Pop

"Pop."

"Yep, and the Internet was their invention, this magical convenience that creeps now like a smell through the smallest details of our lives, the shopping, the housework, the homework, the taxes, absorbing our energy, eating up our precious time. And there's no innocence. Anywhere. Never was. It was conceived in sin, the worst possible. As it keeps growing, it never stopped carrying in its heart a bitter-cold death wish for the planet, and don't think anything has changed, kid."

Maxine goes sorting among semi exploded kernels for what little popcorn is left. "But history goes on, as you always like to remind us. The Cold War ended, right? the Internet kept evolving, away from military, into civilian–nowadays it's chat rooms, the World Wide Web, shopping online, the worst you can say is it's getting a little commercialized. And look how it's empowering all these billions of people, the promise, the freedom."

Ernie begins channel-surfing, as if in annoyance. "Call it freedom, it's based on control. Everybody connected together, impossible anybody should get lost, ever again. Take the next step, connect it to these cell phones, you've got a total web of surveillance, inescapable. You remember the comics in the Daily News? Dick Tracy's wrist radio? it'll be everywhere, the rubes'll all be begging to wear one, handcuffs of the future. Terrific. What they dream about at the Pentagon, worldwide martial law."

"So this is where I get my paranoia from."

"Ask your kids. Look at Metal Gear Solid–who do the terrorists kidnap? Who's Snake trying to rescue? The head of DARPA. Think about that, huh?

"Pop."

excerpt from Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon.