Entromancy by M. S. Farzan

I said, out of my depth.
    We drove in between the towering buildings, skyscraping casinos plastered with AR digads amid brightly lit parking structures and rows of empty restaurants.  Fountains spewed forth colorful cascades for no one, and the deserted streets were only more eerie for their brilliance.  We drove past a sign that would have once read Reno - The Biggest Little City in the World , but its augmented reality wiring now made it display simply, Reno - The Best City .
    “The marquis,” Alina said, pointing as she drove.
    I looked outside my window at the moving signs abutting the casinos, each pulsing in my lenses with AR filters.  They all creepily read the same message.
    “ Welcome, SF Guests ,” Tribe read aloud.
    “Well, that’s nice,” Gloric said.
    Doubleshot drove into a long, curving driveway adjacent to a large casino, stowing her bike and motioning for us to join her.  Alina pulled the SUV in behind the dwarf’s bike, parking in what looked like an empty valet zone.
    “Brilliant, just brilliant!” Gloric exclaimed, bounding out of the SUV.  The rest of us joined him more slowly, taking in the light and color.
    The dwarf took us through a set of tinted doors that opened as we approached, blasting us with air conditioning and the deafening clamor of slot machines.  The interior of the casino seemed somewhat lively compared to the deserted city, and managed to be even more colorful.  Rows upon rows of jackpots, Blackjack machines, and other consoles stood protectively around empty card tables and roulette wheels, blaring their jingles noisily.  The place smelled of carpets and old tobacco smoke.
    “Where is everyone?” Alina wondered out loud.
    “Utah, mostly,” Vasshka answered, sauntering through the casino.  “When we took Nevada, most of them went east, or north to Oregon or Idaho.”
    “I thought you said the Sigil was in Sparks,” I said to Gloric.
    The gnome shrugged, looking up at the building’s ostentatious chandeliers and ceiling paintings.  “He must have liked it here better.”
    “This way,” Doubleshot said, leading us down a side corridor and through an enormous doorway framed in marble that was etched with the word COLISEVM.
    We walked through two sets of automatic doors into a large, open-air stadium that had been built to resemble an ancient arena.  Rows of marble benches encircled a long pitch, which itself was rounded by a dirt running track.  Several standing lamps lit the field in radiance, casting the yellowish grass in a warm light.
    The arena’s inhabitants were a strange motley of electronic visitors.  All manner of machines, from ancient personal computers and flashlights to the most modern holodisplays and portable generators littered the field.  There were even a few vehicles parked along the track.  The drones circled overhead, buzzing.
    “God be praised,” Gloric declared, picking up his pace.  Buster trailed after him, snuffling at the various electronics.
    At the center of the pitch sat an old human, dressed simply in a long, flowing robe and wire-framed spectacles.  The man was perched cross-legged on an ornate circular pillow, writing furiously at a digital tablet.  A long oval of grass surrounded him, free of the electronic clutter save for a small circular device next to him.
    The human looked up as we approached, squinting and tugging at his beard.  “He said you’d be here ten minutes ago,” the man said crabbily.
    Vasshka shrugged.  “Rodder wanted to talk.”
    The man threw his hands up irritably, clumsily dropping the digitab.  “Dwarves, always meddling,” he muttered, fumbling after the tablet.
    Alina and Tribe exchanged looks, unsure.  Gloric had taken his hat off of his head, mesmerized by the round machine.  His heavy backpack looked comical on his small body.
    I cleared my throat and stepped forward.  “Sigil,” I said stiffly, “we need your help to prevent a civil war.”
    “You’ve come far, Eskander