Re: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND TWO: ETA CARINA]
07-31-2012, 05:57 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sanzh.
Lotsak'ash was remarkably old. He had a special kind of longevity, the type granted to those who had chosen to bind their soul in pursuit of an unending existence. The lich had existed for a virtual eternity, surviving through the innumerable rises and falls of Eta Carina, weathering the times when its flow of limitless wealth had nearly been stoppered. Myriad intrigues and hatreds had been refined over the centuries-- and after so long, no one on Eta Carina doubted his position as one of its most influential and respected citizens.
Today, however, Lotsak'ash was demonstrably furious-- a rarity, considering that strong emotions tend to wither away after a millennium of patient intrigue and scheming. After a decades-long retirement, Montcorbier had shown up once more. While many had forgotten the immortal who had stripped Eta Carina of its collected wealth, the lich had not. The notion of him returning, nonchalantly walking along streets he had no right to be on, planning some new caper to extract the wealth of Eta Carina solely for the thrill of such escapades-- the lich would not stand for such an affront.
Montcorbier would not be likely to empty the vaults of his previous victims; as much as Lotsak'ash smoldered with petty hatred, he was more than willing to concede that his foe possessed the acumen to not commit such blunders. But that wasn't going to prevent the lich from intervening, from interrupting no-doubt carefully orchestrated plans. After all, word on Eta Carina spread quickly-- rumors and secrets were just as much a currency as the casino chips drifting through circulation. And, were someone to accidentally slip a rumor that a heist was imminent, in short order it'd trickle down-- moving from the upper echelons of wealthy socialites, down to the ambitious gamblers attempting to win a position at the top, down to the ambling masses of tourists and even further down to the debtors living in the cordoned-off alleyways and gutters. In anywhere from hours to days it would be near impossible to find someone unaware of the upcoming caper.
There were quite a few groups who would be interested in such a development-- the cardsharp demons of the Scarmaglione family were one such party, but there were others. He was not the only one who remembered Montcorbier, and there were a great many cliques that would be more than willing to assist in pushing along his pernicious rumor.
The lich smiled-- or approximated a smile as best a skeleton could. Montcorbier's heist was going to be interesting.
---
Kriok's scanning algorithms were adjusting. The heuristics routines disseminating the wall of sensory input no longer bombarded the avian with a thoughtless deluge, but had filtered the countless denizens and gaudy wonders of Eta Carina down to a small sampling of useful tidbits. The indulgent excess was still present, but it had been reduced to something tolerable-- Kriok could at least walk through the endless promenades without wanting to pulverize her visual sensors. Hesitation still kept the avian in check-- in sieving through the sensory cavalcade, some of Eta Carina's dangers were obscured. A twinge of uneasiness still permeated every step.
Her journey into The Resplendent Palace had been marked by the transition from the gilded, ostentatious wealth and violet haze of Eta Carina's arterial passages into a subdued, sophisticated air of refinement. She stood in stark contrast to its aloof patrons-- while they had adorned themselves in luxurious accoutrements, the avian had marred herself with utilitarian augmentations and layers of industrial-grade cybernetic grafts.
Just as she paused, automated processes reminded her to keep moving-- that she was squandering time subjecting herself to the scrutinizing gaze of Eta Carina's nobility. A taloned hand brushed against her head plumage, as Kriok made a half-hearted attempt at presentability. Taking a brief moment to process the crowd, she approached one of the casino's servants.
"I was sent here to meet Montcorbier." She said, trying to subdue her disdain for the omnipresent glamour.
The servant silently nodded in response, motioning for her to follow.
The invisible air of condescension around the waiting staff seemed to evaporate, replaced with an atmosphere of clinical hospitality. As she moved across the casino floor, attendants seemed to intercept her, their routines and patrols adjusting to incorporate her own snaking path. Waiters would deferentially proffer plates of finger food, others attempted to provide sophisticated libations. Kriok waved them aside as best she could-- their politeness put her at unease. The trust she had placed in her decision to come here was tenuous; her trust in its occupants was even less assured.
Cybernetic relays deliberated as she walked. She could still hear the murmurs of contemptuous socialites, but their conversations had shifted-- moving from whispered comments on the casino's newest guest to idle dispensations once more. Kriok filed away many of their conversations as being irrelevant, but a few caught her attention. Mentions of recent events and important people could be gleaned from the stream of insipid pleasantries.
The servant stopped, holding open a door to a private room. Kriok could see the human who had invaded her communications interface-- his emerald-green glass eye reflected light off of the chandeliers and sconces.
