You slam the emergency stabilization protocol, watching as the biofeedback display spikes then gradually stabilizes. The mist thickens around Mr. Tanaka's head, now tinged blue from the added neurosedatives. His breathing slows to ragged but manageable intervals, though his fingers remain locked in rigid claws around the armrests.

In the memoryscape, the fractured image of the woman reforms like mercury droplets merging. The amber-eyed stranger places a gloved hand on younger Tanaka's shoulder as he stares at the pulsing device. 'Remember your training,' she says in a voice that somehow carries the scent of ozone. The black case's contents now clearly reveal themselves - a hybrid of surgical steel and living tissue, vein-like wires threading through its core.

Back in the lab, warning glyphs flash at the edge of your vision. The scanner detects an encrypted memory partition activating, far deeper than standard corporate redactions should reach. The alleyway scene ripples violently as something beneath the surface memory layer begins pushing upward - a darker shape moving beneath ice.