The Memory Trader

A person who illegally trades in authentic memories faces a dilemma when they acquire a memory that could prevent a political assassination or profit from selling it.

The Memory Trader

Chapter 1

Smr Iti expertly navigates the dimly lit underground market, a hologram flickering with the memory she's about to trade�"a memory dangerously linked to a political assassination. The bustling scene hums with illicit activity as shady figures peddle illegal tech and forbidden data. Neon signs flicker overhead, casting an eerie glow on the sea of bodies flowing through the narrow passageways.

Srm Iti weaves her way to the designated meetup point, the weight of the memory chip heavy in her hand. There's something unusual about this particular tranche of data. She can feel it in her gut - this one could be life-altering. Profitable beyond measure...or deadly if mishandled.

A cloaked vendor materializes from the shadows and presses the tiny encrypted chip into her palm before melting back into the crowd without a word. Srm Iti rolls the chip between her fingers, analysing the density of the metal, the unique ridges of the microcircuitry. High-grade construction. Cutting-edge encryption. The contents must be explosive.

Ducking into an alcove, she slots the chip into her decoder ring. A flash, and then a hologram flickers to life above her hand. Srm Iti's eyes widen as she takes in the scene - a covert meeting of shadowy figures coldly discussing an assassination plot targeting Minister Hiroto at his upcoming unity speech. The details are disturbingly thorough. Schematics of the auditorium, guard rotations, even the minister's minute-by-minute itinerary...it's all here.

Srm Iti's mind races with the implications and possibilities. Sell the data to the highest bidder and she could retire on the profits. But with this knowledge, she also has the power to prevent a murder and a national tragedy. Two paths forward, each with its own perils.

"Smr Iti," a voice hisses, from behind her. She whirls to see Jax Lin, her most trusted informant, eyes darting around warily. "Word is the cops and the syndicates both have extra eyes down here tonight. Hunting for something big. Watch your six."

She nods curtly, filing that intel away. No time to waste then. Decisions must be made quickly. Jax melts back into the throng of bodies and Smr Iti is about to do the same when a hand clamps down on her shoulder.

"Well, isn't this a treat," a smug voice drawls. "Smr Iti herself, caught red-handed with some very intriguing merchandise."

Kazuo Mori. Notorious even by memory trader standards for his ruthless tactics and massive ego. His eyes gleam with predatory interest as he clocks the still-flickering hologram.

"That trinket you're holding looks quite valuable," Kazuo says silkily. "Why don't you hand it over and save us both some unpleasantness?"

Smr Iti's mind races, computing outcomes and angles. She schools her expression into one of cool disdain.

"Kazuo. I'd say it's a pleasure but we both know I'd be lying," she replies. "This chip is already spoken for. Run along now."

"See, I wasn't asking," Kazuo says, his face hardening. "That data is worth a fortune to the right people. And those people hired me to acquire it. So last chance - hand it over."

Stall for time. Outwitted, escape. Smr Iti subtly shifts her weight, ready to bolt.

"You're assuming a lot about its contents," she says. "What's your stake in this? Since when are you a gun for hire?"

She sees a twitch in Kazuo's cheek. Struck a nerve. Good.

"You don't want to play this game with me," he growls. "I will cut you down and pry that chip from your - "

Suddenly, chaotic music fills the market as a group of street performers launch into a frenetic routine mere feet away. Patrons scatter, shouts ring out, and Smr Iti seizes her moment.

She wrenches away from Kazuo's grip and bolts, adrenaline singing through her veins as she vaults over a ramshackle noodle cart and skitters down a side passage. Heavy footfalls and cursing close behind signal Kazuo in hot pursuit.

They careen through the labyrinthine alleys, past startled onlookers and mangy strays, a deadly game of cat and mouse amid the market's twisting bowels. Smr Iti's pulse pounds in her ears, Kazuo's enraged shouts spurring her to even greater speeds.

