. ...
Elara hesitated. The protocol demanded honesty. “No. You will remember nothing from before. The chamber writes a new identity directly onto the neural substrate. It’s a clean slate.”
Elara pressed the initiation sequence. The chamber hummed. A low thrum became a piercing note, then silence. The boy’s body went slack. His neural map—his self—was etched into a diamond wafer the size of a fingernail, then beamed across light-years to a waiting sleeve of synthetic muscle and bone. migration chamber
Elara helped him into the chair. The obsidian surfaces drank the light. She adjusted the cranial clamps herself, softer than the automatic system would. Her fingers brushed his temple. “Close your eyes,” she said. Elara hesitated
The migration chamber was the last place anyone wanted to be, yet everyone had to pass through it. You will remember nothing from before