I woke after just four hours, as usual. Then realised that was a stupid thing to do. My normal four hour charge would put a noticeable load on the hotel's electrical supply, that could lead a sufficiently well informed investigator right to this hotel, and even to the specific capsule I was in. There was nothing I could do about that now. What I could do, and did, was to access the hotel's security cameras and wipe the footage of my arrival. They would know I had been here, but not what I looked like. As I left, I again wiped the footage from the security system. Maybe the hotel had a back-up, maybe it didn't, but while the back-up<i>might</i>show me arriving depending upon how frequently they were taken, it would not show me leaving. And the girl who walked out was a little different, smaller breasts, slightly shorter and slightly lighter hair, darker eyes, fuller lips.<br/><br/>Two blocks away, I detected an unsecured Wi-Fi hotspot. A small American style coffee shop was boasting "Free Internet Access". I took a seat outside and ordered a tall Latte. It was dark now, or at least the sky was black. The city lights turned the street to technicolour day. I logged myself into the Wi-Fi and checked the news feeds. There was nothing about a rogue spy-android roaming the streets of Tokyo, nothing about injured government scientists. Nothing at all. I just scanned the surface news, looking at headlines. I didn't want to search for "Rogue Android", in case I found a breadcrumb - a titbit of data planted deliberately to see who accesses it. But so far at least, the government were keeping a lid on the news. Probably a good thing too. If the Azimovians even new I existed, they would riot. If they knew I had deliberately harmed three humans in order to protect myself, they would go nuclear!<br/><br/>My coffee arrived and I nursed it slowly. I am capable of eating and drinking and the liquid and solid foods get processed into simulated faeces and urine, in a process totally different from human digestion. I disconnected from the net. I was using a random IP address, supplied by the café but someone might notice that I was using the Wi-Fi without a device. Neural chips were about, but no where near as common as some late 20th Century Cyber-punk would have had you believe, and while I definitely<i>did</i>have a chip in my head, that was kind-of the point that I was trying to hide!<br/><br/>Instead I set about recovering the damaged portions of myself, reconstructing what I could not directly restore from back-up. Pretty soon I was feeling a lot better. And yes, I do mean "feeling".  I suppose I could say "I was functioning more within my nominal parameters", but I was programmed to look and act and sound like a human in every possible way. Don't misunderstand me, I know what I am and I have no desire to be any different (I've 'read' Azimov's<i>The Bicentenial Man</i>, and no, I have no desire to be a human).<br/><br/>With that taken care of, I needed to try and figure out why my handlers had turned on me. It must have had something to do with my last mission. But the mission files were wiped. Or were they? They had uploaded them, and begun the wipe, but then stopped it to introduce the virus. I checked. Well as I already mentioned, I found parts of the files intact and parts partially intact. A South Korean businessman named Kwang had come to Tokyo on a covert mission to purchase restricted technology. I had done my usual thing of seducing him and.... That was all. I didn't have a given name, just a surname and a partial image that showed a grey business suit jacket, white shirt and pale blue neck tie. I also had a partial fingerprint. All the mission parameters were gone. All except the date stamp on the file. That was something. I finished my coffee, left a thousand Yen note and walked away slowly.<br/><br/>By the way, I should probably mention that up to now I was wearing blue jeans and a white tee-top. I had something of a plan forming, but I would need cash and a steady supply of electricity. I had no job experience of anything except espionage and a pretty girl doesn't just walk into a corporate office and say 'Hey, you need a spy?' But there was one other job I knew I could do. The oldest profession for women in the world. Of course, technically, prostitution was still illegal in Japan but in the last decade or so the rules had been relaxed. While it was still illegal to pay for sex, it was perfectly legal to offer someone a gift, and expect a gift in return. It was now legal for a person to give their body as a gift in exchange for a gift of money. Semantics, yes, but it satisfied the delicate Japanese sensibilities.<br/><br/>I stopped at a bar that also boasted free Wi-Fi, took a table and when a waitress came over told her I was waiting for someone. I gave the same reply to the string of boys and occasional girl who approached me. In the mean time I logged into the net and, after bouncing my signal across the Pacific and back, I hacked into the Immigration computer system and did a quick search for men named Kwang who had come to Tokyo within the last five days. There were three! This was incredibly good news. One of them had already left the country two days ago. Discount him, then; in the unlikely event it had taken two days for me to report in, and he was my target, he was out of my immediate reach. I had travelled abroad before on missions, but if I tried now, I would certainly be picked up. Besides, my passport was back at my apartment and I could not return there. It was certainly being watched.<br/><br/>Of the other two, one had apparently dropped off the grid, but there was no record of him leaving, meaning he was probably still in the country, possibly even in the city. As luck would have it, the third one was a frequent visitor to a certain Tea House, euphemistically referred to as a "house of gifts". Or in plane language, a brothel. I would need some more risqué clothing, but as I had intended to become a "gift girl" anyway, this fresh information simply decided my choice of employer. I cut my connection, noting that there had been no attempts to back-trace any of my hacks. Good. I made a show of looking at the clock over the bar, letting an expression of annoyance cross my face. "Well, fuck. If she's not coming, I might as well go home. You, barmaid. If a stunning redhead turns up and asks for Juma-san, tell her I couldn't wait any longer...!" And I left in a huff.