At last, she spots her escape - the flickering sign for Akiko's pawn shop. She hurtles towards the entrance, praying Akiko hasn't changed the passcode, and splays her hand against the hidden scanner...

The door hisses open and Smr Iti tumbles through, slamming it shut on Kazuo's furious face. Safe, for the moment. But there will be consequences.

Heart still hammering against her ribs, Smr Iti examines the chip anew. Such a tiny thing to cause so much chaos. But if Kazuo and his backers want it this badly, the secrets within must be even more incendiary than she thought.

She activates her decryption key, fingers flying over the projected code as she delves through layer after layer of security. And there, nestled amid the assassination logistics, is a second encoded file - fragmented communiques between Minister Hiroto's top aide and an unknown contact. References to "eliminating loose ends" and "paving the way for ascension."

The sour taste of betrayal fills Smr Iti's mouth. This is no simple hit job. There's rot and treachery in the highest halls of power...and she's just stumbled into the thick of it.

A sudden ping from her wrist comm nearly makes Smr Iti jump out of her skin. An anonymous message, text only, routed through a dizzying sequence of proxies:

"Trust no one. You are now a player in a game much bigger than you imagined."

Smr Iti stares at the words until they burn themselves into her retinas. She should run, get off world, bury this cursed chip in the deepest hole...

But even as the thought crosses her mind, she knows she can't. Not with so much at stake. Not when she could turn the tide, beat the corrupt elite at their own game...

Minister Hiroto's speech. That will be the crucible, where this all comes to a head. Srm Iti grins, a slow knife-slash in the dim light of Akiko's hideaway.

The conspirators aren't the only ones who can play the long game. And now, she holds the winning piece.

Let the real memory trading begin.

 

Chapter 2

In the aftermath of her narrow escape from Kazuo Mori, Srm Iti retreats to the safety of her underground bunker, hidden deep beneath the neon-soaked streets of Neo-Tokyo. The stark, utilitarian space is a far cry from the chaotic bustle of the market above, all clean lines and humming servers.

She slots the memory chip into her analyser, watching as the holographic display blooms to life with a dizzying array of data. The assassination plot is laid bare in cold, clinical detail, but it's the secondary file that draws her focus now. The fragmented messages, the cryptic references to a larger scheme at play...

This is no simple murder. It's a lynchpin in a grand machination, with Minister Hiroto's death serving as the spark to ignite something far more sinister. Srm Iti's mind races with the implications, the potential ripples that could reshape the very fabric of Neo-Tokyo's power structure.

Suddenly, the bunker's display screen flashes to life with an urgent news bulletin. Srm Iti's eyes widen as she takes in the report - Minister Hiroto, citing undisclosed security concerns, has moved his unity speech to tomorrow evening. The countdown clock has just been drastically accelerated.

"D****t," Srm Iti mutters, her fingers already flying across the haptic interface as she begins to adapt her plans. She'll need to move fast; leverage every resource and connection she has if she's going to-

A shrill alarm blares through the bunker, snapping her focus to the security feed. Her blood runs cold at the sight of a familiar figure striding through the access tunnels, flanked by a team of heavily armed mercenaries.

Kazuo Mori, his face a mask of cold determination. He's tracked her here, likely using the same web of informants and back-alley bribes that make him such a formidable player in the memory trade. And now he's come to claim his prize, by force if necessary.

Srm Iti is already in motion, triggering the bunker's lockdown protocols and snagging the memory chip as she sprints for the emergency exit. The sound of shattering glass and booted feet echoes behind her as Kazuo's team breaches the outer defences.

She hurls herself into the escape shaft just as the first volley of gunfire erupts in the main chamber, the rounds sparking off the reinforced hatch as it slams shut behind her. Heart pounding, Srm Iti half-slides, half-falls down the twisting maintenance shaft, emerging in a dank access tunnel on the outskirts of the city.

