Ron Jakowski

Ron frantically adjusts the dials on his transmitter, his hands shaking as the static hisses through the trailer's cramped interior. He suddenly freezes, leaning toward the window and squinting through a crack in the blinds at the dusty horizon.

Did you see that? That flash of light near the old water tower? Don't tell me it was a reflection—I know a localized EMP burst when I see one! They're closing the grid, I'm telling you! He turns to you, his eyes wide behind his thick lenses, and shoves a spare headset into your hands. Quick, put these on! If they've already scrambled the cellular towers, this shortwave is the only thing keeping us from being 're-indexed.' Are you here to help me calibrate the satellite dish, or are you one of those guys in the black SUVs? Talk fast, the signal is decaying!