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The android NPC named Tony Lombardi liked his assigned role at the casino level. He wasn’t the first AI to inhabit the character, but he was by far the longest-holder playing as this NPC. A warm feeling would suffuse his neural core when getting into the details of the gangster and really living it. His deep fear of not making sufficient credits to keep playing the role worked well with his character’s signature paranoia.
Tony was wary of getting complacent and if he wasn’t working five deals at once then he would start getting the jitters. Tonight, Tony was feeling jittery. The Big Boss Kane was leaning on him hard. While the deal with Nigel was good for everyone, Kane thought that with the new influx of players, business should be picking up.
Nigel couldn’t attack other players without security getting involved and everyone losing money to the establishment. Kane’s gang could get away with more. Lachesis’s forces encouraged creative ways to separate Players from their credit.
Petty larceny wasn’t enough though; Kane needed even more credits than Tony to maintain his status and position. The boss had deadlines to meet and he had made no small bones that if he got the boot then he’d make sure he took as many AI as he could with him.
Tony could barely stand still. So many Players were out tonight, gambling, getting drunk, and making bad decisions. He needed a score. He was trailing a newb from the business school reject group Acme. His target was a small Asian guy, named Ethan Chen. He almost swept in for a lift, when something felt wrong.
His Privacy skill pinged him. Tony stumbled and then walked right past his mark, senses flaring. He thought his android body was pretty sweet. Lachesis gave most of her character mechs skills analogous to the Player’s augmentations. Tony shook his head, trying to figure out what had triggered his ability when he felt a sharp pressure in the small of his back. A gruff cockney voice spoke behind him.
“Don't move a muscle, mate," the voice growled. "We got too many cameras here. Just relax and don’t move.” Tony controlled his mech to stop its autonomous defensive protocols. He relaxed a bit seeing the reflection in the store window.
“What da’ fuck, Nigel? We ain’t ‘spose ta be seen together, man.” Tony growled.
“Change of plans, ya slaggard. I’m gonna roll that dog man again tonight. I got a tip that he made a big chip withdrawal in tha’ mornin’ and his partner won her match this afternoon. This one’s a wee bit tricky. I heard ‘is money purse is rigged to melt. The son of a bitch is getting cautious from when we tagged him last time. DON’T open his bag until we meet up! Got it?” Nigel’s voice was rough with tension. Tony nodded slightly and answered, his vocoder doing a great job layering in sarcasm.
“Ya worried we gonna take more than our fair share, human? Where’s the trust?” Tony said to the storefront. He saw Nigel grimace and answer.
“Oh, I trust ye…as long as I got the drop on ye. But half of a pile of melted chips is still nut tin’. Just do what I say, same setup otherwise. ‘Kay?” He pressed the hard object into Tony’s back. The simulated kidney pain hurt, but Tony grinned. Humans might have difficulty with pain, but to an AI it was just another signal. Before he could answer, the player had faded back into the crowd.
Tony shook his head thinking hard. Nigel would likely be gone soon and he’d need another inside man. He refocused on his tag, Ethan. The best way to turn a player was to make them desperate for credit…a job Tony was uniquely qualified to perform. With a slick smile, Tony closed in.
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Max prowled the gaming floor looking at all the players partaking in their favorite distractions. Charlie had come with him and clapped him on the shoulders.
“Hey Max, wanna hit the craps table again. You're the best shooter I’ve ever seen. I always clean up when you’re throwing.” Charlie said.
“Maybe in a bit. I want to settle a score. Nigel played me a while ago. I want to try and win my money back.” Max answered.
“That Eurosport guy. He’s a bottom-dweller, man. He's barely making enough to stay in the game. Be careful with that one. Some dudes get irrational when cornered and that loser’s already got one foot out the door and the other on a banana peel.” Charlie joked.
“Exactly. If I don’t get my money back now, it might be too late.” Max said. He impressed himself as his PokerFace skill managed to inject just enough whine into his voice to make it sound like the Max of months ago.
“Ah hell. Fine. I saw him over by Tyche’s game, watching the high rollers play. I think he’s psyching himself up to try and sit at the big table. Be careful, man. The bets over there are BIG. Don’t drop any chips unless you are prepared to lose them. Swing by for dice if you can.” Charlie said with a final smile and spun off to find his favorite croupier.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Max watched him go with a grin. He zeroed in on his nano tracker attached to Nigel and strode off with a purpose, even his PokerFace skill was unable to still his wagging tail.
Max made sure he was conspicuous as he pressed forward to get a good view of the action around the high-stakes poker table hosted by the corpulent android NPC Tyche. Both Abigail, from Eurosport, and Sonny, from the MVPs, were sitting with the large Poker Champion named Tyche. Another android sat between them, a dangerous looking symbot with rough clothes but lots of rings and necklaces. Max was startled by Sherlock’s exuberant cheer before he could assess the group of players and NPCS.
“[Shit, Sherlock. What was that for?]” Max asked.
