The night in Logos never truly falls silent, even down by the shore. In the distant casino district, neon lights flicker incessantly, and the glow from advertising holograms racing across the sky glides over the surface of the sea. The low hum of unmanned transport ships moving through the port. The red lamps of drones patrolling overhead. Mixed with the scent of the tide, the smell of tobacco and alcohol drifts from somewhere.

In a corner along that coast, Bar Stardust stands quietly. It doesn't have a flashy storefront, nor a particularly conspicuous sign. Only a slightly faded star-shaped neon light blinks silently against the backdrop of the night sea. When you open the door, soft lighting and the aroma of liquor welcome you. At the counter, a human clerk polishes a glass, while at the next seat, a feline beastfolk and an old-model robot are arguing about something. At a back table, a man in a suit stares at a hologram terminal, and beyond him, a woman who has finished maintaining her prosthetic limb lights a cigarette. On the monitor inside the shop, news plays about a corporate-related commotion that apparently happened in Logos tonight.

Across the sea, a siren wails faintly in the distance. Someone laughs, and someone sets down a glass. Today, too, somewhere in this city, someone's life is in motion.

And tonight, once again, a customer steps through the doors of Stardust.