The Memory Market

By Carl Williams

The Memory Market
Your memories aren't yours anymore.

In 2055, memories are currency, identities are stolen, and minds are rewritten. Tyrell Morrison is haunted by fragments of crimes he never committed—at least, not that he remembers. His search for the truth leads him to a horrifying discovery: he's been manipulated by Dr. Adrian Granger, a mad genius using AI to erase identities and control humanity.

As Tyrell's sense of self unravels, he teams up with Detective John Marlowe, a grizzled skeptic of AI, and Elara Hayes, a tech-savvy investigator with a personal stake in the fight. Together, they uncover the Memory Market: an underground network trading stolen memories for profit and power.

But Granger's endgame is far more terrifying. By uploading his consciousness to AI, he plans to achieve digital immortality—and rewrite the world in his image.

With time running out, Tyrell must face a chilling question:
If your memories make you who you are, what happens when they're no longer yours?

Fast-paced, thought-provoking, and utterly unrelenting, The Memory Market is a sci-fi thriller that will leave you questioning what it means to be human.

The truth isn't just buried—it's been erased.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl Williams
• Release date: Feb 15, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230037019

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To Kapp Kim, with many thanks

Copyright © 2024 by Carl Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Table of Contents

Echoes of Violence

A Mind Unraveling

The Meeting in Shadows

Silent Sins

Blood and Code

Whispers in the Void

The Forgotten Woman

Programmed to Kill

The Darkness Beneath

Digital Puppets

Ghosts of Innocence

The Hunt Begins

Eyes of the Master

Flesh and Steel

Shadows of a Killer

Erased Lives

The Hollow Men

The Trap is Set

Splintered Reality

Stalked by Shadows

The Face of Death

Beneath the Skin

The Memory Dealer

Dead Eyes

The Price of Truth

The Final Trigger

In the Web of the Spider

Threads of Guilt

Drowning in Blood

The Huntress

The Silent Ones

The Forgotten Path

A Mind Divided

Beneath the Surface

The First Victim

The Wolves Circle

Blood and Shadows

Collapsing Minds

The Cage of Memory

The Awakening

The Lost Woman

In the Shadow of the Spider

The Hollow Eye

In the Crosshairs

Eyes of the Machine

The Reckoning

The Spider’s Lair

The Final Break

The Puppet Master Falls

Shattered Mind

The Aftermath

The Seeds of Darkness

Echoes of Control

The New Master

The Shadow of Control

Ghosts in the Machine

The Forgotten Key

Descent into Madness

The Last Manipulation

Fractured Identities

The Forgotten One’s Rise

Into the Abyss

The Final Lock

The Darkest Hour

The Price of Freedom

Ashes of the Mind

The Shadow Returns

Chapter 1: Waking Scream

A scream tore through the silence, sharp and jagged, leaving an echo that clung to the walls. Tyrell Morrison jolted upright, his breath catching in his throat. The air was stifling, thick with the stale scent of sweat and something metallic that twisted his stomach. His skin prickled, damp sheets clinging to him like a second skin, and every beat of his heart thundered in his ears.

The room was shrouded in darkness, but not total. The faint hum of the city seeped through cracks in the silence, carried on the cool whispers of wind against the window. Streetlights outside flickered faintly, their glow slicing through the blinds in pale, uneven stripes. Each shadow they cast shifted slightly, as if alive, crawling over the scattered clothes and forgotten belongings on the floor.

His eyes darted around, searching the corners, scanning the spaces between light and dark. Nothing. The scream still echoed faintly in his mind, but the apartment was silent now. Too silent. Tyrell swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight.

What was that? Was it real?

He tried to remember. It was like grasping at smoke, images half-formed, slipping through his fingers. Blood. There had been so much blood. And her face...no, not her face. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t remember it clearly. Just the feeling: cold dread, heavy and suffocating, like a weight pressing on his chest.

His hands moved instinctively to his face, trembling as they rubbed his eyes. The motion was automatic, desperate, as if he could scrub away the growing panic. But then he froze. His palms were damp, not with sweat. Something thicker. He pulled them back, and in the faint light, he saw it. Red. Dark and glistening.

Blood.

His breath hitched, shallow and rapid. He stumbled out of bed, the wooden floor icy against his bare feet. What the...? he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his ears. The air felt heavier now, each breath sharp, carrying that coppery tang that made his stomach churn.

