2:11...2:10...2:09...

A reveller deep within the crowd launched a small firecracker and it whistled over head. Spooked, Balderick squeezed himself out of the bag and launched himself over the masses before Alistair could do anything to prevent his friend escaping. Balderick soared about the enclosed Pleasuredome, his senses over stimulated by the lights, noise and people.

"Ha! Look at that," a Guard on the upper tier said, pointing out Balderick to his mate just as Alice Mould sulked past, still in her strop. Alice Mould overheard the Guard and glimpsed the raven.

"Mobilise your men," she menaced, collaring the Guard. "IMMEDIATELY!"

"Pardon ma'am?" the Guard spluttered and Alice mashed his masked face against hers.

"MOBILISE your MEN!" she screeched. The Guard clumsily saluted and radioed for back-up. Alice focused intently, watching as the raven came in to land within the crowd. She snatched the Guard's viewfinder off his helmet and searched about. A cold, evil grin creased her lips.

"Delicious," she smiled.  "The fools are planning an insurrection!"

"Robert," she called over her shoulder, sensing him. "Follow me," she ordered, slipping surreptitiously between revellers to get to the stairwell.

"Who is she?" the first Guard whispered to his mate, radioing the orders.

"She is the law," Robert said as he slipped on his pair of eye protectors. "And I predict a riot."

2:00.

The scheduled laser light show instantly grabbed the attention of the masses. Dazzling and cutting edge, Alice arrived at the dance-floor and drove her way forward, intent on one thing, and one thing only.

Above the 'Dome, Snowblind reported in via Rocket's comms. From his eyrie, he had gained control of the unlit pulse torch over Emancipation Square and with his perfect vantage point, monitored the situation.

"What do you mean you can see Guards mobilising?" Rocket cried, canvassing confirmation from all position. "Keep your bananas peeled and report back."

Alistair looked up sheepishly at Rocket, thankful he hadn't seen or heard Balderick make his impromptu flight. Alistair tucked the raven back in his back and zipped it shut whilst the lightshow show intensified and the booming remix of Eclectic Night Orchestra's Everyday Is a Perfect Day If I Want It To Be reached its ear-splitting crescendo. The Square suddenly darkened; startled oohs and ahhs followed. Frenetically cut images of the gallows, the prisoners, the city and the crowd all appeared on the screens. Then darkness and a single spotlight fell upon the preening Chancellor Malachy.

Obsequious applause erupted as the Futurist leader bowed his head, lapping up the crowd's insatiable reaction. Oratory came naturally to the Chancellor as he soothed the crowd and his speech beamed out to all of New Britain.

"Friends, New Londoners, countrymen," he began. With everyone's attention diverted, it gave Alice all the lurking space she needed. She relaxed her wrists and smiled. Alice had located Alistair Raven and his little friend Chelsea Rose and this time, they would not escape her.

**********************

1:01...1:00...0.59...

"Blast, I can't hold it," Elvis strained. "The blinker's got me at my own game." Capt Baker, having aligned the Queen's message, prepared to drag his friend away from the desk and hot-foot it.

"Too late, the Hub has caught up," Elvis conceded, madly hacking.

"Come on, the message is in," Capt Baker advised. "What's left to do?"

"Wouldn't mind a cup of tea, eh Cap'n? Make it New English Breakfast, yeah?" Elvis said sardonically, as he uploaded the virus and launched his counter-intuitive Goodnight Kiss worm.

At long last, an angry knocking echoed through the door between the inner-ring and the Hub Control Room; ignoring the Guards requests, the cruel sound of grinding metal followed.

"Got those grapples ready?" Elvis queried, punching the start-up code for the worm and Capt Baker dived out to the ledge. Hooking the first length of cord to a grapple launcher, he fired it, waited as it found its mark; he connected the second lifeline and fired as the sound of the metal cutting intensified.

"Come on," Capt Baker roared. "Leave it!"

"I need some seconds to finish this off properly," Elvis rushed, his nimble fingers twitching with nerves and adrenaline; Capt Baker tugged on both ropes to ensure the spears had found strong roots.

"Forget it. Let's go! NOW!" Capt Baker yelled as a twist of acrid smoke began to waft from the hole being drilled by the boring device on the other side of the door. "Elvis D'Gama...you Cockney scamp...stop showing off and stop messin' about!"

