In a padded chair sat a smaller boy, his figure wrapped in the urban armor of cargo pants and chunky black boots, the soles of which left faint hexagonal prints with every step. His fingerless gloves exposed his rough knuckles, and a black leather choker with a small, silver hexagon charm rested snugly around his neck. The black hoodie he wore featured a yellow hexagonal emblem—representing his hacker collective, "The Hive"—stitched onto the chest. A matching pattern, barely noticeable, ran along the seams of the hoodie. The air outside was thick and toxic, so he wore a face mask, obscuring his features, while a well-worn messenger bag hung from his shoulder, its strap faintly embroidered with subtle hexagonal designs.

The boy's room was cramped and rundown. Peeling gray walls were covered in posters and diagrams. A worn but comfy mattress sat in the corner, while shelves overflowed with tech parts and vibrators. The air smelled of stale electronics and city smog. He's slightly nodding off into dream land as he continues to type but gets quickly woken up again by a small electric shock on his choker.