Streetlights flickered up ahead, like they were nervous even to be around here. Backstreet jobs always felt like this—quiet, grimy, and never without risk. Money is money, though. Nothing will ever change that.
A man stood there, back against a wall, aloof and indifferent to the unsettling tone of the alleyway. He was patiently awaiting the arrival of another—a client of his, if you will. Raising his arm, he checked his watch; the glass that once protected the inside was shattered. Now, only half of the original pane remained.
Footsteps suddenly whistled from far ahead, indicating the arrival of someone new. The steps were cautious; he could tell from the faint noise the person made while stepping, deliberately masking the sound.
[???] "Neither late nor early. Curious."
The man entering the alley laughed softly. "I'm still on time, aren't I?"
To that, the person at the very end of the alley scoffed.
Finally, the approaching man stepped into the dim lights—a young man with clear skin and neatly combed hair, carrying a briefcase at the side of his suit.
[Young Man] "Unfortunately, your client doesn't wish to show himself, so I will act as a representative of your client for today."
The man in the alley raised an eyebrow, then asked, "Too good to show himself?"
The young man shook his head politely. "You know the risks of being here."
[???] "You do too. So tell me, why is a young man such as yourself here, then?"
For a while, they stood there. The night sky was devoid of stars. The man stared at the boy, patiently awaiting an answer.
The young man hesitated for a minute, then replied, "I was requested to."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Requested to do what?"
The young man paused, then smiled. "Make a deal with you, of course."
The dealer paused for a while, then smiled. "You came to the right place."
The young man exhaled a sigh of relief and began unlocking the briefcase that clung so diligently to his side.
Soon, a hiss escaped from the box, followed by a cloud of smoke. When the briefcase opened, the dealer's eyes widened in surprise.
See, the backstreet dealer wasn't an ordinary dealer. He didn't sell drugs, weapons, or anything a normal dealer would be associated with. He was a memory dealer.
Memory dealers were often thieves who stole memories from others, as memories themselves were extremely expensive to acquire. So the backstreet dealer's services were always costly—but never in his life had he seen so much gold.
Hundreds of golden coins—no, at least a few thousand. With that type of money, you could buy almost any memory you wanted without the need for a dealer.
[Dealer] "...That's a first."
The young man smirked in satisfaction. "I take it you like our offer?"
The dealer's eyes were dilated, his light brown pupils almost reflecting the golden coins in front of him.
[Dealer] "What type of memory could you possibly need for all of this?"
[Young Man] "Memories. We need you to steal from a certain… competitor."
Only then did the dealer come back to his senses. The young man clearly came from a wealthy family, and offering this much to eliminate a competitor meant trouble for him.
The dealer swallowed and asked, "Who might this competitor be?"
Hearing that question, the boy's expression fell just slightly.
[Young Man] "Ah, so you must have realized. I take it you're making sense of this?"
The dealer steeled his nerves and repeated, "Who is this competitor?"
It felt like a minute had passed before the young man's answer came, and when it did, the dealer's heart sank.
[Young Man] "Retired General Ardent."
The dealer's eyes widened, and a tiny spark of regret claimed its place in his eye.
[Dealer] "You wouldn't happen to mean the actor who played him rather than the decorated veteran, right?"
The young man shook his head. "I mean the decorated veteran."
The dealer shook his head, realizing that taking this deal had been a grave mistake.
He barely noticed the young man disappearing into the night; the weight of the gold was still on his mind. For the first time in his memory, he felt rich. He also felt doomed. Somehow, the man knew this deal would end with a cost, one that he wasn't sure he could pay.
It was a day later. Rain fell like hail, and the atmosphere felt suffocating. The dealer was quietly approaching the General's mansion.
With every step he took toward the mansion, it felt like the streets that were once filled with the lively noise of nightlife grew quieter. In this silence, the dealer began thinking about his life.
The dealer wasn't actually that old—he was about twenty-four, no, wait, twenty-two. He started dealing after the war—or at least, he thought so. He turned to this life of black market dealing after realizing he had no other way to make money, and thus the Backstreet Dealer was born.
