The maps show me a route through the city, a winding path, but at least I can be sure no one’s riding my ass. Then again, can I really? It’s late, and everything’s quiet as a half-dug-up grave, but I can’t seem to shake this feeling that someone’s watching me. It’s the way the shadows shift in the night, the way the sounds don’t quite come at the right moments. It’s a bit unsettling.

As I walk, I think. I think about a plan, a means to get in, to assault CyberCorp. It won’t be easy, that’s for sure, but with this map ability, I might just make it. I’ll just have to play it smart. Or smarter than I usually do, at least. A creak from on top of a building somewhere. What the hell was that?

I whirl around in the night, looking for any sign. Nothing. No one. But there was something there, I know it. Maybe time to try the overt route, then. “Come out you bastard!” I yell. “I know you’re following me!” Still no response, no more shadows, no out of place sounds. Whoever it is, this guy is good. “Come out here or so help me God, I will you fill you with so much lead –“

A voice interrupts me from the darkness. “We can’t have that, now can we?” It’s a male voice, familiar and yet . . . different. Then I see the speaker, standing on the edge of a building about four stories up. Goddammit. It’s Drake Collins. But there’s something odd about him, less the mindless cyborg killer . . . or so it appears anyway. Who knows what they can make him do, how they can make him look. How the hell do I respond to him?

“Let’s talk, Drake.”

“I’m gonna take you out, you psychopath.”