The Memory Trader

Synaptic Veil

But something in Zane's earnest expression made me pause. There was a fire there, a conviction that was hard to ignore. "Tell me more," I found myself saying.

He explained the situation – a high-ranking corporate executive with a memory that could turn the tide for the rebellion. It was risky, bordering on suicidal. But if successful, it could change everything.

As I listened, I couldn't help but feel a tug of something unfamiliar. Curiosity? A sense of justice long-buried? I wasn't sure.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, though something in me had already made the decision.

Zane left me with a data chip – payment in advance, he said. After he departed, I scanned the chip, expecting to confirm its monetary value. But what I discovered was not currency. It was a memory file – and as I accessed it, a jolt of surprise coursed through me.

There, in fragmented, disjointed flashes, was a scene from my own past, a memory I didn't recall having. A memory of a young boy, laughing under the neon lights, a boy who looked a lot like me.

That was the moment everything changed. That was the moment I got entangled in something much bigger than memory trades and corporate games.

That was the moment I began to question who Rax Synthia really was.

The city of Neon Veil had a way of blurring the line between friend and foe, but with Lyra Selene, the line was a trench – deep and unmistakable. She was a mirage of grace in a world of grit, yet her eyes held a predatory glint that even the neon couldn't soften. We'd crossed paths before, each encounter a chess game where the pawns were memories and the stakes were always high.

It was a damp evening, the kind where the city's dampness seeped into your bones, when I found myself opposite Lyra in the back room of an unassuming gadget shop. The place was a front, but everyone who needed to know, knew.

Lyra's smile was as sharp as the blade she kept hidden in her boot. "Rax, always a pleasure," she purred, her voice smooth as silk. "Though I can't help but wonder why you'd want this particular memory. It's... mundane, don't you think?"

I kept my face impassive, aware that any flicker of emotion could give her an edge. "Not for me to judge," I replied. "A client wants what a client wants."

She chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Always the professional. But tell me, are you ever curious? About the memories you trade? About the secrets you unlock and sell to the highest bidder?"

It was a dance we did, Lyra and I – a dance of words and wits. I knew better than to step out of rhythm. "Curiosity is a luxury I can't afford," I said.

The exchange was brief. I handed over the payment, and she passed me the memory chip. Our fingers brushed momentarily, an electric current in a sea of apathy.

As I left, her voice followed me, a whisper in the shadows. "Be careful, Rax. You never know when a memory might be more than just a memory."

Her words lingered in my mind as I navigated the labyrinthine streets of Neon Veil. Lyra was more than a rival; she was a reminder of the dangers lurking beneath the surface of every trade, every memory. In this city, you could never be too careful, and trust was a currency more volatile than any memory chip I'd ever traded.

In the neon-soaked labyrinth of Neon Veil, few things were certain, but one unavoidable truth was the presence of corporate enforcers like Milo Jax. They were the hounds of the corporate elite, sniffing out dissent and disorder. Milo, with his imposing frame and eyes like cold steel, had made it his personal mission to clip the wings of any who dared to challenge the corporate order. Lately, that included me.