The Skyway City hung in Saturn’s haze, a lattice of glass towers and magnetic highways. Lin, a memory sculptor, extracted emotions from clients and wove them into bespoke experiences. When an anonymous request arrived—”Erase my love for her”—she hesitated. Love was fragile, but to remove it entirely?
She met the client atop a levitating garden, where bio-luminescent vines pulsed gently. He was a cyborg diplomat, his organic eye betraying sorrow. “She’s gone,” he said. “But the love remains. It cripples me.”
Lin prepared her neural interface, but as she processed his memories, she saw their moments together—shared laughter, whispered dreams. She felt the echoes of his warmth, even as he wished them away.
She hesitated. Love endured even in absence. To erase it would be to hollow him out. With a quiet shake of her head, she declined the job.
The diplomat’s synthetic fingers clenched, then released. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “I needed someone to say no.”
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