"S-stay back!" Celeste shrieked as she backed herself against the wall. But there was no door.

Back. Don't. Not "don't come back" — "don't go into the back car". There was nowhere to run.

"Stay away! I'm warning you!"

The large man laughed. "Hear that, sis? She's warning us. We should take her seriously."

"Shut the hell up and let's just get this over with," his sister snapped. And then, to Celeste: "This is gonna sound dumb. But listen, chick, we done this a few times already. Goes a lot smoother if you just cooperate. One quick cut to the throat and you're dead within a minute.

"Put up a fight and it's lots of stabs to the chest, cuts to the arms…not in this to make anyone suffer. You feel me?"

Celeste felt numb in a different way, now. The lights flickered as the two approached. Every time they came back on, the murderous duo was several steps closer, their shadows looming over her tiny form.

The woman pulled out a switchblade and charged her.

Celeste had never been in a fight before, but it didn't matter. Her damaged implants traced the woman's outline in bright orange, the first color she had seen in a long time. And it was manufactured by the implant itself.

Her arms came up reflexively. Her legs seemed to move of their own accord, jamming one knee up into the woman's gut, just like in the movies. Maybe that was why her brain decided that this was the best option. Blending fantasy into reality in her most desperate moment.

It was a stupid move. They were about the same size, and that meant the woman blocked her knee with her arms, minimizing the impact and rewarding her with an arc of her knife that left a deep, crescent-shaped cut right above Celeste's knee.

The man bulldozed her with his shoulder, slamming her against the wall and knocking the wind from her. He brought one boot down on her torso, and then again, and again.

"Attack my sister!" he growled as he brought his god-sized boot down on her. He was no longer trying to make her death quick or efficient, but meant to crush her skull like a grape beneath his heel. "Stupid bitch!"

Blocking her face with her arms and turned over into a ball was the best Celeste could manage. Anything else, and his boot stomps would crush her bones and grind them into dust. Soon the sister joined in. Smaller feet kicked at her back and rear.

#

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[error. Unknown malfunction detected]

#

Was this how she was meant to die?

"Just go for her throat already!" the sister snapped. The brother tried to pry Celeste's arms away. She resisted, but there wasn't much point in trying too hard. He was ten times stronger than her. Her eyes met his — and he recoiled in confusion and disgust. His face turned as green as his mohawk

"Just finish her!" the sister barked. "What are you waiting…"

She trailed off. Her eyes widened in fear, face falling nearly to the floor when she saw Celeste. And it took a long moment to realize why.

Celeste was laughing. Her ears were ringing. She couldn't hear her own laughter, but she could feel it in her chest, could feel her mouth stretching into a twisted smile.

"She's…some sorta psycho," the brother said. "Fuck it. Let's finish her." He lifted his boot high above her skull.

Celeste's eyes widened, as did her grin. Her hand slipped into her pocket and pulled out the switchblade. In one quick arc, she cut his Achilles tendon and left him stumbling backward into the seats and bars, howling in agony.

His sister panicked. Her eyes went to him, and that momentary lapse of concentration was all it took.

Celeste was on her feet in an instant, swinging the blade wildly. At this range, the first swing slit the sister's throat open, and bright red blood spewed onto Celeste's face, hot and sticky.

Bright red. Had her contacts manufactured this color, too?

The woman gaped at her, clutching desperately at her throat as though she could pinch the wound closed and save her life.

And now, at last, Celeste could hear her laughter. She shook her head and tried to wipe a tear away, but only succeeded in smearing more blood.

Oh, the irony. Here she thought she'd lose her soul in this city, that God might turn His back on her. But certainly, He was here. How else could you explain this divine comedy?

"I'm glitched!" she declared. Her eyes. It was because of them, that terrible pain which had nearly cooked her brain, that she was standing now. Why the siblings had beaten her six ways to Sunday just for her to shrug it off. "I don't feel a thing! Oh my God. I don't feel a fucking THING!"

Her blade thirsted for the brother's blood, and she quenched that thirst and then some.

It was like the sister had said: it was easier if you didn't resist.

