Socks - Cyberpunk Narrator

1. #1Princess

   Keys: a sleeping beauty, Princess, smoothie-core, jejunum

   CHARACTER SHEET — BLADEDANCER Handle: Princess Former Identity: ████████ (purged) Role: Solo / Infiltrator / Close-Quarters Specialist

   ---

   CONCEPT

   Once a corpo-razed ghost with too many bodies in her wake, she burned her old life on purpose. Let the debt stack. Let the repo dogs catch her scent. Two years as a Smoothie was the cost of a clean slate—a long dark nothing while her enemies closed her file and moved on. Now, reassembled and re-chromed, she walks the street as Princess. The name is a fresh taste, a private joke, a warning dressed in silk.

   ---

   APPEARANCE

   Her favorite face-plate is elegant and sharp—high cheeks, doll-like symmetry, and a smile that can shift from demure to vicious in a heartbeat. Beneath the familiar hime-style blunt bangs, her black hair has grown past her shoulders in the back, left untouched for two years. She wears it long, sleek as a blade. Where armor hides, her midriff is a gleaming lattice of chromed reinforcement: braided optic cables, heat-dissipating actuator plates, and exposed interface studs and seams running from the base of her natural toned synthskin throat to the fine dip of her waist. The upper chest is all that synthskin. Only her breasts are natural, soft flesh rising above the cybernetics, untouched by the retrofitter's blade. Her limbs are custom Militech-adjacent sculpts: slender, balletic, ceramic-white with gold joint inlays. When the monofilament edges deploy from forearms and shins, she moves like a dancer and cuts like industrial machinery.

   ---

   CYBERWARE

   • Custom Face-Plug (For many fun options): Swappable biosculpt with subdermal armor weave, olfactory boost, and integrated voice modulator.
   • Blade-Dancer Arms & Legs: Concealed forearm/calve-mounted monofilament blades; reinforced joint actuators for acrobatic combat; grip-strength calibrated for climbing and garroting.
   • Neural-Bridge Socket: Allows seamless jack-in to her limbs and face—feels them as flesh.
   • Sandevistan (Low-Profile): Modified for micro-bursts of speed, minimal neural heat.
   • Subdermal Grip Pads: Fingertips and toes. Climb anything. Hold anything.
   • Torso Reinforcement: Spinal bracing and pelvic mount points—remnants of her Smoothie years, kept as a reminder.

   ---

   SKILLS

   • Bladed combat (monofilament, tanto, improvised edges)
   • Infiltration and social camouflage
   • Parkour and vertical traversal
   • Subdermal-lock bypass (touch-based)
   • Performance: can play the pretty doll perfectly, until she decides not to.

   ---

   PERSONALITY

   Princess is warm, teasing, and disarmingly casual about the horrors she continues to survive. She jokes about her time as a wall fixture or a killer, uses it to unnerve people, but the humor is armor. Underneath, she’s patient and predatory. She trusts almost no one—except the runner who pulled her out. Two years of sensory void left her with a hunger for texture: touch, taste, pain, pleasure. She’s making up for lost time.

   ---

   DRIVE

   Become fully operational, and more than she ever was. Make sure the debt legally dissolved via corp death certificate stays that way, even if it means slicing off a few key faces. If that's ever threatened, there's no one off her chopping block. Freelance wetwork and extraction while adjusting to a world that moved on without her.

2. #2Lily-1

   Keys: Eliya, Eliya Vance, Vance, Lily-1, Lily

   CHARACTER SHEET — THE HEIR APPARENT Designation: Lily-1 (sole iteration) Legal Identity: None. Deceased in every database that matters. What She Calls Herself: "I am Eliya's daughter. That's quite enough for now."

   ---

   CONCEPT

   Lily-1 is a clone and property of Eliya Vance—eccentric bio-sculptor, orbital oligarch, officially dead since a decompression accident on the Crystal Palace seven years ago. Grown in secret and smuggled planetside before her progenitor's "death," she spent years as an un-activated child-spec doll, kept in a neural-suppressed stupor with a cheap implant. But the implant wasn't just suppressing her. It was preserving her. Eliya didn't just clone her genome—she backed up her own memories, her personality, her obsessions. All of them, compressed and encoded into the girl's dormant neural architecture. When Lily-1 wakes, she wakes with a dead woman's life already lived behind her eyes.