When talking about stealing memories, he wasn't referring to stealing a family portrait or a picture; he was actually talking about stealing memories. When people die, their memories are left behind in shards. These memories are beneficial, allowing you to learn skills others had only mastered over a lifetime.
Finally, the dealer arrived at the Ardent estate. Moonlight pierced the clouds, shining brilliantly off the rooftop, which seemed to tower over everything around it.
He stared at the onyx-black gates in front of him, and with a face of disappointment, he hopped over the proud gate.
The dealer landed softly onto the neatly mowed grass of the estate, making sure to create as little noise as possible.
As he rose to his feet, he took a moment to observe his surroundings, scouting for possible entrances.
The general was a cautious man—an extremely paranoid one at that. As a result, his living quarters were built like a stronghold. From his point of view, it seemed like there were no entrances.
It only seemed that way, though. In his experience, a door was rarely one-sided. In the end, he was right. The dealer was able to pick the lock with slight difficulty—it was minor, but still challenging.
The general was paranoid, yes, but the reprimands for stealing from someone like him were so severe that he probably wouldn't even have to think someone would steal from him. That was the only reason he was able to enter so easily.
When he entered the mansion, he was instantly greeted by a grand hall worthy of a king and a throne. Brilliant lights illuminated the hallways that seemed to stretch on forever.
The dealer was careful with each step, as he truthfully had no idea whether or not the master of this estate was even home.
Hugging the walls, he slowly ascended the stairs. After scouting the previous day, he had concluded that the memory room was somewhere on the General's second floor.
After reaching the top, he quietly began searching. Room after room, he found nothing at all. The only good thing was that he hadn't heard a single noise from inside the mansion.
Well, that was true until now. While searching a room, the dealer froze. On the other side of the floor, he heard distant footsteps.
His first instinct was to run, but a human's first instinct is always the most illogical. He breathed in, trying to calm himself in order to properly assess the situation. The dealer had time, given the distance of the footsteps; he didn't have to panic.
He could hide, but against an ex-military general, a thief like him was more likely to be caught if he stayed in one spot. So, while thinking about ways to escape the situation, he realized something.
It was a gamble, sure—but the thing about gambles is that they always come with a fruitful reward.
If he were to follow the general, he might be led to the room that stored each and every one of his many memories.
It was a stupid and reckless plan, and there were probably better ones, but at that moment, it seemed like the best choice. So when he saw the general turn into a room, he followed after him.
Turns out, generals love doors. It had been at least a few minutes already—maybe even ten—and the general was still walking at a calm, steady pace toward… something. What that something was was the reason the dealer still followed closely behind.
After a few minutes that felt like eternity, the general came to a halt and touched a wall.
The strange action confused the dealer for a moment until he saw the wall slowly split open, revealing a stash of glowing shards.
Seeing the familiar faint blue glow emanating from the room, the dealer couldn't help but smile internally. It was time for his paycheck.
Well, at least it would be when the general left. Ardent stood there for a few minutes and then walked inside. From where the dealer was standing, he could only see part of what the general was doing.
The general placed a crystal in a glass box in the middle of the room. Curiosity started to sprout from the dealer's chest all the way through his body.
Finally, after the general had put the crystal in the container, he walked out with a devious smile and whispered to nobody in particular, "Good luck."
The dealer watched as the general walked away, perplexed by the sudden gesture. It made him feel a slight twinge of unease, to be honest. Still, that wouldn't stop him now. After waiting about thirty minutes, the dealer finally made his move.
He put his hand on the wall in the same way the general had, and slowly, the wall began to split, revealing a hidden room.
The dealer wasted no time. He expanded his bag almost reflexively, shoving memory after memory into it. Reflections of the past stared blankly as they were thrown in.
After a while, he was done; he had robbed the man dry. There were no memories left—except for one. The one in the glass case. His curiosity had led him to save this one for last; he expected it to be the hardest to obtain.
Shockingly, when he cracked open the glass, no alarms sounded, no security measures activated.
The dealer reached out his hands and looked into the shard's reflection.
His eyes widened in shock.
Was that himself?
As soon as he realized that, one name rang through his head—his own. The one he forgot.