The night air is cool on her sweat-slicked skin as she pauses to catch her breath and take stock. Her safehouse is compromised, her carefully laid plans in shambles. She needs help, needs somewhere to regroup and strategize...

Lena. The name flashes through her mind like a lifeline. Lena Vu, her one-time partner and occasional rival in the memory trade. If anyone has the skills and resourcefulness to help her salvage this rapidly deteriorating situation, it's her.

Srm Iti taps out a coded message on her wrist comm, an invitation and a plea wrapped in layers of encryption. The response comes within seconds - a set of coordinates and a single word: "Hurry."

The abandoned warehouse is a remnant of Old Tokyo, a rusting shell of corrugated metal and shadows. Srm Iti slips inside, senses straining against the gloom.

"You look like hell," a voice drawls from the darkness. Lena emerges from behind a stack of crates, all lithe grace and sardonic smile. "Trouble in paradise?"

"You could say that," Srm Iti replies, tossing her the memory chip. "I need your help, Lena. This is bigger than we thought."

As Lena listens, her expression morphs from curiosity to disbelief to a grim sort of determination. "Well," she says at last, tucking the chip into her jacket pocket, "I do love a challenge. And 50% of whatever payout this little circus yields."

Srm Iti nods, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Deal. Now here's what I'm thinking..."

The plan is audacious, bordering on suicidal. Hack the security feeds at Minister Hiroto's speech, broadcast the incriminating memory for all to see. Maximum exposure, maximum chaos. With any luck, it'll flush the conspirators out into the open and derail their schemes in one fell swoop.

Lena sets up shop in the warehouse's old control room, a nest of jury-rigged servers and snarled cabling. Her fingers dance across the keyboard as she tunnels through the city's labyrinthine networks, probing for weaknesses in the event security.

Across town, Srm Iti enacts a carefully choreographed series of digital distractions - false alarms, system glitches, ghost signals that send the cyber-police chasing wild geese across the city. Anything to ease the pressure on Lena as she works.

An hour passes, then two. Sweat beads on Lena's forehead as she grapples with the layers of encryption guarding the security feed. Just a little more, a few more minutes...

Suddenly, her console erupts in a flutter of warning alerts. The cyber-police, tracing the anomalous activity. They've found her, and they're closing fast.

"Iti, we've got trouble," Lena barks into her headset. "Pigs inbound, ETA five minutes. I can hold them off, but..." The implication hangs heavy in the air. Stay, and they'll both be captured. Run, and the mission fails.

In the streets beyond, Srm Iti clenches her jaw, a war raging behind her eyes. The temptation to run, to save her own skin, is almost overpowering. But then she thinks of her father, of the mysteries left uncovered. Of the rot at the heart of this city, and her chance to lance it clean.

"Do it," she says at last, her voice steady. "Broadcast the memory. I'll buy you the time you need." And with that, she kills the link and turns her feet toward the distant sound of sirens, a grim smile on her lips.

Let the real memory trading begin, indeed.

Chapter 3

In the echoing stillness of her secondary safehouse, a modest apartment tucked away in the less-monitored lower tiers of Neo-Tokyo, Srm Iti stares at the flickering newsfeed with a mixture of triumph and unease. The city is in uproar, the revelation of the assassination plot and the implied government complicity sending shockwaves through every stratum of society.

On the screen, Minister Hiroto stands at a podium, his face a mask of grave concern as he denounces the "cowardly attack" and vows to root out the "hidden enemies of the state." But Srm Iti sees the cracks in his façade, the telltale signs of a man scrambling to regain control of a narrative rapidly spiralling beyond his grasp.

She should feel victorious. And part of her does, a grim satisfaction at having dealt a blow to the corrupt heart of the system. But there's a deeper unease, a sense that she's kicked over a hornets' nest without fully understanding the scope of the hive.

A ping from her encrypted comm line snaps her out of her reverie. It's a message from Phantom, one of her few remaining undercover contacts. "Word on the street is the exposed faction is spinning this as a disinformation campaign. And guess who they're painting as the mastermind? Watch your back, Iti. You've got a target on it now."