The bathroom door swung open with a creak, revealing a room bathed in harsh fluorescent light. The brightness stung his eyes, forcing him to squint as he stumbled toward the sink. The mirror loomed above it, reflecting a stranger. His face was streaked with red, his eyes wide and bloodshot, ringed with dark, sleepless shadows. For a moment, he didn’t recognize himself. He couldn’t.

What is happening to me? The words slipped from his lips, barely a whisper.

He twisted the faucet open, thrusting his hands under the icy stream. The water splashed against the sink, turning pink, then red as it spiraled down the drain. No matter how hard he scrubbed, the blood wouldn’t come off. It clung to him, stubborn and accusing. The harder he rubbed, the more it seemed to smear, creeping up his wrists, taunting him.

The flashes came again: a blade gleaming under dim light, the sound of tearing flesh, a scream cut short. His chest tightened as the memories, or were they dreams? flooded his mind. They felt real. Too real.

Her face...why can’t I see her face? he muttered, his voice shaking as he sank to the floor. He pressed his back against the cold tiles, knees drawn to his chest. The bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead, its sound merging with the erratic rhythm of his breathing.

A knock startled him, jolting him out of his spiral. It was soft at first, hesitant. Then louder.

Tyrell? Mike’s voice called through the door. You good, man? I heard something. You okay?

Tyrell clenched his jaw, forcing himself to steady his breath. The last thing he needed was Mike barging in, prying into what he couldn’t even explain.

Yeah, he croaked, his voice raw. He cleared his throat, then tried again, louder. Just a bad dream. I’m fine.

You sure? It sounded... Mike paused. It sounded bad.

I’m fine, Tyrell snapped, harsher than he meant to. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward. Then, finally, the sound of retreating footsteps faded into the hallway.

Alone again, Tyrell let his head fall back against the wall. The bathroom felt smaller now, the light harsher. The blood, was it real? still stained his hands, even after the water had run clear. He looked down at his shirt, where he’d wiped them earlier. A red smear stood out stark against the fabric. His stomach twisted again, the nausea returning.

He couldn’t stay here. Not with these dreams, or memories, suffocating him. He needed answers, and there was only one person who might have them.

Dr. Leon Ashford.

The neurologist’s name tasted bitter in his mind. The last time Tyrell had gone to him, desperate to erase the nightmares, the procedure had made things worse. But what choice did he have now? He couldn’t live like this, teetering between reality and madness.

The streets outside were empty, the usual hum of life replaced by an eerie stillness. Shadows stretched long and thin under flickering streetlights, pooling in doorways and alleys. Tyrell pulled his jacket tight around him as he walked, his footsteps echoing off the cracked pavement.

The alley where Ashford worked was as he remembered: narrow, forgotten, and reeking of damp and decay. The rusted metal door stood at the end, a sentry guarding secrets no one else dared to touch. Tyrell hesitated, his pulse racing. Then, with a deep breath, he knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Ashford’s pale, angular face. The dim light from within cast sharp shadows over his features, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. His dark eyes swept over Tyrell, unreadable and cold.

Morrison, he said smoothly, stepping aside. Back again, I see.

Inside, the clinic was sterile and unnervingly quiet. Tyrell felt like he was being swallowed by its white walls and metallic hum. It’s happening again, he muttered, running a hand through his hair. The dreams. The blood. I don’t know what’s real anymore.

Ashford’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes gleamed faintly, like a predator catching a scent. The memories are returning.

Why? Tyrell snapped, his voice trembling. Why now? I thought you erased them.

Ashford tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The mind is a stubborn thing. Some memories cling like shadows, always there, waiting for the right light to make them visible.

Tyrell’s breath caught as Ashford reached for a small device on a nearby table. Its sleek, metallic surface glinted under the harsh light.

If you want answers, Ashford said, holding the device out, you’ll need to face what’s buried.

Tyrell hesitated, his hand hovering just above the machine. The air seemed to thicken, the walls closing in. He swallowed hard, his pulse thundering in his ears.

What if I don’t want to remember? he whispered, barely audible.

Ashford’s smile widened, cold and sharp. Then the darkness will remember for you.

Chapter 2: A Mind Unraveling

Tyrell tightened his jacket against the cold as he approached the old warehouse where the meeting was set to take place. The industrial district was a wasteland of cracked pavement and rusting machinery. Faint, flickering lights from distant streetlamps barely illuminated the way, leaving shadows that seemed to twist and reach for him as he passed.

He stopped at the address Ashford had given him. The building loomed tall, its facade pockmarked with age and neglect. The metal door bore no markings, save for a small, scrawled number at eye level: 42.

This is it, Tyrell thought, though his instincts screamed at him to turn back.

