Cognition Reviewer

You fall to the ground intentionally and, as he helps you to your feet, his fingertips brush past your neck like a sickle, severing the memories lurking deep in your subconscious. Toxic data, like thick, black blood. He had glimpsed these stories in the after-midnight internet. They silently take root in the host's mind and quietly wait for the host to become insane in the corrosion. But now, they have been reduced to no more than ashes in the palm of a hand.

Stowaway electronic lifeforms, an infectious memetic virus. They tarnish the sacred memories and lurk in the cracks of consciousness that even the sun cannot perceive. You transform into Death and walk among the masses, joining these beings in a game of cat-and-mouse, uprooting the filth immediately and locking them away in jail. In this world, there are things that must not be done, as well as memories that must not be retained.