Temporal dislocation – a purposeful destabilisation of the person’s localspace, so as to push them out through time. Ruebeau, more of a nameless thing than a person now, was going to be lost by this randomising time machine they had built. They had given him as much Rejuve as he wanted, so he could keep going on as long as he wanted.
They had isolated the property in him that made the LEthe contagious, and they were going to use that as a delivery system, pushed out through the four remaining members of Mnemosyne.
They were using a combination of mass delivery via crop dusting planes, but also they had hooked into and were intent on reprogramming via the morphic resonance of the entire human race, of which those in Mnemosyne were just an amplified version. Everyone would remember everything.
Colin smiled as he sat there with these people – all this time chasing Ruebeau to restore his memory, to unlock the key to the disease, and here they were. Billions of skullphones ringing, all the ringkeys hacked: everyone’s ability to refuse this call circumvented. The biological spiralling out, and the programming language of these gene-hack geniuses going into effect.
The degraded remnants of The Children Of The Tableau awoke wondering why they stared at the pictures of a man who suddenly meant nothing to them as their real memories reasserted themselves.
A few remaining Curse Nurses observing what was happening felt a different protocol asserting itself from under their framework of drug administering oblivion.
The memory spheres sang memories back into their owners. The Nostalgia Dumps, The Diary Bunkers, The Calendar Centres – their fruits were distributed amongst the populace.
Old Rebuild men smiled as they fixed their thousand yard stares past the goal they had been fighting for all this time.
The Forget Me Not Bar and The Palace Of Lies bar were full of merriment, and not the usual stilted sadness. The War On Amnesia was won. Lethe was gone – the last batches hunted down and destroyed.
The Engineer went back to tinkering with things other than society.
Jonas was happy with the outcome of it all, after a fashion.
The Prophet nodded knowingly, seeing what others could not, unfolding where others could not see.
Runcible’s body burned in the ditch alongside all the others in his group – a cancer burned out. Spitz had seen what was happening elsewhere, and he knew these men would use the huge societal upheaval to happily disappear
Erin had plans for Colin – they were soon to be considered civilians; retired after so long in service.
The River Of Lethe broke free of their programming. Project Remind also retired themselves – they had spent too long on active duty.
Somewhen a man awoke, a migraine splitting his skull in half, he had thoughts about being defeated, but then he realised that he was awake and that he was alive, and that whatever had been done to him could be undone. Once more Spay set off on a mission to become … to find himself.
Rubeau adjusted his fedora. For months they had been asking what his name was, and he kept saying I am blank. At some point it just became simpler to call him that: Blank. Despite his poor memory in regards to himself, he had an amazing faculty for solving problems. Blank detective agency opened it’s doors not long afterwards.
Kassovich knocked back the shot of vodka. He looked at the piece of paper that had been pushed across the table to him.
‘What’s this, Barlow?’
‘There have been strange reports coming from some of the Eastern European countries on our watchlist … rumours of a group called The Children Of The Tabula Rasa, a man called Arson, or Our Son. Others call him Spay, and he is offering up oblivion to his followers.’
‘And this is interesting to us why?’
‘Because the rumours suggest he really has found a way to obliterate memory, and the tech seems far in advance of our own.’
‘Let’s track him down then.’
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