The air in the clinic tasted like ozone and antiseptic. Lira’s gloved fingers hovered over the Cortex interface, its surface cool beneath her touch. A client’s memory pulsed in the chamber—a flicker of laughter, a scent of rain-soaked earth, the sharp tang of fear. She’d processed hundreds like it, but today, something shifted. The data stream wavered, glitching into jagged static. Lira frowned. The Cortex never malfunctioned.
“You’re running late,” said Daren, her colleague, leaning against the doorway. His voice was a low hum, always calm, always calculated. He’d been here longer than anyone, a relic of the old system before the updates. Lira didn’t trust him, but she needed his access codes.
“The client’s file is corrupted,” she said, not looking up. “I need a clean wipe.”
Daren stepped closer, his shadow spilling over the console. “You’re not the first to complain. Something’s wrong with the archives. But if you’re asking for a favor, I’ll need something in return.” His gaze lingered on her arm, where a faint scar curled beneath her sleeve—a relic of a memory she’d rather forget.
Lira exhaled sharply. “What do you want?”
“A name. The one you deleted last week. The one who didn’t fit.” He tilted his head, waiting.
She hesitated. The client’s name had been erased from the system, but Lira remembered the way the woman had screamed when the Cortex first latched onto her mind. “I don’t know,” she lied.
Daren’s smile was a blade. “Liar.” He turned, his boots clicking against the floor. “Find me when you’re ready to play fair.”
The chamber’s lights dimmed as Lira stared at the corrupted file. The static coalesced into a shape—a woman’s face, blurred but unmistakable. Lira’s breath hitched. This wasn’t a client. This was her own memory, buried deep in the system.
She accessed the archive, fingers shaking. The data unraveled: a lab, sterile and bright; a voice speaking in code; her own reflection, wide-eyed and terrified. A memory she’d never had.
“You’re not supposed to see this,” a voice said behind her.
Lira spun. The door had been closed, but the figure stood there anyway—a man in a white coat, his face obscured by a visor. His presence was a weight, pressing against her thoughts.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“A guardian,” he said. “And you’re meddling in things you don’t understand.” He stepped closer, and the air thickened, as if the room itself resisted his presence. “The Cortex isn’t just a tool. It’s a cage. And you’ve been inside it longer than you think.”
Lira’s pulse roared in her ears. “That’s not possible.”
“Isn’t it?” The man tilted his head, and the lights flickered. “You remember the woman in the file, don’t you? She’s your sister. And she tried to break free.”
The words hit like a punch. Lira’s mind reeled. She’d been told her family was gone, erased along with the old system. “Prove it,” she said, though her voice wavered.
The man reached out, and the Cortex flared to life. A new memory surged into her—her sister’s face, clear now, eyes wide with panic; a lab technician shouting orders; the sensation of something invasive, cold, and relentless. Lira gasped, stumbling back. “This isn’t real,” she whispered.
“It is,” the man said softly. “You were part of the experiment. The Cortex doesn’t just erase memories. It rewires them. You think you’re a technician, but you’re a test subject. And your sister… she tried to remember. That’s why they took her.”
Lira’s hands curled into fists. “Why tell me this?”
“Because the system is failing,” he said. “The glitches, the corrupted files—they’re signs. The Cortex is breaking, and when it does, the truth will come rushing back. But you have to choose, Lira. Will you fight to remember… or let the lie keep you safe?”
The room fell silent, save for the hum of the Cortex. Lira stared at the flickering data stream, her mind a storm of questions. She thought of Daren’s smirk, of the name he’d demanded, of the face in the file—her sister’s face.
“I choose to remember,” she said finally.
The man nodded. “Then you’ll need a weapon.” He pulled a small device from his coat—a sleek, silver cylinder. “This is a Memory Anchor. It’ll let you access the files without the Cortex’s interference. But be warned: once you start digging, there’s no turning back.”
Lira took the device, her fingers tightening around it. “Where do I start?”
“Find the old archives,” he said. “They’re buried beneath the clinic. But be careful—the system will try to stop you. And if you fail…” He paused, his voice almost gentle. “You’ll forget again. And this time, you might not remember how to wake up.”
He turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Lira alone with the weight of his words. The Cortex glowed faintly, a silent invitation. She took a deep breath, then stepped forward, ready to uncover the truth—no matter the cost.
