Re: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND TWO: ETA CARINA]
09-04-2012, 02:25 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by BlastYoBoots.
The Feedback Loop was transforming.
Hundreds of stranded tourists were flooding into Eta Carina's supply of vacancies, and under Aaron's leadership, the Loop was ever hungrier to accommodate them. Matter pumping through feeding conduits, modular walls and floors unfolding, automated fabrication drones humming. Slowly, its maw expanded. Eight wide entrances bloomed out of its one, bright glass doors showcasing the influx of customers as shining silver jaws. Their tongues unfurled inside, staffed by fresh, robotic blood to taste their prey, plus an old standby struggling to admit patrons in 80 languages and 90 different genial tones while restraining a cantankerous girl half-coated in dried paint. Expensive bathrooms, wrecked or otherwise, were remade into even more expensive, absurdly gleaming shrines to privacy. Sleeping guests groaned as their floors hummed into the sky, empty duplicate rooms filled as quickly as they were grown.
Aaron's will was leaving its mark on the decor. In every gambling area, every public space, colors were sucked dry from the walls and fixtures to be replaced with chrome, showy was replaced with silver, kitschy with karats, ritzy with rich, gaudy with gold... but, without creativity? That would end up rather tacky, Aaron had rationalized.
"With all due respect, that isn't high-traffic carpeting. It'll be ruined in under a week, especially with all these new patro-" AHEM, COUGH COUGH.
So he would have tacky replaced with Tschichold.
"Exactly what part of FLOOR BOSS don't you understand? I have complete artistic license over the FLOOR, and everything standing on the FLOOR. Are you on the floor, you color-blind sycophant?!"
"Yes, ma'am-"
"MA'AM?!"
"My apologies, sir, it's a joke going around. Couldn't resist."
Tschichold straightened his... augh... TIE, making sure to get as much paint from his exposed gloves onto the constraining, corporatist silver suit as possible. As necessary as a suit was to communicate the esteem of his position, it was no excuse not to mock it as much as he could. Customers bustled around the pair to and from the slots around them, wary of the paint dripping from his sleeves and ankles.
"Little lady, are you aware of the concept of gender discrimination?"
The man leaned back a bit. "Er..."
"Tell me something, you sissy girl. What effect do you think words like 'bitch' and sayings like 'go back to the kitchen' have on society? When you call me a 'slut', how does that make women AROUND us feel, you dumb whore?!"
"I don't quite understand gender norms myself, as I'm of a different species. I only look male, and-"
"You don't get what slurs do to women, do you?! They make them cry, that's what they do. The poor girls just cry in a bathroom stall and get thrown up on by wizards."
"We were only calling you that because it seemed to anno-"
"Under whose damn authority do you have the right to talk me into a metaphorical bathroom stall!?"
"My contract, sir."
"Huh?"
"My race is notorious for its poor socialization skills. That's why I handle logistics and don't speak directly to customers," he lied.
"Oh. Well, order this carpet already, then!" Tschichold held up a mostly-holographic projected tablet; a clawed, dripping digit plunged through it to toss carpet options around. "Now, don't you agree that this is the only one that looks like one of those crazy alien three-legged types over there hasn't vomited all over it? That's my priority. I am SICK of vomit, you have no idea."
---
"As you ordered, Mister Abstract, every solid object the Feedback Loop owns has now been leveraged. At standard Eta Carina emergency lending rates, of course."
"Remind me what those are?"
"Normal rates would have been approximately fifty-eight percent hourly interest." Harrison stood stoically across from Aaron and gripped the polymer cast around his hand, a resigned, glassy look about his eyes. "But with the increased demand we receive at sudden travel lockdowns, that's now eighty-seven percent."
"And the first payments?"
"As requested, we argued for payments to be delayed until forty-seven hours from now. Few argue with a stranger wealthy enough to bet a valuium chip for a hotel."
"Good... that should be almost enough in liquid assets to cover the renovations."
The interest would be millions and millions of credits more than the Loop could possibly profit in forty-seven hours. Aaron carried the blithe lack of concern of a man who was either too wealthy to be worried, or had never intended to stick around to pay in the first place.
"I think we should cut some costs. What are our largest expenditures?"
"The ones we can stand to lose? Or-"
"The largest expenditures."
"That would be Al Merk'l Defense, one of the city's private security contractors." Harrison pulled out a holographic information tablet, switching to a bored reading voice. "Boasting the ability to deflect even a guerilla war, they-"
"Fire them."
