While not necessarily nocturnal, Celty Sturluson was used to operating at night. She was unhindered by the darkness, a shadow in its natural habitat. But this was a lonely city, and she didn't realize how much she could miss crowded streets and the buzz of humans going about their business at any given hour of the day.

No rumble of an engine heralded the coming of her motorcycle, only the faint crunch of tires on the unkempt roads. Not even the light of the moon reflected off of any of its surfaces, only the glitter that got tossed up in its wake, and perhaps stuck in its treads. It was quite annoying, the glitter.