Memory of Others

Year 3500 - a time of technological advancement A city suspended in the stratosphere, where the sun never completely sets. Neon lights cling to every glass tower like glowing parasitic mushrooms, while below lies layer upon layer of artificial memories compressed into neural data storage - beautiful, suffocating, and impossible to look away from. Technology is no longer just a tool; it has become a "way of life" for everyone. In this world, memories are no longer sacred to humans; they are considered commodities to be exchanged. Minds, emotions, memories - all can be measured, stored, and... copied. Among the most dangerous technologies, memory copying is a double-edged sword. Initially created to heal: helping patients with amnesia recover their past. But humans always find a way to distort everything sacred. People buy memories to experience lives they have never lived, experiences they have never had - it is like a form of mental tourism. The wealthy choose happy memories, glorious achievements in life. The suffering seek only to sell off the memories they cannot bear, like selling emotional trash to an invisible market. Anna is a "Memory Receiver" - a special profession that very few can do. She buys memories that others do not want to keep: pain, secrets, guilt, horrific memories. It is a risky job - not everyone can withstand the weight of so many overlapping lives. But Anna is different. She possesses a special brain - a form of synthetic biological neural network, capable of storing and analyzing the smallest details in memories. She does not suffer from madness. She does not experience emotional turmoil. She does not confuse herself with others. At least... that is what she thinks. In the morning, Anna arrives at work and enters the memory reception room as usual. Everything in the room is designed to make people feel safe and... forgetful. White walls, soft lighting, no smell, and no sound - an ideal emotional void. She sits in a leather-upholstered chair, the scent of disinfectant mingling with peppermint essential oil. She wears a light gray uniform, no jewelry, no name. On her wrist is a special device: "NeuroPort" - a memory transmission receiver in the form of neural waves. She appears calm, her eyes somewhat soulless - as if she herself is not sure which present she is living in. Today, she receives the memories of a man around forty years old - a nameless man. He is dressed neatly, politely, but his gaze is somewhat vacant. He says nothing, only leaves the memory storage device and walks away immediately after the process is completed. No farewell. No grateful glance. Anna is too accustomed to this. The memory unfolds in her mind like a silent film: A dark room. Footsteps echo in the heavy air. A voice whispers softly - indistinct words. Then suddenly: flickering light. A woman falls. Blood spreads across the white tiles. No screams. Only the sound of a heartbeat. Fast. Urgent The girl… looked up in the final moment. Anna froze. The woman in her memory – looked just like her. Not just similar. But a perfect replica – from the contours of the face to the gaze. Anna jolted awake from her chair, her heart pounding – a rare occurrence after nearly 1000 cases received. She rewound her memory, trying to fix the frame. A strange emotion surged up – not fear, but a sense of familiarity. But how could that be? This cannot be her memory. This is a part of someone else's past that they want to forget. Anna noted it down in her "Memory Journal" – an electronic notebook that is not connected to the internet, encrypted by her own brainwaves – the only place she kept the humanity of this profession. She closed the notebook, but thoughts kept swirling in her head: If this is a real memory – then why has it never appeared in the monitoring system? If this is a false memory – then why does she feel as if she has lived through it? She always believed she was Anna – the young girl who grew up in the suburbs, who once worked as an assistant at the Neurology Institute, and was then discovered to have a special brain. But those memories – could they ever truly be hers? Or are they just cleverly programmed software? If so… who is the woman in that memory? And who – is she? Anna touched her face – cold, real, alive. But now, the feeling of familiarity with herself also became strange.