"Ah, Kriok. Come. We have much to discuss."
Kriok stepped inside, pulling the door closed. As she examined the room's occupants further, a partitioned subroutine idly wondered just what it was she had gotten involved in.
---
"Sir."
Owen and Saint stopped their patrol of the casino floor, turning around and adjusting to look at Wesley. The mercenary was still adorned in heavy plates of futuristic armor, only barely refined to match the sophisticated aesthetic of the casino. To someone almost-blind, his armor might resemble a tuxedo-- it had been repainted in black and white, and a bow-tie was crudely affixed to the collar. An assortment of weapons were still attached to the back of the metal carapace, most of which Owen could not recognize but unhesitatingly assumed were some variety of illegal.
Owen reflexively straightened his tuxedo before addressing the security guard. "Yes, Wesley, what is it now?" Owen said. His walk throughout the casino was helping him adjust to the flow and vibrancy of Eta Carina, and Wesley's interruption broke the rhythm he was beginning to establish.
"I don't know if you're aware of this, but I'm hearing rumors of a heist going down somewhere on Eta Carina. If you want me to keep whatever money is inside that vault yours, I'm going to need more than the pittance I have right now."
"I... see." Owen replied. Owen's mind began calculating how to best approach this situation-- being situated inside Eta Carina was an opportunity he could not miss, and a successful heist would be disastrous. "You're sure about this?" He asked.
Wesley smiled his impeccable smile, flashing his well-polished teeth. "Call it a reporter's intuition. I used to live off rumors, I think I know when we're dealing with the genuine article."
"Alright then. I'll see if we can arrange something."
Wesley nodded as he left, evidently pleased with Owen's response.
As soon as the mercenary was out of earshot, Owen began again. "We should close the casino. We can't afford the risk, not with what we have down there."
"And lose our customers? We can't afford that, either." Saint sharply retorted.
"I know, I know. But if there's going to be a heist, and we're unfortunate enough to be its victim, there's no way we can--"
"What you don't know is that a heist is just what we need. The people here are cracked, they treat heists like a show or something. If they hear we have a heist on our hands, they'll come."
"Hmm." Owen responded. Deep within his mind, cogs began to churn as he thought through how to best exploit this new opportunity. What Saint had proposed was a risky endeavor-- if he made even the slightest miscalculation, the infinitesimally small chance of a successful heist would be amplified. At the same time, the thought of the rewards to be had was beguiling. He almost chuckled at the irony-- just as the visitors and socialites chanced away their fortunes, now he was getting involved in a gamble of his own.
"And if we play our cards right, we'll have more than enough tourists, the vault will remain safe-- and we'll be all the better for it." Saint bluntly finished.
---
Room schematics, occupant information, details on countless overlooked trivialities-- a simultaneous wall of senseless data bombarded Kriok. All of it was irrelevant in light of two of the room's inhabitants.
Her eyes refocused, adjusting to stare at the diminutive human and the unwavering metal sentinel guarding him. She had not encountered either of them; outside of a chance meeting with someone intent on recovering the mechanical armor, she knew nothing. Her observations drew no revelations-- Timothy was distractedly gazing at the other occupants, while his protector remained utterly still while its clockwork quietly ticked away. A probability simulation transmitted its results to her synthetic mind, assuming them to not be a threat to her, but she remained cautious. Her steps further into the room were hollow and evasive-- malignant doubts festered, installing in her a sense of defective vigilance.
Alaster ever-so-slightly stirred, its inter-connected web of gears ticking a fast-step faster in response to the avian. Kriok's presence had not gone unnoticed by the clockwork machine, but she had not posed an overt threat to the child and the knight was content to solemnly watch over his charge. Somewhere within its memory crystal it recalled the only meeting the two had; it recalled the psychedelic proceedings and the yells of an announcer ecstatically proclaiming their demises.
But that had been in the past-- they were free now. She would not harm the child, Alaster's machine logic decided.
"What are they doing here." She said, vaguely indicating Timothy and Alaster. Her statement was intended as a question, but came out as a dull, emotionless monotone.
"They're here for the same reason you are, Kriok-- the same reason we're all here." Montcorbier replied, furtively shifting his stance. "I intend to break into one of Eta Carina's casinos and empty its vault, Kriok, a task that I'll need a variety of specialists for. Most of my associates are already gathered here." He gestured to the others gathered in the room.
The avian followed his gesture, looking at the other three individuals present with them-- a pimply juvenile, a bored socialite, and a floating television monitor displaying a sickened human. A subroutine questioned just what made them skilled-- at least on an initial scan it did not seem readily apparent.
