Our story begins with DropTheirMedia eBook 1.0, a true story fictionalized that reveals who is telling only one side of the story, and how democratic Thinkers around the world replace them by shaping truth on three creative web sites.
INT. STUDIO – NIGHT
Each man takes his turn looking through the smoky glass separating the studio from The Control Room, following a shapely silhouette with careful attention. Kane reviews Christian’s work, opened on the screen of his laptop. “Like the world needs another bullshit story about banks,” Kane snaps, gesturing to Christian’s work. He removes his headphones and places them on the counter. He rises from his chair, and huffing just loud enough to be heard, angrily closes the door before sitting down again.
“This ain’t a vendetta against the banks, man,” Christian corrects calmly, purposely choosing not to elaborate. He removes his headphones and rises from his seat to place his laptop bag beside the mini-plastic camping cooler on the counter behind him. Kane’s behaviour has led Christian to believe that he had somehow compromised radio-studio etiquette by leaving the door open, but he isn’t overly concerned. This all-night DJ is an ass, yet another soul attempting to prevent him from telling his story.
Christian pauses before returning to his seat, his laptop in hand. He looks again through the smoky glass window, the shapely silhouette continuing to move about gracefully, stopping for a moment to check her laptop. She appears to be quite attractive, the curves of her hips drawing Christian’s eyes up her sides until he reaches her lengthy hair. He decides to investigate later - maybe when he goes to the bathroom.
Christian finally sits down, placing his laptop on the desk in front of him, opening it. “But you know that don’t you?” he asks, deciding to respond instead of just letting is slide. He crosses his arms and places his elbows on the circular table separating them.
“One of those nights,” Kane says, looking at his laptop.
“Your choice,” Christian says, still going toe to toe with Kane’s bullying.
Smiling as he takes a drag of his cigarette, Kane defiantly lights another in clear view of the NO SMOKING sign on the wall to his left. Setting his headphones to one side, he moves the bulbous microphone from in front of his face to clear his sight lines to Christian across the table. “What difference does it make? I’m outta’ here after tonight.”
Christian chooses not to ask him to elaborate.
Kane continues. “You don’t have a publisher.”
“Don’t need a publisher,” he says confidentially.
Kane ignores him. “The banks. So what. You got robbed. What’s the name of the bank?” he adds, as if he’s trying to sneak what he really wants into the conversation.
“Not gonna happen Kane,” Christian says. He hesitates, unsure of himself.
Kane hesitates. “You in it for the settlement?”
Christian smiles uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he defends, recognizing immediately Kane’s attempt to discredit him. “Millions.“
“Whatever,” Kane says, dismissing him.
Christian hesitates, wondering why he bothers. “This isn’t a vendetta,” he repeats, shifting the conversation, looking away. He looks at Kane again, regaining his confidence. “We’re taking the best of the banks and building a new one.”