#The Trade
#001
It was raining the night Asher Vale sold a soul.
Not that it mattered. In Ether District, it always rained—sometimes water, sometimes static, sometimes both. The downpour wasn't just weather anymore; it was interference, a side effect of old wars no one remembered and new technologies no one understood.
Neon signs flickered through the mist, bleeding color onto the cracked pavement like the city was trying to paint over its scars. Asher walked fast, synth-leather coat drawn tight, eyes darting beneath his hood.
He looked seventeen. Was seventeen. But in the digital underworld of Bliss Corp, age was a formality. He had the gaze of someone who'd bartered regret like currency and watched people forget the worst parts of themselves—for a price.
He ducked into a narrow alley, passing a glitching green sign overhead:
> Forget-U: We Erase, You Escape.
Cruel irony. No one ever really escaped.
The door hissed open, revealing a corridor of floating light—memory threads, gently twisting in the air like jellyfish. They drifted, unmoored, each one a moment torn from someone's mind. Laughter. Screams. First kisses. Last breaths.
Asher didn't look up. He'd seen too many to care.
At the end of the hallway, glass doors opened with a hydraulic sigh. Inside, the Extraction Room hummed softly. Polished black walls. A single metal chair wired with neural probes. A podium floating with the soul capsule—a glowing orb, blue and fractured, like it was barely holding itself together.
The client was already seated.
Elion Raze, former trauma surgeon, current shell. The man's eyes were sunk deep into a skull too tired for redemption. His fingers twitched like they still held surgical tools he hadn't touched in years.
Asher approached slowly, activating the digital auction interface. Holographic icons sprang to life around him—bid meters, emotion ratings, neural analytics.
He didn't need them.
"This is Elion Raze," he said, voice smooth. Cold. Practiced. "Age thirty-two. Guilt Index: 94.7. Offering one high-weight memory—his wife's final breath."
The audience—unseen but vast—watched through neural links. Their usernames flared across the auction board. PainCollector_09. GhostKing88. HolyFather77. Some wanted pain. Some wanted profit. Some just wanted something real.
"He was forced to choose between her and a patient. He chose the patient. She never forgave him. Neither did he."
A murmur rippled through the digital crowd.
Asher barely blinked.
"Opening bid: Twelve Bliss."
The numbers jumped fast.
Twenty.
Thirty-two.
Thirty-eight.
"Sold," he announced. "Forty-one point two Bliss. Buyer: anonymous."
The capsule pulsed—and vanished into code.
Elion slumped, the extraction complete. The memory was gone, wiped clean. Not just forgotten—severed. He would never feel the guilt again. Never remember her dying breath.
Asher reached into his coat and pulled out a silver coin—plain, old-fashioned. He placed it gently into Elion's palm.
"You're free," he whispered. "You'll sleep again."
No response. Just silence.
He turned and left before his conscience had the chance to wake.
***
Outside, Ether District roared back to life.
Skyscrapers loomed like monoliths, patched together with neon, steel, and forgotten dreams. Drones zipped through the smog. Screens barked corporate slogans into the void.
> "Pain is a choice."
"Upgrade your sorrow. Inject Bliss."
"Memory is a burden. Let us carry it."
Asher stared at nothing. He should've felt something. Relief, maybe. Or satisfaction. Bliss credits were loaded into his account—enough for another week in his moldy cube pod and a few decency patches.
But he didn't feel anything.
Then his wrist console buzzed.
> "Unauthorized memory fragment recovered."
Origin: Unknown.
Subject: Asher Vale.
Memory ID: Locked.
Would you like to access? [Y/N]
He froze.
No one could send him memories. Not unless they had a direct line to his neural signature. And that was locked behind Bliss Corp firewalls.
He hesitated. Then tapped Y.
---
Flames.
Screams.
A child's hand clutching his. Smoke curling in his lungs.
"Asher—don't let go!"
He reached. Missed.
The hand slipped away.
And then—
Darkness.
He gasped awake, back in the rain.
His coat was soaked. His pulse erratic. His hands were shaking.
He didn't remember this.
But it remembered him.
The system had forced a fragment back into his mind. A piece of the truth. A crack in the false calm he'd built around himself.
He grabbed the wall to steady himself, heart pounding. The silence around him wasn't quiet anymore. It was full of ghosts.
And in that moment—for the first time in years..
Asher Vale, the Soul Auctioneer… was afraid.
[End of Chapter One]