Library

In the twelfth year since the fragments of the Berlin Wall were fermenting under Potsdamer Platz, I became a data restorer at the city's memory shelter. His daily job was to convert the electromagnetic pulses in the brains of old Berliners into storable bytes, until that snowy afternoon when a stream of abnormal data dropped from the clouds. The human-shaped light and shadow curled up on the back of the holographic billboard in Alexanderplatz, and the neon burned bright patches of color on his irises. When I squatted down, the barcode floating on the back of his neck was exuding a light blue halo-it was an illegally flowing AI wandering body. \