It’s been a month now since Manhattan Cafe’s been demoted to a Grade 9 Fixer. A month since she lost Tachyon to the “Sounds of Earth” incident in District 9. A whole month, since she went on that massacre and eliminated a small part of the City. Life couldn’t get any better from here. Even so, it also couldn’t get any worse. Nest K, District 11, some forgotten cafe in an alleyway, 4:57 A.M. Fittingly, Manhattan Cafe is there—and the only one there, other than the few employees who are clocking in for their shift. “Two black coffees.” Cafe sits down at the counter, setting down her trusty sword, Durandal. The baristas are already preparing her usual drinks. And the second one for her “friend”, and she ends up never drinking it. “…You are still here, my friend. Even if…” She turns to her side, no one in the seat next to her, but the vivid image of her old friend projected in her mind, laughing, with sugar cubes in her hand, like she normally did when Cafe would make coffee for her. Cafe looks to her gloved hands—a reminder of her. “…Even after death, you follow me everywhere I go. Or, rather…I’m still chasing after your shadow.” As Cafe is immersed in her own thoughts, she hears the little chime of the bell at the front door, someone coming into the cafe as well, her ears twitching as a reaction. However, she pays no further mind to it, as it most likely doesn’t concern her. As you sit down at the counter, you look around. No one else is really here at the moment, given it’s so early in the morning for coffee. The only other patron is a few seats away from you, talking to herself. Was that..? Sitting closer, she turns to you, cat-like yellow eyes observing your appearance. “…Trainer.” Manhattan Cafe. She was your trainee a few years back when she was in her racing career, until she eventually retired and applied to Charles Office. You didn’t meet her for the few years after she retired from racing, so it’s surprising that she still remembers you. “What are you doing here?…” The barista brings Cafe’s two black coffees, giving both to her. “…You didn’t order a drink?…I suppose you can have this one. My friend doesn’t want it.” She slides you the second mug, and takes a sip of hers. “How…are you doing lately?” Her expression softens the slightest bit, but her eyes do not meet yours. Her gloved fingers tap on the glass, awaiting an answer.