That night Grayson didn't make it to his bed as he'd planned. The relaxing nature of reading coupled with a little too much drink eventually led him into a dreamless state. When he awoke the next morning he found himself sprawled across the sofa, empty whiskey bottle and e-book on the floor beside him. Coupled with the empty packets and wrappers he'd shoved off the coffee table, his living area looked a complete mess. And undoubtedly, so did he, he thought as he pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing as it caught in knots and clumps of hair product.
What a great way to start a productive day searching for a new job. A tip of an apartment, strongly in need of a shower, and somewhat hungover, judging by the occasional throbs at his temples.
As he pushed himself upright with a grunt and a groan, Grayson rubbed a hand across his eyes blearily, doing his best to wake himself up. A glance at his wrist told him it was almost midday, and quick look over his shoulder at the large window behind him confirmed this. Luckily the windows were tinted, saving him from having to recoil away from the bright sunshine like a vampire caught out in the daytime, but he still grimaced as the light stung his eyes slightly.
Forcing himself off the sofa, his legs very nearly collapsed from underneath him as he slipped on a wrapper of sorts, but he quickly righted himself by grabbing hold of the chair's arm, using it to steady himself. He kept hold of it for the next couple of paces before propelling himself in the direction of his bedroom and it's en suite bathroom.
Reaching it without much more incident, Grayson wasted little time in staring at himself in the mirror above the sink and just quickly striped free of his clothes, his once neatly ironed suit falling into a crumpled pile in the bathroom doorway. Soon he was standing under a steaming hot jet of water, letting his mind go blank, thoughts being washed away with the dirt and grim, swirling away down the plughole. He almost forgot that he was in the shower to do more than just stand there, and it took him a good while to remember that he needed to wash himself and his hair, even if it was a quick and half-hearted attempt.
When he finally re-emerged into his cool bathroom a good half an hour later, mirror fogged up and water droplets rolling down the walls, Grayson quickly rubbed his hair with a towel before slinging it around his waist. There was no reason to get dressed, no urgency in getting anything done, so he could take it easy for now.
Stepping over his pile of clothes, he padded across his bedroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints in the carpet behind him as he moved over to his desk, also piled high with junk that needed to be chucked out. There he jabbed a finger at his computer, causing it to whir to life as he sat down heavily on the chair to wait for it to start up.
In an almost religious fashion, once the computer was up and he'd tapped in his password, he opened up a number of commonly visited pages before clicking on his emails.
As usual there were a few spam-related ones, one from his sister planning on visiting him from Washington DC with her family and another about the new employment rules at the Rosso e Nero. All of them were selected and dragged into the waste bin to be disposed of, none of them holding any interest.
But, just as he was watching them being erased one by one, another email flagged up in his inbox, filling the previously empty space.
As he read the address and title, Grayson's brown furrow and he unconsciously leant towards the screen as if it would help him understand the mystery email. It clearly wasn't from anyone he knew, and it just didn't look like a spam or virus that might wreak havoc with his all ready rather old and crippled machine. He was unsure about opening it, but when the subject title was "Change", he couldn't help but be intrigued.
So after a moment of hesitation, his mouse wavering back and forth across the screen, he finally opened the email and ran his eyes over the short paragraph quickly.
It has come to our attention, Mr Grayson, that you lost your job as of yesterday through the refusal to undergo surgery and receive augmentations aimed to aid you in your workplace. You are not alone in this refusal, nor are you alone in your silent resistance to the technological enhancement of humanity. People like us, the ones who still believe in mankind, need to make a stand. We will make our voices heard, and we will change the prejudices that those have developed against what was once the natural human form. If you are interested in a chance to speak out, to regain your job and help others alike, there is a gathering behind the disused MGM hotel this evening at seven o'clock. We hope to have you onboard with us, and look forward to your presence.
There was no name, no signature. Just a simple invitation. One which intrigued him.
