Time to get gone – easily done. By the low gaslight, Alice moves to a dark corner, shifts aside a large brick and reaches into the concealed space beneath, pulls out a bag. Despite knowing the contents, she still forces herself to check – clothing, drugs, knives. Another deep breath, forcing aside the rage still seething inside her, before it’s taken from her artificially.

And then, movement again, except this time with cool purpose – urgency of purpose rather than anger. The place isn’t fancy enough to have any defences, but it was at least somewhere to stay. One knife on her ankle, another under a sleeve, another at the top of the bag. Something special tucked away, and then it’s time to be gone. She turned the gas off, and the room cuts dark, and then, more carefully this time, she opens the door, pulling it open and letting it hang there, waiting in the darkness. Nothing happens.

She steps around the corner, knife in hand, ready to fight. The stairs up were empty, except for some shards of metal that had fallen off the tube-thing. Nothing left behind she can see, as she advances up the steps. The courtyard was even quieter now, the wasters mostly gone, the few left too out of it even to even look away. Between fear, exhaustion and whatever drugs they were on, none would know anything useful, or even be able to give a useful description. That they were still here was probably a good sign though - if her attacker had been that violent, they would have scattered, even their own fragged instincts enough to keep them away from danger.

She left the courtyard, trying to keep to the shadows. The gang outside had vanished, although there were signs of a fight, still-wet blood splashed on the ground. Not from bullets. Blades maybe, or some strange tech-weapon. Down here it was rare to see anything advanced, but if someone wanted that damn gem, then some pros might have been sent out, packing weird stuff.

Where would be safe? She’d have to stay off the main routes and trams in case they had someone monitoring the cameras, but that was pretty normal. But the backpaths left her more vulnerable to being attacked. She’d have to move fast, make sure not to expose herself too much. Time to be gone; she strode away, hooking a mask over her ears, flipping her hood up. It felt like closing the world off, her ears dulled by the fabric, but it was the best disguise she could manage.

Walk fast, but not too fast. Head down, try to appear unobtrusive. Even in the night, there was still traffic, people working, seeking pleasure, cyclists moving packages that were too bulky or special to risk to the drones. She kept one hand on a knife, nerves jangling whenever people passed by, expecting an attack at any time.

She keeps her head down and adjusts her posture, letting her shoulders slump, shortening her steps. Music hammers the air, throbbing out of a narrow passageway, glowing spraypaint depicting a dragon, purple coils twining around the gap. Alice doesn’t pause, turning down the passage, then moving faster as soon as she was off the main street.

The music gets louder, echoing around the narrow space. Other mythical creatures are shining on the walls, demons and angels dancing and fighting, unicorns and pegasi writhing as different shades of light flickered and flashed from ahead.

Her path is blocked by a guard that looks down on her, too-relaxed hand on a nightstick at his waist. There was the temptation, oh so sweet, to simply reach out and take him out, break him, but she resisted. There was no need to get someone else pissed off, at least not yet. She unzips her bag slightly and pulls out a small bag of pills, then hands them over.

The guard took them. He opens the bag and snapping off a corner, throwing it into his mouth. He took a deep breath as they kicked in, shoulders tensing, then nodded, stepping aside to let her in. Another corner, and she was in the club proper. Lights strobe and slice the air, making the paintings on the wall flicker and dance, as different colours hit them. Despite the noise, the place wasn’t that busy, only a few clustered groups scattered amongst the cavernous space. But everyone here was dressed for it, skimpy meshes, clinging materials sheathing taut and toned bodies. Her own baggy clothing mark her out, a few glances taking her in – too reserved to be selling herself, not loud enough to be performing or with a gang, likely taking her for someone running a delivery.

She keeps to the corners, where she was less dazzled by the strobing lights. Here, anyone else would stand out – the clubbers had few places to conceal a weapon, the guards were too complacent, and even the DJ didn’t seem particularly interested, a golden crown on the wall behind him flashing and glowing as he fiddled with his gear. But the best thing was the back exit – she dawdled, walking slowly along the shadows, making a play of looking for someone, while heading for a side-door, partially hidden behind a propped-up metal sheet.

She hides behind it, taking a moment to relax in the darkness, before watching. A bunch of clubbers entered, immediately running for the centre and dancing. And then, behind them, one of the three from earlier, long coat distinctive, even in the low light. That guard must be doing well on bribes tonight!

They move fast, enough to draw attention, clubbers moving away, not wanting to get involved. Alice looks at them – in the flashing half-lights, it was hard to get anything meaningful, but they pushed through the dancers without a care, heads swivelling. A light struck them, gleaming off something on their face – might just be shades, might be wired. Either way, not good. She ducks back into the soothing shadows, finding the door (the ‘Exit’ light had been broken long ago) and moving through it.

Through it was another open concrete hall, large parts of the floor missing, dropping down into basements and sub-basements. The only light was from old emergency lights, most missing or burnt out, those left casting a thin green glow that did little more than show how dark the rest was. Normally, caution would be best, but in this case she needed to be gone. She reaches to her hip and tweaks a dial slightly, feeling heat burn through her veins, urging her to motion.

