Most of those who live here in this space are unpopular. Were. Because they don’t meet today’s standards of human normalization. Because they’re too loud, too quiet, too tall, too small, too fat, too thin. They move too quickly or too slowly, they’re too gay or asexual, too uncoordinated or too nervous. All were lonely. Still are when they leave the sheltered workshops and with poor eyesight look at the surroundings beyond the net. Most of them want to save the world. A few just want to show off. And all suspect that they won’t achieve anything. The superiority of strength has grown too much, or, let’s just say, they are gradually realizing who they are fighting against—

Against intelligence agencies, countries, multinational corporations, radical right-wingers, crackpots, conspiracy theorists, and murderers. Where to start? They’ve barely finished off a Nazi network before thousands of bots mushroom up again. Knock off a few surveillance cameras and through some miracle new streetlamps with biometric recognition systems have already sprung up to grace the motorways with their presence. The group turns to Hannah, trying within the limitations of their abilities to show hospitality.

They make tea, sit down together, and Hannah tells them about the others and the buried devices. The little group, in a room with a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, is happy not to be alone in a strange world. Where at the moment the news is being shown on one of the computers.

There’s

THOME’S FATHER

Speaking to the people:

“The reintroduction of the death penalty for capital offenses and civil disorder is an effective measure for the protection and strengthening of democracy. We’ve noticed that even bringing the full weight of the law in some cases, such as terrorism, fails to create a deterrent effect. In the battle against terrorism we must as a result be able to impose drastic punishments alongside the ubiquitous surveillance of potential terrorists. Terrorists are increasingly moving away from suicide attacks. Perpetrators are surviving attacks with cars, knives, poison gas, which in turn emboldens other terrorists. For that reason we have decided to send an unambiguous message through bold and resolute action.”

Jubilation

Applause

Elation

New day. New location.

Back to

HANNAH, KAREN, DON, AND PETER

The markings on whose faces, to undermine the facial recognition capabilities of surveillance cameras, sometimes done with duct tape, look like war paint. They go off to war in their military outfits, overalls, boots, marching aggressively. They love the fact that passersby jump out of their way, they jostle people, they kick, they scare, this is music, this is power. They listen to Little Simz. On a portable CD player. Magnificently retro. Don grabs the mobile out of the hand of an egg carton–colored man and drops it elegantly to the ground, a joy, this feeling of being part of a formidable army.

And so forth.