Chapter 4: Forgetfulness
The atmosphere was tense. I counted four of them. The leader had an AK-47 slung at his side as he bagged the money from the counter. The tattooed thug had a shotgun pointed at me, occasionally swinging it to point at the employees. The third guy was stout, using some high-tech gizmo he’d plugged into the computer to siphon the store’s e-cashier. Lastly, the fourth guy had jumped inside the counter and ran to the further back of the pharmacy, probably ransacking the drug cabinet.
They were all wearing cheap fantasy knock-off masks: the leader wore an orc mask, the tattoo guy wore a dragon mask, the gizmo guy wore a dwarf mask with a beard, and the fourth guy wore an elf mask.
From my peripheral vision, I saw the dead guard of the store, his blood visibly pooling under him. I gulped.
The tension in the air was thick, and my brain was on tenterhook, trying to find a way out of this mess. The leader barked orders, his voice muffled by the orc mask, but the menace was clear.
“Hurry up!” he shouted at the dwarf-masked guy.
The dragon-masked thug’s eyes never left me, and I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. I needed to think fast. Moving slowly, I tried to make myself look smaller, less threatening.
Suddenly, the elf-masked thug emerged from the back, holding a bag filled with stolen drugs. “Got the stuff,” he announced, his voice was high-pitched and excited.
“Good,” the leader replied, “let’s get out of here.”
Just then, the door to the pharmacy opened again, and a woman walked in, oblivious to the ongoing robbery. She froze when she saw the scene before her, and for a split second, the whole room seemed to hold its breath.
“Get down!” the dragon-masked thug yelled, swinging his shotgun toward her.
The woman dropped to the floor, her eyes wide with terror. This distraction gave me a split second to act. I lunged to the side, grabbing a bottle from a nearby shelf and hurling it at the dragon-masked thug. The bottle shattered against his head, and he staggered, his shotgun clattering to the floor.
Chaos erupted. The leader turned his AK-47 towards me, but I was already moving, diving behind a display stand. Shots rang out, shattering glass and sending products flying. The dwarf-masked guy abandoned his gizmo, pulling out a pistol and firing wildly.
The woman on the floor screamed, covering her head with her hands. I crawled toward her, keeping low. “Stay down!” I shouted, trying to keep my voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through me.
The leader barked more orders, trying to regain control. “Grab the cash and let’s go!”
I spotted the dragon-masked thug struggling to get up, blood trickling down his face from the impact of the bottle and it showed from how bloody his nose was down to his neck despite the mask. I couldn’t let him recover. Grabbing another bottle, I hurled it at him, hitting his arm and causing him to drop his weapon again.
The elf-masked thug was the first to bolt for the door, clutching the bag of drugs. The dwarf-masked guy followed, still firing shots to cover their escape. The leader hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. For a moment, I thought he might stay and fight, but then he turned and ran after his accomplices.
As they fled, I hurried to the woman’s side, helping her up. “Are you okay?” I asked, my voice shaking.
She nodded, still in shock. The pharmacist slowly emerged from behind the counter, trembling but unharmed. “Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.
I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. “Call the law enforcement,” I instructed, “and an ambulance for the guard.”
The pharmacist hurried to comply, and I took a moment to collect myself. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me feeling shaky and exhausted. I glanced around the trashed pharmacy, the shattered glass and scattered products reminded me of how close I’d come to serious harm.
Why did I do that? Despite it all, I couldn’t believe I confronted those thugs… not to mention, I didn’t even use my power… not that I had any practice. I wasn’t hero material by any means, and my power wasn’t built for combat. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. I had to leave now, lest the enforcers got a hold of me. I was an illegal immigrant who bought medicine under dubious prescriptions.
"Where are you going?" asked the woman I just saved, she had brown hair, freckles, and a seemingly meek disposition.
"I should leave now," I replied.
The pharmacists were composed of three people: two men and one woman. They walked towards me, some of them casting curious glances at the dead guard.
"You should wait for the enforcers," one of the male pharmacists suggested. Maybe you‘d get a commendation of bravery."
"Yeah, that could have killed me," the woman, among the pharmacists, added.
I gritted my teeth. I looked for the CCTV camera. Experience told me I was standing in a blind spot. When entering the pharmacy, I’d been mindful of the CCTV, so I shouldn’t have been caught within its lenses.
"The four of you will forget me," I said.
"What?" the pharmacist responded.
This was the first time I was using my power outside of myself, actively targeting another person. I stared at them—eye to eye—my power to ‘forget’ could be used on myself and another person. This was the first time I was confirming the latter.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Their expressions shifted from confusion to blankness as my power took hold. It was an eerie feeling, watching their eyes glaze over as if a fog had rolled into their minds, obscuring the memory of my presence. I couldn’t risk them remembering me or any details that could lead back to me.
I might be shooting myself in the foot with this one, but the benefits outweighed the risks.
The moment the law enforcers learned of my face, it would then be circulated into the system, thus forcing them to investigate it. Once they found out my odd history and suspicious existence, then they’d immediately hunt for me, so that they could interrogate me under heavy scrutiny.
There would be a lot of questioning— why were you not in the database, why were you using a fake driver’s license, was Thomas Clark even your real name, where do you live, why were you stateless, why were your genealogy didn’t have any direct match, was September 11 really your birthday?
The tension in my body eased slightly as I saw their postures relax. They blinked a few times, the recent events becoming a blur in their minds.