"And replace them with a cheaper-?"
"No. We'll hire our own, lighter security team."
Harrison winced. "Sir, the local protection rackets would descend upon us within minutes. We'd end up paying far more."
Aaron blinked in surprise, and then smirked. "Will they, now?"
---
"No, no, no, no NO NO NO!!!"
Tschichold's arms flailed in frustration behind a pair of six-armed, five-eyed purple painters, flicking paint droplets all over their work.
They turned around in dull, confused surprise. Or at least it looked that way... one couldn't tell with those ovular, permanently-gaping mouths. One spoke up, vocal organs deep and trilling: "Drevor Tschichold, is Nyphetium Roses. No beauty hass yet been known what surpass." His brother (sister?) nodded stoically.
"I wouldn't be surprised you don't know any, this whole space city looks like Christmas swallowed a bomb and a watermelontini and exploded. Look, this suit may be awful, and it might make the paint I'm leaking pool and dry REALLY uncomfortably around that big bulge of... whatever it is that's in front under my pants, but if there's one thing it's doing, it's making me less high off the fumes of my own paintblood. And that means I can see straight enough to tell that green roses are an AFFRONT to everything aesthetic!!!"
The other brother spoke up. "But, Drevor... is orange roses!"
"Alright, that is IT-"
Tschichold thrust his pointer fingers quickly at both the brothers' exposed tongues, sending dual drops of blue (or was it amber?) paint into their taste buds. And moments later, of course, their brain stems. Their arms ceased dawdling, frozen, each alien's five eyes all combinations of wide and beady at the dose.
"Paint what you see. I'll check on you two later."
Swaying a bit, they got back to work with enthusiasm, bored poker players looking on with interest. Tschichold's assistant ran in, flanked by a suited delivery robot.
"Sir, a receptionist has been messaging for your attention frantically about a girl detained downstairs, says he can't drag her down to city law because his 'arm needs a tune-up', or some such. Anyway, the new machines for the thirty-first casino floor are here, so if you would sign for it and then address the rece-"
"TAKE ME TO THE MACHIIINES!!! There is NO way I'm letting a bunch of unimaginitive robots lay them out in a floorspace-maximizing borefest of greedy...."
The painter dashed off on his oddly inhuman legs, assistant sprinting behind him with an unsigned delivery tablet. But as they reached the elevators, they failed to notice the pudgy, hardened, hatted crew entering the lift pods, nor the frightened looks and distance they received from anyone with a week's experience in the Feedback Loop's neighborhood.
---
"Ahh, Alistair!" The burly personal guard allowed Aaron's uninvited guest in without a word; he seemed pudgier and shorter than Alistair himself, but no less burly. "How long has it been?"
Alistair moved submissively, opting for silence as he guided his former 'friends' in front of Aaron. Harrison kept his distance, not keen on losing another hand.
"So, Mister, er... Absinthe, was it? We work for the Guido. I think you know why we're here."
"Ah yes, to negotiate protection? I'm looking forward to striking an economical deal with you."
"Everyone's been hearing about your valuium chip stunt, rich boy. We figure someone who dismisses security has got something big to hide. And quite frankly, the Guido isn't going to allow you to operate without a nice little slice of the pie."
"Oh, my friends..." Aaron stood and leaned into them, tongue silver behind his growing smile. "I don't expect you to without what you and - 'The Guido' - would consider a fair exchange."
---
"Well, uh... that went... well?"
The Guido's men left the lift-pod confused, but with no reason to be. I mean, they'd gotten a deal in a half.. hadn't they? They'd even had an anti-mind-reader with them, they couldn't have been fooled. So why did the price tag feel so unsatisfying, yet so incontrovertible?
They shook their heads and headed out of the building, the pressure-crews of two other gangs pushing into the Loop past them to repeat their mistake. A line of robots delivering casino machine after casino machine flanked them, a line of ants to the freight elevator. Two casual, blue-scaled onlookers watched the procession.
"Well, that ain't something you see every day."
"Yeah, Guidos pushing past Quetzels and Quantums without so much as a stink-eye. Wonder what happened?"
"No, not them! I mean the slots, the luck machines! They're Phoenix brand!"
"What about 'em? They're good? Or shit, or?"
