It was a good thing that it was the end of his shift, Grayson thought as he glanced at the hefty piece of technology strapped to his wrist, which not only allowed him constant and live access to the majority of security cameras scattered across the casino, but also doubled up as a handy watch. The last thing he would have wanted to do was wander aimlessly about the building, wondering if his 'suspension' was instant or took effect at the end of that day. But luckily, since his day over, he was free to go back to his apartment, located behind the casino, and mope. Perhaps even begin the no doubt long and arduous task of finding somewhere that would offer someone without augmentations a job. He might even feel inclined to let his parents know that his anti-enhancement stance had lost him his job; they might enjoy that news.

The ride to the bottom floor took less than thirty seconds, the well-oiled lift gliding to a halt as it reached the ground level, its doors opening.

With many other casinos, the direct lift up to the owner's private accommodation and offices was behind secure doors, with receptionists and bodyguards galore, but Clayton liked to rely solely on the, supposedly, hack-proof lift that opened straight out onto the bustling casino floor.

It was times like this, when out on the open floor, that Grayson often wished that he always carried his sunglasses. Usually, if he knew he'd be working on the floor, then there was no way he'd leave home without them. While in the past twenty years casinos remained true to their core, with the clattering of coins, faint music and yells of both horror and euphoria, with the introduction of new machines, the light intensity seemed to have doubled, if not tripled. The flashing and blinking lights attached to the multitude of different hi-tech slot machines were positively migraine-inducing, if not blinding. Grayson had even heard tales of men going blind from spending so much time in the casinos. But they had soon returned to the gambling floor, with new cybernetic eyes, most likely paid for by their winnings.

But unlike them, Grayson valued his eyes, so half squinting, half trying to shield his vision with an arm, he stepped out of the lift and began to weave his way across the casino floor through the throngs of people.

He kept his eyes turned downwards, both for added protection against the lights, but also so that he avoided catching the gazes of any of the gamblers. In his black suit and red tie, he was clearly marked out as a Rosso e Nero security employee, and the last thing he wanted was someone to wrangle him and drag him into some kind of dispute that might take hours to resolve. Normally, he would have enjoyed being roped into anything and everything happening in the casino, but as of then, all he wanted was to get home, pour himself a glass of something strong and sit down with an e-book. He'd long since decided that watching the TV was not the best of ideas when he wanted to distance himself from augmentations, especially when there seemed to always be some kind of advertisement scrolling rapidly across the bottom of the screen while the news reported on the various riots around the world.

It didn't take him long to navigate his way across the gambling floor and to the private backdoor exit for employees. He tapped in the passkey on the screen to unlock it, before he slipped out quickly, careful to shut it securely behind him.

Out of the blinding lights, Grayson let his arm drop from where it had been shielding his eyes, allowing him to glance around in the darkness.

At the back of the hotel, around from the expansive swimming pool, he was surrounded by the masses of rubbish bins that seemed to constantly be overflowing with items chucked out from the hotel and casino. But Grayson paid them no mind, well used to the overpowering stench, and just glanced over his shoulder as he began to make his way down the alley towards a small tower block set towards the back of the main casino.

Behind him, just past the red lights of the Rosse e Nero, he could make out the Strip, automobiles rushing up and down it, always in the hurry to get somewhere. With all the other casinos lining the street trying to outdo each other in their nighttime light displays, there seemed to always be a constant glow of light surrounding the city, giving it an almost ethereal feeling. It was just another reason why Grayson loved Las Vegas. He'd spent his life there, grown with it. He'd quickly learnt that it wasn't just any other city in America, let alone the world. It had a personality, with quirks both good and bad. Not a day passed where nothing different or exciting happened.

He may have just lost his job, but no matter how hard it would be to find another, he'd never leave the city and its glittering lights. He was by no means ignorant to all that went on in the backstreets and the illegal clinics, having had to deal with countless unsavoury customers in the casino, but he believed that no matter what, there was some good left in Las Vegas and to benefit from the good, you had to embrace the bad. Even with the freely flowing money and the crippling debts the casino floors could inflict without a second thought.

As he walked, Grayson kept snatching glances over his shoulder at the sprawl behind him, as he always did when making his way to his apartment. And as he always did too, when he came up to the main entrance of the resident block, he paused for a moment, taking in one last view of the Strip. Sadly his apartment faced the opposite way and offered the least favourable view of the dark backstreets.

