The Red Sector looked like a place even post-apocalyptic mold had given up on.
Charred skyscrapers leaned like drunks in a blackout. Every surface sizzled faintly, like the world's worst microwave. The static in the air wasn't just electronic—it felt personal.
Anne's boots crunched over the ash-soaked floor as she walked toward the source of the voice. Javier walked beside her, one hand on his scanner, the other twitching near his sarcasm holster.
"Okay, hear me out," he whispered. "What if we just... didn't meet your possibly psychotic father in a ghost sector where the laws of physics take weekends off?"
Anne didn't reply.
Because the voice came again.
> "You were always curious, Anne. That was your first flaw. And your last."
The voice was closer this time. Clearer. Tired, even.
"Flaws?" she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Oh, the irony. Coming from a man who probably microchipped his own emotions."
They entered a massive, open corridor. Rusted glass windows framed the remnants of a lab that looked like someone had tried to recreate Frankenstein's workspace inside an Apple Store.
In the middle, a man stood waiting.
Tall. Greying. Regal in a "I gave up my humanity for science" way.
And behind him, rows of neural cores. Hundreds. Pulsing. Syncing. Breathing?
Anne froze.
He turned slowly.
"Hello, Annie."
Her mouth was dry. "Dr. Min-Jae Seong, I presume?"
"I prefer Dad," he said, with the warmth of a lizard basking under a nuclear lamp.
Javier stepped forward. "You have five seconds to explain how your daughter ended up as a half-glitched memory in a simulated art nightmare—before I start throwing emotionally charged insults and possibly a wrench."
Dr. Seong didn't flinch.
Instead, he held up a device.
A data cube, glowing faintly violet.
"This contains everything," he said. "Your origin, Anne. Your sister's truth. The memories they erased. The real reason the merge happened. You weren't just an accident, Anne. You were the solution."
Anne crossed her arms. "Solution to what? Your God complex?"
He stepped forward. "No. To hers. Kira's."
That stopped her cold.
"What?"
He placed the cube on a platform. Holograms sprang to life—images of Kira. Not as a painter. But as a scientist. A partner. A creator of the same neural project he'd stolen.
"She started it," he said quietly. "Kira's research was the foundation of the memory merge. She knew what it could do. And she warned me—warned us all—about the consequences. She died trying to stop it."
Anne's voice cracked. "That's not true."
"It is," he said, not cruelly. "And you were the key. You were supposed to end it. But when she disappeared, you took the fall. You were young. Programmable. Grieving. And I… made choices."
Anne stared at him. "So what now? You want forgiveness? A hug? Should we go toss a ball and call it a day?"
"No," he said softly. "I want to give you a choice."
Behind him, a terminal buzzed to life.
Two options lit up.
> 1. Upload the full neural code and reset the system. Wipe all past experiments. Start humanity clean.
> 2. Save the memories. Let them live, broken and real. No resets. No gods. Just choices.
"You're the only one who can choose," he said.
Anne stared at the glowing options. Her hands trembled.
Javier looked at her. "You okay?"
She smiled weakly. "No. But for once, I get to choose what happens next."
She took a deep breath.
And reached out toward the console.