Eventually, her partner Asta appeared on the small intercom screen, her face kind but tinged with sadness. “Hello, Emz. Merry Christmas.”
“Asta! Merry Christmas. I really, really need Beata’s help.”
Asta shook her head slightly, her tone apologetic. “I’m sorry, Emz, but Beata made it very clear she doesn’t want to work with you anymore. She’s firm on that. I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Emz said, trying to keep the desperation from leaking into his voice. “I’ve kept my distance. But this is different. It’s super important.”
“I’m really sorry, Emz,” Asta repeated, her voice soft but unyielding. “Maybe try again in the new year. I’m sure she’ll come around.” She gave him a small, sympathetic wave before the screen went blank.
Emz stared at the darkened intercom screen, debating whether to press the button again. Instead, he stepped back, scanning the apartment block for their window. The apartment was too high up for shouting to be an option, so he dismissed the thought with a sigh.
Overhead, a delivery drone buzzed towards the building’s roof. For a moment, Emz entertained a ludicrous idea of clinging to a drone to gain rooftop access. He shook his head, letting the fantastical notion go. Aside from being reckless, there was no way a delivery drone could hold his weight. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and visible, he pulled down his beanie and headed across the street towards the Metro entrance.
On the underground ride, Emz busied himself with his trading account, submitting orders to liquidate all his stocks. It pained him to see his meagre investments pulled out before they had time to mature, but he needed cash—and fast. Reflecting on his poor finances, especially given the illegal risks he often took, he resolved to hustle harder once this was over. Beyond the basics provided by the citizen payments, which kept the population from poverty, Emz’s ambitions required more.
He briefly dwelt on a fortune lost months earlier, wondering if he had made the catastrophic mistake of a lifetime by not finding a way to make it work out. Nevertheless, he quickly dismissed the thought, semi-confident that destroying the old crypto wallet had been the right decision. Once his trading orders were set in motion, he leaned back in his seat and began researching the Gemini Building, poring over official gallery photos and online reviews.
He found plenty of promotional images showcasing the building’s layout, including a sleek lobby, a luxurious restaurant, spa facilities, high-end apartments, a rooftop delivery area, and a helipad. He scrutinised the building’s services—personal human concierges, catering, cleaning, and robot attendants for the budget-conscious. His attention lingered on the porters, clad in saffron waistcoats, white shirts, and pinstripe navy trousers, each adorned with a gold name badge. A uniform like that should be straightforward enough to replicate.
After switching to a different Metro line, Emz refocused on Matthias Drexler and the origins of the Money Happens painting. His concentration, however, was soon disrupted by a loud kid nearby, chattering away to an AI assistant in what seemed to be some sort of interactive audio adventure game through his earbuds. To make matters worse, the kid’s attention was also glued to a mobile screen displaying a colourful, flashing puzzle game. Irritated, Emz sighed and moved further down the carriage, distancing himself from the commotion before resuming his search.
The painting, he learned, had debuted five years ago, standing apart from Drexler’s other works. Critics praised its exploration of consumerism, digital culture’s impact on wealth perception, and the universal allure of money in a hyper-connected world. By transforming a digital symbol into fine art, it simultaneously critiqued and celebrated the pursuit of fortune in the technological age.
“Whatever,” Emz muttered, rolling his eyes. Though, in truth, he liked its post-ironic vibe—if that was the right term.
He scoured the web for images of Drexler from around the time Money Happens was painted but came up empty. Digging further back, he stumbled upon a group photo from the ‘Drexler-Studio für Neopop-Kunst’, an Innsbruck-based academy the artist had run during that era. Among the assembled students and staff, just behind the real Drexler, stood a lithe figure with a slightly pointed nose and chin—the fake Drexler.
Excitement and bitterness surged through Emz as he disembarked at his final stop. Leaning against the platform wall, he continued his search. The studio’s student roster eventually yielded a name: Ciaran Tobin. Further investigation revealed Tobin as a young Irish artist in his mid-twenties back in 2044. Now likely in his early thirties, Tobin seemed to have vanished from the art world entirely. Emz reflected on how effectively the wig, glasses, and makeup had been used to age him, making him appear to align with the real Drexler’s mid-forties age during their encounter.
