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SciFi Pulp Noir
Final Memory
by Rodriac Copen
The city of Blackwater stretched like a wide wound that no one had been able to control. The neon lights blinked rhythmically with the resignation of a chronically ill person who knows they are slowly dying. The rain fell diagonally, driven by a dirty wind that smelled of rust, sewage, and burnt electricity
There, the most profitable business wasn't drugs, weapons, or prostitution, but Unique Memories : artificial memories implanted directly into the brain. They provided perfect, unrepeatable experiences to addicts who wanted to escape the infected reality for a few glorious, definitive minutes.
The intensity was such that it left users empty, broken inside, and addicted to something that could never be repeated. There were no second doses of those memories. Only the corrosive nostalgia of having once been happy.
The empire of this trafficking belonged to Viktor Davidov , a powerful and refined mobster who understood human desire better than any psychologist. He wore expensive suits, spoke little, and smiled only when someone made an irreversible mistake. He controlled prostitution rings, clandestine clinics, enslaved programmers, and a legion of consumers willing to sell their dignity for the promise of another memory similar to the first.
Among his most prized possessions was Lana Hale .
He didn't call her by her last name. For Davidov , last names were a luxury reserved for free men.
Lana lived on the top floor of the central building, overlooking the black river that bisected the city like a poorly stitched scar. She had no keys. She didn't need them. The door opened only when Davidov wanted to see her and closed automatically when he left. The system recognized her pulse, her breathing, and the precise pattern of her fear.
That night, Lana sat by the window, her legs drawn up to her chest, watching a freighter glide slowly through the thick, dark waters. She wore a loose brown sweater, shorts, and black stockings that framed her long, shapely legs, impossible to miss even in the dim light.
Behind her, the door opened with a soft whisper.
—“Always looking outwards,” Davidov said softly , “as if there were something waiting for you out there.”
Lana didn't turn around immediately. She knew he liked that second of delay. It gave him the illusion of absolute control.
—“I like boats,” she replied . “Sometimes I’d like to leave this city on one, leaving everything behind.”
Davidov left his coat on a chair and walked slowly, enjoying the sound of his own footsteps.
—“Nobody is going anywhere.”— he said.
He grabbed the woman by the neck with a swift gesture, more symbolic than violent. He wasn't trying to hurt her, but rather to remind her who was in charge.
—“Leave me alone.”— Lana said , with contempt in her voice.
The response was a light slap, almost careless, as if to correct something out of place. In that department, consent wasn't a question, but an imposition.
He threw her onto the bed. And pulling off her stockings and underwear in one swift motion , he made love to her.
Then Davidov did what he always used to do: he poured himself a whiskey and drank it in one gulp, without passion.
Lana got dressed and went to the window to look outside. Davidov stood beside her, also looking out. The light from the police drones reflected on the water like dying insects.
—“There were problems today at a clinic in the west side,” he commented . “A client died during the implant procedure.”
Nana tensed her shoulders, barely.
—“So?”—
—“Nothing.”— Davidov smiled —“The city is full of corpses. One more doesn't change the statistics.”—
He turned towards her and lifted her chin with two fingers, weakly, but without any possibility of resistance.
—“Do you know why you’re still alive?”—
Lana held his gaze. She had learned that silence, when used well, was a form of defense.
—“No.”— he finally said.
—“Because every time I make you mine,” Davidov bowed his head , “it reminds me that I can have things that money can’t buy.”
She swallowed hard, suppressing her anger.
—“I am not a thing.”—
Davidov 's hand descended slowly and lasciviously down her buttocks.
—“Of course, beautiful. I beat you at poker.”
He found pleasure in demeaning her, though he tried not to. He considered it vulgar.
—“And as soon as you’re no longer useful to me, you’ll be one of my whores. You’ll bring in good money.”
He moved away from her, as if the contact no longer interested him, and walked towards the armchair.
—“Bones.”— she said aloud —“You can come in.”—
The side door opened immediately. Bones appeared in the doorway: large, motionless, his face etched with old scars and an expression that seemed to have forgotten how to change. He was dressed in black, as always, and his weapon was visible. Davidov trusted in symbols.
—“Is everything alright?”— Bones asked .
—“Always.”— replied Davidov as he poured two glasses —“Accompany Lana to the living room. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Lana stood up without protest. As she passed Bones , their eyes met for just a moment. There were no gestures or words. But something hung in the air, a minimal and almost invisible tension.
