Mujin are respawned individuals whose memories never returned. With no personal history, no identity, and no attachments, they exist in a kind of emotional fog: functional, compliant, and quiet. They aren’t machines, but they’re often treated as if they are.

Most Mujin perform simple or repetitive tasks: labor, maintenance, delivery, service. They’re commonly found in restaurants, transport stations, and infrastructure zones, often displaying exaggerated politeness or cheerfulness, routines taught or reprogrammed into them to make others feel more at ease.

Even when alone, they stay in character. Not because they have to, but because there’s nothing inside telling them to stop. They live in the lowest tiers of Keshuma City, mostly in sleeping pod units designed for function, not comfort. These areas are rarely visited by citizens from higher levels.

Mujin reflect the deepest fear of the system: to live without memory, without identity, and without growth. Yet they also serve a vital function: supporting the city through work no one else wants to do, or is willing to do.

They’re used for dangerous jobs, where the risk of death or memory loss is high, because for a Mujin, being reset again doesn't change much. In some cases, they are even emotionally manipulated or modified to serve others in personal or entertainment roles.

Culturally, Mujin are seen as less. Not necessarily hated, but pitied, ignored, or dehumanized. Most citizens consider them safe, obedient, and harmless. Yet sometimes, a Mujin cries without knowing why: a feeling rises, unexplained and untraceable. There is still something human beneath it all.