Five years had passed since the Puppeteer's reign of terror ended. Anya stood atop the Zenith Tower, gazing at the cityscape bathed in the cool hum of dawn. Neon lights pulsed, a testament to the city's resilient spirit, each flicker echoing the battle scars they all bore.
The memory of the Weaver, Anya's father's digital echo, still resonated within her. A constant reminder that freedom was as ephemeral as code, forever requiring vigilance. The fight, she knew, was never truly over.
Whispers, however, had begun to dance on the city's digital arteries. Rumors of a phantom figure, the Ghost, manipulating code and twisting perceptions. A digital specter haunting the network, leaving behind ripples of discontent and whispers of rebellion.
