They came together in the hidden rooms of Neo Arcadia’s quietest VR jazz spot. There the saxophonist’s tunes went straight to neural links, and the crowd drank mixed up memory drinks. Lysandra settled onto a worn velvet couch, her fingertips tracing the glowing dust motes in the still air. Across from her sat Orion, his eyes fixed on the swirling neon mist from his smoke.
“Your heart pulse rises,” she said low, turning towards him.
He looked down at the smooth data mark on his arm. Heart rate, stress levels, pleasure spikes, all plain in bright marks. “I am fine.” He let out a puff of smoke that turned into bone shapes before fading.
Not fine. Both knew it.
They had met in the Metaverse, two avatars meeting in digital cherry blossoms. In the real world, Lysandra’s bright blue hair framed light skin and dark eyes, while Orion’s cybernetic hand, shining metal, held onto things with made up strength. Their liking had grown like a sickness. Fast, strong, nothing could stop it.
But Neo Arcadia was built on broken words. Every person was linked in, watched, made better. Every thought was scored. Every memory could be taken, bought, or stolen.
Tonight, Orion showed why he asked her here. He reached inside his dark long coat and took out a data chip. It was no bigger than a grain of rice. “It is the Helix plan,” he said. The small object pulsed. “They call it ‘memory rightness.’ Put it in the brain part for memory, and you can take away bad times. Make hurt into joy.”
Lysandra’s heart beat faster. “You want me to?”
He swallowed hard. “I do not recall how love felt before.”
The truth hit her like a shot. His hand held the chip tighter. “You already missing something.”
He looked down at the ground. “I would rather forget the bad times. With you.”
She closed her eyes. The loud neon light above broke like bad glass. “You know they will write over everything. Our good days too. How I speak your name when it rains. How your metal fingers touched my marks.”
Orion’s lip shook. “I cannot live with the bad dreams anymore.”
Lysandra put a hand on his chest, right where his real heart beat. “Bad dreams are a part of you.”
He sagged. “Then I am broken.”
She held his face. “Then we fix it together.”
He pressed the chip into her hand. “I have already put up my last good copy of us. After this, it is all right. Or I die trying.”
Her breath caught. “Or you lose yourself.”
He gave a bent smile. “I have lost much already.”
In the flashing dark, she weighed his hurt against their liking. At the door, a group of black hatted watchers waited. HiveTech’s memory police, sent to hunt bad brain stuff. If they did not use it, they would be caught. If they did….
Lysandra’s mind turned. Thoughts of their first kiss, soft in virtual cherry blossoms. The taste of fake wine on his lips in a left alone building. The calls at three in the morning when Orion’s bad past came back. The dark parts in his mind spilling into the real world. How she held him, whispered soft songs through a mic, trying to fix his soul.
Her eyes stung. She held up the chip. Orion’s face went white.
She slipped it behind her ear, into the port. He reached to stop her, but she pressed a kiss to his wrist. “I want to remember.”
His voice broke. “You will kill me.”
She shook her head. “Kill me with you.”
He kissed her fast, and she closed her eyes, heart beating hard. Then the chip turned on. A soft sound, a hot white pulse into her hippocampus. A wave of clearness, then dizzy feeling.
She stumbled. Orion caught her. Small pains came in. Hurts from being a child, birthday parties left alone, the day her mother did not know her name. Tears fell down her face.
He whispered, “Do you?”
She pressed a shaking finger to his lips. “Quiet. I see it all.”
Behind her closed eyes, a storm of thoughts rushed in. The sweet sound of his laugh, but also the nights he went away in the dark. The first time she held his cybernetic hand. The last time she almost lost him to fear. She cried, holding him close.
He stroked her hair. “We are softer now.”
She pulled back, looking into his eyes. For a moment, time stood still. Their breaths matched.
Then the door broke. Helmets crashed through. Memory police, their rifle lights blue.
Orion pushed her behind a fallen table. Metal and glass fell down.
“Stay low!” he hissed, his fingers searching for his chrome knife.
The memory police head, his voice changed through a voice link, barked, “Give over the Helix chip.”
Lysandra’s heart thumped so loud she thought it would give them away. Orion’s knife clanged against chemlite.
He smiled, grim. “Worth dying for.”
Bullets cut the air. They were meant to burst brain links. One cut Orion’s shoulder, the metal covering bending. He yelled, cutting at the closest officer.
Lysandra scrambled for the small chip behind her ear. It glowed soft gold. She pulled it free. Pain shot through her head. Memories broke apart.
She stumbled out from cover, not afraid. “You cannot have it!”
The head man raised his rifle. “One shot.”
In that heartbeat, Lysandra pressed the chip to Orion’s port. They shared a look: liking, fear, not giving up.
He nodded. “Together.”
She flipped the hidden switch. A burst of white fire flared at the port. An energy wave meant to fry brain links. The memory police screens cracked. Their links surged and died.
Orion stumbled, agony tearing through him. Lysandra caught him as he fell. Both shook. Memories fell into a mess.
When the smoke went away, the memory police lay shaking, their links fried. Two bodies remained. Lysandra and Orion, on the cold hard floor, arms and legs mixed up.
His eyes opened, unclear, rough. He said low, “Lys?”
She reached into his chest, her fingers touching chipped chrome. The Helix chip sparked in her hand.
“You saved me?” he said rough.
She forced a smile through tears. “Saved us.”
His hand found hers. “Are you still you?”
She nodded, her voice shaking. “I remember everything.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Then we outran the future together.”
Above them, the neon lights of Neo Arcadia blinked. Promise and threat twisted together in electric veins. They lay held among ruin, hearts shaking, memories whole, and for one great, awful time, truly alive.
—≈≈≈≈≈≈
End of Transmission
