Memory wipe?

Saturday afternoon bled into early evening with a sky smeared in watercolor pastels—lavender, rose, hints of gold like melted sun. The basketball court at the edge of town, surrounded by rusted fencing and overgrown hedges, basked in this fading light. It should have been peaceful. But for Kyle, it felt like an exposed stage after a performance he wished he could forget.

His sneakers scuffed against the concrete as he dribbled the ball, slow and half-hearted. A missed pass earlier had resulted in a turnover that cost his team the lead. They lost by two points, and Kyle could still feel the embarrassment clinging to him like sweat.

Now, the others were gone. The echo of laughter and sneakers on pavement had faded, leaving only the sound of cicadas and the dull thud of the ball as he tossed it lazily toward the hoop. It hit the rim and bounced away, rolling out toward the edge of the court.

He didn't chase it.

Instead, he sat on the old wooden bench, elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely between them. His black hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead. His deep blue eyes stared at the horizon, unfocused.

"You move differently when you're frustrated."

The voice startled him.

Kyle turned quickly—and there she was.

Agent Maris.

She stood just outside the chain-link fence, her hands folded behind her back, posture as crisp as her ironed black coat. The golden hour light cast her in an almost surreal glow, her high cheekbones casting delicate shadows, her eyes like dark mirrors that gave nothing away.

She opened the gate and stepped onto the court with deliberate grace, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the cement.

Kyle's throat dried. "Were you… watching the game?"

"I observe many things," she said coolly, stopping a few feet away. "But today, I was watching you."

Kyle's spine stiffened. He stood, slowly, like a deer unsure if the predator was hungry yet. "Why?"

Agent Maris didn't answer right away. She looked up at the sky, as if studying the colors there meant something. "I wanted to see how you behaved under pressure. Disappointment. Public failure. Things that reveal character."

Kyle frowned, confused and irritated. "I missed a few shots. I'm not a lab rat."

"No," she agreed. "You're not. That's exactly why I'm here."

She pulled a small, metallic object from the inside of her coat. It was flat, about the size of a phone, but with a strange circular lens at the center—like a camera designed by someone who didn't know what a camera was supposed to be.

Kyle took a step back. "What is that?"

"Just a test," she said, voice calm. "Don't move."

The device whirred to life, the lens pulsing with soft blue light. Before Kyle could ask another question, she pointed it at him and pressed something.

A flash of light.

Not white or blinding, but oddly… warm. It filled his vision, and for a moment he felt like he was sinking—like the ground was tilting away and he was falling into light.

Then—

Nothing.

Waking

The room was dim, painted in the soft shadows of early night. Kyle blinked several times, breath shallow, body stiff. He was in his bed.

But how?

The basketball court… Agent Maris… that device…

He sat up slowly, heart hammering. His shoes were off. His clothes had changed. Someone had placed him in pajamas.

The strangest part? He felt completely awake—mind buzzing, every detail sharp. He remembered the court. Her voice. That strange pulsing lens. The flash.

And then—this.

Kyle stood and looked at himself in the mirror. No bruises, no sign of injury. But something was wrong. Not physically—cognitively. He shouldn't remember. That's what it was for, right? That flash… it was like in the movies. A memory wipe.

So why could he remember everything?

He turned on the bedside lamp and pulled out a notepad. He began scribbling quickly:

Saturday. Game. We lost. Agent Maris showed up. Asked questions. Strange device. Blue light. Woke up here. Still remember it all. WHY?

He circled the last word.

By morning, his mother was bustling around the kitchen. The scent of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast filled the air, grounding him.

"Morning, hon!" she called cheerfully. "I didn't hear you come in last night."

Kyle stepped into the kitchen slowly. "Yeah. I must've come in late. Fell asleep fast."

She looked up from the frying pan, giving him a brief once-over. "You okay? You look pale."

"I'm just tired. The game wore me out."

"Well, rest today. Aunt Rosa wants us to swing by later, but if you're too wiped—"

"I'll go," Kyle said quickly, trying to act normal. "No problem."

She smiled. "Good. Eat something, okay?"

He nodded and took a plate, sitting at the table. As he chewed, his eyes drifted to the window.

Was she still watching?

Research

That afternoon, Kyle sat in his room with his laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Memory erasure technology—real?

The results were inconclusive. Most sites referenced fictional concepts—movies, novels, conspiracy theories. But buried deep in a scientific journal archive, he found mention of experimental cognitive inhibition using high-frequency light pulses and neurostimulant gas combinations. Military-funded. Still in early trials.

He stared at the screen.

They were testing it now. On people.

On him.

But why?

He hadn't told anyone about the cyborg. He'd lied to the police. Protected the secret. He'd tried to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

Then why would Agent Maris still target him?

Unless…

Unless she didn't believe him. Unless she suspected that he had seen something he wasn't supposed to.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

She was trying to erase his memory—not of her, or even the questions—but of that day.

Of the grocery store.

Of the cyborg.

But if the tech hadn't worked, what did that mean? Was he immune somehow?

Was that why she was interested?

Monday arrived with its usual greyness. Kyle walked the hallways in a daze, the chatter and laughter around him like static. The memory of that blue light still hovered at the edge of his vision like an afterimage burned onto his brain.

Samantha smiled at him by the lockers. "You disappeared fast on Saturday."

Kyle gave a weak grin. "Yeah. Wasn't my best day."

She leaned in slightly. "You okay?"

"Fine."

She touched his arm gently. "If you ever need to talk…"

"I'm good. Thanks," he said, moving past her before he said something he'd regret.

Leah was near the vending machines, giggling with Chris again. Her laugh didn't sound like a movie anymore. It sounded rehearsed. Hollow.

When her eyes met his, she smiled—but this time, Kyle didn't return it.

Something had shifted in him. Something small but permanent.

He couldn't explain it, but the world felt thinner now. Like a curtain had been pulled back and nothing looked quite the same anymore.

Jason and Kate

At lunch, Kyle sat at their usual table, but the food sat untouched in front of him.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You look like you didn't sleep."

Kyle shrugged. "Weird weekend."

Kate leaned in. "More Leah drama?"

He shook his head. "No. Just… weird stuff. Government-level weird."

Jason snorted. "Like UFOs?"

Kyle hesitated. "Like… people watching you. Things not adding up."

Kate frowned. "You're serious."

He nodded slowly. "I think someone tried to mess with my head. But it didn't work."

Jason exchanged a look with her. "You mean, like—brainwashing?"

"No. Erasing. Like deleting a file. But the file's still there."

"That's… intense," Kate said softly.

"Are you in danger?" Jason asked.

Kyle opened his mouth, but stopped.

He didn't know the answer.

Not yet.

That night, Kyle couldn't sleep. The silence in the apartment felt suffocating. He paced his room, glancing out the window every few minutes.

At 2:14 AM, the light outside flickered.

He froze.

A dark car parked across the street.

His breath caught. The figure in the driver's seat didn't move.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty.

Then the car slowly pulled away and vanished into the night.