“Give me a week,” I say.

“Sure,” the clerk sighs then punches at the monitor. “Five hundred.”

I wave my wristband over the scanner and it beeps. He barely looks to see if it worked before sliding a pass card across the counter. I palm it and head up the dirty stairs.

Dirt collects in the corners where there are bits of trash too. I don’t want to know what the stains are from, but the entire place smells like a dirty toilet, so it’s not hard to guess. It’s okay, I should only be here a couple of days at most before I move on to Clessis.

This is a way-stop. If anyone is on my trail I want to find out now. Pausing here and giving the semblance of lying low is a good way to flush out anyone tailing me. A man walks down the stairs. As we pass, he turns his head towards me. My hackles rise, and instinctively I come up with four ways to silence him before he can make a sound.

Muscles shaking, I push down the rising paranoia. I look over my shoulder, and he’s looking back at me. Damn it, is he one of them?

I move faster to the top of the stairs, walk far enough to not be able to see down them, then lean against the wall and wait. Seconds tick by and no one comes up. Fine, he’s probably not one of them. He was probably checking out my ass. Perv.

The carpet feels sticky and makes a sick squishing sound as I walk down the hall. I unlock the door to my rental room—it slides to one side—and I check to make sure no one is inside. Then I stare down the hall, checking both ways for anyone coming or going. It remains empty. Satisfied at last, I step inside and let the door close.

It’s a one-room outfit. A bed, a side table, and a toilet, with a nano-shower in the corner. Simple and sufficient for what I need. I inspect the bed carefully for pests, then check the rest of the room for bugs of another kind.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I think about my plan. So far everything has gone fine. The memories haven’t been breaking out of the black since I got out of the district. Anger flashes when I think about how much I spent for a mind-wipe that wasn’t a real wipe. If they come back in full, and I remember who I paid for it, I’ll pay them a visit.

That’s not important now. What is important right now is the next step. I’m here to draw out anyone on my trail. I’m the bait in the trap. If I have to run, there won’t be time to grab my stuff. I open the bag I brought with me, take out the bare essentials, then close it back up.

I go to the wall monitor, tap on it, and it springs to life. I run my fingers along the frame until I find purchase, and then pull. It pops free of the wall, exposing the wires and circuitry. My fingers move with muscle memory doing things I can’t recall exactly what they are or how I know to do them.

I do know that it will make sure my use of it isn’t being tagged and traced. I don’t want to make it easy for anyone to find me.

Finishing the alteration, I push the monitor back into the wall and it snaps into place. Tapping it again it comes to life but this time it has a green ring around it instead of the standard blue. Good, it’s secure.

I pull up a map of the area, looking for a place to stash my things. There’s a JorgaFit gym close to here. They’ll have lockers and a low-cost membership. Perfect for what I need. Thank you Jorga and your entrepreneurship.

I grab my bag, exit the room, and make my way back to the street. The crowds are growing thicker as the sun sets. More pleasure-seekers taking to the streets. That’s a mixed blessing. It’s good for blending in but bad for the number of people I have to watch.

I pull my hood up and make sure my face is obscured before I weave my way in and go with the flow. Scanning, constantly scanning, alert for the slightest bit of recognition.

Did that girl stare too long? I watch her sideways—no, she walks out of sight. My heart is a slow pounding in my chest, and I keep my breath even. The hair on my arms stands on end, adrenaline courses through my veins, but oddly it doesn’t make me jumpy. I’m calm but ready to act.

Glowing billboards show Jorga, advertising his gym. A sure sign I’m getting closer. Jorga is famous for his physique and workout routines. Five times Strongest Man in the Universe and famous wrestler, he turned his skills into a chain of gyms. You can find them on pretty much every planet in the known ‘Verse. He may be big, but no one can claim he is stupid.

When I reach the gym it’s unmistakable. Floor to ceiling synth-glass lets you look in and see all the buff creatures working out. It looks great and sells the idea that you too could look this fit and awesome. Except what you see in those ‘windows’ is a lie. It’s an AI generated projection that adjusts to the viewer, so they see beings of their own kind when they look. Like I said, Jorga isn’t stupid.

When I walk in, a green humanoid greets me with an overly cheerful smile and welcome.

“I’d like a membership,” I say, not returning the false cheer.

“Sure, what a great idea! You’re already in good shape, but we have trainers who can take you to the next level. Can I add a training package to your membership for you?” he asks, smiling broadly and showing he has pointed teeth.

“No,” I say.

He looks crestfallen, as if my refusal is a personal affront to him. I wait for him to sell me my membership. The screen built into the counter flashes, and I fill in information from a false ID. He checks it out then nods.

“Right now we have a super deal for you, you can add on the alien-swim package for only an extra twenty credits a month,” he says, brightening again. “It’s an amazing experience. Our synth-pool can be set to emulate any of over one thousand different waters from all across the galaxy.”

“No, thank you,” I tack on the nicety hoping to speed this up.

Once more he gives me his wounded look which I ignore. He’s doing his job which is fine, even the wounded look is part of it I’m sure. While he works, I scan the street behind me. Did that person pause too long at the door? No, I think it’s fine.