"Naw, Phoenix sells rentals! You pay a third of the price of the whole machine every goddamn day for a month, but the payments don't start 'till a week in. A sucker's deal. Seen 'em be the death of a good few dumbass casino owners. Literally, I mean. Suicide. Never seen this many of 'em in one place before."
"So whatddya think that means?"
"Means either the new management's dumber than a purple chip slipped down a gutter... or they've got a plan to get more money than God, real fast. And not some half-assed god like Blockbuster. I'm talkin' the metaphorical Almighty."
The two creatures paused. No man with a piece of property in Eta Carina gets to take it away with 'em before paying their debts. So if this was real...
"I think it's time to shell out for some chips. How does the thirtieth floor sound?"
"You said it, sister. Heard there's a heist coming up somewhere. Wonder if this is the place that's got the tempting grease they want to skim?"
"Nah, they wouldn't waste their time on anything that's not uptown. Would they?"
---
Tschichold eventually returned - pushing past dazzled, gaping onlookers - to a twenty yard mural of a nude superstar, one 'Jill Traynor', he was told. Silver and gold coinage was depicted spilling like waterfalls from her teats and groin, almost completely censoring them. Her eyes were nebulae full of gold and silver stars, and a long, green tongue stretched from her lips to the sky to catch a diamond drop of poisoned nectar from the finger of a massive, rainbow-patterned, one-eyed demon.
The six-armed brothers finished the final touches on her ruby toenails, one collapsing and the other bowing in supplication beneath the single white eye of the esteemed Boss of Floor.
Said Boss of Floor considered it, but had no choice but to nod in careful approval. "...Not bad!"
In the background, a gawking staffer almost misdialed the newest set of holographic fliers he was plugging into the Loop's building-wide advertisement system... An ad for the latest scheme Aaron had devised to get massive amounts of liquid cash into the business all at once.
Mixed fighting matches. Half the entrance price of other matches throughout Eta Carina, thanks to having only a third of the security. Fiftieth floor, above the ceiling of the vault. No bet is too high.
---
"You're baiting open robbery."
"Whatever gave you that idea, Harrison?"
Aaron stood with his assistant on a balcony inside the Loop's vault. Its newly-expanded vault.
Its newly... transparent vault.
Fabrication drones sped through the air around the inside of the massive column in straight lines, as if on rails, arms sparking in blue with the energy for the walls' finishing touches. The hotel's most sacred chamber was now an absurd opening from the first floor through the forty-ninth, clear polymer walls displaying its contents for every patron on every gambling level.
And, what contents!
Chips and chips and chips cascaded down and up a massive rotating helix, a rainbow of colors for a rainbow of credit amounts. Floating drones dipped into it with what looked like wheelbarrows, shuttling winnings off to lucky gamblers, pouring in the lucre lifeblood of the most recent loser, or filling up a monetary discharge for the next batch of fresh equipment. The lift-pods were exposed inside the column... you could see the slavering new customers dirtying the thin elevator glass with their palms and appendages, that thin film all that was separating them from more wealth than they could dream of possessing. Even the arena under construction above it had a crystal floor... the contenders would be fighting above the very chips that were placed on or against them.
It was a forty-nine story fountain of money. A hoard with no dragon to guard it. And it was growing by the moment.
"If anything, this is more secure, my fine assistant. You mentioned yourself the recently-discovered irregularities in our former, electronic payout system."
"Why so much, so quickly, Mister Abstract?"
"I'm building another engi-... You know, never mind. You'll see it in due time."
They stood a bit longer, listening to the high-pitched whines of drones installing new projectors along the vault walls.
"It won't work, you know. You'll get some spectators... but nobody expects the heist to be anywhere but uptown. There just aren't big enough fish in this part of town, to b-"
Harrison caught an almost glowing smirk from the wizard, realizing his mistake.
"Ah, of course you would... you know, the move would be the perfect occasion to rename the hotel. I always found the name rather... uninspired."
"No, I like it."
The pair strolled away from the balcony. "I mean, think about it, Harrison. A "Feedback Loop". It's rather fitting, don't you think?"
"What do I think? I think we should find something to brace ourselves with. Modular relocation tends to be a... shaky affair."
As they vanished into the hallway, projections blinked to life across the vault's glistening, see-through walls. Gamblers were presented with a massive slogan, scrolling back and forth in all languages, gold lettering shouting its message unmissably to all who would glance at the vault's ostentatious show:
"Look, I'm tellin' ya, I've godda busted limiter in my right arm! I can't take her back to some station or the scanners'd have 'em lock me down for forced maintenance! I can't lose a full 70-hour shift over this fleshy brat, let alone cover the mistakes they're bound to make! I'm a rare line of factory work, get whaddi'm sayin'?"
