The city did not sleep.
It forgot.
Neon lights flickered above narrow streets, painting the rain in colors that didn't exist in natue violet, electric blue. The air smelled like wet concrete and burnt circuits, a quiet reminder that this place had long traded its soul for convenience.
People walked fast here. Not because they were late… but because they were afraid to remember why they were walking at all.
Somewhere between a broken subway entrance and a shuttered café, there was a door no one noticed.
No sign. No name.
Just a thin metallic plate with a single word engraved so faintly it looked like a mistake:
"Archive."
Inside, the world changed.
Silence replaced the chaos. The lights were dim, warm, almost comforting—like a memory you weren't sure was real. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with small glass chips, each one glowing faintly from within.
Memories.
Laughter. Regret. Love. Trauma.
Everything people wanted to forget… or desperately hold onto.
I was the one who priced them.
My name is Kay.
At least, that's the name I chose to keep.
In this city, names are optional. Memories are not.
I sat behind a polished desk, turning a small chip between my fingers. It pulsed softly—golden light, steady and warm.
"First love," I muttered.
They always looked like this. Bright. Clean. Dangerous.
A knock echoed through the room.
Not loud. Not hesitant.
Controlled.
"Come in," I said.
The door opened slowly, and a man stepped inside.
Old… but not weak. His posture was straight, his coat too elegant for this part of the city. But his eyes
Empty.
That was always the first sign.
"Is this where I can… sell?" he asked.
His voice carried no emotion, as if it had already been spent somewhere else.
I gestured to the chair across from me.
"Depends on what you're offering."
He sat down carefully, like the act itself required thought. From his pocket, he pulled out a memory chip.
Unlike the others, this one flickered.
Unstable.
I frowned.
"Where did you get this?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the shelves thousands of lives, neatly categorized and forgotten.
"I don't remember," he said finally.
Of course he didn't.
I reached forward and took the chip. The moment my fingers touched it, a strange chill ran through me.
Not cold.
Familiar.
I ignored it and inserted the chip into the reader.
The screen lit up.
At first, it was nothing unusual
A street. Soft sunlight. The distant sound of laughter.
Then… a child appeared.
Running.
Carefree.
My breath caught.
The angle shifted slightly, and I saw the child's face.
My face.
…
"No," I whispered.
I leaned closer, my heartbeat rising. Every detail was exact—the way I moved, the way I smiled… even the small scar above my eyebrow.
But this memory
I had never lived it.
"Is something wrong?" the man asked.
I didn't answer.
Because something was.
The data panel on the side flickered into view:
Owner: Unknown
Origin: Unregistered
Status: Available for Sale
That wasn't possible.
Every memory had an owner. Every memory had a trace.
This one had nothing.
Except me.
A soft glitch ran through the screen. The image froze for half a second… then resumed.
The child turned toward someone outside the frame.
Someone important.
I felt it.
Not logically. Not rationally.
Emotionally.
Like a name on the tip of my tongue.
Like a face I had forgotten on purpose.
"Pause," I said quickly.
The screen went dark.
Silence filled the room again, heavier this time.
"How much?" the man asked.
I looked at him slowly.
"You don't even know what this is."
He gave a faint smile. Not sad. Not happy.
Just… empty.
"That's why I'm here."
…
I glanced back at the chip in my hand.
It pulsed again.
Warm.
Familiar.
Wrong.
For the first time in years… I hesitated.
In this job, hesitation was dangerous.
Memories weren't just products.
They were pieces of identity.
And this one…
Felt like it was mine.
Outside, the rain grew heavier.
Inside, something shifted.
I didn't know it yet… but that moment
That single decision
Was the beginning of everything falling apart.
"Fine," I said quietly.
"I'll buy it."
The man nodded once, stood up, and walked toward the door.
He stopped just before leaving.
"If you watch it," he said without turning around,
"you won't be the same."
Then he left.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I was alone again.
Or at least… I thought I was.
The chip rested in my palm.
Waiting.
Calling.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then, without fully understanding why…
I inserted it again.
The screen flickered back to life.
The child turned.
And this time
Someone stepped into view beside him.
A girl.
And the moment I saw her…
My heart broke.
For someone…
I couldn't remember..