My corpse was discovered in an abandoned cybernetics recycling station in the Lower City. The scavengers responsible for sorting through the electronic waste fought back the nausea induced by radiation sickness and called the police. My parents hadn’t even taken the time to change out of the magnificent formal wear they had donned for my sister Tia Vance’s "Nova Star Cybernetics Launch Gala." They simply boarded their aerocar in haste, descending into this filthy corner of the world, a place awash in acid rain and the afterimages of neon lights. Detective Miller, who was in charge of sealing off the scene, frowned as he handed them air filtration masks. My father, Captain Rex Vance, was the supreme commander of the Night City Special Service; my mother, Dr. Sarah Vance, was the foremost neuro-cybernetics surgeon in the field. Yet, even they, who were accustomed to the grisly aftermath of cyberpsychosis outbreaks, subconsciously took a half-step back the moment they saw my body. Under the erosion of the heavy acid rain, my corpse had already succumbed to a grotesque state of metallic rust mixed with decaying flesh. My facial implants had been violently dismantled, leaving behind only charred, empty sockets; confirming my identity through facial recognition was impossible. The skin over my entire body had peeled away from the mechanical skeleton, and at the spinal interface, only a few severed neural cables remained connected. The air was thick with the mingled stench of leaking coolant and rotting meat. Mom closed her eyes, adjusted her breathing, and activated the scanner in her hand to begin a preliminary autopsy. When her gaze fell upon my shattered, miserable excuse for a mechanical arm, a rare look of pity surfaced in her eyes. When I was alive, she had never looked at these hands—cheap, second-hand, and prone to malfunction—with such gentleness. I watched her nervously, observing as she extracted a rusted, obsolete data chip from the gaps between my mechanical fingers. That was the "Holographic Memoir" I had spent ages scavenging from the black market, repairing with my own hands, intending to give it as a gift to the whole family. But at the time, because Tia complained that it carried viruses from the Lower City, my parents had flown into a rage at me. "Nova, why are you always so malicious? Are you trying to crash the core system of this house?!" "Even though you are our biological daughter, Tia’s genetic compatibility is one in ten thousand. She is the future of this family, far more important than you!" Their angry rebukes seemed to still echo within my neural circuits, but I firmly believed that my parents loved me. They would surely recognize this gift I had treated as a treasure! However, Mom’s expression didn't change. She simply ordered her assistant, Bot-7, with cold indifference, to place the chip into an anti-static evidence bag. I shouldn't have held onto hope. In their hearts, even though I was the biological daughter bound by blood, I was nothing more than redundant code in the system. My brother, Leo Vance, once told me via interstellar comms that Mom and Dad only adopted the genetically perfect Tia to find some emotional anchor after I was lost in the radiation zone as a toddler. He said I was the daughter they loved most. But when I was actually found, dragging my body full of cheap, second-hand cybernetics back to the Upper City, there was no longer any place for me in this home. I was like a virus, utterly incompatible. Having finished surveying the scene, Dad sighed and asked Mom, "What’s the situation with this Jane Doe?" Mom deactivated her scanner and rubbed her temples. " The deceased is approximately twenty years old. Preliminary cause of death is determined to be a burnout of the central nervous system caused by overload. Before death... she likely suffered prolonged torture involving illegal cybernetic dismantling." "The modus operandi is brutal, involving illegal organ trafficking. We must close this case quickly before the media exposes it." Dad lit a synthetic cigarette, took a deep drag, and looked irritable. Even in death, I was still causing trouble for my parents. Miller, standing to the side, offered a reminder: "Recently, there’s been a 'Dismantler' gang in the Lower City specifically hunting young women. You two should be extra careful. You have two daughters at home; don’t let them leave the Safe Zone at night." Mom’s voice betrayed her impatience. "Tia has always been obedient and sensible; she never leaves the Upper City. The one I can't control is Nova." Miller was an old partner of my parents and knew our family situation like the back of his hand. Dad subconsciously pressed the mechanical joint of his left leg. Miller noticed and asked, "Rex, is your old injury seizing up again?" Dad waved his hand. "It's fine. I used that cheap lubricant Nova bought... it's inexpensive, but unexpectedly effective..." He stopped halfway through his sentence. That daughter, whom they called a waste, had actually always worried about their bodies, aching from excessive modification. Miller patted Dad on his armored back plate. "You should treat Nova better. After all, she is your own flesh and blood." Dad shook his head. "Two days ago, Tia had an important neural link test and kept crying out that she wanted Nova to assist. But Nova? She took one call and then played the disappearing act. Tia was so worried about her sister that her mental fluctuations became unstable, and she only scored an A-grade in the end." "Nova hasn't been home in days. Who knows if she's high on something in some underground bar or dead in a gutter somewhere. A child not raised under elite education really does turn out to be a defective product." Listening to my parents' complaints and accusations, a bone-chilling coldness rose within my consciousness core. Dad, Mom, it wasn't that I didn't want to come home. I just... could never log on again. The ungrateful daughter you spoke of had already been forcibly taken offline the very day you accompanied Tia to that gala. Right now, my corpse is lying right in front of you.