Marcus and Detective Chen descended into the city's underground tunnels, following a trail of illegal memory dealers. The air was thick with the smell of rust and something else – the electric scent of corrupted memory crystals.
"Stay close," Sarah whispered, her hand resting on her weapon. "These underground markets can be dangerous."
They walked through narrow passages until they reached a hidden chamber filled with flickering lights. Dozens of people huddled around makeshift stalls, buying and selling memories like contraband goods.
Marcus was shocked by what he saw. Vendors were selling memories without any safety checks. Children's laughter was being sold next to memories of violence. Happy wedding days were mixed with nightmares. No one seemed to care about protecting the buyers.
"This is terrible," Marcus muttered. "They're treating memories like cheap toys."
One vendor called out to them, "Hey! Looking for something special? I got memories of flying, memories of being rich, memories of perfect love. All cheap prices!"
Detective Chen showed her badge discreetly to Marcus, signaling him to play along. "We're looking for memory scrambling devices," she said to the vendor. "The kind that can erase specific memories completely."
The vendor's eyes lit up with greed. "Ah, you want the special stuff! Come, come, I show you."
He led them to a dark corner where corrupted crystals like the one they'd found at the crime scene were displayed. These weren't memory crystals at all – they were memory destroyers.
"These beauties can wipe out any memory you want gone," the vendor bragged. "Bad breakup? Gone. Embarrassing moment? Gone. Criminal evidence? Gone. No questions asked."
Marcus felt sick. "Don't people understand what they're losing? Memories aren't just files you can delete. They're part of who you are."
The vendor laughed. "People don't care about philosophy. They just want to forget their problems."
Suddenly, Marcus noticed something that made his blood run cold. In the corner of the stall was a collection of memory crystals labeled 'Premium Childhood Memories.' But he recognized them – they were the same crystals that had been stolen from legitimate memory merchants across the city.
"Those are stolen," he whispered to Sarah.
Detective Chen's expression hardened. These criminals weren't just scrambling memories – they were stealing the precious memories of honest people and selling them to the highest bidder.
The underground market wasn't just illegal. It was destroying the very foundation of what memories meant to human beings.