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Medusa. But today, Tom focused on his anger at the cop, and it sharpened his wits. He delved into the vast chain of zeros and ones, searching for the pipelines between the DHS and the domestic police drones flying over the United States.
    When he located those, his neural processor sorted through an array of rapid-fire coordinates, and he latched on to the armed drone nearest to him.
    A quick scroll through the database of registered gun owners in the area brought a familiar image to mind: Sergeant Erik Sherwin, the cop who’d robbed them. All registered gun owners had tracking chips in their skin, so he zeroed right in on Sergeant Sherwin’s frequency.
    Thousands of feet above Sherwin, in the darkened skies between Las Vegas and the overhead skyboards, the drone’s mechanized gaze captured images of the cop just outside the casino, tailing the banker like an obedient puppy. Tom’s vision center registered the images like he was seeing through mechanized eyes of his own.
    His plans changed.
    Tom felt an evil little thrill, because he’d intended to wreak some havoc on the cop, but now that he thought about it, he really should ignore the hired thug and focus on the mastermind: the bald banker the DHS’s biometric database identified as Hank Bloombury, who worked for a subsidiary of the Matchett-Reddy Corporation.
    Tom homed in on Hank and stalked him from the casino to his private car, the drone far overhead cutting a lethal path through the sky. Hank’s car began to pull out of the strip, but Tom was in control of a police drone—which could link remotely into vehicle auto navigation systems and tamper with them at will. Tom enjoyed messing with Hank’s autonav, steering the car back around and directing it toward the hotel he and Neil were staying in.
    Hank must’ve finally realized what was happening, because he engaged the emergency shutoff. The car jerked to a halt; and the bald man popped out from inside it, rubbing at the back of his neck, obviously trying to figure out where he was.
    Then Tom pulled off his next trick: he plunged the drone through the night sky, and settled it mere meters before the stunned Hank Bloombury. Tom leveled its Tasers straight at the guy’s bald head, and enjoyed the sight of the banker standing frozen in place, his mouth hanging open.
    Thanks for sending that cop, Tom thought, and sent a talon of the drone’s Taser lashing out, shocking Hank just enough to knock him to the ground. Hank scrambled back to his feet, but when he tried to dive back into the car, Tom sent another flare of electricity that way to block him. Hank tried to run in the other direction, but Tom steered the police drone after him, a relentless pursuer, and zinged him again. Then again.
    Hank threw up his hands in surrender and stood there, defeated, as Tom circled the drone around him like a vulture. Certain Hank was good and scared, Tom accessed the drone’s text screen and gave the banker an order, knowing it would be relayed via communication screen and a mechanized voice.
    “TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES.”
    Hank shook his head, his face flushed like he was outraged. He leaped for his car again, so Tom sent more electricity lashing out. That stopped Hank.
    “TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES,” Tom had the drone order again. “RIGHT NOW.”
    Hank seemed to get the message this time, and he stripped down. Tom decided it would be worth his eyes bleeding for the payoff.
    “NOW RUN. RUN FAST.”
    Hank hesitated, so Tom launched the drone toward him, zapping the ground at his feet. The banker began running away, and Tom dogged his steps awhile, zapping behind him every so often, making sure the words “KEEP RUNNING, KEEP RUNNING ” were displayed on the drone’s communication screen. Tom kept it up until his drone corralled Hank onto the street near their hotel, then he released the drone from his control, launching it back into the sky.
    He jolted back into himself, yanked off the transmitter, and popped out of the