"It's fine, Tammy, this isn't about that. We've got orders for reassignment from the top, you and her. The new floor boss is taking care of the details."
"Wait, her?!" Freefall dangled unresisting from one of Tammy's claws, rolling her eyes. "And what'd the bastard new organic management do with Demitrix?"
"Promoted her, actually. You might be getting lucky. Unfortunately, it's up to the new manic-depressive-excessive semi-human oil painting."
"They can't be crazier than Demitrix."
It was about then that he rolled in to the scene of Tschichold in a now heavily-paint-stained suit, dancing more stains in celebration on top of his beautiful new carpet.
"Oh screw my circuits."
The painter stopped his impromptu celebration at the sight of the receptionist, first cringing and emitting a short squeal of fear, then standing and fixing an intimidating stare as if it'd never happened.
"So the tables have turned, old friend."
"Uhhhhh..." Tschichold's assistant ditched his companion, disappearing almost instantly.
"Say, that arm of yours. You have a rather strong right hook, don't you?"
"UHHHHHHH-"
"We're starting a series of no-holds-barred fighting matches, and given your resume, the management believes you'd be a... colorful new contender."
"Oh, haha. That's nice! That's nice. But no. No no nonononoNONO-"
Tschichold handed him a holo-tablet. "And here's your new salary."
"NOOONONO-... wait a sec-" Tammy's flat digits grabbed the tablet, cameras bulging out of their receptacles. "Stinkin' circuits, this's ten times my salary!"
"Wait, it's a lot? It's a lot, isn't it? Dammit, I didn't check. Could I just have that ba-" "Not on your life, shorty." "Wait, wait, you have to work with Freefall! I know you two don't get along, that's revenge, right? That's how it works, you knock me through a wall, I make you-"
Their conversation was interrupted by a lurch, massive rumbling, and the warning --THIRTY SECONDS TO RELOCATION-- projected across everything in deep, flashing red.
"Ohh, ho ho. Hold on to your new pants, meatbag. Sounds like the fresh asshole in town has plans!"
The Feedback Loop was transforming.
Hundreds of stranded tourists were flooding into Eta Carina's supply of vacancies, and under Aaron's leadership, the Loop was ever hungrier to accommodate them. Matter pumping through feeding conduits, modular walls and floors unfolding, automated fabrication drones humming. Slowly, its maw expanded. Eight wide entrances bloomed out of its one, bright glass doors showcasing the influx of customers as shining silver jaws. Their tongues unfurled inside, staffed by fresh, robotic blood to taste their prey, plus an old standby struggling to admit patrons in 80 languages and 90 different genial tones while restraining a cantankerous girl half-coated in dried paint. Expensive bathrooms, wrecked or otherwise, were remade into even more expensive, absurdly gleaming shrines to privacy. Sleeping guests groaned as their floors hummed into the sky, empty duplicate rooms filled as quickly as they were grown.
Aaron's will was leaving its mark on the decor. In every gambling area, every public space, colors were sucked dry from the walls and fixtures to be replaced with chrome, showy was replaced with silver, kitschy with karats, ritzy with rich, gaudy with gold... but, without creativity? That would end up rather tacky, Aaron had rationalized.
"With all due respect, that isn't high-traffic carpeting. It'll be ruined in under a week, especially with all these new patro-" AHEM, COUGH COUGH.
So he would have tacky replaced with Tschichold.
"Exactly what part of FLOOR BOSS don't you understand? I have complete artistic license over the FLOOR, and everything standing on the FLOOR. Are you on the floor, you color-blind sycophant?!"
"Yes, ma'am-"
"MA'AM?!"
"My apologies, sir, it's a joke going around. Couldn't resist."
Tschichold straightened his... augh... TIE, making sure to get as much paint from his exposed gloves onto the constraining, corporatist silver suit as possible. As necessary as a suit was to communicate the esteem of his position, it was no excuse not to mock it as much as he could. Customers bustled around the pair to and from the slots around them, wary of the paint dripping from his sleeves and ankles.
"Little lady, are you aware of the concept of gender discrimination?"
The man leaned back a bit. "Er..."
"Tell me something, you sissy girl. What effect do you think words like 'bitch' and sayings like 'go back to the kitchen' have on society? When you call me a 'slut', how does that make women AROUND us feel, you dumb whore?!"
