Spiked Wheel Restaurant set cozily in center of a spiderweb hedge maze. The writer had researched the Brotherhood of Truth exhaustively. Pixel by pixel, the Order’s virtual headquarters was a copy of Saint Catherine Alexandrine. Mediation in each green step, the boxwood smelled real, like mint and cat piss.

Per the Order’s restrictions, the writer was dressed in a plain muslin habit. Like an acolyte she approached glow of flickering candelabra.

Brother Jamie Lee set in a corner booth swirling a brandy sniffer.

“Come into my parlor,” the jovial friar said chortling.

His guffaws attracted the other patrons in their crimson robes. They chuckled in kind. Looking bemused the writer settled down at her place setting. A luscious lock of her hair peeked out invitingly from beneath her wimple.

Blue rare prime ribs were placed before each of them.

“ I took the Liberty of ordering. You don’t mind,” Jamie said.

She answered with meek shake. The young serving girl poured them each the house red.

“ I was pleasantly Pleased your publication wanted to hear our side in this unfortunate affair. You seem mature enough to speak to me about this political persecution. The

Brotherhood of Truth rejects categorically any digital recording of memories. We pray against the abomination of trading synthetic emotions. it is an affront to God,” Jamie said.

“Your god,” she said.

“There is only one God, little sister. The poison of memory keeping is blinding the world to the truth. Some of my order in faithful exuberance may have crossed the line, hacked in to a few memory banks. We regret this naturally. mistakes were made.”

Between platitudes Jamie ate hunks of red flesh. The writer cut her meat. Hazily she remembered another hungry mouth. She probed at the thought. Pemberley said there would be side effect, this thought popped into her head. She skewered a roasted ramp.

“What of the memories of the dead, brother? Those memories are lost forever. Emotional breakdowns have been reported and worse “

“It is a heavy burden to bear but that’s the past, child. I see your engagement ring. You are soon to wed soon take up your natural role caring for children. You understand focusing on future. Why live in the past?”

The reporter looked at the ring on her finger for the first time. Engagement ring? She flexed her fingers.

“Some say that the hacking was not a random act. Some speculate specific memories were stolen for blackmail to provide power for the order.”

“Fiddle faddle! Conspiracy theory nonsense,” he said as au jus dripped down his chin.

“I agree, Jamie Lee.”

He met her eyes. What he saw there made him set down his fork. Shai grasped his hand hard.

“Memories were stolen to hide crimes, annihilate testimonies, keep secrets buried. My memory was stolen and but I borrowed dearly to get the memories of my brief time with my little brother back plus the pawn shop gave me a little extra help to find the hand that stole my memories. Lucky for me unlucky for you. I remember everything Jamie Lee,” shai whispered. “ Someone has to pay up. someone has to pawn their memories to pay off my loan.”

Shai snatched back her hand leaving four bloody scratches on the monk’s hand droplets on the pawn ticket glistened.

“Empty is better than jail, brother. That’s it just press you thumb on the ticket interface and Desperation Pawn & Loan will handle the rest.”

Shai savored the garlic as Jamie’s mouth grew slack.