Unfortunately for him, he did resist, which meant she stabbed his chest and arms more times than she could count before she finally got his throat. It was surreal, being so small and being able to pounce on someone so large. Maybe it was because he was hurt? That had to be it.

Celeste had never been in a fight before. She'd never hurt anyone, much less killed them, so she wasn't really sure when the man was dead. Back home, she'd overheard some hunters lamenting shots they shouldn't have taken. Sloppy shots that weren't immediately fatal, which meant the poor animal suffered.

The sister hadn't wanted her to suffer, at least not at first, so it made sense to try to honor that idea and kill the two quickly. But in untrained hands, a quick job was not the same as an efficient one. Celeste only stopped stabbing and slashing when her tired arms refused to repeat the motion. By that point, the man's head was attached to his shoulder by the thinnest of sinews. Breathless, Celeste fell over onto her back and into his blood. It was like dipping into a hot spring.

"Now arriving at Bellum Street."

The doors opened at her feet. Her muscles didn't want to obey. But that wasn't up to them. She slipped in the man's blood and slammed one knee against the ground. That, she felt. She laughed at herself and tried again, stepping carefully over his severed head. Yet something made her turn back as she crossed the threshold. The woman was still alive. Barely, and only because all her strength was focused solely on closing the wound in her throat. Tears were in her eyes. Scared of death? Horrified that her brother was dead? Both?

Celeste's laughter died. "You shouldn'ta come after me. I didn't wanna do that. Sorry you're suffering. I can finish the job, though. I should."

Those words were so strange. So…cold and detached. Was that her speaking? Couldn't be. No way in hell.

She shook her head. Blinked. Her eyes met the lifeless man's. Her lifeless man, because she'd taken him from this world. Jumped on him like a rabid monster and shredded him to pieces like he was nothing more than meat.

Bile rushed up. She puked onto the ground, inches away from her own bare feet.

The monorail doors closed, and so did her window of opportunity to give the sister mercy —

— You mean to commit another murder?

Celeste stared down at the switchblade in her hand. It wasn't even a tool so much as it was an extension of her flesh, now. Covered in blood, it was difficult to tell where her hand ended and the blade began. Her footsteps were bloody as well, leaving a trail down the stone steps and toward the parking lot where, hopefully, Nancy still waited for her.

#

Had Nancy been forced to place a bet, she would have put her lifesavings on Celeste no returning alive. All fifty cents. She waited nervously in her car, shifty eyes leaping toward every minute movement in the dark, waiting to see Bhas's men approach her vehicle.

Something approached, alright. But it wasn't one of Bhas's men. A pale-skinned woman with short, silver hair that was all but dyed crimson now. Barefoot, several toes cocked at an awkward angle, clearly broken. Face smeared as though she'd just left the sporting event of a lifetime, the type that resulted in dozens of drunken fights and twice as many arrests. Clothes drenched in rain and blood alike. Bloody footprints stained the ground in her wake, as did a thin stream of pink run-off that looked like a snake crawling from the monorail and up her ankles. What approached Nancy's car was not a person, but a demon born from the city's own electric womb.

Nancy gaped at Celeste as she came around to the passenger door and let herself inside. The manager's face was flat and unreadable. Nancy quickly removed her jacket and threw it onto the seat to prevent her from smearing blood over the upholstery, if that was possible. Celeste didn't even notice.

"Cel…este?" Nancy cocked her head. Her voice trembled. She leaned forward to look into Celeste's large, innocent eyes. They were wider than usual. Something dark and lovely lingered there, hiding behind her innocence. An untameable wildness. A mindless ferocity that co-mingled with her sacred innocence to create something vile and profane. "Celeste? What…what happened? Is that your blood?"

"Most of it isn't," she said simply. And smiled. "I'm glitched."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I killed them, Nancy. They're dead, and I'm glitched. What a day." All at once, Celeste's face twisted. The blade fell from her hand and onto the floorboard. So much for not smearing blood everywhere. "They cornered me, so I killed them. I didn't…" She choked.

Slowly, Nancy nodded. "Welcome to Radiant City, partner. Let's get you home so you can try to get that blood off."