The neon lights of Neo-Babylon streaked red and blue across Silas's vision as he navigated the hovercar through congested skies. The metropolis sprawled beneath him, towers of steel and glass piercing the smog-choked twilight. His grip tightened on the steering column, knuckles blanching, as Mira’s residence loomed ahead—a monolith of mirrored surfaces reflecting the city's decay.
Guards in reinforced armor stood sentinel at the entrance. Their expressions held a mix of deference and wariness as they recognized him. Silas brushed past them, his stride purposeful.
The automated doors slid open to reveal an atrium bathed in soft, artificial light. The air was sterile, too clean, as if scrubbed of memory itself. Mira stood by the panoramic window, her silhouette stark against the urban landscape. She turned as he entered, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of tension.
"Silas," she greeted, voice cool and measured. "Unexpected."
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "The Forgotten War, Mira. I know it wasn't just a storm."
Her gaze held steady, unblinking. "You’re treading on dangerous ground."
"I've seen the records," he pressed, stepping closer. "Elara was there. She was a medic."
A shadow crossed her face, brief but unmistakable. Silas saw it—a chink in her armor.
"You’ve been digging," she said, turning back to the window. Her reflection stared at him, accusatory. "Not wise."
"Why lie about it?" His voice echoed in the vast room. "Why cover it up?"
Mira sighed, a sound heavy with patience and exasperation. "Order. The war was ugly. Remembering it would only bring pain."
"Pain is part of life," he retorted. "You can't just erase it."
She whirled to face him, eyes flashing. "Can’t I? Look at you—righteous indignation. You do the same thing every day. You re-skin memories for a living."
Silas flinched. The words stung, echoing his own internal struggle.
"You’re different," he insisted. "You manipulated entire populations. Turned a war into weather."
"That’s what makes me effective," she snapped. "You think I enjoyed it? But someone had to do it. For the greater good."
Silas scoffed. "Whose greater good?"
Mira stepped closer, voice low and intense. "Yours. Mine. Everyone's. The city couldn’t handle the truth. It would have torn us apart."
He shook his head, disbelief mingling with desperation. "And Elara? What about her?"
Her expression hardened. "Elara made her choices. She was there because she wanted to be."
Silas felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "You were there too," he whispered.
Mira didn’t respond immediately. When she did, her words were measured. "Yes. And I did what needed to be done."
The room tilted slightly as Silas’s mind raced. The implications of her admission washed over him like a cold wave.
"You re-skinned her," he breathed. "You took her memories."
Her gaze met his, unflinching. "She asked for it. She wanted to forget."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "And you accommodated her? Just like that?"
Mira's voice softened but held an edge. "It wasn’t just about her. Stability. Keeping the city from chaos."
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. The city sprawled before him, indifferent to their family drama.
"I need the truth," he said finally, voice steady despite the turmoil within. "All of it."
Mira watched him for a long moment, expression inscrutable. Then she nodded slowly. "Very well. But you won’t like what you find."
She moved to a nearby console, fingers dancing over the holographic interface. A file materialized in the air between them, pulsing with data.
"I was a Memory Architect during the war," she said, voice distant. "I helped design the re-skinning protocols."
Silas stared at the file, heart pounding. The implications were staggering.
"But Elara..." he started, then faltered. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question burning in his mind.
Mira’s eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw something raw and unguarded. "Elara was... complicated," she said softly. “She fought it. She didn't want her memories erased.”
A surge of anger and grief welled up inside him. “And you did it anyway."
"Silas—” Mira began, but he cut her off.
"I need to see the original files,” he insisted. “All of them. The un-skinned truth."
Mira regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "I can give you access. But it won’t be easy. They’re heavily guarded."
Silas felt a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil. This was a start, a way forward.
"But know this," Mira added, her voice cold and final. “Once you see them, there’s no going back. You’ll be an enemy of the state.”
He met her gaze steadily. "I already am."
Mira gave a small, bitter smile. “Then welcome to the resistance, little brother.”