The scream tore through the neural interface like a blade through silk.
Maya Cho's fingers flew across the holographic controls, her heart hammering against her ribs as the extraction chamber filled with the sound of a mother's anguish. The woman strapped to the memory chair—Yuki Tanaka, age thirty-four, factory worker from Sector Seven—thrashed against the neural crown, tears streaming down her face as the machine harvested her most precious possession.
"Stop," Yuki gasped, her voice breaking. "Please, I changed my mind. I can't—"
"Mrs. Tanaka, we're past the point of no return," Maya said, her tone clinically gentle despite the cold dread pooling in her stomach. "The extraction is at sixty percent. Interrupting now could cause permanent neural damage."
"But it's her first steps," Yuki sobbed, her dark eyes wide with terror. "My Akira's first steps. She walked to me, called me 'mama' for the first time. If I sell this memory, I'll never remember it happened. Never."
Maya's jaw tightened as she watched the memory data stream across her monitors—pure gold in the memory markets. The joy of a child's first steps, untainted by years of repetition or embellishment, was worth three months of Yuki's factory wages. Enough to pay for her daughter's medicine, to keep little Akira alive another quarter.
"The medication for Akira's condition costs forty-seven thousand credits per month," Maya reminded her, hating herself for the words. "This memory is worth one hundred and fifty thousand. You're saving your daughter's life."
"By forgetting the moment that made her mine," Yuki whispered.
The extraction hit seventy percent. Maya's screens lit up with neural patterns that would make memory collectors salivate—pure maternal love, crystallized in perfect recollection. In the Upper Sectors, wealthy buyers would pay millions to experience this depth of emotion, this authentic human connection they'd never felt themselves.
"Memory extraction at eighty percent," announced ARIA, the clinic's AI assistant. "Neural stability nominal. Patient experiencing standard emotional distress."
Standard emotional distress. Maya wanted to scream. There was nothing standard about watching a mother sell her soul to save her child.
"Dr. Cho," Yuki gasped, using Maya's professional title with desperate respect. "Do you have children?"
Maya's hand froze over the abort sequence. The lie came easily—it always did. "No, Mrs. Tanaka. Please try to relax. The process will be complete in two minutes."
"Then you don't understand," Yuki said, her voice growing distant as the memory extraction deepened. "You don't know what it's like to love someone so much you'd tear out your own heart to keep them breathing."
But I do know, Maya thought, her eyes flicking to the photo on her desk—herself and Lin at seventeen and fifteen, arms wrapped around each other, smiling at the camera. Lin's brilliant eyes, so full of potential. Lin, who trusted Maya to protect her from this world, from the very industry that put food on their table.
"Extraction at ninety percent," ARIA announced. "Memory capture complete. Beginning neural pathway severance."
This was the moment Maya hated most. The technology was precise, surgical—it would cut the memory cleanly from Yuki's mind, leaving no trace it had ever existed. The woman would remember having a daughter named Akira, remember that Akira could walk, but the moment itself would be gone forever. A hole in her heart she wouldn't even know existed.
"Severance complete," ARIA said. "Patient vital signs stable. Memory successfully harvested and stored."
Yuki's eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her features. "Did it work? Did you get enough to pay for Akira's medicine?"
"Yes," Maya said softly, removing the neural crown. "The extraction was successful. Your daughter's treatment is fully funded for the next three months."
"I feel..." Yuki touched her temple, frowning. "Strange. Like I've forgotten something important."
"That's normal after extraction," Maya lied smoothly. "The feeling will pass. Your driver is waiting outside to take you home."
As Yuki left, still looking dazed and hollow-eyed, Maya slumped in her chair and stared at the memory vial—a small crystalline tube that now contained more love than most people experienced in a lifetime. By tomorrow, it would be in the hands of some corporate executive's spoiled child, letting them taste authentic maternal devotion without earning it.
Her wrist communicator chimed. Maya glanced at the message and felt her blood turn to ice.
Dr. Cho. My name is Marcus Webb. I believe we have mutual interests regarding rare memory acquisitions. I'll be visiting your clinic tomorrow at 3 PM to discuss a business proposition worth more than you've seen in your entire career. Please ensure we have privacy. —M.W.
Marcus Webb. Even Maya, who tried to stay out of memory politics, knew that name. Heir to the Webb Memory Syndicate, one of the Big Three corporations that controlled the global memory economy. What could he possibly want with a small-time extraction clinic in the Middle Sectors?
