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In his cell, with no neural implant and no mixing board, he finally heard silence for the first time in three years.
It was his own voice.
"The target is Senator Voss. Use the incendiary pulse. Make it look like an accident. I’ll handle the memory wipe on myself."
"If you ever forget who you are, I’ll remember for both of us."
Kael ripped the neural bridge off his head. He was gasping. He had no memory of saying those words. He had no memory of Senator Voss. He had no memory of plotting a murder.
Kael didn’t delete memories. That caused neural fragmentation. Instead, he dubbed them. He layered new audio over the original, creating a cleaner, softer, less painful version. A screaming argument became a murmured conversation. A car crash became a sudden stop. A death became an absence.
He queued up every raw, unedited memory from the past three years — his wife’s scream, the whisper of the detonation, the phone call while the fire raged — and he routed them to every public data feed in the city.
He had been on the phone while she burned.
Kael sat in his soundproof pod, surrounded by the tools of his trade — faders, equalizers, noise gates — all built to lie. And for the first time, he realized he had been lying to himself most of all.
