Chapter 1: The Great Disconnection Alex's eyes cracked open to the familiar glow of his phone screen, which should have been displaying the seventeen different news apps he'd configured to deliver a steady stream of celebrity drama and political outrage directly to his retinas. Instead, a single white box stared back at him with the most offensive message known to modern civilization: "No Internet Connection." He blinked three times, certain this was some kind of glitch in the matrix. The WiFi symbol on his phone showed a pathetic triangle with an exclamation mark, as if his router was personally disappointed in him. Alex jabbed at the screen repeatedly, because everyone knew that aggressive tapping was the universal fix for all technological problems. "Come on, you piece of garbage," he muttered, holding the phone above his head like he was trying to catch signals from space. The gesture yielded nothing except the realization that he hadn't showered in four days and probably shouldn't be raising his arms. His daily routine had been perfected over months of careful calibration. Wake up, scroll through headlines about which celebrity had gotten into a Twitter fight, consume three energy drinks while watching people argue about reality TV contestants, then spend the rest of the morning absorbing whatever his algorithm decided he needed to see. The algorithm understood him better than he understood himself, and now it was gone. Alex stumbled to his router, which sat buried under a pile of takeout containers and unwashed laundry. The little green lights that usually blinked reassuringly were completely dark. He unplugged it, counted to ten, and plugged it back in, performing the ancient ritual that IT support had taught him years ago. Nothing happened. The silence in his apartment was deafening. Without the constant background noise of autoplay videos and notification pings, he could actually hear his upstairs neighbor's footsteps and the hum of his refrigerator. These sounds were foreign and unsettling, like discovering your house had been making music this whole time while you weren't paying attention. He tried using his phone's data, but apparently he'd blown through his monthly allowance watching conspiracy theory videos about how bird migrations were actually government surveillance operations. The phone company had throttled his connection to speeds that would make a dial-up modem laugh. Alex surveyed his apartment, looking for alternative entertainment options. The exercise bike in the corner was buried under a mountain of clothes that hadn't seen a washing machine since the previous month. His bookshelf contained exactly three items: a dusty dictionary from college, a manual for a microwave he'd thrown away two years ago, and a novelty stress ball shaped like a hamburger. The thought of reading an actual book made his brain hurt. Books required sustained attention and the ability to follow complex ideas across multiple pages. They didn't have comment sections where you could immediately validate your opinions or skip to the good parts. Books were basically the opposite of everything that made sense about modern information consumption. He needed WiFi, and he needed it now. Alex threw on yesterday's clothes, which had the advantage of already being broken in and relatively clean by his standards. His hair looked like he'd been electrocuted, but fixing it would require effort and possibly hair products, neither of which seemed worth the investment. The coffee shop three blocks away had free WiFi and the kind of atmosphere that made people feel sophisticated for drinking overpriced beverages while pretending to work on their laptops. Alex had been there exactly once, during a brief period when he'd considered becoming the type of person who worked in coffee shops, before realizing that such people usually had actual work to do. The walk to the coffee shop was an adventure in itself. Alex rarely ventured outside during daylight hours, preferring the controlled environment of his apartment where the lighting was consistent and the temperature never varied. The sun was unnecessarily bright, and he squinted like a vampire who'd missed his curfew. Other people were walking around with purpose, as if they had places to go and things to accomplish. Alex couldn't understand this behavior. Why leave the comfort of indoor spaces when you could have everything delivered and conduct your entire social life through screens? These people were clearly doing life wrong. The coffee shop smelled like burnt beans and contained the kind of people who probably read books for fun and had opinions about local politics. Alex ordered the cheapest coffee they had, which still cost more than his usual breakfast of energy drinks and leftover pizza, and settled into a corner table where he could access their WiFi without having to make eye contact with anyone. He pulled out his phone and was immediately greeted by the beautiful sight of three bars and a WiFi symbol. His apps began updating with the fury of a dam bursting, delivering hours of accumulated notifications about celebrity breakups, political scandals, and videos of people doing stupid things for internet fame. Alex was deep into catching up on the morning's drama when voices at the next table began penetrating his concentration bubble. Two people were having what sounded like an actual argument about something that wasn't related to reality TV or celebrity gossip. "The city council's decision is completely backwards," one of them was saying. "They're prioritizing developer profits over community needs." "That's ridiculous," the other person replied. "The new development will bring jobs and revenue. You can't just stop progress because a few people are afraid of change." Alex looked up from his phone, annoyed that these people were disrupting his digital reconnection with their loud conversation about boring local stuff. He didn't recognize the issue they were discussing, but that had never stopped him from having strong opinions before. The first person was a woman with glasses and a notebook, scribbling notes while she talked. The second was a man in a business suit who kept checking his watch like he had somewhere important to be. They were clearly passionate about whatever they were discussing, which seemed like a waste of energy to Alex. "The environmental impact study was a joke," the woman continued. "They barely looked at the wetland areas, and now they want to build right through them." "Environmental concerns are always exaggerated," the man responded. "Every development project has to deal with these same objections. You can't let perfect be the enemy of good." Alex had heard enough. These people were clearly missing some important context that only