Perhaps. But this was so much more than repossession, Apollo felt. This wasn’t guerilla eminent domain, piecemeal seizure. He hadn’t taken the city back; he had hacked it, cutting a hole in the fences of enclosure and watching the source code bleed into the ether. Today was the day Dixie died. Again.

Apollo soaked in the crackling hum of fire consuming metal, his hand gliding over his cheeks as he wiped away the latest wave of nervous, triumphant sweat. Theo couldn’t have handled this heat, Apollo assured himself, laughing out loud despite the globules of tears forming in his eyes.

How had Theo died? he wondered. A bullet was the culprit, he knew, but where had it struck? Did Theo fire shots of his own? Was it an execution or a fight? A struggle or a surrender? Had it been planned from the moment they’d met him, or had it just happened on the fly, a death made from scratch? The only person who knew was Tilly. He’d have to find her, ask her about Theo’s last moments, if he could even muster speaking to her. She was vermin, a vestige of an outdated order. It was infuriating that she was somewhere in his city, breathing the air that mere hours ago she had clogged with surveillance and oversight. Zed, Kai, and Sol could find their way as they saw fit, but Tilly had already chosen her path, and in a world of freedom, it had to be closed off.

Apollo leaped from the car, shuddering as a splitting pain shot through his knee. He should have given them a little more time to escape the building. Finding his bearings, he headed down Tenth Street, toward the highway. The streets glowed in the light of the ambient flames. Emptied cars littered the road, some crushed by falling debris. Bodies, some moving, some still, were just as common, but Apollo strolled past them, amazed by the views. It was unfathomable how wide the laser had been. A house-sized hole had been punched right through Google Atlanta, pulverizing the street. Apollo slid down into a crater the size of a pool, gleefully kicking rocks as he made his way to its center. If his hands hadn’t still been handcuffed, he would have thrown a fist into the air, signing his beautiful work.

After a strained climb out of the other side of the crater, he reached the Tenth Street Bridge, turning around to admire his work from afar. Smoke continued to pour into the sky, but the sound of the fires was muted by some odd drone. Apollo peered over the edge of the bridge. There was traffic! Cars, SUVs, buses, trucks floating along with no particular urgency.