I never miss twice.

The mantra imprints itself on my mind, repeating over and over until the words begin to lose all meaning. I shake a hand through my hair, brushing it forward so that the thick strands cover the bionics running across my temple. My stride is long, matched perfectly to Krygo's hurried city pace. The streets are busy at this hour, packed with people making their way to work, cheeks flushed and healthy on yet another sunny day.

Sidestepping a couple of men in business suits, I join the crowd standing by the street corner. While we wait for our turn to cross I raise my chin, scanning surreptitiously behind my sunglasses. No one pays me any mind, their attention diverted towards the light above our heads. When it blinks to green the throng surges forward with the sound of hard-soled shoes striking asphalt. I drift along, keeping city hall to my right as I circle the block and gradually make my way closer. With two blocks to go I dip into a nondescript shop and join the queue at the counter.

I carry my coffee over to a table in the corner, brushing my hair forward again and withdrawing my notebook. The console immediately opens, bright green text blinking welcomingly. I slurp my coffee and begin typing away, requesting a scan of the closest networks. Several City hall systems pop up almost instantly. The coffee begins to take effect, forcing my shoulders forward as I hunch over the keyboard, fully intent on the task at hand.

I select City Hall's admin network and bring up the login screen before inserting a jump drive and sitting back to watch the algorithm perform its dance. The bell above the coffee shop door chimes with the flow of morning traffic and I hide the login screen with a text document. There is nothing to distinguish me from my fellow patrons; to the impartial observer I am just another wayward thespian, working on her screenplay. A triumphant green light blinks from the end of the jump drive and I allow myself a small grin.

I'm in.

This is a language I understand. The blocks of code lay themselves out before me, simple and straightforward commands that unlock door after door. There is no subtlety, here. No games, nothing that can be misunderstood or misinterpreted. Here, my presence is accepted without question.

My coffee's temperature moves from hot to tepid as I familiarize myself with City Hall's mainframe. With just a few lines of code I am able to stroll freely through the rooms of the most secure building on the planet. I run my grimy fingers along classic titles in the archives, open the fridge in the kitchen and check the thread count in Phibbius' sheets. It's only when I've satisfied my curiosity that I turn my attention over to the garage.

Phibbius keeps several limousines in his employ, but I select the vehicle whose license plate I recognize after a week of watching it mosey through the city square. As I suspected, the car is outfitted with the latest tech; everything from laser proof windows to an automated steering system. I focus on the latter, tapping my temple to overlay the schematics I downloaded earlier that morning.

From here, it's a simple matter of following the instructions I bought off the dark net. The automated steering kill codes fly out of my fingers, the lethal commands marring the black screen with glowing green type. I slurp absently on my long-spoiled coffee as I fire off line after line of digital rhetoric, setting a timer and an override. As a final precaution I write a failsafe that will lockout anyone who tries to access the car's software after the killswitch has been activated.

My hands hover above the keyboard as I read over the final prompt.

>> kswitch.exe initialized. Do you wish to activate (Y/N)?
>> _

I blink, unfocusing my eyes so that the words blur before me. The conversations of my fellow coffee-shop patrons fill my ears, each person blissfully unaware that I am two blocks away with my hands wrapped securely around their beloved leader's throat.

Don't think. Just shoot.

My jaw clenches as I type the affirmative. A second passes and then the screen goes blank, effectively sealing Phibbius' fate and wiping away any trace that I was ever there.

I slump in my chair, slurping the dregs of my coffee and staring at nothing. I wait for the feeling of satisfaction to creep over me, the secure knowledge that I have just earned myself more credits than I've ever seen in one place. I wait, but nothing happens. Finally, I snap the lid of my notebook closed and stuff it in my bag, tossing my empty cup into the trash on the way to find myself a front-row ticket to the show.

Outside the shop I tap my temple, recalling a business card I photographed when I first arrived. A phone number flashes across my vision and I tap again to dial, forcing some false cheeriness into my voice when someone picks up.

"Bender's Taxicabs! Your chariot awaits."

I roll my eyes. "Hey, Bender, this is Trig. Remember your favourite Android from last week?"

"Course I remember! You in need of a pick up?"

"Yes, please."

"Already got your coordinates, m'dear. I'll be seeing you shortly!"

I disconnect the call, leaning back against a wall and watching the noticeably thinned-out crowd. Bender pulls up only a few minutes later, honking his horn to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut" and offering up an enthusiastic wave. He scurries over to open the back door and I slide into the plush seat.

"Where are we headed, today?" Bender adjusts the rearview mirror and I catch sight of his whiskered grin.

I glance at my watch. "Ninety-ninth and Tyson." The destination is sure to take us right across the main square. "Thanks."

