Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 609
He announced a public-private reparations fund for descendants of historically redlined communities. The room quieted, not out of skepticism, but gravity.
Outside, as streetlights hummed to life, a group of local teens spray painted a new mural beside the old one; a black phoenix rising from White concrete roots.
The moment split in half. One second, the venue pulsed with heat, bass, and “activist” bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Then without warning, a series of concussive blasts tore through the air. Sound didn't follow immediately. First came the light; white, searing, unnatural. Then the gunshots and the impact; a pressure wave that snapped the music into silence and sent a ripple of force through the crush of people.
Time stuttered. Ears rang with an eerie, high pitched whine. People staggered. Most hit the floor. Others froze, eyes wide and struggling to anchor themselves in reality as dust and fragments rained from overhead rigging. The air, once electric with sound and sweat, now reeked of smoke and fear.
The stage had collapsed taking Newsom, Bass, Schiff, and Pelosi with it. The humanoid bots in the audience with the brain chips, guns, and bombs had moved away from the exploded stage and stared blankly at the scattered, bloody, body parts randomly