[ WP ] . In the future , instead of writing a story we can share memories . You open a file to find a mugger from your childhood had posted a memory of the robbery .

What follows is the account of the man who shot my father. 
 
 > **Posted by**: anonymous 
 
 > **Subject**: There are n't many things I regret in my life. The memory I'll upload next is no exception... but it is a rare time I came close. For obvious reasons, I'm blocking out any traceable IP or external memory neurons on this file. 
 
 > This memory details my mugging of two nobles and their child. 
 
 > **File**: *Alcairn.mem* 
 
 The first time I found the file, my hands trembled too much to plug in the CWT ( cerebral wave transmission ) cords. Now, my hands are steady as I dive into the memory a second time. 
 
 *BOOTING UP SECONDARY CONSCIOUS SYSTEM* 
 *STARTING SENSORY SIMULATION* 
 
 Darkness takes my eyes, filling them with the familiar void that precedes a jounrey into someone's memory. They say that to see through a man's eyes is to understand his choices. But I've experienced files that filled me with revulsion. And this- 
 
 *APPROXIMATING UNKNOWN MEMORY NEURONS* 
 
 The familiar sensation of feeling my memories torn from me, replaced with vague inputs from another life. No name, no past. Who am I again? Visions emerge... 
 
 I remember now. I'm waiting. Waiting in the mist outside the Opera House. Waiting for *him*. The motivations are vague to me for some reason, but I know what I must do. I am in desperate need of what he holds. He was born with money, power, tools to gain all he desires. But what he stole through the lawful unfairness of the world, I will claim illegally. 
 
 There he comes, a steady tread echoing past the mist, the tap of a mechanical cane, the chatter of a... wife and child. I curse inwardly. This will make things harder. But doubt will kill in situations like this, so I step forward and raise my blaster. 
 
 `` Daddy, did you see the demons? We learned in school that they make those with laser light, using constructive inter...'' the little girl's voice falters as she, too, finally sees me. 
 
 I keep my voice low but clear. `` You know what I want,'' I grumble. 
 
 The man looks pale. He recognized me for what I am, the moment he saw me. His wife's hands reach for her mouth, stifling a scream. The little girl's eyes are wide, shocked. She does n't understand why anyone would do this, she has lived in a world of splendour, glamour and comfort, far away from the misery I know. 
 
 But her father knows. He- 
 
 *shit*, he's reaching for some trigger on his mechanical cane. Quickly, I kick it away from him, causing him to lose his balance and sink through his bad leg, sending him sprawling on the cobbles. His wife steps back, but I aim the blaster on the little girl. 
 
 `` Give it to me,'' I breathe, placing a foot on the man's chest. `` Or see your child killed before your eyes.'' 
 
 The man slowly reaches for his vest, taking out a crumpled document. *The deed*. The memory comes back to me. The man is a banker, who economically ruined my parents' company using underhanded techniques. Financially ruined, they died early, leaving me orphaned and with their debts. Me, a boy of only sixteen... yet one week ago he sent his men to claim the deed to my parental home, collecting the final debt. The house I grew up in, the last thing remaining of my parents, taken. Probably so he could take an extra trip to the fancy Opera House. 
 
 Hatred filled me as I snatched the document from his fingers. He knew who I was, I'd seen it in his eyes. And he knew about the deed. He had to die. As I pulled the blaster's trigger, I looked into the little girl's eyes, a child, innocent and clueless. And even though I hated her father, I felt sorry then, sorry for the girl whose innocence I'd taken, whom I had shown the darkness of this world. 
 
 I fled the scene, but her eyes haunted me all the way... 
 
 All the way to... 
 
 *ENDING MEMORY SIMULATION* 
... 
 *RE-ESTABLISHING CONSCIOUSNESS PARAMETERS* 
 
 I gasped as I regained my own self. I felt ill, sweat dripping off my skin. The first time, I had fainted, but now, there was something more than shock. A deep hatred that had tormented me all my life, fading, replaced by an even deeper melancholy. And though it was deeper, though this was something I could accept, I suddenly realised I was crying. 
 
 I brought my hands to my eyes, and wept. Wept for the darkness of the world, and wept for the man who had had to show it to me... twice.
