It was my thief test, so of course I was accompanied by an examiner. I had studied the manual hundreds of times, so I was pretty confident in my ability to steal memories. But since it was my first time in a real brain, I was already a bit nervous. The examiner, who had been glaring at me and making marks on his clipboard the entire time we were walking through the brain tissue, did not help to ease my anxiety. When we finally reached the blockage, I put the equipment bag down and pulled out the biggest crowbar from its side slot. The examiner sighed and scratched his pencil on the clipboard.

“No,” he shook his head. “What do you need to do before beginning the break-in?”

“Before?” I asked, confused. I thought back to the manual. 

“How do you know what kind of crowbar to use?” My examiner prompted. 

“Oh!” I realized. I reached into the bag and pulled out the file. “I have to check the age of the brain first. The younger it is, the smaller the crowbar needs to be.”

“Yep,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Thirteen years old. So the second-smallest crowbar.” I put the big crowbar back in its slot and pulled out the second-smallest one. Then I wedged it into the brain tissue. For a brain this young, I knew I shouldn’t have to apply much force. I pushed slightly on the crowbar and a chunk of the tissue loosened. I pulled out the tissue and pushed it to one side, and then moved to step through the opening.

I heard another pencil scratch. “Sloppy,” the examiner shook his head. I turned around to find him holding my bag. “I do not think you can do much without this.”

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I was just so excited to—”

“Let’s go,” he said coldly, and tossed me the bag.

We walked through a large, cavernous space with webbed walls filled with holes. Neurons zipped about every which way and thoughts echoed quietly in the background. I tried not to let myself look around too much. I needed to focus. The test was already not going well, and I wanted so badly to pass the examination and become a full-time memory thief. So I silently walked to the center of the cavern and kneeled down on the squishy ground. I placed the bag next to me, unzipped the center pocket, and pulled out a small computer. 

“I enter some of the information from the file into the computer,” I narrated my actions for the examiner’s benefit, to show him I knew what I was doing. “And on the computer I select how many bugs will be doing what. For a relatively young brain like this, I’ll put more bugs on prevention than on alteration; more memories have yet to be made than are made.” I glanced up to see him nodding and marking something on his clipboard. Once I had entered the data into the computer and allowed it to distribute the necessary information to each bug, I took the bugs themselves out of the bag.

“And what do the bugs do?” The examiner asked dryly.

“The alteration team of bugs exposes the brain to thousands of other people’s experiences, contaminating its memories. These other experiences cause the brain to look back on its own memories with regret or disdain, and the brain often twists its memories subconsciously to make them worse.”

I pressed a button on the computer and watched as some of the bugs came to life. They flew off in various directions, disappearing into the tunnels in the webbed walls. 

Then I turned my focus to the prevention team of bugs. “Prevention bugs keep the brain in a constant state of distraction to ensure that no new memories are produced.” The data from the file had included information on this brain’s experiences and interests, allowing the prevention team of bugs to most effectively distract it. I pressed a different button on the device and the prevention bugs rose into the air and zipped away. 

I smiled to myself, barely able to contain my excitement. I had just sent off my first bugs! I had stolen my first memories! But I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I hadn’t received my certification yet, and I still needed to finish strong, especially considering I had had such a rocky start. I needed to show the examiner that I understood the goals and processes of a memory thief. “The alteration bugs make old memories unrecognizable and the prevention bugs stop new memories from being created. Ultimately, this allows the memory thief to steal both made and unmade memories.” I spoke slowly and elegantly, maintaining eye contact with my examiner, who glared back. 

“And does a memory thief have to stay inside the brain at all times to ensure the process continues?”

“No. Once the memory thief has infiltrated the brain and set the bugs loose, they can leave. The bugs function on an algorithm; they’ll keep going as long as the brain lives.”

 He nodded and made a mark on his paper. “Pack it up then. Let’s go. No reason to hang around here. There are more memories to steal from more brains. ” 

I thought about his statement, wondering if he had meant to imply that I had a future as a memory thief. “So… I passed?” I asked, hoping I had read between the lines correctly.

The examiner scoffed. “No. Not even close.”

“Oh.”

Surprisingly, he seemed to feel bad for me. “Not to worry. You can retake the examination in a couple months. Maybe you will pass it then. Or maybe you will decide you do not want to be a memory thief. You still have time to figure it out. You have a long future ahead of you.”

“Right. Thanks.” I finished packing up the bag and resisted the urge to cry. I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. Maybe stealing memories just wasn’t for me.