But once he'd had his last glimpse, he turned back to the double doors and pushed through them, striding across the faux marble floor towards the lift at the far end of the reception area. Grayson was sure he spent more time in a lift than anywhere else now that they seem to have done away with stairs in most buildings, going against health and safety.

He acknowledged the woman manning the reception desk with a quick and lazy half salute, inkling his head briefly at the same time. As usual, she just regarded him rather blankly; too busy staring at the large TV mounted on the wall opposite her, numerous images from around the world flashing up across its extent. As he hit the button and waited for the lift, Grayson glanced around, looking anywhere other than the TV. He'd like a blissfully ignorant, introspective evening for a change.

So instead, while he waited for the lift to work its way down to him, he busied himself by scanning the people scattered across the lounge area in the reception, over by the large TV. He couldn't stop his eyes from lingering momentarily each time they passed over someone with an obvious augmentation, such as a limb or who knew what kind of implants in their skin. He wanted to be the better man, the one who put natural humanity first and not technological advancements in human evolution, but he couldn't help but feel a little bitter towards those who'd undergone the treatments and surgeries. They wouldn't be losing their jobs, of that he was sure.

His attention was drawn back to the lift when it gave a light ping and its doors clunked open. So looking away from the room, he stepped back into it, slamming a hand at the button for the twenty-third floor. As his hand went down to his side, the doors juddered shut just before it began the slow journey upwards. Anyone would have thought that with the apartments belonging to the Rosso e Nero, that it everything would be top notch. But apparently not. Oil was clearly better spent in the antique slot machines that were tucked in a corner of the gambling floor, rather on the employee's lift.

As the lift juddered on upwards, Grayson was suddenly struck by a thought.

If he left the Rosso e Nero family, surely he'd lose his apartment too?

His rent usually came out of his salary and most, if not all, the other people living in the block worked for Clayton. The loss of his apartment hadn't come up in the brief discussion, but perhaps it came with the job. Lose your job, lose your home. There was a fine line that separated those living on the Strip and those on the streets.

Grayson could just about deal with the idea that he'd blown his job over refusing augmentations, but his apartment too? It was almost too ridiculous for him to comprehend.

Maybe after a good drink and a full night's sleep his mind would be in a better state to be able to handle things. As it was, he was quite sure that the reality hadn't set in yet, especially since he felt relatively calm and collected for a man who could suddenly be facing losing everything he'd worked for. Tomorrow morning, he'd either be able to face facts with dignity or loose his mind and dissolve into panic. Though Grayson did prefer the first option.

Eventually the aged lift reached the twenty-third floor, and Grayson quickly exited it, making his way down the long corridor, the walls splashed with red and black paint. The aim was for it to somewhat resembled the Rosso e Nero casino, but in most cases it looked like someone had been murdered along the hall, their body removed but their blood left for all the world to see. Many employees had voiced this point, but they had been ignored, leaving them to walk the faux blood splattered corridors to and from their apartment.

Luckily though, Grayson had had the sense to redecorate his home so that once he'd pressed his right hand against the finger print scanner and pushed into his apartment and flicked on the lights, which were slightly more subtle than those in the casino, he was greeted with cool blue and cream walls. As soon as he kicked the door shut behind him, he drifted into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He mused over picking up a glass and some ice for a moment, before deciding that would mean more washing up. So he just snatched up a bag of chips and hugged the bottle to his chest before heading back into the main room, dominated by a large TV taking up one wall and a plush white sofa in the centre.

Grayson kicked his shoes off as he threw himself across the sofa lengthways, grunting quietly as he sunk into the seat. Might as well make the most of the comfort, he thought as he stretched out along it. In four months time he might be trading the cushions for concrete.

The thought made him grunt again, this time in irritation. Life really liked its twists and turns.

So, pushing all thoughts of redundancy, homelessness and augmentations to the back of his mind, Grayson unscrewed the lid of the whiskey bottle and took a long draught, wincing slightly as it burnt the back of his throat. He then took a few more moderate sips before leaning across to the coffee table in front of it, which was scattered with papers, empty glasses and food wrappers. He brushed the majority of the rubbish onto the floor, exposing a couple of e-books, one of which he picked up. After a quick regard of the two, followed by a selection, he shifted himself back onto the sofa, and shuffled around a little to get comfortable. Placing the spirit bottle on his chest, he loosened his crimson tie around his neck, then sighed quietly as he settled back to read resigning to the words of fiction to remove him from the realm of reality.