d had the balls to fight.

Breece shook his head.

“Sorry, Kate,” Breece whispered. He closed his eyes, and took a slow breath. Her face filled his vision. Her eyes. Her hair. God, he missed her. It hurt so fucking bad. There was no going back after this.

Dammit.

He had a job to do.

Breece opened his eyes. The crowd was still there. Teetering. About to follow instructions and leave, submit to this tyranny, go back to being sheep, now and forever.

Fuck. That.

Breece pressed the button.

The hate hit Rangan.

It was so much worse than he’d imagined, so much more intense than he’d seen in Angel’s memories.

He was going to get up there to one of those cops and shove that motherfucker’s goddamn head…

He was already pushing forward, shoving his way through the crowd. Only the people in front of him had stopped him from reaching the cops already. Sweet Jesus. He forced himself to close his eyes, hit the big red button on the console in his mental space to fire up the active interference.

The rage dimmed from white hot to pulsating red.

Oh fucking hell.

The console in his mind was going crazy. One of the controls should have shown a bearing to the signal. Instead the bearing was pivoting, madly, pointing one direction, then spinning to point another, then moving again to point another. And the signal strength was off the wall high.

Fuck, he realized. It’s everywhere.

There’s hundreds of them, someone sent over their tight link. Tempest, he thought.

…oh fuck…

…completely out-classed…

…weren’t ready for this…

Then Angel’s level-headed thoughts came through.

We have to converge, she sent. Individually, we’re getting swamped. Together, our effective signal will be stronger.