iBoy

for myself. It was almost as blank as Lucy's page — i.e. no pictures, no information, etc. — but I did include two favourite films, Spider-Man and Spider-Man 2, because me and Lucy had watched them together once, and under the Music section I put Fall Out Boy and Pennywise, because I knew that Lucy really liked them.

When it came to choosing a name for myself, I thought about it for quite a long time, and eventually — bearing in mind the name that Lucy used on her MySpace profile (aGirl), and the fact that I was, whether I liked it or not, part iPhone and part boy — I settled on the name that one of the Crows had called me earlier that day.

I called myself iBoy.

Lucy's page was set to private, which under normal circumstances meant that only her friends could send her messages (if she'd had any friends). And that meant that if I wanted her to add iBoy as a friend, I'd have to send her a request, wait until she logged on again, hope that she wanted to add me ... and I really didn't want to do all that. And, besides, these weren't normal circum­stances ... and I was iBoy, after all. All I had to do was think about adding myself to her friends, think about customizing the message connection between us, making it totally private, totally instant, and totally restricted to aGirl and iBoy, and then think about sending her a message ... and it was done.

hello aGirl, I wrote/thought/sent, i hope you don't mind me sending you this message, but i read your blog and i know that you didn't really mean anyone to read it, but i just wanted to let you know that if you ever feel like talking to someone, you could always talk to me. i know you don't know me, and i could be anyone, but for what its worth i'm not anyone you shouldn't talk to. i'm not anything really, just a 16 -year-old boy who doesn't under­stand what's going on.

anyway, if you want to talk to me that'd be great, but if not, just don't reply or tell me to go away, and i prom­ise you'll never hear from me again.

iBoy

At 04:17:011 learned that my video function was on all the time, filming everything that I saw, and that all I had to do to play anything back was remember it, and then play it.

And between 04:48:22 and 06:51:16 I learned that it's really hard to get to sleep when you know everything there is to know, and that superpowers — no matter how powerful they are — are no help at all when you're crying on your own in the darkness.

1001

Few things are simple in Gangland. Your day-to-day activities, your role, your future, the people with whom you work, the people with whom you fight — all are uncertain, transient. But, paradoxically, most gang members have a clearly defined perception of how the drug market is structured. The best way to understand the way that market works is to imagine the process by which fruit is sold in a supermarket. In this case the producers operate in Jamaica and South America. The top gang members to whom they sell, the Elders and Faces, are the supermarket's head office. Below them are the Youngers: the branch managers. And working the supermarket's tills and on the shop floor are the Shotters.

John Heale

One Blood (2008)

I slept for precisely forty-one minutes and two seconds that night (or rather that morning), and it would have been really nice to stay in bed the next day and not do anything. But I was too tired to sleep by then. And, besides, I knew that if I stayed in bed, all I'd do was carry on thinking about things, and I'd just about had enough of thinking for now.

I needed to do something.

I went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and then — standing naked in front of the mirror — I switched on my iSkin and watched as my whole body began glow­ing and shifting. It was an amazing sensation. The outline of my body — the defining shape of it — became blurred and indistinct, merging into the background, like some kind of weird super/cyber-chameleon, and when I moved, the movements left fleeting trails in the air, making everything seem even blurrier. I stood there for a minute or two, sta­ring at myself, and then — when I couldn't bear the weirdness any more — I switched it all off and got into the shower.

Twenty minutes later, as I was rummaging around in the sitting room, looking for my shoes and my bag and stuff, Gram shuffled in, still wearing her dressing gown and slippers. From the bags under her eyes and the way that she couldn't stop yawning, I guessed that she hadn't slept much either.

'Morning, Tommy,' she mumbled, stifling another yawn. 'What time is it?'

'About eight,' I told her. 'Have you seen my bag any­where?'

'What bag?' She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. 'What are you doing?'

'My school bag,' I said. 'I can't find it anywhere.'

'School?' she said, starting to wake up now. 'What are you talking about? You're not going to school.'

'Why not?'

'Oh, come on, Tommy ... you've only just got back from hospital, for God's sake. You were in a coma for seventeen days, and you had major surgery. Or have you forgotten all that?'

I smiled at her. 'Forgotten all what?'

She shook her head. 'It's not funny ... you need to rest. The only reason Mr Kirby let you come home was because I promised him that I'd make sure you got plenty of rest.' She looked at me. 'You've got to take it easy for a while, love.'

'Yeah ... but I'm fine, Gram. Really —'

'I know you are. And I mean to make sure that you stay that way.'

'But I was only going to school to pick up some text­books and stuff,' I said. 'I wasn't going to stay there all day or anything.'

'Well... even so,' she said, hesitating slightly. 'I really don't think you should be out and about yet.'

It was only a slight hesitation, but it was enough to let me know that I was on the right track.

'I'll only be about half an hour,' I told her. 'I promise. Ten minutes there, ten minutes to get the books, ten minutes back.'

Gram shook her head. 'I don't know, Tommy ... why do you need the books anyway? I mean, how come you're so keen on learning all of a sudden?'

'Maybe it was the brain surgery,' I said, smiling at her. 'Maybe it's turned me into a budding genius.'

A faint smile flickered on her face. 'It'd take more than major brain surgery to turn you into a genius.' I pulled an idiot face. She laughed.

I said, 'So, can I go then? I promise I won't be long.' She shook her head again, and sighed. 'You exploit my better nature, Tom Harvey. You know that, don't you?'

'Who me?'

'You're evil, you are.'

'Thanks, Gram,' I said.

She sighed again. 'Your bag's in the kitchen.'

When I got out of the lift on the ground floor, the post­man was just coming in through the main doors. I held