Your fingers dart across the control panel with practiced precision, overriding the scanner's sedation protocol with a manual injection of neural stabilizers. The hypospray hisses against Mr. Tanaka's neck, its violet serum glowing faintly as it enters his bloodstream. His convulsions subside gradually, though his pupils remain dilated like dark moons eclipsing his irises.

The memory projection stabilizes, though now tinted with a faint amber hue from the stabilizer's filtering effect. The alleyway solidifies around you both once more. The mysterious woman's face remains startlingly clear now - her sharp features locked in an expression of urgent warning as she presses the black case into younger Tanaka's hands. Her lips move silently before the memory skips forward abruptly.

You catch a fragmented glimpse of a sterile white laboratory, the woman in a biosafety suit holding up one of the glowing data chips, her eyes wide with terror. Then darkness. The scanner beeps insistently - the memory file has reached its corrupted endpoint. Back in the present, Mr. Tanaka's breathing has steadied, though sweat still beads on his forehead. 'They were working on something... something that could rewrite memories permanently,' he whispers hoarsely. Your own hands tremble slightly as you notice the time stamp on the corrupted file matches exactly with your own missing three days from last year.