Montcorbier continued. "I need to perform one last heist, and-- should you be willing to assist us-- I'll utilize your expertise in this endeavor."
Kriok continued examining the others. "And should I ref--"
The thief's gaze lowered, going from a cordial expression to a mask of politely-veiled menace-- instantly catching Kriok's attention. "Then you'll likely never escape Eta Carina. At best, you'll be an indentured servant to a casino, working without pay or thanks-- and at worst, well. I don't think that needs to be discussed, yes?"
Kriok sharply clicked her tongue. Cortical circuitry wanted to reject this arrangement and settle for waiting-- either until she could pursue escape on her own, or until a new location arrived. And yet, she was wholly cognizant that this would be possibly the only chance she would get at freedom-- until an alternative avenue presented itself, this would be the only fruitful course of action. Her neck straightened from its usual curve as she postured herself. "Very well then. What expertise is required." She bitterly responded.
Montcorbier's face changed once more, returning to its mask of calculated goodwill. "There are-- tools, shall we say, tools that are hard to come by on Eta Carina. That's where your fabricator will come into play. It'll give us a means of acquiring the, ah, implements necessary to enter the vault."
A soft crooning was the avian's response. "I need more than just that." Kriok paused. Synthetic neurons shifted routines, moving from the processes of a paranoid survivor to the nearly-forgotten cycles and run-times of a deep space engineer. "If you want me to assist you, I would need technical specifications, scrap material, workshop space, molecular schematics for any tools I don't--"
"Those all can be provided easily enough. Tick?"
The hacker stirred, twitching slightly. "Workshop arrangements prepared momentarily-- studio backlot, should be isolated, eighty-nine point three percent chance of scrap required for fabrication. Schematics being transferred now."
Kriok's communication interface hummed with a quiet notification. Information now traveled, chunks of data moved from one cybernetic world to another. A cursory examination revealed the download to be packages of atomic blueprints, alongside an assortment of other information .
"Very well then. I'll return once I am finished."
As the avian began to leave, Alaster likewise started to move. In a single fluid motion, one of its arms picked up Timothy, stowing the child onto its back. Gears and torsion springs sprung to life as the contraption walked. Clockwork logic had decided the child would need to be placed somewhere secluded, if only for a short period of time-- and the machine itself needed somewhere to repair.
"We Will Be Accompanying You." It clanked out, its posture clearly announcing it had no regard for whatever Kriok's preferences would be.
Timothy, now hanging off of Alaster's broad metallic shoulders, smiled timidly. "S-sorry miss, but I don't think he'll take no for an answer." He sheepishly said.
---
Aaron paced across the casino floor, taking note of the many minor renovations that would be necessary to bring his new acquisition into order.
The casino had been neglected under its prior management; it was not so much a betting house as it was a mausoleum, bereft of the proper canals of wealth draining in towards the house. Aaron's mind ran through the details necessary to bring his affairs into order-- from trivialities such the choice of decorations, to the arrangement of slot machines, to grander schemes to remove himself from this comparative slum and be amongst the high-rollers of Eta Carina. As he walked, he could hear whispers amongst the miniscule smattering of tourists and gamblers that had deigned to visit The Feedback Loop. At first, he disregarded their murmurings-- after all, he had designs on a different strata of customers, not the rabble washed up from Eta Carina's gutters.
It was after one of them briefly mentioned rumors of a heist that he rethought his policy.
---
A few minutes had passed since the contestants had left the private room. Montcorbier and Tick engaged in their own discussion, occasionally joined by Toleth-- moving from reminiscing about their earlier heists to detailing just how they would conduct this new caper, how every intricate component of their operation would fit together.
"And this is the part I'm supposed to play in this?" Jill Traynor sharply interrupted.
Montcorbier turned to look at Jill Traynor-- she had spent the entire meeting somewhat indifferently watching, and had only now spoken up. If it weren't for the green skin and tentacle-like strands of hair, the willowy actress would be indistinguishable from any of the countless varieties of human the multiverse possessed. There was still a vehement resentment of the executive meddling responsible for her position, and he saw no useful talents in her-- there was no point in acting on her complaints.
"...Well?"
Montcorbier smiled deceitfully. "Well what? I don't see how this is my problem."
Jill responded with the hard clack of shoes against marble as she angrily left. She had been marginalized in far too many films, passed aside for less-talented leads. Even if Montcorbier had forgotten this was intended as a film, she had not-- and she had every intention of playing an actual role in it.
