It was almost like that distant, nuclear explosion had sent a ripple of fear over the Atlantic Ocean, decimating the morale of the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave.

Swirling talk of contaminated weather patterns, animal extinctions and iodine tablets flooded the remaining news outlets… while the ongoing presidential primaries devolved into a mess of virtue-signaling promises to secure the food supply chain.

More importantly, the eternally-struggling Green Party saw its registration numbers swell overnight, with millions of terrified voters fleeing towards utopic tales of car-less, meat-less smart cities, pushed by political newcomer Aubrey “Owly” Waller´s burgeoning Eco-Tech alliance.

This psychologist turned activist, colloquially known as the White Obama, had shot to stardom after a “viral” video arose of him lambasting some conservative candidates during a rally. Yet the more one discovered about the man, the less there was to like: Beyond the obviously-staged nature of his ascent to fame, Owly was a walking amalgamation of catchy one-liners and affected sincerity, cynically calculated to satisfy the lowest common denominator.

And so, by channeling America´s free-floating anxiety back into a political system that only non-compliance could resurrect, he´d sold America the pacifying, grandfatherly portrait of a wise old man, come to restore common sense.

This also meant that, despite promoting increasingly-fascist concepts in his quest for emission neutrality (to say nothing of his brother´s Wall-street ties being quite the conflict of interest) his affable mannerisms and focus-grouped messaging had rapidly propelled him to become the face of the New Left, without having ever held public office.

According to Owly, reductions in civilian liberties were now indispensable to save our suffering planet, including mandatory limits on wasteful carnivorous diets and non-essential travel.

Big Tech was only too happy to comply, providing not only funds to his campaign´s ballooning war chest, but also by drowning out any dissenting voices. And indeed, thanks to eight-figure injections from both Microsoft and Google, a steady flow of nebulously-accredited experts had coalesced around the man, each echoing the virtues of his austerity platform.

Spring crept towards summer, which brought renewed efforts for the introduction of a centralized, digital currency to remedy the crippled Dollar´s soaring inflation and Owly didn´t miss a beat, insisting that retreating even further behind a curtain of “climate-conscious” artificial intelligence, would magically solve the America´s woes.

“We´ve been infiltrated...” Barney would repeat, glaring at the television as he monitored the world´s sad descent into chaos. “They´re all singing the same tune! And nobody says a fucking peep about people flying to space!”

And it was true that most authorities had become strangely reliant on feats of mental gymnastics, to avoid referencing any sightings of amateur spacecrafts or lunar activity… to the degree where their father´s conspiratorial comments of subversive agents and social engineering sounded a little too plausible.

“It´s all a game to them… money-grubbing bastards. This Great Leap Forward bullshit always ends badly, look it up…”

But at this point, truth-by-repetition had seeped its way into the zeitgeist. Those still resistant to the barrage of sponsored content and childish propaganda, saw themselves silenced or demonized by the true believers of the Cult of Tomorrow, who had abandoned their higher-reasoning faculties for comfortable -if cowardly- submission to authority. Which was almost forgivable, considering the rash of attacks erupting across the country.

Seemingly designed to ruin any further chance of rational discourse, a mysterious group claiming to be constitutionalists had targeted the Supreme Court and the Federal Reserve in a pair of rather pointless car-bombings, right on time to shape the imminent democratic national convention.

Owly once again positioned himself as the voice of reason, deftly side-stepping any contradictions within his own outlandish belief system, while touting the merits of veganism, constant surveillance and programmable money, in soon-to-be-operational A.I. paradises.

That same week, San Francisco activated a massive 5G grid to monitor electricity and water consumption, in total defiance to Quentin´s advice… while Facebook blurred any potential criticism by announcing their partnership with Ray Ban, for a regional release of WiFi-enabled eyewear: Available solely to Bay Area residents, special-edition glasses let users discover a digitally enhanced version of reality, where semi-transparent layers of information could be consulted in real time, depending on one´s visibility settings.

