Gun of Ashes

Sunny and cloudless.

Gentle sunlight seeped through the curtains, showering the man’s face, the warmth and brightness waking him from his hazy dream.

He rose with a hint of confusion, feeling a slight pain in his mind.

It’s been like this lately, ever since that rare natural disaster in Old Dunling; he’s been this way, with his memory faltering, waking up feeling exhausted and headachey.

He didn’t think anything was wrong, instinctively attributing these “abnormalities” to his aging and the aftermath of his drinking.

“Ah… what a terrible storm.”

The man sighed, recalling that seemingly endless rainstorm, but inside, all he had was awe and fear of the disaster; he couldn’t remember the specific details at all.

However, the Queen’s Daily has been reporting on such matters lately, saying that when people break free from bad memories, they instinctively forget to protect themselves.

The man thought this sounded reasonable, as no one wants to keep reliving those awful things.

The warm room buzzed with the sound of electricity, and the man leaned over, turning on the radio, which began broadcasting.

“Good morning, listeners!”

A hearty voice came through, and the man got up, dressing while listening to the radio.

“Following the official review and report, I’m sure everyone has a preliminary understanding of the disaster in Old Dunling half a month ago. Anomalous weather triggered torrential rain and the Thames River’s rise, and due to the aging underground pipeline system in Old Dunling…”

“I knew Old Dunling needed a major overhaul; those facilities have been in use for so many years, they’re mostly deteriorated.”

The man complained.

The aged pipeline system couldn’t stand up to the disaster, collapsing, exploding, and causing steam explosions on the streets, which, like a chain reaction, led to other accidents and disasters.

Thus, Old Dunling’s streets became chaotic, several blocks severely damaged, and the worst was that these accidents disrupted the Mechanical Institute, which was officially sealed off, but from the leaked information, it also suffered severe damage.

“The City Hall expressed apology and will hold relevant personnel accountable, while the Platinum Palace stated they will soon begin renovation work on Old Dunling’s systems to prevent similar disasters in the future.”

Hearing this, the man’s anger subsided somewhat.

The disaster wasn’t all bad; there was light too, as he turned to look at the woman still asleep on the bed, his face involuntarily smiling.

Buscalo had met his wife during that storm; he originally wanted to talk to her, to see if there was a chance to start over, but the storm ruined everything… or maybe it didn’t.

He still remembered fleeing in the storm, with the help of a group of people, reuniting with his wife, and then huddling in a crowded hall waiting for rescue.

What an interesting adventure…

Thinking about this, Buscalo frowned; for him, the only regret was that he couldn’t quite remember, as he recalled people clearly being with him during the storm, but no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t remember their faces.

Like a fleeting dream.

“What are you thinking?”

A lazy voice emerged, the woman woke up, smiling at Buscalo.

In memory, the man was a terrible, uninteresting person, indulging in drinking and sleeping outside of work, but after separating, he seemed to really change himself, becoming filled with confidence and courage; not even a storm hindered him, so she decided to give him another chance.

“Nothing, just thinking about things I can’t remember.”

Buscalo smiled at her, while the woman got up and gently brushed his face.

“Hurry up, it’s your first day at work.”

“I know, I know, it’s been a while since I practiced medicine, I’m not sure if I’ve grown rusty.”

Buscalo laughed heartily; sometimes he almost forgot that he was a doctor.

The woman bid him goodbye, opened the door, and the bright sky came into view, so vast, bringing an immense comfort.

Buscalo eventually followed the woman out of Old Dunling’s iron curtain; he figured this rural life was quite nice, peaceful and eternal, like stories in books.

He walked down the tree-lined path, his figure gradually fading, disappearing.

…

“Doctor, how long until I can be discharged?”

Rod raised his head, speaking to the nurse beside him, who looked very busy, didn’t respond at all, just walked away, seeing this, Rod sighed helplessly and leaned back against the pillow.

As a member of the Purification Mechanism, he could be certain something must have happened, but he couldn’t remember.

This reminded him of a legend within the Purification Mechanism, which said that after certain major events, the Mechanism would perform memory cover-ups on participants to ensure nightmares were hidden.

Rod tried hard to recall the storm, but all his memories were hazy.

Like an impenetrable mist, with countless shadows flickering beyond, accompanied by indistinct voices, no matter how hard Rod tried, he couldn’t glimpse even the slightest bit.

Could it be… was he a participant too?

Rod had this thought, but he quickly shook his head vigorously, throwing all these ideas aside.

He was only a clerk; if a memory wash were necessary, considering the terror level of such events, how could he possibly be involved?