The doctor woke to the scent of iron and the
weight of a silver pendant around his neck. His
hands, gloved in cracked leather, trembled as he
touched his temples. No name. No past. Only the
taste of blood on his tongue and the distant
howl of a wolf.
He stood in a room carved from black stone, its
walls lined with shelves holding vials of liquid
that pulsed like hearts. A single lamp flickered
above him, casting long shadows that danced like
living things. The air was thick with the stench
of decay and something else—something sharp,
like ozone.
Outside, the city of Noctis sprawled beneath a
sky choked with smoke. Towering spires of glass
and bone jutted into the clouds, their surfaces
etched with runes that glowed faintly. This was
not Earth. It was a place where memories were
mined, traded, and stolen. The rich could live
forever by feeding on the recollections of the
poor.
The doctor’s fingers brushed against the pendant.
It was warm, humming with a low frequency. A
symbol was engraved on it—a wolf’s head with
eyes like twin moons. He did not know what it
meant, but it felt familiar, like a scar.
He stumbled into the streets, where figures
cloaked in ashblack robes moved like phantoms.
Their faces were hidden behind masks shaped like
wolves. They called themselves the Pack, and
they ruled Noctis with an iron grip. Those who
resisted vanished. Those who complied became
hollow shells, their minds siphoned for profit.
At a crossroads, a woman in a tattered coat
caught his eye. Her left eye was milky white,
her right a deep violet. She held out a hand,
palm up. “You’re new,” she said. “And you’ve got
the mark.”
He didn’t understand. But before he could ask,
she pressed a small device into his palm. It
buzzed, then flared with light. A vision struck
him: a laboratory, a scream, a blade slicing
through flesh. He fell to his knees, gasping.
The woman knelt beside him. “That’s your past,”
she said. “They took it from you. But you can
get it back. If you survive.”
Survival was not a given. The Pack had hunters—
werewolves, real and twisted by the city’s dark
magic. They patrolled the streets, hunting those
who dared defy the order.
The doctor followed the woman to a hidden clinic
beneath the city. Its walls were lined with
machines that whirred and clicked, their purpose
unknown. She introduced herself as Elara, a
former medic turned rebel. “You were one of us,”
she said. “A doctor who tried to stop the Pack.
They erased you. Now you’re a ghost.”
She handed him a file. Inside were documents
proving his identity: Dr. Elias Vane, exsurgeon,
exemployee of the Pack’s medical division. He
had discovered a way to reverse the memory
extraction process—but the Pack had killed him
for it. Or so it seemed.
Elara led him to a chamber where a young girl
lay strapped to a table, her body twitching as
machines fed into her skull. “This is what they
do,” she said. “They take the best parts of
people—their minds, their skills—and leave them
broken.”
Elias stared at the girl, then at the machines.
He knew this technology. It was his own design.
A sudden crash echoed through the tunnels. The
Pack had found them. Werewolves poured into the
chamber, their eyes glowing with feral hunger.
Elias grabbed the girl and ran, Elara at his
side.
They emerged into a forgotten sector of the city,
where the ruins of an old cathedral loomed. The
wolves pursued them, their claws scraping
against stone. Elias had no weapons, only the
pendant. He pressed it against his chest, and
the symbol flared.
The wolves stopped. Their growls turned to
whimpers. One dropped to its knees, clutching
its head. “No… not again…” it moaned.
Elias looked down at his hands. The pendant had
changed him. He could see the memories of others,
feel their pain. He was no longer just a doctor—
he was a weapon.
But power came at a cost. The more he used it,
the more he felt the weight of the memories he
absorbed. He saw the girl’s fear, the screams of
those the Pack had taken, the faces of those he
had failed.
Elara watched him closely. “You can fix this,”
she said. “But you’ll have to face what they did
to you.”
Elias looked at the pendant one last time. Then,
with a deep breath, he stepped into the
cathedral. The wolves were still there, waiting.
And this time, he would not run.
