In the middle of a long, boring come-on line from a guy with too much tequila in his system, Tanya's cell phone vibrated against her hip.  She plastered on a fake smile for the guy, held up one finger in the timeless gesture to wait, and pulled the flip phone out of its holster while she was turning slightly away from him.  She thumbed the cover up, read the caller ID and sighed.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry," she said over her shoulder to the guy, who was staring at her like he wasn't sure how many of her there actually were, "but it's work.  Talk later?"<br/><br/>Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked towards the patio, smiling warmly to Jimmy as she passed him breaking up a fight in the corner.  Phone to her ear, she shook a cigarette out of her pack, lit it with her Bic and said, "Talk to me, Baby."<br/><br/>"Baby" was the name she'd given her computer at home, a custom-built machine that was somewhat shy of actual sentience, but with a definite personality of its own.  It had been programmed to forward any messages meeting certain requirements directly to her, and never once had that programming glitched.  Well, okay, once it had, but in Baby's defense, the penis enlargement ad had managed to get around her spam blocker too.<br/><br/>Now, Baby datastreamed information through her cell phone into her ear that would be random line noise to anyone else, but her unique gift translated it for her into a language just as eloquent as English:<em>Message received.  Standard trace routes attempted, but unsuccessful.  Source origin unavailable.  Return address verified.  Message reads:  Madame Tanya, It is understood that you have aptitude in all things technological... </em><br/><br/>Tanya frowned when the first line was transmitted to her, and she had to tell Baby to pause the playback so she could wiggle her little finger inside her ear, just to make sure there wasn't something jammed in there that was distorting the message.  But when she told Baby to resume transmission, she realized she really hadn't been mishearing the datastream.<br/><br/>"Baby," she said, her cigarette burning and all but forgotten between her fingers.  "Reply message to return address; message reads..."  She reeled off the reply she wanted to send, feeling a little dazed and a lot unnerved, but thankful for the fact that the bald text would convey nothing of the sort to the potential client.  If anything, it should sound calm and composed, like supervillains contacted her every day.<br/><br/><em>They do,</em>Tanya thought somewhat ruefully as she snapped the phone closed and tossed her unsmoked cigarette aside.  She lit a fresh stick, inhaled deeply and exhaled as she leaned back against the patio railing, tilting her head back to stare at the club lights dancing in smoggy sky.  She forced herself to think of nothing at all, because if she started thinking, she wasn't going to stop, and right now that wasn't so much of a good thing.<br/><br/>Barely had she finished her cigarette when her phone, still in her hand, vibrated again.  She closed her eyes for a moment, an uncustomary moment of hesitation since she'd opened her doors to all and sundry.  This was big shit.  This was the kind of thing that could get not only her, but her family killed as well.  This was the major leagues, not some small time wannabes like Doombot or The Roach.  This was...<br/><br/>This was freaking<em>Overlord</em>.<br/><br/>But then, the practical side of her mind piped up with its usual argument.  The family home, her own bills, her special equipment and parts... None of it came cheap, and if this was the major leagues, they'd hand her a major league cheque.   A thousand up front, just to consult.  That was rent, right there.<br/><br/>With a sigh, she flipped the phone open again, and listened to the message.  She thought for a moment on how she wanted to respond, then finally sighed and told Baby how to phrase the reply.  Shaking her head, more at herself than anything else, she pushed herself off the railing and put her phone back in its holster, with the intent to make her way out of the club and head over to the next street to see if there was any way she could just get this consultation over with tonight.<br/><br/>What the hell did Overlord, of all people, want with<em>her</em>?  And how the<em>hell</em>had he gotten his infamous hands on her true identity?<br/><br/>She was trying to figure out if she really wanted to know the answer to those questions when the screaming started inside.