Memento Mori

3.4 - DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THERE AREN'T MANY WAYS to cross the Vents without being seen. Overcity security cameras might die off at the crust, but there's a human element of the undercity that keeps the streams of information flowing even down to the lowest towers. The Vents is like a living organism. Everything pulsing against itself, meshing together in new shapes, transmitting rumors like viruses until they bump up against the net of an Innovator spy network, conveniently-bribed shopkeep, or street rat who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Anyone can be connected to anyone, for the right price. And Dynasty has nothing if not credits.

Which is exactly why I'm not bothering to keep my head down tonight. Rested and refueled, sights set on the Kwa-Hon block's infamous Lighthouse casino, I've got no time to waste. I'm taking a calculated risk that the syndicate won't be as fast to respond as usual. Only a fool would think that Dynasty doesn't know what's going down tonight. A bribe in the right place, a couple credits to any number of two-bit thugs in the remaining gangs of the Eight; anyone and everyone could have leaked word to the syndicate.

It's an inevitability, and one I'm counting on to buy enough time for me to make it to the summit. Dynasty's focus will be on the big prize tonight. Disrupt the movements of their competition, stop the remaining members of the Eight from forming a united front against them. I'm just a little loose end in comparison. Still fluttering, but not annoying enough to draw their full attention. While the syndicate's operatives will be doing everything they can to bypass the gang blockades around the Kwa-Hon block, they'll be too tied up to pursue sightings of rogue gunslinging vigilantes- though not if Matthias has his way with the pants he's trying to get me to wear.

"I told you to grab one of Sarah's capes from the range," I growl. "Not her whole damn wardrobe."

"Don't give me that," he says, spying my glare in the mirror. "You're the one pitching yourself as Sarah Morninghawk's successor. If you want the Eight to listen to you, you have to at least look the part."

We're in a jury-rigged wardroom of spray-conditioner and makeup deep in the Ibis. Splayed on the mirror in front of me, a holographic image of Nero's passive Mecha visage watches Matthias fuss with small strands of my hair while he applies the finishing touches of my eyeshadow.

"The boy is correct. You have a role to play tonight," Nero's serpentine voice says, tapping at a tablet mounted to his forearm. Mecha hardware of some kind. An information pings in the corner of the display as he transmits a file to me. "Each of the attending gangs have been assigned chokepoints to guard on the perimeter of the Kwa-Hon block. This marker will allow you free passage through my men. Link up with them, and an escort will bring you the rest of the way to the Lighthouse through a rear entrance. Do not let anyone else know of your arrival. Your presence must remain hidden until an amenable moment arises. My contemporaries will no doubt have cards of their own to play- it will not do to reveal our trump early."

"Expecting heat?"

"Expecting the unexpected." Nero straightens his collar. "My men reported your absence earlier this morning. I take it you went to investigate the matter with Dax's faction?"

"Yeah. Had to see it for myself." I flinch as Matthias runs a careful finger over one of the long scratches on my face, hiding it behind a healthy serving of concealer and scabgel. "Dynasty wiped them out from top to bottom. No survivors."

"Seizing on the opportunity to single out their competition. Logical, yet unfortunate for our aims. What of the civilians?"

"Helped a few out, but Vector Seven is a lost cause." I thumb an ammo cylinder into the 6-Teba and spin it into place. "Shimano Heavy won't be happy about that."