Advertisements, directions, arrest warrants… everything was suddenly just a blink away.

When Los Angeles followed suit, Apple one-upped the competition with a blitz of stylish, dystopian commercials, depicting their new line of HUD contact lenses… And despite turning the user into human spyware, people lined-up for blocks, mesmerized by a brilliantly holographic world.

Birthrates soon plummeted across California to the lowest levels on record as society began to unravel, with “Adult Death Syndrome” emerging as a leading cause of mortality, instead of acute radiation poisoning. This predictable increase in morbidity was blamed on everything from oversleeping to sunburns and sadly, most victims played along, apparently suffering from a peculiar brand of denial that kept them fully engrossed in a growing Metaverse, rather than distance themselves from the source of their affliction.

Shunning the nature they claimed to revere, their overstimulated brains embraced the illness of electromagnetic smog, increasingly protein-adjacent foods and recycled water, as unfortunate prerequisites necessary to partake in the neon bliss of Augmented Reality.

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Owly´s spiel, always self-deprecating to begin with, took a decidedly vile turn at this juncture, as he deflected causation for the sickly masses onto Europe´s fallout, and scolded those still clinging to “traditional lifestyles” for holding humanity back from its full potential, ever-bolstered by an unholy alliance of sycophantic media and corrupt medical professionals.

So as Quentin’s date drew nearer to its one-year anniversary, brutality swept across the United States, triggering what could only be described as a second American Revolution: States that had already pledged fealty to the emerging technocracy jump-started plans to phase out their fossil fuel industries, with some even going as far as defunding their police forces in favor of more “equitable” Citizen Brigades.

Texas and Florida meanwhile, unable to keep pace with the West Coast´s technological leaps or moral decay, had become focal points not only for Owly, but also the out-going president and his relevancy-seeking climate pivot… and never before had the countdown to Independence Day been so tense.

Government property became unrecognizable due to regular vandalism, most schools had closed, and an oddly well-financed group of radicalized hippies had started sabotaging coal plants and oil refineries with alarming regularity. This, in turn, prompted the fledgling Commander-in-Chief to enact a series of vicious new laws… which of course, only made things worse.

Eventually, the remaining sane people decided that the safest thing to do was just hole up in their house, keep their loved ones safe, and try to wait out the storm. But as the Schwabs were to find out, sometimes “Keeping one’s head down” wasn’t enough.

The first time it happened in their little wooded cul-de-sac, was when the local militia took over a nearby mall. That same evening, their whole street was visited by a fleet of black Jeeps and bearded men, all too eager to flash an acronym and kick down a door. By some stroke of luck, nobody happened to be guilty of anything too serious that day, nor during the midnight “follow-up inspection” the next week… but after feeling the repeated panic of having jackboots stomp up to your door, the twins noticed a slight change in their parent’s behaviour. A stiffness, as it were.

Evelyn and Barney still flashed the same polite smiles, made small talk with the neighbors and waved their goodbyes… and yet, whenever in public, the couple had apparently decided to put on an act. Lori had tried asking their mom why she was being so fake, and Sander had brought up the subject multiple times during meals, but both parents would just deny acting strangely. And so it went.

The days passed slowly, drawing ever closer to the 4th of July in a haze of anxious, repetitive monotony. And whether Sander and Lori realized it or not, they had started doing the same: Just going through the motions whenever they were in public. Not that they were in public much… but still. An unspoken code had been adopted by the family, to present their best, most innocuous face to the world.

But that wasn’t the only unordinary change to occur in the Schwab household: One night, after a late bathroom trip down the darkened hall between their rooms, Lori had noticed that her parents weren’t in bed. Too tired to think much of it at the time, it was only after discovering their second disappearance a few nights later, that she thought to bring it up with Sander during an afternoon bike ride.

“What do you mean ‘They were gone’?”

Shaking her head with a shrug, Lori just repeated herself with a frown.

“The door was open, and they weren’t there.”