"I don't quite understand gender norms myself, as I'm of a different species. I only look male, and-"
"You don't get what slurs do to women, do you?! They make them cry, that's what they do. The poor girls just cry in a bathroom stall and get thrown up on by wizards."
"We were only calling you that because it seemed to anno-"
"Under whose damn authority do you have the right to talk me into a metaphorical bathroom stall!?"
"My contract, sir."
"Huh?"
"My race is notorious for its poor socialization skills. That's why I handle logistics and don't speak directly to customers," he lied.
"Oh. Well, order this carpet already, then!" Tschichold held up a mostly-holographic projected tablet; a clawed, dripping digit plunged through it to toss carpet options around. "Now, don't you agree that this is the only one that looks like one of those crazy alien three-legged types over there hasn't vomited all over it? That's my priority. I am SICK of vomit, you have no idea."
---
"As you ordered, Mister Abstract, every solid object the Feedback Loop owns has now been leveraged. At standard Eta Carina emergency lending rates, of course."
"Remind me what those are?"
"Normal rates would have been approximately fifty-eight percent hourly interest." Harrison stood stoically across from Aaron and gripped the polymer cast around his hand, a resigned, glassy look about his eyes. "But with the increased demand we receive at sudden travel lockdowns, that's now eighty-seven percent."
"And the first payments?"
"As requested, we argued for payments to be delayed until forty-seven hours from now. Few argue with a stranger wealthy enough to bet a valuium chip for a hotel."
"Good... that should be almost enough in liquid assets to cover the renovations."
The interest would be millions and millions of credits more than the Loop could possibly profit in forty-seven hours. Aaron carried the blithe lack of concern of a man who was either too wealthy to be worried, or had never intended to stick around to pay in the first place.
"I think we should cut some costs. What are our largest expenditures?"
"The ones we can stand to lose? Or-"
"The largest expenditures."
"That would be Al Merk'l Defense, one of the city's private security contractors." Harrison pulled out a holographic information tablet, switching to a bored reading voice. "Boasting the ability to deflect even a guerilla war, they-"
"Fire them."
"And replace them with a cheaper-?"
"No. We'll hire our own, lighter security team."
Harrison winced. "Sir, the local protection rackets would descend upon us within minutes. We'd end up paying far more."
Aaron blinked in surprise, and then smirked. "Will they, now?"
---
"No, no, no, no NO NO NO!!!"
Tschichold's arms flailed in frustration behind a pair of six-armed, five-eyed purple painters, flicking paint droplets all over their work.
They turned around in dull, confused surprise. Or at least it looked that way... one couldn't tell with those ovular, permanently-gaping mouths. One spoke up, vocal organs deep and trilling: "Drevor Tschichold, is Nyphetium Roses. No beauty hass yet been known what surpass." His brother (sister?) nodded stoically.
"I wouldn't be surprised you don't know any, this whole space city looks like Christmas swallowed a bomb and a watermelontini and exploded. Look, this suit may be awful, and it might make the paint I'm leaking pool and dry REALLY uncomfortably around that big bulge of... whatever it is that's in front under my pants, but if there's one thing it's doing, it's making me less high off the fumes of my own paintblood. And that means I can see straight enough to tell that green roses are an AFFRONT to everything aesthetic!!!"
The other brother spoke up. "But, Drevor... is orange roses!"
"Alright, that is IT-"
Tschichold thrust his pointer fingers quickly at both the brothers' exposed tongues, sending dual drops of blue (or was it amber?) paint into their taste buds. And moments later, of course, their brain stems. Their arms ceased dawdling, frozen, each alien's five eyes all combinations of wide and beady at the dose.
"Paint what you see. I'll check on you two later."
Swaying a bit, they got back to work with enthusiasm, bored poker players looking on with interest. Tschichold's assistant ran in, flanked by a suited delivery robot.
"Sir, a receptionist has been messaging for your attention frantically about a girl detained downstairs, says he can't drag her down to city law because his 'arm needs a tune-up', or some such. Anyway, the new machines for the thirty-first casino floor are here, so if you would sign for it and then address the rece-"
"TAKE ME TO THE MACHIIINES!!! There is NO way I'm letting a bunch of unimaginitive robots lay them out in a floorspace-maximizing borefest of greedy...."