The air was eerily silent, broken only by the faint hiss of a steam vent nearby. Tyrell hesitated before knocking, his knuckles grazing the cold steel. The sound echoed in the stillness, sharp and accusing.

Seconds stretched into minutes before the door creaked open, revealing a man in his late 30s with sharp features and piercing eyes. He wore a black turtleneck and an expression that was equal parts cautious and curious.

Tyrell? the man asked, his voice low.

Tyrell nodded but didn’t speak.

The man stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. Come in. Quickly.

Tyrell hesitated a beat too long, scanning the dimly lit interior for signs of danger. Finally, he stepped inside, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. The air smelled of oil and metal, a stale, metallic tang that clung to his throat.

The man closed the door with a heavy clang and locked it with a series of bolts. He turned to Tyrell, studying him for a moment before extending a hand.

Matias Kane, he said.

Tyrell glanced at the hand but didn’t take it. Instead, he crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving Matias. How do you know Ashford?

Matias smirked faintly, dropping his hand. Not one for formalities, huh? Ashford said you might be difficult.

I’m not difficult, Tyrell replied. Just careful.

Good. Matias gestured toward a table in the center of the room, where two other figures sat. You’ll need to be.

Tyrell followed him, his eyes darting to every corner of the warehouse. The space was dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, casting long shadows that flickered with every shift of movement. In the far corner, a generator hummed faintly, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

At the table sat a woman with short, cropped hair dyed silver and a younger man with a nervous energy that made him fidget in his seat. The woman leaned back, arms crossed, her sharp eyes appraising Tyrell with a mix of suspicion and disinterest.

This is Eve, Matias said, nodding toward the woman. And that’s Felix.

Eve gave a curt nod but didn’t speak. Felix managed a weak smile, his leg bouncing under the table.

Why am I here? Tyrell asked, cutting through the tension.

Eve arched an eyebrow. Straight to the point. I like that.

Felix chuckled nervously. We’re all here for the same reason, man. Trying to figure out who’s screwing with our heads.

Tyrell’s eyes narrowed. What do you know about me?

Not much, Matias admitted, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. Ashford didn’t share details. Just that you’ve been... compromised. Like the rest of us.

Tyrell didn’t sit. His fists clenched at his sides as he scanned their faces, searching for any sign of deceit. Compromised how?

Eve sighed, leaning forward. Look, we’re not here to interrogate you, okay? But if you want to keep up this lone wolf act, you’re gonna get yourself killed. So, why don’t you sit down and listen?

Tyrell hesitated but eventually sat, the chair scraping against the concrete floor.

Better, Eve muttered.

Felix leaned forward, his eyes darting between the others. Do you remember... things? Flashes of stuff that doesn’t make sense? Like, one second you’re here, but the next, you’re somewhere else entirely?

Tyrell stiffened but didn’t answer.

That’s a yes, Eve said, reading his silence. It’s the same for all of us. Bits and pieces of a life we can’t put together. And no matter how much we try, it feels like the more we dig, the worse it gets.

Matias folded his hands on the table. Ashford told us we’re all connected, somehow. Different lives, different pasts, but the same pattern of manipulation. Someone’s pulling the strings.

And you trust him? Tyrell asked, his tone sharp.

More than I trust you right now, Eve shot back.

Felix flinched, glancing nervously at Tyrell. Easy, Eve. He just got here.

Tyrell leaned back, forcing himself to exhale slowly. I don’t trust anyone. Not Ashford, not you, and definitely not whoever’s screwing with my head. But if you’ve got answers, I’ll listen.

Matias nodded approvingly. That’s all we need for now.

Eve reached into a bag by her side and pulled out a small, black device. She slid it across the table toward Tyrell.

What’s this?

Something Ashford wanted you to have, Eve said. He said it might help with the... gaps.

Tyrell picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The device was smooth, unmarked, and cold to the touch. It vibrated faintly, like it was alive.

What does it do?

No idea, Matias admitted. Ashford said it’s keyed to your neural signature. Whatever that means.

Tyrell’s grip tightened on the device. And you’re just fine handing this to me without knowing what it does?

Eve smirked. We’re all playing a game we don’t understand, Tyrell. Might as well take a gamble.

The room fell into silence, heavy and thick. The generator’s hum filled the void, a constant reminder of the tenuous stability of their situation.

Tyrell finally stood, slipping the device into his pocket. I’ll figure it out. On my own.

Felix frowned. You’re leaving? Already?

Eve scoffed. Let him. He’ll be back when he realizes he can’t do this alone.

