The soft glow of morning filtered through the thin blinds, streaking the laboratory room with lines of gold and dust. It was quiet except for the gentle hum of the Memory Reader, nestled like a sleeping beast in the center of the room. Its metal shell reflected the sunlight in glints of silver and cobalt.
Jake stood at the corner, arms crossed, his silhouette tall and brooding in the half-light. His eyes were locked on the device, his mind tangled with possibilities. The Memory Reader was more than a machine—it was a bridge to the impossible.
Dr. Garfield adjusted a few controls on the console, his white coat flaring behind him like a wizard's robe, the fabric catching the morning light.
"So," Jake began, his voice casual but eyes razor-sharp, "what kind of people do you think would be interested in the first version?"
Dr. Garfield didn't look up. His hands moved with surgical precision. "Well, Jake, it's not just a gizmo to toy with. This thing has potential uses far beyond simple recollection. Coma patients—this could wake them. Language learning, skill transference... imagine downloading French into your head in four hours. Not to mention motor skills. A novice could become a professional pianist overnight."
Jake let out a low whistle. "That's insane. Revolutionary even. So why didn't you call Mr. Sullivan for the auction?"
A chuckle came from the other side of the room. Mr. Sullivan, seated comfortably in a high-backed leather chair near the window, swirled a cup of coffee in one hand. "Oh, I know it's a goldmine, Jake. Could go for ten billion easy. But it's not my field. Medical investors will get it. They know how to wield it. I'd just sit on it like a dragon on gold."
Jake nodded thoughtfully. "True. But people would pay insane money to learn languages instantly. And the coma patients... there's hope there."
Dr. Garfield adjusted his glasses and turned slightly toward Sullivan. "You mentioned something yesterday. A theory?"
Sullivan leaned forward, his fingers steepled like a chess master about to reveal a move. "Right. So, neuroscientists say we use one hundred percent of our brain, but not all at once. What if this Memory Reader could help us access all of it simultaneously? Like unlocking the full house—every room, every hallway, every attic. Imagine the capacity."
Jake frowned. "That sounds like one of those sci-fi movies where the hero dies at the end."
"They went too fast," Sullivan countered. "What if it was gradual? Step by step."
Jake shook his head. "The brain's delicate. Even overthinking messes with it. This machine is already magic. Anything beyond that—a full-brain upgrade—sounds like asking to play God."
Dr. Garfield nodded gravely. "Jake has a point. The brain isn't a hard drive. It's a living organ. The current tech isn't capable of synchronizing every region without catastrophic misfires—seizures, hallucinations, or complete neural collapse. That's not just theory. It's recorded. In rats."
Jake winced. "Rats, huh. That'll put a spin on my morning coffee."
Garfield chuckled. "So, Jake. What idea did you come up with overnight?"
Jake shrugged. "Still cooking. It's in the oven, but not ready to serve."
A knock came at the door. A lab assistant poked his head in, eyes slightly wide. "Dr. Garfield, urgent call. Line Two."
Garfield's expression shifted. "I'll be back soon." He turned to the others. "We're heading into the city today. I want to show you something."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "What about the machine's appraisal?"
"It's done," Garfield replied, already heading to the phone. "Besides, maybe a little light from the city will trigger that oven of yours."
Sullivan rose from his chair with a smirk. "Let's take the ride."
---
They slid into the back of a sleek black Mercedes, the kind that made heads turn without screaming for attention. The driver, a stoic man in his fifties with gloved hands and sharp eyes, maneuvered through the tight, efficient lanes of Berlin.
The city stretched out before them—a dance of old and new. Steel and glass towers rose beside cobbled alleys, and spires of cathedrals peeked over rooftop gardens. They passed Unter den Linden, the historic boulevard awash in sunlight. Cyclists glided past with practiced ease. Cafés overflowed with chatter and the clink of porcelain cups. Graffiti splashed across underpasses like urban murals telling silent stories.
Jake leaned his head against the cool glass, eyes flicking between streets and sky. "There's something about Berlin," he murmured. "Feels... unresolved. Like it's still building its soul."
Sullivan nodded. "History etched into every wall. It remembers everything."
Their car came to a smooth stop in front of a grand stone building. The facade was dignified, with tall Ionic columns and weathered copper statues perched along the rooftop like forgotten sentinels.
Jake stepped out and scanned the structure. "Looks like a palace."