The painter dashed off on his oddly inhuman legs, assistant sprinting behind him with an unsigned delivery tablet. But as they reached the elevators, they failed to notice the pudgy, hardened, hatted crew entering the lift pods, nor the frightened looks and distance they received from anyone with a week's experience in the Feedback Loop's neighborhood.
---
"Ahh, Alistair!" The burly personal guard allowed Aaron's uninvited guest in without a word; he seemed pudgier and shorter than Alistair himself, but no less burly. "How long has it been?"
Alistair moved submissively, opting for silence as he guided his former 'friends' in front of Aaron. Harrison kept his distance, not keen on losing another hand.
"So, Mister, er... Absinthe, was it? We work for the Guido. I think you know why we're here."
"Ah yes, to negotiate protection? I'm looking forward to striking an economical deal with you."
"Everyone's been hearing about your valuium chip stunt, rich boy. We figure someone who dismisses security has got something big to hide. And quite frankly, the Guido isn't going to allow you to operate without a nice little slice of the pie."
"Oh, my friends..." Aaron stood and leaned into them, tongue silver behind his growing smile. "I don't expect you to without what you and - 'The Guido' - would consider a fair exchange."
---
"Well, uh... that went... well?"
The Guido's men left the lift-pod confused, but with no reason to be. I mean, they'd gotten a deal in a half.. hadn't they? They'd even had an anti-mind-reader with them, they couldn't have been fooled. So why did the price tag feel so unsatisfying, yet so incontrovertible?
They shook their heads and headed out of the building, the pressure-crews of two other gangs pushing into the Loop past them to repeat their mistake. A line of robots delivering casino machine after casino machine flanked them, a line of ants to the freight elevator. Two casual, blue-scaled onlookers watched the procession.
"Well, that ain't something you see every day."
"Yeah, Guidos pushing past Quetzels and Quantums without so much as a stink-eye. Wonder what happened?"
"No, not them! I mean the slots, the luck machines! They're Phoenix brand!"
"What about 'em? They're good? Or shit, or?"
"Naw, Phoenix sells rentals! You pay a third of the price of the whole machine every goddamn day for a month, but the payments don't start 'till a week in. A sucker's deal. Seen 'em be the death of a good few dumbass casino owners. Literally, I mean. Suicide. Never seen this many of 'em in one place before."
"So whatddya think that means?"
"Means either the new management's dumber than a purple chip slipped down a gutter... or they've got a plan to get more money than God, real fast. And not some half-assed god like Blockbuster. I'm talkin' the metaphorical Almighty."
The two creatures paused. No man with a piece of property in Eta Carina gets to take it away with 'em before paying their debts. So if this was real...
"I think it's time to shell out for some chips. How does the thirtieth floor sound?"
"You said it, sister. Heard there's a heist coming up somewhere. Wonder if this is the place that's got the tempting grease they want to skim?"
"Nah, they wouldn't waste their time on anything that's not uptown. Would they?"
---
Tschichold eventually returned - pushing past dazzled, gaping onlookers - to a twenty yard mural of a nude superstar, one 'Jill Traynor', he was told. Silver and gold coinage was depicted spilling like waterfalls from her teats and groin, almost completely censoring them. Her eyes were nebulae full of gold and silver stars, and a long, green tongue stretched from her lips to the sky to catch a diamond drop of poisoned nectar from the finger of a massive, rainbow-patterned, one-eyed demon.
The six-armed brothers finished the final touches on her ruby toenails, one collapsing and the other bowing in supplication beneath the single white eye of the esteemed Boss of Floor.
Said Boss of Floor considered it, but had no choice but to nod in careful approval. "...Not bad!"
In the background, a gawking staffer almost misdialed the newest set of holographic fliers he was plugging into the Loop's building-wide advertisement system... An ad for the latest scheme Aaron had devised to get massive amounts of liquid cash into the business all at once.
Mixed fighting matches. Half the entrance price of other matches throughout Eta Carina, thanks to having only a third of the security. Fiftieth floor, above the ceiling of the vault. No bet is too high.
---
"You're baiting open robbery."
"Whatever gave you that idea, Harrison?"
Aaron stood with his assistant on a balcony inside the Loop's vault. Its newly-expanded vault.
Its newly... transparent vault.
Fabrication drones sped through the air around the inside of the massive column in straight lines, as if on rails, arms sparking in blue with the energy for the walls' finishing touches. The hotel's most sacred chamber was now an absurd opening from the first floor through the forty-ninth, clear polymer walls displaying its contents for every patron on every gambling level.
