Butterfly sought a legacy in the sterile halls of the Spire, trading stolen secrets for a place among the masters of Neo-Kowloon. They clung to the hollow honor of the blade until the city’s cold machinery finally ground their defiance into dust. In the end, the canvas was stripped bare, leaving behind only the ozone scent of a failed experiment. They died as they lived: a sharp edge broken against a system that never cared for the art of the kill.