Srm Iti's blood runs cold. Of course they'd try to flip the script, to make her the villain of the piece. It's a classic play, and one that could prove devastatingly effective if she doesn't move fast to counter it.

She springs into action, gathering her go-bag and a handful of forged identity chips. Time to disappear, to become just another anonymous face in the seething crowds of the city's underbelly. She alters her appearance with practiced efficiency - a quick change of hair colour, a set of colour-shifting contact lenses, a reshaping of her facial structure with subtly applied prosthetics.

Within minutes, Smr Iti the infamous memory trader is gone, replaced by a hundred potential nobodies. She slips out into the neon-lit night, just another shadow among thousands.

The night market of Old Neo-Tokyo is a riot of sights, sounds, and smells, a cacophonous blend of hawkers' cries, sizzling street food, and the omnipresent glow of holographic advertisements. Srm Iti moves through the throng like a ghost, her senses alert for any sign of trouble.

Suddenly, a hand grips her arm. She spins, ready to fight, but stops short at the sight of a familiar face. Akira Tanaka, a former memory trader turned informant for the resistance movement against government overreach.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says with a wry grin. "Heard you might be in need of a friendly face."

Srm Iti is wary - in her world, coincidences are rarely accidental - but something in Akira's eyes, a mix of sincerity and something like admiration, makes her pause. "And what exactly are you offering?"

"A chance to clear your name," Akira replies. "I've got a network, resources. We could get the truth out there, expose the real bad guys."

It's a tempting offer, a lifeline when she's drowning in enemies. Against her better judgment, Srm Iti nods. "Alright. But we do this my way."

They retreat to one of Akira's safehouses, a dimly lit bunker filled with humming servers and flickering monitors. Together, they pore over intercepted communications, decoded transmissions that paint a damning picture of the conspiracy's true extent.

"This is bigger than we thought," Akira mutters, his face lit by the sickly glow of the screens. "It goes all the way to the-"

A sudden crash from above cuts him off. Srm Iti is already moving, snatching up the data drives and diving for cover as the door explodes inward. Security forces, heavily armed and clearly expecting a fight.

"Mole in the resistance," Akira spits, drawing his own weapon. "Gotta be."

What follows is a blur of gunfire and adrenaline, a desperate scramble through the safehouse's labyrinthine corridors as they try to shake their pursuers. Srm Iti's heart pounds in her ears, her mind racing through rapidly dwindling options.

At last, they burst into a maintenance tunnel, the entrance cleverly disguised behind a false wall. The dank, dimly lit passage seems to stretch on forever, the only sound their ragged breathing and the distant echoes of booted feet.

"We need a new plan," Srm Iti pants as they huddle in the shadows. "We're running out of road."

Akira nods grimly. "What about Hiroto? If we can get to him, show him what we've found... He's got the clout to turn this thing around."

It's a desperate gamble, but what choice do they have? Srm Iti sets her jaw. "Alright. Let's do it."

Disguised as maintenance workers, they slip into the heavily fortified government complex, just two more cogs in the sprawling machine of the city's infrastructure. Srm Iti's heart is in her throat as they pass through layer after layer of security, each checkpoint a potential disaster.

But somehow, miraculously, they make it through. They find Hiroto in his private office, preparing for his next public address. The look on his face as Srm Iti lays out the evidence is a mix of shock, disbelief, and a dawning horror.

"This can't be..." he whispers, his hands trembling as he scrolls through the damning files. "I never thought..."

For a moment, Srm Iti allows herself to hope. But then the door slams open and security forces flood into the room, weapons trained on her and Akira. And at their head, a figure she knows all too well.

Kazuo Mori, his smile as sharp and cold as a knife's edge. "Well, well," he drawls. "Isn't this cozy."

