I emerge from the subway in Times Square, 11:54 pm, December 31, 1999. The revelers pack the city, music by Prince (back to his original moniker for the occasion) and REM fills the air. An eerily lifelike U.S. President Al Gore is on the 3-D Sony Jumbotron proclaiming the virtues of the christening of the high-speed internet, recently developed at monumental expense and secrecy, which will be launched at midnight.
It has been several years in development, and as the countdown begins people have been lined up for days at the arcades, ATMs, and entertainment complexes all over the globe where the games, virtual movies and cyber-entertainment stations are about to be supercharged by the latest technology.
Inexplicably, I ask a cop for the time. He looks at his watch and says "two minutes to midnight," before giving me a quizzical glare. I shuffle throught the crowd take a spot on the sidewalk next to a huge bank of video monitors in the window of a noisy virtual arcade.
Al Gore's beady eyes beam down maniacally on the bristling throng from the monolithic screen as he slowly begins to count down the last seconds of the 20th century. At ten seconds, the eager crowd joins in.
"Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . ." The numbers flash on every video terminal, LED display and digital watch in sight.
"Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . . " Cold, clammy, eager fingers wrap themselves around joysticks and mouses at workstations all over the world .
"Four . . . Three . . ."
Millions fumble with their plastic debit cards and aim them at the receptacles of the colorful machines. "Two . . ."
I feel a tug at my shirt-tail. I turn away from the screen for a second and look down to see a small, brown face. A big-eyed child holds out a dirty palm and asks, "Spare a penny for the arcade, good sir?"
"ONE! ..." Al Gore's Voice boomily echoes off of the skyscrapers,
"WELCOME TO THE THIRD MILLENIUM!"
The crowd roars and billions everywhere push buttons, click icons, and press "return." Fireworks explode in the night sky over Lady Liberty, and the party begins.
Then, unthinkably, the giant screen suddenly goes to static, sputters for a few pathetic seconds, and then totally blank, lifeless.
It is quickly followed by every screen in the square. The music from the stages and surround sound speakers throughout Manhattan hisses and dies. The lights go out in each building, the traffic lights turn black, and the noise of the street slowly fades into an eerie, bewildered silence. People get out of their cars and look toward the looming video displays.
Then the words, the horrifying words, dreaded and loathed by every member of the next generation, sputter onto the screen:
"SYSTEM CRASH"
In the shocked stillness of the city, I hear a low rumble begin, well below the pristine streets of Times Square and much deeper than the now still electric subway trains. It grows in intensity, and people slowly begin to gather their families. It gradually becomes a deafening roar covering every frequency of the spectrum, and the skies start to darken as people begin to hold their ears, screaming and running for cover. And just as the ground starts to tremble . . .