Memory Restoration-2

Rivanka watched from a balcony above, her hands resting on the railing, her pride evident in every line of her posture. Williams joined her sometimes, standing silently at her side, his gaze tracking their son's every move. They didn't speak, but the air between them hummed with a shared understanding—a promise, a plan, a future they were building for him.

Then the moment came.

The day he was taken.

A new memory surfaced, darker and quieter, heavy with a weight he hadn't felt before. He was older now, perhaps three, standing in a sterile chamber buried deep within the estate. The walls were cold and unyielding, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and metal—a stark contrast to the warmth of the halls above. In the center of the room sat a pod—its transparent surface shimmered with faint blue lights, cables snaking from its base to connect with panels that blinked and beeped in a steady rhythm. The space felt clinical, detached, a place where decisions were made without room for softness.

Rivanka stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her grip tighter than usual. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with worry she couldn't hide. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice low and directed at someone behind them.

Williams stepped into view, his face set in a hard line, his jaw tight with resolve. "It's necessary," he said, his tone firm and unyielding, leaving no space for argument. "He'll be stronger for it. We've discussed this."

Alexander looked up at his mother, sensing the tension in her touch. "Mama?" he whispered, his voice small and uncertain, seeking the comfort he'd always found in her.

She knelt in front of him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that she fought to keep at bay. "You're going to be brave for us, aren't you?" she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with a trembling hand. "Just for a little while. It's… it's important."

He nodded, trusting her completely even as a flicker of fear stirred in his chest. Her smile was strained but steady, and she stood, stepping back as Williams gestured to the technicians waiting nearby. They moved forward, their white coats rustling faintly, guiding Alexander toward the pod with gentle but insistent hands. Its lid hissed open, revealing a cushioned interior filled with a clear, shimmering liquid that rippled faintly under the lights.

He hesitated, glancing back at his parents. Rivanka's hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white, while Williams stood tall, his posture rigid. "It's okay," Rivanka said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "We'll be right here when it's over."

Williams placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression unreadable but his grip firm, anchoring her. "Go on, son," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Alexander climbed into the pod, the liquid cool against his skin as he settled inside. It lapped at his legs, then his chest, a strange sensation that made him shiver. The lid closed over him with a soft click, sealing him in, and the world outside blurred through the transparent surface. He saw his parents standing there, Rivanka's hand pressed against her mouth, Williams' arm around her shoulders, holding her steady.

A technician's voice filtered through the pod, calm and detached. "Initializing enhancement sequence." A prick stung his arm, sharp and sudden, and a rush of warmth spread through his veins. His vision swam, colors bleeding together, and he felt his body grow heavy, sinking deeper into the liquid. The hum of the machines grew louder, a steady pulse that matched the beating of his heart, and then—silence. Darkness swallowed him whole.

January 2, 2013.

A silent farewell. The weight of decisions beyond his understanding. The estate was hushed, its usual bustle replaced by a solemn stillness that seeped into every corner. Alexander stood in a grand study, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and screens displaying maps he couldn't yet read. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and ink, a grounding scent undercut by the tension hanging in the air. Williams sat behind a massive desk, a single glass of amber liquid resting untouched before him, his hands folded in front of him like a man bracing for battle.

Rivanka stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her back to them both. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass, its dark waves rolling under a gray sky, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. Alexander, barely three, stood in the center of the room, his small hands fidgeting at his sides. He didn't know why they'd brought him here, didn't understand the weight in his father's eyes or the rigidity in his mother's shoulders, but he felt it all the same.

"Are you ready?" Williams asked, his voice firm but softer than usual, carrying a note of something Alexander couldn't place—regret, perhaps, or resolve.

Alexander looked up at him, his wide eyes searching for answers. He didn't know what was happening, didn't grasp the gravity of the moment, but he nodded, because that's what they wanted from him. His father's gaze held his for a long moment, unblinking, and then he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

Rivanka turned then, her face pale, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her composure. "Williams—" she started, her voice breaking on his name, but he raised a hand, cutting her off sharply.

"It's decided," he said, his tone final, a wall slamming down between them. "He'll thank us one day. This is for his future."

She took a step forward, her hands dropping to her sides, fists clenched. "He's just a child," she whispered, the words raw and pleading. "We could wait. We could—"

"No," Williams interrupted, standing now, his chair scraping against the floor. "The world won't wait. And neither can we."

The journey to the facility was brief, a silent ride in a sleek vehicle that hummed beneath them. Alexander sat between his parents, their hands resting on his shoulders, their silence louder than any words they could've spoken. The vehicle moved through tunnels beneath the estate, the walls smooth and featureless, lit by faint strips of blue light that cast eerie shadows across their faces. Rivanka's fingers tightened on his shoulder, her touch a lifeline he clung to, while Williams stared straight ahead, his jaw set like stone.

They arrived at an underground chamber, its cold walls lined with machines that clicked and whirred in a relentless rhythm. Technicians in white coats moved around them, attaching sensors to Alexander's skin with practiced efficiency, their voices a low murmur he couldn't follow. A table stood in the center, its surface smooth and metallic, surrounded by screens displaying streams of data in a language he didn't know.

"Memory suppression," one technician said, adjusting a screen as numbers scrolled across it. "Physical limitation protocols engaged. We'll keep the core intact, as instructed."

Alexander looked to his mother, searching for the reassurance he'd always found in her, but her eyes were fixed on the floor, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Williams stood beside her, his hand on her arm, his face a mask of resolve that didn't waver even as she leaned into him, her shoulders shaking faintly.

A helmet was placed over Alexander's head, its weight unfamiliar and heavy. A voice whispered through it, calm and mechanical. "Initiating sequence." Pain flared briefly, sharp and bright, like a needle piercing his skull, and then the world dissolved into darkness. He felt his mother's hand slip away, heard his father's steady breathing fade, and then there was nothing—only the void, swallowing him whole.

When he awoke, he was alone in a sterile room, no trace of the island, the estate, or the family that had shaped him. He was just another orphan, his past erased, his future rewritten.

...........................

The visions stopped as abruptly as they started. Alexander gasped, his body trembling. The weight of his true self settled onto his shoulders like a long-forgotten burden.

He looked up at the man before him, his breath ragged. "I… remember."

The man's faint smile never wavered. "Welcome back, Young Master Alexander Ironhart."