Chapter 2

  POV: Nobody

  After retrieving my bicycle, I headed to a cheap motel nearby. I needed a place to rest, a temporary escape from everything. I parked my bike adjacent to the motel and went inside to buy a room.

  The receptionist barely glanced at me as I handed over the credits, too preoccupied with whatever drama played out on her tablet screen. I didn’t mind; anonymity was a small comfort in a world like this.

  I didn’t have proper identification, but I’d managed to open a bank account through back channels. It had been one of the most dangerous and difficult things I’d done since arriving in this world, aside from the hostage situation. As a matter of fact, I was only able to pull something like that off through my knowledge of the game’s lore.

  Once inside the room, I locked the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was lumpy, the sheets had seen better days, but to me, it felt like luxury. A warm bed and a roof over my head were all I needed at that moment. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.

  "I will survive again," I murmured to myself, a promise to keep pushing forward despite everything.

  Sleep came quickly, pulling me into its embrace. As I drifted off, I hoped tomorrow would be better. I longed for some stability, some peace—even if just for a day.

  In my dream, fragments of my past life resurfaced. They were becoming blurry, fading with each passing day. I tried to hold onto them, to remember the details of the world I once knew, but it was like grasping at smoke. Slowly, the memories gave way to an empty void, a vast expanse of nothingness. I felt myself floating, weightless and adrift, in this boundless space.

  Suddenly, I woke up. The sensation of floating lingered for a moment before I fully came to. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the thin curtains.

  “What was that?” I muttered to myself, perplexed by the strange dream. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of my past life, but this one felt different—more vivid, more real. I couldn’t quite place it, but something about it left me feeling uneasy.

  And then it hit me.

  “Who am I?” I whispered, the words escaping my lips like a prayer. Panic surged through me as I realized that memories of my past life had vanished, leaving behind only a void where once there had been a rich tapestry of experiences and identities.

  “W-what happened?” I stammered.

  I knew, deep down, what had happened, but denial came first. It couldn’t be true; it just couldn’t. My mind scrambled, trying to grasp at the fleeting images of my old life, but they slipped through my mental fingers like grains of sand.

  “This isn’t possible!” I shouted, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small motel room. My heart raced, my breath quickening as the reality set in. My memories of my past life were gone, erased as if they had never existed. I couldn’t remember my name, my family’s faces, or even the most mundane details of my previous existence.

  But not everything was lost. A cruel irony remained: I could still recall my time playing the game Versus. The familiarity of its characters, the mechanics, and the lore all lingered, mocking me with their persistence. It was as if the universe had left me only the knowledge of this world’s twisted version of reality, denying me any connection to the life I once knew.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, the word barely a breath. It was a pitiful, helpless expression of frustration and despair. I felt like a stranger in my own mind, lost in a world that had become even more foreign and hostile.

  The past, once a comforting anchor, was now a chasm of nothingness. And all I had left was this world and its cold, unyielding reality.

  As I sat there, the numbness began to set in. There was no use in lamenting what was gone. I had to focus on surviving, on finding a way to navigate this new, uncertain existence. But the sense of loss lingered, a shadow that would not easily fade.

  I knew what had happened. I had awakened a superpower. The process was called shedding, something that occurred when a person reached a specific “state of mind,” triggered by what most scientists referred to as the Insanity Gene, a hidden special gene that physically represented the soul.

  According to the lore of the game, this state of mind was a special kind of insanity that, if survived, granted superpowers. But if not, it turned the person into a monster—a superpowered psychopath bent on causing harm to others.

  “My superpower allowed me to ‘forget’ things…” I murmured, the weight of the realization settling heavily on my chest. It was a cruel irony that the very power I had awakened to protect myself had also taken away my memories, the pieces of my past life that had made me who I was.