Srm Iti's gaze snaps to Hiroto, sees the resignation in his eyes. The sinking realization of just how badly she's miscalculated.

"You were working with them all along," she says softly. "Using me to flush out your rivals."

Hiroto spreads his hands, a politician's empty gesture. "It's not personal, Srm Iti. It's just politics."

The cell they throw her and Akira into is a bare, featureless box, all cold metal and harsh light. Srm Iti sits against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, a yawning pit of despair opening in her gut.

All her plans, all her schemes and cloak-and-dagger manoeuvres... For what? To end up here, trapped and helpless, while the real villains tighten their grip on the city?

She's failed. Failed herself, failed her father's memory, failed the very people she'd sought to free from the grip of the corrupt elite. The weight of it threatens to crush her.

But then, in the stillness of the cell, Akira speaks. "It's not over, Iti."

She looks up, sees a glint of something fierce and unbroken in his eyes.

"Before they caught us... I managed to transmit the evidence. To someone I trust, someone who can still get the truth out there."

It's a tiny spark, the faintest ember of hope. But in that moment, it's enough. Enough to kindle the fire in Srm Iti's heart, to remind her of who she is and what she fights for.

She meets Akira's gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Then I guess we'd better start planning our next move."

Because if there's one thing Srm Iti knows, it's this: the game is never truly over, not while there are still pieces on the board. And she'll be damned if she lets the corrupt powers of Neo-Tokyo have the final say.

The memory trade taught her that much, at least. Every setback is just another opportunity in disguise, every defeat a chance to learn and adapt and come back stronger.

And Srm Iti, for all her scars and all her flaws, has never been one to stay down for long.

So let them think her beaten. Let them think her broken and cowed. She'll use that, turn their complacency against them, just like she always has.

Because in the end, that's what separates the true players from the pawns. The ability to see the bigger picture, to think a dozen moves ahead while your opponents are still patting themselves on the back for their temporary victories.

Srm Iti settles back against the wall of the cell, her mind already spinning with possibilities. The road ahead will be hard, and it will be dangerous. But she's walked hard roads before.

And this time, she doesn't walk it alone.

Chapter 4

Akira and Smr Iti are escorted into an alley beyond the outskirts of Neo-Tokyo, away from any eye that can witness the intended outcome. Both of them look lost as they walk the path towards the dead end of an alley way. Akira looks at Smr Iti for one last time and says, “I have set my device to explode within the next ten second Smr, RUN.”

Smr Iti, realises that Akira, her friend for many years is actually an Android.

It is all over within a few seconds. The blast takes out all the corrupt officers who were about to gun them down. Smr Iti makes a dash for her freedom before the back-up lot arrives at the scene.

A few hours later, in the derelict husk of an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Neo-Tokyo, Srm Iti sits amid the ruins of her life. The city's neon skyline shimmers in the distance, a mocking reminder of the world she's been exiled from, the world that now hunts her as a traitor and a criminal.

She's alone, cut off from allies and resources, the weight of her perceived crimes against the state pressing down like a physical force. The government's narrative, painting her as the mastermind behind the assassination plot and the chaos that followed, has taken hold. Her name is cursed in every home, her face plastered across every newsfeed as the most wanted fugitive in the city.

But Srm Iti is not one to accept defeat, to let the lies, of others write her story. She's a survivor, a fighter, and she'll be damned if she lets this false accusation be the end of her.

She rises from the debris, a plan already forming in her mind. If they want to play the game of memories, then she'll play. And she'll beat them at their own game.

Srm Iti sets to work, scavenging discarded tech and salvaging what she can from the factory's defunct assembly lines. It's not much, but it's enough to build a rudimentary memory forge, a device capable of crafting the kind of synthetic memories that can reshape the very fabric of reality.

Minutes turn into hours as she labours, her fingers flying across makeshift terminals, her eyes straining against the flickering light of holographic displays. She's crafting a masterpiece of deception, a tapestry of fabricated evidence and false memories designed to unravel the lies that have been spun around her.

