Celeste locked the door and shuttered the windows. Peace at last. Solitude. Nobody could see inside — this was now her own private chamber.

Which meant nobody could hear her puking in the employee bathroom.

The good thing about being the only person in the café was that there was no one to rush her. She could sit on the bathroom floor for as long as she needed, process what she'd just seen.

Morgan had killed her boyfriend for speaking back to him. Not only that, but nobody had seemed terribly surprised.

How strong's someone gotta be to rip someone's tongue out like that? Her arms must be cybernetic. The way she crushed his pelvis when she stepped on him, maybe her legs, too. Gotta be really heavy to do that…

Celeste rinsed her mouth out in the sink. Best to get the unpleasant part over with.

There was no point in bringing out a mop or bucket until she'd dragged Darren's corpse away. Celeste rolled plastic liner from the corpse to the chute, then found an old apron in the manager's office to cover herself with. She slipped on a pair of gloves, plucked the man's wallet from his pocket, and set to work dragging him to the back.

She'd expected dragging dead weight would be difficult. But his implants made him even heavier than she'd anticipated. It was like trying to haul a fridge across the room by herself. She needed to pause three times to catch her breath, and then once more to haul him up and into the chute, where he disappeared into the darkness. The bloody liner followed him.

Next: clean up the mess. Easier said than done. Blood, it turned out, was very thick, and it took five mop-ups to be sure she'd gotten it all. Industrial cleaners solutions did the rest, ensuring there were no stains.

Celeste had never stolen anything before. But swiping a few bottles of liquor off the counter felt easy. Justified, even.

By the time Celeste locked up, the smell of antiseptic had completely overpowered that of coffee and alcohol. No doubt she'd be smelling it for weeks.

Normally, she would have turned on music to pass time on the way home. But she drove home in silence. Went upstairs in silence. Showered in silence, scrubbing fervently at her hands and hair to wash away the scent and sin. But neither came out.

She tried to sit still, to slow her mind. A useless endeavor. Her fingers did the next best thing, and before she knew it, her phone was by her face and ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's Celeste. Um, do you mind…would you mind coming over? Need to talk to someone."

Silence for a moment. Suspicious. Contemplative. "Sure," Nancy said. "Give me a few minutes. Already in your area."

Celeste thanked her and hung up. She scrolled to an art video on her phone and sat cross-legged in bed, Darren's wallet splayed in front of her.

Bit by bit, she emptied the contents.

His name had been Darren Becker, born January 22. 35 years old. Not an organ donor. Could cyborgs be organ donors? The thought had never occurred to her.

He'd had two debit cards, two credit cards, and $492 in his wallet. Three hundreds, and the rest in assorted bills. Twenties, mostly. Odd to think that he'd had robot arms but still used such an outdated method of payment.

But then again, it's not like he could use a card at the Black Cat. I can't use 'em, either. Too easily traced.

A knock at her front door. Celeste nearly opened it without checking to see who was on the other side. It was Nancy, of course, and she looked more than a little annoyed.

"Come inside," Celeste said, and stepped out of the way. Nancy eyed her suspiciously. She looked past Celeste, peering into her well-lit apartment.

"It's just me here," Celeste reassured her.

Nancy nodded, but kept one hand on the butt of her gun as she crossed the threshold.

"Want a drink?" Celeste asked. She didn't wait for Nancy to answer. She fetched the bottles she'd taken from work and mixed two drinks into plastic cups.

"You want to tell me what this is about? Asked you twice over the phone."

Celeste tried to remember. "You did?"

"Uh, yeah? You just kept asking me to stop by."

"Sorry. I don't remember. It's been a rough night. I don't have any food to offer, but…I can order pizza. Do you like pizza?"

Nancy didn't stop staring at her for a long, long time. When she finally did, and sat on the couch beside her, her features had slackened considerably. She rested her gun on the table before them and leaned back into the couch.

"Rough night, you said? First real night in the city, huh?"

"Yep."

""Guessing you saw some shit you've never seen before."

"Yep! What do you like on your pizza? You're not an anchovies person, are you?"

Nancy grinned at her. "Pineapple. Crucify me."

Celeste threw her drink back and made a wretching sound. "Fruit doesn't go on pizza!"

"Oh," Nancy moaned and rolled her eyes, "don't you start." She downed her drink as well. Celeste refilled them both.

"Fruit and melted cheese? Blech!"

"Ever had a charcuterie board? There's fruit and cheese on it. Same concept."

Another drink. Another refill.

"And tomato sauce?"

"There can be tomatoes on a charcuterie board. Pretty much everything that goes on a pineapple pizza can be on a charcuterie board!"

"Oh my God. Stop saying the word charcuterie! It barely sounds like a word anymore!"

"Charcuterie. Charcuterie! CHARCUTERIE!"

"Fine!" Celeste laughed. Her words were already beginning to slur. How many drinks had she had, now? She couldn't remember. Nancy's face was turning bright red, as well. "I'll order a normal pizza, and your charcuterie pizza. Charcuzzi."

"My what?"

"You heard me. Pizza and coffee and liquor. That's my new cope for this city. How'm I doing so far?"

