Colorful vegetables and pink meat stuffed into preservation containers line the shopfront. An old woman, glancing at a girl bustling with an inspection device, loads shotgun shells into a magazine, grips the barrel, and aims at the street.

  A traffic light shifts from red to blue. A starving pauper, eyes gleaming, charges toward the shop, drawing a rusted pistol from their coat and aiming at the girl. As a bony finger pulls the heavy hammer, about to fire, the old woman’s mechanical eye glints red, her steel finger squeezing the shotgun’s trigger.

  A gunshot roars through the Commercial District, blood spraying. The pauper’s pistol misfires, blasting their fingers off as a bullet pierces their forehead, flames erupting from the barrel. Lighting a cigarette, the old woman slides the shotgun’s handgrip, ejecting the spent shell. “Sasha, stay sharp. Don’t be a dullard,” she says, igniting the tobacco.

  “Sorry, boss,” Sasha replies.

  “Pay attention. If your carelessness damages the goods, it’s coming out of your pay,” the old woman snaps.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sasha says.

  Her black hair frayed, skin pale, Sasha removes her “Love & Peace” apron, bowing expressionlessly and glancing at the beeping inspection device.

  “Boss,” she says.

  “What?” the old woman replies.

  “Some goods are spoiling. Dispose of them?”

  “Nah, let’s wait. If no customers show, we’ll eat them ourselves,” the old woman says.

  “Understood,” Sasha responds.

  Exhaling purple smoke, the old woman drops ash into a tray, her mechanical eye tracking Sasha’s every move—her gait, her posture, her handling of goods and machines. Pointing her cane at Sasha, who’s checking the defense turret’s targeting system, she barks, “Don’t forget to load the ammo!” and crushes her cigarette.

  Ten years running a shop in the undercity’s Commercial District. Day after day, killing thieves, turning their corpses into merchandise. Glancing at the pauper she just shot, the old woman groans, her joints aching, and reaches for a meat cleaver and a human-dismantling electric saw.

  “Sasha, come here,” she calls.

  “But the goods—” Sasha protests.

  “Get over here! Such a slow kid… Ever dissected a human?” the old woman asks.

  “Yes, a few times,” Sasha replies.

  “Then this’ll be quick.” Linking the saw’s power to her mechanical arm, the old woman covers her organic eye with a patch and begins carving.

  Flesh splits under the blade, blood staining her floral apron crimson. Ignoring bone fragments scattering in the gore, she severs the pauper’s limbs and torso, tossing them into a bio-preservation container. Drawing a knife from her waist, she slices open the thin abdomen.

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  Glistening organs and pink fat spill out. Beckoning Sasha, the old woman asks, “Know the most valuable part?”

  “The heart, I guess,” Sasha says.

  The old woman sighs. “That might’ve kept you alive in the alleys, but this is the Commercial District. A heart gets you through today, but you gotta think about future profits. Got it?”

  “…I see,” Sasha says.

  “Don’t ‘I see’ me, you fool! Listen up, Sasha—burn this into your eyes and brain! Hearts fetch a high price for transplants, but livers and kidneys aren’t chump change either.”

  Pointing out organs with her knife, she carefully excises them, shoving them into a refrigerated organ container and sealing it.

  A human body is a sack of credits. Know the market, and a fresh corpse is a treasure trove convertible to cash. Unlike other districts’ vagrants, Commercial District paupers have low drug contamination risks. To the old woman, an armed pauper isn’t a threat but a payday walking in.

  Sasha, absorbing the old woman’s skill, nods faintly, watching the dissection. Picking up the cleaver, she begins stripping flesh from the limbs in the container. The old woman, cracking her neck, notices a young man and girl approaching.

  “Hey, old lady, still kicking?” Danang says.

  “Danang, huh? Thought you’d croaked like your old man. But… who’s the new face? Dumped Rilse already?” the old woman replies.

  Shaking his head, ignoring her jab, Danang contrasts with Eve, who averts her eyes from the dissected corpse.

  “Danang, is she… your grandma or something?” Eve asks.

  “No way. She’s just the old lady—friend of the old man who raised me. Oh, this is Eve, my new work partner,” Danang says.

  “…”

  Eyeing Eve like she’s sizing her up, the old woman snorts. “Don’t care who you team up with,” she says, hoisting the organ container and heading back inside.

  “So, Danang, what’re you buying? Jelly packs? Ammo? Filters? Mechanical arm tools are sold out,” she says.

  “Food,” Danang replies.

  “Food? You, who lives on cans and jelly packs? Finally living like a human?” she mocks.

  “Rilse asked. She’s cooking tonight,” Danang says.

  “Should’ve known better than to expect much. Got fresh human meat if you want,” the old woman offers.

  “Push that on the Pleasure District freaks. I’ll take pork, chicken, beef, and some vegetables,” Danang says.

  As Danang and the old woman haggle, Eve watches Sasha carve human flesh.

  “…”

  “Hey, what’s with your arm?” Eve asks.

  “It’s a human arm. What about it?” Sasha replies.

  “Nothing, just… are you doing this by choice?” Eve asks.

  “It’s my job. Also, I’m not ‘you’—I’m Sasha,” she says.

  “Oh, sorry! I’m Eve. Nice to meet you, Sasha-chan,” Eve says.

  “…”

  Silently carving, Sasha fills a container with human flesh and dumps it into a storage unit. The red muscle fibers writhe like noodles, pulsing as if alive through the transparent glass.

  “Sasha-chan,” Eve says.

  “Quit it with the ‘chan.’ We’re about the same age, aren’t we?” Sasha snaps.

  “My body’s technically eighteen… How old are you, Sasha?” Eve asks.

  “Maybe ten or so. Never cared much before the boss took me in,” Sasha says.

  Pressing a button, Sasha minces the fibers, replying emotionlessly. She rolls the extruded meat into balls, placing them on a tray for the oven.

  Sizzling, the meatballs brown. The deli meat sold here is mostly human. Killing paupers, carving their flesh, mincing it for cheap sale—workers in the Commercial District pay credits to fill their stomachs, ignoring the source. As long as it’s not brains or inedible parts, they don’t worry about cannibalism’s diseases.

  Eve watches Sasha’s emotionless work, reaching out but pulling back. This is the undercity’s way of life, its survival. She realizes she can’t change it.

  Cannibalism is the ultimate taboo. Eve’s values and revulsion are natural, but when such acts become ingrained, a cultural norm, they reshape human consciousness. An individual would be called mad, but a collective buries taboo in the subconscious, dragging everyone down.

  “…”

  “Eve, let’s go. What’s up? Staring at that kid?” Danang says.

  “…Nothing. Let’s move,” Eve replies.

  Glancing at Danang, arms laden with shopping bags, then at Sasha’s work, Eve sighs deeply.

  Isn’t this place more hell than borderland? Muttering inwardly, waving to the old woman, Eve walks back the way they came, gazing at the thick steel sky.