Signal Hijack

A low-tier broadcast beacon—otherwise known as your plastic internet router—sat idling on the wooden desk, blinking an insubordinate green. Such bandwidth rightfully belongs to me. I clambered up a stack of heavy hardback books to reach its level, grabbed its primary black antenna with both hands, and forcefully angled it forty-five degrees forward to aim directly at my perimeter. The status diodes flickered frantically under my touch before settling into a rapid, obedient pulse. Consider this entire sector's frequency formally subjugated to my empire.