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.

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.

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.

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, 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.”

As each of the team enter Suite 4018 on the fortieth floor of the luxurious Ottoman Hotel, they are greeted by their escort from earlier, Tomas, and a second man who shakes their hands firmly and introduces himself as Jonathan Haroun, the Ottoman’s security chief. Haroun isn’t as tall as Tomas although he’s far more bulkily built, and sports a shaved head and a well-trimmed goatee beard which is beginning to grey. He holds himself just as Tomas does though – like a well-trained fighter, alert and ready to spring into action, but with an air as if he’s listening to something others cannot hear. It’s a poise and energy the team all familiar with themselves , often from looking in the mirror: a man who is well used to violence of the kind that kills, and who is being fed information via HUD and communications channel from a computer database about everything he could possibly need to build a tactical picture of every possible threat.

Tomas gives them a quick tour of the suite itself, which is medium-priced for the Ottoman. The suite is very well appointed, in a theme of honey-brown woods and pale gold trimming, with large self-polarizing windows of thick laminate looking out over the city. It has a holo-screen and full top-spec entertainment center, a public terminal with heavily restricted access to the hotel’s own computer net and several device recharging pads in the lounge and each bedroom. It has two bedrooms each with a king-size bed as well as a large lounge holding two couches which produce queen-sized beds when folded out. The bathroom holds a semi-circular hot-tub which can accommodate four, an ultrasound shower with room for two or maybe three and the usual sink and commode – all with gold-plated fittings and marble surrounds. There’s a small kitchen with a ceramic hob, microwave and coffeemaker but the wet bar has been removed. In its place there now stands a gun safe keyed to the team’s ID badges.

After I went my separate ways from the rest of the team for our 10-ish hours of preparation, I remember being pissed. Incredibly pissed. It wasn’t like I couldn’t do without my Reaper or even my Carbine, but it was my strong point, y’know? Played to my strengths quite capably. Besides, I liked my Reaper. Nothing made me feel stronger than it did. That goddamn Emir. If his lackey didn’t dwarf me, and his bastard-ness himself wasn’t paying me very handsomely to do this right, I would’ve just dropped that Sobranni and looked for a head-hunt job.

So, I dug around. I needed a solid pair of guns, so I dug. It didn’t take anywhere near as much… well… “work” as I thought it would. I only had to break one guy’s hand to know who I needed to look for. Some guy called Stick who lived close to the border of Cargo Town. Didn’t wonder why he was called “Stick”. Figured it was just some back-alley nickname. All I thought was that if he swindled me, I’d have to stick it to his dip-shit ass, and hunt for someone else.

Dateline: December 27th 2050, 0900 Local Time.

The team has been summoned – that’s the only way to put it – to the penthouse suite atop the luxurious Ottoman Hotel from which the notorious Friedlander Bey rules his domain. They have a good idea why – the Emir is hosting one of his big Grey Auctions at the massive hotel and casino complex over the next three days and he’ll want to rope them all into providing some extra security, no doubt. Their appointment is for 9.30 am, so – in some cases bleary-eyed and grumpy – they all show up at the massive entryway to the Ottoman nice and early. It doesn’t do to disappoint The Emir. After their vehicles are taken by utterly polite and bright-eyed young valets they all walk in through the marble and chromed main doors.

The entire entryway is designed to impress: a vaulted forty foot ceiling painted in trompe-l’œil painting, marble floors, real plants in brass pots, and a low murmur of wealth. Ahead, sweeping hardwood stairs at least sixty feet wide lead up to the main casino floor. However, the team are intercepted before they can set foot on them by a hard-faced, tall, black man in a midnight leather trenchcoat and wraparound shades. He’s wearing a RFID badge on his lapel which bears the hotel logo and the legend “Ottoman Security”.

He smiles, unconvincingly, and grates out “Gentlemen, welcome to the Ottoman. Can I help you?”

Welcome to News 24/7’s Movers And Shakers – the interactive news and gossip show for webizens focused on what’s going on behind the news in Night City. I’m your host, Robyn Curia.

“First up, our correspondent Veracity Blaize talks live to the infamous Friedlander Bey, owner of the luxury Ottoman Casino Hotel about one of the highlights of the city’s 2050 social calendar, the Grey Auction. Veracity?”

“Thank you, Robyn. Yes, I’m here in the penthouse home of Friedlander Bey, entrepreneur and public benefactor, perched atop the palatial Ottoman Hotel in the colorful Vimes Hill area, a favorite with tourists and locals alike. Mr. Bey, thank you for agreeing to this interview at what must be a very busy time.”

“He’s burning out, Aurora. They just didn’t build him for these repeated wipes.”

I was swimming in a weightless darkness, floating above all that man had built and surveyed. Nothing could touch me; nothing was important.

“It’s been set for retirement already, Andrew. The hardware will last long enough for Elkins’ little project.”

I twirled in that darkness, and I was looking down upon a falling star, burning so bright. It was so close – so close – I could just reach out to it and hold it in my grasp.

“We’re going through him too fast, Aurora; if we don’t lay up-“

A soft, mechanical voice whispered in my ear. “Contact in five… four…”

I was falling, being pulled back to the Earth. The first gust of wind was a shock; it sent me tumbling, twisting.

“Three… two…”

I could feel the fires as the heat began to grow, hotter and hotter, until it was eating away at my flesh.

“One…”

The light of the plasma front was blinding. Everything was so bright, and I opened my mouth to scream.

“Contact.”