unconscious bodies.
All at once, the main security room was plunged into complete darkness.
The chaos which ensued was a mess of shouting, flailing, shoving, and people being knocked sprawling. Gregor was one such individual, who was bowled over by a panicking Bertram. His head struck the edge of a desk, and bright stars filled his vision.
Clinging to consciousness and through muddy senses, he heard the continued panic as individuals in the security office scrambled around. Stepped on and kicked, Gregor tried to shout, voice weak and unheeded in the mayhem.
Out of breath and warm blood spilling down his face, the proprietor crawled until he found a wall, away from the panicking individuals. He huddled there, dazed until he faded out.
He woke to find himself alone, the doors to the office wide open and dim, flickering light spilling in from the outside. Clamoring to his feet, Gregor tried to ignore the waves of nausea and head-splitting pain as he stumbled into the hallway.
Bodies lay strewn about, unconscious or dead he couldn’t determine. Gregor wiped the sticky blood out of his eyes and stumbled past his downed security guards.
Similar scenes greeted him as he progressed through the back areas of his casino. Chips of plaster, ceramic, and paint crumbled off smashed sections of wall and ceiling in every area. Fallen guards adorned near every corridor.
The dim lighting, provided by the emergency back-up generator, flickered, and exposed wiring sparked where fixtures or cameras had been torn loose. Gregor stumbled through the mostly dark halls, lost and tripping over the numerous bodies. He didn’t know where he was going.
As Gregor came around a corner, he nearly collided with a man coming in the opposite direction. Gawking, the proprietor looked up, dwarfed by the man’s massive frame.
Cold blue eyes narrowed, glaring down at Gregor. The man who assaulted the casino drew his lips back, baring teeth.
Terror clouded the proprietor’s mind, and he pressed himself up against the wall, trembling. The huge man regarded him with a hostile expression for a moment before stalking off in another direction.
Heart hammering, Gregor slid down to a sitting position. His head, ribs, arms, and everything else throbbed with every beat of his racing heart, and he huddled there, waiting for someone to come help him.
“I was lucky you know. The head injury was pretty bad.” Gregor said, grinning. He tilted his head and pointed to a long scar near the crown. “But Bertram was luckier I didn’t have him flayed alive for hurting me and running off!” He tossed his head and laughed as though this was somehow funny.
I asked, “What else happened?”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “not very much, really. Two hours later, GSA authorities responded to the scene and found me huddled there. I then spent a week in a hospital, screaming at the orderlies to find out how much money was stolen from me.”
“How much was it?”
“Ten million credits,” he said with an air of pride.
As he said it, I gained a sudden sense of something missing. “Ten million?” I asked. “How is that possible? I was under the impression everything was handled via microtransactions from account to account. Does your vault even contain hard currency?”
Gregor Wilhelm grinned. “Ah, very perceptive. We found, through years of research, dealing with such behind-the-scenes financial gain and loss
“However,” he held up an index finger, “individuals also don’t seem to gain the same level of entertainment, and we experience fewer returnees. In the long run, it’s better to cultivate the highest possible levels of excitement, and having a physical form of money to be gained and lost is one such method. The currency we hold here for betting is in simple chips. Each one is coded with credits in their proper expressed increment.” He laughed. “It might get you a funny look, but you could take one to any proper store and use it as legal tender.”
It wasn’t the currency system which caused me to wonder about his story. Most people utilized temporary digital chits to carry small amounts of their money regardless. Having any device linked to full access of an account was risking a lot to theft and fraud. Still, bits of the story and parts not quite fitting clung to my thoughts.
“You’re certain Ivan was the one who stole the money.”
Near-imperceptible, the proprietor’s eyes darted to the side before he grinned. “Of course. He disabled the power generator, entered the vault, and made off with my money. It took years to repair the damage he caused. Not to the resort itself, but to my reputation! It’s hard to convince people of coming to a facility so far from help. They say, ‘Why wouldn’t we go to Finzle’s Resort? It might be smaller, but it’s right there in the core.’ Heathen pigs.” He puffed on his pipe. “Novelty doesn’t win when people think your place is a death trap.”
I nodded.
“But after the mess at the Garden a few years later, having a location which survived the terror of Ivan was a new level of novelty in itself. And again close to another catastrophe of so long ago.” Gregor wagged a finger at me. “Did you know there are some silly theorists who posit that
“How do you know the man who assaulted the casino was Ivan?” I asked.
“Hah!” The old man scoffed, folding his arms. “One man against my highly-trained security force? When the colony at the Garden was destroyed not long after, I knew it had to be the same person.”
There was still something off about his story. It wasn’t regarding Ivan himself, if indeed it actually was the man, but the actions he took. Ivan’s scattered behavior in not simply hitting the vault but traveling throughout the facility in random fashion appeared unfocused. Perhaps the man relied on brute force and his inhuman strength to manage his tasks rather than strategic planning. However, his systematic dismantling of Voux Hanatar suggested otherwise.
My assumptions told me Ivan was moderately intelligent and clever. The behavior of the attacker appeared angry and sporadic. Even Hanatar spoke of Ivan taking his revenge with relative calm. Perhaps the man who assaulted Luna Colony was not Ivan after all.
“Anything else of importance you can think of?” I asked.
Gregor tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Something was scrawled in the hallway outside the security office. Even with the blood dripping in my eyes, I saw it when the GSA authorities brought me out. The writing said
I rubbed my chin and didn’t respond, swinging my thoughts back to the culprit as being Ivan in light of his statement.
“Well there’s that story.” Gregor folded his hands. “Would you like to hear another? My days of dealing with matters in the casino have again fallen away, but I’ve kept myself busy. As I said, I’ve done my own research into Ivan’s little tales of valor.” He grinned, too eager.
I gauged the mere possibility of him knowing something useful against how irritating I found his enthusiasm. I put forth an arbitrary time limit.
“One hour?” Gregor said, eyes wide and a pouting expression on his face. “I could talk for a week about what I’ve discovered!”
I didn’t express how I felt about such an endeavor. Instead, I said, “I have a very busy schedule to attend. I’m sure you understand I can’t take such a large amount of time out.”
“Just hear me out. I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Give me a moment, I must retrieve my files.” He stood, set down his glass and pipe, and shuffled out of the room.
In the few minutes while waiting, I again weighed the odds and considered leaving without a word. Before I could consider much further, he scurried into the room carrying a datapad.
“Here’s my little research project. Bertram must have moved it out from my study.” He grinned, sliding a finger across the pad. “I’ve got quite a collection here, but only summaries. Most of the information I have is stored up here,” he tapped the side of his head, “and of course backed up on my computer system. Why don’t you take a look, and maybe I can tell you about anything catching your eye.”
