#The Trade
#001
It was pouring the night Asher Vale sold a soul.
Not that it made a difference. In the Ether District, rain was a given, sometimes water, sometimes static, sometimes both. It wasn't just weather anymore; it was noise, interference from ancient wars no one talked about and new tech no one understood.
Neon signs flickered through the haze, bleeding color onto cracked sidewalks like the city was trying to paint over its wounds. Asher moved quickly, his synth-leather coat pulled tight, eyes scanning from beneath his hood.
He looked seventeen. Was seventeen. But in the digital underworld of Bliss Corp, age was just a number. He had the stare of someone who traded in regret like currency, someone who'd watched people pay to forget the worst parts of themselves.
He slipped into a narrow alley beneath a glitching green sign:
> Forget-U: We Erase, You Escape.
Cruel joke. No one ever really escaped.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a hallway of floating light: memory threads, drifting like jellyfish in water. They hovered, unanchored, moments ripped from minds. Laughter. Screams. First kisses. Final breaths.
Asher didn't glance up. He'd seen too many.
At the corridor's end, glass doors sighed open. Inside, the Extraction Room pulsed gently. Black polished walls. One metal chair rigged with neural probes. A podium with the soul capsule, a glowing orb, blue and fractured like it was barely hanging on.
The client was already waiting.
Elion Raze. Once a trauma surgeon. Now a hollow man. His eyes were buried in sockets too tired for redemption. His fingers twitched, like they still gripped instruments he hadn't used in years.
Asher approached, activating the auction interface. Holograms lit up around him—bidding scales, emotion readings, neural data.
He didn't need them.
"This is Elion Raze," he said, his voice smooth. Cold. Rehearsed. "Age thirty-two. Guilt Index: 94.7. He's offering one high-weight memory—his wife's final breath."
The watchers—unseen but endless—tuned in via neural links. Their usernames blinked on the board. PainCollector_09. GhostKing88. HolyFather77. Some wanted agony. Some wanted resale. Some just craved something real.
"He had to choose, her or a patient. He saved the patient. She never forgave him. Neither did he."
The crowd murmured across the network.
Asher didn't flinch.
"Opening bid: Twelve Bliss."
The numbers climbed. Twenty. Thirty-two. Thirty-eight.
"Sold," he said. "Forty-one point two Bliss. Buyer: anonymous."
The capsule pulsed, then dissolved into code.
Elion slumped. The extraction was over. The memory wasn't just gone—it was erased. He'd never feel that guilt again. Never remember her final breath.
Asher pulled a plain silver coin from his coat—old, physical. He placed it in Elion's palm.
"You're free," he murmured. "You'll sleep now."
No answer. Just silence.
He left before his conscience had the chance to speak.
***
Outside, the Ether District buzzed to life again.
Skyscrapers towered like ancient relics, patched with neon, steel, and forgotten ambition. Drones zipped through smog. Screens blared corporate mantras into the abyss.
> "Pain is a choice."
"Upgrade your sorrow. Inject Bliss."
"Memory is a burden. Let us carry it."
Asher stared blankly. He should've felt something. Relief, maybe. Satisfaction. Bliss credits hit his account—enough for a week in his dank pod and some decency mods.
But he felt nothing.
Then his wrist console vibrated.
> "Unauthorized memory fragment recovered."
Origin: Unknown.
Subject: Asher Vale.
Memory ID: Locked.
Would you like to access? [Y/N]
He froze.
No one could send him memories. Not unless they had access to his neural signature. And that was protected behind Bliss Corp firewalls.
He paused. Then tapped Y.
....
Fire.
Screaming.
A child's hand gripping his. Smoke burning in his chest.
"Asher, don't let go!"
He reached. Missed.
The hand slipped away.
And then,
Dark.
He jolted awake, back in the downpour.
His coat soaked. Pulse racing. Hands trembling.
He didn't remember it. But it remembered him.
The system had forced a piece of truth back into his mind. A crack in the numbness he'd built.
He braced against the wall, heart pounding. The silence wasn't empty anymore. It was full of ghosts.
And for the first time in years,
Asher Vale, the Soul Auctioneer… felt fear.