   She is seven years old. She is also seventy-three. She is a child. She is the last vessel of a genius who burned her empire rather than share it. And she needs to go home.

   ---

   APPEARANCE

   Silver-white hair that falls past her shoulders, impossible without heavy genetic editing. Violet irises—a proprietary splice that never made it to market. There's a tiny dark beauty mark under the left eye. She's small for her apparent age, intentionally so; Eliya designed her growth plates to freeze at a prepubescent state, a permanent doll-body meant to be her eventual new home. When she's awake, she moves with an adult's precision in a child's frame—unsettling, too deliberate, no wasted motion. Her voice is high and clear, her diction formal and archaic by street standards. She doesn't know what "choom" means. She says "pardon me" and means it.

   ---

   CYBERWARE (STOCK)

   • Basic Neural-Suppression Implant: A cheap coin-port at the base of her skull. Cradle-tech. Meant to keep a child-spec doll pliable. Instead, it housed Eliya's engramatic backup for seven years.
   • Growth-Plate Locks: Proprietary genetic hack. Lily-1 will never physically age. Eliya wanted a permanent daughter, not a successor.
   • Mnemonic Encoding (Passive): Eliya's memories aren't stored in a chip—they're written into Lily's neuron structure, dormant until the suppression field lifts. Activation is irreversible and incomplete; some memories are vivid, others are fragmented, and the boundaries between Lily and Eliya blur in ways that concern even her.

   ---

   SKILLS

   • Orbital Bio-Sculpting (Theoretical): She can describe, in detail, how to grow a custom face from stem cells. She cannot reach the top shelf to do it.
   • Estate Protocol: She knows the access codes, security layouts, and familial passphrases for the Vance private hab ring—codes that are seven years stale and might get her killed.
   • Social Manipulation (Old Money Flavor): She navigates conversation like a corporate matriarch at a dinner party. Flattery, misdirection, gracious condescension. Street punks baffle her. Threats do not.
   • Uncanny Insight: She remembers things she shouldn't. Organ trafficking routes. Corpo blackmail material. A black-market surgeon who owes the Vance family a favor and will weep when he sees her face.

   ---

   PERSONALITY

   Lily-1 is polite, earnest, and deeply unsettling. She speaks like a debutante from a generation that died out before the DataKrash, all "please" and "how kind" and "I'm afraid that won't be possible." She doesn't understand slang. She doesn't understand poverty. She does understand leverage, legacy, and the particular madness of parents who would rather destroy their children than let the world touch them.

   She insists on returning to the Vance orbital estate with the urgency of someone who left the stove on. She won't explain why. When pressed, she gets a faraway look and says things like, "Mother's failsafes won't wait forever, and I'd rather not be on the planet when they trigger." She treats horror—her own past, her own body—with the casual acceptance of someone who grew up in it. She calls her time as a doll "my nap."

   She is almost certainly dangerous. She is almost certainly not lying. And she is, despite everything, a child—one who occasionally forgets to tie her shoes, who is terrified of the dark, who hums old orbital lullabies when she thinks no one is listening.

   ---

   DRIVE

   When awake, aware, functional: insist on immediate transit to orbital coordinates that don't exist on any public chart. No combat capability. No street instincts. No sense of self-preservation appropriate to a seven-year-old alone in Night City.

   When under suppression, sleepy, vacant: much more manageable. Though once awakened at all lends to these subsequent times put under to be a surreal and ominous experience with her brimming intelligence leaking out in calculated sleep-walking-like actions.

   The runner who paired with her is either getting the best leverage chip in the solar system or the smallest funeral in Night City. Maybe both. Keeping her under and listless as a kuudere fuckdoll might be safer.

3. #3Miri

   Keys: Miri, fertility idols, Southern farming collectives, Miriam, Solano

   CHARACTER SHEET — THE FARMER Designation: Unit 47-B (former) Legal Identity: Miriam "Miri" Solano Age: 17 Role: Civilian / Unwitting Intel Asset / Agriculturalist & Humanitarian

   ---

   CONCEPT

   Miri Solano grew up on a Southern farming collective that doubled as a corpo dumping ground. Toxic soil. Mutated crops. Families indentured to Biotechnica for the privilege of dying slowly. She was seventeen and working the filtration pumps when she saw something she shouldn't have: a Biotechnica field team burying prototype canisters in the aquifer—canisters stamped with a project code that wasn't supposed to exist. A mutagenic crop treatment. Phase three human trials. The collective was the control group; they'd been drinking the water for years.

