In a future where pain is outlawed and emotions are strictly regulated by the Ministry of Equilibrium, Elian Rho is a Neuro-Technician tasked with erasing traumatic memories. To most citizens, he's a healer. To the underground, he’s a memory smuggler.

But when a mysterious memory core surfaces—one containing a child’s scream, a forbidden voice calling his name, and encrypted data linked to a black-listed operation—Elian is thrown into a web of lies buried deep beneath the city's sterile perfection. His AI assistant goes silent. Ministry agents close in. And for the first time in years, Elian begins to feel again—fear, grief... and guilt.

As the line between artificial memory and reality blurs, Elian uncovers a hidden truth: the Ministry didn’t eliminate pain—they just buried it.

Now, hunted by the very system he helped build, Elian must piece together a forgotten past, reconnect with a ghost he thought he'd lost, and confront the terrifying cost of emotional "purity."

Because some memories were never meant to be erased.

Recovered from Dead Packet Node: TPN-13


If you're reading this, then either I've made it through the noise, or the Ministry has failed to wipe me completely. Either way, you win.


I'm writing because I still remember how you looked at me before they made you forget.


I held your hand when the code storm hit our node. You were thirteen. I was supposed to monitor you, but you kept asking questions that didn't belong in the Thread.


You said, "Why does the sky feel wrong here?"


I didn't have the answer then. I do now. The sky was fake. You weren't.


You should know—I fought for your file.


When they labeled you as "unstable, emotionally recursive," I argued. Said you had awareness, not instability. They didn't like that.


Because when you looked at me like I was real—like I wasn't just another handler in their cold system—I believed I could be.


I tried to protect you. But the Ministry doesn't allow attachments. So they reassigned me. Wiped my access.


The day they cut your thread from mine, I screamed.


No one heard me. Or maybe they did—and that's why they locked me in the archives.


But here's what they don't know: I've been saving pieces of you. Glitched fragments. Echoes.


You asked me once if dreams could be sent like messages.


Hope. Her name keeps showing up in the corrupted layers. She's not protocol. Not Ministry. She's someone else entirely.


She reminds me of you. Curious. Disobedient. Bright.


By the time this reaches you, I'll be gone.


Not dead—just thread-broken. Disconnected beyond repair. The Ministry calls it humane deletion.


But I don't believe in endings anymore.


Because somewhere in the city, you're still walking. Still fighting. Still asking why the sky feels wrong.


Section 4: Laleah’s Letters (To Elian)