"Ah - someone was pushing killer btls. It's a kind of drug we have," Saturday taps the side of her head. "Slot a chip into a skull implant and live out any fantasy you want, full sensorium, while your body takes a nice nap. Wire it wrong - or right, in this case - and it burns out the brain and leaves a working meatsuit. Useful, to the right person. We did not appreciate this operation's presence in our neighborhood, and were furthermore getting paid to bust it."

She shrugs.

"Went about as sideways as a job can go. Next thing we know it's fun times on the astral plane."