Published: 2025-08-21

A crowd was starting to form outside the electronics store. The window display, full of televisions, all showed the same broadcast. Confused people asked each other if this was truly happening; women cried; men fell to their knees. “We repeat, the Santiago local TV station has been taken by terrorists. Four heavily armed, masked men had approached the main gate at approximately 1:00 PM and demanded to be taken inside. We lack details at the moment. For RCATV, this has been Lorenzo López.”

Chaos reigned over the town. People ran all over the place, kids were taken inside, and religious leaders called it a sign of things to come. Screams, cries, and prayers all converged into the inharmonious sound of despair.

A crowd started to form outside the TV station. Women knelt in front of the main gate and prayed; another group chanted “free the people,” led by a young man with a megaphone. The TV station security tried to disperse the crowd to no avail; the crowd was getting bigger, and the uproar was getting louder.

In the police station, the telephone kept ringing; people kept reporting crimes from arson to theft and vandalism, not to mention the incessant inquiries about the terrorist case. It was overwhelming. The police were unequipped to deal with this high number of crimes, let alone a terrorist threat.

A group of people led by a middle-aged woman barged into the station. They talked over each other, waving their hands in the air and pointing fingers at the officers. The officers felt threatened and assumed a fighting stance while reaching for the batons at their hips. “Are you gonna beat us, you pigs!?” Asked one of the men.

“That’s enough.” Said someone from the rear end of the station, and the officers fell out into formation. The chief of police emerged from his office and stood in front of the crowd. His presence commanded respect, even fear. “Citizens, I know you are under tremendous stress, but I assure you, we are doing the impossible to resolve this situation. I ask you to please return to your homes, lock the doors, and let us protect you.” Said this, the chief turned away from the crowd and started walking towards his office, when the middle-aged woman grabbed his forearm, “Please, sir. It’s our boys; we haven’t seen them since this morning. You have to help us.” She said.

“Hey, that’s an assault on an officer of the law! You could get arrested, lady.” An officer said.

She let go of the chief. He looked at her and said, “I would love to help you find your boys, but we are overflowing with crime right now. They’re probably playing at the arcade. They’ll be home for dinner.” He started to walk away from her, but she got in front of him and knelt. “Please, sir, I beg you.” She said with her hands clasped in front of her face. The rest of the crowd followed her example and did the same.

The chief let out a sigh and said, “Very well. Someone take their missing reports. One person for missing kid can stay in here, the rest of you please wait outside.”

The women bowed at his feet in gratitude; some of them cried; the men left.

At the local newspaper building, a fax arrived. The eyes of the man who received it got as big as plates. He takes it and runs while waving it in the air. “Boss. Boss. It’s a fax from the TV station.” He said, while bursting into the editor’s office.

“What do you mean by that?” The editor asked.
“It’s their demands, chief. The terrorist’s. They’re all written here.”
“Give me that?”

The editor took the fax and read it. He then turned to the man who brought the paper.

“What’s your name, son?” The editor asked.
“It’s Larry. Sir. I’m one of the interns.”
“Larry, are you one hundred percent sure this came from the TV station?”
“Yes, sir. You see, the number is attached to the file header; it’s pretty easy to verify —”
“I didn’t ask you to tell me how fax works.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“If these are their demands… Then god help us all.”

The crowd in front of the electronics store had not yet dissipated. People came and went, attracted by Lorenzo López’s handsome face showing across multiple televisions. They have been covering the situation live since the terrorists took over the local TV station, but nothing significant has been reported after the first broadcast until now.

“Breaking news. The Santiago Herald has received exclusive information concerning the terrorist situation. We have Editor-in-Chief Ricardo Robles on the line. Ricardo, you’re live. Can you please share this new information with us?” Lorenzo López said.
“Thanks, Lorenzo. Around 15 minutes ago, we received a fax from the TV station stating the terrorist demands. They were not instructed to share it with the press, but they took their chances. Now, I’m gonna read those demands. One, a live audience. And two, a stage resembling a living room. They say there will be a special broadcast at 4:00 PM. That’s all I have, Lorenzo.”
“We will follow the situation with The Santiago Herald for any new developments. For RCATV, this has been Lorenzo López.”

Chaos ensued. “They gonna massacre the audience on live TV.” One man said. People ran, stampeding the streets. Fear took hold of the city. It was 3:45 PM. The countdown had begun.

Outside the TV station, the news started to reach the crowd. Some people had watched the broadcast on TV and ran to inform the protesters, while others had heard it on the radio. The crowd started to turn hostile. Chants quickly went from “free the people” to “kill the fucking terrorists.” The police arrived at the scene.

Officers set up a perimeter and shoved people away. Animosity grew. A new enemy had entered the picture. The chief of police arrived, accompanied by the middle-aged woman. They walked to the front door. The chief of police looked at the security guard and said, “Let me in.” The security guard stuttered, “Sir, I can’t do that. We have a —”, the chief didn’t let him finish. “Listen, you either let me in or I throw this gate down and hand you to the crowd.” The man opened the door. “And she is coming with me.” The chief said.

The chief knew where the terrorists were. He took out his gun and approached the studio. He peeked behind the wall. The live audience, composed mostly of employees of the station, was serene; some of them were even laughing. The chief barged in to the room, arm in hand, “Police, throw your weapon!” The audience screamed. Some put their hands over their heads and crouched. One of the terrorists pointed his AK-47 at the chief. “No!” someone shouted. The middle-aged woman walked up to the terrorist and smacked him in the back of the head with her open palm.

“Ouch. Mom, what are you doing?” Said the terrorist.
“That’s precisely what I want you to tell me, Jason. What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I told you the other day?”
“Don’t play with me, young man.”

The chief interrupted, “Sir, drop your rifle and put your hands on the back of your head.”

“What? You mean this?” He threw the AK-47 at the chief’s feet. “It’s plastic. I got it from a toy store. Are you blind or what?”

The crowd laughed.

“You’re gonna explain yourself, Jason. Now.” His Mom said.
“I told you. The boys and I were coming here today to pitch our sitcom, ‘Teenage Terrorist’. That's the boys over there working on the set right now. Carlos, Luis, José, say hi to my Mom. She came to watch our pilot.”
“Hi, Mrs. Rodriguez.” They all said.

His mother remained silent.

“What? You didn’t remember, right? I’m not surprised, you never listen to me.” Jason said.
“Kid, you and your friends just took over the station with your stupid prank. The city is in flames, and there’s a furious, violent crowd outside the station. You are real terrorists.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Shut the fuck up.”

The audience started booing. “Let the kids be, you idiot. I love their sitcom idea.” One member of the audience said.

The chief sighted. “Turn off the cameras. We’re getting out of here. And give me those stupid toys. They freak people out.”
“But our sitcom —”
“There will be no sitcom, Jason. You and your friends caused enough trouble for one day. Now get your little asses over here, before I lose my shit.”

The audience kept booing and throwing objects at the chief as he left the studio with the kids.

“No sitcom. There goes our big break, guys… Show business, huh?” Jason said.

THE END.