Judy Alvarez: Guardian of Memories by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Judy-Alvarez-Guardian-of-Memories-1234288397

Judy Alvarez: Guardian of Memories ANIMATION

The Luminous Echoes of Redshift Nine

Judy Alvarez had always thought she’d seen the darkest corners of Night City—alleys where braindance junkies slumped like abandoned mannequins, clinics where chrome hissed louder than breath, apartments lit only by neon and regret. But nothing in the city’s labyrinth of vice prepared her for Redshift Nine, the vanished Arasaka sub-lab rumored to sit somewhere beneath the industrial edges of Watson like a tumor grown from ambition.

She had followed the breadcrumbs—encrypted logs, whispered tips, a data-shard left on her doorstep by someone who knew her old work with the Mox, her ties to hardware and synaptic illusions. The shard’s message was simple:

They stole your memories. Not from you—yet. But from someone like you. Come if you want answers.

Redshift Nine had been sealed years ago. Officially, it didn’t exist. Off the books, it had specialized in experimental memory extraction. Judy knew enough about braindance architecture to imagine the horrors that might have unfolded inside. She also knew how to be careful. Mostly.

The freight elevator that carried her down groaned like it resented waking from its long slumber. Sparking bulbs lit the descending shaft in broken pulses, carving fleeting shapes across Judy’s face: sharp cheekbones, neon-green eyeliner, chrome implants gleaming under her buzzed hair. She exhaled and steadied her grip on her pistol.

“I swear,” she muttered, “if this turns out to be another corpo stunt, I’m taking the whole elevator with me on the way back up.”

The lift clanged to a stop. Ahead lay a corridor swallowed by darkness, its floor coated with dust so fine it looked like the surface of the Moon. Judy stepped out, boots crunching softly. Her optics adjusted, painting the hallway in blue outlines.

Abandoned. Cold. Dead.

But the silence was watching her.

She walked deeper, following flickers of old emergency signs. After several minutes, she found herself at a door marked with a peeling holo-sticker:

Redshift Memory Division – Sector Theta.

Judy touched the panel. To her surprise, the door slid open—quietly, obediently.

“Oh, good,” she whispered. “They left the welcome mat out.”

Inside, the room glowed with a faint, unnatural shimmer.

For a moment, Judy thought she was looking into a wall of cracked mirrors reflecting her silhouette. Then one of the silhouettes blinked.

She froze.

They weren’t reflections. They weren’t even holograms.

They were people—or something shaped like people—encased in translucent tanks. Holographic skin flowed over them like projected silk, shifting with each movement, yet beneath the surface lay real muscle, real structure. Their faces were unfinished, memories flickering across their features like glitching masks.

One turned toward her, its eyes blinking in mismatched colors.

The voice that emerged was half-whisper, half-static.
“Judith… Alvarez.”

The clone’s lips twisted into an imitation of Judy’s own smirk—only colder, more calculated.

Judy swallowed.
“Look, I’m flattered,” she said, “but if you’re gonna steal my face, at least give me better cheekbones.”

The creature cocked its head. “Recordings… incomplete. Seeking… template.”

“Yeah? Try a fashion magazine.”

The tanks began to hum. One by one, the holo-clones stepped out, their bodies shedding liquid light that dripped, evaporating before it hit the floor. They surrounded her in a half-circle—curious, predatory, captivated.

Judy’s hand hovered over her pistol, but she didn’t draw it. Not yet.

A whisper echoed behind her.
“You came. I hoped you would.”

Judy spun.

A woman stepped out from the shadows—tall, slender, wrapped in a coat that shimmered like the inside of a seashell. Her hair, silver as mercury, cascaded to her shoulders. Her smile was warm, but her eyes—a deep violet—held a kind of hunger.

“I’m Dr. Selene Cho,” she said. “Welcome to Redshift Nine.”

Judy aimed her pistol now.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed to be.” Selene waved a hand, dismissive. “But imagination can be more powerful than death.”

The clones watched in eerie silence, their faces shifting into new forms—some resembling strangers, others almost copying Judy herself.

“What are they?” Judy asked.

“Living holo-clones,” Selene said proudly. “Constructs grown
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