There’s no ticket inspection, even the automatic machine busted and broken. There’s a few pools of normal conversation on the train, but most stay silent, drawing back away from the doors as each station is passed. This time of day, its busy, everyone heading to the factories, or wherever else they work. There’s clear gaps between distinct populations – factory workers in tough, battered clothing and more smartly-dressed office workers, clear delineations being preserved, the groups sliding apart to let people through before shifting back into position, sealing outsiders away.

She wedges herself into a corner, trying to stay as far away as possible from everyone else. As the train moves, she can see more of the ‘plex, although her view is obscured by scratch marks and graffiti over the windows. Not that the view is interesting – roofs and walls, factories, glimpses through windows into flats and apartments. The streets beneath are little better, thin and grey and busy.

Closer to the centre, there’s the ring of factories, the workers starting to disembark. She sees another load of them on the other platform, a shift coming off work, clothing grimy with grit and grime and dust, as they head back to rest. With them gone, the train is less crowded, and she relaxes slightly. Less danger if someone getting close.

The Yards were between the factories and the centre, an old complex of brick warehouses atop the canals, that had somehow never been demolished or reworked. It was close enough to the Heights that anything truly dangerous was controlled, the cops quick to quash anything that might harm those that paid their wages. It was like an ornamental weed – kept as a reminder of what things could be like, but with a threat always hanging over it, and where visitors from the Heights without the guts to go anywhere real could visit, and boast about it.

And that meant actual security. She steps off the train and keeps her head down, the pair of guards quickly scanning her and then ignoring her. There’s a scanner-gate, surrounded by a reinforced barrier, a line forming as people are waved through, one at a time, anything metal being put into a tray and checked by the guard inside the gate. There’s more than usual around, an extra one on each side of the barrier with a heavy stungun in his hands – if they start firing those things, it’s going to scythe through the crowd, they can drop someone high on stims, never mind someone normal!

She waits her turn, supressing the annoyance building inside of her, keeping her focus steady and level. It’s safer to blend in, be normal, and not raise a fuss, despite the part of her that just wants to raise hell, consequences be damned. Eventually, she’s at the front and steps into the scanner. Panels slide and whir around her and there’s a warning beep from above. The exit panel stays closed, barring her progress. The guard approaches, weapon at the ready.

‘Med-equipment. Needed.’ There’s the ever-present temptation to simply fight it out, but breaking through the security panel would be virtually impossible without weaponry, although the cop might have an override she can tear from him. She pulls her hoody up, enough to show the bottom of the harness. The base chassis is legit and the enhancements are hidden, at least enough to not show up to a casual scan, and a place like this won’t have anything better.

He looks at her and holds out a hand. ‘ID’.

She pulls out a card – old, worn and faded, with a picture on it that can pass as her. He barely even glances at it, the thing simply a test of compliance, as he taps a knuckle against the harness, through her clothing. Her hand clenches tightly at the uninvited touch, making her nails dig into her palm, the harness beeping and delivering a mild dose in response.

He taps it again - it’s rigid, the material reinforced enough to be armour, although not proof against anything nastier than a knife. ‘Head on through.’ He doesn’t even ask to check her bag – she must look legit enough to pass, but poor enough that it’s not worth hitting her up for a bribe. A good thing too, considering the drugs and knives would each get her in trouble by themselves, never mind both of them. But rent-a-goons are cheap and shit, more for show than effectiveness.

He doesn’t move aside but stands in her way and forces her to huddle and step around him to get out as the door whisks open, letting her escape. The security’s mostly for show, enough to keep enough someone dumb from starting shit, but the few weapons she had went entirely undetected, same for the enhancements to the harness. At least she doesn’t look rich enough to be worth shaking down, and the queue behind her was long enough that he couldn’t be bothered checking her bag.

On the other side, she starts to walk fast, in case they think to bother doing their jobs. The place is zoned as some kind of heritage zone, so everything’s brick, wood and wrought iron, warehouses and stubby, shabby buildings. At least it was comfortingly noisy, the place home to all sorts of weird little industries, custom crafters, both legit and not. The way people move and interact here is strange, a mixture of the cautious approaches she is used to, and the more open, casual approach of people that have never had to worry about being attacked mid-conversation.

Vid-screens on the walls show more of the raids yesterday – organised, a lot of force, especially against low-down, two-bit thugs and gangs. What she sees isn’t even any of the big movers, no-one that will be missed. Was someone making a move? It seemed pretty even who had been targeted, so it was either someone new sweeping the board clean from the bottom up, or the filth making a point.

