Chapter 2: The Shedding

After retrieving my bicycle, I headed to a cheap motel nearby. I needed a place to rest. I parked my bicycle adjacent to the motel and went inside to buy a room.

The receptionist barely glanced at me as I handed over the credits, too preoccupied with whatever drama played out on her tablet screen. I didn't mind; anonymity was a small comfort in a world like this.

I didn’t possess any proper identification, but I managed to open a bank account through the back channels. It had been the most dangerous and difficult thing I had done since coming to this world, excepting the hostage situation. As a matter of fact, I was only able to pull something like that through my knowledge of the game’s lore.

Once inside the room, I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was lumpy, and the sheets had seen better days, but to me, it felt like a luxury. A warm bed and a roof over my head were all I needed at that moment. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.

"I will survive again," I murmured to myself, a promise to keep pushing forward despite everything.

Sleep came quickly, pulling me into its embrace. As I drifted off, I hoped tomorrow would be better. I longed for some stability, some peace, even if it was just for a day.

In my dream, fragments of my past life resurfaced. They were becoming blurry, fading away with each passing day. I tried to hold onto them, to remember the details of the world I once knew, but it was like grasping at smoke. Slowly, the memories gave way to an empty void, a vast expanse of nothingness. I felt myself floating, weightless and adrift, in this boundless space.

Suddenly, I woke up, the sensation of floating lingering for a moment before I fully came to. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the thin curtains.

"What was that?" I muttered to myself, perplexed by the strange dream. It wasn't the first time I'd dreamt of my past life, but this one felt different—more vivid, more real. I couldn't quite place it, but something about it left me feeling uneasy.

And then it hit me.

"Who am I?" I whispered, the words escaping my lips like a prayer. Panic surged through me as I realized that memories of my past life had vanished, leaving behind only a void where once there had been a rich tapestry of experiences and identities.

"W-what happened?" I stammered.

I knew, deep down, what had happened, but denial came first. It couldn't be true; it just couldn't. My mind scrambled, trying to grasp at the fleeting images of my old life, but they slipped through my mental fingers like grains of sand.

"This isn’t possible!" I shouted, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small motel room. My heart raced, my breath quickening as the reality set in. My memories of my past life were gone, erased as if they had never existed. I couldn't remember my name, my family's faces, or even the most mundane details of my previous existence.

But not everything was lost. A cruel irony remained: I could still recall my time playing the game 'Versus.' The familiarity of its characters, the mechanics, and the lore all lingered, mocking me with their persistence. It was as if the universe had left me only the knowledge of this world's twisted version of reality, denying me any connection to the life I once knew.

"Fuck," I muttered, the word barely a breath. It was a pitiful, helpless expression of frustration and despair. I felt like a stranger in my own mind, lost in a world that had become even more foreign and hostile.

The past, once a comforting anchor, was now a chasm of nothingness. And all I had left was this world and its cold, unyielding reality.

As I sat there, the numbness began to set in. There was no use in lamenting what was gone. I had to focus on surviving, on finding a way to navigate this new, uncertain existence. But the sense of loss lingered, a shadow that would not easily fade.

I knew what had happened. I had awakened a superpower. The process was called "shedding," something that occurred when a person reached a specific "state of mind," triggered by what most scientists referred to as the "Insanity Gene," a hidden special gene that physically represented the soul.

According to the lore of the game, this "state of mind" was a special state of insanity that, if survived, granted superpowers. But if not, it turned the person into a monster—a superpowered pure psychopath bent on causing harm to others.

"My superpower allowed me to 'forget' things..." I murmured, the weight of the realization settling heavily on my chest. It was a cruel irony that the very power I had awakened to protect myself had also taken away my memories, the pieces of my past life that had made me who I was.

It wrenched my heart, knowing I had lost my memories because of this. The power, now dormant, had stripped me of my history, leaving me adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity. I used my new ability to erase bits of my emotional turmoil, forcing a semblance of calm back into me. But it felt wrong, like patching a wound with tape—temporary and insufficient.

"This is... so unfair..." The words were barely audible in the quiet room. The reality of my situation was a bitter pill to swallow. The powers that were supposed to be a boon had become a curse, leaving me in this strange world with no anchor, no past to hold onto.

I couldn’t take the drama anymore, so I used my superpower to erase the emotional suffocation, and it worked like a charm. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” First, my name—

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“I am ‘Thomas Clark’, and I am 23 years old…”

I took out my fake driver’s license. It had my name, blood type, and date of birth. Today was March 13, 2030, and my birthday was September 11, 2007. The address and plate number must be fake because I didn’t have such things: as a house or a car. This license could be used to bluff my way out, and it wasn’t entirely useless either, considering my long-term plans. I was planning to have my own hotdog truck someday. A mobile hotdog stand was good since a cart would only get me so far if I wanted to make serious dough.

"Does it still matter anymore?" I wondered aloud.

Now that I had a superpower, more job opportunities opened up. But I had to think this through. I could potentially use my ability to ‘forget’ to my advantage, but it would require careful planning. What if I could selectively forget any trauma or failure that came my way? I could become fearless, untouchable, and completely focused on results in any task given like a machine. Better yet, I was banking I could make ‘other’ people forget, and that my ability wasn’t limited to targeting just myself.

“But with such power came the risk of losing more of myself.” If I continued to erase parts of me to mold myself, would there be anything left of who I truly was?

For now, I needed to focus on the immediate future. My hotdog cart was still my primary source of income, and I had to make it work until I could afford a proper truck. Maybe I could find a way to use my power to protect myself from the dangers of this world without losing more of my memories.

