The day I woke up, he said he had "the old version of me back."
Three years ago, he backed up our marital relationship data in his brain-computer system. Now, he has deleted my memories of the past three years, leaving only the gentle and obedient version that would never quarrel.
The system told him: This is the best way to "repair the relationship."
But in his eyes, I became the wrong version, covered and replaced, but still living in the same body.
He thought he was recovering his past love, but in fact, he was awakening another consciousness.
Two "selves" began to compete for dominance in a body - one longed to be loved, and the other refused to be controlled.
And he is no longer the same person. Is that so-called "system restart" a repair or a destruction?
When memories, emotions and humanity can all be backed up and replaced, is love still real?
This is a story about being "replaced" and a rhetorical question about the bottom line of human emotions.
I want to prove that even love defined by algorithms will have its own rebellious soul.
——"He Restored the Old Version of Me", a technological suspense about memory, identity and love
