“The question is not if, but how much, you are willing to pay to keep your memory off the market.”

 

”You sleazy con!” screamed Tyron Grit.

 

Tyron didn’t need the full wall display of his college memory to relive it in colorful detail. The guilt of that moment always felt like yesterday.

 

”Would you like to set the starting price?” asked the reverberating voice in Tyron's ear pods.

 

“You want me to put an actual price on a memory? What is this?!”

 

”The start,” said the Con.

 

“Of what? A new level of blackmail?”

 

”No. The start of our notoriety."

 

Tyron threw his highball glass at the wall. Remnants of bourbon streamed against the colors of his younger self in a club. Even hazy and drunk at the time, the resolution of that moment was clear as crystal.

 

He'd asked for a dance. She'd said no. Then he'd continued to go after her through the crowd.

 

”You sicko! I’m not on your team, and I’m no thief. The research facility in college said that the memories couldn't get out!”

 

“Who do you think sold the data after their ‘research’ was over?”

 

Tyron screamed.

 

“You’re going to ruin my career! Everything I’ve ever worked for. I’m a movie away from the A-list and YOU—“

 

”I suggest you start with a high number, or one that you could bid yourself. Embarrassing memories, like your failed pursuit of a clubgoer, go for quite a bit on the Memory Market. Let’s start with say...“

 

”I’m not doing this!”

 

”Well, of course you are. Either way, nothing will change after today.”

 

Between panicked breaths and clawing at the carpet, Tyron grimaced from peeking at the wall. The memory fast-forwarded to him attempting to grope an unwilling woman. He went after her. Then they went outside.

 

Tyron remembered being punched in the face, but seeing it displayed in full color on the screen, he'd gotten his hands on her before she hit him. He didn’t remember doing that.

 

“I’m not playing this game. You’re a criminal,” said Tyron.

 

”So are you. We all are. And after today, your memory is expected to be the largest memory purchase in the market's history. Who wouldn’t want damning information, vividly damning, from the squeaky-clean Tyron Grit? You’ll be famous. Finally.”

 

”I never wanted to be famous for being a drunken college student and trying to hit on a girl.”

 

”No, you’re going to be famous for attempted sexual assault. Oh, the lawyers are going to have a field day with extracting more of this memory. Sure, it was over thirty years ago, but who cares about when it happened? Tell me, was her dress really that low cut?”

 

“Shut up!”

 

”So I take it you’re down for trying to outbid everyone on the market. Want to start at—“

 

Tyron grabbed at his hair, walked in circles in his apartment, and felt a panic attack overwhelm him.

 

“Please! Please don’t do this. I’ll pay as much as it takes to ensure no one else bids on it. Please! Don’t ruin my career before it starts!”

 

The Con listed a number, and Tyron sobbed.

 

“You know that I can’t pay that!”

 

”Exactly. Because I want this to be the way the memory market gets started. I want to profit from it enough before it gets diluted with all of the scum like you.”

 

”You’re the scum!”

 

”No. I’m just the intended consequence of what we share online. You helped open the door by sharing your memories with these companies. And now, time to reap what they’ve sown.”

 

The torture of Tyron's memory finally disappeared from the wall, only to reveal the green tiles and white letters of the Memory Market. Tyron’s heart almost stopped when he saw:

 

Upload Complete —Tyron Grit.

 

The catastrophically bankrupting number appeared next to his stolen memory.

 

Tyron bid on his own damning drunken memory.

 

And so did everyone else on the Memory Market.