Sombra heard the shouting before she heard the ship. And of course people were shouting. How long had it been since someone had come in from the outside?

'Hey, ese, what is it?' She called, leaving the half-trashed restaurant that doubled as her office.

One of the thugs turned around, a heavy named Omar. He was big, close to six foot but very broad, and carried a club in his left hand with a shotgun over his right shoulder. The general rule was no firearms this close to Sombra – but she trusted him. He'd proven his worth many times in a city where you couldn't really trust anyone.

'Something's flying in. Some real tech.' He looked awestruck. He was. With the dead walking and the robots uprising it seemed like all of civilisation was lost, save their little coven of criminals.

Well, not so little anymore. There were several thousand people living in King's Row now, a warren of streets blocked off from the outside world by barricades of trashed cars and caved in walls. It was the safest place in England – perhaps even the whole of London, or the UK. Not everyone here was a criminal. Some had once been normal civilians, trapped in King's Row with the worst of the worst. But they were all criminals now. The weak didn't survive here.

'So, others did survive.' Sombra couldn't help but be impressed. She'd had a few close calls herself. Anyone who survived in these times deserved respect.

Omar pointed, and Sombra followed him down the cobbled stone street, stained with oil and blood and rainwater.

'Who is it?' he asked.

Sombra frowned. She'd seen that ship before, back in her days working with Talon. There were plenty like it, of course, but this particular one was recognisable from the spider-like design printed on the side.

'That's the Mantis.' She said. 'I used to be friends with the woman who owned it. But that was a lifetime ago. An age ago. The world was not then like it is now.'

Omar nodded sagely. Sombra left him to his reverie and looked around, trying to stimulate her thoughts, thinking of what her next plan of action should be. Because something would have to be done. They couldn't just let outsiders in. They might have news of the world. Perhaps they were leading a resistance. But that was beside the point. She had to set a precedent. She couldn't not be welcoming, or trusting. Even if it was Widowmaker, she'd have to be tough.

There were lots of people around. They'd all heard the ship, or been alerted to it by friends. Lots of men, some strong, some weak, some tough, all dirty and rough looking. The women looked little better. Some were protected by the men in their families, or the men they had chosen. Others roamed the streets to find a way. And some protected themselves, though these were more rare. She did not spot any children. The population of King's Row had precious few under sixteens – perhaps only a few dozen from a population of thousands. The future of humanity did not look promising.

'What do we do, jefe?' Omar asked.

Sombra hadn't even begun to think of a plan. She needed eyes, ears, information. Was it really Widowmaker come to visit? It seemed unlikely. Widowmaker had been trying to leave Talon last time Sombra saw her. She'd known that the heads of Talon were looking to employ their brainwashing programs on her. Either Widowmaker had given in, and now worked for the organisation she hated, or she had been killed. It was unlikely she had escaped.

No one escaped Talon.

'I need access to a computer.' Sombra said, turning back towards the derelict restaurant and flexing her fingers. 'I need to know what's happening.'

The restaurant had stopped serving food years ago, but it had taken Sombra most of that time to clear out the mess. She was lazy. She only took out chairs or dining tables after months of being inconveniently in the way, so that over the course of several years it had very, very slowly transformed from an eatery to a stockpile of junk.

Although it wasn't really junk. It was old, yes, and often faulty, but it was valuable to her. Each scrap of technology she had collected were tested, painstakingly cleared of any Omnic virus remnants, and then put to good use. She had, in this way, created her own private network. No one else – or at least very few people – in King's Row understood enough about technology to help. And there was definitely no one else in King's Row who knew enough to stop her. She was queen of the shanty village because she kept the lights on and the computers buzzing.

She was also queen of the city because she had the cameras.

It had taken a long time and a lot of help to get the cameras installed. Even longer to get the microphones on. But, after a great deal of bribery and threats and overnight sneaking around she had managed it. There were cameras and microphones facing almost every exposed inch of King's Row. There was nothing she couldn't see.

She settled into her seat and pressed her glove to the hand-pad.

The hand-pad, like the glove, was one of few pieces of technology that could be considered advanced. The others included her thermoptic camouflage suit and her translocator – remnants of Talon's superior tech. You couldn't find them anywhere these days. The knowledge to make them was probably lost. But she had them.

The hand-pad was connected to every living network, every piece of tech, every frequency, through a series of emitters as tiny as pin pricks that ran from the tips of her fingers to her wrist. There were hundreds of them. A few hand gestures, a few movements, that was all it took. There was almost nothing she couldn't hack.

The primary computer awoke at her touch, and a dozen connected screens all blinked to life, immediately showing her a wide view of King's Row, the city within a city.

Omar, as always, was impressed. It was this factor – the ease at which he could be impressed – that had saved his life. Sombra would have killed him several times, if she'd needed to. The opportunity had been there. But he was so dumbly besotted with her skill, and probably with her, that she'd never felt threatened by him at all.

