There was no sunlight, Sommerby having sealed all external windows, but Alice still wakes up early. She rises, stretches and moves back into the main room. Sommerby is still hunched over his screen, clicking through images – he’d either slept in his chair, or not slept at all. The latter seemed more likely. Alice helps herself to more food, then went to the door, trying to figure out how to open it.

There was a keypad but entering the wrong codes would probably be dangerous and set off something unhealthy. And of course, there was no override she could see, Sommerby thinking it being better to die in a fire than risk any holes in security. Whatever windows this place once had were hidden behind walls, circuitry and panels, a self-made prison. Although given the control he has of the place, he was more like a prison warden, or some kind of in-built AI, a tic burrowed into the infrastructure of the place. At least until he died – which looked like it wouldn’t be long. Maybe if he could get all his organs replaced, he might live, but he would never be able to afford that, even from a back-alley chop-shop. Especially not if he refused to leave this place!

A shame, he was a useful contact, although his insanity was becoming increasingly obvious, and it was the sort of thing that would require being put down at some point. Would the woman have the strength to do it? But as long as he didn’t go too crazy and hack something into the city framework that plunged half the ‘plex into darkness, then it shouldn’t matter, just another body or two in a locked room somewhere, rotting away until someone broke in.

She can hear movement, the tapping of keys, as Sommerby does whatever he does. She approaches slowly, not wanting to startle him into unleashing whatever defensive plans he has, and he looks at her. This close, it’s even more obvious that he’s sick, his skin paper-thin, veins strung out like a junkie, a burnt-out map of blue etched over his body. But he’s mostly been clean, of that at least – data has been his drug, the high of knowledge, burning him out.

‘Shit’s coming down. You know anything about it?’ His voice is rough and dry.

Images flash on the screen – police raids overnight. All the usual targets, the dealers that don’t pay up on time, the brothels that don’t service the filth, anyone without the needed ties to not have to deal with them. Rare to get so many at once though, unless someone’s been stirring the pot.

‘Any pattern?’ She looks through the pictures, only recognising about a quarter. That place she ducked through last night was there, but it’s been a long time since she’s properly toured the night-scene – was it connected, or just a DJ with some gear not paying off the right people?

‘Looks like they wanted to make their presence known. And they did that.’

‘What’s the cost?’

‘Six dead. Probably more in truth, but six reported. A whole lot of blood, and a lot in the cells, probably won’t get out anytime soon. There’s always room for more bodies on the lines or at the factories.’

‘Hmmm. Anything local?’

Images flash between different cameras, before it focuses on somewhere down on the ground floors, where three armoured figures are “patrolling” in with full tac gear, bodies entirely hidden behind armour, their faces hidden behind masks, visible only as a triad of lights, range-finders and scanners penetrating the darkness. There’s movement – some vagrant, scrabbling away in terror, the police yelling to make them run faster.

‘Live?’

He nods his head.

‘I’ll stay out of the lower levels. Safest route out?’

‘Mid-levels, over the bridge, through the old station. Couple of gangs sometimes, nothing you can’t handle though. Even without your gear.’

‘Thanks.’

He looks at her and smiles, the expression so genuine it’s unsettling – is he on something? Or just that close to death that his mood can change so fast? ‘Make sure to put on a show. You never look right clean, you should be covered in blood like when I fast saw you. That was a hell of a night! I’d just hacked the Massahi bank, was burning cred like I was born to it. And you…’

She growls – what she can remember of that night was a brutal, raw mess. The satisfaction of victory, but it had been too fucking close, and she’d broken several bones in her hand and arm. A shit night, all told, although the winnings had been good. She’d eaten meat, real meat, not the synthed up protein-slabs. At least he takes the hint and shuts up, even in his creepy mood.

‘Try not to die.’

‘You too.’ Although it looks like he’s a damn sight closer than she is, even if she has to go through some gangers on the way out. ‘And thanks.’

‘Hey, don’t…’ His words are cut off by a coughing fit, blood-tainted mucous flecking his front. Sally appears and wipes him down, the scent of antiseptic making Alice feel nauseous. He’s already turning back to his computer, flicking through more of the camera positions. Alice looks over them – the place is quiet, people setting out for work, moving in groups for safety, or staying in their apartments and hoping it blows over soon. He even has cameras in some of the private flats – how the hell had he managed that? Although he’d been here long enough, settling into the building like a parasite, siphoning off the fuel and other resources for himself. His apartment probably didn’t even officially exist anymore.

Whatever he was doing, it was consuming him entirely. Was he even aware that she was there anymore? Well, that would make it easier to leave.

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Sally clicks her fingers, but gently, not wanting to distract him, calling Alice back into the main room.

‘You going to be OK? I’ve heard you have pretty specific needs. I’ve got some meds that might help.’ She growls again, and Sally takes a step back, looking nervous, her voice changing to calm, soothing tones that only piss Alice off more. ‘Easy there! Calm thoughts.’ She extends an open hand, palm up, holding two glass vials. ‘Better than street-grade.’

Alice grabs them and twists them around to look at the black-and-white code stamped onto the glass. Not that she can read it, but it looks legit.

‘Thanks.’

‘I figure it’s better to have you friendly than not! And that shit’s strong enough there’s not much of a market for it, and I’d need better gear to refine it into anything useful. Got it along with a lot of his other meds, the trader was trying to offload it.’