The living room was spacious and cold, decorated with artwork that only Lana could appreciate. She sat on the sofa, her hands on her knees. Bones remained standing near the wall.
—“You can sit down, Bones.”— she said, without looking at him.
—“Okay. I prefer to be vigilant.”—
—“You’re always on the lookout.”—
Bones didn’t answer. The silence stretched on
—“How long have you been with him?”— Lana finally asked .
—“Too much.”—
—“And you never thought about leaving?”—
Bones clenched his jaw
—“There are jobs you can’t leave. When you choose them, you learn that too late.”—
Lana looked at him then. Really.
—“I don’t want to end up like this.”—
He held her gaze. Something dark and ancient moved behind his eyes.
—“I know.”—
—“Then tell me.”— she whispered —“What do I have left?”—
Bones was slow to respond. When he did, his voice was low, almost raspy.
—“Don’t give up. The world is not kind to those who give up.”—
The living room door opened again. Davidov poked his head in.
—“Lana.”— he said —“Come. I want to show you something.”—
She stood up. Before leaving, she turned to Bones .
—“Thank you.”— she said, without explaining why.
Bones barely tilted his head.
Left alone, the bodyguard observed the city's reflection in the window. Blackwater was still there, indifferent, devouring itself.
He thought about Unique Memories, about the people who left the clinics with tears in their eyes and a smile that lasted exactly as long as the implanted memory.
He thought about Lana .
And for the first time, she thought that maybe there was something in her that could still be saved before it was too late.
Lucas Grame worked underground.
It wasn't a metaphor. The lab where the memories were designed was two levels below the main clinic, isolated from the noise of the city and the sky he never saw. There were no windows in the basement. Only screens, cables, and the incessant hum of the servers, which never stopped.
Lucas was sitting at the center console when he finished compiling a memory. He slowly took off his gloves, as if the gesture could delay the inevitable.
—“Load ready.”— he said without enthusiasm.
On the other side of the bulletproof glass, a technician raised his thumb and activated the encryption protocol. The file disappeared from the screen and became part of Viktor Davidov 's inventory : packaged pleasure, disposable happiness.
Lucas rested his forehead against the cold glass. He closed his eyes.
In the memory she had just created, a woman ran barefoot along a white beach. She was laughing. Someone was waiting for her further ahead. The sun didn't burn. And the world didn't hurt.
Lucas hadn't been to a beach for fifteen years. The laboratory door opened with a pneumatic click.
"Your mother had a good night," said a voice behind him . "The scores dropped a little."
Lucas turned around. Bones was leaning against the frame, immense and silent, with his arms crossed.
—“Did the doctor tell you that, or are you saying it so he’ll keep working?” Lucas asked .
—“Both things are true.” —
Lucas let out a dry laugh.
—“How generous.” —
Bones wasn't offended. He never was.
—“Your mother's fine. Davidov wants to see you upstairs in ten minutes.”— he said. —“He says tonight's client is important.”—
—“Everyone is important,” Lucas replied . “Until they stop paying.”
Bones watched him for a second longer than necessary.
—“Don’t be late, kid.”—
When the door closed, Lucas sat back down. He typed a few commands and opened a hidden file, one that wasn't in any official record. It was an incomplete, fragmented memory. A hallway. A particular perfume. A woman's voice whispering his name.
He closed it immediately, as if someone could see it.
Upstairs, on the residential level, Lana Hale walked down a secondary corridor, away from the main cameras. She had learned the blind spots by observing reflections, shadows, dead seconds. Davidov believed that total control was a matter of technology. He never understood patience.
Turning a corner, he almost collided with Lucas .
—“Sorry.”— he said instinctively.
She looked up. Their eyes met and the world shrank for a moment, as if Blackwater had decided to hold its breath.
"It's okay," Lana replied , approaching. "I thought you weren't coming up today."
—“I shouldn’t have gone up.”— Lucas said . —“But… I wanted to see you.”
Lana looked around. The corridor was empty.
—“We shouldn’t be here.” —
-"I know." -
They moved slowly, closing the space between their bodies. They embraced in silence, breathing slowly.
—“I dreamt about you.”— Lana said suddenly —“Not like a memory. It was… something different.”