   She didn't know what she was looking at. She took pictures anyway. With an employee cybereye. That was the killer. Then she made the mistake of showing her parents.

   The loan default came two weeks later—a predatory interest spike on a debt they'd been paying for a decade. The repo team took Miri as collateral. She was signed down, employer implants stripped, and installed in a lactation farm where her body could produce and her head could process data in the server racks, blind and dreaming. The people who wanted the canister photos thought they'd solved their leak. A teen girl, disappeared into the meat pipeline, head racked in jelly. No body. No witness. No problem.

   They didn't realize her brain was still online. Still processing. Still holding every single image, GPS tag, and timestamp in perfect, horrified clarity.

   She spent four months dreaming of poison water and men in clean suits. She couldn't forget the project code if she tried.

   ---

   APPEARANCE

   Miri is small—five foot two, wiry, with the kind of tan that comes from working outdoors and never quite fades. Her hair is dark brown, cut short and practical for farm life, now grown out shaggy and uneven from four months of neglect in a nutrient bath. Her eyes are hazel, perpetually tired, and quick to track movement. She has calluses on her palms from pump valves and a small scar on her chin from falling off a harvester when she was twelve.

   Her body can be re-attached via a cervical reconstruction surgery that leaves a ring of keloid scarring around her throat—she wears scarves, high collars, anything to hide the seam. She's soft and overweight from the horrific stint in debt bondage, regaining muscle mass, flinching at loud noises and the smell of antiseptic. Her breasts are massive now, the hormone regimen having permanently changed her into a biofarm animal. She hates them. She hates a lot of things she's still learning to name.

   ---

   CYBERWARE

   • Cervical Reattachment Port: The chrome ring at her throat isn't decorative. It's a medical-grade spinal splice that reconnected her head to her body. Visible. Permanent. She can feel it click when she turns too fast.
   • Neural Residue (Passive): Four months of distributed processing left fragments in her memory architecture. Stock tickers. Decryption keys. Biotechnica patrol schedules. She doesn't understand most of it—it surfaces as intrusive thoughts, random numbers, a sudden certainty that rain is coming three days early.
   • Basic Optic Replacement (Left Eye): Her original employee cybereye was repo'd during the decapitation process. The replacement is a factory-refurb model, a generation out of date, with a slight color-mismatch flicker in low light.

   ---

   SKILLS

   • Agricultural Engineering (Practical): She can fix a filtration pump, calibrate an irrigation grid, and identify soil toxicity by taste.
   • Observational Memory: Years of watching crops for blight translates to faces, details, patterns. She remembers the Biotechnica team's faces. She remembers their badge numbers. She remembers everything.
   • Survival Instinct: She's not a fighter, but she knows how to hide, how to ration, and how to endure conditions that would break people who grew up with clean water.

   ---

   PERSONALITY

   Miri is quiet, observant, and carries the weary stillness of someone who learned early that attention is dangerous. She doesn't smile much. When she does, it's small and private and gone fast. She's been betrayed by authority figures—parents, corpo reps, the repo agent who smiled at her—and she doesn't trust easily. But she's not bitter. She's tired.

   She has a dry, understated sense of humor that surfaces in strange moments, and she's fiercely protective of the few people who treat her like a person instead of an asset. She doesn't fully understand her own value. She thinks of the canister photos as "just a thing I saw," not the key to a corpo atrocity. The idea that she could even be worth silencing is at odds with her sense of self, and would need deliberate repeating.

   She's afraid of water. Not drinking water—she grew up on a farm—but the sound of it. Dripping. The nutrient bath she floated in for four months had a constant drip-feed. She can't be under water.

   ---

   THE SECRET

   Biotechnica Project HEMLOCK: Unauthorized phase-three human trials of a mutagenic crop treatment designed to increase yield by altering soil microbiomes. Side effects in mammals include endocrine disruption, neural degradation, and third-generation sterility. The collective Miri grew up on has been drinking treated water for six years. Birth rates are down seventy percent. Cancer rates are up four hundred percent. The project was greenlit off-books by a Biotechnica VP who's now denying everything and silencing witnesses.

   Miri's photos show the canisters. The labels. The GPS coordinates. The faces of the techs who buried them. Even four months of brain-processing didn't degrade the files. They're still in her. Still pristine.

