It took Luo Shu a long time to steady his breathing as he gazed at Marion Wheeler's closed eyes.
They had only just confirmed their alliance, and now she was gone.
On his path to uncovering the truth, Luo Shu would once again walk alone.
Alpha "Bandit" was an ally, but he was powerless against anti-memes—no replacement for Marion Wheeler.
Still, Marion's dying words echoed in his mind: she had completed her part. The data was stored in S041-B30-000.
So why wait?
Yet when he left Anomalous Item-3211's unit, Luo Shu realized he had no idea where to go.
He knew S041-B30-000 lay 200 meters underground in Site-41's Sublevel-30—but where was the elevator?
Marion had left too abruptly to tell him.
Same old routine, then. He'd need to hack Site-41's mainframe first.
Director, if your spirit lingers, don't blame me. I have no choice.
Before leaving, Luo Shu paused, staring at Marion's body slumped against the wall. A dilemma.
Morally, he ought to arrange her burial.
But time was critical, and practicality won out.
Carry a corpse through the facility? Too macabre.
Hand her over to the Anti-Memetics staff? They'd assume he killed her.
Unlike the oblivious Ranger Tom, Site-41 personnel had surely been briefed on Luo Shu's "crimes." Delivering Marion's body would look like surrender—or provocation.
He whispered an apology to her remains. "I'll return to arrange things after my mission."
The "Reminiscence" Mainframe
Following habit, Luo Shu infiltrated Site-41's server room, assimilating its supercomputer, "Reminiscence," into his network.
The name struck him instantly—Marion must have named it.
Reminiscence. To chase lost memories.
She'd always known something was missing. Always searching.
Now she'd found those memories. Now she rested.
A realization dawned: grief was misplaced. Marion would've wanted this.
Too young to understand life's meaning, he chided himself.
Longevity meant nothing compared to depth.
Some lived a century leaving no mark. Forgotten within years.
Others burned briefly but so brightly their legacy outlasted lifetimes.
Marion Wheeler, though forgotten in life, would become legend in death.
The thought lightened his steps as he headed for the B30 elevator—hidden in the Site Director's office.
Marion's office.
A Time Capsule
The office was stark: a desk, a bookshelf, no guest chairs. No modern touches save one—a surveillance camera.
The décor screamed 1930s. Had she preserved it deliberately?
Luo Shu sat at her desk and addressed the camera:
"'Reminiscence,' take me down."
Static crackled from a wall speaker. "At once, my Lord."
The room shuddered. No hidden doors opened—but the window view began rising.
The office itself was the elevator.
Only with Marion's authority, seated here, could one access the heart of the Anti-Memetics Division.
The descent was agonizing. Rusted gears screeched; the floor trembled. A relic clinging to function for a century.
No renovations. No upgrades. Just occasional wallpaper replacements to maintain the illusion.
Five nauseating minutes later, the office lurched to a stop at Sublevel-30.
Before him: a vault labeled "ROOM 000."
S041-B30-000.
The Final Gift
An antiquated airlock sealed the door, its pipes snaking through bedrock to Site-41 above.
The source of the amnesia effect.
Luo Shu's W-class mnestic resistance (and lingering drug efficacy) let him perceive what most couldn't: the device pulsed with anti-memetic energy, willing itself unseen.
His skeleton key ability bypassed security. Inside—
A single desk.
A handwritten notebook.
Yellowed pages whispered of 82 years hunting Anomalous Item-3125.
Marion Wheeler's final gift.