Chapter 67 — Remote Control Applications
Ron drove back home.
That's right—he was already back in Los Angeles, lounging comfortably on his own sofa.
Penny was probably at work.
Ron was sipping a beer, watching TV, and guess what was on?
A news report... about his own exploits from the night before.
"The terrorist incident that occurred last night in the Miami slums has been confirmed to involve former FBI agent Brian O'Conner and his associate Roman Pearce.
During an FBI raid on Verone's operation, the two were apprehended while attempting to move large sums of cash…"
On the screen appeared O'Conner's face—strained, anxious, looking very much like a man caught between confessing and resisting.
Just as Ron expected.
After he had left, O'Conner and his buddy were sent to retrieve the money—exactly as the original plotline would have it.
But of course, the cash was long gone. Ron had already made off with it.
All that remained were two bags left behind for bait—and a mob of impoverished locals who had torn each other apart trying to claim them.
With Ron—the overwhelming force—no longer there to keep things in check, the scene had descended into outright carnage.
By the time O'Conner and Roman arrived, the conflict had reached its bloody climax.
Even though the crowd recognized them as Verone's men, the slum residents were far beyond reason—bloodshot, crazed, and fully willing to charge a gang for a shot at those bills.
So when the FBI showed up and surrounded the area?
O'Conner and Roman were still having a full-blown shootout with the locals.
At that point, it didn't even matter if O'Conner was retired or still an agent.
Right in front of the FBI, he shot a gun-wielding "civilian."
With timing that convenient, someone had to take the fall—and who better than O'Conner?
Dozens of locals were dead. Even more were injured.
One gang member on-site even claimed to be an FBI undercover agent.
That accusation alone was about to land squarely on the Bureau's head.
No way was the FBI going to admit O'Conner had anything to do with them now.
In short: Brian O'Conner got royally screwed.
---
As for the four duffel bags of money—over $3 million total—Ron, naturally, took a 50% "accidental income tax" for himself.
The remaining funds were evenly divided into three parts:
One share for Monica,
One for himself,
And one as a "tribute to the boss," delivered through Yuri.
Then he had Andy reroute that 50% "tax" through some creative accounting, classifying it as operational expenses.
Honestly? It was a move so slick the IRS would've shed a tear.
Combined with the "tax money" he'd previously squeezed from that Uncle fried chicken, Ron's budget was now ridiculously well-stocked.
He even recalled the supply procurement list he'd given Yuri earlier—revamped it with triple the gear—and sent it off again.
Feeling very pleased with himself, Ron took a leisurely sip of soda and flicked to the premium movie channel, looking for something to watch.
That was when an obnoxious burst of orchestral music from the neighboring apartment made him frown.
"Sheldon! What the hell are you guys doing again?!
And you, Howard—are you pretending to be a gorilla?
Seriously, you're the skinniest gorilla I've ever seen."
Ron pushed open the door.
Inside, four scientists were leaping and flailing in the living room, striking weird poses like some kind of experimental interpretive dance.
If he didn't know better, he'd think he'd wandered into a psych ward.
"Hey, Ron!" Howard was the first to greet him.
"Was the volume a bit too loud?"
"A bit?!"
Penny came huffing, "I'm on the first floor and I can still hear it like I'm in your living room."
Somehow, Penny had appeared at the doorway too. Ron hadn't even heard her approach—probably thanks to the deafening music.
"I'm surprised you even know how to use idioms," Ron said dryly, throwing in his usual jab at Penny before turning back to the science squad.
"So. Can you turn it down, or what?"
"No problem! Turning it down now. San Francisco, Lisbon, Halifax—boom, done!"
Howard rattled off a string of city names like they were magic spells, then turned to beam proudly at Ron and Penny along with the other three.
Ron recognized that look—the wide-eyed expectation of a child waiting for praise.
Exactly the way Sheldon used to stare at his parents after doing something "brilliant."
"Praise me. Go on, I'm ready."
"Thanks~" Penny waved vaguely and turned to leave.
Unlike Ron, she'd just gotten off work and desperately needed to rest.
"Wait!" Leonard called after her. "You didn't catch what we were doing, did you?"
Penny tilted her head. "Didn't you just use your computer to lower the volume?"
Sheldon, ever serious, stepped forward to explain:
"Of course not. What we did was send a volume-lowering command that traveled around the globe via the internet before reaching our sound system."
Ron grabbed a throw pillow and dropped onto the sofa.
"Right. Or you could've just bought a universal remote at Walmart.
Anyway, got anything to drink? Non-alcoholic preferably—I might need to drive later."
Leonard shook his head. "No, no, you're still not getting it."
He patted Howard on the shoulder. "Howard, go ahead. Enable Public Access Mode 2."
Howard tapped away at his keyboard—
And then...
Nothing happened.
Penny still couldn't wrap her head around the logic circuits inside these nerds' brains, but that didn't stop her from knowing exactly what she wanted—to rest.
She waved her hand dismissively and said, "That's great, guys. Really. But I'm heading home. I need to lie down."
"Wait—hold on a second!" Leonard interrupted just as a nearby lamp connected to the controller blinked once.
He pointed excitedly. "Look! There! That's what we're talking about!"
Ron stared at the lamp, confused. "So… what exactly are you trying to show us here?"
Sheldon, who was closest to the screen, leaned in to check something and then recited flatly:
"A person located somewhere in Sichuan, China, just remotely turned our lamp on and off using their computer."
"…That's… something," Penny said, rubbing her hands awkwardly. "So I have a question.
Why would you do this?"
The four scientists looked at each other, then replied in unison:
"Because we can."
Ron raised an eyebrow and summed it up perfectly:
"That's the most high-tech version of 'useless overkill' I've ever seen."
Then he added, "Anyway, could someone grab me a drink? Thanks."
Raj opened the fridge and handed him a can of Dr. Pepper.
Ron gave it a disapproving glance and then sighed, getting up to get a drink himself.
That stuff tastes like cough syrup.
No idea why so many people are into it.
Just as he opened his Fanta, Howard suddenly shouted in excitement, pointing to a corner:
"Wait—look! They've found my toys!"
A few toy cars on the floor had suddenly started to move on their own.
Ron sipped his soda, watching the cars being remotely controlled—then slowly fell into thought.
He was a professional agent—everything he saw, he analyzed through the lens of real-world combat application.
If this kind of technology could mask the source IP…
Could it become a new method of terrorist attack?
Or maybe even a tool in future urban anti-terror warfare?
Like drones, maybe? The age of drones was still a few years off—but that didn't mean he couldn't start using similar tactics now… for his "tax collection operations."
Just imagine—no one would give a second glance to an ordinary toy car in the street.
But if it were packed with over a kilo of high explosives?
Anyone foolish enough to underestimate it would pay the price.
Ron made a decision.
He'd talk to Howard later.
Out of this whole bunch, Howard seemed to be the most hands-on—the most likely to actually build something that could work.