Dick Reckard – The Dream I Can’t Remember
In a world where memory is a commodity, Dick Reckard tries to buy back what he has lost. But the truth he will uncover in the servers of Mnemosyne Corp will change everything — not only who he is, but what he is.
A short story by Paolo Rocchigiani
He calls it “the dream”, but he doesn’t really know what he dreams of.
Every night he wakes up with his heart racing, his face wet with tears… yet the moment he opens his eyes, the memory dissolves.
One detail always remains: the scent of rain, and the feeling of a voice calling his name.
He can’t let it go.
He doesn’t live anymore. He’s obsessed with that fragment that keeps slipping away.
Another dawn, another morning where Dick sits motionless in front of a steaming cup.
Coffee — bitter, black, like his mood.
It’s getting worse; he feels broken, incomplete.
He decides he needs something to lift him up, something to occupy his mind, to drive away that obsession.
Maybe then he’ll find himself again.
That’s what he needs — a memory.
In his world, memories are bought and sold like merchandise.
Tiny fragments of childhood, emotions stolen from strangers, happy moments on sale.
He buys them compulsively — children’s laughter, embraces, summer storms.
But nothing soothes the obsession.
Every memory he collects is just a shadow of something someone else has lost.
Of course, quality memories don’t come cheap, but there are ways to bypass official channels.
He sits at the terminal — today’s shopping will be done in the deep web, his favorite hunting ground.
He needs something joyful, something to warm his soul.
The first connection attempt fails; an unexpectedly strong firewall blocks him.
He decides to use his best program: Dungeon Crawler — an algorithm that digs through the underworld of the net, relentless and precise.
Finally, it hits the mark. He’s in.
Let’s see… maybe a memory of a match won after being down until the very last second.
Not bad — joy, teamwork, an injection of positive energy.
It’s perfect for him. But before proceeding with the acquisition, some strange data flashes across the screen, catching his eye.
He tries to investigate. It’s not easy — Dungeon Crawler is a refined, high-class executable.
Among dozens of lines of code, his neural ID appears.
Impossible. Those alphanumeric combinations are supposed to be untraceable.
Another clue surfaces with disconcerting clarity: a code linked to his ID.
It looks like a memory that was sold — three years ago.
Dick tries to access it, but it’s classified as “Affective Memory, Maximum Level.”
He stands up, stretches, and thinks.
Could it really be a memory he sold himself?
He can’t remember ever selling any of his memories.
The emptiness around him feels like it’s closing in.
Taking a deep breath, he accepts the challenge. He has to know what he gave up.
There it is — the protections aren’t insurmountable.
The file hides an executable video.
Hesitant, he runs it.
The memory is clear, undeniable: it’s of the woman he loved.
Had he loved her?
He had sold that memory — and with it, the terrible secret: the pain of her death.
Dick’s heart nearly stops. The world seems to collapse around the man staring blankly at his terminal.
He watches it again and again, and each time it feels like the first.
But… something’s off.
The scene is too perfect, too sharp — not like real dreams or memories.
The woman’s voice repeats the same words, in the same rhythm.
Every time, the file ends with her whispering:
“…darling, six six six…”
Like a programmed loop, ready to play forever.
Damn it, what’s happening?
Dick realizes he has hacked into one of Mnemosyne Corp’s servers — the ones dedicated to Synthetic Affective Memory, emotions engineered to simulate human bonds.
A government corporation.
What do they have to do with his ID? Why is he in their system?
Something doesn’t add up.
That memory has unique properties.
Wait — there’s a folder: Dick Reckard n°101/354A.
He’s inside a dangerous system.
He loads a protection package.
Access denied.
He knows he doesn’t have much time left.
He tries again.
Access denied… no, no…
A scent of rain. A voice calling his name.
Then he remembers the woman’s words: darling, six six six…
He types caro666.
Access granted.
He’s in.
His fingers race over the keyboard.
The “sold memory” isn’t what it seems.
It’s a data packet, a test designed to measure the emotional responses of a new generation of androids.
But how could he have it?
More folders burst open.
The packet is incompatible with human synaptic levels — it’s part of an experimental cortical integration method.
What does that mean?
His ID is labeled as Experimental Artificial Life Form.
A soft beep breaks his concentration.
The terminal’s been traced. He’s exposed.
“Not now, not now… damn it!”
“Experimental artificial life form? So I’m an android… I never had a wife, or a real life. I’m just a mosaic of other people’s memories — and new ones invented just for me.”
He tries to dig deeper into his mind, but the memories blur together.
Which are real? Which are bought?
Who is he?
From Mnemosyne Corp, a retrieval squad is already on its way.
“I live a dream. I am a dream. But I want to live.”
The only thought that remains is that he must flee — far, far away.
Desperation threatens to take over, but he can’t give in.
He grabs the neural upload device, places it on his temples, and activates it.
No hesitation. No turning back.
He decides to erase everything and keep only one memory — the memory of escape.
A single memory, built entirely by himself.
A memory where he’s hunted by evil beings who want to stop him from living.
It’s too late. They’re coming.
He has to run.
And all that remains is the will to live.
He will no longer dream of living — but he will do everything to live without dreams.