The mnemo-scanner whines in protest as you force it to stitch together the fractured memory sequences. The world dissolves into a nauseating blur of motion and sound before abruptly solidifying again. You're now viewing the memory from Tanaka's perspective inside the moving sedan, his cheek pressed against cold leather seats. The scent of expensive cologne and gun oil fills the cramped space.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see the distinctive red hourglass logo on the car door as one captor roughly frisks Tanaka's unconscious body. The other speaks into a wrist communicator: 'Package acquired. Proceeding to Hourglass Facility.' The words send an involuntary shiver down your spine - Hourglass Division is corporate legend, their black sites rumored to be staffed by Mnemohunters like yourself, just... less ethical.

The memory jumps again to Tanaka being dragged down a sterile white corridor, his shoes scuffing against polished floors. Warning signs in crimson kanji flash by too quickly to read. You catch a glimpse of a surgical suite before the perspective shifts abruptly - Tanaka's now strapped to a chair, staring up at a circular device descending toward his face. The machine resembles your mnemo-scanner but twisted into something predatory, its needles glistening with neuro-active compounds.

The final memory sequence hits like a physical blow: Tanaka floating in a sensory deprivation tank, his mind adrift in artificial memories of mundane office life while technicians in red-trimmed suits monitor banks of screens displaying his true memories being systematically erased.