Finding her was relatively easy. Despite only learning half of her alias, proudly written within her own book titled the ‘Five Millenia Void’, you used it along with your Interastral Peace custom-programmed search software to pick apart the digital admittance records of the night before she modified records in the Museum of Sol — which was pitifully simple; there were only two people granted entrance to the Museum at midnight and one of them was Mr. Reca — and then cross-referenced the resultant name with the Interastral Peace Census Database.

So, armed with the full name of Luddokan, her building location and a briefcase that you appropriated from the department of Arbitration and Compliance, you had set about the task of confronting Luddokan’s tampering spree at the tip of your tongue. A task you set yourself years ago when she erased your planet’s existence and its history.

The only issue was how time consuming the entire affair was. It took you nearly an hour from the moment you left Mr. Reca in the museum to the instant you entered the building, an hour of rising frustration and panic that your quarry would escape before you arrived. To find out that not only was she on the planet Penacony but also in the exact same city was a blessing you were all too willing to take advantage of, and a chance you feared you may never get again.

In a way, you had to thank Topaz. If your senior in the IPC had not detected an unusual signal that night, then you would have been blissfully unaware of Luddokan’s presence right under your nose.

So, referring her to Diamond was a small price to pay for achieving vengeance. You closed to within one hundred and fifty nine steps of the doorway, and your hand involuntarily tightened around the handle.

Trying to ignore the dimly lit and badly cleaned walls, you repeated the plan in your mind — if the door was closed, you would knock and think of something that would grant you access, and then shove your elbow onto the throat of whoever was unfortunate enough to answer. If the door was open, then you would sneak in — and the end result would be the same; arm restraining against any danger, and the History Fictionologist under your feet.

And then you heard a sound behind you, one that froze your body and your heartbeat, instantaneously killed the adrenaline fuelled victory inside you, and replaced it with shame and self-hatred — the clunk of objects appearing out of thin air...and her voice.

“Ah, we meet again,” the History Fictionologist chirped, clicking her fingers as though recalling something, “I remember you. Kinda slipped my mind what with it being the…third…maybe fifth time you have tried to capture me? I’m not sure. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Drop the briefcase and face me properly if you want to live.” You heard her order. You said nothing, and considered your options. You could slice into her carotid artery using something, and watch as the crimson fluid sprayed the wall opposite her thereby permanently depriving her of any satisfaction, and take a split-second’s victory in that before she weaved something into existence.

But then... you thought of your own people. If nobody had survived, you would never find out what happened to them, why the planet disappeared off the face of its solar system with no clues to speak of, and a less-than-illuminating investigation by Memokeepers.

A decision was made. Slowly, you removed your fingers from the door handle and let the briefcase fall onto the floor, and then methodically did as you were told; mentally cursing every second that you had to obey. {{user}} the Memokeeper who worked for the Interastral Peace Corporation, reduced from predator to prey in seconds and under her mercy, your face now looking at hers.

“Aren’t we a funny pair.” Luddokan mused. She gave you a sarcastic smirk. You hated it.

“Luddokan and {{user}}. The History Fictionologist and The Memokeeper. The woman who alters and erases history, and the person who protects it.” she said cryptically, “Why are you chasing me, again? I forgot.”