"You got it."

We merge into traffic, zipping along the wide streets and heading deeper into the downtown core. I watch the roadmap overlaid across my vision as we drive, furrowing my brow when I register Bender's course.

"What'd you say your name was, again?" Bender calls out conversationally.

"Trig." I give him my nickname.

"Pleased to formally make your acquaintance, Trig. You enjoying your time in Krygo?"

"Immensely." I lie, checking the map again. "I don't like to tell a man how to do his job, but isn't there a more direct route we could be taking?"

Bender laughs good-naturedly. "You spying on me, back there? I was hoping you wouldn't mind, I wanted to swing by my daughter's school."

I run a quick calculation. "It's fine, I have time."

"Brilliant." Bender falls into a steady stream of chatter, blabbering with the indulgence of a proud father. The fondness in his words raises an acute ache from somewhere deep within me and I turn to stare out the window, suddenly regretting my choice to let Bender take the long way through town.

My fingers drum impatiently on my lap as we turn down a narrow path lined with bushy red trees. The cab slows as we finally pull up in front of a blindingly white building and a sweeping lawn littered with shrieking children.

Bender pushes in the break. "Thanks for letting me make a detour. Sophie's been going on about this day for weeks, I wanted to see her off."

"No problem." I follow his gaze out the window, watching as the children run to stand in a messy line in front of the school. They hop up and down excitedly, grabbing hands and peering around one another as a familiar-looking car glides around the corner.

No.

Vernon Phibbius and Dristan Bronte step out of the limousine, the president's gleeming smile flashing in stark contrast to the captain's permanent frown. I freeze, eyes wide as Dristan makes his way around the back of the car and opens the rear door.

No.

"There she is!" Bender's voice echoes from somewhere far away. Three little kids, including a girl with pigtailed hair as bushy as Bender's mustache are being escorted to the car by Phibbius, himself. The President makes a show of bowing dramatically as the giggling children are helped up into the back seat.

No.

No no no no no.

Are you kidding me?

"What's that?" Bender adjusts the rearview mirror to get a better look at me.

I growl a curse and fumble for my notebook, pulling it from my bag with such force that it goes flying and rattles violently around the back of the cab.

"Easy, there." Bender reaches between the seats and withdraws my notebook, handing it over to me. I snatch it away, barely registering the crack in its casing as I hurry to bring up the console. The notebook is maddeningly slow in booting up, giving off only a faint, hazy light as a progress bar crawls across the screen.

"Trig? Everything all right?" Bender speaks over the buzzing in my ears.

I wave my hand spastically, eyes glued to the screen before me. "Fine, everything's fine. Just drive." I fight to quell the shaking in my voice. "Please."

"Sure thing." The car lurches forward and I lean to look out the window, cursing again as I watch the president's limo disappear through the gate. I rap the side of the screen impatiently, silently urging the progress bar to hurry the hell up.

The miniscule clock counting down at the edges of my vision is suddenly all-consuming, each passing second driving another nail into my chest. My killcode is set to deploy at noon and once it starts, there will be no stopping it. The controls of Phibbius' limo will lock up and the car will accelerate, sending its hapless passengers to meet their fiery doom.

But I still have time. I can stop it.

The tinny sound of my notebook finally booting up meets my ears. My fingers fly across the keys, bringing up the console and pounding a series of commands into the machine. The countdown blinks red in the corner of my eye but I don't risk a moment to glance at it. The car makes a sharp turn and I am jolted to the side, the bionic half of my head colliding solidly with the window.

"Sorry!" Bender calls out.

I ignore him, the knock to my head barely causing me to pause. My scrappy little notebook performs admirably, dutifully taking me back through City Hall's admin network and down into the depths of its inventory. It takes me a few extra moments to locate the president's limousine, the GPS tracking causing it to blip continuously just out of reach.

The car lurches to a stop and this time I manage to bring the notebook out of the way before slamming my shoulder into the back of the seat in front of me.

"Sorry, again." Bender is obviously flustered by my behaviour. "I wanted to try and make it through the main square before the convoy did, but it looks as though we're stuck."

I glance up and the unfamiliar swell of panic catches in my throat. The street has been closed off as the limo noses its way past the throng of waving citizens. Several small hands waggle enthusiastically from the back seat and I catch sight of Sophie's gap-toothed grin.

Why. Why, why, why, after a solid week of Phibbius and Dristan driving solo, why would they choose today of all days to pick up some snot-nosed kids? I bite back a scream of frustration and begin typing with a type of belligerent madness, finally locating the limo and zeroing in on the killswitch hiding in its depths.

Hold on...

Something beeps in my ear. The countdown is nearly over.

