Dateline: December 28th 2050, 0005 Local Time

It’s just after midnight as the team exits the elevator on the seventh floor of the opulent Ottoman Hotel. The place is buzzing – the main theater area is full of Glitterati and gawkers as their current boss, Friedlander Bey, opens the notorious Grey Auction, an event which sells expensive stolen property in full public view over three days. The concourse is thronged with well-dressed guests, and the concessions lounge is open and doing a roaring trade in expensive food, drink, souvenirs and fashion accessories. For a moment they stop to absorb the bustle, then begin their sweep of the floor.

Pacoy has been preparing his Toys. “Okay Guys, a rundown – five Buzzbots: I was thinking one concealed in each of the 2 stairwells, one on Floor Two concealed near the Backgammon area, one on Seven in the Main theater, and one in our room just in case – all on standby.” Pacoy tics off the points on his fingers. “I have three Pinbots on me, a mini-can of bear-foam in the room that can be swapped into a fire-safety bot, and one ach of my Mako and Duwende light-ground-bots in the room ready for placement Oh…and a Kestrel. I’m open for tactical input…”

Mac adjusts his new Vortexo pistol as it sits in his coat pocket, jogging it so it sits more naturally. “Gotta say, this place is more alive than a bar at the end of the workweek. You certainly are prepared, Pacoy. I’ve got my eyes, ears, and my camera. I’d say we focus on the auction to start off – not sure where the threat is liable to surface from yet.” Pitbull keeps his eyes on the guests as he grunts a reply to Pacoy. “Sounds like you’ve got it, brah.” Able nods, his face shifting into a stylishly handsome older gentleman with a slight streak of gray in his hair. He fades into the background and begins mingling with the guests immediately as he continues the subvocal communication. “Sounds acceptable, Pacoy.” As Able moves, he carefully watches for anything that seems out of place or for anyone acting suspiciously.

Candy ticks off on his own hands, "Right, and Hugh can assist with surveillance of those stationed Buzzbots and any other tasks where you think his skills will be of use. I’ll start making conversation with any guests that strike a cord, see if I can find anyone claiming to be something they’re not. Make some friends, check in and use them as thermometers for unusual activity or individuals.”

After I took my sweet time looking around the suite, I bid my pals farewell as we split up as I made my way to the stairs. The elevator would be faster, but there’s no better way to get to know a place than to put shoes to asphalt and get a feel for her. Once I was down out of the residential sections, I made a point to make a slow and easy lap around each floor, casing the security of the joint. Everything seemed to match up with the face we were shown by the mouthpiece upstairs, right down to the location of each of the cameras. They reminded me to pull my trusty lens out and play amateur paparazzi and tourist, snapping various locations on each floor for reference later. I never forgot a place once I visited, but like they used to say: a picture’s worth a thousand words, especially when you can show it to someone faster than describing it.

Dateline: December 28th 2050, 0215 Local Time

The team have just heard an all-points security bulletin about a man who was acting suspiciously outside the Ottoman Hotel, where they’ve been contracted to provide extra security during the infamous Grey Auction. When the police approached the man, he tried to run so one cop hit him with a stunning electrolaser – and the guy blew up!

The hotel’s A.I. has identified the same man as having been in the hotel not a half hour before the incident, having used the restroom on the 5th floor mezzanine casino level before exiting the building quickly, crunched over a bit as if in pain.

Now the team are rushing to that restroom, there to check for any bombs the man might have left behind.

However, just as their elevator arrives at the correct floor, they hear in their comms: “Gamma-Pitbull. This is the reception. We had a street urchin at the desk a moment ago who says you know his father, someone called ‘Stick’ if you can believe that? He has a message – apparently someone called Wilson was at their house asking about you and that you’d know what that meant. Reception out.”

Pitbull goes white and slumps against the side of the elevator. “Aw fuck, why now? Guys, I gotta take care of something, go on without me and I’ll be back as quick as I can.” Mac looks at Pitbull in confusion. “More important than a — I’ve got to hear the story about this later.” He strides towards the restroom as quickly as he can without inspiring panic. As the rest of the team exit the elevator on the 5th floor, overlooking the main casino floor, Pitbull thumbs the elevator for the ground floor and the doors close on him as he checks his pistols.

Pacoy cautiously approaches the rest-room doors, dreading the mess he imagines might be left by a terrorist keistering a bomb. He sees a pair of Hotel security standing outside the restroom doors, directing customers to the fourth floor facilities. For all it is after 2 am, the casino is still full and buzzing. Candyman takes up position outside to easing the public away from the work site, “I’ll keep the riff-raff out, just focus on the bomb” Candy says over comms as Able heads straight up to the security staffers, showing his Ottoman badge as he approaches. Mac quips back, “I’m having trouble focusing on anything else.” as he stacks up behind Able, anxious looking and ready to react to anything he finds in the bathroom when they get inside.