Nancy stuck out her lower lip. "At least it's not an expensive vice. Knew a guy who would order a threesome every Friday, but big names in the industry. Would blow a whole paycheck."

"As in, like, pay for them? There are apps for that! You could do it for free!"

"Dip your toes in Radiant City's pool if you want to. You'll probably catch something that makes you rot from the inside out."

That made Celeste laugh harder than it should've. When the pizza finally arrived, it was Nancy who got up to get it, gun in one hand and a bit of Darren's cash in the other.

Or my cash now, I guess.

Celeste grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza, refilled her drink again, and all but inhaled the first slice. It wasn't until the third that she began to slow down.

Once they'd both eaten enough food to sober up a little, Nancy drew in a deep breath and gave Celeste a no-nonsense look. "What happened out there? To what do I owe the free pizza and liquor?"

The alcohol had done exactly what Celeste needed it to do. Taken the edge off of her thoughts, made them…well, not tolerable, but not as maddening.

"Work," she said. "You ever seen a dead body?"

"In Radiant City?" Nancy snorted. "About as often than I see my reflection. First one today?"

"Yeah. Happened right in front of me. It was…God, it was awful. The worst thing I've ever seen. I don't ever wanna see anything like it ever again."

Nancy's eyes widened. "That's rotten luck. Where?"

"The Black Cat."

Nancy leaned forward, choking on her drink. Red-faced, she beat on her chest. "The Murder Café?! What the hell were you doing there?"

"Working. I'm the night manager."

Nancy's jaw dropped. "You're serious? You?"

"Oh my God, why does everyone say that? Yes, me!"

"Because you look like —"

"If you say I look like I just left Sunday school, I'll throw this pizza at you."

"You…look like you just signed up for a mission trip in Africa."

"Ha-ha. That's not helpful."

Nancy dropped all pretenses of humor. "You know where you work, what city you're in," she said, deadpan. "You ought to get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it. It's…wrong. That's not how things should be. That's not how I'll run the Cat."

"You can't change the way things work, Celeste. Unless I'm missing something, you weren't hired to change how café operates. Just to make sure it continued to operate."

"Maybe I can't change everything," Celeste argued, "but at least some things. Doesn't mean I gotta let everything around me be bad. I can change things. They don't have to be so bad."

She could sense from the way Nancy interlaced her fingers in her lap that she wanted to say more. To fight her on this. But instead, she leaned back and said, "Go on. Tell me what happened."

"There were these two cyborgs. Dating, I think. The guy was huge, had cybernetic arms. He looked strong. But he was just…rude. Like, really rude for a customer, but nothin' unbearable. And his girlfriend killed him. She didn't even seem that mad. She just did it."

"Hm. I guess that's his wallet over there?" Nancy asked, plucking it up off the table. She flipped it upside down to see the ID inside.

Her brow bent.

"Wait. You said he had cybernetic arms? As in, no synthetic skin on top?"

"Right. Did you know him?"

Nancy bit her cheek. "Maybe. I remember hearing a rumor about an ex-police officer who started going to shady engineers to get implants. There are only about a dozen or so in the city who'd be willing to illegally augment a person. Or rather, modify an augmentation.

"Thing is, the entire purpose of an implant is to make up for your own body's shortcomings. They aren't meant to be visible. But this idiot was trying to make himself look like a robot from an old sci-fi horror flick. Everyone figured he'd get killed years ago. But he'd built a list of criminals who he had dirt on while in the R.C.P.D., so blackmailed them to get exactly what he wanted once he was fired. I'm surprised he lasted this long."

"Well, he shouldn't have made an enemy of the white-haired lady. She killed him like it was nothing. What was he fired for?"

"Coercing suspects, I think. But back up — what's this about a lady with white hair? Was she old?"

"No. Maybe about 30. I didn't catch her name. Do you think you know her?"

Nancy chewed her lip. Her eyes grew dark. "Morgan Maselli."

"I'm…sorry? Should I recognize that name?"

"If you'd been here more than a day, you'd know it by heart. You couldn't have more shitty lucky! What did she say to you?"

"I…" Celeste tried to recall. "N-nothing. Just that I was kind and she'd see me tomorrow. Why? What does that mean?"

Nancy laid one hand flat on the table. "This," she said, pointing at one hand with the other, "represents the bottom-tier criminals. Everyone from petty thieves to guys who kinda have a name for themselves, like Darren. Collectors and their employers, those sorts. So people like me, too"

She held her other hand above the first. "This is the next tier. Career criminals. People the public might know exists, but you've gotta know someone who knows someone to get a face-to-face meeting. They're the kind of people who back the employers of collectors. People on the bottom rung don't cross them unless they're about to die."

Nancy then slipped her bottom hand above the middle. "These are the people no one knows exists. The ones who pull the strings of those who pull the strings. The ones the police have wet dreams about finding dirt on, much less bringing in. Nobody on the lower two tiers speaks to them. In fact, there are only two types of people who even know their names. The blessed, and the dead."

Celeste tugged nervously at her shirt. "And…I guess Morgan is one of them?"

Nancy gave her a long stare. Lifted her hand above the third tier, slowly, and let it hang. "Morgan Maselli."