In the half-light, skipping through the darkness, she moves, jumping between the concrete, avoiding the gaps. In full light, it would be easy, but the darkness, and the shadows, made it far more dangerous. And then there was a crash and a shout from behind her. She didn’t bother looking but hoped that her clothing would be dark enough to shroud her further, as she kept heading for the far side.

There was a sharp crack, something ahead of her crumbling away. She speeds up and ducks behind a pillar as another shot is fired, hitting somewhere nearby. She runs over a plank and kicks it away behind herself, letting it tumble away. The exit was somewhere close by, as she fumbles along the wall, feeling for it, before her hands touch the cool metal plate. She shoves it open and runs into the alleyway beyond.

As she steps around the corner, she almost bumps into someone, barely steps back in time. A flash of metal, as she throws herself downwards, something flashing above her head. Alice pulls her knife and cuts at her attacker’s ankle, forcing them to step backwards. Before they could follow through, she flips herself upwards and thrusts forward to keep them off balance. They take the blow, but she feels the familiar resistance of armoured synthweave, tough enough to resist the slice.

‘Good evening, Miss Mason. Do come quietly, if you would? So much easier than my associates breaking you and dragging you in.’

Her eyes flick over his face – no-one she recognised. Not the plastic-smooth look of someone from high up-city, but modded still, age impossible to tell. Jacked reflexes, at the least. She ducks low, then lunges again – his coat hangs open, a neatly framed target for her, but he steps backwards, keeping her out of striking distance. He has some weapon in one hand, a black metal tube, although he hasn’t used it yet. It looks sturdy – probably a striking weapon, probably gimmicked with something else.

‘Our reports did say that you would likely be troublesome, but I thought that you would be more sensible.’ She cuts and stabs more times, unable to land a meaningful strike, but pushing him back. He raises the cane to deflect and block.

‘Leave me alone.’ She’s still cold inside, unable to bring much emotion to her voice.

He focuses too much on her, without paying attention to his surroundings – too used to relying on being wired, and weak foes. She feints left, then right, works out his reach. Then she pivots, kicks out and hooks around his ankle to jerk him off balance. As he staggers, she slams herself forward, aiming straight for his unarmoured chest. There was no impact, as he managed to twist and throw himself around the blade and rolls to the ground, coming straight up. But now he looks irritated.

‘This could have been easy, but I do think I will take some pleasure in this.’ He clicks a finger on his weapon, something in it powering up, his stance shifting, ready to attack. Then he stumbles, an uncertain step forward. Alice makes the most of the moment and smashes an elbow into the side of his head. Not enough to put him down, but dazing him enough for a follow-up, as she slams backwards with another elbow strike. His cane hits the ground and steadies him, a pulse of energy blasting out, sending up a circle of dust, cracking the concrete where it impacts. She twists around, hand forming into a claw, aiming to gouge his eyes out.

A shot rings out, another figure advancing. Alice backs off, trying to keep her attacker in front of her, unable to finish him off. Walking forward, backlit by the main street, is a figure in a bulky stab vest, dangling with equipment, a gun held in a stable, two-handed grip. Their head presented a strange, bulky shape, the neat folds of a turban making a strange silhouette.

‘Whatever you two are doing, this isn’t the place. You, with the cane. Drop it.’

Alice’s eyes lock with those of her attacker – there was a wearied acknowledgement there, that whatever their personal disagreements, at least there weren’t police, interfering in the business of others. Still, it was more his problem than hers – she turns and runs, ignoring the shouts from behind her. With another attacker, even a cop wouldn’t be stupid enough to come after her, and her attacker had more obvious wealth than she did, so an easier mark to sting for fines and fees.

The alleys are a maze, but the inhabitants are smart enough not to attack someone in a hurry, at least while they were moving. If she stopped, then she might be in trouble, and she was attracting attention, but the territories here were small and close together, and she didn’t look wealthy enough to be worth the fight over her.

And then she emerged from the concrete maze, a footbridge leading across to one of the housing blocks. The thing was covered with the usual dense layers of graffiti, a trio of would-be toughs eyeing her up, wondering what approach to take. She slowed, staring the leader down, pulling her knife out, just enough to catch the light. He wasn’t dumb enough to start anything and stepped back to let her pass, muttering something to his friends, attempting to save face.

Inside, she heads straight for the stairs, not wanting to get trapped in the tiny box of a lift. Four flights upwards, taking the steps two at a time, and then down a long hallway, most of the doors barricaded, those not kicked in and destroyed, leading to empty concrete shells of flats. The far end was in darkness, the bulbs removed as an additional deterrent against visitors.

She slows until she fumble-finds the door, slamming her knuckle against the reinforced metal. Somewhere there was a camera, if not several, watching her.

‘Open up, Sommerby. I need a favour.’

A stilting, electric voice rasps out. ‘It’ll cost you.’

‘Remember that gear I found for you? Consider this payment for that.’

‘How do I know you won’t act up?’

‘I’m good, fully dosed.’ A lie, but she’s got enough to get her through a few days at least. ‘Unless you want me to go slice up some of the kids outside, tell them you sent me because they were playing music too loudly?’

‘Little pricks, always making noise.’ But there was a heavy clunk, and then another, as the locks are released, the door hissing open with a pneumatic hiss.