Death Hotel

In my dream, purple office towers were throwing long sunset shadows over the plaza.

They were out to get me so I was on the run. I engaged the enemy where and when I could, like some kind of futuristic urban guerrilla.

I leaned against the building and pressed my forehead against the glass wall. In an instant I projected myself inside. I ran like a maniac, down through corridors, stairwells, elevator shafts. Within a fraction of a second I arrived inside the central control room.

I knew I only had time for one shot. I aimed my gun at the heart of the machine and nearly hit it. Then security clamped down and I had to unplug.

Back out on the street, I could tell right away I'd done some damage to the programme.

Citizens throughout the downtown continued to talk and laugh as usual. But they were all stuck walking around and around in little circles, as though they each had one foot nailed to the ground.

I remember thinking: It's not pretty, but it's war.