The internet cafe Emily used whilst on the job was three floors above the highest in the low-city, several streets over from the flat. Walking through the lobby of the shopping centre that was the low-city section of the building and stepping into an elevator built into the side of the tower she flashed her ident-card at the scanner, grinning when the buttons of the up-city section came online. She knew that eventually the ident-card would be locked out, when one security firm or another noticed a pattern among the overwhelming amount of data generated each day, but until then no section of London was beyond her. Tapping the button for the eighth floor, the elevator car smoothly rising after a second, Emily watched the low-city slowly fall away. Her view was briefly obscured by a single-lane sky-road attached to the tower, a steady stream of cars going towards the centre of London, and she swore as the tower seemed to shake when a large truck rolled past.
Emerging from the elevator when it came to a halt Emily stepped out onto a level dedicated to restaurants and cafes. Going to the internet cafe she paused at the entrance, concentrating so she could listen to the swirl of mind-comm inside. Most of it was typical up-city nonsense but, after focusing a bit harder, she could hear the mental voice of the internet cafe's owner. Walking in she smiled to herself as the owner's conversation was derailed when he spotted her, the man waving her over.
"Emily!" He rose and emerged from behind his desk, drawing Emily into a hug that lasted just a moment too long. He let her go when she began resisting, gesturing at the computers within his establishment. "Take any you want. On the house as always."
"Thanks."
The siphoning program she'd sold to Mitchell must still be in operation, stealing pennies from hundreds of different bank accounts and depositing them into Mitchell's, and the thought of creating another such program for herself briefly crossed Emily's mind as she moved to sit in front of an unused computer. The machine looked only a few months from falling into the low-city, as did all the computers except Mitchell's, but Emily grinned as it powered up in a fraction of the time an older machine would.
Opening her message hub Emily quickly scanned the data sent by Mr Shadow, working out that it seemed incomplete. It gave lists of patrols but not how many were in each, the strength of garrisons but not where they were. Sighing in frustration she glanced towards Mitchell's desk, satisfying herself that he was occupied again, and opened the internet browser, activating a trace-blocker and then navigating to what appeared to be a gaming site. Relaxing, her eyes shut to prevent disorientation, as she entered virtual reality Emily opened her eyes when she finally felt a hard surface beneath her feet. Four other copies of herself, the avatars of viruses and bots she'd seeded on the internet, lounged around in what appeared to be the flat. They were some of her trawlers, who collected data and opened virtual doors, and like the ident-card ultimately doomed though for now they were useful.
"Speak to me. What have you found out?"
"The Metallics are on the payroll of Watford's governor."
"They must be one of the richest groups operating in the entire city."
Another trawler nodded, pulling a book from the shelf that had appeared behind her and leafing through it.
"Their account at Central Bank contains roughly fifty million pounds, with around one million coming in every quarter."
"What about their numbers? How many Metallics are there?"
The bot avatars all glanced at each before shrugging simultaneously.
"We aren't sure."
Emily sighed and glanced at the trawler reclining on the bed, watching the avatar slowly create chaos in the corner.
"What have you managed to do?"
"You want Watford turning to ruin?"
"You're inside the power plants?"
The virus grinned, scooting back to sit up against the headboard.
"I can just shut off the power or disable the safety measures altogether. That would make some pretty fireworks."
---
Upon returning to the flat, having instructed her trawlers to spread non-lethal chaos in Watford, Emily found Dave hunched over his disassembled pistol, cleaning each piece of the weapon. He looked up when she opened the door, almost instantly going back to maintaining the pistol.
"Did you have a good walk?"
Emily nodded as she sat next to Dave, the man reassembling his pistol with quick movement before holding out a hand for hers.
"Watford will lose much of its power for the next day. Will we be ready to move in time?"
"Sure, give me about an hour to do your gun and then we'll leave."
The sections of the Great Ringroad north of London were quiet as Emily drove the van towards Watford. It was quiet within the van as well, the two mercenaries mentally preparing themselves for whatever they would face. It had been agreed that Dave would take the lead while Emily would guide the pair using pre-loaded maps on her tablet. It was whilst approaching Watford, crossing over the ancient Roman road of Watling Street, that they began seeing the effects of Emily's deployed virus. The sprawling factories were all dark and silent, the monolithic buildings looming over the surrounding towers like slumbering giants among ants, and it made the atmosphere of the region seem oppressive as they got closer. Turning off the Great Ringroad several minutes later Emily took the van towards a film studio that had once produced global hits but had since diminished in status. They passed a checkpoint there, watching as a Metallic angrily struck a deactivated gun turret. A second Metallic, looking barely human whilst wearing a cobbled-together suit of metal armour, moved to the driver-side door, roughly banging on it until Emily wound down the window.
"State your business here."
"Here for an ammo pickup, for the Bexleyheathens."
The gangster frowned and stepped back from the van.
"End of the street, turn right. Keep going until you see the hospital tower and turn left until Terry's Green. Your factory is there."
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