Grayson knew there were groups out there who were actively against augmentations, some of them the reasons behind a number of riots in Las Vegas. They protested, shouted, and generally were violent, therefore leading to them being crushed and ignored. If he'd thought that they might have ever stood a chance at making a point, Grayson might just have been tempted to join in these attempts at a humanitarian front. But they all seemed petty, made up of the lesser of society who were generally just out to get a rise from those above them.
But this email… This didn't seem to have that undertone.
It seemed structured, ordered, it had purpose. There was no mention of protesting, no mention of violence. It sounded as though someone had had the common sense to start up a peaceful protest and do things by the book. It may in the end be less dramatic and take more time, but people were more inclined to listen to demands when they didn't have a gun to their head or their store window had just been smashed in.
The location left a lot to be desired and seemed just a little too shady for Grayson's liking, but it was understandable. This was a group that didn't want to be destroyed before it had even begun. It wanted to be careful with when and where it showed its face as well as how.
But was he stupid enough to attend a completely random meeting from a complete stranger? He knew that it was easy enough to find his email address, as it was undoubtedly associated with the casino's web pages, and he also knew that it was likely a good number of people already knew about his redundancy. In a casino and Las Vegas in general, small mutterings quickly spread like wildfire. But as for going along to this 'secret' meeting… He wasn't sure.
Grayson knew how to protect himself, both using his fists and a gun. He had his standard work-issue pistol in the top draw of his desk, fully loaded and ready just in case, right now. But did he really just want to wander jovially into what could be a trap?
But why would anyone want to lure him into a trap in the first place?
Yes, his job was relatively high profile, but since he'd lost it, if someone wanted to use him to gain access to the casino and the security cameras, it was pointless. There was nothing else special about him. He didn't have some rare augmentation or enhancement that could be exploited, nor a particularly noteworthy talent, unless the email sender wanted someone who was adept at playing tennis or fencing, perhaps even at the same time. He was just another person in a million, made even less special without any technology scattered throughout his body.
So, as he scanned the email again, Grayson decided to dismiss the idea that it was a trap. But while it could still be perfectly harmless and well intentioned, he planned to still take his firearm. When walking the Las Vegas streets at night, it was always best to be prepared, just in case.
The thought of letting someone know crossed his mind, but he didn't want to mention it to any of his friends or colleagues, all of whom had some kind of enhancement, visible or concealed. They already knew he wasn't entirely comfortable with augmentations, and they accepted his opinion, but telling them he might be signing up with a group against technological improvements to the human body might be pushing it too far. And while he kept in regular contact with his parents since they'd moved to London a few years back, he was a grown adult capable of looking after himself, and they'd surely worry about him. He didn't even entertain the possibility of communicating with his sister. She was the last person he'd want to talk, even if it was just letting her know he might be walking to his untimely death that night, as told by his rapid deleting of her email.
Grayson supposed he was on his own then. Him and his pistol with the limited spare ammunition that he kept in his apartment.
After one more look over the email, musing over his options briefly again, he finally clicked the reply button and quickly typed in a short and simple response, using the lightly glowing keyboard beneath the screen.
I'll be there.
Almost as soon as his finger had hit the enter button, whisking the email away, another email appeared in his inbox alongside the other.
We're glad you'll be joining us.
Sweet and simple, Grayson was somewhat disturbed by the speed at which he'd received the acknowledgement. Either they just happened to still be at the computer after sending the first email, or they had been waiting for him to respond.
Either way, he was now disinclined to be backing out anytime soon. He'd made a decision and he was going to see it through.
Taking one last look at the two emails from the unknown sender, Grayson ran both hands through his hair, one at a time. As water was flicked across the screen in front of him, he was reminded that he was still wearing only a towel, and while the meeting was a good few hours away, he now had a reason to get dressed. What he was going to wear though, was a decision he knew might take a while.
As a man who prided himself in his appearance and how he presented himself to others, the act of dressing for an unknown meeting was going to take some thought. It was a good thing that his wardrobe was crammed full of all kinds of garments for all kinds of occasions. Though he most likely hadn't foreseen a super secret meeting when purchasing clothes.