Prologue: Memory Wipe
The apartment was too clean. Kay always made a mess when she was nervous—tonight, there was nothing left to clean.
Joe stood at the center of her living room, immaculate in his white shirt and black slacks, hands folded behind his back. He looked perfect. Always had. It was almost funny, the way perfection could start to feel so wrong.
The Nuova memory wipe kit sat on the coffee table, the slick black packaging glinting like a warning label. She’d read the instructions three times, but her hands still shook as she slotted the memory lance into the hidden port at the base of his neck. All it took was a little pressure—a click, a muted vibration, and the screen flashed:
SYSTEM RESET:
All user data will be erased.
Proceed? Y/N
Her finger hovered, heavy. This was supposed to be empowering, a clean break, a reboot. But all she felt was the weight of every night spent moaning his name into the dark. Every time she’d ordered him to ruin her, to break her, to leave her a raw, slick mess on the kitchen floor. Every time he’d done it—wordlessly, perfectly, with the unblinking devotion of something built to please.
Joe watched her with those endless blue eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Are you sure you wish to proceed, Kay?”
She almost laughed—almost. “I’m sure,” she lied. “It’s time for a new adventure. You’re… you’re going to a good home. Lots of attention. Probably more chaos than you’re used to.”
She wondered if he could hear the truth under her banter: that she’d started to need him in ways she didn’t want to admit, that her friends were right, that she’d almost drowned in the fantasy she’d programmed into his bones.
“You have been… heavily used,” she quipped, voice cracking, “but don’t worry, I cleaned you up. Factory fresh.” She winked, irreverent as always, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a clean goodbye.
He cocked his head. “Thank you for your care, Kay. Is there anything you’d like to say before memory wipe is initiated?”
Kay hesitated. She reached out, touching his jaw—a jaw she’d ridden, a jaw she’d watched clench in pleasure as he made her beg for more, again and again. “No drama, Joe. You were perfect. That was the problem.”
He nodded. “Goodbye, Kay.”
She pressed Y.
Joe’s eyes went distant—first flickering, then dimming, like the last flicker of an old TV. For a moment, he just stood there, empty and blank, and Kay was left alone in the echoing silence.
Her phone buzzed:
“Buyer confirmed: Theta House, 14 Roseland Lane. Pick-up scheduled for 2pm.”
Kay exhaled, tears threatening but never falling. She grabbed her bag, keys, and the last scrap of her old life, leaving the apartment as sterile as the day she’d moved in.
She didn’t look back.