Amongst the bustle, there’s a few people not moving, and not doing any work either. It wasn’t long until the contact was made. A young man in a smart shirt and waistcoat approaches, his eyes far sharper than his stiff outfit indicates.

‘This way. You are expected, if unanticipated.’

She follows, keeping a slight distance in case he suddenly attacks, going through narrow brick passages and tunnels, glass portholes giving glimpses into workshops, machines buzzing and grinding away, faces hidden behind goggles or masks.

The man leads her to the back of the building – past the watchful gleams of several security cameras, the hallway narrow enough that there was no escaping their gaze. A heavy metal door that looked as old as the building itself, but was probably proof against modern teach, blocked the way. It unseals itself with a pneumatic hiss, sliding open with a rush of chill air. The walls inside are metal plated, a bunker built into the building.

The door seals shut behind them, a chill spreading from her neck as the harness caught her spike of anxiety. The door is probably set on some control, so even if she kills everyone here, she would be stuck and trapped, left to starve to death. Well, things probably wouldn’t get rough, he was normally sensible enough.

There’s a passageway downwards, cut into the ground – it leads into an actual bunker. Concrete and metal, that could probably hold off anything short of military force. The air here is chill, kept at a constant temperature, fans whirring away. The doors here make no pretence of fitting in with the rest – this is all hard-core, reinforced stuff. And there must be other exits, he’s far too much of a bastard to rely on just one passageway in or out.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Hachling’s “office” is much the same as always – like something military, all hard lines, metal and digital clocks. His staff follow similar lines – dressed in not-quite-uniform, crisp and smart, both attractive, although with pistols holstered on their hips, taping away at computers, barely acknowledging her presence. It’s all powerplays and games, something to irritate and rile visitors and to show his access to weapons. But from how their typing slows, they’re keeping an eye on her, shifting in their seats to keep their weapons accessible. Pistols, and properly made ones, metal rather than plastic squirted from a machine.

From here, she could duck low, hide behind a supporting pillar then throw a large and expensive-looking clock at them. The guns only have a small capacity, so they would have to conserve their shots, and the room was so small that she should be able to close the distance, and then break them. Neither looks to have the strength to resist up-close, unless their clothing is hiding heavy enhancements; a few seconds and she can take them down. There’s going to be heavies somewhere close by, but in close quarters, it’s not the worst odds she faced. Except for getting out again afterwards.

She takes a deep breath, glad of the harness – there should be enough dose in it for a little while yet. That stuff Sally gave her better be clean, or she’s going to be in a lot of shit, she’s only got two vials she knows are good. Mercifully, Hachling doesn’t keep her waiting long, the secretaries returning to their work as the inner door clicks open. Her guide follows her – he must be trusted then and is probably more than he looks. No overt enhancements, but his sleeves are looser than is needed, or he could be running something less obvious.

‘It’s been a while. You look less like shit than I expected, a lot of crap went down last night and you seem to get caught in whatever goes down, whenever it’s bad. So, what do you need and what can you pay?’

He’s dressed like someone from long ago, sent out to somewhere hot and humid to extract as much profit as possible, at the end of a gun if necessary. Even a crisp white cap, fringed with gold braid, although his shirt is straining to hide his paunch. But he’s still got the same arm, a hulking thing of gleaming steel, with far too many extra enhancements to be practical; all looks over functionality. She’s seen the thing in action, a brutal rending of meat, screams quickly going silent, at least if the power lasts.

She pulls out the crystal. ‘This. Information.’ His eyes drop to it for a moment, then back to hers. Has one of his eyes been cybered? It doesn’t seem to blink, but that could be age, although the sheen seemed more artificial than natural.

‘Old tech. But you didn’t answer me. What can you pay? Or are you offering your services again? The Pits have been dull lately, could do with you there, but some bets on you know that some have forgotten about you. Or have you learned another skillset? I’ve heard you’ve been a two-bit trader – unless that pays a damn sight better than I know it does, what do you have to trade?’

‘Information first.’

‘Payment first. And yes, I know you could probably kill me, but that makes things very messy, very fast. So, want me to arrange something?’ His screen buzzes, some alert flashing up, bright enough to tint his face red, distracting his attention for a moment. ‘Well, that changes things.’ He taps a button, and a large screen on the wall blinks on. It’s her face, or at least an old picture of her, from what feels like lifetimes ago. Her hair was cut even more brutally short, to make it harder to grab, with some long-forgotten injury marked on her face, one eye surrounded by a dark bruise. ‘So, Alice. Who have you been pissing off? You appear to have jumped onto the actively wanted list. Good thing for you it didn’t ping when you were travelling here, or it would have been quite a massacre at the checkpoint, I imagine.’

