Memory Bite

Date: December 11th, 11:00 PM, the Year 2050

Location: Fate City (Outer District), Pikes

Code: D.F.

Warmth. A small hand touches my shoulder, gentle but hesitant.

"M-Mr... are you okay?"

The voice pulls me back from somewhere dark. A girl's voice, trembling with concern. And fear—I can hear it beneath the surface. Is she afraid of me?

Then arms wrap around me. Not just contact—an embrace. How long has it been since I felt that?

Three years.

The touch sends me spiraling back. I'm holding someone in my arms again, the air thick with blood and decay. My entire body sticky with rot, like a dying world is dragging me down with it. But in the middle of it all, I held her—a girl, still warm, a soft smile on her lips.

Her eyes were open but glassy. No light left.

I looked down at her jacket through the haze. An emblem, partially obscured by blood. The lines were distorted, blurred, but something about it felt familiar. Beneath it, a name tag: "Jin."

Maybe she was someone important. Maybe not. My memories blur around the edges these days. But the weight in my chest—that's real.

And now, here again: warmth spreading through me, soft but steady. Like a single beam of light breaking through the void.

"Mr... please come back... please don't leave me alone."

The voice snaps everything into focus.

Hedgehog.

I'm awake. She's crying, arms wrapped around my neck. I raise my hands instinctively—then freeze.

My blade is active. And it's partially inside her body.

I gasp and shut it off instantly, dropping it to the ground.

"Hedgehog... I'm—" My voice catches. "I'm so sorry."

She doesn't let go. Instead, she squeezes harder. Her small camera digs into my chest, the strap pulled tight. Her whole body shakes.

"You came back. I thought you were gone. That thing wasn't you."

She clings to me like I'm the only solid thing in her world.

"Please don't go... please don't leave me alone."

"You're hurt—"

"I-I'm okay... just promise. Please... don't do that again."

"Hedgehog—"

"PROMISE!"

Her voice cracks.

I nod. "Okay. I promise."

She finally looks up at me—big violet eyes, wide and full of something I haven't seen in a long time. Hope. Unbroken, untarnished, beautiful. They remind me of how my eyes used to look, before Hope City fell.

I kiss her gently on the forehead.

"I'm so sorry. Let me look at your wound. Does it hurt?"

"It... it burns. Like fire."

"Do you trust me? Even after what I did?"

She nods quickly. "I still trust you."

"Okay. Hold my hand."

Her fingers wrap around mine—small, warm, brave. I can feel her forcing herself to breathe steadily. I place my other hand over her wound and focus.

Matching frequencies. Every body has a healing resonance beneath the noise. I can tap into it, accelerate it, guide it.

She grips my hand tightly. "It hurts..."

But she endures. Minute by minute, her body responds. Within five minutes, the bleeding stops. The wound closes.

She stares at it in wonder. "Whoa... it doesn't hurt! It's gone!"

Her voice is light, amazed. "You do have powers! I knew it!"

I don't answer. Just smile faintly.

Date: December 12th, 12:00 AM, the Year 2050

Location: Fate City (Outer District), Pikes — Old Saru's Eatery

We walk in silence. My arm still aches, but the pain feels distant—like something happening to someone else.

The air here is heavier. Greasier. You can feel the poverty between buildings like a second skin. Smoke clings to everything: walls, windows, people. Power lines droop like spider webs above us, sagging from weight or age. Probably both.

Outer Circle 3. You could live here your whole life and never be counted. No IDs. No registry. No future.

"I want to take you somewhere," Hedgehog says suddenly. She tugs my hand—not with force, just insistence. "It's close. And it's safe."

Safe isn't a word I'd use for this place. But I follow anyway.

She leads me down narrow alleys, past burned-out apartment blocks and a gang checkpoint where no one speaks when they see my eyes. My presence registers as 'don't-fuck-with-this.'

We stop at a metal door, half-melted at the top. The paint is long gone except for a single red circle spray-painted across it. It pulses faintly under a motion sensor—not a real sign, just a symbol people understand.

Neutral territory.

She knocks once. Then again. Then twice fast.

The door buzzes open.

Inside is nothing like the outside. Dim orange light flickers from candles in beer bottles. Wires run across the ceiling like veins. Ten seats total, four occupied. All locals—scars, oil-stained jackets, tired eyes. No one looks up. A radio crackles something that might have been music decades ago.

Behind the counter stands a man who looks older than the building. Face like cracked leather, one arm cybernetic but held together with duct tape and cloth wraps.

"Old Saru," Hedgehog whispers with a small smile.

Saru nods when he sees her. No words. Just a gesture—two fingers. Sit down.

We do.

She doesn't order. She doesn't need to.

Five minutes pass. Then he places something on the counter: a small, half-sized baguette wrapped in yellowed newspaper and tied with thin red thread. I smell chili oil, burnt crust, pickled garlic. Something sour underneath it all.

"Banh Mi Ký Ức," she says reverently.

"Memory Bite?" I ask.

She nods. "They say it only tastes good if you remember something... something nice."

She unwraps it carefully, like it might fall apart if she rushes. "My dad and I used to share one. He traded music for it. Jazz, mostly. Said jazz was like hope—always making stuff up."

She touches the middle of the bread, smiling softly. "He gave me the middle bite. It had jam and chili. Weird, but I liked it."

She takes a bite, cheeks puffed, eyes closed. I watch her chew. Her hand trembles slightly, but she doesn't drop it. Doesn't cry. She just sits there, holding that piece of memory like it matters more than the whole city.

It probably does.

She opens her eyes and looks at me. "Wanna try?"

I don't answer. I just reach out slowly, break off a small piece, and put it in my mouth.

Burnt crust. Tangy. A little sweet. A little bitter.

I don't remember anything—but it still tastes good.