You have memories, sure, but then who doesn't know where you live these days? Camping out in the wilderness until the controversy blew over seemed like a good idea at the time, of course, but that was before the anaesthetics kicked in and you lay there, boiling, and unable to feel the sweat rolling down your leg. They hacked it off with a kind of efficiency that was easy to mistake for care but who's complaining now? Not you! Because you've still got your wits, and the planes don't fly so low anymore, and you never were a big fan of running anyway. Yeah, memories, how about them, now that you get to control when they appear, for example, or when to delay them, send them bawling into your dreams with a swish, the warlords gesturing over 3-D maps of mosques, glistening rivers barely visible between the cracks of competing glaciers sliding across dead moonscapes, ordnance going off, adrenalin bangs in capsule form, and still you bray 'Bring it on, Charlie!!', like you mean it, like you never had forgotten where you hid them, typing in your new password without even looking, or deliberately keying in gibberish answers to standard security prompts. Name of first pet? Eklhferlhl. First girlfriend? Gpwjfrqe;ngqgnntqgwgq Nhwereferhhpfqhppqqhpi. That should keep them busy for a day or two, at least, and in the interim you can retrace your final actual step, backwards into the gun nest, the hot weapon slinging wetly into your palm, as laser-guided melodies peep-peep you to sleep, deep in a dream world you created with a click.