"What do you need?" Alana murmurs to a nervous young man who can't seem to look her in the eyes.

He stammers, "A limb... high-end, discreet."

"Follow me," she says, walking past him, brushing his shoulder on the way by. She leads him to a secluded corner of the club. A row of small booths, just large enough for two or three people to stand closely and chat… or whatever.

"Arm or leg." Alana barks at the man as if she were giving an order.

"Uh… uh. Arm!" he shouts.

"Okay," she says calmly, trying to bring the young man back down a notch.

"We need a right arm. An Optima 9… female… something in the lower skin tones…" the man stuttered.

"Female?" Alana looked up from her data pad. "Where's the girl?"

"Back at the apartment. She can install it if that's what you're asking." He had a haughty mannerism about him. Definitely a rich kid vibe. Alana hated him before he even spoke.

"Proof of life or no deal." Alana placed her data pad face down on the table.

The young man tapped his data pad and stopped on an ID number with no name. The screen flashed to a view of a girl with her right arm wrapped heavily and cradled in a sling.

"You need some help?" Alana asks. "Yea," the girl replies quietly. "I need a f---ing arm," she adds with a hint of sarcasm.

Alana flashed a smile, "Sure thing. Bring the girl to this location and the arm will be attached." As she brushed her hands down the front of her dress, sections changed from black to a high-definition bright pink plaid under her hand, then slowly faded back to black. "Don't make me kill someone so early in the evening."