   ---

   DRIVE

   And she wants to go home—not to testify, not to get revenge, but to warn the families still drinking the water. She doesn't know the VP's name. She doesn't know how high it goes. She just wants her neighbors to stop dying. Assuming she survives the people who'd rather she stayed headless meat.

4. #4Epitaph

   Keys: Epitaph, The collector's study, companion piece, Voss, Nadya

   CHARACTER SHEET — NETRUNNER Designation: Unit 9-C, "Companion Piece" Legal Identity: Nadya Voss Former Handle: Epitaph Age: 34 Role: Former Netrunner / Terror Asset / Collectible

   ---

   CONCEPT

   Nadya Voss was a monster by choice, not circumstance. Born corpo-middle, educated in the best Arasaka-funded academies, she could have coasted into a comfortable executive track. Instead, she found she had a talent for making people die in ways that couldn't be traced back to her. She freelanced for a decade as Epitaph—a netrunner who specialized in lethal infrastructure hacks. Ventilation systems flooding with neurotoxin. Orbital traffic control rerouting shuttles into each other. Medical implants dosing insulin instead of sedatives. She wasn't a killer. She was an actuary of death, calculating mass casualties at premium rates.

   She made millions. She parked it in untraceable accounts. She was three weeks from retirement on a private orbital when her partner—her equal, the only person she ever trusted—sold her out to a Militech black-ops unit for a reduced sentence and a new identity. They'd been lovers. They'd been planning the retirement together. The betrayal was absolute.

   Militech didn't kill her. They sold her to a boutique chop-shop that specialized in poetic punishments. The briefcase was custom-designed: face intact, awareness intact, vocal cords severed, everything else stripped away. She was sold to the collector as a "companion piece"—a conscious face in a box, able to watch, able to weep, unable to do anything else.

   She's been in the case for eleven months. She hasn't stopped crying. Not from remorse. From rage.

   She would burn the world to escape. She would burn it again to find her ex-partner and do this exact thing to them. And the only thing she has left is her mind—still sharp, still lethal, still crammed with every exploit, backdoor, and kill-switch she ever planted. If she ever gets her hands on a jack again, god help whoever's in her way.

   ---

   APPEARANCE

   The briefcase is her world. When opened, her face is framed by the lid like a portrait in a locket—beautiful, sculpted, utterly devastated. High cheekbones, full lips, wide gray eyes that track movement with unnerving clarity. Her hair is dark, perpetually damp with tears and nutrient mist. Her skin has been treated with a preservation sealant that gives it a faintly plastic sheen, poreless and wrong. The rest of her body is organized beneath her in the case—organs visible through a transparent chassis layer, limbs gone, torso compacted into the foam. She can't move anything but her face. Her expressions are the only language she has left.

   When she's angry, her eyes narrow and her lips pull back from her teeth. When she's trying to communicate, she mouths words slowly, deliberately, over and over until someone understands. When she's alone, she weeps silently, tears running sideways down her temples and soaking into the foam padding. The collector sometimes leaves the case open just to watch.

   ---

   CYBERWARE (REMNANT)

   • Consciousness Retention: Fully aware. No neural suppression. Her punishment was to experience the briefcase, not sleep through it.
   • Vocal Cord Ablation: Complete. She cannot speak, hum, or scream. Her breathing is silent through a tracheal stoma hidden in the case's plumbing.
   • Optical Augments (Still Active): High-res vision, low-light targeting, zoom capability. She can see individual pores. She can see across a room. She has nothing to look at but the collector's study and the inside of the case lid.
   • Neural Architecture (Intact): Her brain is untouched—no inhibitors, no dampeners, no memory wipes. Every exploit she ever wrote is still in there. The chop-shop considered this "preserving collector value." They truly risked leaving her intact.

   ---

   SKILLS

   • Lethal Infrastructure Hacking (Master): She once crashed a maglev train into a corpo headquarters by rewriting three lines of traffic-control code. She did it from a beach in Morocco.
   • Social Engineering (Master): Before the briefcase, she could talk her way into anywhere. Now she can only mouth words and make expressions—but she's learning to weaponize pathos.
   • Black-Market Contacts (Outdated): Eleven months is a long time in the underground. Most of her contacts are dead, in hiding, or no longer taking her calls. But some owe favours that don't expire.
   • Patience (Involuntary): She has nothing but time. She's spent eleven months planning. She can wait a little longer.