'This is so amazing.' He said.

Sombra smiled. 'Thank you.'

A few quick taps and she found the right quadrant. Not all of the cameras she'd installed were on flexible stands – she had never considered the need to look around – but there were a handful, and it was enough to look up into the air at the belly of the Mantis. She switched from camera to camera as necessary, watching it slow as it passed over the length of King's Row, probably scouting for an easy landing. As the flying machine descended through the air it entered the line of sight of many more cameras, making the task of watching it less difficult.

'They're going to the south side.' Omar said.

Sombra nodded. 'Yes. I think they're…'

A rattling, shouting noise echoed up from the nearby stairs. Though Sombra wanted to be annoyed, she found she could not. That noise still brought a smile to her lips. The joy of visiting the prisoner in the cellar had not yet worn off.

'Omar, go check on our guest, would you?'

Omar nodded dutifully and left for the basement. Sombra looked out the window. A number of thugs, armed and dangerous, sauntered past her restaurant. All of them nodded respectfully, some even raised hands in a show of good faith. They expected her to deal with this new occurrence, this ship, this anomaly. And she would.

She would protect the merciless, pitiless, criminal scum that called this place their home.

The Mantis was indeed heading south. It lowered until it could lower no further, then crawled to a hovering stop above an enormous church at the geographical base of King's Row – almost as far away from Sombra as it was possible to be. If Widowmaker truly was piloting that ship, she had probably assumed that Sombra was inside the cathedral. It was, after all, a big building, perfect for a base of operations, and easily defendable.

But Sombra was not the woman Widowmaker remembered. This little restaurant, exposed and far from anything, suited her perfectly. The thugs and vagrants of King's Row didn't bother her because she had proven herself. She did not need to hide in the cathedral. She did not need an army of personal guards. There wasn't a single person in King's Row who would not recognise her authority.

The Mantis tipped its front, crashed through the roof of the church, and apparently settled itself there. So, now they had the easily defendable position. It would do them no good. There was a great distance to travel between the cathedral and where Sombra was now.

Perhaps, Sombra thought absently, they weren't even looking for her. Perhaps they were looking for someone else. Perhaps they weren't looking for anyone in particular, they had just heard that there were survivors here at King's Row. Well, if they were looking to plan an evacuation, they would need a much bigger machine.

Sombra thought about hacking it, and grinned. She would have to get closer, but she was sure she could do it. It had been a long time before she had had that kind of technology.

More rattling, more screaming from down below. Sombra glanced over to the stairs. She did not mind that Omar could not stop their guest from making noises. She had not gagged the guest, after all. But Omar would put some fear into them, perhaps hurt them a bit. And Sombra could go and do the rest if necessary.

Omar walked back up the stairs, looking sheepish.

'Sorry, jefe.'

'It's alright,' she replied, smiling. 'He's a stubborn bastard. I'll go down in a minute.'

'Do we know anything new?' Omar asked.

Sombra gestured to the screen. 'They've found a home in the cathedral.'

She did not yet have cameras in there, which was annoying, but there were several just outside, all of which were pointed at the door. A crowd of thugs were arming themselves just outside, taking cover behind a derelict double decker bus and, further back, behind a wall. There, shining in gold, was the statue of Tekhartha Mondatta.

Sombra scowled at the sight of it. Omnics. She'd have killed the lot if she could. There had once been thousands of Omnics here in King's Row, and in the greater area of London. One of her jobs – after the Fallout – had been wiping them out, a task which she had more or less succeeded. The Omnics had probably repaired themselves by now, they were annoyingly good at that, but at least they were outside the walls.

'A lot of men already there,' Omar mused, 'should we give them orders?'

Sombra had a tech station set up at the Meridian, from which she could send messages. If she wanted to she could call off the defence, and ask for anyone who came out of the cathedral to be escorted to her safely. Or she could tell them to fight to their last breath. She was inclined to go with the latter. She didn't really care if it was Widowmaker or not, it would be fun to see a real fight, and she had the best seat in the house to watch it from.

'Plans, jefe?' Omar asked again.

Sombra tapped a few keys into the machine, and the message was immediately transmitted. Someone over at the Meridian would read it, and relay it. What happened next would be interesting. Sombra leaned back and cracked her fingers, satisfied with her work.

Omar read the message over her shoulder. 'Do you think they'll do as you ask?' he said.

Sombra laughed. 'Of course. They do everything I tell them to. Now, let's go visit our guest. He's still making noise down there, and he should know by now how much I hate distraction.'

As she descended the stairs, she wondered for the millionth time how she had been lucky enough to capture a popstar as famous as Lucio dos Santos. But then, the answer to that was simple. The real question was why had Lucio dos Santos, a popstar of all things, ever decided to be a hero?

She laughed again when she saw him, tied to a chair with tight, chafing rope, blood-red eyes from lack of sleep, skinny arms from lack of nourishment. Yes, this little singer had got exactly what he deserved.