Chapter Three: Memory Hunter

Chapter Three: The Memory Hunter

Night had fallen, and the neon lights of Los Angeles cast fractured reflections on the rain-slicked streets. Elizabeth sat alone in her studio, her eyes locked onto the chilling police record on her screen: "The client died in a plane crash three years ago."

She tapped at the keyboard, trying to dig deeper, but the database appeared to be deliberately locked—any additional information on this client was completely inaccessible. Who had tampered with it? Someone inside the police department? Or was it a higher authority? Elizabeth's instincts screamed that this wasn't just a simple hire. This was a web of death, intricately woven, and she was already caught in it.

She stood up, pulled open a drawer, and took out an old business card. Its edges were worn with time, and it bore only a simple inscription—"Hunter"—no surname, no contact details, just an embossed emblem: an eye with a gear embedded in its pupil.

Hunter—the most elusive memory hunter in the industry. His job wasn't to alter memories, but to find those that had been erased. Unlike ordinary hackers who merely decrypted data, he ventured deep into the memory network, reconstructing fragments that had been altered, hidden, or wiped out entirely.

Elizabeth picked up her communicator, took a deep breath, and dialed a number that wasn't in her contact list.

"...You're still alive?" A low, raspy male voice came from the other end, carrying the weariness of someone who had smoked too much or spoken too often.

"I need your help," Elizabeth said bluntly.

"I don't help people," Hunter replied coldly.

"This time, you will," she paused, then added slowly, "because this isn't just about me—it's about you too."

Silence lingered for a few seconds. Then, a quiet chuckle.

"Interesting. Send me the address."

Elizabeth ended the call, her heart pounding. Hunter wasn't an ordinary man. He never showed up easily, nor did he take jobs lightly. If even he couldn't unravel the truth behind this memory, then this case was far darker than she had imagined.

Twenty minutes later, a black motorcycle rolled to a silent stop outside her studio. A tall figure, clad in a black trench coat, stepped inside. His hat brim was pulled low, concealing most of his face.

"Get to the point," Hunter said, skipping pleasantries.

Elizabeth transferred the data to his terminal while explaining what she had uncovered so far. Hunter listened in silence, his gaze scanning the fragmented memories on the screen. Then, suddenly, his fingers froze on one particular frame. His expression shifted.

"This place…" His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing within them. "Are you sure this was your childhood home?"

Elizabeth nodded.

Hunter hesitated for a moment before pulling up his own database and quickly cross-referencing a set of records. A few seconds later, he looked up, his voice low and edged with warning.

"You're being watched."

Elizabeth stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Hunter pointed to a set of coordinates on the screen, his voice steady but grim.

"That house… It wasn't just an ordinary home. It was a Memento project site."

A chill ran down Elizabeth's spine. She had heard of the Memento Project—a secret government experiment from decades ago that aimed to modify, transfer, or completely erase memories. Rumor had it that most of the test subjects had "disappeared," and those who tried to investigate the project had all met unfortunate ends.

"You're saying… my childhood…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Hunter tapped on the timestamp displayed on the screen. "Three years ago—the recorded date of that 'plane crash'—was the same time Memento was last exposed."

Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath.

"This isn't just about your memories," Hunter said, his voice heavy. "Your past… might not be what you think it is."

Outside, the night deepened. The neon lights flickered coldly against the rain-washed streets. But Elizabeth's world was already being consumed by a far greater storm.