A few minutes later, Morgan emerged from the room and came to the front. Celeste stiffened when she saw her.

Unlike Angelo, Morgan seemed to be having a good evening. And it was little wonder, if she was as powerful as Nancy said. No doubt whatever deals were being made in the back were in her favor. In hindsight, it'd been stupid to think Darren had been the one in control.

"Good to see you again," Celeste said, peppering her voice with even more generosity than usual. "What can I get for you?"

"Good evening, Celeste. The strongest thing you have. With coffee, not straight alcohol."

"That would be a Neon Flight. $60."

Morgan handed the cash over, and Celeste set to making the drink.

"How's your second night at the Cat? Are you getting the hang of things?"

"I think so. It's a different pace from what I'm used to. Here ya go." She sat the drink on the counter. But rather than walk away, Celeste planted one hand on the smooth wood and leaned forward ever so slightly. "I realized you were the only person whose name I didn't catch last night."

Morgan smiled pleasantly. But there was something odd in her smile. Something Celeste couldn't quite make out. Something…uncanny.

"I thought you already knew it," she said in the same tone and cadence that a receptionist might use on a hapless caller. "Morgan Maselli."

Celeste feigned surprise. "Wait. The Morgan Maselli? Owner of Maselli's Museum of Fine Arts?"

"That's the one."

Maselli's Museum had been founded by her grandfather, and held mostly pieces mostly from the 20th and early 21st century. That was before most art went digital.

"I used to be somethin' of a painter, myself! Maybe I could show off a few pieces," Celeste joked.

That part wasn't a lie. Had life gone differently, she would have loved to be an artist. But alas, her parents were terrible people and her brother was cut from the same cloth. So now she sold beverages to criminals and disposed of their bodies.

"They say you're — pardon me if I'm too straightforward — more machine than man. Well, woman. Beneath all the synthetic skin, that is."

"It's true. Over seventy percent of my body, more than anyone else in the world. That includes part of my brain. A true Radiant Citizen!" Morgan chuckled bitterly, and sipped her drink.

There was a darkness in her laughter now. She never broke eye contact, never blinked. Then she swirled around what remained and pressed her tongue against the inside of her mouth and popped her lips, contemplating. Brooding. "A true Radiant Citizen, indeed. So, my studious friend, what else have you heard about me?"

Celeste shifted uncomfortably. "Um, nothing much., I only just learned your name. And I didn't know much about the museum before I got to the city."

"You don't say. Why were you so shocked when I mentioned it, then? It's nothing special."

Celeste turned red. "Er — I mean, it's huge. The biggest I've ever seen!"

"There are two others larger than it in this city."

"Well, I ain't been here long enough to see 'em. And where I come from, browsing museums isn't exactly a luxury most can afford."

"Hm."

An uncomfortable silence. One Morgan didn't seem intent on breaking any time soon.

"Can I get you a refill?" Celeste ventured.

"So tell me, Celeste," Morgan said abruptly, as though Celeste had never spoken at all, "what do you want from me? Trying to pump me for information? Butter me up to make a trade? You're a lot more chatty than you were yesterday. And a lot more…confident. You even cut your hair. A little uneven — but it looks nice on you."

Celeste blushed. "I, um, survived my first shift. I feel like I'm on cloud nine, y'know?"

"Oh, I see. That's certainly something to celebrate. But are you sure your newfound confidence doesn't have anything to do with the gun hidden behind the counter?"

Celeste heart froze. Plummeted to her feet. "I…"

Morgan's voice grew very quiet, then. But the more quiet it was, the more menacing it became. "Are you planning on shooting me, Celeste?"

"There's no gun…" Celeste shook her head. There was no point in trying to lie about it. "Angelo told you?"

"No. He's a man of principle. He'd never sell out his customers. But this is my city. I know everything that happens here. For instance, I know you stole three bottles of liquor last night after everyone left."

Celeste began to sweat. "A-anyone could see we didn't restock them…"

"Hm." Morgan popped her lips. "It took you twenty-two minutes to get home last night. Then you ordered two pizzas. Later on, you listened to Summer of '87 by Scarlet Starlet. This morning, it was The Groove in Me by Rice Cracker."

She rattled these off quickly, as though knowing them was a given, something to be expected.

Celeste's mouth went dry. She tried to retort, to bluff and tell Morgan she didn't know what she was talking about, but she couldn't. "Y-you bugged my phone?"

"Don't insult me. Bugs are easily found and removed."

"Then…how? How could you know all that?!"

"You keep asking me questions, but you haven't answered mine," Morgan insisted. "Are you planning on shooting me? Or no?"

"No. What makes you think I'd shoot you?"

"Perhaps the fact that those bullets are loaded with miniature EMPs." Morgan shrugged. "But I'm sure I'm just being silly. Right? I mean, if I were paranoid about it, or thought you were lying, then I could just report you for owning it. Guns are illegal in Radiant City. Or were you not told?"

