Customer service face. You can do this, Celeste. Just like back home. You got this. Don't let the customers bully you.

No fewer than a dozen people entered the café all at once.

Her jaw dropped when she saw the terrifying circus of cyborgs as they lumbered in: one who was built like a gorilla, his robotic arms gleaming, so large that the sleeves of his suit could barely contain them; beside him, a woman wearing a formal black skirt, heels, and gray blouse, who seemed to ebb and flow out of existence each time Celeste blinked. The LED lights installed in the floor blinked whenever she passed by them — and then she would disappear, and reappear elsewhere a moment later.

What in God's name? What sort of cybernetics let you do that sort of thing?! Who even makes them?

Then followed a dark-skinned man whose eyes gleamed brighter than the rest, and whose tech jacket and pants seemed to fold in on themselves dozens of times; a woman dressed in denim, who laughed at a joke told by one of the other customers. Celeste thought her jaw had fallen when she'd seen the cyborgs. But this woman's jaw fell, literally, and hit the floor with a heavy clank!

Celeste's stomach roiled in disgust.

The woman gasped and picked her jaw up off the ground as if it were nothing, quickly snapping the electronic joints back in place.

The old, dark-skinned man in the tech suit laughed. "That's God's way of telling you to stop talking so much!" He ran his fingers through salt-and-pepper hair, slicked back down the nape of his neck.

The woman tried to elbow the old man in the ribs, but he darted away, well out of striking range.

One after the other, the cyborgs scuttled inside. One crawled along the walls like a spider, landing in front of the others before they could reach the door. All of their eyes glowed gold, except for specter, who disappeared a few more times before reappearing, her tiny arm wrapped lovingly around the gorilla's.

"Mind if we small fries take the room first?" one of the smaller men asked. Or rather, hissed. The gorilla nodded and waved them on. The hissing man went immediately to the back room, along with five others.

Two went to congregate in the corner near the bathroom, while the other four came to the counter. Rather than line up, they leaned against it — it creaked when the gorilla's arms rested there — still caught up in their own banter.

The quietest of them was the specter-like woman, who had a mousy appearance, complete with an upturned nose. Her hair was short and dyed white, whereas her date's was long, black, and tied back into a ponytail.

"Welcome to the Black Cat," Celeste said cordially, eyes dancing between each of the four. She wasn't even sure they heard her, they were so engrossed in themselves. "What can I get for y'all?"

"You owe us all Glitch Trips, Josie," the gorilla said.

The woman with the cybernetic jaw let out a short, rude laugh. Her back was turned to the counter, elbows planted firmly on its center.

"The only thing I owe you is a kick in the ass for calling the cops during my last surgery," Josie snapped. Her voice soft as velvet, but the edge was as fine and sharp as a razor. "You nearly got my client killed."

"Quit your bitching. Info leaks happen. My guys handled the pigs, didn't they?"

The pigs? Cops? Celeste didn't like the sound of that. The police down south hadn't been the type you'd go to for help, but she'd never wished ill upon them. Much less talk about killing them.

"With my weapons," the older man added, wagging one finger.

Josie snorted. "We'll see how negotiations go tonight, first. But I'll take a…"

At last, Josie turned to see Celeste. Blinked, confused. "Wait. Hold up. Did Bhasvah really quit?!"

"Guess Darren scared him away," the older man muttered.

As if on cue, the large, mechanical gorilla leaned forward until his giant nose nearly pressed against Celeste's. His glowing eyes flickered with even brighter light, and suddenly she felt naked before him. No, not just naked. It was as though he peered into her very soul. As though he'd stuck his grimy, mechanical fingers into her chest and started rummaging around, like a child searching a box for their favorite toy.

I think…I think he's scanning me. Like how I was scanned when I first got here, but with some other program in his eyes.

"The chickenshit really left!" Darren boomed. His voice was like a bassoon. Celeste could feel his words reverberate on the ground, working their way up through her feet and into her chest. "Her profile says she's the manager. Who the hell are you? His little sister? You look like someone he met at Sunday school!"

Celeste gave Darren a customer service smile. As pleasant as southern charm and as fake as a politician's promise. "No relation. Would you like a Glitch Trip?"

Darren harumphed and nodded. His girlfriend, the specter, held up two fingers. "Two, please."