The ride on the elevator, the couples talking in the halls, even the deftly hidden watchers of the Bey – things were beginning to grow dire. I’ve seen this before, everyone on the outside is oblivious, but the internal pressures build and those on the inside can no longer wrap themselves in the comfort of ignorant bliss. The blind were already reacting to the changes, even if they did not understand it, the ever so guarded postures and the lingering eyes. It would not take much to blow this amalgam of humanity into full riot – how even the most powerful are at the whims of a thousand baying sheep. Now I seek a shepherd, Mrs. Blaize.

The Level 9 media center sprawls out like a modern day ‘Cave of Wonders’ in the subdued twilight – video banks throwing blurs of light against the hungry specters darting viciously about the room. I’ve never particularly cared for the media, even when they were on ‘our’ side, running damage control or convincing the local denizens to sell their land rights away to us. Even if you get a few under your thumb – everyone’s got a pack of wolves. Then, here I am, seeking out a pack alpha. Then again, what’s a few mangy mutts fighting for scraps compared to a lion.

I ran out of Bey’s Casino with the closest thing to fear I’ve had since my childhood. Whatever this was, I knew it damn sure wasn’t anything like coincidence. Wilson was dead. He had to have been. I made his throat smile red myself!

I ran as fast as I could possibly go. I had to catch up to the urchin, or at least make it to my current hideout. It didn’t take long for me to just cut the idea of catching Stick’s kid, and return to my hideout to bunker down. If Wilson was coming for me, he’d have to get through an abandoned hospital lined to the corner with traps and explosives.

I rushed around corners, knocked over streetwalkers, punched out a dumbass mugger, and trampled a street performer in my rush to my hideout. In hindsight, all of that running only made me a prime target. I had compromised my hideout in my attempt to hide. Foolish, but I was in a hurry.

Dateline: December 28th 2050, 0515 Local Time

The Ottoman Hotel never sleeps; it is an ever-busy hive, a temple to restless hedonism – there is no rest for the wicked at the Ottoman and so in the darkness before dawn the team find themselves in the office of the hotel’s security chief, Jonathan Haroun.

Haroun stands behind a gray metal desk the size of a small aircraft carrier, his calloused hands placed on the clear smart-glass surface as he leans over the desk to yell at them. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Never mind! You weren’t thinking! If it weren’t for Jacob’s fast talking, one or both of the keynote artistes contracted for the Auction’s entertainments would have walked by now! As it is, the boss has had to promise Lady Yan a bonus. On the bright side, Kali!‘s team have got her under sedation and say she’s likely to remember none of what happened. As to the little spat with Big Bill Farthing….” The security chief pauses at last for a shaky breath. “Let me make it very fucking clear to you – our V.I.P. guests are called that for a fucking reason, and are entitled to bring their own security into the hotel. You have to allow those bodyguards to honor any reasonable threat, and give them time to stand down before you try to shoot them. Am I fucking crystal on that? Do Not Shoot Them Unless There Is No Alternative. I want to hear a ‘hell yeah’ on that. Well?”

Able nods. “Yes sir. But may I make a suggestion?” There’s a squeak of abused metal as the security chief’s right fingers dig into the edge of the desk, but he straightens and takes a calming deep breath. “Yes, Able?”

Mac looks down his nose at Haroun, his trigger finger flexing instinctively as though scratching an invisible itch. This boob’s awful uptight. Mac shrugs and looks over towards Able. Pacoy stands calmly, listening the lecture and thanking himself that he restrained his first instinct to shoot into the melee with his actual pistol – that probably wouldn’t have gone over very well.

Able stands straight, looking the security chief in the face; his little ‘intimidation’ attempt hadn’t exactly impacted his brain, since it had its fear center surgically burned away. “It’s typically standard practice to evacuate civilians from an area where combat is taking place, especially if they aren’t within the line of fire. Further, all information we were given, including the arrangement of the room and the civilians taking cover and the newsies coverage, suggested that Lady Yan was the perpetrator and currently attacking that room. If we had been provided with adequate information, or the hotel’s regular security team had followed typical guidelines, then this would not have occurred.”

Candy places his arms behind his back with clasped hands, “Marid has facial recognition, all the V.I.P’s are in the data banks. All we need to do is allow him to validate individuals as V.I.P’s, staff, or unknowns or customers. No need for there to be a repeat of this incident, Marid, can you do that for us? Set up a subroutine to follow us around and through Augmented Reality give us status’s of everyone we see in your domain?”

Haroun sighs, and finally sits in his big desk chair. “You’re both right, of course. I got an ass-reaming from Mr. Battersea over this and as you all know shit has to roll downhill some, but you are still right. Marid, implement Candyman’s suggestion with all the roving teams. Also, whenever they respond to an alert I want a burst of whatever surveillance you have of the previous three minutes sent to them, ok?”

Marid’s voice issues from the desk: “yes, Sir. Run-time reallocated.” Able nods, satisfied with the result. “Understood. We’ll take our lumps, but it’s always best to use negative situations as a learning experience.” Candy looks to Able then the rest of the team, “I don’t think any V.I.P’s are going to be in on this gig – blowing up a locale good for their faces to shine and to book a profitable night? We can only expect so much from Marid – he needs pushes in the right direction, A.I.’s are particular like that. Yes, he told us about the fight but its not in his programming to spell it all out for us. Lets try to keep that in mind and make his job a little easier, it will sure as hell make our job easier.”

Mac starts laughing under his breath, lips barely moving as he mutters into the sub-comms, “Able, were you born with stones like that, or did you have them installed after?”

The light was as dim as the glow of a dying fire as we stepped through the sliding doors to exit the Ottoman. Pitbull had to pull me back as I almost walked into the police barricade stretched around the body of the poor man who went off like a cheap firework earlier. The scattered crowd and news crews made navigation difficult, but we were able to duck through without causing too much of a scene, hopping onto the next subway train headed to Pacheco.

Approaching the Peach Trees hab block, I pulled Pitbull into a nearby alleyway, netting myself a low growl before it became apparent I had accidentally grabbed one of his injuries. “Sorry big guy. We should get those looked at when we get done snooping around here.” That got me a grunt of assent, so I unholstered my camera and began snapping shots of the block. A few of the ground floor shops were as empty as an Irishman’s whiskey bottle, but some of them had been fortified with mangled barricades of Quickcrete and metal bars. Spotting some movement amongst the fortifications, I quickly pointed it out to Pitbull. “Sentries? Is Skyberg like The Sultan of Swat around these parts? A real big league hitter?”

Pitbull glanced sidelong at me as he snatched the camera from my hand, peering downrange at the holdout. He snorted and began to play with his combat knife after lighting himself yet another cigarette. “They ain’t with Skyberg. He’s a two-bit hacker. This is just some boostergang staking their turf. Two men watchin’ over the main entrance, probably six others off-guard inside. Leader’s in, the rest probably out causin’ a ruckus.” His grating voice sent a chill down my spine as he told me exactly the best way to neutralize the entire holdout with minimal exposure to ourselves. Here was a man with a violent past, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, is the past is a tool to be learned from. If its lessons are not adhered to, one is doomed…

Transcript, Midday New Extra, News 24/7 Night City, December 28th 2050

VB: This is Veracity Blaize, reporting for News24/7, your eye on Night City. I’m sitting in the main auditorium of the luxury Ottoman hotel and casino in Core Night City, which just an hour ago was the filled with the rich and famous of five continents as the inaugural session of the 2050 Grey Auction got underway. The auctioneer, as ever, was Mornington art dealer and bon vivant Agustin Hashaway, who managed the often-frenetic pace of bidding like an old master. Bidding was brisk and excitement high as the first consignment of items came under the hammer, each one with a reserve price of no less than $100,000.

The big ticket items of the day were: a pair of matched 18th century handmade British shotguns, which made $2.5 million and were bought by Sensie star pairing Hector Dahl and Corine Ven; a mint condition 1964 Chevy Malibu which last belonged to the Texan President, which went to an undisclosed Net bidder; and the electronic ghost of the head of the British secret police, which went for a dizzying $3.6 million after a two-way bidding war between Shaina Chacon, the new head of DreamCorp’s Night City facility, and the British Consul-General himself. The Consul-General was as obviously very pleased with his purchase as the DreamCorp’s exec was unhappy – especially when she received a phone call just before the last bid.

But the auction is not the only story, or even the biggest story, here today.

Dateline: December 28th 2050, 1300 Local Time

The team have met up back in their Ottoman Hotel suite. there. they’ve received a briefing from Mac and Pitbull about their little scouting jaunt to the Pacheco Prospects and seen [[News 24/7 Breaking | the mid-day News 24/7 segment]] featuring a carefully disguised Candyman. They have exactly five hours until the evening Auction session begins – and Able has been told his Rossum masters want him to bid on Lot 63, a crate of forty examples of an experimental gauss weapon. Bidding on the new technology in the crate is expected to be keen and David Elkins has authorized a bid of up to $800,000, four times what the crate is worth in retail terms.

