Fragments

2

The city wakes up slowly, bathed in the pale morning light that filters through the transparent domes covering each sector that work to keep our air clean. My mornings are no different than usual—calm, orderly, designed to guide me from task to task without distraction. After my breakfast with Elias and the brief, silent ride to work, I step into the Ministry of Recollection building, its stark white façade gleaming under the regulated sunlight.

Today, I'm assigned to two external operations, each on opposite ends of the social spectrum. It's rare for someone to be assigned multiple in-person procedures in a single day, even rarer for them to choose me to do them as my job typically involves monitoring data from the confines of my office. But the Ministry has deemed these sessions necessary, so I follow the directive without question. I tell myself it's just another part of the routine, but I wonder if more fragments are slipping through the cracks...I wonder if I'm not alone in my struggle to keep them at bay. Two people in one day is highly irregular.

A car arrives to take me to Sector 3, one of the wealthier districts. The buildings here stand taller, and more ornate than those in other parts of the city. The residence I approach is guarded by gates showcasing intricate designs and surrounded by well-manicured gardens—gardens filled with flowers in perfectly uniform rows, their colors unnaturally vibrant. I pause, staring at the flowers as I walk toward the door. They're beautiful, but something is unsettling about their perfection, almost as if they've been painted rather than planted. Their aroma is faint, if there at all.

The woman who greets me at the door is graceful, her every movement a dance of elegance. She's been scheduled for a Memory Enhancement a process designed to fill gaps with pleasant, Ministry-approved recollections. Her smile is poised as she leads me into a sitting room adorned with plush furniture, a faint manufactured rosy scent perfuming the air.

"You must be Lena," she says warmly. "I've been looking forward to this for such a long time."

I nod and smile, the gesture coming automatically. "I'm so glad we're able to help bring you comfort," I say, the words rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. I set up my equipment, a sleek device that will interface directly with her memory centers. As I do, she continues talking, her voice soft and melodic.

"I've been feeling...disconnected lately," she confesses as she settles into the chair. "Like some of my memories have faded, especially those from my childhood. It's odd, isn't it? To lose parts of yourself like that?"

"It's a natural process," I assure her, attaching the electrodes to her temples. "We're here to help reinforce those memories with positive experiences." As I speak, my voice is not my own. I have a Ministry-approved script to follow when in the field. I'd like to warn her that it's not 100% certain that the memories will stick or that some people resent the fake memories. I'm not permitted to do so, though. That would break protocol.

"I asked for this to be completed weeks ago but the Ministry must've had a backlog. I'm glad it's finally my turn," She adds before closing her eyes to allow me to begin the procedure. The machine hums softly, and I guide her into a state of relaxation until she's nearly asleep. I feed her mind with the fabricated memories as she requested: vivid summers in the countryside, warm family gatherings, laughter echoing through sun-drenched rooms. I watch her expression soften as the synthetic memories take root, her lips curving into a comforted smile.

It's routine. I've done this countless times, embedding these idealized moments into people's minds to keep them content. As the process finishes, she opens her eyes, the look of satisfaction clear.

"Thank you, dear" she murmurs. "I feel so much better now."

I nod, packing up my equipment while she remains seated, basking in the glow of memories that were never truly hers. The implementation has gone perfectly, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth for a reason I can't quite place. I push the feeling aside, leaving the house and returning to the car. There is no place for bitterness in this life, especially not with the task that still awaits me.