0.27...0.26...0.25...

"Remember Warsaw?" Elvis asked without moving his eyes off the monitor, knowing he was so much closer than he really ought to be.

"That was cutting it too fine," Capt Baker answered, feeling a queasy feeling in his stomach.

"This is cutting it finer, yeah," Elvis boasted.

0:19...0:18...

"Here come cowboys," Capt Baker yelled. "Come on, get a wriggle on."

"I'll blag my way out of it," Elvis dismissed. "If I don't get the Goodnight Kiss in to infect everything, the Hub will remain online and it wasn't worth our effort."

"Blag?" Capt Baker argued as Elvis began to hum under his breath. "That lot don't blag with anyone. They'll have your guts for garters."

"🎵Who wants...to live...forever🎵?" Elvis sang.

"I'd prefer it if I could live as long as possible," Capt Baker remarked sardonically, standing at the doorway, beckoning to Elvis to leave it be and join him in their escape. "And the kids would never forgive you if you didn't make it back."

"How sweet," Elvis sniffed and checked his watch, eyed the monitor and fought off the Hub's frenzied encroachments all in one flick of his eyelids. The Hub's self defence mechanism blocked him and he needed more time, but he'd never get a second chance if they fled. Elvis paused, looked over at his accomplice and conceded his fate.

"Kiss them for me, Cap'n," Elvis waved as he slapped the door closing mechanism. Capt Baker bounced off the thick metal door as it slammed shut isolating Elvis from any escape and sandwiching himself between the Hub and a militia of heavily armed Guards.

Capt Baker banged his hands against the door, hysterically pleading with his friend as the Hub void erupted in to bursts of white lightning, zapping around in a crazed defensive anger.

"Elvis..." he screamed. "ELVIS!"

Stepping away from the doorway, he backtracked on to the plastic bridge, luminous in a chilling, ghostly blue. The Hub wheezed; Capt Baker clutched the release mechanism on his grapple. The rope tightened around his waist and he whooshed upwards through the void just as the Hub began to gasp.

Elvis scrunched his eyes, watching a side monitor as Capt Baker zoomed to safety. Returning to the keyboard, the Hub overwhelmed one after another of his intrusions but he still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve. None would prevent the Guards crudely chopping their way in, as sparks, dripping slag and the stench of burning metal filled the small room.

Checking the live transmission feed, the Queen's message was zooming across the broadcast streams and about to hit the Visis. With no going back, this was end game. Elvis grinned; the Hub could do nothing to stop the message being aired now.

"Quality. The retro-lution will be televised," he cheered. He watched the systems seize as the Hub hyperventilated on digital poison. Cupping his hand and blowing the mainframe a kiss, he sat back in his seat; he relaxed and intertwined his fingertips, turning them inwards and stretched. Resignedly, he unplugged and rolled up his computer and tidied up a little of his mess; content his side of the bargain had been fulfilled, he waited patiently, readying himself to blag his way out of trouble.

The ferocious metal boring device silenced and Elvis listened to it being retracted. A cylinder rolled through the bored hole with a rink-tink-clink and proceeded to drop out and roll across the floor. Elvis' nose twitched as the slow release masquerade gas escaped from a brass nozzle.

Elvis heard a grapple being inserted through the bored hole and with a terrifying shriek of tearing steel, the door was ripped out of its runners and dragged down the hall. As the masquerade gas swirled, the Guards took their position. Suddenly, twenty or more green laser sight targeting beams appeared through the gas and tickled across Elvis' head, face and torso.

Elvis casually removed his spectacles, folded them over and slid them in to the pocket of his Tibet vest. He'd always thought he'd have something smart and pithy to say when he met his undoing, but instead he slipped out his lucky Looney and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger, but his wish to quip his way out of danger was not granted. This lot weren't here to chit-chat or take prisoners; they came to dance. Elvis gently rotated on his chair, turning ninety degrees to greet his visitors. The laser sight targeting beams re-focussed, congregating on his person. Elvis held his head up high – there would be no flinching, stiff upper lip and all that – and thought of his mummy.

He heard locking.

"Bugger," Elvis murmured as his executioners unblinkingly opened fire.