Kill Switch, is there one? Who’s in charge of the Internet?

Who’s in charge of the Net Anyway?

Apparently you are, or I am, or we are?

Then again maybe the reputed Kill Switch is real, stowed in some dark cellar at Ft. Meade, an intern’s hand hovering mere inches above it at all times. Imagine her sitting there, in business casual, maybe a gray pantsuit, maybe a navy blue skirt,  sweat dripping off the tip of her nervous finger, falling onto the bright red untouched button as she waits to perform her oath-sworn duty. Eyes glancing nervously at the ominous rotary phone, new in appearance despite its age, she waits for that fateful call, hoping it never comes, privately dreaming it will, either way she is ready to save the world with one flick of her wrist or stay of the hand…

At some point it must be in someone’s hands.

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