You feel sick, your stomach turns. You’re weak, your vision wanes, and a severe heat forces you to lay back.
When you come to, your still holding the black box. Yet, you feel different, smarter. confident.
You press your thumb to the scanner on the side. The silver receptor is pleasantly cold on your skin. The response is immediate. The black container exhales a hiss as its seals unlatch and panels retract. Cold vapor spills over the edge like breath from another realm. Inside, the brain-shaped object pulses: once, twice, then—
A burst of sound detonates in the warehouse: voices, warped and layered like sedimentary rock. Some shout. Some beg. Some whisper.
“Stop while you can.”
“You asked for this.”
“You asked to forget.”
A spike of heat slices behind your eyes. The sound becomes pain. The whole warehouse turns yellow—then gold. It’s sound. It’s light. It’s taste and memory and signal. It’s too much.
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