And, what contents!
Chips and chips and chips cascaded down and up a massive rotating helix, a rainbow of colors for a rainbow of credit amounts. Floating drones dipped into it with what looked like wheelbarrows, shuttling winnings off to lucky gamblers, pouring in the lucre lifeblood of the most recent loser, or filling up a monetary discharge for the next batch of fresh equipment. The lift-pods were exposed inside the column... you could see the slavering new customers dirtying the thin elevator glass with their palms and appendages, that thin film all that was separating them from more wealth than they could dream of possessing. Even the arena under construction above it had a crystal floor... the contenders would be fighting above the very chips that were placed on or against them.
It was a forty-nine story fountain of money. A hoard with no dragon to guard it. And it was growing by the moment.
"If anything, this is more secure, my fine assistant. You mentioned yourself the recently-discovered irregularities in our former, electronic payout system."
"Why so much, so quickly, Mister Abstract?"
"I'm building another engi-... You know, never mind. You'll see it in due time."
They stood a bit longer, listening to the high-pitched whines of drones installing new projectors along the vault walls.
"It won't work, you know. You'll get some spectators... but nobody expects the heist to be anywhere but uptown. There just aren't big enough fish in this part of town, to b-"
Harrison caught an almost glowing smirk from the wizard, realizing his mistake.
"Ah, of course you would... you know, the move would be the perfect occasion to rename the hotel. I always found the name rather... uninspired."
"No, I like it."
The pair strolled away from the balcony. "I mean, think about it, Harrison. A "Feedback Loop". It's rather fitting, don't you think?"
"What do I think? I think we should find something to brace ourselves with. Modular relocation tends to be a... shaky affair."
As they vanished into the hallway, projections blinked to life across the vault's glistening, see-through walls. Gamblers were presented with a massive slogan, scrolling back and forth in all languages, gold lettering shouting its message unmissably to all who would glance at the vault's ostentatious show:
AT THE FEEDBACK LOOP, ALL THIS COULD BE YOURS!
---"Look, I'm tellin' ya, I've godda busted limiter in my right arm! I can't take her back to some station or the scanners'd have 'em lock me down for forced maintenance! I can't lose a full 70-hour shift over this fleshy brat, let alone cover the mistakes they're bound to make! I'm a rare line of factory work, get whaddi'm sayin'?"
"It's fine, Tammy, this isn't about that. We've got orders for reassignment from the top, you and her. The new floor boss is taking care of the details."
"Wait, her?!" Freefall dangled unresisting from one of Tammy's claws, rolling her eyes. "And what'd the bastard new organic management do with Demitrix?"
"Promoted her, actually. You might be getting lucky. Unfortunately, it's up to the new manic-depressive-excessive semi-human oil painting."
"They can't be crazier than Demitrix."
It was about then that he rolled in to the scene of Tschichold in a now heavily-paint-stained suit, dancing more stains in celebration on top of his beautiful new carpet.
"Oh screw my circuits."
The painter stopped his impromptu celebration at the sight of the receptionist, first cringing and emitting a short squeal of fear, then standing and fixing an intimidating stare as if it'd never happened.
"So the tables have turned, old friend."
"Uhhhhh..." Tschichold's assistant ditched his companion, disappearing almost instantly.
"Say, that arm of yours. You have a rather strong right hook, don't you?"
"UHHHHHHH-"
"We're starting a series of no-holds-barred fighting matches, and given your resume, the management believes you'd be a... colorful new contender."
"Oh, haha. That's nice! That's nice. But no. No no nonononoNONO-"
Tschichold handed him a holo-tablet. "And here's your new salary."
"NOOONONO-... wait a sec-" Tammy's flat digits grabbed the tablet, cameras bulging out of their receptacles. "Stinkin' circuits, this's ten times my salary!"
"Wait, it's a lot? It's a lot, isn't it? Dammit, I didn't check. Could I just have that ba-" "Not on your life, shorty." "Wait, wait, you have to work with Freefall! I know you two don't get along, that's revenge, right? That's how it works, you knock me through a wall, I make you-"
Their conversation was interrupted by a lurch, massive rumbling, and the warning --THIRTY SECONDS TO RELOCATION-- projected across everything in deep, flashing red.
"Ohh, ho ho. Hold on to your new pants, meatbag. Sounds like the fresh asshole in town has plans!"