Lotsak'ash was remarkably old. He had a special kind of longevity, the type granted to those who had chosen to bind their soul in pursuit of an unending existence. The lich had existed for a virtual eternity, surviving through the innumerable rises and falls of Eta Carina, weathering the times when its flow of limitless wealth had nearly been stoppered. Myriad intrigues and hatreds had been refined over the centuries-- and after so long, no one on Eta Carina doubted his position as one of its most influential and respected citizens.
Today, however, Lotsak'ash was demonstrably furious-- a rarity, considering that strong emotions tend to wither away after a millennium of patient intrigue and scheming. After a decades-long retirement, Montcorbier had shown up once more. While many had forgotten the immortal who had stripped Eta Carina of its collected wealth, the lich had not. The notion of him returning, nonchalantly walking along streets he had no right to be on, planning some new caper to extract the wealth of Eta Carina solely for the thrill of such escapades-- the lich would not stand for such an affront.
Montcorbier would not be likely to empty the vaults of his previous victims; as much as Lotsak'ash smoldered with petty hatred, he was more than willing to concede that his foe possessed the acumen to not commit such blunders. But that wasn't going to prevent the lich from intervening, from interrupting no-doubt carefully orchestrated plans. After all, word on Eta Carina spread quickly-- rumors and secrets were just as much a currency as the casino chips drifting through circulation. And, were someone to accidentally slip a rumor that a heist was imminent, in short order it'd trickle down-- moving from the upper echelons of wealthy socialites, down to the ambitious gamblers attempting to win a position at the top, down to the ambling masses of tourists and even further down to the debtors living in the cordoned-off alleyways and gutters. In anywhere from hours to days it would be near impossible to find someone unaware of the upcoming caper.
There were quite a few groups who would be interested in such a development-- the cardsharp demons of the Scarmaglione family were one such party, but there were others. He was not the only one who remembered Montcorbier, and there were a great many cliques that would be more than willing to assist in pushing along his pernicious rumor.
The lich smiled-- or approximated a smile as best a skeleton could. Montcorbier's heist was going to be interesting.
---
Kriok's scanning algorithms were adjusting. The heuristics routines disseminating the wall of sensory input no longer bombarded the avian with a thoughtless deluge, but had filtered the countless denizens and gaudy wonders of Eta Carina down to a small sampling of useful tidbits. The indulgent excess was still present, but it had been reduced to something tolerable-- Kriok could at least walk through the endless promenades without wanting to pulverize her visual sensors. Hesitation still kept the avian in check-- in sieving through the sensory cavalcade, some of Eta Carina's dangers were obscured. A twinge of uneasiness still permeated every step.
Her journey into The Resplendent Palace had been marked by the transition from the gilded, ostentatious wealth and violet haze of Eta Carina's arterial passages into a subdued, sophisticated air of refinement. She stood in stark contrast to its aloof patrons-- while they had adorned themselves in luxurious accoutrements, the avian had marred herself with utilitarian augmentations and layers of industrial-grade cybernetic grafts.
Just as she paused, automated processes reminded her to keep moving-- that she was squandering time subjecting herself to the scrutinizing gaze of Eta Carina's nobility. A taloned hand brushed against her head plumage, as Kriok made a half-hearted attempt at presentability. Taking a brief moment to process the crowd, she approached one of the casino's servants.
"I was sent here to meet Montcorbier." She said, trying to subdue her disdain for the omnipresent glamour.
The servant silently nodded in response, motioning for her to follow.
The invisible air of condescension around the waiting staff seemed to evaporate, replaced with an atmosphere of clinical hospitality. As she moved across the casino floor, attendants seemed to intercept her, their routines and patrols adjusting to incorporate her own snaking path. Waiters would deferentially proffer plates of finger food, others attempted to provide sophisticated libations. Kriok waved them aside as best she could-- their politeness put her at unease. The trust she had placed in her decision to come here was tenuous; her trust in its occupants was even less assured.
Cybernetic relays deliberated as she walked. She could still hear the murmurs of contemptuous socialites, but their conversations had shifted-- moving from whispered comments on the casino's newest guest to idle dispensations once more. Kriok filed away many of their conversations as being irrelevant, but a few caught her attention. Mentions of recent events and important people could be gleaned from the stream of insipid pleasantries.
The servant stopped, holding open a door to a private room. Kriok could see the human who had invaded her communications interface-- his emerald-green glass eye reflected light off of the chandeliers and sconces.
