Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

Rearing back, the intruder placed a savage kick to the doors leading into the security back area. He disappeared from the cameras, and the sounds of chaos and fighting came not from the intercom but from the hallways nearby. The cameras, which quickly were disabled, detailed the continuing fight and systematic pummeling of Luna Casino’s well-trained security team.

“This place is protected, right?” Gregor asked Bertram again. When no response was given, as his manager/assistant was too busy staring in horror at the wrecked main floor, Gregor shook Bertram. “Are we safe?”

The assistant gave a dazed expression before blinking. “Oh! Ah, yes, we should be fine in here.”

A heavy pound resounded as something collided with the door. Four security people snapped their weapons to bear, terrified and aiming at the entrance. The camera in the hallway outside was out, and no one knew if the man would be coming in.

Several seconds bled by, and nothing happened.

A few more shouts resounded from the hallway, and there was a spot of intermittent gunfire, but nothing more seemed to assault the main security room.

Gregor, realizing he was holding his breath, turned back to the display panels. “Where is he?” he asked the man at the station.

“I-I don’t know, sir.” Several angles in different locations flickered, but there was no sign of the large man. Considerable numbers of fleeing individuals and security personnel could be seen, but no intruder.

“Find him!” Gregor snapped.

More of the camera shots went by, different security areas, the vault-

“Wait, there!” The owner jabbed a finger toward the screen.

The tech moved the shot back in time to see the large man reach up and destroy one of the cameras near the vault.

“Christ dammit almighty…” Gregor took a deep breath. “The guy’s pulling a job. Get everyone we got left down to the vault! Kill the prick if you have to!”

One of the techs relayed the order, and the casino owner prodded the man controlling the camera displays. Over the course of a few minutes, images flashed by, but more and more of the cameras seemed to be going out. A couple of glimpses of the man resulted from the search, and frantic yelling into communicators directed personnel to intercept.

Scattered security teams dragged through the hallways, checking and rechecking the vault, but no one knew where the man went. More minutes dripped by, and the few cameras remaining could occasionally catch the group of security men cautiously moving through the halls. Other shots featured cracked walls and strewn, hopefully only unconscious bodies.

All at once, the main security room was plunged into complete darkness.

The chaos which ensued was a mess of shouting, flailing, shoving, and people being knocked sprawling. Gregor was one such individual, who was bowled over by a panicking Bertram. His head struck the edge of a desk, and bright stars filled his vision.

Clinging to consciousness and through muddy senses, he heard the continued panic as individuals in the security office scrambled around. Stepped on and kicked, Gregor tried to shout, voice weak and unheeded in the mayhem.

Out of breath and warm blood spilling down his face, the proprietor crawled until he found a wall, away from the panicking individuals. He huddled there, dazed until he faded out.

He woke to find himself alone, the doors to the office wide open and dim, flickering light spilling in from the outside. Clamoring to his feet, Gregor tried to ignore the waves of nausea and head-splitting pain as he stumbled into the hallway.

Bodies lay strewn about, unconscious or dead he couldn’t determine. Gregor wiped the sticky blood out of his eyes and stumbled past his downed security guards.

Similar scenes greeted him as he progressed through the back areas of his casino. Chips of plaster, ceramic, and paint crumbled off smashed sections of wall and ceiling in every area. Fallen guards adorned near every corridor.

The dim lighting, provided by the emergency back-up generator, flickered, and exposed wiring sparked where fixtures or cameras had been torn loose. Gregor stumbled through the mostly dark halls, lost and tripping over the numerous bodies. He didn’t know where he was going.

As Gregor came around a corner, he nearly collided with a man coming in the opposite direction. Gawking, the proprietor looked up, dwarfed by the man’s massive frame.

Cold blue eyes narrowed, glaring down at Gregor. The man who assaulted the casino drew his lips back, baring teeth.

Terror clouded the proprietor’s mind, and he pressed himself up against the wall, trembling. The huge man regarded him with a hostile expression for a moment before stalking off in another direction.

Heart hammering, Gregor slid down to a sitting position. His head, ribs, arms, and everything else throbbed with every beat of his racing heart, and he huddled there, waiting for someone to come help him.

“I was lucky you know. The head injury was pretty bad.” Gregor said, grinning. He tilted his head and pointed to a long scar near the crown. “But Bertram was luckier I didn’t have him flayed alive for hurting me and running off!” He tossed his head and laughed as though this was somehow funny.

I asked, “What else happened?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “not very much, really. Two hours later, GSA authorities responded to the scene and found me huddled there. I then spent a week in a hospital, screaming at the orderlies to find out how much money was stolen from me.”

“How much was it?”

“Ten million credits,” he said with an air of pride.

As he said it, I gained a sudden sense of something missing. “Ten million?” I asked. “How is that possible? I was under the impression everything was handled via microtransactions from account to account. Does your vault even contain hard currency?”

Gregor Wilhelm grinned. “Ah, very perceptive. We found, through years of research, dealing with such behind-the-scenes financial gain and loss does boost our profits in the short term. People don’t manage to see their accounts drifting, dwindling away.”

“However,” he held up an index finger, “individuals also don’t seem to gain the same level of entertainment, and we experience fewer returnees. In the long run, it’s better to cultivate the highest possible levels of excitement, and having a physical form of money to be gained and lost is one such method. The currency we hold here for betting is in simple chips. Each one is coded with credits in their proper expressed increment.” He laughed. “It might get you a funny look, but you could take one to any proper store and use it as legal tender.”

It wasn’t the currency system which caused me to wonder about his story. Most people utilized temporary digital chits to carry small amounts of their money regardless. Having any device linked to full access of an account was risking a lot to theft and fraud. Still, bits of the story and parts not quite fitting clung to my thoughts.

“You’re certain Ivan was the one who stole the money.”

Near-imperceptible, the proprietor’s eyes darted to the side before he grinned. “Of course. He disabled the power generator, entered the vault, and made off with my money. It took years to repair the damage he caused. Not to the resort itself, but to my reputation! It’s hard to convince people of coming to a facility so far from help. They say, ‘Why wouldn’t we go to Finzle’s Resort? It might be smaller, but it’s right there in the core.’ Heathen pigs.” He puffed on his pipe. “Novelty doesn’t win when people think your place is a death trap.”

I nodded.

“But after the mess at the Garden a few years later, having a location which survived the terror of Ivan was a new level of novelty in itself. And again close to another catastrophe of so long ago.” Gregor wagged a finger at me. “Did you know there are some silly theorists who posit that Ivan caused the problems which ruined Old Earth?” He laughed. “Ridiculous nonsense, but the rumor doesn’t hurt business, so…”