"Unity College sure has generous donors." I comment while walking towards the entrance of the Hotel Metro. The joint looked more like a palace than an actual hotel, with the glass doors of the main entrance flanked by a quartet of stone pillars, each topped with a statue of an underage nudist.

If the College was shelling out to hold their fundraiser at such a posh joint, the governors had to be confident that they could make the money back. Not that The Voice and I had any intention of donating a single red cent. The reason we dropped by was because Hobo Beard's a guest of honor of this shindig and we wanted to invite him back with us for a frank and friendly exchange of ideas.

The Voice had parked the cab just outside the hotel compound, which was separated from the main road by a massive decorative stone arch leading to the courtyard where the main entrance is located. The courtyard is richly adorned with greenery, most likely magically enhanced given the fact that none of the plants were dying in the middle of winter. The courtyard had also been turned into an ad-hoc parking area, with luxury sports cars and oversize limos casually sprawled about, tended to by the hotel's valets.

"Shit, one of the those cars would set me back a year's pay back home." I mutter while flexing my right arm experimentally. Its nowhere near full strength, but at least it no longer doubled as dead weight.

The Voice rasps, "The Metro is a very exclusive establishment aimed at a very discerning clientele. That can be said for most of the resorts in the Charlie Mountain District though."

"They actually carved out a mountain range and bolted it to The City." I remark while taking a glance at the said mountain range that gave the district its name looming behind the hotel, "Still can't get over the fact that the folks here went through the trouble to do all that."

"The mountain range serves as a psychological barrier, keeping the riff raff out of the district." The Voice rumbles, "Only people of taste and wealth are welcome here."

"The district is still linked to The City as a whole by highway and mag rail though." I point out, "Not much of a barrier if you ask me."

"The people who work here do need a way to actually show up for work." The Voice says, "Not that they are particular welcome in any case."

I join the throng of extravagantly dressed men and women filing through the Metro's main doors, feeling extraordinarily seedy. Compared to their get ups, my sex offender outfit makes me look downright disreputable, probably even borderline criminal. But other than some looks of disgust and averted gazes, no one challenges my presence here. Security is really light as well, I don't see any guards at the entrance other than a few members of the hotel's staff.

Say what you like about the sex offender trench coat, it does the job of getting people to look away. The only real issue was that I had to limit myself to the gear I could hide under the trench coat. That meant that the grenade launcher was out. We needed Naiberg alive to interrogate him about the soul extraction process, so that meant no revolver. The only heat I packed with me was a freshly spawned stun baton and the stun gun.

Oh, and several hypodermic needles loaded with one of the drugs found in the hospital ward. After analyzing the drugs that I had recovered, The Voice had concluded that one of the drugs was a fentanyl derivative, formulated as a powerful sedative. This was probably the stuff that was used to knock out Freak Show and friends back at the hospital. The other drug was a stimulant, to rouse them from their stupor quickly if need be. Since the sedative seemed like a good addition to my arsenal for this mission, The Voice promptly spawned several hypodermic needles worth for my use.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Best case scenario being I jab Hobo Beard with one of these needles and drag him to the cab once he falls into a stupor. Neat and clean. Though I doubt things are going to be so easy, based on past experience.

I shuffle along with the crowd towards the ballrooms where the fundraiser is being held and flash the invitation card The Voice had spawned for me back at the hideout at the concierge stationed at the ballroom's double doors. The concierge merely frowns at my state of dress and waives me through. So far so good.

Unfortunately, actually getting me a seat at the fundraising dinner was out of the question. The College would immediately notice an alteration to the guest list and my presence would be immediately detected. It looks like there would be no dinner for me tonight. Nevertheless, having access to the ballroom was an important advantage to have, if only to check on whether Hobo Beard was actually present.

And there he is, lounging back in his chair at the VIP table with a look of total boredom on his face. Occasionally I see him make a slight smirk at nothing in particular, but otherwise Hobo Beard doesn't seem to be doing anything much. The only real thing of interest are the pair of SOPO officers decked out in their full regalia hanging around Hobo Beard's table. Bodyguards probably. A quick check of their spirit cores confirms that these guys have not been enhanced. Hobo Beard's not important enough to get the upgraded SOPO muscle?

I discreetly head towards the corner of the ballroom and draw a spy cam from the pockets of the trench coat. Ensuring that this spot provides maximum coverage for the camera, I quickly slap the spy cam onto the wall.

"I have eyes on the Archmage." The Voice confirms.

With that, I quietly slip out of the ballroom, with no one the wiser.

....

I've made myself comfortable on a couch near to the hotel's reception area, ostensibly reading the evening paper. From what The Voice has been telling me, Hobo Beard has just been sitting in the ballroom stuffing his face with food and spacing out due to the boredom. A very sedate mission so far. My best chance to perform the snatch would be when Hobo Beard leaves, probably when he is close to his car. Rush Hobo Beard and jab him with a needle, then take out the bodyguards. Or maybe I should make my move while he is being jostled around in the crowd?

The Voice suddenly announces, "Transmigrator, something has happened at the hospital. The patients at the ward we investigated are being loaded into four coaches."

"Hobo Beard's doing?" I hazard a guess.

"Most likely." The Voice rasps, "I observed him sending a message from his mobile just now. Unfortunately I could not track the number that he was using or sending to in the time available, making intercepting the message impossible."

"Cleaning his tracks." I say, "Probably getting rid of the evidence. Do you have your drones recording all this?"

"Of course." The Voice sniffs, "Archmage Naiberg is mistaken if he thinks that he can evade my scrutiny so easily."

The night continues to pass peacefully while I pretend to read my paper. Until The Voice makes another sudden observation.

"Archmage Naiberg has left his seat and is leaving the ballroom with his bodyguards in tow." The Voice rumbles, "Something is happening."

I put down the paper and retrace my steps towards the ballroom. As I arrive, I see Hobo Beard disappear around the corner of a corridor heading to the washroom while holding a mobile to his ear. A confidential call then. The bodyguards take up positions at the corridor's junction, giving Hobo Beard his privacy.

Wonderful. I can grab Hobo Beard right now. No fuss and no muss. I draw a pair of syringes from the trench coat, holding one in each hand. I faintly hear bits and pieces of the conversation on Hobo Beard's end. Something something illuminating? Whatever.

As the expression on the bodyguards' faces twist into looks of disgust at the sight of me, I activate the artificial core and charge forward, stabbing at their necks with the needles. Before the bodyguards can react, the needle sink into their skin, pumping them full of sedative. The bodyguards' faces become slack and listless before they collapse to the ground like a pile of wet noodles.

I draw a fresh needle for Hobo Beard and gently open the door to the gents. I don't see him inside though. Hobo Beard must be the kind of guy who likes taking a dump after a call. Well, I would rather not catch Hobo Beard with his pants down, but if that's what it takes, then that's what it takes.

I open the door to the first stall. No one there. The second. Also no one. Then the third and the fourth.

No one. Absolutely no one.

Hobo Beard had disappeared.