I slipped out of the pharmacy, careful to avoid any remaining cameras. My heart pounded in my chest as I made my way down the street, blending into the crowd. I needed to get back to the motel and figure out my next steps. My power had worked, but I couldn’t rely on it to solve all my problems. There were too many risks, too many variables I couldn’t control.
What I could do however was train…
Two months later. May 10, 2030. I had stopped taking the medicine. It was useless and had no effect on me. One time, I even consulted Dr. Melinda about my problem. I borrowed Chet’s explanation to subvert the topic about how I had awakened a superpower that caused my initial loss of memories.
I sighed. My attempts to recover my childhood and past life had been futile. According to the doctor, even for amnesiac patients, the recovery of their memories often would take a lot of luck.
"I love you," Britney said on the screen.
"I love you too, but forgive me…" Greg replied.
I was currently watching a romantic drama, killing time before bedtime. After two months of hard work, I could now afford an apartment. It was a studio-type room, roughly four hundred square feet. I had been thriving, and as proof, I now had a TV.
The room was modest but cozy. The walls were painted a soft beige, and I had managed to furnish it with a small sofa, a coffee table, and a bed in the corner. The TV was mounted on the wall opposite the sofa, and a small kitchenette occupied one corner of the room.
As I watched the characters on the screen navigate their tumultuous love story, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. They had their memories, their pasts, and their identities intact. I had nothing but fragments and a lingering sense of loss.
I felt so… extra…
I had tried everything—therapy, journaling, even Chet’s suggestion of hypnosis (of course a non-powered hypnosis)—but nothing had brought back my memories. Dr. Melinda had been kind and understanding, but her prognosis wasn’t encouraging. She had told me to focus on building a new life, rather than obsessing over the old one. It was sound advice, but easier said than done.
The romantic drama ended, and I turned off the TV. The silence of the apartment enveloped me. I stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the room.
Despite everything, I had managed to carve out a semblance of a life here. I had a job, a place to call home, and even a few acquaintances. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I closed my eyes, letting the weariness of the day wash over me. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to piece together the puzzle of my past.
I woke up, showered, and prepared for the day. I now had an apartment to live in, a small but comfortable studio that I had managed to secure thanks to Chet’s help. My next goal was to upgrade from my hotdog cart to a hotdog truck. In the beginning, I debated which to prioritize first. In the end, I decided on the apartment because the landlady offered a very low price for the place, despite its good condition.
The truck could wait, and I wasn’t too strapped for cash anyway. The apartment provided stability, a place to call home, and a sense of normalcy that I had been missing. It was a small victory, but a significant one.
Recently, I have been dragging my hotdog stand to different parks to avoid drawing too much attention to myself. After all, my hotdog business was doing remarkably well—almost too well. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.
What was my secret? To be frank and unethically clear, I made my customers forget the feeling of being full. Even those who had no interest in what I was selling would become interested because of a sudden craving and hunger pangs.
If I were a villain, then I might be the kind whose villainy was about increasing the obesity rate of the Kane City State with the power of hotdogs. I inwardly scoffed at the thought.
For the past two months, I have been practicing my power of ‘forgetfulness’ while on the job. The power itself was very subtle, allowing me to practice in public places like the park. I discovered it had three modes of usage: remote casting, touch-based, and mental suggestions.
Remote casting was to use my eyesight and sixth sense to make people forget. It was the least effective among the modes, but I imagined it would be fairly useful in combat—making people suddenly blind, messing up their senses, or forcing them into a daze by erasing certain sensations. The effects would be temporary, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous.
Touch-based usage depended on touch or body contact, making it the most effective and dangerous mode. A single touch could erase a person’s memory for a certain length of time, and the effects were more permanent. If I so willed it, I could permanently delete data—something I had personally tested on the thugs who had tried to rob me, reforming them into law-abiding citizens.
Then there were mental suggestions—I could amplify the effects of forgetfulness by saying certain words. This was most effective when combined with the other modes. Its strength depended on the impression it left. For example, if I said, "You are blind," while actively performing remote casting to make the other person blind, they were likely not to see for the next forty-eight hours… or maybe more.
If my superpower had any weakness, it would be mental power and willpower. I realized while in the park that when I was selling hotdogs and using my abilities, older people were less affected. Their minds were stronger, and more resistant to my manipulation.
I arrived at the park and began setting up my hotdog stand. As I arranged the condiments and prepped the grill, I noticed a few early joggers and dog walkers passing by. It was still early, but I could already sense the day would be busy. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the park.
The first customer approached. It was a young woman in workout clothes, her face flushed from exercise. "Good morning," she said, smiling. "One hotdog, please."
"Coming right up," I replied, preparing the hotdog. As I handed it to her, I used a subtle touch-based cast to ensure she would soon feel hungry again. She thanked me and walked away, taking a bite.
Mwahahaha~ I felt so bad it was making me cringe.
Throughout the morning, business picked up as usual. I used my abilities sparingly, ensuring a steady stream of customers without drawing too much attention. A family with two kids stopped by, and the children were immediately captivated by the scent of the grilling hotdogs. I used a bit of remote casting to enhance their cravings by having them forget the feeling of being ‘full’, and soon enough, they were begging their parents to buy more.
What was this? A villain in the making? Honestly, I was very embarrassed on the inside.
I took a moment to look around the park, watching the various scenes of daily life unfold. It was a peaceful morning, and despite the ethical dilemmas of using my power, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. I was building something here, something stable and lasting.
At least, I wasn’t some mad villain running around to cause real havoc, right?