Only time I had a lawyer, a blond guy with an expensive suit, a Texas accent. He wanted to enter my implant's stored memories into evidence, since the cops' augments had experienced 'interference.' A test case, he said. Poor guy really believed the system, could be fixed. Offered his services pro bono if I gave them access to my memories, my traumas. Shit, no.

So I did the time, kept my memories private. There's stuff in my head that only I will ever know. The point isn't what I suffered.

It's that some of us survive. Somehow, even now.

— These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart by Izzy Wasserstein (Page 89)