Eighteen photos of women are disappearing from the phone with a cracked screen on a rainy night.
The man in the black jacket said it was called memory cleaning, but when the electronic tattoo under his collarbone burned the city night sky, the virtual idol of the dark blue matrix suddenly began to count backwards.
Zhou Xiao found that his childhood had been stuffed and soaked in code.
When the cleanup process starts, should we trust the temperature of memory or the heartbeat growing in the ruins of data?
Concept: When memory becomes editable data, can humans still testify to their own existence?