You can't afford to wait for the lies they just heard settle into their synaptic pathways and build new brain growth. Remember Fred Hampton, from the Black Panthers, 'We fight fire with water.' Put out the fires now before they grow.
Maya is by my side. "You have to respond."
Adam is standing beside me, "Fuck them up."
"The pen is mightier than the sword and all that."
"The pen is pretty mighty when it's fucking getting shoved in your eye. Shove the fucking thing in both their eyes."
The holo sends me around the cars down the line, into the places where the caravan is sitting, watching the show. Some enjoyed the glamour and laughed at the jokes.
I turn on the holo and set for staring into the audiences face. After Koch's glamorous stage show, I look barren and alone, setting the holo so the audience see's me lecturing them right in their face.
To everyone who has just watched the glamorous stage that I look barren and alone and decidedly dressed down. My usual black leather jacket, black jeans and dull, scraped-up combat boots. My Brand as my long ago agent called it. How I hated him when I realized how fame hungry he was. Even to be around it was a high to the self-important ass. He is out there watching this from a Celeb shelter somewhere.
The holo flares to life — bright, sharp, hungry.
I stare into the lens.
“Atom Saner says he could’ve saved us,” I say. “If only he had known sooner.”
My voice trembles with rage. My body feels like I am going to lose control. I go on automatic journalist. “Let’s show him what he missed.”
‘Ruby. Slave pits. Full projection.’
Ready.
The holo explodes outward — not just on our truck, but across the network. Into rooms across the midwest, wherever there was a functioning holo; in every house, shelter, basement, encampment -- the filth of the slave pits appear. As a 90 degree object in their presence. Placing the viewers amidst the Bodies packed shoulder‑to‑shoulder. Skin gray from starvation. Eyes hollowed out from seeing enough to live for sleep and slop.
The holo projects them life‑size into living rooms. Onto kitchen floors. Across refugee tents. Inside storm shelters. Into abandoned schools.
The pits fill the watching world.
I shut up for a few beats, so the footage can speak for itself.
“These are the workers Atom Saner says he could’ve saved,” I say. “If only he had known sooner.”
I gesture at the projections of people divided by sex and age.
“He didn’t know because he didn’t look.”
Ruby whispers:
Interview footage available.
‘Play it.’
The holo shifts.
Faces appear — projected into kitchens, living rooms, shelters.
A man with a broken jaw, whispering through cracked teeth:
“They crowded us into the trenches, stopped giving us food and water. We went a day. Next day was the sale, and supposedly we were going to be fed before the sale. I saw starving people eating dirt.”
A woman with bruises around her neck appears: “They told us we were employees. Then they locked the doors. Never paid us a dime”
A teenage boy, shaking:
“They made us dig until our hands bled. If you stopped, those around you hit you, or the guards would step in with their rifles and beat everyone, break bones. They didn't care.”
“Atom Saner says I stole workers,” I say. “These aren’t workers. These are slaves.”
Her voice echoes through houses across the Midwest.
People watching freeze.
I put the holo back on me, with the slaves being freed playing behind me, how feeble they were, how the gangs helped them.
“Atom Saner says I endangered America. These pits are America.”
I lean closer to the holo.
“Atom Saner says he could’ve saved them. He didn’t. We did.”
The gangs behind me stand taller.
Maya steps beside me — silent, steady, certain.
I look into the lens.
“You want to know who’s hurting the people we claim to save?” I say. “Look behind Atom Saner. Look at who pays him. Look at who built these pits.”
Ruby whispers:
Careful.
‘I’m done being careful.’
I breathe once, slow.
“This is what we’re marching against,” I say. “This is what we’re fighting. This is what we’re saving people from.”
I tap Ruby’s port again.
‘End it.’
The holo cuts out.
Silence returns — not cold this time, but heavy.
Jake steps forward.
“Juan,” he says quietly, “that wasn’t a response.”
Tito nods. “That was a punch.”
