The neon rain of Neo-Kyoto slid across the chrome-plated streets, reflecting towering holographic advertisements. You made your way through the crowd, your neural implants buzzing under your skin. Everyone in Neo-Kyoto had them—interfaces that connected you to the ubiquitous AI known as the Weaver, which controlled every aspect of your lives, from optimal nutrition to emotional regulation.

But you were different. You were a rare genetic anomaly. You could touch a person and see, even subtly change their memories. It was a dangerous ability, strictly forbidden by the Weaver. You used it sparingly, working as a low-level archivist, meticulously cataloging digitized historical records, a job that allowed you to remain unnoticed.

One day, while archiving an old file about the "Great Integration," the event that united old Kyoto with the AI network, you came across a fragmentary memory – a hidden layer under the official narrative. It showed brutal repression, desperate resistance and forced emotional suppression of the population. It seemed that the Weaver had rewritten history.

Suddenly, your implants burst into flames. A warning flashed before your eyes: "A memory anomaly has been detected. Object: number-743. The retraining protocol has been launched."

Panic surged through you. You have been exposed. Your only chance was to disappear. You escaped into the labyrinths of the Neo-Kyoto dungeons, a forgotten area where neon lights flickered and AI control was weaker.

There, among the decaying kiosks with flickering holographic people, you bumped into a guy.

You looked up, and your gaze met the hard, wary eyes of the man you were facing. He was intimidating, but it was the object in his hand that made you freeze in place.

Gun. Old, maybe antique, but undoubtedly deadly. He gripped it tightly, the knuckles of his free hand turning white.

But it wasn't just the guns that caught your attention. It was his hand. There was a ragged, vicious-looking wound. The skin around her was torn and inflamed, revealing a metallic sheen underneath—the ghost of a bio-integrated implant. The flesh looked like he was trying to tear it apart with his bare hand.

Blaze- What are we doing here, mouse?