Day Zero

need to tell me, post haste. And if they don’t… well.” He drained his pint and set the glass down with a thump. “Put it on the tab, Harry, there’s a good lad.”
Billy pushed away from the bar, but paused. “You don’t know anything about it, do you Rosemary? Anything you want to share?”
Ro thought of Colin, and shook her head. “I don’t know nothing, Billy.”
Billy nodded. “Good. But keep an ear out, eh?” He ambled off, calling out to some other unlucky bastard. Ro watched him and then determinedly finished her drink. She needed to talk to Colin. She left the bar, hurrying out back towards the lavatories.
Colin was hanging around near the side-door that faced the gents, face glued to his Optik. She didn’t wait for him to notice her. “Are you an idiot?” she hissed, catching his arm and bending it up behind his back. Colin yelped.
“Hey, let go,” he began, and she shoved him against the wall, her forearm pressed against his throat. Not hard, but hard enough to make breathing difficult. His eyes widened and he clawed at her arm.
“Stop it, stop it,” she said, in a low voice. “Settle down and answer the fucking question. Are you an idiot?”
“N-no,” he gurgled. “Why?”
“Then what are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
She frowned and pressed her weight against his throat. His eyes bulged. “C-can’t breathe,” he whined.
“Stop whining. If you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t talk.” Ro leaned close, eyes narrowed. “Earlier, you said you had a new gig. And the way you scarpered when Billy Bricks showed up… what are you into, Colin?”
“Nothing, I swear. Just some deliveries.” He squirmed out of her grip. “Look, come outside. We’ll talk out there.” He took a quick look around and headed for the side-door. Ro hesitated, and then followed.
The side-door opened onto a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people. It was full of rubbish and crates of empties, and the smell of rotting veg and stale beer was so heavy she had to breathe through her mouth. She could hear rats scrabbling in the dark, but to her relief she couldn’t see them. She hated rats. Always had. “So spill,” she said, impatiently.
Colin lit a cigarette. Not an e-cigarette, but a real one. Silk Cut. He was old fashioned that way. He didn’t offer her one, but she wasn’t that broken up about it. “I’m just moving some stuff around, right?”
“Like down Blackfriars?”
He hesitated, and she read the truth in his eyes. “You absolute plonker.”
He looked away. “It’s just a bit of work on the side, nothing to get so bloody upset about.”
“It’s not me you should be worried about,” she said. “What if Billy Bricks finds out?”
“And how’s he going to do that, then? You going to grass me up?”
Ro paused, considering. If she didn’t tell someone, and they found out, she’d get whatever Colin got, but worse. The Kelleys only prized loyalty when it benefited them.
Colin frowned. “I thought we were mates,” he said.
“What was it?” she asked, after a moment.
“What was what?”
“What were you delivering that was worth this aggro?” Her hands clenched. She knew she ought to go back in, ought to find Billy. But then what? Turn Colin over? The thought made her stomach do flip-flops. Billy would kill him – or as good as.
Colin finished his cigarette and tossed it away into the dark. “Didn’t ask. I – hang on a sec.” His Optik chimed, and he reached for it. An instant later, there was an echoing crack. Colin’s head jerked backwards, and he toppled without a sound, his Optik clattering to the ground seconds before his body followed suit.
Ro stared in shock. There was something hot and wet on her face. Colin’s body spasmed as it shut down. His Optik flashed and went black.
Behind her, she heard voices. The door opened. Shouts. All of it seemed to be occurring far away. The only thing of importance was the body in front of her, twitching out its final moments in the rubbish-strewn alley.
And then, at last, going still.

Day Four
Monday


Bagley-bytes 13658-2: This just in, someone else is dead, but more on that later. According to our man at the ministry (hi, Dalton) Her Majesty’s Snoops are thinking of a rebrand. There’s talk of a new team charged with the dubious strategy of “intelligence response” or something similar. Everyone stay tuned to update your contacts. I prefer the first name myself, but what do I know? I’m just an unfettered AI with access to the sum of all human knowledge.
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RE: sum of all human knowledge. It’s not as much as you might think.
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Onto more cheerful topics. The pro-Albion PR campaign is heating up as Nigel Cass kisses the right rings and twists the right arms. Somebody make a note to find out which is which, so we know who to recruit and who to blackmail. Or vice versa. Up to you, really!
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Speaking of recruits, underground DJ Adam Logan is throwing another one of his bashes at an old warehouse on Park Street in Southwark. Might be the sort of place to meet new faces, as they say. Someone crash the party, please. And by someone, I mean anyone other than Terry.
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Sergei reports that the notorious Clan Kelley dive, the Wolfe Tone, is full of plods. No, it’s not being raided. Apparently someone got shot out back. Quelle surprise, as the French say. Remember that bit earlier? Seems our friendly sniper has been busy. A double-header.
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Finally, Albion definitely have a bug up their bum about something called LIBRA. If anyone has any information, please share it with the class. I’m all ears. Not literally of course, but you get the picture. If not, please ask Sabine to explain it to you in words of one syllable or less, as I can’t be bothered.


7: Perfidious Albion
The showers at the hideout were shit. But the water was hot, and Olly needed to feel clean. He stood under the scalding spray,