  It wrenched my heart, knowing I had lost my memories because of this. The power, now dormant, had stripped me of my history, leaving me adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity. I used my new ability to erase bits of my emotional turmoil, forcing a semblance of calm back into me. But it felt wrong, like patching a wound with tape—temporary and insufficient.

  “This is… so unfair…” The words were barely audible in the quiet room. The reality of my situation was a bitter pill to swallow. The powers that were supposed to be a boon had become a curse, leaving me in this strange world with no anchor, no past to hold onto.

  I couldn’t take the drama anymore, so I used my superpower to erase the emotional suffocation, and it worked like a charm. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” First, my name—

  “I am ‘Thomas Clark’, and I am 23 years old…”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I took out my fake driver’s license, inspecting it for a moment. It had my name, blood type, and date of birth—today was March 13, 2030, and my birthday was September 11, 2007. The address and plate number? Definitely fake. I didn’t have a house or a car. This license could help me bluff my way out of situations, but it wasn’t entirely useless either. I had bigger plans for it. One day, I was going to own a hotdog truck. A mobile hotdog stand was perfect for a guy like me. A cart could only get me so far if I really wanted to make serious dough.

  "Does it still matter anymore?" I wondered aloud, staring at the card in my hand.

  Now that I had a superpower, more job opportunities had opened up. But I had to think things through. My ability to ‘forget’ could be used to my advantage, but it would require careful planning. What if I could selectively forget all the trauma and failures I’d faced? I could become fearless, untouchable, and completely focused on results in any task, like a machine. And maybe, just maybe, I could make other people forget too. If I could extend this power beyond myself, I’d have an edge in a world like this.

  “But with such power comes the risk of losing more of myself.” The thought lingered, unsettling. If I kept erasing parts of me to shape myself into someone stronger, would there be anything left of who I truly was?

  For now, I had to focus on the immediate future. My hotdog cart was still my primary source of income. I needed to make it work until I could afford a proper truck. Maybe I could find a way to use my power to protect myself from the dangers of this world, but I couldn’t afford to lose any more memories in the process.

  "First things first," I said, steeling myself. "Let's get through today."

  I stuffed the fake license back into my pocket and headed out.

  I walked to the nearest ATM and withdrew some bills. Digital payment systems were convenient, helping me avoid being robbed on the streets. In 2030, most people preferred paying with their smartphones or e-wallets, flashing QR codes for a quick transaction. Still, a few businesses insisted on real cash.

  “10,000 credits, this should suffice,” I muttered, counting the bills—green paper with the ‘C’ symbol embossed on them, overlaid with an equal sign. Superheroes were printed on the bills, a reminder of how much the superpowered had come to dominate this world.

  I stuffed the one-thousand-credit bills into my right pocket, feeling the crisp paper against my fingers.

  Why did I withdraw money today?

  After some thought, I decided I needed to talk to my information broker first.

  Ten thousand credits was a lot of money. Enough to buy a brand-new smartphone, or maybe even upgrade my setup. My standards were low, but I had to make this last. I set aside five thousand for my daily expenses and the other five thousand for Chet.

  "My hotdog stand can wait, I guess," I muttered to myself.

  I still had enough money to survive for two weeks, even if I got robbed today. I walked down the alleys of Finner Street, passing by homeless people milling around, their faces a grim reflection of the world’s cruelty. Eventually, I reached a café that looked almost deserted.

  "Chet, business is slow, huh?" I called out as I walked in.

  "Oh, it’s you?" Chet replied, glancing up from behind the counter. "How did last time go? I set you up with that bank account, right? Still doing part-time? It’s been… what, three months? Did you miss me?"

  "Part-time? Nah, I stopped doing that after I got my hotdog stand," I said with a small smile.

  Chet was a wiry man in his late thirties. His face looked like it had seen more than its fair share of hard times, and his dark hair was perpetually messy. He wore a scruffy beard and a faded apron, stained with years of coffee spills and food smudges. Despite his rough exterior, there was a warmth in his demeanor, a kind of rough-around-the-edges charm that made people feel at ease.

