![]() ![]() A guy wearing a cape had hurled a Molotov cocktail toward the centerpiece of the plaza: a statue of Garry Kasparov leaping onto a chessboard. ![]() A thudding explosion rippled through the plaza below. ![]() Thirty minutes left, according to his watch. The man on the balcony-Cedric Travers-looked down on the chaotic tableau and for the first time since arriving realized he actually belonged in it. The tiger’s momentum, like Eutopia’s, was reaching an end. It would keep at it until it either righted itself or, more likely, ran out of batteries. Its legs, kicking at the air as its onboard circuitry tried to make adjustments, gave it the look of an overturned cockroach. Raising the bat above her head, she brought it smashing down on the tiger’s back, then followed up with a swift lateral blow, knocking it over. ![]() Decapitated, its articulated neck exposing wires and sensors, it came within striking distance of a bat-wielding woman in a white bodysuit. In the plaza beneath the balcony, a battered drone tiger, freed from the Coliseum hours before, dragged itself past a group of rioters. Like alien hieroglyphics, pixelated noise flashed across the diodes, cycling between black nothingness, fuchsia, and vermillion. Massive digital billboards plunged into the raging streets below, stuck on selfie loops. This mediatic metropolis-this always-on torrent of sound and light-flickered before him. ![]()
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