We finalize the transaction at last.

“Which way are the lockers?” I ask.

“Through that door,” he answers, pointing.

Following his finger, I take off and enter the locker area. A big sign gives indicators for gender-based rooms, and I follow the one to the female area. Checking my wrist band, I find the locker I’ve been assigned. I count to twenty before opening it. Watching for anyone to enter or take any interest in me.

Nothing happens, so I open the locker and stash my bag. The door clicks when it closes, and the lock whirs into place. Resting my hand on the cold steel, I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Letting it out in a long, slow release, I turn and walk out of the gym.

I scan the crowds but force myself to remain relaxed. Yes, they’re after me. Yes, they could be anywhere. It’s not them I’m afraid of though, is it?

No, I’m not. There’s a certainty deep inside of myself that I can handle anything that comes at me, from the outside. I’m not afraid of them. My fear is what’s inside, waiting in the black box that is my past. The unknown. All it can tell me is that I hated it enough to pay a lot to be rid of it.

What’s in there? What have I done? How bad was I?

A human-looking man with blue skin hits my shoulder as he passes. Alarms blare internally, and my senses go into hyper-awareness. My nose floods with the scents of everyone around me; every sound is magnified; and my eyes take in more than should be possible.

Every motion registers. That woman has a bulge under her shirt, weapon? Her hand moves towards it but then keeps swinging, no, she’s safe. Another alien looks at me with four eyes that are set on top of each other staring unblinking. Meeting his gaze, it’s a split-second before I see he’s safe, his neck doesn’t move, he has to turn his entire body to see side-to-side.

On and on, evaluating, assessing threats. It’s automatic, and I have no idea how I’m doing it, but I am. Fast and furiously, I eliminate every person in the crowd. Only then do the hairs on back of my neck quit standing on end, and my heart returns to a normal pace.

Weaving through the crowd towards the rental, I do my best to relax. Putting my trust in skills that I don’t know or understand fully is hard. A strange certainty of knowing I can handle things but not knowing how or why I can.

When I reach the block that the rental is on, I stop and sit down on one of the twisted metal benches that dot the promenade. Bending over as if tying my shoe, even though my boots don’t have laces, I scan in all directions. Nothing stands out, but that in itself bothers me. It’s too normal, too mundane.

Yet there’s nothing I can pinpoint as a problem. Minutes tick past while I watch the crowds. Nerves tingle with electric pulses of intensity.

“Screw it,” I mutter, resolving to push it and see what happens.

In my head it feels like the black void pulses. I don’t want the memories to come back, not now, not ever. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that simple fact. I’m grabbing the door for the building the apartment is in when my head explodes.

There’s a scraping sound that drowns out all the sound around me. Stars flash across my vision. The black void becomes a throbbing heartbeat pounding out a pulse of pain inside my brain. Grabbing my head, I try to fight. It’s sensory overload. Tears stream down my cheeks. My stomach churns, and bile rises in my throat. Struggling for control, muscles shaking, tremors down my spine—I’m losing.

I blink rapidly and the stars pass from my vision. Blurry figures are running. I’m blinking away the tears and six of them approach with drawn weapons and electric-cuffs at the ready. I’m not going down like this.

Breathe through the pain. Embrace it. Control it, don’t let it control you.

Images press out of the black void. Disjointed scenes that don’t add up to a whole. A gun, a sun setting, looking over the railing of a skyscraper at a bustling street impossibly far below.

A hand grabs my arm. Focus!

Leaning towards the hand, I shift my weight, not resisting the grab. He moves closer, pulling my arm behind me. Turning into him, I swing my head into his jaw. There’s a satisfying crunch.

The noise in my head escalates exponentially. Thoughts gone. Black, gray, flashing red, random images. Distantly there is the sensation of my face scraping against the rough material of the promenade. Control is gone.

This is it.

Everything stops.

I’m lying on the ground, curled into a ball.

The pain is gone, the noise no more.

Leaping to my feet and landing in a fighting stance, I look around wildly.

The six men that were coming for me lie on the ground convulsing. The crowds of shoppers and pleasure seekers form a wide circle around the scene.

A distance away is a seventh man holding a piece of tech that looks similar to a small bullhorn. That would be the source of the signal but he’s also on the ground convulsing.

Standing behind him is a man with a small square device in the palm of his hand pointed at the guy on the ground. He has a strong, chiseled jaw, perfect hair, and icy blue eyes. Something deep inside pulses when I see him with a sense of the familiar.

He’s big, obviously strong, but bigger than big. He’s wearing a heavy trench coat that covers his bulk but there something about the way it sits that tugs at the blackness. Something in there wants to break out.

Tentatively, I smile. He saved me—that’s obvious. Who is he? He stares, a frown forming on his face. He doesn’t look friendly or unfriendly. I don’t know what to make of it.

Staying here is a bad idea no matter what. I mouth a thank you to him, then head into the crowd, losing myself before anyone else can find me. I don’t know who he is, but for the first time I wouldn’t mind remembering something from my past if it included him.