We hadn’t had slept. The adrenaline rush was still pumping, gone 5am when Tower 327 burst into life and began projecting the dawn briefing into my visual cortex implant. How anyone is expected to sleep when the daily briefings are pumped in five times a day, I don’t know, but I was low on credits, so I had to watch the whole broadcast. Ellie had switched her implant off. She was pretending to sleep, but I knew she was awake. ​“Wake up. We made the news!” I was out of bed, though still naked, when the news report started. Ellie was still in bed, with the sheets draped over her mound, protecting her decency from…I don’t know who? She looked like an old oil painting, with her chestnut ringlets pinned back, and her voluptuous breasts falling out from under the white sheet. There was no reason to worry. We’d stayed awake all night, retracing our steps and checking our security protocol. Underground server. Double VPN. Stolen hard-link. They shouldn’t have been able to trace us…but were we sure? The news reporter appeared grave, like it was his wall that we’d bombed. Ellie switched her VCI back on. “This morning the national news agency has learned that late yesterday evening WCI was victim of a digital break-in. It is understood that a number of unknown terrorists hacked the WCI mainframe, and in an act known as ‘bombing’, wrote messages of descent within the network’s source-code. Warwick Charles himself was unavailable for comment but a representative of the company made the following statement: ‘We can confirm that a breech in our firewall occurred between 10pm and midnight yesterday. No data was extracted however some subversive code deposited by the terrorists was identified and removed within a few hours.’ No group has yet claimed responsibility; however, suspicions are growing that the anarchist movement known as ‘The Blue Square Collective’ may be behind the attack.” Ellie smirked. She seemed to think we were already in the clear. ​“We should go out and celebrate.” ​“It’s quarter to six!” ​“But we just got our first national ping. Bet they’ll let us in Dragon Bar free now!” She was right, it was a big deal for us, but I was less confident that we had covered our tracks. Part of me still expected, any second, to hear WCI private forces kicking in Dad’s front door and dragging us off to a discrete location where there were no Towers to see what happens. *** I tried to play it nonchalant and changed the subject. I knew she was watching me, so I repositioned my full-length swivel mirror until it framed my whole body, then I breathed in and plumped up my chest. “You know, sometimes they don’t look real.” Ellie didn’t reply. “I mean, I know they are real, but sometimes they just don’t look right. Yours at least look like they belong there, but mine are these little squished balls of raw bread dough, like they haven’t risen yet.” I massaged them together and squeezed them upwards to give myself the maximum possible cleavage and tried to find a good angle to admire them, but my hands seemed to cover them up. I let go with a disappointed sigh and they sprung back into position with barely any movement. Ellie got out of bed, came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. ​“I get it. You don’t want to talk about our new-found fame,” she whispered into my ear whilst kissing my neck, “Anyway, I like your little boy tits.” “Oi!” She giggled and started to caress them. “With these little aspirins I’m sure some pillow-princess will look after you in prison.” “For fuck sake Ellie.” I wanted to explain how nervous I still was, and how un-funny I found that, but she distracted me as her hands slowly moved lower. She stroked down the gully between my ribs, past my belly button, and lower still, stopping just at the apex... Her fingers were poised. I gasped. “Girls. Breakfast.” Dad shouted up from the kitchen. Great timing Dad! I turned around, gave Ellie a quick peck on the lips, then we broke away and both scrabbled around my bedroom floor looking for our clothes. *** “Remember, be normal.” I said, pulling my boxers up over my bony bum. “What do you mean, normal?” “This isn’t easy for him.” “Oh you mean, be straight.” I checked her a momentary glare. “I could always flirt with him a bit. Give him a quick hand-job with his morning coffee. Would that be normal enough for you?” “Fuck off! You know what I mean.” “He should be more worried that his precious daughter is a digital terrorist!” she said with an ugly snorting laugh as she whipped my thighs with her knickers. *** Once we were both dressed, we joined my Dad in the kitchen. He’d made omelettes and God only knows how many credits he’d spent on the eggs; obviously trying to prove how ‘ok with us’ he was. Not that I was complaining, I hadn’t had an omelette in months, it’s just…I know if Mum was still around, she wouldn’t have made it weird. Nevertheless, I didn’t wait on ceremony. I was suddenly ravenous. Ellie wanted to be polite but when she saw me going at it, she started smashing in her breakfast too. I guess when you’re up all night on adrenaline you burn a lot of calories. ​“Did you girls see the dawn briefing?” Dad said in a vain attempt to strike up small-talk, “I just don’t see the point in some of the things these anarchists do.” Ellie looked like she wanted to retort, and I was just about to kick her under the table when we heard the thing that had kept us up all night: The dreaded rasps at the front door. ​“Security services. Open up!”