There’s not much other information given, other than warnings of “wanted for information” and “extremely dangerous”. And, of course, a reward, although at least it’s for “alive” rather than “dead”. Shit, that’s going to make them complicated. It’s a decent bloody sum as well – not enough to get Daniel or any of the other big guns after her, unless they want to make a point, but enough to make people keep an eye out.

‘So, Alice, where did you get that trinket? As your scores had all been settled, or so I thought. You went to quite some lengths to make it so, as I recall. So unless you’ve managed to piss someone off, which is admittedly something of a skill of yours, then this is new. And above my level – I might be able to call in one raid, but not whatever the hell was going on last night. I didn’t even hear about it in advance! So unless last night was a coincidence, which it might be, then someone wants that thing back. Where did you get it?’

There’s the temptation to lie or stonewall, but she knows so little that it seems pointless to hold back. ‘A couple. Up-city, but not born to it. Both meat, through-and-through, couple of mods, but all lightweight. Reckon they boosted it, didn’t know what it was. Wanted 40k for it, seemed to think it was valuable.’

She dangles it out, but Hachling didn’t take it. ‘I’m not touching that thing! No idea what the hell it is, but nothing good. And you’re not staying here. I like this place and would rather not have it blasted apart!’

‘Can you at least get me out?’

‘You’re asking for a lot! I could cash you in and claim the reward.’ She raises a hand and flexes a fist, harness frantically going to work to calm her down. ‘Hypothetically speaking, I mean. But there is something interesting, hmmm…’ The door opens again, the female assistant coming in, her eyes on Alice, one hand on her gun, the other holding a printout.

‘Got some information from a source, sir. It’s vague, but they’ve not been wrong before.’ The distance she keeps from Alice is amusing – the place isn’t large enough for it to make any difference, and she wouldn’t even have time to draw before Alice could break her arm, or worse. Sometimes, it’s nice to have a reputation.

‘Looks like it’s some of our old friends from the Circle. They’ve put a private bounty out on you, prior to calling a hunt.’ He looked at her. ‘You really have called a world of shit down on yourself. They reckon you stole something from a member. And you know what they feel about their members being tampered with. But if they’re busy looking for you, then that might be a chance for me. And if nothing else, a chance to piss those pricks off is worth it. I get you out a back exit, you get the hell out of here and away from me, we never met, and you go explain to them whatever the hell is going on, give the Circle a run for their money.’

‘And this thing?’ She dangles the gem again. ‘Any goddam clue?’

‘None, and I’m not getting involved. Someone wants you, probably because of that thing. You’re going to have to sort it out and get them off your back. Or die. Be fun to watch, either way. It looks big enough I doubt you can vanish away, someone big is involved! I’ll have to get my men to lock down, because this shit’s only going to get worse. As long as it’s not as bad as the big black.’

Her collar buzzes at her, a warning that it’s running low; too much stress too close together. She’s got a few more cleans ones, but she’ll have to use one of those damn vials from Sally soon and hope it’s not tainted or poisoned. He glances at it, noticing the red light that starts to blink on and off. ‘Time for you to be gone. Or it’ll be like that basement all over again, won’t it?’

‘Hopefully not that bad.’ The buzzing gets more intense, and she takes a long blink and a breath, forcing herself to feel calm, not entirely successfully. ‘At least it won’t be quite as small. Or loud. Anywhere you want to point me up-city?’ This is turning into a goddam screaming shitshow, but if she’s going out, she’s going to make damn sure it’s not quick or easy. And if she can get another favour from him in exchange for knowledge of, at least, who he’s pissed off with at the moment.

‘The Shorebridge gang could do with some culling. And the Crimson Cutters have been getting bolshy lately and have more hardware then they should have. If an incident were to develop, then I might see my way clear to sending some aid.’

‘No promises, but it might happen.’ The last thing she bloody wants is to be drawn into any feuds, if she does this, she’ll have to wipe them out fully.

Another screen flicks on, showing one of the outside chambers, one of the attackers from last night walking down the passageway, his cane tapping against the floor. He looked up at the camera, his smile seeming far too knowing. Definitely time to be gone, then – whoever his backers are, they might be able to offer something, or probably a lot of things, that she can’t.

‘Get me out of here, and I’ll do what I can to cross some people off your list.’

‘Deal. Carri, show her out. Through the workshops, I think would be safest. And it looks like there might be another guest.’ His arm powers up, some internal components whining into life as he moves his arm. ‘Remember, Alice – you owe me some blood.’