Cerberus3 was illegal in almost every country and city-state that had laws. Just thinking about owning one was practically begging for Turing Police to break down your door and rape you with a studded baton.

Not full-blown A.I., but they were damn close.

Where an A.I. begins its life with: “I think, therefore I am;” a Cerberus3 begins with: “I think. So you’re fucked.”

It hit me. Black ICE punched a hole straight through my defenses and sent my body, meatside, into seizures. Through the agony, I punched up a barrier program, slapped on the camo and ran.

Not much. The wall crumbled in a nanosecond, but I was clear. Shaken, I dropped a data-bomb and punched up. Blasted two firewalls with fast-spikes. Over, then down. Up again. I blasted through the Square’s grid with wild abandon, trying to lose the watchdog. The system shook when my databomb exploded, lattices of information around me decaying, corrupted.

Cerberus3 paused. I punched free.

Switch IP, camo off, dump the buffer.

Jack the fuck out!