"I don't know!" Zatrice said, frustration seeping into his voice, "i mean, everything points to me doing it, but I can't remember, It's like... it's like there's a hole in my mind."

Beulla set her beer down with a thud, "I told you to drop that damn chip, what were you thinking?"

"How was I supposed to know what it was?" Zatrice shot back. "It's not like it came with a warning label: 'Caution, may cause memory loss and homicidal tendencies.'"

"Oh, I don't know," Beulla said, her voice dripping frustration, "Maybe because you picked it up from a gang during a heist? What did you think it was, a new game update?"

Zatrice stood up, pacing the small room. "I'm not in the mood for this, Beulla, besides," he paused his face hardening, "Leon was a bad guy, i probably did the city a favor by taking him out."

Beulla's eyes widened in disbelief. "Unbelievable, you sound just like them - like the gangs, you're talking about killing people, Zatrice, You're a murderer."

"I'm not!" Zatrice shouted, then immediately lowered his voice. "I'm not a killer, I promise you, Beulla, This isn't me."

Beulla stood up, running her hands through her hair, She took a deep breath, then fixed Zatrice with a stern look, "Where's the chip now?"

Zatrice tapped the side of his head. "Still in there."

"Take it out," Beulla said firmly. "Now."

Zatrice nodded, as he reached up to the base of his skull, feeling for the small port until his fingers found the edge of the chip, and he began to pull.

"AAdffaaaaaaaaaaa"

his body went rigid, Blue sparks danced across his skin as he convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his head, With a final, violent jerk, Zatrice collapsed to the floor, motionless.

"Zatrice….Zatrice!??!"

Beulla's heart pumped as she knelt beside Zatrice's static form, Her fingers trembled, hovering over his neck, afraid of what she might not feel while a faint pulse fluttered beneath her touch.

"Zatrice," she whispered, gently shaking him.

No response.

Her eyes darted to the chip on the floor, its edge smeared with a trace of blood, She snatched it up, pocketing it before returning her attention to her brother.

"What should I do," she asked nervously, looking at zatrice.

Then moved to his body gritting her teeth as she lifted Zatrice, His head idled against her shoulder as she staggered towards the door.

The air hit her like a wall of steam, neon signs of cyber-implant ads reflecting off puddles, as Beulla raised her free hand, waving frantically at passing vehicles.

"Taxi..TAXI…ugh, damn it…"

A battered taxi pulled up, its anti-grav units whining, The doors slid open with a hiss.

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"Help me get him in," Beulla gasped.

The driver, a man with circuitry etched into his skin, stepped out. "What's wrong with him?"

"Later," Beulla snapped. "Just help."

Putting Zatrice into the back seat, Beulla climbed in after him, cradling his head in her lap.

"Where to?" the driver asked, settling back behind the controls.

"I need a ripper doc," Beulla said. "Someone discreet."

The driver's augmented eyes whirred as he studied her in the rearview mirror. "Maelstrom Street," he said after a moment. "But you sure that's where you wanna go?"

"Why?" Beulla asked, her fingers absently stroking Zatrice's hair.

The taxi lifted off, merging into the flow of traffic. "It's not exactly a tourist destination," the driver said. "Gang territory, nasty stuff goes down there."

"I don't have a choice," Beulla muttered.

The driver shrugged. "Your funeral."

They flew in silence for a while, weaving between towering skyscrapers, Holographic doll advertisements flickered by, bathing the interior in changing hues.

"What happened to him?" the driver asked eventually.

Beulla hesitated. "Implant malfunction."

The driver whistled. "Cheap hardware will do that, gotta be careful what you put in your head these days."

Beulla said nothing, her gaze fixed on the cityscape rushing by outside.

The taxi began to descend, the buildings growing more dilapidated, Gang tags and crude neon signs replaced the sleek corporate logos.

"You have time to rate the service?" the driver said as they touched down.

Beulla shook her head, already fumbling for her credit stick.

"Good luck you'll need it," the driver muttered before helping her get Zatrice out of the taxi, then drove off without another word.

Beulla stood on the cracked sidewalk, struggling under her brother's weight, The street pounded with dangerous energy, Heavily augmented figures lounged in doorways, their eyes gleaming with interest.

A group of men approached, their laughter grating against Beulla's nerves.

"Well, well," one of them drawled. "What have we here, mind giving us a special service?"

Beulla ignored them, scanning the storefronts. A flickering sign caught her eye: "Ripper Doc & Tavern."

"Where you going sweety, come here and give daddy some love.."

She pushed forward, shouldering past the leering men, Catcalls and crude gestures followed her, yet she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Beulla stumbled inside the tavern, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the blue light.

The place was a den of sin, Smoke hung thick in the air, obscuring the far corners. Patrons hunched over tables, nursing drinks of dubious origin, while in one corner, a heated argument threatened to erupt into violence.

Beulla approached the bar, where a woman with metal arms was pouring drinks.

"I need the ripper doc," Beulla said, her voice barely heard in the noise.

The bartender jerked her thumb towards a door behind the bar. "Through there, don't bleed on my floor."

Beulla nodded her thanks, handling Zatrice through the crowd.

She shouldered open the door, revealing a cramped, surprisingly clean room.

A man sat hunched over a workbench, his back a pack of cybernetic enhancements, He turned at their entrance, revealing a face more machine than flesh.

"What've you got?" he asked, his voice a metallic rasp.

Beulla hefted Zatrice onto the exam table. "My brother. He... there was a chip. When he tried to remove it..."

The doc's eyes whirred, focusing on Zatrice. "Seizure?"

Beulla nodded.

"Chip?"

She fished it from her pocket, holding it out, The doc plucked it from her hand with surprising delicacy, turning it over beneath a magnifying lens that extended from his left eye.

"Nasty piece of work," he muttered. "Where'd you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Beulla asked.

The doc's mechanical eyes fixed on her. "Always matters. This ain't standard tech. Military grade, maybe worse, specifically from the Yorishika military."

Beulla's stomach churned. "Can you help him?"

The doc turned back to Zatrice, mechanical tendrils extending from his fingertips to probe at the base of Zatrice's skull.

"Maybe," he said. "But it'll cost you."

"How much?"

"Thirty-eight thousand leuros."

Beulla's eyes widened at the price. "That's too much," she murmured.

The doc gave her a hard look. "Then you better hope you find it. It's not my fee that's the issue, it's the cure…Your brother won't make it without daily doses of x rope. Miss a day, and he's dead. And even if he does get it," the doc's hand hovered over his tools, "his mind's already halfway gone, all I can do is buy you both a little time… But the damage? It's irreversible."