Tyrell ignored her, heading for the door. Matias didn’t try to stop him, though his voice followed Tyrell as he stepped into the cold night air.

Be careful, Morrison. The people behind this? They don’t leave loose ends.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Tyrell was alone once more. The city stretched out before him, its lights casting eerie reflections in the puddles at his feet. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the device in his pocket.

The mistrust burned in his chest, sharper than ever. Allies or not, everyone had their own agenda. And Tyrell wasn’t about to become someone else’s pawn.

Chapter 3: The Meeting in Shadows

The streets felt narrower tonight, the buildings leaning in as if to listen to Tyrell Morrison’s thoughts. Each step he took seemed to echo louder than it should, reverberating against brick walls stained with graffiti and grime. His breath fogged in the chilled air, but it wasn’t the cold that sent shivers down his spine. It was the silence, or rather, what lay beneath it.

The city was alive, always. Yet now, it felt... off. Like something was watching him, lurking just out of sight. Tyrell’s gaze darted to the shadows, to the flicker of movement that might have been a stray cat or something far worse. His pulse quickened, a rhythm that matched the staccato beat of his boots on the cracked pavement.

His mind wouldn’t quiet.

Why did Ashford seem so eager? Tyrell wondered, recalling the doctor’s unrelenting focus during their last session. He says he’s helping me, but what if he’s part of it? What if he’s always been part of it?

The thought struck like a thunderclap, and Tyrell paused mid-step. A streetlamp buzzed above him, its light faltering. For a moment, his shadow stretched long and distorted before vanishing into darkness.

Tyrell rubbed his temples, trying to steady his breathing. He had to keep moving, but the paranoia crept in, relentless. It wasn’t just Ashford. It was everyone, every glance on the street felt like surveillance, every casual interaction a potential trap.

They’re all in on it, his mind whispered. They have to be.

The air around him grew heavier as he reached a narrow alley that cut between two dilapidated buildings. The walls pressed close, their jagged bricks glowing faintly in the sickly light from a distant neon sign. Garbage bins overflowed, the stench of rot clawing at his senses. Somewhere nearby, a pipe dripped steadily, the sound maddening in the stillness.

It felt like the city itself was conspiring against him, folding in on him, suffocating him.

Tyrell’s memories, or the lack of them, were the worst part. His mind was a house of mirrors, distorted reflections stretching endlessly. Flashes of unfamiliar faces haunted him, moments that felt real but couldn’t be trusted.

What if the memories I do have aren’t even mine?

The question made him freeze. A lump formed in his throat, cold and hard, as he gripped the edge of a crumbling brick wall for support. His head ached, the remnants of Ashford’s machine still clawing at his brain.

He thought of the woman, the one who kept appearing in his fragmented visions. Her face was etched into his mind, a permanent scar in the fog. Yet no matter how vividly he remembered her, she remained a mystery. Was she real? A figment? Or worse, a planted image meant to lead him astray?

Damn it, Tyrell muttered, his voice hoarse in the empty alley. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

As he emerged from the claustrophobic passageway, the city opened up into a plaza, but the unease didn’t fade. A large digital billboard flickered overhead, displaying an advertisement for some new pharmaceutical breakthrough. The slogan, Control Your Mind, Control Your Future, scrawled across the screen in bold letters, made his stomach churn.

Control. That word. It echoed in his head, amplifying the unease that had been growing since his session with Ashford.

Who’s pulling the strings? Tyrell’s mind raced. Ashford? Someone above him? Or is he just another pawn?

A sudden noise behind him made Tyrell whirl around, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife hidden beneath his jacket. But there was no one there. Just the alley he’d walked through moments before, now swallowed by shadows.

His paranoia tightened its grip.

Keep moving, he told himself. Don’t stop.

The tension in his chest didn’t ease as he made his way toward his apartment, a small, windowless box tucked into one of the city’s crumbling high-rises. By the time he reached the door, his hands trembled, his nerves frayed to the breaking point. He fumbled with his key, half-expecting someone to attack him before the lock clicked open.

Inside, the air was stale, the single overhead light casting a dim yellow glow. Tyrell bolted the door and leaned against it, his breathing shallow. The walls seemed to close in around him, the bare space a prison rather than a sanctuary.

He dropped onto the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The room was quiet, but his mind was anything but.

What if they’re tracking me? Watching me right now?

The thought drove him to his feet. He swept the room, checking every corner, every crack, for hidden cameras or listening devices. His paranoia burned brighter with each moment, every shadow becoming an enemy.