Stolen novel; please report.
Details about Drexler’s academy added an unsettling layer to the research. The studio had closed amid allegations of manic behaviour, frequent bullying, and favouritism, with hints of even more disturbing matters, including rumours of a student suffering a severe mental breakdown—possibly Tobin, which was when Drexler moved to Newland. A further deep dive into Tobin revealed several examples of his Neo-Pop inspired works, which, to Emz’s untrained eye, bore striking similarities to Money Happens.
Feeling like he was finally making progress, Emz left the platform and passed through the station gates into the lower level of Midton Mall. He rarely visited the mall—but this was his second visit in a week. Unlike the first, however, this trip was intentional. As he made his way toward the elevators creeping up to the main level, a tall, attractive young woman of Indian heritage moved to intercept him.
Smartly dressed and wielding a tablet, she captured his attention with her dark, smoky eyes and a beaming smile—calculated to disarm and engage. It worked. Emz hesitated just long enough for her to step into his path, effectively blocking his way.
“Hello, sir, how’s your day been?”
Emz grimaced at the word sir, which shattered the primal sexual instincts that had made him pause. “I’m good, but I’m really not interested, sorry.” He sidestepped slightly, attempting to disengage politely.
“I imagine you’re busy with Christmas presents,” she said, her big dark eyes twinkling. “But you know the Big Vote is just four years away!” She turned her tablet to face him, revealing the electric blue ‘Momentum’ logo of the newly formed right-wing political party, accompanied by colourful graphs and statistics. “You strike me as someone who values economic growth and lower taxes.”
Emz took another sidestep. Damn, she was attractive. Walking away felt like trying to escape a strong magnetic pull. “I’ve not really decided how I’m going to vote,” he said, his tone edging on awkward. “It’s still so far away, so, uh…”
“It’ll be here before we know it! This is the first chance to elect our own government, free from UN control. Do you have five minutes to hear about Momentum’s vision for Newland?”
Emz clapped his hands together, breaking the spell of her perfume and intense gaze. “Sorry, sorry, no.” Grinning like an idiot, he forced himself to walk away.
On the escalator, Emz resisted the urge to look back, instead fixing his attention on the advertisements running alongside. They showcased store promotions and a vibrant ad for a ‘Rare Toy & Game Expo!’ at the Midton Convention Centre next weekend. The event boasted guest speakers, cosplay competitions, auctions, and featuring rare trading cards among its many highlights.
Be more subtle and save your big moves for later, he thought, a plan slowly forming as he reached the main floor.
Emz spent hours piecing together components of his heist outfit, meticulously selecting items while deflecting the persistent attention of store stylists eager to offer personalised recommendations. Unable to find everything he needed, he returned home with his shopping bags and placed online orders for the remaining pieces, ensuring speedy delivery over the weekend.
Once back in his loft, Emz wasted no time and reached out to Luki to start setting up the technical side of his plans.
Emz: Hey, I need some help to set some things in motion, for myself and to get your card back
L: What do you need?
Emz: Does Gary have any other gaps in his collection, something he wants more than your turtle guy?
L: More than Blastoise?
Emz: Yeah
L: He used to also be missing Chansey... But I am not trading him mine!
Emz: No, I just want to bait him with something. So can you:
- Create a Username on a trading card forum
- Book an auction spot at the Rare Toy & Game Expo
- Get me a cosplay costume
- Have a quality copy of a painting made
- Hack into the Gemini Building systems
- Find out who uses airtaxis from the Gemini Building, and when the next one is booked
L: OK, for the first but I do not see how the others can help me get my Blastoise card back!??
Emz: They don’t, they’re for me. I want to be your client. I’ll pay you
L: OK, we will meet tomorrow morning to discuss
Emz: Tomorrow afternoon. I want to try and catch Gary one more time in the morning. But I need that fake user account today as backup, and the airtaxi info ready for when we meet