Acrylic reclined, scratching his scalp. It had been voided of all hair, the normal human mane replaced by all sorts of transmitters, diodes, and inputs. His porcupine head interfaced with literally dozens of computer systems, and—consciously and unconsciously—he bid them fulfill tasks for him.
It was most illegal.
He had descended into the sewers after MegaCorp had destroyed the country, eventually becoming the supreme authority in all but name. He plotted and carefully did his work—a minor hack here, a small erasure there, a minor snarl in the traffic light system somewhere else—all with a mind to bring the blistering autocratic hegemony down.
He knew about Mephisto. He also knew that he couldn’t break it alone.
Then, through the myriad little birds in his head, he caught wind of another, a young gun with ideals not unlike his own…
…a woman in his own image.
He could see that she was heading for the subway. He had to act fast.