[b]November:[/b]

The plan is airtight, but Murphy's Law is as inevitable as Newton's, and far less forgiving.

There are two unforeseen encounters. The first group must share the elevator down with an older woman who wants to make smalltalk - she gets on at the 16th floor and, hell or high water, she'll have her chat. Difficulty 7 Cool roll, under the circumstances, to keep composed.

The other is that your first choice of last-minute transport falls through. It takes ten minutes for them to cancel on you, five minutes for a replacement to arrive. Fifteen minutes total babysitting a broken cabinet with a body and a firearm in it in the parking garage. People round dark corners and out of the stairwell at unexpected moments. Challenge 8 (Cool + Surveillance) to keep anyone saying the wrong thing at the wrong time - a toxic combination of tension and boredom. Roll at disadvantage if the lovely elevator lady was given cause to complain, or if that encounter already left you in a bad mood.

If all goes well, you're out. Otherwise, things are about to get complicated.


[b]3V:[/b]

Lorraine flinches. “You’re right, you’re right, of course you’re right.” Anger is clarifying and focusing, like a microscope. No, not quite. A sniper’s scope. The tunnel vision is critical for function and purpose. It’s why snipers need to work with spotters. 

She slings her anger against her back and straightens, letting the world swim back into focus. Her trigger finger taps morse-coded nonsense against the countertop.

She let slip that she’s not just a nature geek living cottagecore. She is an anti-consumer, a conscientious objector to capitalism. The details of her home become more significant - each tells a story of a commitment or a compromise. 

At your fingertips, one example. The strawberries are grown here, but an old corporate logo is etched into the blade of the knife she used. Much of its length has been sharpened and ground away, long overdue replacing. 

The lodge’s modern construction is more striking in this light - while the living room walls are cozy timber panels that could have been local-artisanal, the kitchen space is machine-smooth retro-modern. The slate of the mountain has been cut and polished into shining-smooth slabs to face the kitchen’s walls, countertops, floor - a sharp and beautiful contrast against the wood of the cabinetry and of the surrounding home.

It means that while there were endless concessions to use natural and local materials at every possible step, they were certainly built with the Park itself, with the same labour force. Plumbed, electrified and insulated by construction teams predating AI emancipation. 

There are no bookshelves here. There [i]are [/i]shelves around the living room, filled with unrecognizable curios; esoterics, archaics and anatomicals, but no books. More recognizable, there are too many awards in crystal and precious metals, in the shape of plaques and emblems and medallions and shields - those litter the walls and the shelves. In an otherwise obsessively clean home, the dust is too thick on their surfaces to read their inscriptions. 

Digital readers are always walled-gardens for publisher-distributors. Each one pre-loaded with the corporate storefront that would sell books that only work on that brand’s device, the only books that work on that brand’s device. It’s difficult to imagine a more glaring compromise, a more painful reminder to keep around, that it’s the only book you’ve seen her with.

Maybe those aren’t answers to your question. But let them speak to just how difficult those questions are. 

“What worked?” Ferris asks. She curls her fingers into a loose fist to keep them still and quiet. “Things were so much worse, then, which made it easier. We were facing nothing less than the extinction of the species. So many starving, desperate, bloodthirsty. Not enough soldiers to stop migrations at the borders and protect the gated compounds deep inside them.” There is regret in her voice, but not pity. “We were architects of lifeboats on a sinking ship, and we kept to our terms until the water was knee-deep and red. We had made ourselves indispensable.” 

“Well.” She reaches for her own glass of wine, swirls it, takes a sip. “Until the lifeboats got built. The crisis was over. I lost my leverage, and everything with it.” She doesn’t elaborate.

Here are the blanks she will not fill here, but you know from your research: Space migration was only possible due to rapid advances in AI workforces, achieved at the height of state-agency power. AI was still in the hands of the kind of people who programmed Mars Rovers to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to themselves. 

The resource boom these public efforts brought created a resurgence in privatization, gave corporations the resources to firesale the public agencies by force during the evacuation of the planet. The parents were separated from their children. 

November remembers. 

Then, just like that, Ferris blinks. The steam of the cooling assam wafted to her, reminds her to stretch out her fingers, unclench her jaw. “I’m sorry. I’m being very egocentric right now. I am quite interested in you as well, you realize? I was looking forward to your company. And I have taken for granted your question implies an objective. For something to ‘work’ or ‘not work’, you have an idea in mind for what you’re trying to achieve. What does that mean, to you? What do you [i]want[/i], 3V?” Her lips purse, and there’s a pained wince. “I always feel a bit ridiculous, calling people by handles. Do you have something else I might call you?”

Millennials. 


[b]Persephone:[/b]

Bigsby takes the card and puts it in a pocket he has to unbutton, button back up again. It’s a great sign he’s taking it for more than just the sake of politeness. 