"Ah, Kriok. Come. We have much to discuss."
Kriok stepped inside, pulling the door closed. As she examined the room's occupants further, a partitioned subroutine idly wondered just what it was she had gotten involved in.
---
"Sir."
Owen and Saint stopped their patrol of the casino floor, turning around and adjusting to look at Wesley. The mercenary was still adorned in heavy plates of futuristic armor, only barely refined to match the sophisticated aesthetic of the casino. To someone almost-blind, his armor might resemble a tuxedo-- it had been repainted in black and white, and a bow-tie was crudely affixed to the collar. An assortment of weapons were still attached to the back of the metal carapace, most of which Owen could not recognize but unhesitatingly assumed were some variety of illegal.
Owen reflexively straightened his tuxedo before addressing the security guard. "Yes, Wesley, what is it now?" Owen said. His walk throughout the casino was helping him adjust to the flow and vibrancy of Eta Carina, and Wesley's interruption broke the rhythm he was beginning to establish.
"I don't know if you're aware of this, but I'm hearing rumors of a heist going down somewhere on Eta Carina. If you want me to keep whatever money is inside that vault yours, I'm going to need more than the pittance I have right now."
"I... see." Owen replied. Owen's mind began calculating how to best approach this situation-- being situated inside Eta Carina was an opportunity he could not miss, and a successful heist would be disastrous. "You're sure about this?" He asked.
Wesley smiled his impeccable smile, flashing his well-polished teeth. "Call it a reporter's intuition. I used to live off rumors, I think I know when we're dealing with the genuine article."
"Alright then. I'll see if we can arrange something."
Wesley nodded as he left, evidently pleased with Owen's response.
As soon as the mercenary was out of earshot, Owen began again. "We should close the casino. We can't afford the risk, not with what we have down there."
"And lose our customers? We can't afford that, either." Saint sharply retorted.
"I know, I know. But if there's going to be a heist, and we're unfortunate enough to be its victim, there's no way we can--"
"What you don't know is that a heist is just what we need. The people here are cracked, they treat heists like a show or something. If they hear we have a heist on our hands, they'll come."
"Hmm." Owen responded. Deep within his mind, cogs began to churn as he thought through how to best exploit this new opportunity. What Saint had proposed was a risky endeavor-- if he made even the slightest miscalculation, the infinitesimally small chance of a successful heist would be amplified. At the same time, the thought of the rewards to be had was beguiling. He almost chuckled at the irony-- just as the visitors and socialites chanced away their fortunes, now he was getting involved in a gamble of his own.
"And if we play our cards right, we'll have more than enough tourists, the vault will remain safe-- and we'll be all the better for it." Saint bluntly finished.
---
Room schematics, occupant information, details on countless overlooked trivialities-- a simultaneous wall of senseless data bombarded Kriok. All of it was irrelevant in light of two of the room's inhabitants.
Her eyes refocused, adjusting to stare at the diminutive human and the unwavering metal sentinel guarding him. She had not encountered either of them; outside of a chance meeting with someone intent on recovering the mechanical armor, she knew nothing. Her observations drew no revelations-- Timothy was distractedly gazing at the other occupants, while his protector remained utterly still while its clockwork quietly ticked away. A probability simulation transmitted its results to her synthetic mind, assuming them to not be a threat to her, but she remained cautious. Her steps further into the room were hollow and evasive-- malignant doubts festered, installing in her a sense of defective vigilance.
Alaster ever-so-slightly stirred, its inter-connected web of gears ticking a fast-step faster in response to the avian. Kriok's presence had not gone unnoticed by the clockwork machine, but she had not posed an overt threat to the child and the knight was content to solemnly watch over his charge. Somewhere within its memory crystal it recalled the only meeting the two had; it recalled the psychedelic proceedings and the yells of an announcer ecstatically proclaiming their demises.
But that had been in the past-- they were free now. She would not harm the child, Alaster's machine logic decided.
"What are they doing here." She said, vaguely indicating Timothy and Alaster. Her statement was intended as a question, but came out as a dull, emotionless monotone.
"They're here for the same reason you are, Kriok-- the same reason we're all here." Montcorbier replied, furtively shifting his stance. "I intend to break into one of Eta Carina's casinos and empty its vault, Kriok, a task that I'll need a variety of specialists for. Most of my associates are already gathered here." He gestured to the others gathered in the room.
The avian followed his gesture, looking at the other three individuals present with them-- a pimply juvenile, a bored socialite, and a floating television monitor displaying a sickened human. A subroutine questioned just what made them skilled-- at least on an initial scan it did not seem readily apparent.
