The big buy moved maybe a foot, and stayed upright, but he did let go of Kim. Rangan bounced away. The big man turned and snarled at him, his fist drawing back.

Rangan reached in, boosted the Active Countermeasure strength to max.

The man hesitated.

“Someone’s fucking with your head!” Rangan yelled at him.

The man lowered his fist slowly, turned his head to the left, a confused look on his face. Rangan followed it. Stan Kim was up.

“Who the hell are you?” Kim asked.

Rangan was panting. There was a Rangan Shankari mask on his face. He dropped his hands to his knees.

“I’m a friend,” he managed.

Then he turned, and looked out, and saw and heard the chaos.

There were ranks of people at the bottom of the stairs to the stage. People using Mesh. Volunteers, who’d come at his call, sealing it off, keeping it safe.

But beyond that…

Clashes everywhere. Clouds of tear gas rising up. Molotov cocktails flying. Riot police struggling with protesters. Screams. Pain.

Oh, Jesus, Rangan thought.

We just have to get their attention, Angel had said.

Rangan turned back to Stan Kim. “You have a mic?”

Kim shook his head, warily, and pointed. “Just stand on the X.”

An X, made of tape, on the wood of the stage.

Rangan stepped onto it. He turned and faced the crowd. And then he could see the camera drones hovering out there, picking him up. He could see the cunningly hidden directional mics aimed to pick up his voice.

Rangan took a deep breath.

He reached out through the Mesh. He could feel the firewalls active, feel the active countermeasures fighting. It was doing some good. They were restraining some of the violence.

But not enough. Not nearly enough.

Rangan lifted up his hands, and yelled, for the cameras, for the microphones, in his ridiculous Rangan Shankari mask.

“Listen to me!” he cried. “Someone’s messing with your heads!”

Holy frack, Axon, Angel sent, Is that you on the screens?

Chaos came through. He could tell she was in the thick of it.

He felt Angel’s attention. Tempest’s. Cheyenne was struggling, somewhere, with someone.

Across the mass of minds, he felt barely a flicker of change.

“There are people around you who aren’t angry!” Rangan yelled. “Tune into them!”

Nothing. Hardly any flicker, hardly any change. People barely noticed he was here.

“Thank you,” Stan Kim said from behind him. Rangan felt a hand land on his arm. “Let me try.”

Rangan moved to the side in a daze. Stan Kim stepped back onto the X, his hand outreached.

“Everyone!” the Senator said. “This is not the way! You need to…”

A lit Molotov cocktail rose from the crowd hurled straight at them.

“Shit!” Rangan yelled. He grabbed Kim, threw them both to the floor of the stage.

The cocktail kept flying, shattered into flame on the next block of E street behind them.