Neon Rain
"In a city where memories can be bought and sold, one detective searches for his own stolen past."
The memory dealer's shop sat between a ramen stand and a discount implant clinic, its entrance marked only by a holographic eye that blinked in the acid rain.
Detective Kai Tanaka pushed through the beaded curtain, his coat dripping synthesized water onto the worn floorboards. Three weeks without sleep. Three weeks since someone had stolen twenty years of his life.
"You're the cop," said the old woman behind the counter. Her eyes were milky white—natural, not chrome. A rarity in this district. "The one looking for his memories."
"I'm looking for answers."
She laughed, a sound like broken glass. "Same thing, in this city. Sit."
Kai sat. The chair was older than the megacorps, probably older than the Collapse. It creaked under his weight.
"Someone sold your memories on the deep net," she said, not a question. "Twenty years, extracted clean. Professional work."
"Can you trace them?"
"I can do better." She leaned forward, and Kai saw something move beneath the wrinkled skin of her throat. "I can sell them back to you. For a price."
"How much?"
The old woman smiled. "Your future, Detective. All of it."
Outside, the neon rain fell harder, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed its endless song.