  He was also a low-level independent information broker.

  Chet slumped against the counter, looking bored as he idly wiped a coffee cup with a rag that had seen better days. The café was nearly empty, save for a couple of regulars sipping their drinks in the far corner.

  "So, what do you want this time?" Chet asked, not bothering to lift his eyes from the cup.

  But I knew better—he was watching me with his peripheral vision. It was just a hunch, but I was pretty sure I was spot on. I’d tested it before, trying to evade his gaze, but no matter what, his attention always found its way back to whoever he was talking to.

  "Do you know anything that cures Alzheimer’s, memory gaps, or forgetfulness?" I asked, leaning against the counter, my voice low. "Something potent, that lets you remember memories that were missing?"

  Chet's eyes finally met mine, and he let out a short laugh. "I won’t charge you for this. Go see a doctor, dumbass—"

  "I am serious here, Chet..." I interrupted, my tone firm, a hint of frustration creeping in.

  Chet paused, studying my face for a moment. His usual nonchalance melted away, replaced by something more serious. "Normally, people would see a doctor for these kinds of problems. If you want something that helps you recall things easier, the pharmacy should have it."

  I shook my head, frustrated. "That kind of medicine wouldn’t work." I could tell. The nature of my 'missing memories' was different from the clinically ill. I shouldn’t have used Alzheimer’s as an excuse. It was too obvious, too general.

  Chet furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled. "Do tell…" he said, leaning forward a little.

  I took a deep breath and tried again, hoping I could explain it better. "No. I mean… You have this memory, this special memory of yours—childhood, the past, everything… Suddenly, you forget big parts of them. The kinds of memories that were erased, not simply lost."

  Chet’s gaze sharpened as he absorbed my words. The playful indifference was gone, replaced by a thoughtful seriousness. "I see," he said slowly. "That’s different. Much different."

  I nodded, grateful that he was finally understanding the gravity of the situation.

  Chet leaned forward, eyes narrowing, his voice quieter now. "Tell me, and answer honestly… Is this power related?"

  I felt a surge of nervousness. I didn’t want my powers discovered, especially in my civilian identity. The consequences could be disastrous—press-ganging, kidnapping, or even being forced into the Union. None of those options sounded appealing.

  "Is it?" Chet pressed. "I mean, think about it: missing memories… How did it happen?"

  I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. I tried to play it cool. "I… woke up, and then I realized some of my memories were missing." I answered honestly, though I omitted the more complicated details—the dream, the sudden shift in reality.

  "Where did you wake up?" Chet asked, his tone insistent.

  I sighed, trying to keep my face neutral. "In my bed at the motel where I stayed."

  Chet’s eyes lit up as if he'd just solved a puzzle. "I have a theory."

  "Do I have to pay for it?" I asked, a touch of humor in my voice, trying to deflect the tension.

  "Nah, take it as a wild guess," he said with a shrug. "I theorize it was a superhuman encounter. A power that allows someone to erase memories is unheard of, but it’s possible with the right training and power applications. It’s definitely a mind-related ability. This city doesn’t have any mind controllers, so it must be an out-of-towner—"

  I tried not to let my relief show. Chet was far from the truth, but that was perfect. He wouldn’t suspect that I had awakened a superpower. Still, it was impressive that he’d deduced it was a power-related issue, even if it wasn’t quite right.

  "Did you lose any money?" Chet asked, his tone turning serious again.

  "None… I just withdrew some cash a few minutes ago, and it was the same as I left it. I also had the same amount of cash last time I slept."

  Chet nodded thoughtfully, clearly piecing things together. "Interesting. So, it wasn’t a robbery. The motive must be something else."

  I sighed, leaning back against the counter. This meeting was most likely turning out to be a fruitless endeavor. Chet had made some good guesses, but he was far off from the truth. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. The less anyone knew, the better.