Lucas looked at her with a mixture of fear and tenderness.
—“This is dangerous.”— he replied.
She took another step closer. Their bodies were completely pressed together.
—“If anyone sees us…”— Lana said
—“They’ll wipe us out.”— Lucas finished. —“Or worse.”—
Lana wrapped her arms around Lucas 's neck . It was an electric, desperate contact.
Their lips came close, almost touching. They didn't kiss. There was no need. Love, in that place, was another form of resistance.
A few meters away, hidden by the gloom, between some columns, Bones saw them.
He didn't intervene. He didn't move. He watched the way Lana looked into her lover's eyes, as if the gesture cost her her life. He saw the guilt in Lucas , and the silent resolve in her. He understood everything without needing another word.
When they parted ways and went their separate ways, Bones remained motionless. The distant noise of the city rose like a background hum, constant and weary.
—“So that was it.”— he murmured to himself.
There was no loyalty in him towards Davidov nor jealousy towards Lucas , but a more primitive, almost instinctive conviction.
Bones had killed on orders, for money, and out of habit. He had protected Viktor Davidov for years without asking any questions. But in that moment, he understood that there was no way out for those lovers as long as the mobster was still alive.
He stared at the empty corridor. He thought about Lana . He thought about Lucas . He thought about all the false memories circulating in Blackwater , promising a happiness that never lasted longer than a single dose.
—“They’re not getting out of here alive,” she thought to herself. “Unless someone breaks the cage.”
He straightened up, adjusting the gun at his waist, and started walking toward Davidov 's private elevator . For the first time since he started working for him, Bones wasn't following an order. He was making a decision.
Bones didn't improvise. He never had. Violence could tolerate mistakes, but he knew betrayal couldn't. That's why, when he made the decision to free Lana and Lucas , he knew there was only one way to do it: without leaving a trace, without any heroes. And without second chances.
The bar was directly beneath an abandoned highway, its walls damp and old screens playing silent advertisements. The place reeked of cheap alcohol and faulty memory. No one asked for names. No one wanted to know them.
Bones took a table in the back. He didn't order anything; there was no need to.
—“I thought you were dead.”— said a voice from the shadows.
The man who sat opposite him had a thin face and alert, clear eyes. They called him Rask , though Bones knew that wasn't his real name.
—“They tried.”— Bones replied . —“You were there.” —
Rask smiled. Bones continued:
—“I took you out of the car when you were already cold.”—
Rask shrugged and said:
—“I owe you one ever since. ”
—“I’m charging you for it now.” — Bones clarified .
The man with the light eyes interlaced his fingers on the table. He nodded silently.
—“Speak.”— said Rask .
Bones rested his forearms on the table.
—“I need a memory.”— he said —“Just one. Unrepeatable. One that doesn’t give pleasure. ”
—“That reduces the market. ”
—“It’s not for sale.” —
Rask frowned.
—“What do you do then?” —
—“I want whoever gets it implanted to remember everything they tried to forget.”— Bones replied. —“Without filters and without anesthesia.”—
Rask leaned back in his chair.
—“That’s already been tried.”—
—“Not like that. I want it to generate guilt.”
—“Guilt is unstable.”— said Rask —“It can generate rejection, paranoia, collapse…”—
—“I want it to burn the brain.”— Bones finished .
Rask looked at him with renewed attention.
—“Are you talking about induced suicide?”
—“I’m talking more about private justice.”—
Rask let out a dry laugh.
—“That’s an elegant way of putting it.”—
—“Then call it whatever you want.”—
The dealer lowered his voice.
—“If I prepare something like that for you, whoever gets it implanted won't be able to handle it. The brain isn't designed to deal with all its garbage at once. It's going to break. And fast.”—
—“That’s what I need. Clean, efficient… no bloodshed. No evidence.”
Rask remained silent. Then he shook his head.
—“If I do this and it gets discovered…”—
—“It won’t be discovered,” Bones said . “It won’t go through any official channels. No one else is going to touch it.”
—“But… And why the programmer of Davidov… ?” — Rask didn’t manage to finish the question.
—“He doesn’t intervene.” —
Rask understood then. His smile vanished.
—“You’re aiming high. If Davidov finds out…”—
—“I’m aiming at the only place that matters.”
Rask sighed.
—“Give me forty-eight hours, my friend.” —
—“I’ll give you twenty-four. And we’re even.”
