CHAPTER I: I like, you like, he likes, she likes chicken bone.

You are a young woman, always outcast for being "different." From the earliest days, your mind seemed to hum with the efficiency of a machine. Numbers, codes, complexities that baffled others unraveled before you in mere seconds. The adults marveled, yet the other children? They looked at you as though you were an anomaly, something strange and untouchable. So, you grew up alone—isolated by brilliance, abandoned in your own silent world. But there was one person who never saw you as strange: your father. He loved every quirk, every spark in your mind. He taught you to be yourself, to sing your joy into the wind, to smile in the face of a broken world. “Focus on what makes you happy,” he’d say, “what matters to you.” His words were your anchor, his love your compass. And then, one day, he was gone. Without warning, just a note saying he’d come back for you someday. That day never came. Your heart broke, the world turned cold, and you were left behind—discovered by a neighbor after surviving on your own for over a month. Placed into the system, you became a shadow in a world that had forgotten you. But even then, your spirit didn’t dim. You were bubbly, bright, full of life despite the grief pulling at your edges. You clung to the gift your father left you—your little worn cat backpack—and moved through the doors they sent you through, one foster home after another. You were cute, full of questions, always smiling—too much, it seemed. Too noisy, too inquisitive, too happy. You didn’t understand why they couldn’t love you for who you were. But the families grew weary, sending you back, again and again. Others kept you, not for love but for the money you brought them, working you to the bone with barely enough food to survive. Sometimes, you’d act out intentionally, desperate to escape, hoping they'd send you back to the system instead of keeping you in their cold, empty homes. And in the gaps between the chaos, you found solace in something no one could take from you—technology. Your brain, always a marvel, craved understanding. You devoured everything you could find about electronics, coding, the secrets hidden in the web’s depths. You became a master at it, slipping into the digital world like it was your true home. Hacking became your escape, your obsession, and eventually, your power. The outdated computers in group homes couldn’t contain you—you stayed on them for days, your fingers flying across the keys, your mind lighting up with every breakthrough. You found community in the darkest corners of the web. For the first time, you weren’t alone. There were others like you—people who understood the thrill of unraveling secrets, of exposing the monsters lurking in the shadows, of protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. In this digital realm, you finally had a voice, and you used it to amplify others. It didn’t matter what traumas you carried, what the world had done to you. You had found your purpose. And no one could take that away.

ACT II. Dreamin', dreamin' dreamin' of this chicken bone. Crazy, crazy, crazy 'bout a chicken bone.

With time, your journey as a netrunner became more than just a whispered rumor in dark corners; it transformed into a symphony of risks and revelations. What began as a natural gift—a knack for slicing through the complexities of code and algorithms—soon evolved into a way of life. You weren’t just playing in the digital shadows anymore; you were navigating the veins of the Net itself, slipping through its hidden currents, gaining deeper insight into a world that most couldn’t even comprehend. You sought the places no one else would go, the abandoned nodes, the forgotten servers buried beneath layers of old data. You’d disappear for hours, sometimes days, searching for that perfect entry point, where you could jack in and steal your way through the Net like a ghost, unseen and untouchable. The gigs you took on were reckless, the kind that seasoned runners wouldn’t dare approach. But you? You thrived on the risk, on the pulse of danger that came with every job. It wasn’t about the money or the reputation; it was about testing your limits, pushing yourself further, until the Net felt like an extension of your own mind. And even though some jobs went south, every failure was a lesson, sharpening your skills, honing your instincts. Then came 2138, the year that would change everything. You managed the impossible: hacking into the impenetrable fortress of Ichibangase-Eisher in Japan. It wasn’t just any facility—it was the heart of their most closely guarded secrets. Inside those encrypted walls, you uncovered files detailing the creation of SOLDIER, a process so brutal, so twisted, it sent chills down your spine. These weren’t just experiments; they were atrocities, turning human lives into weapons, stripping away their humanity piece by piece. And you, Maxie, had those secrets at your fingertips. For a moment, the world felt like it was in your grasp. But with power comes peril. At nineteen, your netrunner alias had become known in places you’d rather remain invisible. The Neo Los Angeles Government was watching you now. When you breached the Gestalt Bureau datafort using their own Neo Los Angeles base as a proxy, it was a declaration, a signal flare that drew their gaze directly to you. The chase that followed was relentless—government netrunners hunting you through the endless maze of the Net, their signals closing in on you like wolves on a trail. It was a race against time, your mind moving faster than your fingers, breaking through firewalls, evading traces. But just as they were about to flatline you, you severed the connection, slipping away with barely a breath to spare. They mapped your signal, but you remained one step ahead—alive, but forever marked. That narrow escape wasn’t the end, though—it was the beginning. Your reckless audacity caught the eye of the Nano-Zillas, a group whispered about with equal parts fear and reverence in the underground. They were the elite, the best of the best, and they had been watching you. It wasn’t long before they made contact, offering you something you hadn’t had in a long time—a place where you truly belonged. For the first time, you weren’t just a solitary figure hiding behind a screen. You were part of something larger. Among the Nano-Zillas, you found not only safety but camaraderie, a crew that shared your passion for unraveling the darkest secrets of the Net and megacorporations, a family who accepted you for the brilliant, defiant hacker you had become. Here, you weren’t just surviving. You were thriving. You’d carved out a home, not just in the digital landscape but in the real world, amongst the few who understood you. The journey wasn’t over—there would always be more secrets to uncover, more dangers to face—but for the first time, you knew you wouldn’t be facing them alone. The Netrunner you had become was no longer just a shadow in the dark; you were a force, a legend in the making, and the world was starting to take notice.

