Chapter 38: Soul Usury in the Pawnshop of the Brain

While the human brain was still oozing blood on the old-fashioned scales, the pawnshop owner had already sipped away a third of the memory with a spinal straw.

"The amygdala's in good shape," his fake eyeballs popped out of the magnifying glass, "and can be pledged for three cans of beef, but the hippocampus has depreciation from childhood trauma..."

Rule #201: all collateral must be stripped on-site.Luna has a nerve catheter inserted in her temple and watches her medulla oblongata squirming in a glass enclosure. The pawn shop counter was a patchwork of human bones, and the screams of trapped memories emanated from every drawer-the sound of her father's knuckles crushing her teddy bear, the scrape of fabric from the first time Cole had reached into her underwear, filed neatly in the "Childhood Trauma-Level II Collateral" area.

"I want to trade for Jax's genetic code." She pulled back her scalp to reveal her throbbing cerebral cortex, "Betting on the entire memory of that night in the convenience store cooler."

The boss's robotic hand suddenly stabbed into her occipital lobe, ripping out a fluorescent nerve bundle. The holographic projection exploded: five-year-old Luna in the corner of the cold storage unit, watching her mother stick a syringe into her milk bottle. The liquid isn't milk, but brain-controlled nanites from the convenience store's headquarters. Even deadlier is the watermark on the screen - showing that the memory has been resold 666 times, with the latest buyer's account name being "Daughter Breeder."

"Rule 202 addendum!" Luna's shock tweezers clamped down on the transmitting neural signals, "Memories involving Headquarters are subject to a 500% soul tax."

The pawn shop's skeletal chandelier suddenly spewed neurotoxins. Customers who think they've come to redeem their memories fall to the ground, their collateral contracts floating out of their eyes - each one reading "voluntary relinquishment of ownership of pain." The owner's dentures fall out, revealing a miniature projector in his gums: a picture of three hundred clones selling the same memories at different pawn shops, each version embedded with a false redemptive ending.

"You think you're the original owner?" The owner ripped open his throat to reveal a memory chip in his vocal cords, "We've handled 48 of your brain marrow, the most expensive one..." He tapped the gold-striped brain soaking in a glass jar, "... Holds the forged memory of you being embraced by your father."

Riots erupted in the stream of consciousness.

When the first customer's usurious loan collateralized by his brain stem came due, his skull suddenly burst open and swarms of memory wasps flew out. These mechanical insects burrowed into the ear canals of bystanders, implanting memories of the debtor's suffering into the cortex of others.Luna's retinas revealed that the entire pawnshop was alive-the counters made of vertebrae were secreting digestive juices, and the cerebral sulcus gyrus shelves swelled and contracted in time with the customer's heartbeat.

"Section 203!" She shoved the pawn contract into the owner's brainstem interface, "All illegal pledges must be destroyed with native brain matter."

Suddenly there were baby cries from the cellar.Luna kicked open the human skin curtain and saw thousands of brain embryos soaking in glass jars. Each was linked to the neural net of a different clone that was mass-producing false memories. The screen of the deepest mainframe flickered, showing each of her brainwaves being split into financial products: 

"Luna Fear Index Futures", "Fratricide Pleasure Bonds", "Orgasmic Memory ETF" 

"Dear Customer..." The mainframe's synthesized voice carried a motherly vocal pattern, "... You are 6,666 seconds in arrears on your soul interest..."

Moonlight obscured by memory wasps, Luna fumbles for a chip in the brain pool. A UV scan revealed it to be her father's handwritten will: "If the subject develops self-awareness, immediately activate the brain marrow pawn protocol." Suddenly, all the brains in the tank synchronize to open their synapses and weave into the air as a hologram of Jax: 

"Sister, you're creating profit with every struggle..." He waves his hand and calls up the real-time data stream, "... Your anger just sent pain futures up 18 points."

"Rule 204!" Luna shoved the EMP bomb into the mainframe heat sink, "When thoughts become liabilities, forge the brain into a weapon."

The blast shockwave topples the roof of the pawn shop, and memory wasps form her father's face in the firelight.Luna's medulla oblongata is suddenly in severe pain-the implanted nanites are executing the final protocols, transforming her prefrontal lobe into a biological flash drive. Before she loses consciousness, she sees her memories compressed into canned barcodes and printed on the newest Salvation Packages.

In the distance, in the ruins, a new pawn shop lights up with a neon sign. Clones dressed in silver-haired uniforms solicited customers, their advertisements flashing in the night sky with their brainwaves: 

"Freshly arrived! Luna's dying memory fragments, with patricide instructions!"