After the whole “Telema” debacle, it had taken a while for the twins to find a new haunt, suitable for their hangouts… but they´d finally discovered a little clearing, well away from prying eyes, near the rusted remnants of an old water tower.

“Maybe they were like -ugh!- watching a movie or something…”

With a grunt, Sander threw a pinecone into the underbrush and bent down in search of another.

“It felt like they weren’t home. Everything was quiet except for me. And you snoring.”

But Sander had already stopped listening.

“Dude! Where is he?”

Having run out of distractions (and slowly going stir-crazy from only hanging out with his sister) Sander had ended up spending time with the only other teenager in the neighborhood: a lanky stoner named Kyle, a few years his senior. After stealing a bottle of martini from his parent’s rarely-used liquor cabinet, Sander now waited impatiently for Kyle to arrive.

Lori, on the other hand, was rather nervous about the prospect of meeting up.

“What if he doesn’t show?” she asked, quietly hoping he wouldn’t come.

“We made a deal.” With a scowl, Sander seemed to say it more to himself than to his sister.

“He’s like… an hour late…”

“Then just go home!”

But before she could answer, a striped beanie emerged from the underbrush, as Kyle shook a bush away from his sleeve.

“Yo!”

Lori watched Sander drop his pinecone and jog over to engage in an elaborate, personalized handshake. Kyle then showed Sander a little bag, which her brother immediately opened for a sniff, as the pair approached her.

“So, yeah… this is-”

Mimicking the same aloof grin as Kyle, Sander began introducing his buddy… when Lori cut him off.

“I know who he is. Hi Kyle.”

Kyle however, had apparently forgotten all about her… until now.

“Hey Lori…”

Looking Lori up and down, Kyle brushed away the hair from his greasy face and stood a little straighter.

“You know, I was gonna roll one right now. You guys down?”

A little flattered, but mostly grossed out by Kyle’s evident interest, Lori wasn’t interested.

“Uh… No thanks. We should get back soon.”

Still busy inspecting Kyle’s weed, Sander wasn’t so keen on leaving and distractedly handed him the martini, as payment.

“Well, wait! Hang on… let’s take it easy for a bit.”

Lori, however, had already started back towards her bike.

“Do whatever you want… but I’m not covering for you, if mom asks what’s up.”

Looking to the sun as it dipped beneath a low cloud, Sander realized she was right. But before he could concede, a tiny triangular object caught his eye as it wobbled into view… and he called them over.

“Oh shit, check it out!”

“Is that a runner?” Lori asked, squinting after Sander´s outstretched finger towards the Vannevar copycat.

“Gotta be…” Kyle muttered back, watching the shrinking shape struggle to remain aloft. “Definitely not a regular plane.”

The trio watched the smoking little craft sputter it´s way beyond the horizon.

“Dude, I wish I had a spaceship…” pined Sander, with a half-hearted chuckle. “Just be able to like, leave it all behind… go on adventures and shit-”

“Fuck that!” Kyle smirked, interrupting Sander´s daydream. “Those things are deathtraps.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seems pretty obvious…” Kyle shrugged, turning to Lori. “Every time you see runners, they´re crashing.”

“Yeah ´cuz all the good ones make it through!” Sander shot back, still staring at the now-vacant sky.

“Ha-ha! Seriously?”

Cackling at her brother´s perceived naivete, Kyle began to rant about whacked-out billionaire mind control… and Lori realized she could do without the philosophizing of their neighborhood pothead.

With a crisp ring on her bike´s bell, she caught her brother´s eye and reminded him of the time.

“Shit… Dude, I’m sorry,” Sander said, seizing upon a lull in the monologue. “Dinner is a hard six thirty for us.”

Sander cringed as he said it, worried about sounding like a child, but Kyle didn’t seem to care. He just watched Lori walk away and called after them.

“Oh, uh… yeah, no worries… Bye Lori!”

Without turning around, Lori flashed a thumbs-up and the Schwab twins started home.