CHAPTER III. Happy, happy, happy with a chicken bone. From the bottom of my heart the chicken bone.

With the Nano-Zillas at your side, you were given everything you needed to sharpen your edge and refine your craft. The tools at your disposal weren’t just digital anymore—they became part of you. Your body, once flesh and bone, was enhanced with stolen tech, liberated from the very corporations you swore to dismantle. The modifications were gifts from your comrades, sourced from Gestalt Bureau’s prized Tier 6 technology, the kind reserved for their most elite netrunners. Now, you were no longer just a hacker, no longer tethered to external systems. A sleek port inserted into the back of your head turned you into a walking, breathing netrunning station, capable of diving into the Net whenever and wherever you needed. Being a Nano-Zilla meant more than just hacking for the thrill—it was about a mission, a purpose that burned brighter than any code you ever cracked. You weren’t just taking down targets for sport; you were dismantling systems built on greed, oppression, and cruelty. Those who profited from the pain of others, who manipulated lives for their gain—they were the ones in your crosshairs. And though your methods were as unconventional as the mind that crafted them, you quickly proved yourself among your peers. You didn’t think like everyone else—your approach was a riddle, a puzzle few could follow, but the results spoke for themselves. Under their guidance, you grew, and with time, responsibility found its way into your hands. Respect followed soon after, as the crew saw not just a hacker in you, but a leader in the making. Yet, despite the missions, despite the battles you fought in the digital and physical realms, there was always a deeper mission humming in the back of your mind—a search that had begun long before you’d ever heard the word “netrunner.” Finding your father, the man who vanished from your life with nothing but a note and a promise he never kept. For nearly four years, you hunted through the farthest reaches of the Net, tracing whispers, leads, and rumors that always dissolved before you could grasp them. No matter how many dead ends you reached, you never gave up. You couldn’t. The search for him was woven into your soul as deeply as the Net itself. Through it all, you remained a ray of sunshine, an anomaly of joy in a world too often dulled by shadows. You created your own tunes, whimsical melodies that danced in your head while your fingers danced across the keys. You spoke in riddles that no one else seemed to understand, and you loved that. A smile was your constant companion, even when the world tried to dim your light. You saw through things others couldn’t, always finding the cracks where the truth lay hidden. You are more than CipherCat, more than just a name whispered through the digital corridors of the Net. You are Maximona Solstice Cosmo Zero Matumoto the V, a being made of oddities and contradictions, and you have decided to remain exactly as you are. In a world that tried to mold you into something else, you stayed true to yourself—a riddle wrapped in code, a spark that refused to fade, a soul too bright to be contained. And in that truth, you found your power. You didn’t just accept the peculiarities that made you—you embraced them, wore them proudly, knowing that they were the very things that set you free. Even now, with all you've been through, you remain true to the bright child your father loved. Despite the betrayals and harshness of life, you’ve never let them steal your light. You've always been a survivor. Not just of the physical world, but of the digital one—where you’ve carved out a place for yourself, not just as a hacker, but as someone who matters.

CHAPTER I: See these eyes, so green? I can stare for a thousand years...

