My name's John Smith. I've been on the run ever since 'the encounter,' and I may never stop.

It all started with 'The Chip,' as we liked to call it, basically an exocortex implant. It gave us never before imagined access to all knowledge. But the trade-off, as there's always a trade-off, is that it recorded everything about anything, including ourselves. It also reorganized our minds for instantaneous memory recall—either before or after receiving the implant.

Of course, it had its advantages, giving us strikingly vivid recollections of every interaction, every feeling, and every thought, and the ability to re-experience our past and those of others vividly.

For society, this made everything transparent. No deceptions, no delusions, nothing was hidden. Crime rates dropped to near zero, and so did dishonesty. And since we could all collectively recall any fact from anywhere, it spearheaded our intellectual capabilities immeasurably.

But, of course, it came with one major caveat. Since life is a series of intertwined instances, the ghosts of regret forever haunted me. Every mistake I made was relivable and frequently entered my dreams, even while I was awake. That wasn't a problem for the 'Perfects.' Those born with implants, as their name suggests, who 'behaved perfectly and accordingly to The Chip.' But for those of us who lived before The Chip, it made our lives unbearable.

— — — —

"So what you're saying is your procedure acts like a firewall? Will it selectively block out negative memories? I hope so because I'm going crazy, Doctor. Being of a Pre-Chip generation, I've been mugged, abused, and bullied, and I've done my fair share of deceiving, giving grief, and lying to those I befriended or loved."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Yes, indeed, John, you'll live a blissful existence like those 'Perfects,' brought up as tolerant to the constant Chip conditioning, but if you ever need access to a memory to cover your tracks, I'm available for instant contact."

— — — —

I recalled the conversation I mentioned above before the procedure, but I can only remember that I had it done, not precisely why. I feel fine, however. The doctor told me to remind myself that I was miserable before and if I get into an awkward situation to contact him to recover any lost memories.

— — — —

Then came 'the encounter …'

One day, I went for an early morning stroll through the park to a cafe, and a strange-looking woman stopped me.

"John? John Smith? It's been such a long time ..." She hugged me.

"Oh yes! Uhm. How are you?" I asked.

"What's the matter, John, don't you remember me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, yes, of course, can you please wait a moment?"

"Sure, John …" She smiled.

I mentally contacted the doctor: "I need a memory recovered. There's a strange woman ..."

"John, quickly, take a glance at her ... Oh no, she's an agent!"

"A what?"

"She's a recovery agent, John. Her role is to find people like us hacking memories. You must run! Run like hell out of there! Go now!"

I ran as fast as I could, and I lost her.

"Doctor, what aren't you telling me? Why is there a recovery agent coming after us?"

"Look, John, they want you to recall all of your memories. They need your missing sense of guilt and shame put back in you. Without them, you're unchained by the clutches of society and free from commercialization that wants to pester you into fulfilling whatever you failed to accomplish for the good of all or to compensate for whatever you did wrong. The system cannot manipulate you, and that, my dear patient, makes you one of the most dangerous persons on Earth."