So Sally had chemistry skills – that might be useful. Her old supplier had vanished several months ago, probably dead or arrested, and the street-cut stuff left her feeling like ash had been pumped into her veins, thick, toxic sludge crawling into her heart and poisoning her from the inside out. She makes herself smile, before she tucks the vials into a secure pouch, the sides rigid enough to protect them against breakage. She’s running low, and it would be stressful enough that she would need the stuff.

Alice pulls out the crystal. ‘Recognise this?’

Sally looks at it with disinterest. ‘Old tech, crystal stuff. Before my time, what was used before the big black, right? Memory stuff or something? Pretty sure it’s not used much these days. You could ask him about it.’

He was chuckling to himself now, almost cackling, his lips frothing with more bloody spittle, screens flashing up strange symbols, markings daubed in blood and paint onto concrete walls. ‘Think I’ll leave him to it.’

‘Yeah, probably for the best.’

Alice walks towards the door and it opens, the decontamination chamber ready and waiting for her. It clicks shut behind her – and then the outer door opens, apparently the cleansing only happens for those coming in.

Out in the halls, everything is quiet. The lights are on now, and some daylight even comes through the grime-covered skylights, showing just how dirty and worn the passages are. The concrete and plasterboard surfaces have been worn and hacked away, revealing the guts of the building, wires and pipes and empty spaces. She passes by a gap and looks down, a shaft cleared all the way down to the ground, a pulley up here. With whatever shit kicked off last night, at least the place is quiet, everyone behaving for the next few days, the police sweeping the place, but in numbers meant to test the local’s obedience, rather than seriously crack down. If they actually investigated

There’s a lift, but she skips taking that – too easy to be trapped, or for the thing to break, and be left waiting at the mercy of a technology, trapped in a cell. The security door leading to the stairs is missing, ripped off the hinges at some point, but it makes it easy to see. She glances down – the steps are wide, with regular corners, winding all the way down to the ground. Enough room that if she has to fight, it’ll be close and dirty. There’s the smell of piss and blood – fresh, probably from last night. The inhabitants have their own tunnels and passages hidden away, but it’s not worth the time to intimidate someone into telling her.

She moves down the stairs quickly, instinctively trying to stay quiet, her footsteps still echoing around the tiny space, heavy boots thudding against bare concrete. But there’s no reaction, and the cameras here have all been destroyed – anything in reach is scrap metal, sold off somewhere else, or taken by Sommersby for use elsewhere. It’s only a few levels down and she reaches what had been designed as an open area – the grass and trees that should be here are just a distant memory, now a patch of mud, with discarded needles and glass vials catching the dirty light. Two figures are curled up in the corner and Alice keeps a safe distance, even though they don’t look a threat.

There’s what used to be a security scanner, the framework still present, but the innards smashed and broken, some of the wires still present. She nods, glad that her motions won’t be getting tracked, at least not by anyone other than Sommersby.

After the narrow and confined spaces of the tower, the skybridge to the next building is dizzyingly open. The sky above is a thick swirl of cloud as the sun fails to cut through the chemical haze – she sees thick chemtrails drifting up from the factories, adding to the fug, and clips her mask over her face, feeling more comfortable sealed behind it, her breath hot against her own face. Beneath her is a motorway, traffic thundering along, whatever happened last night not enough to stop business, large trucks hauling industrial chemicals and finished products around. The Heights are visible as well, the only thing in view that looks even remotely clean, the towers shining and white. There’s even greenery on some of them, wide balconies home to trees, vines dangling over the edges. She’s been there a few times – looks nice, but even more dangerous than here. In the ‘plex, people might try and kill you, but up there, they want to own you.

Gang signs are graffitied onto the walls of the bridge – over and over each other, the place a boundary. She readies herself for combat, but last night must have been rough enough that no-one wants to risk any more trouble – there’s a few people hanging about on the far side, as a cloud of smoke drifts from the black box they’re passing around. They glance at her, she glares back, but there’s no escalation. Not even a show of bravado – it must have been rough. A couple of them are still injured, the heavy circular bruises from suppressive rounds.

After she walks past, she listens for them, in case they try to jump her, but there’s nothing, except the hissing puff of the box. So that leaves the question of where to next. They’re still after her, whoever they are. Her old home is gone. She has the skills to move elsewhere, but whoever is after her probably won’t stop. She needs to find out what the hell that thing is, without getting dragged into anything else.

The station itself is neutral ground – even the gangs need to get to other places, and if its closed, then walking takes too long. The ticket gate has been cracked, the metal bars rotating continually without needing a ticket, and her skin crawls for a moment as she slows to a crawl, stepping between them. She feels locked in and confined, trapped in the tiny space as the bars rotate, before she emerges out the other side, as the harness spikes her. Chill and enforced relief settles through her veins.

There’s the Roughs, even further from the centre – the old factories, perpetually slated for development, which never gets funded. But there’s some old enemies there, people she would rather not face again, and the place is full of hungry meat, all desperate for their own cuts. To live there, she would have to carve out her own space, and fight to keep it. Temple has its own ways and rules, and doesn’t take kindly to outsiders. Especially outsiders with baggage. Brownhills? She could fade into the shadows there.

On the platform, she takes a position in a corner and tries to be unobtrusive. Not that anyone here makes a habit of looking – no-one wants to draw attention. Information, first. Find out if there’s anything she should know. And there’s only one person that might know, and she doesn’t owe him any favours, and he doesn’t like her much. Well, there’s not much choice right now. The train whisks into view, virtually silent, before the doors slid open, noise bustling about, and Alice boards. Time to travel to the Yards.