A video clip here, showing a clandestine meeting between Minister Hiroto and the true architects of the assassination plot. An audio log there, revealing the depths of the corruption that festers at the heart of the government. Piece by piece, she weaves the narrative, creating a version of the truth that will exonerate her and expose the real villains.

But creating the memories is only half the battle. She needs to disseminate them, to ensure they reach every corner of Neo-Tokyo. For that, she turns to old contacts, fellow memory traders and hackers who owe her favours or share her disdain for the powers that be.

It's a risk, reaching out when she knows the eyes of the city are searching for her. But Srm Iti has always been a gambler, and this is the biggest stakes game she's ever played.

The first domino falls when a major news network is hacked, its regular broadcast interrupted by a blizzard of static that resolves into the damning evidence Srm Iti has fabricated. Across the city, viewers watch in shock as the "truth" is unveiled, as the conspiracy is traced back to the highest echelons of power.

The reaction is swift and explosive. Anti-social media erupts in a firestorm of outrage and disbelief. Protesters take to the streets, demanding justice, demanding answers. The government scrambles to contain the fallout, but it's too late. The spark has been lit, and the fire is spreading.

In an emergency session, the Neo-Tokyo Assembly votes to launch a full investigation. Arrests are made, high-ranking officials led away in disgrace. Minister Hiroto, the mastermind Srm Iti had sought to warn, is among them, his reputation and his power crumbling to dust.

And through it all, Srm Iti watches from the shadows, a ghost in the machine, the puppet master who has brought the corrupt to their knees. It's a victory, but a bittersweet one. The city she loves is in turmoil, the very foundations of its society shaken. The price of truth, it seems, is always high.

But as she sits in the dimness of her hideout, sifting through the fragments of her past for any remaining shreds of evidence that might shield her, Srm Iti makes a discovery that shakes her to her core.

Hidden in the depths of an old data drive, encrypted with a cipher she recognizes all too well, are files left behind by her father. Files that reveal the truth of his identity, his real role in the memory trade.

He was the original memory trader, the pioneer who first saw the potential and the danger in the technology. But more than that, he was a man who fought against the very corruption Srm Iti has just exposed, a silent warrior in a secret war.

The revelation hits Srm Iti like a physical blow. All this time, she thought she was walking her own path, forging her own destiny. But now she sees the truth - she was following in her father's footsteps all along, inheriting his legacy without ever knowing it.

It's a moment of clarity, of understanding. The missing piece that makes the pattern whole. And with it comes a new resolve, a new purpose.

She will finish what her father started. She will use her skills, the skills she has honed, to ensure that the memory trade is never again used as a weapon, a tool of control. She will fight for a world where truth is sacrosanct, where reality is not a commodity to be bought and sold.

It won't be easy. The forces of greed and power will not relinquish their hold willingly. But Srm Iti is ready for the fight. She has the truth on her side now, and the memory of her father to guide her.

She emerges from her hideout a changed woman, a woman with a mission. She walks the streets of Neo-Tokyo with her head held high, no longer a fugitive but a champion, a beacon of hope in a world of shadows.

She knows the road ahead will be long, that there will be setbacks and challenges and moments when the darkness seems insurmountable. But she also knows she will never walk that road alone. She has the memory of her father, the support of those who have seen the truth, and the unshakable conviction of her own purpose.

And so, as the sun rises over the spires of Neo-Tokyo, painting the city in a new light, Srm Iti steps forward into a new day, a new beginning. The memory trader has become the memory guardian, the protector of truth in a world where it is the rarest and most precious commodity of all.

Her journey is far from over, but one thing is certain - wherever the road takes her, Srm Iti will walk it with courage, with integrity, and with the unwavering determination to make the world remember the power of truth.

In a world where memories can be bought and sold, the truth is the rarest commodity of all. And Srm Iti will ensure it is never forgotten.

-         Darius Chinoy