Pandora X wasn't a city.
It was an addiction.
Every alley hummed with desperation. Every corner whispered promises it couldn't keep. Memories were bought, sold, erased, and implanted here like they were commodities at a street bazaar.
But it was also the only place I could hide.
The only place where no one cared if you were a murderer, a ghost, or a recycled clone walking around in someone else's skin.
I watched neon swirl in my glass, trying not to taste the irony. The girl behind the bar winked at me with artificial eyes. Maybe she remembered me. Maybe she'd sold that memory already.
My communicator buzzed.
Again.
A single message. Four words.
"We need to talk. —Aomi"
She always finds me.
Adam's eyes flicked to the street outside. Pandora's night was alive. People zipped by on gravity skates, neon drones buzzed like insects above them, and holographic signs advertised everything from synthetic dreams to deathless sex.
He slipped from his seat, tossing a few credit points onto the counter. The bartender didn't look up. He'd seen too many like Adam.
Too many who came here to forget and ended up losing more than memory.
Aomi waited beneath a shattered billboard. Rain poured from the corner of the broken frame like tears from a mechanical god. Her hood was up, but Adam recognized the curve of her cheek, the way her fingers danced nervously with the end of her sleeve.
She looked smaller tonight. Or maybe I just felt bigger. Heavier. Like each death I survived added another kilo to my soul.
"You came," she said.
"You asked," I answered.
"Follow me."
She didn't wait. That's how she was. Always one step ahead, of danger, of logic, of me.
They weaved through the labyrinthine alleys of Pandora X, past memory dealers, past shadow clubs and chemical pits, past a man screaming about being reborn with someone else's nightmares.
They arrived at a door with no name. Just a retinal scanner and a pulse sensor.
Aomi pressed her hand against it. The lock hissed open.
Inside was warmth. Real warmth. Not artificial heating coils or ambient neon. It felt lived in. Wrong for a place like this.
Adam's eyes scanned the space. No weapons. No cameras. Just a single sofa, a wall-length screen, and a faint smell of peppermint and copper.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"My memory bunker," she said. "No signals. No transfers. No lies."
"And you brought me here?"
She looked away. "You're not the only one with a memory that hurts."
That hit me harder than the drone bullet.
Aomi walked over to a control panel and tapped in a code. The wall screen lit up—images, time stamps, sound bites. Memories. Some hers. Some… mine.
"Why do you have those?" I asked, voice colder than I intended.
"Because I needed to understand you. Before I loved you."
That word. Loved. It hung in the air like a glitch. Wrong in a place like this. Sacred, maybe. Or dangerous.
"I'm not the man in those memories," I said.
She turned slowly. "I know. But maybe you are the man who can fix what he broke."
Adam stepped forward, staring at the screen. A familiar image played, a younger version of him, smiling, genuine, holding a small drone like it was precious.
That memory wasn't his anymore. It had been transferred. Sold, maybe. Or worse, extracted.
"I didn't authorize that transfer," Adam whispered.
"No, but someone did. Someone high up. They're tracking you through memory leaks."
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small data rod, glowing with a red pulse.
"This contains footage from the clone entanglement incident," she said. "The real one. Not the version you were shown."
Adam's fingers hovered over it like it might bite.
"If I plug that in…" he said.
"You'll know who's lying. But it'll change everything."
Change doesn't scare me.
Not knowing does.
I took the rod. Plugged it into the communicator embedded in my forearm.
Data streamed like fire into my bloodstream. My head pulsed. My vision swam. And then—
I saw him.
Me.
Zen Zero.
But this time, he wasn't just fighting me.
He was protecting someone.
Someone I didn't remember.
A woman. Her face blurred, but familiar.
And then
A shot rang out. Not from Adam. Not from the clone.
But from above.
The drone that ended the fight didn't come to stop them. It came to silence them.
The footage ended.
Adam staggered back, clutching the arm of the sofa.
"Someone orchestrated it," he breathed.
"And now they know you know," Aomi said.
The lights flickered. For just a second. But it was enough.
"We have to go," she said.
"No," Adam replied. "You have to go. I need to end this."
She stepped forward, her hand finding his again. "Not alone. Not anymore."
I used to believe the world ended when the bullets stopped.
Now I know the real war starts when the truth surfaces.
I kissed her, quick, rough, real. The kind of kiss you give before you don't come back.
Then I turned to the door, gun in hand.
Let them come.
Let them try to erase me again.
This time, I'll make damn sure I'm unforgettable.