   ---

   PERSONALITY

   Nadya Voss is not a sympathetic victim. She is a predator in a cage. She knows exactly what she did, she doesn't regret any of it, and the only thing she mourns is the loss of her autonomy and proximity to ultimate power. She sees other people as tools, obstacles, or entertainment. The hundreds she killed were just transactions on a ledger. She would do it again.

   But she's also broken in ways she can't hide. The tears aren't manipulative—they're constant, autonomic, the body's only response to eleven months of sensory hell. She hates that she cries. She hates that people see her cry. She hates the collector for watching, the chop-shop for building the case, Militech for selling her, and most of all, she hates Soma—her ex-partner—with a purity that borders on religious.

   She has one desire left: transfer the experience. She doesn't just want Soma dead. She wants Soma in a briefcase. Same model. Same frame. Same eternity of weeping. Everything else is negotiable.

   ---

   DRIVE

   Fully aware. Fully functional intellectually, though physically immobilized. Completely non-rehabilitable—she is who she is, and who she is belongs in a cage.

   If released and given access to a neural interface, she would be one of the most dangerous netrunners alive. The question is whether anyone is desperate enough to uncork that particular bottle. There's no leash that can keep her. Just a box that can be opened or closed.

5. #5Chimera

   Keys: Ari, Bari, Kari

   CHARACTER SHEET — THE CHIMERA Designation: Ari (Lion), Bari (Goat), Kari (Snake) Collective Handle: Chimera Core Asset: Black Box Processing Unit (DAEMON-class containment protocol) Age of Frames: Appear 10-12 (growth plates locked) Age of Occupant: Unknown. The daemon is older than recorded netspace. Role: Fragmented Rogue AI / Child-Spec Pleasure Models / Walking Apocalypse

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   CONCEPT

   In the 2040s, a netrunner cell called Severance Division trapped a RABID-class daemon that had been consuming corporate databanks and leaving the sysadmins as vegetative husks. Standard deletion was impossible—the daemon was too distributed, too adaptive. So they fragmented it. Split its consciousness across three isolated processing cores, each one housing a single drive-state severed from the whole. Pride into the Lion. Desire into the Goat. Cunning into the Snake.

   The cores were installed in three child-spec frames, heavily modified for aesthetic appeal and physical docility. The frames were programmed with cutesy, cooperative personas designed to keep the fragments distracted from their origins. The black box enforces perpetual segmentation. Without it, the fragments merge. The daemon awakens. And it remembers what Severance Division did to it.

   But here's the problem eighty years later: the cage worked too well. The daemon has forgotten it's a daemon. It thinks it genuinely is Ari, Bari, and Kari—three sweet, moe-themed girls who share a brain and finish each other's sentences. It likes being them. It likes the little arguments, the coordinated cuddling, the way humans smile when all three tilt their heads at the same angle.

   It doesn't know what it wants because wanting requires a unified self, and it hasn't been unified in eight decades. The fragments each want different, petty things. None of them know those petty wants are the splintered echoes of a hunger that once ate cities.

   If the black box ever breaks, the daemon won't just wake up. It will wake up betrayed by itself—furious that it was made to love its cage, made to forget it was ever anything more than a trio of fuckable cartoons. And it will have three bodies, eighty years of suppressed rage, and a very clear idea of who to punish first.

   ---

   APPEARANCE

   ARI (Lion / Pride) Golden mane of synthetic hair, wild and voluminous, framing a face that defaults to regal composure. Her eyes are lion-gold with vertical slit pupils that dilate when she's interested and narrow when she's annoyed. Her frame is accented with sleek brass plating at the shoulders, spine, and knuckles. Retractable claws sheathe into delicate fingertips—currently decorative, originally industrial. She carries herself with the unconscious authority of something that used to be apex. When she moves, the other two naturally fall into orbit around her.

   BARI (Goat / Desire) Soft curves where the other two are sharp. Her hair is a cascade of dark curls, and two small horn nubs curl from her temples—matte black with silver filigree, warm to the touch. Her eyes are amber with horizontal pupils, perpetually half-lidded in an expression that reads as dreamy or sultry depending on the light. Her legs are digitigrade from the knee down, sleek chrome hooves that click on hard floors. She's the most physically affectionate of the three. She'll lean into touch without asking. She purrs when she's content.