someone with his sophisticated understanding of how the world really worked could provide. He'd seen dozens of videos about environmental conspiracies and government cover-ups. This situation was probably much more complicated than these amateurs realized. He stood up and walked over to their table, coffee in hand. "Excuse me," he said, "but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." Both people looked up at him with expressions of mild confusion, as if they weren't sure whether he was going to ask for directions or try to sell them something. "You're talking about the development thing, right?" Alex continued, settling into an empty chair without being invited. "I mean, this is obviously about more than just environmental concerns. You have to look at the bigger picture." The woman with the notebook raised an eyebrow. "The bigger picture?" "Well, yeah," Alex said, warming to his topic. "These development projects are never really about what they say they're about. It's usually connected to larger economic interests that most people don't see. I've done a lot of research on this kind of thing." The man in the suit leaned forward slightly. "What kind of research?" Alex waved his hand dismissively. "You know, looking into who really benefits from these decisions. Following the money trail. There are usually connections to larger corporations or political interests that aren't obvious at first glance." He was pulling this explanation from a combination of half-remembered conspiracy videos and general principles he'd absorbed about how corruption probably worked. The specific details didn't matter as much as the underlying truth that things were always more complicated than they appeared. "So you think this development project is part of some kind of conspiracy?" the woman asked, her pen poised over her notebook. "I wouldn't call it a conspiracy exactly," Alex said, though he absolutely would call it that under different circumstances. "It's more like a network of interconnected interests. The developers probably have relationships with city council members, and there might be federal funding involved that comes with certain requirements." The woman was writing down what he said, which was flattering but also slightly concerning since Alex wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. He decided to lean into the momentum. "Plus, you have to consider the timing," he continued. "These things don't happen in isolation. There's probably other development happening in the area, maybe some changes to zoning laws that haven't been widely publicized." The man nodded slowly. "That's actually an interesting perspective. Most people just focus on the surface-level arguments." Alex smiled, pleased that his impromptu analysis was being well-received. "People don't usually dig deep enough to understand what's really going on. They get distracted by the obvious conflicts and miss the underlying patterns." "Are you involved in local politics?" the woman asked. "Not exactly," Alex said, which was accurate since he'd never voted in a local election and couldn't name a single city council member. "I'm more of an independent observer. I like to stay informed about what's really happening behind the scenes." The woman looked at him with what appeared to be genuine interest. "I'm Sarah Chen, by the way. I'm a reporter with Channel 7 News. This is exactly the kind of perspective we need more of in local journalism." Alex's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth. A reporter. He'd been holding forth about local politics to an actual reporter who was writing down what he said. This was either very good or very bad, and he wasn't sure which. "You have a really refreshing take on this issue," Sarah continued. "Most people we interview either just repeat talking points or focus on their personal interests. You're looking at the systemic connections that most people miss." "Well," Alex said, trying to sound modest while frantically trying to remember what exactly he'd just claimed to know, "I think it's important to see the big picture." Sarah closed her notebook and looked at him directly. "Would you be interested in coming on our morning show tomorrow? We're doing a segment about the development proposal, and I think our viewers would really benefit from hearing your perspective." The man in the suit was gathering his papers, apparently concluding that the conversation had moved beyond his involvement. "I have to get back to the office," he said, "but this has been enlightening." After he left, Sarah turned back to Alex. "So what do you think? Tomorrow morning, seven-thirty? We're calling the segment 'Voices of the Community' - getting perspectives from people who really understand what's happening at the ground level." Alex nodded automatically, because saying yes to things was easier than asking follow-up questions that might reveal his ignorance. "Sure, that sounds great." "Perfect," Sarah said, handing him a business card. "Just come to the studio address on the card. Ask for me at the front desk, and we'll get you set up. The interview will probably be about ten minutes, just enough time to share your insights about the development and what you think people should really be paying attention to." She gathered her things and headed toward the door, leaving Alex sitting alone with her business card and the gradual realization that he'd just agreed to appear on television to discuss a local issue he'd learned about fifteen minutes ago. He looked down at the card: "Sarah Chen, Investigative Reporter, Channel 7 News." Below that was the studio address and a phone number, along with a small logo that made the whole thing look official and intimidating. Alex pulled out his phone and did a quick search for the development project they'd been discussing. The results were a confusing mix of city council meeting notes, environmental impact studies, and opinion pieces that seemed to contradict each other. He tried to piece together the basic facts, but the information was scattered across multiple sources and assumed knowledge he didn't have. The coffee shop around him continued its normal operation, with people typing on laptops and having quiet conversations about things they actually understood. Alex sat in his corner, staring at the business card and trying to figure out what exactly he'd gotten himself into. Tomorrow morning at seven-thirty, he was supposed to appear on local television as some kind of expert on community development issues. The reporter thought he had insights worth sharing with the entire viewing audience. She'd been impressed by his ability to see connections and patterns that other people missed. The problem was that Alex had no idea what the actual issue was about.