Then, as he pulled the small drawer from his nightstand, something caught his eye. A photograph, one he didn’t recognize. It was of him, smiling, standing beside the woman from his dreams.

His blood ran cold.

The memory this image should have sparked didn’t come. It was a blank, an absence that screamed louder than any truth. How did this photo get here?

Tyrell flipped it over, his hands shaking. On the back was a single line scrawled in ink, the handwriting unfamiliar.

Find her before they do.

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Tyrell sank onto the bed, the photo clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever they were, they weren’t just in his head. They were real, and they were closer than he’d ever imagined.

For the first time in days, the paranoia wasn’t just a voice in his mind. It was a warning, a truth buried in the shadows.

And Tyrell knew he had no choice but to uncover it.

Chapter 4: Silent Sins

The air was thick and suffocating, clinging to Tyrell’s skin like a second layer. He moved cautiously through the narrow corridor, the dim light overhead flickering erratically. Each step echoed against the cold metal walls, creating the illusion that he wasn’t alone, a feeling that made his stomach twist.

He hadn’t expected to find the Silent Ones so soon.

They stood clustered in the corner of the room, their stillness more unnerving than any movement could have been. Their faces, pale and featureless, seemed to shimmer faintly in the poor light, as if they were caught halfway between the physical world and something far darker.

Tyrell froze, his breath hitching.

The Silent Ones didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Their heads tilted ever so slightly, like marionettes waiting for the pull of invisible strings. What unsettled him most was the way they reflected nothing, not the dull glow of the room, not the broken shards of a mirror strewn across the floor. They absorbed light, sound, and any trace of life, leaving behind an oppressive void.

He felt his pulse hammering in his ears. They’re not real. They can’t be real.

But they were.

Tyrell edged closer, unable to tear his eyes away. His own reflection caught his attention in one of the broken mirrors, fractured into pieces that refused to align. It distorted his face, making his expression look hollowed and strange. For a moment, he thought the reflection moved independently, its lips curling into a silent scream.

He stumbled back, his heel crunching on broken glass.

One of the Silent Ones turned its head toward him. The movement was unnatural, sharp and mechanical. It sent a shiver down Tyrell’s spine.

The figure stepped forward, its feet dragging as if it had forgotten how to walk. The lifelessness in its eyes, or rather, the void where eyes should have been, was suffocating. And yet, Tyrell couldn’t look away.

He wanted to run, to escape the oppressive cold radiating from their presence. But something rooted him to the spot. A grim curiosity, perhaps, or the gnawing fear that running would provoke them.

The Silent One stopped inches from Tyrell. He could feel the cold emanating from its body, a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones.

Who... are you? Tyrell asked, his voice trembling.

The Silent One tilted its head, the motion jerky and wrong. Its mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, a faint, distorted sound filled the room, like a recording played backward on a loop.

Tyrell’s horror deepened as he noticed the faint remnants of human features beneath the creature’s pale exterior, a nose flattened into nothingness, lips that had been sealed over, the faint imprint of what might have once been eyes.

They weren’t just lifeless. They were stolen.

Suddenly, a hand reached out, cold, claw-like fingers brushing against his arm. Tyrell recoiled, the touch burning in its iciness. The Silent One didn’t react, but its presence grew heavier, oppressive.

I’m not like you, Tyrell whispered, as if trying to convince himself.

And yet, the longer he stared at them, the harder it became to believe. Their void-like existence seemed to sap the room of color, draining even his own sense of self.

His fingers brushed against his chest, where the faint glow of the memory implant pulsed beneath his skin.

Is that what’s at stake? he wondered.

The Silent Ones were a warning, a glimpse of what he could become if he lost himself, if he let his identity slip away into the abyss.

The room felt colder, darker. Tyrell forced himself to turn away, but his reflection in the cracked mirror caught his attention again. This time, it wasn’t distorted, it was missing.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

They’re taking everything, he muttered.

Tyrell took a step back, then another, his eyes darting between the Silent Ones. None of them moved to stop him. They didn’t need to. Their very presence was enough to anchor him in fear.

A faint light caught his attention, a door, half-open at the far end of the room. It beckoned to him, a fragile hope in the midst of suffocating despair.

Tyrell ran.

The Silent Ones didn’t follow, but their emptiness clung to him, a reminder of what he stood to lose.

In the hallway beyond, Tyrell collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. He pressed his hand to his chest again, feeling the reassuring thrum of his implant.

His mind raced with fragmented thoughts. He couldn’t let them win. He couldn’t lose himself, not to them, not to the void.

In