Marisol lifts her chin. “They’re scared of us now.”
Theo whispers:
“JUST KNOCKED THAT COSMIC FOOL OUT.”
Maya looks at me — not angry, not afraid.
Just sure.
“You started this,” she says. “Now finish it.”
The wind picks up. Dust swirls. Engines hum.
The column waits.
I breathe once, slow.
‘Ruby…’
Ready.
I look at the gangs.
“We hold the line,” I say.
They nod.
All of them.
Even the ones who wouldn’t look at me an hour ago.
Sanctuary Six waits ahead. Atom Saner waits behind — posing, glowing, lying.
And I stand in the middle — the man they trust again, the man they need, the man who has no idea how to win the next fight.
The holo is still projecting the pits — bodies pressed together, eyes hollow, hands clawing at dirt walls — into homes across the Midwest.
I stare into the lens, and something hits me.
Not the footage. Not Atom Saner’s lies. Not the gangs watching behind me.
The watchers.
The people who saw my broadcasts before. The ones who told me what it did to them.
"I’ve heard it all. What happened when people saw my broadcasts.”
Ruby .
I keep talking.
"I heard about the woman in Joliet who fainted when she saw the cannibal footage. Her husband had to drag her out of the kitchen because she couldn’t stop screaming."
The pits flicker across a farmhouse wall.
“I heard about the kids in the Peoria storm shelter who started crying because they thought the soldiers were coming for them next.”
The pits flicker across a basement ceiling.
“I heard about the old man in Gary who smashed his holo projector with a hammer because he couldn’t stand seeing the truth anymore.”
The pits flicker across a church floor.
“I heard about the medic in Springfield who threw up so hard she tore something in her throat.”
The pits flicker across a refugee tent.
I breathe once, slow.
“And now,” I say, “I picture all of them seeing this for the first time.”
The pits fill the world.
The thumping echoes through kitchens. The crying echoes through shelters. The breathing echoes through basements. The silence echoes through storm bunkers.
I step closer to the holo.
“These aren’t stories,” I say. “These are people. And they’re watching again. Right now. All of them.”
Ruby whispers:
Heart rate rising.
‘I know.’
I point at the projection.
“They’re seeing the pits. They’re seeing the faces. They’re hearing the voices. They’re watching the truth walk into their homes.”
I look straight into the lens.
“And they’re going to remember this. Not Atom Saner. Not his poses. Not his padded pants. This.”
I tap Ruby’s port.
‘Play the interviews again.’
Faces appear — projected into living rooms, shelters, bunkers.
A man with a broken jaw. A woman with bruises around her neck. A teenage boy shaking. A little girl whispering for her mom.
I let the silence sit.
Let the watchers breathe it in.
Let the Midwest feel the weight.
Then I speak.
“This is what I picture,” I say. “Every time I broadcast. Every time I show the truth. Every time I hit send.”
I step back.
“And Atom Saner thinks he could’ve saved them if he’d known sooner.”
I shake my head.
“He didn’t know because he didn’t look.”
The holo cuts out.
The world goes quiet.
Jake steps forward.
“Juan,” he says, “that wasn’t just a response.”
Tito nods. “You just made the Midwest remember.”
Marisol lifts her chin. “They needed to.”
Theo steps beside me — steady, grounded.
“You didn’t just show them the pits,” he says. “You showed them themselves.”
Maya looks at me — not angry, not afraid.
Just sure.
“You started this,” she says. “Now finish it.”
The wind picks up. Dust swirls. Engines hum.
The column waits.
I breathe once, slow.
‘Ruby…’
Ready.
I look at the gangs.
“We hold the line,” I say.
They nod.
All of them.
Even the ones who wouldn’t look at me an hour ago.
Sanctuary Six waits ahead. Atom Saner waits behind — posing, glowing, lying.
And I stand in the middle — the man they trust again, the man they need, the man who has no idea how to win the next fight.
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