"You wouldn't," Celeste rebuffed. "You're a customer here. That'd be suicide!"

"Why? Your establishment opened its doors to me, and I paid with legal tender. Me simply being here isn't a crime."

"No. But murder is!"

"Hm. I don't recall doing anything like that. And you have no way to prove it."

"If I go down, you're goin' down with me," Celeste warned. "I can have that camera footage pulled."

Morgan narrowed her eyes and looked up at the camera in the corner. She scowled. It looked particularly ugly on her otherwise picturesque face.

"If by some chance you were stupid enough to leave a camera on during these hours, then it would show you disposing of the body. I have connections to make my stay in prison quite comfy. I doubt you have the same, church girl. So I suggest you choose your next words oh-so-very carefully."

Celeste tugged at her collar. It was so cool in the café, and yet she'd never sweat this much in her entire life.

Morgan had her. There was no use trying to threaten her.

"I, um…feel like we maybe got off on the wrong foot," Celeste conceded. She cleared her throat. "I do have a gun. Yes, it has EMP rounds, as you called 'em. Yes, I got in from Angelo. But just as a precaution. Ain't go no specific targets in mind, but I'm just human."

"Excuse me?"

"Just…I mean — I'm completely organic! If a cyborg and I didn't see eye-to-eye, I wanna make sure I have a leg to stand on."

Morgan did not seem completely convinced. But she nodded. Slowly. "Then if not to kill me, what is it you want from me?"

"How expensive is your friendship? Friends are important. More than guns, I think."

Morgan hummed. "Very expensive. But we can trade. My friendship and protection for something you already have."

Celeste blinked, confused. She barely had more than the clothes on her back. "And…what might that be?"

The words left Morgan's mouth without hesitation. "What's rightfully mine. The Black Cat."

Rightfully hers? Celeste struggled not to laugh at the audacity, the entitlement.

"Can't give you what I don't own."

Morgan smiled. Lifted one long, thin finger, and flicked Celeste on the nose like a dog caught misbehaving.

"You can," she cooed. The darkness emanating from her warped and twisted. Celeste could almost feel it reaching for her with its sharpened claws, ready to ensnare her, to drag her down into a fate just as horrible as Darren's.

"And you will," Morgan continued. "Bhasvah, the owner, wants out. He's seeking to hand over the keys to the entire establishment, not just those for the nighttime manager. Do you know what secrets lie here? How much of the city is controlled from this very room? It's more than the information that people speak or write down. So much more.

"If you were to convince him you were the right person for the job, it would be a small thing for you to hand the keys over to me."

The idea of one person controlling the city shouldn't have frightened her as much as it did. Wasn't that how things worked in most other cities? Corrupt officials propped up by those who already bought into their ideals, perpetuated them.

But it was one thing to know the devil existed. It was another to look it in the eyes.

"You have the advantage of not having as many enemies yet," Morgan continued. "You stand to gain so much more than you'd lose. I can see in your eyes that you're thinking about it."

"Cut a deal with the devil, and you'll always get burned." Celeste meant it to sound like a powerful refute. But she was fairly certain she squeaked, quite literally, halfway through it.

"We're all devils here, and you're the one serving us drinks. It doesn't matter how many guns, friends, or implants you have. Someone will get the better of you. You won't survive."

"I will," Celeste fired back, raising her voice. "You said it yourself! Friends are the best thing to help you survive in this city."

Morgan frowned at her. "Survive." She sat her cup down, hard. "That's all you'll be doing. Surviving. Just like you did back home, until something went wrong and you wound up here. I can make you thrive."

Morgan lifted her hands, slowly. The lights began to flicker. The music distorted — and then the saxophone was replaced by a loud electric guitar. The song itself did not change, yet the instruments playing did.

Celeste paled. She gripped the counter top for dear life. "What the hell are you?! What kind of implant makes you do that?!"

Morgan laughed. A deep, malicious laugh from the depths of her very soul. She lowered her hands again, slowly, and the flickering lights returned to normal. The screeching saxophone took its rightful place as the heart of the song, and the guitar faded away.

"I'm more than mere implants. Will you speak to Bhasvah? Get him to give you the keys, then give them to me?"

Hell no, her mind rallied. But she couldn't say that out loud. She couldn't have forced her tongue to, even if she wanted.

"I…I need to think about it. Can I have time? Please?"

Morgan scowled. "Come get me," she said as she pushed away from the bar, "once you've made your decision. But I won't wait long."

Morgan pushed away from the counter. To Celeste's surprise, she headed for the exit rather than the back room. Celeste wouldn't complain about one of her customers calling it an early night.

Once at the front door, Morgan paused. She half-turned back to Celeste and said over her shoulder, "I always get what I want, one way or another. And I want the Black Cat. You're only an accessory, something that can be worn or tossed down the chute in the back like the trash it is. You'd do well to remember that."

And then she left.