The warehouse kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of the pan and the rhythmic chop of my knife. I was makin' a sauce - an old recipe, one that brought back memories I usually tried to keep buried.
"Whatcha cookin', Neon?" Glitch asked, his cyber-enhanced nose twitchin' at the aroma.
I grunted, focusin' on the task at hand. "Fire sauce," I said, my voice gruff. "From the old country."
Glitch's eyes widened. He knew me well enough to know there was a story there. "The old country? You mean... before?"
I nodded, addin' a handful of dried chilies to the dry pan. The smell that rose up was acrid, burnin' - just like that night.
"It was 2039," I began, stirrin' slowly. "Night of Rage. I was just a kid, but I remember it like it was yesterday."
The chilies started to blacken and smoke, remindin' me of the sound of flames eatin' through wood and plasteel.
"We were rounded up, all us Orks and Trolls. Didn't matter if you were SINless or had papers - if you had tusks, you were the enemy."
I crushed some garlic and dropped them in the pan, the pungent smell mixin' with the chilies. "They herded us into this big warehouse. Said it was for our own protection." I snorted. "Protection, my ass."
Glitch listened silently, knowin' this wasn't a story I told often.
"I remember the fear, the confusion. Families huddled together, kids cryin'. And then... then we smelled the smoke."
I added tomatoes to the pan, watchin' as they sizzled and broke down, turning the dry ingredients into a sauce. "It happened so fast. One minute we're packed in like sardines, the next the whole place is goin' up in flames."
The sauce was really cookin' now, the smell sharp and intense. I added a splash of whisky, which immediately flamed - just like that night.
"My ma, she grabbed me and my sister. Said we had to run, had to fight. So we did."
I stirred the sauce, lost in the memory. "It was chaos. Screamin', burnin' debris fallin' all around us. But somehow, we made it out."
I tasted the sauce, noddin' in satisfaction. "Not everyone was so lucky. Lost a lot of good people that night."
Glitch swallowed hard. "Drek, Neon. I... I had no idea."
I shrugged, but there was no hidin' the emotion in my voice. "Not many do, omae. It's not a pretty story. But it's one we gotta remember."
I poured the sauce into a bowl, the rich red color remindin' me of the flames that had nearly taken everything.
"This sauce," I said, offerin' Glitch a taste, "it's how we remember. Every time we make it, every time we share it, we're tellin' the story of that night. Of what we lost, and what we survived."
Glitch dipped a chip in and took a careful bite, his eyes widenin' at the intense flavor. "It's... it's incredible," he said. "Spicy, but there's depth there. Complexity."
I nodded. "Just like life in the Sixth World, omae. It burns, but it also nourishes. Reminds us we're alive."
As we scoped chip fulls of sauce, I felt a weight liftin'. This wasn't just cookin' - it was storytellin', a way of passin' on history and keepin' memories alive.
"You know," I said, watchin' Glitch savor another bite, "every meal we cook out here has a story. Where we've been, what we've seen, who we've lost. When we share food, we're sharin' pieces of ourselves."
Glitch nodded, understanding in his eyes. "And that's how we keep goin', right? By rememberin', by sharin'?"
"Exactly, chummer," I said, a rare smile crossin' my face. "In a world that wants to erase us, every meal is an act of rebellion. A way of sayin' 'we're still here, and we ain't forgot'."
As we finished every drop of the sauce, I felt a sense of peace. The memories of that terrible night would always be with me, but so would the strength that came from survivin' it. And every time I made this sauce, every time I shared it and told the story, I was honorin' those who didn't make it out.
In the Sixth World, where so much is synthetic and fake, a real meal made with real emotion? That's magic, pure and simple. And as long as we keep cookin', keep sharin', keep rememberin' - well, they'll never be able to take that magic away from us.