Vive la difference

So, I'm checking out a protest going on outside the offices of Le Pen's Front National party in Matrix Mall, Porcupine. It's a juvenile affair, with lots of name calling and childish over-excitement, made none-the-less-so by my presence.

"Je suis Anglais," I loudly declare, "Je pense que vous etes les idiots. Qu'est ce que vous pense?" It's a trifle harsh, I know, but I don't know the French for misguided. "Et comment est ce que mon francais?"

No one replies. They are ignoring me. I'm impressed.

On a neighbouring rooftop some tooled-up guns-for-hire are unloading copious amounts of ammo in the general direction of anybody venturing near their small but heavily fortified patch of metaturf.



Suddenly they abandon their rooftop and descend on a small sauna-like residence nearby. I drift past the open front door and glimpse a guy called Johann standing inside, naked, and somewhat alarmed. Johann slams the door shut, but not before I IM him to try and get a glimpse of his state of mind.

"Don't worry honey," he tells me.

"I won't," I reply. " Does this happen often?"

"Who the hell are you? Leave me alone goddammit."

Then this happens.



Down there in the bottom the picture you can just make out the body of one of isolationists jerking like a rag doll in the throes of what begins as an explosion and ends as all the colours of the rainbow radiating out towards me through a technicolour haze.

I'm airborne when it happens. I think that's what saves me.

What is it?

Answers in a comment pls...