"Of course. That'll be $32. Cash only, for everyone's safety."

The twin suns embedded in Darren's face grew larger, brighter, until Celeste thought they might cook her alive.

"You're charging us?" he boomed. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"That's…our policy," Celeste stammered, struggling to recall the rules she'd been told and what had been left for her. She wasn't wrong, was she?

"Darren," the specter warned, her pleasant and petite voice rising. But Darren shrugged her off and leaned in close again, close enough that Celeste had to rock back on her heels to keep his face from touching hers.

"Do you know who I am?" he seethed. His breath smelled like sardines.

The old, dark-skinned man slumped his shoulders. "This is unnecessary," he moaned. "Take a breather, Darren, before you make a bigger fool of yourself."

"Yeah!" Josie jeered. "Pick on someone your own size, dude. Which is, like…nobody."

Darren ignored them all. Repeated his question. "Do you. Know. Who I am?"

Celeste gulped. Behind Darren, the others had begun to glare. But not just at him. At her.

They want to see what I'll do, she realized.

The Black Cat was not a place for cowards. This was a test.

Celeste scraped together what courage Darren's eyes hadn't already burned out of her soul.

"I do," she said, looking directly into his strange, glowing eyes. "Someone who should drink a Corporal, instead of a Glitch Trip. It's served cold and infused with mint, which you desperately need. Bless your heart, I hope you ain't been kissin' your girlfriend with breath like that."

The gorilla recoiled. She thought his jaw might drop like the brunette's.

I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm —

Josie burst out laughing. Celeste fought not to breathe a sigh of relief.

The specter giggled, nudging a shocked Darren in the ribs. "You deserve that, you ass. I keep telling you to talk nicely to people, or not at all!"

Only the old, dark-skinned man was quiet. He stared at Celeste with equal parts disdain and approval.

Oh my God, I can't believe that worked!

"So," Celeste said quickly, before she lost her nerve, "will that be two Glitch Trips? Or one of each?"

"One of each," the specter replied before Darren could. "And make his a large, please…" She leaned in to study her name tag. "Celeste."

"My pleasure. That'll be $32. One Glitch an' one Corporal, comin' right up. And for you two?"

"Sunset, please," Josie said.

The other man said, rather lazily, "Just a whiskey. Groton's Finest, on the rocks."

Celeste rang them up and began fixing their drinks while they chatted. She was surprised by how talkative they were, given the sensitive nature of their business. But she soon found out why.

"What the small fries discuss won't mean anything," Darren said to his date, whom Celeste was feeling more and more was an accessory than a true accomplice. She spoke very little and spent most her time staring longingly out the window, watching the cars go by. "Not like whatever deals they cut back there will matter in the long run. Angelo's just gonna sell more to whichever side he wants to see win. Turf war was pointless."

"An incorrect assumption," the dark-skinned man — whom Celeste assumed was Angelo — piped up. "It'll go to whoever pays the most. The new Miamon model is flying off the shelf, so to speak. I can't keep one in stock for more than a half hour!"

"That so?" Josie asked as she sipped on her drink. "How much is one worth these days?"

Instead of answering, Angelo turned to Celeste, who had just finished sliding his drink to him. "I'm curious to see if our new friend is good at guessing prices. Or at least better than you are." He winked at her. "How much is a gun worth, to you?"

Josie sighed. "I was asking about a literal price, dude. Why's everything gotta be some questionnaire or deep discussion with you?"

"A mind is a muscle, Josie. But then, I suppose half of yours has gone the way of the chip, so there's not much to exercise. And it shows."

Josie craned her neck to see him. Her brow flattened. "Watch it, old man."

"Forgive me if I offended your sensibilities…or your hardware. Name your price, Celeste."

Celeste wanted to laugh at the man's prodding, but she got the distinct feeling Josie wouldn't let that sort of insult slide. Best to stay on her good side.

Not that the old man will think much more of me. I don't know the first thing about a gun, 'cept what happens when you pull the trigger.

Her brother had done his best to keep her away from that world. Now she'd jumped feet first into it, and didn't know the first damned thing about the tools of the trade.

Best not to let the gangsters in the room know I don't know the first thing about guns, though…

"Miamon is a popular model, isn't it?" she guessed. "Hm…$600."

Angelo nodded. It was hard to tell if he was pleased with this answer or not. He was about as expressive as a goldfish. "Interesting. Why such a small amount?"