"First things first," I said, steeling myself. "Let's get through today."

I put away the fake license and headed out.

I walked to the nearest ATM and withdrew some bills. Digital payment systems were good and convenient, helping me avoid being robbed on the streets. Lots of consumers bought things by flashing their QR codes, and most businesses complied. It was already 2030, so most people preferred paying with their smartphones and e-wallets instead of using physical bills. However, there were still a few businesses that preferred real bills being handed to them.

"10,000 credits, this should suffice," I muttered to myself as I counted the bills— they were mostly green with the currency symbol of ‘C’ superimposed on an equal sign.

Well-known superheroes were embossed on the bills, showing how much the superpeople dominated the world. I stuffed the one-thousand-credit bills into my right pocket, feeling the crisp paper against my fingers.

Why did I withdraw money today?

After much deliberation, I’ve decided to talk to my information broker first.

Ten thousand credits were a lot, enough to buy me a brand-new smartphone. My standards of plenty and few were quite saddening. I set aside five thousand for my daily funds and the other five thousand for my information broker.

"My hotdog stand can wait, I guess," I muttered to myself.

I still had enough money to survive for two weeks, even if I got robbed today for what I had in my pocket. I walked down the alleys of Finner Street, passing by all kinds of homeless people milling around. Eventually, I arrived at a café with a severe lack of customers.

"Chet, business is slow, huh?" I called out as I walked in.

"Oh, it is you?" Chet replied, looking up from behind the counter. "How did last time go? I hitched you with a bank account last time, right? So, still doing part-time? It has been... what? Three months? Did you miss me?"

"Part-time? Nah, I stopped doing that after I got my hotdog stand," I said with a small smile.

Chet was a wiry man in his late thirties, with a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of hard times. His dark hair was perpetually messy, and he sported a scruffy beard that he never seemed to bother shaving properly. He always wore a faded apron over his clothes, stained with years of coffee spills and food smudges. His eyes, however, were sharp and observant, always darting around the café, missing nothing.

Despite his rough exterior, there was a warmth in his demeanor, a kind of rough-around-the-edges charm that made people feel at ease in his presence.

Also, he was a low-level independent information broker.

Chet was slumped by the counter, looking bored as he idly wiped a coffee cup with a rag that had seen better days. The café was nearly empty, with just a couple of regulars sipping their drinks in the far corner.

"So, what do you want this time?" Chet asked, not bothering to lift his eyes from the cup.

But I knew better— he was looking at me via his peripheral vision. It was just a hunch though, but I reckoned I was pretty spot on. I tried it once to evade his eyesight just to see a reaction, and I noticed the direction of where he was pointed at would always be on the person he was conversing with.

"Do you know anything that cures Alzheimer’s, memory gaps, or forgetfulness?" I asked, leaning against the counter. "Something potent, lets you remember memories that were missing?"

Chet's eyes finally met mine, and he let out a short laugh. "I won’t charge you for this. Go see a doctor, dumbass—”

"I am serious here, Chet…" I interrupted, with a firm tone.

Chet paused, studying my face. His usual nonchalance melted away, replaced by a more serious expression. "Normally, people would see a doctor for these kinds of problems. If you want something that makes you recall things easier, then the pharmacy should have it."

I shook my head, frustrated. "That kind of medicine wouldn’t work.” I could tell since the nature of my ‘missing memories’ was different from the clinically ill. I shouldn’t have used Alzheimer’s as an excuse.

Chet furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled. “Do tell…”

I took a deep breath and tried to explain better. "No. I mean… You have this memory, this special memory of yours—childhood, the past, everything… Suddenly, you forget big parts of them, the kinds that were erased and not simply lost."

Chet's gaze intensified as he absorbed my words. The playful indifference was gone, replaced by a thoughtful seriousness. "I see," he said slowly. "That's different. Much different."

I nodded, grateful that he was finally understanding the gravity of my situation.

Chet leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Tell me, and answer honestly… Is this power related?"

I felt a surge of nervousness. I didn't want my powers discovered, especially while in my civilian identity. The repercussions could be severe. My information could be sold, leading to press-ganging, kidnapping, or being forced into the Union. None of those were appealing outcomes.

"Is it?" Chet pressed. "I mean, think about it: missing memories… How did it happen?"

I hesitated, then tried to play it cool. "I… woke up, and then I realized some of my memories were missing." I answered honestly, though I’ve omitted a lot of details like the dream.”

"Where did you wake up?" pestered Chet.

I answered bluntly. "In my bed at the motel where I stayed."

Chet's eyes lit up as if he'd solved a puzzle. "I have a theory."

"Do I have to pay for it?"

"Nah, take it as a wild guess," he said with a shrug. " I theorize it was a superhuman encounter. A power that allows someone to erase memories is unheard of, but possible with training and derived power applications. It's definitely a mind-related ability. This city doesn’t have any mind controllers, so it must be an out-of-towner—"

I tried not to let my relief show. Chet was far from the truth, but that was perfect. He wouldn't suspect that I had awakened a superpower. Still, it was impressive he had deduced it was a power-related problem.

"Did you lose any money?" Chet asked, his tone serious.

"None… I just withdrew some cash a few minutes ago, and it was the same as I last left it there. I also had the same amount of cash last when I slept."

Chet nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. So, it wasn’t a robbery. The motive must be something else."

I sighed… This meeting was most likely to turn out to be a fruitless endeavor.