This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Worldbuilding Prompt #1059 - Memory Removal
Enjoy !
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio
"You had one job, son, and you fluffed it. Now the Boss wants payback."
Tarrin didn't really hear what the bald-headed man was saying. He was too busy screaming and flailing as the two goons forced him into the surgical chair, pinning each limb in turn as they pulled the straps viciously tight.
"Let me go ! It was just a small mistake ! Give me another chance !"
Mik, the younger of the two men laughed, a mocking bark. "Boss ain't too long on second chances. You gave the zwil to the wrong person. Not just any wrong person, oh no. Not a mate of your mark. Nope, you had to give it to one of the Nickers."
Nickers... slang for the Public Control Department officers. Their dumb uniformed riot police were a constant presence here in the slums of Darhoo, but less obvious were the host of undercover operatives they used to monitor activity on the streets. And Tarrin had mistaken one of them for the contact he was supposed to pass the package to.
A fourth man entered the filthy impromptu surgery. Doctor Phibrel, the Boss' personal surgeon. Dressed in a white coat which despite being freshly laundered somehow still contained faint outlines of bloodstains.
"Ah, young Mr Tarrin. Mr Heart, your superior, has asked me to recover the cost of your little error."
The doctor spoke in a sardonic drawl. Somehow, he was far more terrifying than the two heavies who had finished strapping him into the chair.
The goons moved back to give the doctor space to work. Deftly he swung the instrument head around, then flicked a switch to activate it. A cap all made of shiny filaments moved over the top of his head.
Tarrin carried on screaming as he felt a long, thin, cold needle squelch past his eyeball. It pushed dep into his brain; there were no nerves there, so he felt no pain, but just the knowledge that it was there and what it was about to do was enough to keep his screams going.
Doctor Phibrel did nothing to stifle his fear, he actually seemed to be gaining some kind of pleasure from the screams.
"Let's see what we have here," he murmured to himself as he moved a screen into position and started scanning it.
"Oh good, good. Very good. That's you at twelve; your first hit. I'm glad you kept your eyes open as you sprayed the needle gun around the bar. So many people as collateral damage ! We'll definitely take that, it should be worth a good thousand Sunbursts. And your first girlfriend. She was a sweet little thing. Let's see if we can pick up your emotions when you were forced to watch her maiming for refusing to work in Mr Heart's brothel."
The doctor went on and on like that, and with each one, a memory vanished from Tarrin's brain.
An hour later, he was in the chair, silent and quivering. The doctor smiled. "There, I think that's everything. Bored rich housewives will pay quite a lot to relive your experiences in personalised 3V-Immersion. After all, we have to get the source material from somewhere, and real experiences are so much more convincing."
Then he waved to the two enforcers. "The brain is emptied of everything useful. You can drop this meat off at the protein recyclers."