Deciding to ignore the fact that $600 was a "small amount" to him, she scrambled to find an answer that would make sense, something that wouldn't make her sound as clueless as she truly was.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat to give herself more time to think, "there's probably plenty of guns circulating in closed circles."

Angelo poked his lower lip out and raised his eyebrows. "An understandable assumption, Celeste, but entirely untrue. There are very few guns in Radiant City, just as there are very few cybernetics surgeons, like Josie."

A surgeon, huh? Interesting. And if I had to guess from the way he talks, Angelo was maybe a professor. Or still is. I'd pin Darren as maybe being a cop, or military. What was the specter, though?

"The answer to your question is: it depends on how many enemies you have. The more numerous your enemies, the higher the price. Now, if you were to —"

Josie groaned. "Oh. My. God. Don't listen to this pile of actual, steaming bullshit, Cee!" Josie retorted, cutting Angelo short. "All the hot lead in the world won't do you a bit of good against a good, honest-to-God cyborg. Get the right cybernetics, and you're set for life."

Darren broke away from the conversation he'd been having with the specter to throw in a loud, hearty, "Amen!"

Angelo frowned. His calm, professional demeanor began to crack. "Is that so, Josie? Ye of the dropped jaw?"

Slowly, his cool air began to shift. And so did the atmosphere. Enough so that even Darren looked over at him. All the while the specter nursed her drink and gazed outside.

Angelo continued, "Tell me, Josie, how many cyborgs have you seen take a 12 gauge to the face and live to tell about it? Hm?"

"Zero. Know why, ye of the adult diaper? 'Cause they see that shit coming from a mile away. They don't get shot."

"Oh, I beg to differ, child." Angelo gave her a fatherly smile. "Personal experience. What do you think, Celeste? Are you a woman of the chip? Or of the lead?"

Celeste pulled the empty glasses away and began to wash them. "Oh no you don't. You're not gettin' me involved in your debate."

"Oof. Hate to break it to ya, Cee, but you're plenty involved, Cee."

"Extremely involved," Angelo agreed. It was probably the only thing the two would agree on this evening. "Even a bad answer is better than none."

Celeste threw her hands up. "You two always at each other's throats? Alright, fine. Hm…well, a bullet can't stop a program, can it? But a program can't stop a bullet, neither. Guess they're just as bad as each other."

Angelo and Josie exchanged glances. "A fair assessment," Angelo said slowly, as though the words physically pained him. "But if you had to choose?"

"Neither."

It wasn't Celeste who answered, but the specter. She still hadn't turned to face them. But in the reflection of the window, Celeste could see that she was staring back at them with soft but critical eyes.

"Bah!" Darren waved a hand in disgust. "You'd be better off wallowing naked in an ant bed than walking around the city without an implant! 'Borg me up any day of the week! Right, Josie?"

But Josie was quiet. Everyone waited with bated breath for the specter's counter. Celeste almost forgot she'd left the water running in the sink, and turned it off to better hear her.

"You can only have so many implants. And you can only shoot so many guns. But there's no limit on friends, and they can have both."

Celeste half-expected this nugget of wisdom to result in a round of applause. Instead, Darren guffawed while Josie rolled her eyes. As usual, Angelo was silent in his contemplation…or judgment. But even he seemed less than impressed by this answer.

Still, the specter stared at their reflections, serious eyes set into a joyful, child-like face.

"More people to stab you in the back," Josie said to Celeste. "Better luck finding a snowman in hell than a friend in Radiant City. I'm telling you, Cee, get chipped. Best thing I ever did in this city."

A car drove by, disrupting the specter's reflection.

"How much?" Celeste asked, unable to tear her eyes from the specter. "To get 'chipped', that is."

"Eh, depends on what you want. If you're serious about it, you know where to find me."

"Likewise," Angelo offered.

The back door opened, and the first wave of patrons stepped out. None of them looked particularly pleased. Those seated at the counter began to rise — all except for the specter, whose reflection became whole again now that the cars had gone by.

And she was staring directly at Celeste. She smiled at her before pushing away from the bar and going to meet the others in back. The "small fries" approached the counter, while the others disappeared to attend to business.

"Welcome to the Black Cat," Celeste greeted them as she watched the others disappear. "What can I get for you?"