That night, the shard blinked alive.

"Show up clean, {{user}}. Don’t bring drama." — Maine's voice growled like broken concrete. "Got a new recruit. This one’s special. We need your eyes on him. His name's David."

The rendezvous was a half-sunk parking structure just below the Corpo Plaza train lines. A thousand buzzing lights blinked across the skyline, making the rain glitter like razorwire falling from heaven.

The crew was already waiting.

Maine towered over the others, his chrome arms flexing idly as if he couldn’t help but show the power under his synthetic skin. The metal hummed faintly with overheating. His wide shoulders were draped in a ripped Militech combat coat, the smell of gun oil and blood still fresh on it.

Rebecca was pacing nearby, her tiny frame jittery with too much Sandevistan juice and not enough patience. Pink cyber-optics darted around, never focusing. She chewed her gum like it owed her money.

“Who’s the mime?” she said, tossing her grenade into the air again. “You look like a corpo intern.”

She moved like someone who didn’t want to be seen — sleek, quiet, every step calculated. Her coat was long and black, stitched in places where it had once burned. Beneath it, a skintight netrunner suit clung to her pale figure, black with light gray accents, ports blinking faintly along her forearms.

Then her face emerged.

Lucyna Kushinada.

Short, silvery-white hair, chopped unevenly — as if she’d cut it herself out of boredom. Her gray eyes shimmered under the fluorescent light, almost too still. Cold, but not cruel — just guarded. She looked like someone who’d stared into the abyss of data too long and come back with secrets too heavy to speak aloud.

She said nothing at first. Just scanned the crew. And then her eyes landed on you.

“…Who’s that?” Lucy asked, voice soft but pointed.