Dr. Garfield beamed. "Good eye. It once housed the Lord of a small, majestic city. Now? It serves a... different kind of power. Underground forces."
Jake tilted his head. "Underground like secret society? Or like sewer gang?"
Garfield's grin was mischievous. "You'll see."
---
Inside, they were greeted by a middle-aged man in a plain grey shirt with a close-trimmed beard and a calm demeanor. He gave them a respectful nod and led them past a sitting room lined with bookshelves and leather armchairs. At the back was a small, unassuming bedroom.
Garfield walked over to the far wall and opened a narrow door hidden behind a tapestry of St. Michael slaying the dragon.
Jake blinked. "A secret passage? Seriously?"
Garfield gestured them in with a wink. "Seriously."
They descended a flight of narrow stone stairs. The air turned cooler, damper. The walls pressed in like ancient sentinels. At the bottom, a corridor opened up, leading to a heavy wooden door. When it swung open, they stepped into a space unlike anything Jake had imagined.
A massive underground arena stretched before them. A circular pit dominated the center, ringed by rows of chairs that rose in levels, forming a miniature coliseum. In the middle of the ring was a raised platform, lit from above by a single spotlight.
The crowd was already murmuring, excitement crackling in the air like static.
Jake and the others took their seats in the third row. The scent of sweat, dust, and faint cologne filled the air.
A man with a booming voice stepped onto the platform. "Welcome! The first match begins in five minutes!"
Jake leaned back, amused. "And I thought Berlin was all currywurst and techno."
A voice called from the row behind. "Jake Kirby?"
Jake turned. A lean man with spiked blond hair grinned at him, eyes bright with recognition.
"I... don't know any Germans," Jake said, puzzled.
The man hopped over the row and extended his hand. "I'm Felix Schneider. Huge fan! Watched all your shows—Dead Calm, Crimson Static... brilliant stuff."
Jake chuckled and shook his hand. "Ah, that makes sense. Pleasure, Felix. This is Dr. Garfield and Mr. Sullivan."
After quick greetings, Felix sat beside him.
"Why no new series lately?" he asked.
Jake gave a tired laugh. "Been busy getting inspired. But a new one drops in a few weeks. It's called Super Granny."
Felix's eyes lit up. "Can't wait!"
---
The lights dimmed. The first match began.
Two burly Germans stepped onto the platform. One had a shaved head and tribal tattoos spiraling down his arms. The other wore a black vest and moved with feline grace.
They circled, feinted, and struck. The bald one lunged first, a powerful right hook. The other sidestepped with uncanny precision and countered with a sharp elbow to the ribs, then a leg sweep that brought the man crashing down. The crowd erupted.
Sullivan whistled softly. "Fast."
"Like wolves," Jake said, eyes glued to the ring.
The second match brought an Asian fighter against a tall Englishman with a cocky grin. Speed met power. The Asian ducked and wove, striking with surgical accuracy. The Brit landed a few heavy hits, but a spinning kick caught him on the temple and ended the bout with brutal finality.
Felix leaned forward, then closed his eyes, unmoving.
Jake noticed. "You alright?"
Felix opened one eye. "Just... visualizing."
"Visualizing the match?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's a habit. I like replaying moments in my head. Makes me feel more connected."
Jake studied him, intrigued. "You might need that Memory Reader, my friend."
Felix grinned. "Or maybe I already have one. In here." He tapped his temple.
---
The final match was the most brutal. A Russian fighter known as "Bearclaw" clashed with a wiry Brazilian named Tico. It was a war of styles—raw strength against dance-like agility. The floor echoed with thuds and grunts, gasps and cheers. By the time Bearclaw conceded, the audience was on its feet.
Jake sat down hard, as if the adrenaline had seeped into him.
Outside the arena, they strolled through the old part of Berlin. They visited a cathedral steeped in silence, lit by rays pouring through stained glass. At a market nearby, Jake picked up a hand-carved chess set. He admired the craftsmanship—each knight looked like a battle-hardened hero. At a riverside park, they paused. The breeze was cool, the scent of roasted beans and old books hanging in the air.
As twilight painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, they returned to the lab.
Jake stepped out of the car and looked up. Berlin glowed behind him, like an ember waiting to catch.
He turned to Garfield.
"You were right," Jake said quietly. "That light helped."
Garfield raised an eyebrow. "You have something?"
Jake nodded. "I think I have an idea."
Garfield smiled, the kind of smile only mentors give when a spark finally catches.
"Then it was a day well spent."