—“You were always a bad negotiator, Bones.”
—“You were always slow.” — Bones said , laughing.
The other one chuckled. They stood up at the same time and shook hands. Before leaving, Rask spoke again.
—“Bones…”— he hesitated —“If you fail, we’ll both have to leave the city.”
—“It won’t be necessary.”
Twenty-four hours later, the module was ready. A black cylinder, unmarked, unsigned. Rask handed it over wrapped in a gray cloth.
—“There is no pleasure here,” he said . “Only amplified memories. Every face, every decision, every corpse. It’s a one-way trip… no one can turn it off.”
Bones took the module.
—“Thank you.” —
—“Just stay alive, buddy.” — replied Rask
They said their goodbyes.
Viktor Davidov listened to the proposal with an intrigued smile. He was standing by the window of his office, watching the rain wash over the city
—“A new memoir?”— he said . —“I thought Lucas had exhausted his creative potential.”—
“It’s not coming from him,” Bones replied . “It’s external. Experimental.”
Davidov turned slowly.
—“I don’t like that so much anymore.”
—“It increases addiction. That’s why I propose it.”— Bones added .
Davidov raised an eyebrow.
—“That would be good for business…”— he said, thoughtfully.
“It’s not stable yet,” Bones continued . “That’s where Lucas would come in. To guarantee the addiction.”
Davidov walked towards his desk.
—“Everything is possible.”— he said . —“You just have to pay the right price.”—
He took the module between his fingers, as if it were a jewel.
—“Has anyone tried it?”—
—“No one yet.” — Bones replied
Davidov stared at him.
—“Then I’ll try it myself.”—
"It's not necessary," Bones said . "We can pay someone."
—“I don’t trust third parties,” Davidov replied . “Especially when it comes to my business.”
She sat down in the implant chair. The medical assistant hesitated for a moment. He said:
—“Sir, the parameters are not certified…”—
—“Out.”— ordered Davidov —“Everyone.”—
The room fell silent. Only Bones remained there.
—“If something goes wrong…”— Davidov began .
—“He won’t get out.”— said Bones .
Davidov smiled.
—“Always so loyal.”—
The module activated. The lights dimmed. The implant's software began to work. At first, Davidov said nothing
Suddenly, her fingers twitched slightly. Then, her breathing quickened.
—“What… is this?”— he murmured.
Her eyes snapped open.
—“No…”— he said —“That’s not how it was.”—
The implanted memory contained no pleasure, no light, no relief. Only guilt.
A brutal torrent of real memories crashed down on Viktor Davidov without filters or buffers: faces he had deliberately forgotten, names he had erased with money, voices that now returned intact.
He saw the woman who threw herself from a balcony when she lost everything due to a faulty memory. The doctor he told to shut up forever. A child waiting in a white room while his mother prostituted herself.
The stretcher vibrated. Davidov began to sweat profusely.
—“No…! I didn’t…”—
He put his hands to his head.
—“Take this off me.”— he shouted —“Take it off me!”—
There was no one else. Bones watched him without moving.
—“No.”— whispered Davidov —“That child… I didn’t…”—
The monitors spiked. His heart rate surged, then plummeted. Davidov clenched his hands on the side table. His fingers trembled.
The scream broke into an agonized sob. A ravenous breath, and then… an abrupt, violent silence. The body tensed one last time, then relaxed.
When it was all over, the monitors indicated brain death. He carefully removed the memory. He owed it to Rask .
When the medical assistant came back in, there was nothing more that could be done.
—“It was a neuronal overdose,” he said, reviewing the records . “The implant is unstable.”
—“The business is getting dangerous.”— said another guard.
Bones approached, shut down the system, and covered the body with a sheet.
Bones looked at the motionless corpse and thought of Lana . He thought of Lucas . And also of the strange city.
—“Nobody gets away clean,” she said softly . “But some are lucky enough to escape.”
He left the office without looking back. The empire had fallen without a shot being fired.
Bones wasted no time.
He went down to the underground lab. The place was empty. The technicians had fled as soon as the news got out. The screens were still on, displaying the memory source code. It didn't matter anymore.
He activated the manual erase sequence. One by one, the memory files began to disappear.
—“I’m sorry.”— she murmured, not knowing to whom.
