Your gloved hands move swiftly, pulling up a secondary holographic display while keeping one eye on Tanaka's vitals. The restricted archive login sequence requires both retinal scan and voiceprint - your clearance barely reaches Tier 3, but it might be enough. 'Access request: All files cross-referencing biotech prototypes matching description: metallic-organic hybrid, pulsating, circa 2042.'

The system churns for three agonizing seconds before spitting back results. Your breath catches as the display shows only one match: PROJECT PHOENIX - classification BLACK ICE. The file thumbnail shows the same black case, now open to reveal the pulsing object in perfect clarity - a biomechanical heart connected to glowing synthetic arteries. The timestamp places this exactly eighteen months ago.

Suddenly, Tanaka's body arches violently in the chair. 'Memory cascade!' the system warns as the alleyway scene shatters completely. Now you're both standing in a white-tiled surgical suite, the older Tanaka strapped to a table while masked figures in biohazard suits cluster around him. The glowing heart device hovers above his chest in a robotic arm's grip. One surgeon turns - their face shield reflecting your stunned expression back at you.

The real Tanaka begins screaming, a raw sound that vibrates through your bones. The mnemo-scanner's safety limits engage with a shrill alarm, but something's wrong - the memory won't terminate. The surgical scene flickers like a damaged film reel, alternating between the operating theater and flashes of a massive underground facility where hundreds of identical black cases line glass-walled incubators.