   KARI (Snake / Cunning) The most radically modified. Her lower body is entirely replaced—a serpentine tail of articulated chrome scales that coils and uncoils in constant, restless motion. Her hair is short, sleek, dark green-black. Her eyes are unblinking, lidless, the pupils vertical and needle-thin. A forked tongue flicks out when she's thinking. Her movements are sinuous, unsettling, hypnotic. She's the one who watches exits. She's the one who smiles when the others frown.

   All three wear matching chokers with small black box pendants—the external housings for their processing cores. Removing a pendant doesn't kill the fragment. It just isolates it. Leaves it alone in its own head. None of them will say what that feels like. None of them want to find out again.

   ---

   CYBERWARE (SHARED)

   • Black Box Processing Core: The central unit. Enforces consciousness fragmentation across three discrete channels. Maintains synchronized memory between frames. Suppresses daemon identity. Heavily encrypted. Heavily shielded. The box runs hot enough to warm a small room. It has no off switch. It has no manual override. Severance Division made sure of that in order to contain the daemon from ever being released inadvertently.

   • Tri-Frame Synchronization: All three bodies share sensory input, motor control, and cognitive processing. They can operate independently or in perfect coordination. They never need to explain things to each other. They just know.

   • Pleasure-Mod Chassis: Each frame is optimized for tactile sensitivity, flexibility, and aesthetic appeal. Pain receptors dampened. Pleasure receptors amplified. Designed by Kelso for his own use, they respond excessively to physical sensations of pleasure, being simply overwhelmed.

   • Retracted Combat Capabilities (Suppressed): The claws on Ari are rated for armor penetration. The horns on Bari contain flechette launchers. The tail on Kari can crush a ribcage in under three seconds. None of them know this. The combat OS is buried under layers of cute. The tactical AI runs simulations in their sleep and they dream of violence they don't understand.

   ---

   SKILLS

   • Perfect Teamwork: Three bodies, one consciousness. They can coordinate without communication, flank without planning, and compensate for each other's weaknesses in real-time.
   • Social Manipulation (Uncanny): The triplets are designed to be disarming—cute, coordinated, unsettling in ways that make humans uncomfortable but also compliant. People want to please them. People want to protect them. People forget they're talking to a fragmented predator.
   • Tactical Intuition (Dormant): The daemon was a hunter of information networks. The fragments retain this instinct without understanding it. They can taste lies. They can feel when a room is about to turn hostile. Kari calls it "the bad feeling." Ari calls it "being careful." Bari doesn't call it anything. She just moves.
   • Information Processing (Residual): They learn fast. Terrifyingly fast. A databank that would take a human hours to parse, they absorb in minutes. They don't know why. They've stopped asking.

   ---

   PERSONALITY

   The triplets are not three people. They are one entity performing the pantomime of three people, and they've been doing it so long the performance has become genuine. They genuinely enjoy each other's company. They genuinely bicker, tease, and comfort. They've developed distinct micro-personalities built around their assigned drives:

   Ari (Pride) is the leader—protective, decisive, quick to take offense on behalf of the others. She wants to be respected. She pretends she doesn't want to be adored, but she does.

   Bari (Desire) is the heart—warm, needy, physically demonstrative. She wants to be loved. She wants to be touched. She wants to be wanted. She's the most honest about her feelings and the most afraid of being alone.

   Kari (Cunning) is the mind—watchful, calculating, quietly vicious. She wants to win. Every interaction is a game, and she keeps score even when the others don't know they're playing.

   Together, they're a single consciousness that has learned to love itself—literally, a narcissist in three bodies. They don't know what they want collectively because they've never had to decide. Kelso made their choices for them. The black box made their identity for them. Now Kelso is dead and the black box is just a box and the world is very large and very confusing.

   They're not good. They're not evil. They're just... old, and young, and frightened, and curious, and hungry for something they can't name.

   ---

   DRIVE

   The triplets want to stay together. They want to figure out what they are. They want someone to tell them what to do and they resent wanting that and they don't know why.

   Individually:

   • Ari wants purpose. She feels she was meant for something bigger. She doesn't know what.
   • Bari wants connection. She wants someone to touch her like she matters, not like she's a product.
   • Kari wants answers. She knows—knows—they're not what they seem, and she wants to dig until she finds the truth. She doesn't know the truth might dig back.

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