Twenty minutes later, Albert was in his office, the panoramic view of London stretching out behind him. His PA had set up the secure call on the wall screen—half a dozen video feeds already flickering to life. NHS Digital on one side, the software vendor’s executives on another, two GCHQ analysts in a bland government room, and the Cabinet Office dialling in audio-only like the disembodied voice of God.

Poppy lounged on the corner of his desk, swinging her legs and eyeing the blinking lights on the speakerphone like they were some sort of game console.

“Right,” Albert began, clasping his hands in front of him. “We’ve all seen the impact reports. Patients being diverted, surgeries cancelled, critical care under threat. This isn’t just a technical fuck-up—this is people’s lives. So, let’s cut the bullshit and deal with it.”

The NHS lead straightened in their chair. “We’re following the existing protocols, Mr. Nestory. Our incident response—”

“Your incident response,” Albert cut in, “is slower than a fucking glacier on holiday. We don’t have time for twelve layers of approval. We find the breach, we isolate it, we lock the doors, and then we talk about whose fault it is over a nice bottle of wine after the wards are running again.”

One of the vendor executives bristled. “With respect, sir, our encryption is—”

“Oh, don’t start that,” Albert said sharply. “Your encryption is like putting a cardboard lock on Fort Knox and then acting shocked when someone kicks the door in. I need real fixes, not a brochure.”

Poppy stifled a laugh behind her hand, her wings twitching. “You’re good at this,” she murmured.

Albert muttered back without thinking, “Shut it.”

The NHS lead frowned. “Sorry, was that to me?”

“No,” Albert said quickly, “just—talking to… myself. Continue.”

The Cabinet Office voice cut in. “Mr. Nestory, can you coordinate with GCHQ on the forensic tracing? We’ve authorised access to the attacker’s communication node.”

“Good,” Albert said, leaning forward. “Get me every packet log, every handshake, every suspicious byte that’s moved in the last forty-eight hours. If they sneezed near a server, I want to know what colour it was.”

A GCHQ analyst smirked faintly. “And you’ll liaise with the hospitals directly?”

“Yes. I’ll need the latest patient diversion maps and on-site IT contacts. We keep this centralised and move fast—one voice, one plan. Otherwise, this is going to turn into a fucking clown car of half-baked ideas.”

Poppy leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Clown cars sound fun.”

Albert gave her a withering look, which unfortunately made the vendor CEO on screen think it was aimed at him. The man immediately stopped speaking mid-sentence.

Albert didn’t correct him. “Right, everyone knows their role. I want an initial containment report in three hours. And if I see another generic press statement that says ‘we’re working on it,’ I will lose my shit.”

He ended the call before anyone could object.

Poppy clapped her tiny hands. “Well! You do command a room. Even if half of them think you’ve lost your mind.”

Albert rubbed his temples. “Half of them? I’m being generous if I say it’s not all of them.”