The first Undoing had been recorded almost two decades earlier. A family; father a successful banker, the mother a nurse at the New Matrica Mercy Hospital. They'd been shopping at the Central Market, their toddling child in tow.

Witnesses recall hearing a sound first, before anything else had happened. A low, static white-noise, horribly insectile.

And then the child had begun to break apart.

There were consistencies to the Undoings.

It was never a visceral event. The victims' bodies seemed to phase out of existence in neat little chunks, rather than truly breaking apart in gory splendor.

They never seemed to be in any pain- if anything, witnesses always seemed to report a look of tranquility on their faces, of peaceful contemplation.

First, it was just the children. As the years went by, however, the list of victims grew to include teenagers too, then young adults.

New Matrica had been in a state of panic. Parents told their children stories of the looting, the riots, the accusations thrown at the government. It seemed as though the massive city-state was doomed to collapse under its own fear.

The Undoing was a plague of impossible origins- teams of researchers tried, and tried again to understand how victims were literally being erased from reality. Radicals argued that the Undoings were the result of some bio-weapon- a foriegn power perhaps, or a way for domestic forces to keep the people in check.

Amidst the chaos, the city was forced to change tactics, shift the focus of their research. That choice ultimately saved New Matrica- it kept the city together.

The top brass made a decision: rather than find out why the Undoings occurred, they would focus their resources on how to get them back.

The first year of Undoings were irreversible, true tragedies.

But then came the birth of the Reclamation Unit, and now these people could return. They couldn't truly bring them back- that was impossible- but it was better than the alternative.

And eventually, people stopped making the distinction.

...

It was late afternoon, and the waning light was leaving Herry in a state of morbid melancholy as it splayed across the skyline. He'd left Nemo's in a stumble, and wandered back to Reding station. Some semblance of instinct had kept him going, a robotic stumble through the streets.

It wasn't until he'd made it onto a train did a sense of coherence return.

Her parents, he'd decided in pathetic resignation. He'd go to them immediately, tell them what had happened to their daughter. Try and convince them to greenlight Reclamation. The mere thought of the challenge sent fresh tremors through his body.

Harry sat slumped against an raipod bench, watching the light splinter and reform as the train glided through each underpass.

Despite the promise of action, his resolve was paper-thin. Since then, Harry had spent hours riding the airail, taking the line from one end of the city to another.

Procrastinating.

But time had been soothing, and the shock was starting to wear off. He calmed down a degree, regained some semblance of his usual poise. Harry was moving with purpose again.

He focused on the train's wall monitor, watching idly as the stations came and went, keeping his eye on a particular stop. Finally, the doors hissed open, and Harry found himself at Central station.

Unlike Reding, the station pulsed with electrical power, assaulting Harry's senses with an array of sound and color.

It was the largest station in the city, with massive tiered levels that hosted shops, restaurants, glitzy clubs.

Harry weaved through the wild mass of people, eyeing the occasional bodymod that adorned the tech-junkie crowds.

He narrowly avoided a street vender as the man tried to coax him over, lifting his arm to display his product, the monitor implanted within the skin.

Spotting the station's lifts, Harry resisted the urge to sprint towards them. The raucous display of hair and tattoos and glitzy, beeping jewelry was intense and awful.

Annika loved it here, his mind whispered, hissed to him. It reminds you of her.

He shook his head, stepping into an elevator. Loves. She loves it here.

Annika's parents lived on the outskirts of Central, away from the young and the tech-obsessed. Their daughter had moved them there just a few years before, her generous paycheck allowing for an apartment in a building filled with minor executives and bureaucrats.

Harry did not like it there. He found the streets bleached of personality, the buildings smooth and cold- massive, towering crypts.

He came to a stop at their complex, identical in appearance to the rest of the skyscrapers on the block. There was only a slight hesitation before he punched out the room code on a keypad inset into the entrance.

There was no identifiable response, but Harry knew that he was being peered at through a surveillance camera.

After a moment, there was a soft click, and the door opened, allowing him through.

Harry found himself at their apartment much sooner than he would have hoped. He wished the elevator had stuttered and broke, trapping him inside. He wished that they hadn't buzzed him through.

At his best, Harry just barely tolerated his future in-laws. At his worst, Dolores and Jackson Reyal were downright abrasive.

This would not be pleasant.