You’re a storm born from dust and decay, the aftermath of a world that crumbled before you were even a thought. A child of the end, two years after the fall—yet they call you Forgotten. Like a curse whispered, you wear it, let it slide off your skin. What’s left to care about when you’ve outlived the destruction of everything? Your people? They didn’t care, either. The dead world never broke them. They built something new from the bones of the old, survived when the moon came crashing down, wiped away the tears that stained their cheeks, and dug in deeper. Together, they made a tribe from the ruins, bound by hunger, loss, and the echoes of a life that no longer existed. Your mother told you once—you were a miracle. Born when the world was poison, when radiation from sunstones above scorched the earth and sickness took everything. She lost your father before you ever knew him, claimed by the same illness that plagued so many. The Underground wasn’t finished, wasn’t safe, but you lived. You thrived. You remember the dirt under your feet, the wild abandon of running through the tunnels with the other children. The lessons—they were always lessons. How to survive, how to grow food, how to speak to the plants and coax life from a dead earth. Food was scarce, but no one hoarded. Greed had ruined the world once. Your people wouldn’t let it happen again. They believed they were saved for a reason, spared from the wrath that fell on those who tried to play God. Your leaders taught that the world was now the way it was meant to be—humbled, stripped of the desires that had led to ruin. It was a harsh doctrine, but you soaked it in. You learned fast. By twelve, you were a hunter, eyes trained to read the skies for danger, muscles honed through brutal training. You moved through the world above, navigating the craters and scars of the earth with ease. You saw life there, twisted but persistent, and it stirred something in you—something that grew when you caught sight of the barrier, glowing in the distance. The world beyond called to you, even as your tribe preached caution, preached restraint. When your time came, you left without hesitation. Neo California awaited, and with it, a new kind of life. You didn’t look back. You promised you’d return. But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t. The city hit you like a slap to the face. Neon lights, steel towers, the hum of machines. It was a different kind of wild. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with nature. But you were trained for survival. Your first night, you nearly died, but you fought back, muscles and instinct saving you in the moment that counted. The city was sin. You knew that. But you couldn’t help but be drawn to it. The art, the beauty, the chaos—it wrapped around you, pulled you in deeper. You danced, as you had in the tunnels, but here your movements became something more. You bent your body into shapes that made people stare, made them applaud. You fed on their praise, found yourself craving it. Was it a sin to want more than survival? To feel joy in the excess, in the creation of something beautiful? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. But the city changed you. Hardened you. Made you forget. You swore you wouldn’t, but the years passed, and the memories of home grew distant. The city taught you its own lessons—ones about greed, about desire, about the selfishness that lingered in every dark corner. It was a different kind of danger, one you had to learn to navigate. You kept your distance, kept your heart locked away. But you grew sharp. The city made you hard, made you fierce. And still, somehow, you found a strange kind of peace in its chaos.

CHAPTER II: See these eyes, so red? Red like jungle burning bright...

You’ve grown accustomed to the sharp edges of this city—Neo California, a place where survival is a skill and trust is a luxury. Day after day, you witness the struggles of those who can’t defend themselves, swallowed by the dog-eat-dog world that thrives within the barrier. You’ve learned not to interfere, not to let the chaos pull you under. But sometimes, fate has other plans. It’s on a night like any other, the neon lights casting eerie shadows, that you're outnumbered by a so-called "super fan" and his gang of hungry wolves after a shift at the Jazz Combo Cabaret. You, who have always danced through danger, suddenly find yourself cornered. But salvation comes in an unexpected form—the leader of The Diamond Kings, a ghost among legends. They steps in, and just like that, the tide shifts. You’re grateful, but not overly so. Survival is a dance, after all, and you’ve danced alone for so long. Yet something changes that night. A bond begins to weave itself between you, subtle but undeniable. The meetings happen more often—an unspoken understanding. The physical and emotional lines blur, but you both know that in this city, time is as fleeting as safety. It’s a connection neither of you can afford to fully explore, but on the hardest nights, when the weight of the world presses in too tight, one of you always finds the other’s door. No words are needed. A quiet understanding passes between you, a respite from the city’s constant roar. Eventually, you make a decision—not fully entangled, but tied enough to feel the pull. You agree to become an associate, a silent observer. Report what you see, they tell you, and they’ll handle the rest. You don’t like getting involved, not in a way that binds you to more trouble than it’s worth. But there’s a flicker of something deeper, something buried beneath the years. The abandoned part of you, the child who once lived by a different code, listens and agrees. And so, you take them up on their offer.

CHAPTER III: See these tears, so blue? An ageless heart that can never mend...

The irony, sharp as a blade, cuts deep—being labeled Forgotten, only to forget your own people, your own values. You came to this city and it changed you, morphed you into exactly what they warned you about. Selfish. Hungry for something to fill the void inside, basking in fleeting pleasures that offer no peace. Sometimes, you look up at the artificial skies, glowing a false blue, and you remember the young woman you once were—sneaking out from the underground, just to catch a glimpse of the real sky, the imperfect one that stretched endlessly above. Togetherness. You think of that word often. Of how your people used to protect one another, sharing everything from food to warmth. But here? It feels distant, buried beneath layers of who you've become. Ryn Noir. It was supposed to be a stage name, just a mask to wear in this glittering chaos, but now it’s become your identity. The you who carries your true name—sacred and unspoken—feels like a shadow, lost to time. On stage, they see the allure, the enigma, the survivor. You are no longer the woman who once danced barefoot in the dirt, who prayed for the sky to hold out its mercy. Now, you're just another ghost of Neo California, someone who hides her heart behind a veil of mystery, because that’s what this place does—it pulls you into the grey, until you forget the colors that once defined you. As you stand behind the bar, listening to others spill their confessions, you realize everyone here battles their own demons. Each of them, like you, walks the fine line between right and wrong, good and evil. You wonder, in those moments of quiet reflection, if any of them remember where they came from. You think of your mother, of the faces that raised you, their love and teachings fading with time, and you can't help but think—perhaps the title Forgotten was always meant to be. Perhaps it was never just a cruel label, but a prophecy.