The Memory Trader

Synaptic Veil

The neon lights of Neon Veil flickered, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the rain-slicked streets. I stood in the shadowed alleyway, the thrum of the city's heartbeats pulsing through my veins. This was my world – a place where memory was currency, and I was its unchallenged trader.

My client tonight was a twitchy exec, his suit too pristine for the grime of the lower tiers. He kept glancing over his shoulder, paranoia etched into every line of his face. Typical upper-tier nerves. They all thought they knew what they were getting into, coming down here. They never did.

I glanced at my commlink, waiting for the signal. Aria Vex, my tech guru and the closest thing I had to a friend in this forsaken city, was on the other end. Her voice crackled through the earpiece, "Rax, you're good to go. I've scrambled their surveillance. For now."

Acknowledging her with a nod, even though she couldn't see it, I turned my attention back to the exec. "You have the payment?" I asked, my voice steady.

He fumbled with his coat, producing a data chip. "All here. Just like you asked. Now, the memory?"

"Easy there," I cautioned, taking the chip and sliding it into my portable scanner. Authentic. Good. Memory trading wasn't just about the exchange of data. It was about trust, about knowing you could play the game without getting burned. I'd learned that the hard way.

Once satisfied, I reached into my coat, retrieving a small, sleek device – my memory extractor. The exec's eyes widened as I approached, but he didn't move. They never did.

"Relax," I murmured, positioning the device at his temple. "You won't feel a thing."

As the extractor hummed to life, siphoning off the chosen memory, I couldn't help but wonder what piece of himself he was so eager to lose. Love? Guilt? Fear? In Neon Veil, it didn't matter. Memories were just another commodity.

"Transaction complete," I said, removing the device. The exec looked dazed, a common side effect. "Pleasure doing business with you."

He stumbled away, disappearing into the maze of Neon Veil's dark streets. I pocketed the extractor and contacted Aria. "All clear," I said.

"Good job, Rax," she replied. "But don't linger. The enforcers are sniffing around tonight."

I cast a final glance at the retreating figure of the exec. In this city, everyone was running from something. As for me, I traded in their secrets, their escapades, their very souls.

And I was damn good at it.

It was two nights after the trade with the twitchy exec when Zane Tormand walked into my life, or rather, stumbled into the dingy bar I frequented in the heart of Neon Veil's lower tier. Zane, with his rebel's gaze and a demeanor that screamed 'upper-tier defector,' was a stark contrast against the backdrop of weary faces.

I was nursing a drink in the corner, the dim light cloaking me in comfortable anonymity, when he approached. "You're Rax Synthia, right? The Memory Trader?" he asked, his voice barely rising above the ambient hum of the bar.

I eyed him cautiously. "Who's asking?"

"Name's Zane Tormand. I heard you're the best at extracting memories without leaving a trace," he said, sliding into the seat opposite me. "I need your expertise."

"I don't do charity work," I replied flatly, already wary of where this was heading.

Zane chuckled, a sound tinged with a bitterness that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not for me. It's... for the rebellion. We need to extract a memory from someone, and it's sensitive."

The rebellion. I'd heard whispers, of course, everyone in Neon Veil had. A flicker of something dangerous, a challenge to the corporate overlords who ruled from their glass towers. But I'd always kept my distance. In my line of work, you learned quickly to steer clear of politics.