Welcome to Mirador. Oblivion is your only ticket.
In the deepest folds of this city, the neon lights never go out. People drag the tired remains of their souls and squirm in the esophagus called "Forgotten Alley", just to reach the behemoth at the end that flows with the sweet fragrance of temptation - Mirador Nightclub. The purest bliss is promised here for the price of a memory: the palpitations of first love, the ecstasy of success, even... The perception of pain. Cut out the memories and exchange for two hours of paradise.
I sold my first love. The pain of withdrawing from the cold palm, together with the sweetness of the popcorn, were accurately uprooted by the system. The lightness of the blank space is dizzying. Until the crazy peak of the dance floor, a strong smell of rust pierced the sweet dream. Under the strange light and shadow of the crystal chandelier, I saw the "old me" - the face that belonged to me, with the hollow smile fixed on it - being silently dragged into the darkness in the corner.
"Congratulations," a velvety whisper sounded close to my nerves, "you have gained an upgraded experience. You just need to sell another memory of 'resistance'."
My hand, in the pocket of the carnival uniform, held the only thing that did not belong to Mirador - a cold plastic knife handle, and a piece of metal that suddenly appeared with an unknown vibration.
This is the record. About how I smelled the smell of my own blood in the joyful hell of selling memories, how I tore open the gorgeous skin under the clearing instructions marked as "fault", and witnessed the fluorescent gray sludge flowing under the bionic skin, how I was in the ruins of the system's forgetfulness
