If you meet me, have some sympathy 17

The walls of the social network towered above us, smooth and obsidian-black. From where we were hiding I gazed up at its watchful gun-turrets.

Theresa turned to me. ‘You think it’s in there – what you’re looking for?’

I was about to reply when the ground heaved beneath us and a huge worm-virus burst out at the base of the network’s fortifications. Rearing up and baring rings of teeth, the creature threw itself at the glassy surface, scratching away frantically. But the high towers were already raining down merciless fire and it didn’t stand a chance.

There simply had to be a way in. When silence had returned, I rose to my feet, but Theresa pulled me back. ‘Don’t be stupid – it’d be suicide,’ she hissed. ‘We’re spies, remember? We find the back doors.’

She dragged me off along a dimly lit back street behind a neighbouring site. A rough shelter lay half buried and barely visible in the rubble. She paused at the low doorway and seemed embarrassed.

‘Look, I thought I might need it some day, so I set up a home page. We might be able to use the link. But you’ve got to promise not to laugh.’