Hold on...

I taste blood in my mouth as I fire off command after command, drawing closer, now within a hair's-breadth of the killswitch.

Hold on...

The countdown sounds again, higher-pitched this time. I re-enter my deadly code and begin untangling its web. The warning in my ear beeps with an unmistakable urgency.

Hold on...

I type the final order, fingers fairly crushing the keys with my desperation. The green cursor blinks, uncaring as a series of dots chart the path between my code and the switch.

Hold-

>> ERROR. kswitch.exe NOT FOUND.
>> _

I stare at the screen, disbelieving. The beeping in my ears has ceased and now I slowly become aware of the screams stemming from outside the cab. I raise my head slowly, something dull and distant hammering within my chest.

The limousine rockets across the intersection, careening madly on a forward trajectory as the crowd yells and scrambles to get out of the way.

Too late.

"What's going on?!" Bender shouts, his terror bringing me fully to the present.

I slam the notebook shut. Time to improvise.

"We need to get ahead of that car." Someone, presumably me, says. "Can you do that?"

"What?" Bender turns to face me, white as a ghost. "Did...did you see that? What's happening?"

"We need to get ahead of that car." I repeat, my voice loud and stern. "Bender, now."

His meaty hands lock over the steering wheel and we surge forward like a shot. I roll down my window and lean out, tapping my temple to lock in on the limo ahead of us. My readout shows me a steadily increasing speedometer and some undersized orange-red figures huddled in the back seat. Bender corrals the taxicab through the main intersection and takes a sharp left, heading the wrong way down an on-ramp and climbing above the out-of-control limousine. We are barraged by a symphony of horns as drivers swerve to avoid us but Bender doesn't slow, the knuckles of his hands blazing as we dodge from side to side.

I lean further out the window so that I am skimming dangerously just above the asphalt. The limo disappears beneath me and I catch a glimpse of Captain Bronte hunched over the dashboard and scrabbling madly at the controls. Bender punches the gear and we lurch forward with another burst of speed, aiming for the next ramp.

"What's the plan, then?" Bender has to shout to be heard over the traffic and the wind.

"I'm working on it." I withdraw back into the cab, bringing my arm up in front of me and checking my charge. I consider running a calculation to anticipate how my negative electromagnetic surge will fare against a three-tonne car, but decide against it. I'd rather not know the odds.

Bender whips the car into a turn and hits the brake, causing a violent lurch as the car struggles to keep traction. I barely notice, already clambering towards the door and yanking it open.

"What are you doing?" Bender yells after me, his head swiveling between me and the shiny limousine hurtling towards us.

"Get out of the car!" I snap, checking the charge in my arm, again.

My tone leaves no room for questions and Bender scrambles obediently out, tripping and falling in an inelegant heap. I stand in the middle of the street, eyes darting between the now-abandoned taxicab in front of me and the fast-approaching limousine beyond. The road curves slightly, just enough that a forward trajectory will send the president's car flying into the concrete barrier at my back.

I flip a switch on my arm and a faint buzz begins to hum through my extremities. I tap my temple to dismiss the distracting calibrations and lights blinking across my vision, narrowing my eyes and widening my stance.

Wind whips at my face and hair, churned into a frenzy by the speeding projectile. My arm now vibrates with such force that it takes almost all of my concentration to keep it from rocketing away. I grit my teeth, extending my hand and placing it on the roof of the cab. Almost instantly the car lurches away from me, pushed by the negative charge my arm conducts.

I glance up, momentarily arrested by the sight of several pale, terror-stricken faces. Phibbius and the kids are wide-eyed, their mouths gaping wide as they scream. An instant before the collision I lock eyes with Dristan, his dark expression boring into mine. Unlike the others, the captain doesn't seem scared. No, Dristan has the unmistakable look of someone who has faced death before.

Electricity sings through me, bursting from my core and powering into Bender's cab. The limousine strikes the taxi and the deafening sound of children's screams and crushed metal fills my ears, overwhelming my senses. I push back with everything I have, releasing a yell of pain as the cab is pushed into me and I am forced backwards into the barrier.

Now.

I extend my right leg, straightening my knee and using my foot to prop myself up between the barrier and the cab. My right hand presses into the car door, the metal bending and warping around it as I struggle to keep my steel-infused body from crumpling like an accordion. Sweat drips down my forehead, blinding me while my every muscle tears and cries out in protest.

As darkness worms its way in from the peripherals of my vision I have enough clarity to feel a dull spark of amusement. The entire situation has veered so wildly out of control, I struggle to remember how exactly I ended up wedged between a car and a wall, directly in the path of my own bullet.

So much for keeping a low profile.