At the oil derrick, the wheel had been jammed in the place and turned untill the oil gurgled and flowed, thick and flammable. The warning lights were blinking in a fast rhythm, bright and steady, powered by the battery. The Kasabian CD was playing in the boom box, all distorted guitars and intense beat.
High above, some piece of orbital junk or another collided with the satellite, knocking it radically off course. Trailing debris, it screamed down from the skies at an impossibly steep angle, all that high-tech-engineering reduced to nothing more than a bullet that would destroy whatever it hit.
American Nightmare Manuscript: New Reality: The Satellite