Montcorbier continued. "I need to perform one last heist, and-- should you be willing to assist us-- I'll utilize your expertise in this endeavor."
Kriok continued examining the others. "And should I ref--"
The thief's gaze lowered, going from a cordial expression to a mask of politely-veiled menace-- instantly catching Kriok's attention. "Then you'll likely never escape Eta Carina. At best, you'll be an indentured servant to a casino, working without pay or thanks-- and at worst, well. I don't think that needs to be discussed, yes?"
Kriok sharply clicked her tongue. Cortical circuitry wanted to reject this arrangement and settle for waiting-- either until she could pursue escape on her own, or until a new location arrived. And yet, she was wholly cognizant that this would be possibly the only chance she would get at freedom-- until an alternative avenue presented itself, this would be the only fruitful course of action. Her neck straightened from its usual curve as she postured herself. "Very well then. What expertise is required." She bitterly responded.
Montcorbier's face changed once more, returning to its mask of calculated goodwill. "There are-- tools, shall we say, tools that are hard to come by on Eta Carina. That's where your fabricator will come into play. It'll give us a means of acquiring the, ah, implements necessary to enter the vault."
A soft crooning was the avian's response. "I need more than just that." Kriok paused. Synthetic neurons shifted routines, moving from the processes of a paranoid survivor to the nearly-forgotten cycles and run-times of a deep space engineer. "If you want me to assist you, I would need technical specifications, scrap material, workshop space, molecular schematics for any tools I don't--"
"Those all can be provided easily enough. Tick?"
The hacker stirred, twitching slightly. "Workshop arrangements prepared momentarily-- studio backlot, should be isolated, eighty-nine point three percent chance of scrap required for fabrication. Schematics being transferred now."
Kriok's communication interface hummed with a quiet notification. Information now traveled, chunks of data moved from one cybernetic world to another. A cursory examination revealed the download to be packages of atomic blueprints, alongside an assortment of other information .
"Very well then. I'll return once I am finished."
As the avian began to leave, Alaster likewise started to move. In a single fluid motion, one of its arms picked up Timothy, stowing the child onto its back. Gears and torsion springs sprung to life as the contraption walked. Clockwork logic had decided the child would need to be placed somewhere secluded, if only for a short period of time-- and the machine itself needed somewhere to repair.
"We Will Be Accompanying You." It clanked out, its posture clearly announcing it had no regard for whatever Kriok's preferences would be.
Timothy, now hanging off of Alaster's broad metallic shoulders, smiled timidly. "S-sorry miss, but I don't think he'll take no for an answer." He sheepishly said.
---
Aaron paced across the casino floor, taking note of the many minor renovations that would be necessary to bring his new acquisition into order.
The casino had been neglected under its prior management; it was not so much a betting house as it was a mausoleum, bereft of the proper canals of wealth draining in towards the house. Aaron's mind ran through the details necessary to bring his affairs into order-- from trivialities such the choice of decorations, to the arrangement of slot machines, to grander schemes to remove himself from this comparative slum and be amongst the high-rollers of Eta Carina. As he walked, he could hear whispers amongst the miniscule smattering of tourists and gamblers that had deigned to visit The Feedback Loop. At first, he disregarded their murmurings-- after all, he had designs on a different strata of customers, not the rabble washed up from Eta Carina's gutters.
It was after one of them briefly mentioned rumors of a heist that he rethought his policy.
---
A few minutes had passed since the contestants had left the private room. Montcorbier and Tick engaged in their own discussion, occasionally joined by Toleth-- moving from reminiscing about their earlier heists to detailing just how they would conduct this new caper, how every intricate component of their operation would fit together.
"And this is the part I'm supposed to play in this?" Jill Traynor sharply interrupted.
Montcorbier turned to look at Jill Traynor-- she had spent the entire meeting somewhat indifferently watching, and had only now spoken up. If it weren't for the green skin and tentacle-like strands of hair, the willowy actress would be indistinguishable from any of the countless varieties of human the multiverse possessed. There was still a vehement resentment of the executive meddling responsible for her position, and he saw no useful talents in her-- there was no point in acting on her complaints.
"...Well?"
Montcorbier smiled deceitfully. "Well what? I don't see how this is my problem."
Jill responded with the hard clack of shoes against marble as she angrily left. She had been marginalized in far too many films, passed aside for less-talented leads. Even if Montcorbier had forgotten this was intended as a film, she had not-- and she had every intention of playing an actual role in it.