Chapter Fifty-Four – Moments

Chapter Fifty-Four – Moments

“There are between a hundred and fifty and two hundred galas of importance every year. Half of these are directly in service to something. Modelling shows, auctions, art trades, art exhibits, fund-raisers, political plays, and a few other niche events make up the majority of the social events for the well-to-do.

This, of course, means a certain level of preparedness…”

–Excerpt from Socializing for the Nouveau-Riche, a Primer, 2046

***

Gomorrah drove us around the top of the skyscraper, the car angling to the side just enough that we could really take it in.

I had a certain set of expectations for what the gala would look like. Lots of fancy folk, some champaign and maybe some dancing?

It looked as though Burringham’s gala took up the entire topmost floor of a skyscraper, a whole section had glass walls and a glass ceiling, all that right next to the landing pads where a couple of cars were already idling away.

We weren’t the only people snooping around. There were drones with flickering safety lights buzzing around the building like circling vultures, and a pack of paparazzi were stalking by the entrance, only held back by some red velvet and mounted guns.

Gomorrah swooped in and landed us with a faint lurch right next to the end of the red carpet. The Fury probably looked strange next to all the Italian sports cars with its more muscle-car like aesthetics.

“I’ll set the auto-pilot to fly circles around the area,” Gomorrah said. “We’ll have close air support if we need it.”

“Ah, right, it’s always better to have close air support and not need it, than to need it and not have it,” I said wisely.

Lucy giggled in the back, and I grinned as I shoved the door open.

A few lights flashed and I couldn’t help but overhear the dozens of paparazzi asking themselves who the hell we were. They sounded like seagulls arguing over fries.

I stepped to the back and opened the door for Lucy. She made a show of stepping out one long leg at a time and of delicately taking my hand to help herself out. Frannie opened her own door and stomped out with a glare for anyone who cared to look.

With Lucy hanging off my arm, a huge grin on, we walked across the carpet with Gomorrah and Frannie trailing behind us and dutifully ignored the calls and questions and occasional camera flashes.

This is amusing.

“What’s amusing?” I asked after making sure my helmet was blocking any sound from exiting.

Some of these people are attempting to break into your equipment’s software. Others are purposefully using filters that depict yourself or Lucy in unflattering ways.

I frowned. Trying to hack into a celebrity’s shit was fine. I’d probably do the same in their place. But fucking with pictures of Lucy? Why would they do that? To plaster the images on some of those shitty media feeds that got off on making people look like shit? “Can you fuck up those messing with the pictures?”

Oh, certainly.

“Uh, would doing that be like, beyond your mandate or whatever?”

Technically, but it’s also amusing.

“Well, as long as you’re terrifying while on my side,” I said.

The entrance into the–was it a hall? A showroom? A ballroom, maybe?–gala-place, was being blocked by a team of guards and combat androids, as well as the same woman that I’d seen with Burringham, his secretary lady. She was armed with a digital clipboard and a scowl, though it relaxed when we came closer.

“Stray Cat,” she said. “And your plus one?”

“This is Lucy,” I said.

She nodded. “Can you decrypt this file please, as proof of your identity?” My augs were pinged, and I received a decently hefty file from her.