Time for Day 4.
Do you remember?
"The Mask Maker"
Created by Toa Smoke Monster
Nobody knows this Matoran's true name - not even himself. All that he has to go by is the nickname granted to him by those who would become his closest friends long ago, when they were all thought dead to the world. He helped them to fight a war against an enemy thought unbeatable; he helped them to win.
But nobody remembers that war.
After the Reformation, Smoke Monster and the rest of his friends all went their separate ways; the number of times he has seen any of them since can be counted on one hand. Smoke Monster took up the trade of forging Kanohi Masks, and has resided within New Atero ever since doing just that. He works alongside the mysterious 'Artisan', and together their skills in the forge have become famous throughout Spherus-Magna.
It's not Smoke Monster that the Mad Great Being wants, but it might end up being Smoke Monster that she gets.
FROM THE PROLOGUE:
“...hello?” he asked. His voice was ragged from disuse, mechanical against his will.
The being frowned, opening their eyes and tilting their head up to look at him. Then their eyes widened slightly and they nodded, as though he had somehow answered an unspoken question.
“Interesting,” they murmured. Their voice was like a thousand lines of silk, all sliding across each other. “A Matoran, when I first created you. Now a robot, long past your time.”
He frowned. “You… know who I am?”
They nodded, but tilted their head to the side, re-examining him. “Curious… you are not him. So I did create you, but somewhere else. You are not from here. You’ve come a long way.”
“Look,” he started, stepping forward, clenching his fists. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re gonna start answering some questions right now. Who are you? Why are you here? How do you know me?”
“Once, long ago, I helped to create you, or rather, another me did.” The being said, seeming to speak as much to themselves as they were to him. “You were a Matoran; my first contribution to the Matoran race. I named you.”
“I don’t go by that name anymore,” he snapped, scowling. “It’s meaningless to me - the name of a murderer, and so much worse.”
The being laughed - a rich, intoxicating sound, addicting in its pure and unadulterated pleasure.
Tomorrow, I'll introduce you all to the Mayor.