The neon smeared across the slick pavement, fractured by the downpour. Rain tasted like ozone and regret. Kai traced the glyphs blossoming on the wall – not spray paint, but *rain graffiti*, ephemeral code blooming in the moisture. It pulsed, a sickly violet against the bruised indigo of the city. Neopolis. A sprawl of chrome and broken promises.
She ran a hand across the data-weave of her jacket, feeling the subtle thrum against her skin. The static clung to her, a constant companion. It wasn’t the weather; it was *in* the weather. Within the city’s network.
“Anything?” Ren asked, his voice clipped, crackling through her earpiece. He favored practical tech, minimal aesthetic. The opposite of Neopolis, really.
“Layers. Code bleeding into…everything.” Kai focused, letting her senses sift through the digital wash. “It’s like someone opened a faucet. Memory fragments. But warped.”
A flicker, then a rush of sensation: warm sand between toes, the scent of salt and something baking. It vanished before she could grasp it. Not *her* memory. Someone else’s.
“Ghosts in the machine,” she muttered.
“More than ghosts.” Ren’s voice sharpened. “Reports coming in. People…forgetting. Losing chunks of their lives. Not gradual. Just *gone*. Like someone scrubbed the data.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. She scanned the rain-slicked alley, searching. The glyphs seemed to writhe, responding to her focus. A cluster near a collapsed holo-ad shimmered, resolving into a fragmented face. Old. Weary.
“I’m picking up a strong signature near sector Gamma-Nine. Feels…intentional.”
“Intentional forgetting?”
“Someone’s *taking* memories, Ren. That rain graffiti isn’t art. It’s a bleed-through. A trace.”
She moved deeper into the alley, the metallic tang of the rain intensifying. The glyphs spread, coating the walls like luminescent mold. A figure materialized from the shadows, lean and wiry, face obscured by a data-mask.
“Looking for something, Echo?” the figure rasped, voice digitally altered.
Kai didn’t bother with a name. She kept her hand near the pulse-pistol holstered at her hip. “The memory thief.”
The figure chuckled, a grating sound. “Such dramatic phrasing. I merely…curate. A city overflowing with data needs pruning. Useless sentiment, outdated experience. It clogs the system.”
“People are losing their *lives*.”
“Collateral adjustment.” The figure raised a hand, displaying a sleek, silver device. It pulsed with the same violet light as the rain graffiti. “This isn’t destruction. It’s…optimization.”
“What are you doing with the memories?”
“Recycling, naturally.” The figure stepped closer, the device humming. “Re-purposing for… more useful applications. Imagine, a city running on pure, unadulterated efficiency. No messy emotions. No inconvenient histories.”
“And who decides what’s ‘useful’?”
“That, Echo, is the beauty of it.” The figure grinned, a flash of metal beneath the mask. “*I* do.”
Kai shifted her weight, fingers tightening around the pistol grip. Rain cascaded around them, blurring the edges of the alley. It was a fight not for data, or for the city. It was for what it meant to *be* within its coded shell.
“You’re playing with fire,” she said, her voice low.
“Perhaps.” The figure tilted its head. “But I’ve already burned away a few inconvenient truths. What’s one more spark?”