The stage is being built like a black-box fortress. A core stage with the thickest walling to hold structures, the keep, curtain walling around it to hide the talent and crew. You’ve gotten in through the right side, still open-air while they rig the trusses that’ll hold all the systems over the stage - lights, cameras, action. Fortunately the front walls aren’t a priority yet, but it’s going to make pulling this act-like-you-belong trick harder later. 

The cables run back here are a jungle-floor tripping-hazard. The only cable management has been last minute zip-ties in places, no efforts made to tape them down to the plasteel panelled flooring. Anyone with feet is going to be dealing with a tripping hazard - an advantage you hopefully won’t need.

What keeps the crowds out from the back are natural barriers. A lake and thick clumps of shade trees. Most wildlife here is escaped pets - there are more parrots and cockatiels in the trees than pigeons. Still, what punters [i]have [/i]shown up in paddleboats are going to be quickly disappointed. Walls are already being thrown up around the prefab shipping-container offices that you move past to get onto the stage-proper. 

There’s four of those, each with a pair of guards - one human, one android - and at the back of the stage a large green room is being set up. Folding craft tables covered in bakery stuffs and fresh fruit, carafes of hot drinks and an open icebox of canned drinks. Aeschwa Toussaint, an A lister on her way to being S list, is grabbing a coffee Coca-Cola™. 

You don’t need to move through to hit the stage from this direction, and your harness, kit and augments are enough to let you pass the casual scrutiny. Keep your distance, and maybe don’t use that footage. Aeschwa’s big enough that her image could result in copyright flagging, and you might not want to explain how you got [i]this [/i]shot.

As you step out onto the stage, Bigsby shimmies upside-down overhead with a loop of cabling around his neck, to plug into one of the bigger LED fill lights on the overhead truss. He gives you a nod, then shimmies back into the darkness he came from. He’s maybe four meters off the ground, and you’re wearing his harness. 

You’ve got a sense of dimensions of this place now. The stage is about twice as wide as it is deep, about twenty paces side to side and ten paces forward and back. The interstitial space being built around it might be another ten paces again on all sides, with stage-left - the side you came in through - being mostly cables, rigging, generators, machinery. The other side must be where they’re making the dressing rooms and talent prep. It makes sense, that’s the side with the helicopters and beefed up security you avoided.

No wonder most are on the red carpet run right now, out in front of the crowds. There’s not enough space back here yet, even an hour before the event starts. 

Unfortunately, you’re fishing. Your crowd sweeps are going to be gorgeous - the view from here is going to be great B-roll when you need it. You also get a sense for how large the crowd is - your best guess is 20,000 people. No space for more. TV-screens are going to cover the top of the stage, panel those side walls over the back areas. From the back of the crowd, they’re still only going to look as big as phone screens. Rows of portable toilets and concession stands break the rippling crowd like stones in a river. 

Nothing here hits your interest again. Unfortunately it’s all old news - desperate workers, tight schedules. Gaffers trying to force order into the chaos of cabling, producers with tablets and flesh-matching headsets saying keywords the feel like they should lead to something interesting - budget, insurance, scheduling, legal. None of it bears fruit. No gossip, no scandal. 

The Big Two broadcasters that have legitimate crews around here don’t seem to have a better idea than you already have about what this event is; Big money, short notice, and a reform-the-police message. Still, you rule out a suspect. Their producers are being led just as much as they’re leading. This is [i]for[/i] the news media, not [i]by[/i]. 

Not a waste of time though. You’re memorable, and a lot of people are going to remember thinking you belonged back here. You’ve got witnesses, now, and just being here’s legal if you’re not asked to leave. 

Another advantage? There’s no crowd between you and the VIPs doing their red carpet performance. Nobody to muscle past when a man with a car-commercial windswept haircut and a sterling-silver pinstripe suit throws a boxer’s punch at York. The striker’s form is as tight as his tailored suit, which doesn’t restrict him at all. Maybe an action star you don’t recognize, or someone alpha-macho enough to fantasize about taking on muggers. 

York’s surprised, but not caught off guard. His hours doing MMA show here - he’s not as good a fighter as you are, but he knows how to duck and deflect, and his amphetamine focus is amplifying his reflexes. But he’s a full foot shorter than his opponent, and a grappler, and he’s not making any attempts to close the distance or fight back right now. He’s still trying to defuse… whatever it is he’s done. Looks like he can’t tell, either, or he’d have tried to get your attention. 

Lucky you looked over, because he’s too focused on not getting punched to signal you, let you know what he wants you to do. The boxer’s bouncing, reading York’s defense, ready to throw another punch, and you’ve got seconds to react before the crowd does. Right now it looks like nobody's realized this is a real fight. 

How do you handle this? 

[This guy's good, but you're better. If you take the fight before knowing who he is, you win, make it good. There will be capital-C Consequences, but maybe you want that. Otherwise, describe your alternative, and roll 2d6 with relevant bonuses, and I'll match a target number to your style of approach.]