Harry had just begun to knock before the door was yanked open, revealing the severe-looking woman who looked up at him. Unlike Annika, Dolores kept her curls tight and close, painfully neat.

There was a beat of silence as they stood in the doorway, sizing each other up. Dolores narrowed her eyes at Harry's rumpled clothing, his reddened eyes.

She sighed, turned away. "Come in, then." He followed her mutely through the foyer, into the apartment's living room.

Annika's father looked up as they entered. Despite his size, Jackson was somehow a diminutive man, posture keeping him shrunken. Looking up from his paperback, he blinked at Harry through thick glasses, eyes wet and bleary.

Dolores hadn't offered him a seat, but Harry sank into the couch, looking at the sparse furnishings, the white walls- anything but the woman who stood in front of him.

She seemed to be waiting for him to speak first, but Harry was barely holding it together. Dolores glanced at her husband, then at the man sitting cowed before her.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Then: "Where's Annika?"

Harry finally focused, locking eyes with her. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Tried again.

"Annika- she's been-" he swallowed, throat dry. Jackson had since put the book down, had wandered over to where they were speaking.

Dolores had gone red in the face, and she reached out to clutch her husband's hand.

"Say it."

Harry's voice was rough. "She's been Undone."

Dolores squeezed her eyes tight, letting out a vicious scream. Harry jumped, badly startled, then winced at the string of profanity that followed.

Jackson was silent, eyes vacant. He swayed silently.

"I knew it!" Dolores was snarling, spitting. "Stupid girl and her technology. I told her to become a fucking doctor, for God's sake!"

She was sobbing now, clutching her husband.

Harry swallowed, looking at the broken couple. He had to ask. Despite everything these people were, that chance was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Please!" Although he didn't realize it, Harry was shouting, badly affected by the emotion in the room. "Please let them Reclaim her."

Dolores looked at him, her eyes bloodshot. She smiled viciously, a terrible, awful grin.

"You're a sick man, Harry. You and the rest of this damn city." Beside her, Jackson mumbled, incoherent. She pointed past him, towards the only ornament adorning the walls.

Harry's eyes slid across to follow, taking in the icon that loomed above them. It was a burnished-wood ring, slightly flattened. A gap at the top left the ring's continuity broken- giving it the semblance of a well-rounded horseshoe.

It was the sign of the Purists, their self-driven righteousness distilled into one infamous symbol. Harry could have described himself as a tad techno-conservative, but Annika's parents were fucking cultists.

"Look at that," Dolores continued, finger still poised, shaking. "Look. You don't think I want my daughter back? To be able to see her, hold her-" her voice broke, but she rallied, continued. "What the Reclamation Unit gives me is not my daughter. It's a false idol, a demon."

"Jackson," Harry pleaded, changing tactics. He realized now that the man's ramblings had a rhythmic cadence to them- he was praying, some strange Purist hymn escaping his lips.

"It's her memories they use- everything about her. They could bring her back to you." Harry launched himself off the couch, stood to grip the man's shoulder.

Jackson went silent, goggled at him. He was listening, Harry could see that. He pushed down the waves of guilt, and pressed the advantage, twisting the proverbial dagger.

"You could see her again, Jackson." He stared him down, pleaded with his eyes. "Both of you could. Otherwise, she'll be gone- forever."

The man swayed, uncertain. Harry waited, stoking new hope like fresh coals.

But Jackson turned away from him, and Harry watched as he looked to his wife, moist eyes lost, questioning.

Dolores had gone quiet watching them. Now, as Jackson faced her, unasked plea upon his lips, she raised her free hand and placed it gently against her husband.

"I know it's hard, but we have to stay strong," she murmured. Hesitation from Jackson, then a slow, heart-crushing nod.

She turned back to Harry, and her voice went hard. "I want you out of my home. You don't care about us, how we feel. No, you just need us to sign off Reclamation- her legal guardians."

Harry felt the fight go out of him, cold despair seeping through the cracks. He backed away, trying to edge around the couple as Dolores began to scream again.

"We tried to keep her away from this techno-poison. The bodymods, the virtual reality- that's what causes these Undoings, you know. All that time in virtual space, hooked up to machines, stuck-full with wires and steel"

She yelled at him with grief-strewn fragments, shattered sentences.

Harry turned and ran. Her voice chased him out. "You knew who we were, Harry! For years. I thought you'd have helped us-"

Harry slammed the door, cutting her off.