Look Alive, Sunshine
The building was in terrible shape. The windows were blown out and hastily boarded up, and the inside was a disaster zone. And yet the man sitting at the bar acted like it was a professional radio station. He flicked on the transmitter and spoke into a well-worn mic. He spun in his chair, holding the mic, and spoke to the girl standing behind him.
“Look alive, sunshine.”
She said nothing, but instead skated to the door and glanced outside. The man spun back around and set down the mic. He leaned in and spoke rapid-fire into the mic, broadcasting it out over the irradiated desert.
“One-oh-nine in the sky, but the pigs won’t quit. You’re here with me, Dr. Death Defying. I’ll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter – pumpin’ out the slaughter-matic sounds to keep you live. A system failure for the masses, antimatter for the master plan! Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny, this one’s for all you rock-and-rollers. All you crash queens and motorbabies. Listen up! The future is bulletproof. The aftermath is secondary. It’s time to do it now and do it loud. Killjoys, make some noise!”
Far away, a group of young men, wearing masks and helmets, leaned against their car and listened to the broadcast. Without a look at one another, but grinning beneath their masks, they climbed in and started the engine.