Mac paces back and forth, threatening to wear out the room’s carpet. “Five hours? What do we want to do with five hours – worry about sanitizing the septic system, deal with the hacker, or something else?” Able stands near the entrance to the room, his ‘normal’ face currently out and active. His voice is simple and professional. “Our best chance of sanitizing the septic system in such a short time is an antibacterial, and our best chance of getting one is the scientist who made it – and you just found her for us, Mac.” Pitbull pops his neck and rubs at his side as he drags from his cigarette, trying to remember how many he has smoked today.

A sly grin slips across Mac’s face like a glass across a well polished bar. “Just doing what I was trained to do, same as anyone else.” He frowns. “She’s got a pack of Dobermans between us and a negotiation, though. Not to mention a pair of gams six miles long.” “I’ll take the Gams, you take the Dogs…” Pacoy offers with a smile “Teamwork.”

“Hell, I’ll take the dogs. Easy shots, easy kills.” Pitbull growls through his hand as he scratches his lip. Mac laughs, “You have a strange definition of easy – cybernetically enhanced attack dogs in a narrow hallway?” Mac looks at Pitbull. Bo’s as crazy as the day is long, but I don’t doubt he could do it. Laughing a bit, he looks at Pacoy. “That’s teamwork all right, I guess. Never did go in for chem-addicts.”

Able opens the door. “Let’s move out, then; maybe we can avoid the dogs entirely, find another way in.”

Dateline: December 28th 2050, 1530 Local Time

Friedlander Bey, hotelier and crime boss, has hired the team as security consultants at the Ottoman Hotel for the duration of the Grey Auction, a three day event selling high-priced stolen goods which is attended by Glitterati from all over the world. The event had been threatened by two groups: rival Russian mobsters from the Southside and a terror group called 23Enigma. The team caught some people hired by the Russian mob to cause a scene and know there are others, but also discovered that the terrorists had used a gene-tailored bacteria to turn the hotel’s sewer system into one gigantic bomb. The team identified some of the terrorists and tracked them to their lair, hoping to discover a gene-tailored answer to the bacteria infecting the hotel.

The terrorists were holed up in an apartment on the 12th floor of the Peach Trees Hab-Block in Pacheco Prospects, a down-at-heel area of hi-rise cheap housing. As the team crept up on the apartment, they were discovered and attacked by three cyberhounds, the terrorists and by their secret weapon, a homebrewed cyborg war machine. The team killed the hounds and cyborg as well as managing to capture all of the terrorists except one, after incapacitating some with non-lethal weapons. The terrorist’s hacker – Raymond Skyberg – blew his own brains out with a pistol rather than be captured.

Now, the team are standing in a partly-ruined apartment where the kitchen seems to have been converted into a micro-biology laboratory. In the living room there’s a large and expensive looking computer rig obviously used by the hacker. The window is missing, the front door hangs from a single hinge and there are sleeping bodies everywhere, with two sniveling terrorists in the bedroom. The team knows who one of the survivors is – the biochemist Bianca Klieber – but has no I.D. on the others as yet.

Mac crouches near Bianca, eyes full of concern. _Broad just went through a tough time – first she suffered through an assault, then watched a hacker become an amateur artist with his own fluids and a cold metal paintbrush. His eyes flit to Pacoy, then to Able. “Is there any way we can secure the rest of the team so they’re not a threat, and then see about what cyber-coward here was desperate to hide from us?” His eyes then flick to Pitbull. “You alright pal? Was worried when you were coming through the window.” “Not a scratch I didn’t already have.” Pitbull says as he plucks one of the slugs that had imbedded itself in his ballistic trench coat, without taking his eyes off of the bloody mess that use to be the hacker.

Able nods at Mac, then glances to Pitbull. “Use the rope from the rig to tie the prisoners up.” Able turns to the hacker’s setup, first checking that there are no deadman switches or other nasty surprises before setting himself up to investigate its contents. “I have some vac tape, anyone have anything more secure, or should we just do it ‘quick and dirty’?” Pacoy asks.

Candy leans against the shattered doorframe, monoslicer held limply between thumb and forefinger, “No harm will come to anyone here, that you all are still alive is testament to that fact. We’ll talk more when you’ve been moved to safer quarters.” Candy says more to himself than anyone in particular.