Maya's hands shook as she sealed Yuki's memory vial and placed it in the secure storage unit. The Webb Syndicate dealt in memories worth millions—artistic inspiration from dead masters, sexual experiences from legendary lovers, the final thoughts of executed criminals. They didn't bother with suburban clinics that specialized in helping the poor monetize their desperation.
Unless they wanted something specific. Something rare.
"ARIA, pull up the Webb Syndicate's acquisition patterns for the last six months," Maya commanded.
"Accessing databases," the AI responded. "The Webb Syndicate has increased purchases of childhood memories by three hundred percent, with particular focus on 'pure' memories from subjects under age ten. They are offering premium rates for unaltered childhood experiences, especially those involving family trauma or loss."
Maya's stomach dropped. Lin. Her brilliant, sensitive sister who still had nightmares about the day their parents died in the factory explosion. Lin, who possessed the kind of pure, untouched childhood memories that memory collectors would kill for.
"ARIA, initiate full security protocols. No visitors without my explicit authorization. And run a deep scan on all communications from the last month. Flag anything mentioning Lin Cho or containing references to siblings, family members, or childhood trauma."
"Security protocols activated. Scanning communications now. Dr. Cho, I'm detecting elevated stress indicators in your vital signs. Shall I prepare a mild sedative?"
"No." Maya stood abruptly, grabbing her jacket. "I need to get home. Forward all calls to my emergency line, and if Marcus Webb shows up early, stall him."
"Understood. Dr. Cho, one additional item—you received a message through an encrypted channel thirty minutes ago. The sender identified themselves only as 'A Friend.'"
"Display it."
The holographic screen flickered to life, showing a message that made Maya's heart stop:
They already know about Lin. The pure memory she carries is worth more than you can imagine. Webb isn't the only one watching. Trust no one. Burn this message. —A Friend
Maya's hands trembled as she deleted the message. How could anyone know about Lin? Maya had been so careful, keeping her sister away from the memory trade, never mentioning her in professional circles. Lin was supposed to be safe, anonymous, protected by Maya's obscurity.
But pure childhood memories—especially traumatic ones—were like diamonds in the rough. If someone had identified Lin as carrying pristine memories from before their parents' death, she would become a target for every memory cartel in New Shanghai.
Maya's communicator buzzed again. This time, it was Lin.
"Maya?" Lin's voice was tight with fear. "I think someone's been following me from university. There was a man in a black coat, and when I looked back, he was taking pictures of me with some kind of neural scanner."
"Lin, listen to me very carefully," Maya said, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat. "Don't go home. Take the underground to Sector Five and wait for me at Chen's Noodle Bar. Don't talk to anyone, don't trust anyone who approaches you, and keep your neural shield activated at all times."
"Maya, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
"I'll explain everything when I see you. Just promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise. Maya... I love you."
"I love you too, little sister. More than you know."
Maya cut the connection and stared at her reflection in the darkened window. In the distance, the neon spires of the Upper Sectors pierced the smog like digital needles, their light casting rainbow shadows across the memory clinics and neural parlors that lined every street. New Shanghai never slept—there was always someone desperate enough to sell their most precious moments, and always someone wealthy enough to buy them.
But Lin wouldn't become another Yuki Tanaka. Maya would make sure of that.
Even if it meant burning down the entire memory economy to protect her.
The extraction chamber behind her hummed softly, ready for its next victim. Maya grabbed the memory vial containing Yuki's stolen moment and slipped it into her pocket. Maybe it was time to stop playing by the industry's rules.
Maybe it was time to give some memories back.
As Maya stepped into the neon-washed night, she didn't notice the figure watching from the shadows across the street—a young man with kind eyes and a gentle smile who would soon introduce himself as Adrian Webb, Marcus's concerned younger brother.
The same man who had been watching Lin for weeks.
The same man who had sent the encrypted warning message.
The same man who would destroy everything Maya thought she knew about love, trust, and the true value of authentic human memory.
But that revelation was still hours away. For now, Maya Cho ran through the electric-lit streets of New Shanghai, racing against time to save the only person in the world who mattered more to her than the memories she harvested from others.
Behind her, the memory clinic's lights flickered and died, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
The hunt for Lin Cho's pure childhood memory had begun.