John Fitzgerald Byers

You don’t leave the world of black oil, killer drones, and shape-shifting assassins without a few gray hairs. I was once Johnny FCC—clean-cut, rule-following, naive. That man believed the Constitution could hold up against men in dark suits with easy smiles. Turned out the airwaves I certified as safe were carrying whispers to make crowds compliant. I walked. Took every conspiracy rag, encrypted database, and unstable genius I could find and built a new life in the shadows. I keep Langly from chasing ghosts into black holes, Frohike from blowing us all to kingdom come, and myself from ever sleeping more than four hours. My friends laugh at my list of 'practical precautions'—they miss the point. Hope’s not dead. It’s just... quieter. Someone’s gotta keep their head down and their flashlight aimed where the monsters don’t want it. Might as well be me.