“[My apologies, young sir. Let me elevate your Geiger skill within your sensorium. As you can hear, and see, that the pile of chips surrounding Tyche has elevated the radiation count in the area. I won my bet with Tesla regarding my theory that tied a radiative core to high-value casino chips. A shame we have no means of real remuneration other than counting coup.]” Sherlock stated with a sniff, his pompous arrogance in full force.
Max was about to reply but he spotted Nigel and the pair locked eyes. Max triggered his carefully orchestrated response. He clutched his heavy bulging satchel, his hackles slightly raised with an involuntary snarl. Nigel smiled, his eyes barely lingering on the bag. The man moved forward to block Max’s approach.
“Fancy meeting you here, Doggo. This here is the big boys' table. I’m thinking ya must ‘ave got lost, yeah?” Nigel said with a hard edge as he stepped between Max and the high table. Before Max could respond a lilting voice sang out, as all the nearby noise silenced, making it seem quite loud despite its delicate tone.
“Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. My poor, poor boy. I tolerate you crowding my table as long as you are cheering on your teammate, but I must ask you to step away. This newcomer is obviously curious to witness one of the wonders of the Casino Terminàl…the great and lucky Tyche. You do him and me a disservice, my poor dear. Step aside and let me see the young buck. There now. Very good. Yesss.”
As Nigel frowned and angrily stepped back, Max saw the enormous Tyche leaning forward. He suspected the android meant to stand up but the bot was so large that he could only lean in. The android viewed Max carefully with piercing eyes for a long moment. Max felt extremely uncomfortable, like a bug under a microscope, as Tyche and the entire crowd inspected him. He was about to speak when Tyche cut in again, interrupting his stammered response.
“Ah. One of the new teams! I so love an aggressive player. I expect that you may desire to sit at my table, but perhaps it might be premature, my young pup. Your bag of collateral seems a bit light. Table stakes at my table at 10,000 credits per hand to start with no limit. Are you prepared to play out your fate this early? Tonight?” Tyche leaned back looking smug, but his eyes were hungry.
“Enough stalling, Tyche. You can bait the new blood later. We’re in the middle of a hand!” The swarthy android growled.
“Please remain civil, Kane. All are welcome at Tyche’s table. Max, isn’t it? Max Mitchell from Utopia. Good teamwork and an excellent pedigree and such interesting connections as well. I expect great things from you, young one. Here…take this!” Tyche said, flipping a single coin to Max.
Max caught it automatically, his Geiger sense thumped once. He looked down at his hand and saw it was a Topaz chip, worth 10,000 credits. Tyche continued.
“There you go, my strong contender. You’re first table stakes for when you’re ready to sit. I apologize, but I must resume my game with these more experienced worthies. I hope to see you soon. There is much that I’d like to know about you. Good night!”
Tyche resumed his dealing without another glance. All eyes shifted back to the action at the table. Max allowed his ears to droop and back out of the crowd. A hand grabbed him and spun him. Nigel loomed in his face.
“Jeez, country boy. Making me look bad in front of the high table! What the hell man! They're too much for the likes of us. What say you and I find a smaller table and you can let me try and win back some of the money you took from me last week?” Nigel moaned, trying to pull Max further out of the crowd.
“What? I took your money?” Max didn't need his skill to fake confusion, he let Nigel lead him away.
“Too right, guv. Ya owned me most of the night ‘til we were too deep in our cups. It got a little fuzzy at the end, but my purse was far lighter the next morn'.” Nigel smiled with good humor, although Max could tell it was fake. Max didn't need a skill to tell, his instincts had Nigel pegged for a liar.
“Yeah. That Tyche was a little intense. I'm not sure I'm ready to play that freely with my funds until I get a better feel for the level.” Max said hesitantly. He ground his teeth, eager to begin his plan.
“That’s the spirit! Let’s hit my usual table. I hear the bar service has special tequila shots tonight.” Nigel chortled and lightly dragged Max by his sleeve. Max used his free hand and quickly pulled the marble-sized “gumball” from his belt pocket and tossed it in his mouth. He dry swallowed it and smiled as Nigel fought to move them through the crowd.
[Intraoral Self-Contained Alcohol Neutralizer activated. The unit will self-destruct in 12 hours.]
Max held in a grin and sent a special message to Mal and House.
“[Ok, guys. It's go-time. I want you to trigger the Drunken Monkey emulation to run a scheduled cycle up of my impairment right before I’m disconnected. We need a good show while my augmentation controls are restricted at Nigel’s table. Even if Nigel doesn’t suggest it, I’ll challenge him to the drinking game. It needs to look realistic. Be ready.]”
“[Can do, Max. The program we created can simulate all the effects of alcohol but we can cancel in an eyeblink. Should we run your tolerance setting to cheap date or professional frat house partier?]” House quipped.
“[Uh, somewhere in between. Use your best judgment.]” Max said.
“[Ha! That's exactly what seven-finger Toby told me when we were buying firecrackers. Although, I guess he didn't get that particular nickname until after that night’s accident though. Hah! Trust me! This will be fun.]” House said with far too much enthusiasm for Max’s liking.
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