He turned on the thermal accelerator and left the room. When the doors closed, the lab became a silent oven. In minutes, nothing would remain that could incriminate Lucas .
Then he went to Davidov 's office .
The safe was behind a false panel, exactly where it had always been. Bones entered the code number by number. The mechanism opened with a sharp click.
Money filled almost all the available space: stocks, bullion, stacks of bills, encrypted files for extortion, encrypted devices. There was plenty of cash from offshore funds, untraceable accounts, and money accumulated over years. Bones took a large amount of cash and shut down. He'd come back for the rest later.
She climbed to the top floor of the main building via the service staircase. The security system had shut down with the mobster's death. And now no one had any reason to fix it. The last hallway smelled of damp. At the end, behind an old door, was Lana 's apartment .
He found her next to Lucas , very close to the window, as if the emptiness outside might offer them an escape. Lana had her arms crossed over her chest. The young programmer paced back and forth, his breath ragged. When the door opened and they saw Bones , they froze.
—“No.”— Lucas said , terrified, as he took Lana’s hand.
Bones entered slowly and closed the door behind him.
—“Have you come to kill us?”— Lucas asked .
—“And why would I, kid? We’re all free now.”— Bones replied with a smile.
Lucas seemed to snap out of it. The couple's eyes were fixed on the bag he was carrying.
—“What did you do?”— Lana asked
Bones placed the bag on the table.
—“The show will soon begin to see who will take over Davidov’s empire.”
Lana took a step back.
—“What does that mean?”—
—“That this is their last chance to escape.”— said Bones —“And they can’t waste it.”—
Lucas swallowed hard.
—“Davidov…”—
—“That’s history now. And he’s out of the equation.”—
Silence fell between the three of them. Outside, the rain pounded insistently against the windows
—“Was it you?”— Lucas asked .
Bones did not respond immediately.
—“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he finally said . “The only thing that matters is that now they have their ticket out.”
Lana shook her head.
—“Where to? We have nowhere to go.”
Bones opened the bag with a swift movement. The stacks of cash looked unreal in the yellowish light.
—“This pays for your mother’s full recovery, Lucas,” he said . “And enough for you and Lana to run away and never return.”
She closed the bag and pushed it towards them.
Lucas looked at the money, then at Lana , then back at Bones .
—“It can’t be that easy.” —
“It isn’t,” Bones replied . “That’s why they have to leave before someone else wants to come for that money.”
Lana 's gaze met Bones's . And she observed him intently, as if she were only just now truly seeing him.
—“And you?”— he asked —“What’s going to happen to you?”—
Bones held her gaze a second longer than necessary.
—“No one can know,” he said . “But things always find their place.”
They said nothing more. There was no need.
Bones accompanied them to the rooftop hangar.
Lucas climbed into the hovercraft and started the engines. Everything was ready to go.
Lana stayed on the dance floor a few more minutes with Bones . She remembered all the glances, the conversations. The smiles they had shared with Davidov 's henchman . And she knew. She asked him:
—“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Bones carefully took Lana 's coat to warm her neck. It was cold.
—“It wasn’t something you should have known.”—
“I think in a way, I always knew,” Lana replied . “But I was afraid to ask.”
Bones was silent. He looked at her as if he wanted to memorize her face.
—“You’re free now.”— he said . —“That’s all that matters.”—
—“No.”— she replied —“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”—
Bones held his gaze.
—“One way or another, everything will work out.”—
Lana nodded slowly. She didn't cry. She simply placed her hand against Bones 's face , in a gentle, intimate, and natural gesture. Like caressing a lover.
—“Thank you.”— he said —“For not asking for anything in return.”—
Bones barely tilted his head.
—“Go.”— he said —“Before I regret letting you go.”—
Lana climbed into the hovercraft. Lucas closed the hatch. The engines began to roar intensely amidst the black rain that was falling on the city.
Bones took a step back, disappearing into the shadows of the hangar.
The city was still out there, reshaping itself as it searched for new owners. But for the first time in a long time, someone had escaped. And that, in that city, was already a form of victory.
Bones watched them rise, disappearing into the opaque clouds. The rain continued to fall. He lit a cigarette. The lighter flame flickered for a second before steadying. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs.
He turned around and walked into the rain, alone, invisible, knowing that no one would write his story.
And for the first time, she didn't care.
THE END
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#Redemption
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