RED She tells me that it’s still there. Hovering somewhere behind it all— under the carnage and rubble. Just out of frame perhaps, past the shaky videos of murder, over the burning forests and industrial furnaces powering our techno-oligarch’s pleasure domes. Shimmering at the barely visible edge of the horizon, the faintest color of hope. “It’s hard to make out, but if you look close…,” she tells me I try. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse, but it always slips out of view as quickly as it arrives.