Down Man, 2084 (Conclusion)

The Interrogation

Silence. A deep, suffocating silence.

Then—a high-pitched frequency, humming just beyond human perception. It dug into Irides’ skull, vibrating through his teeth and setting his nerves on fire.

Then—agony.

A sharp, electric burst ripped through his head—not through his body, not the kind of pain that scorched the flesh. No, this was different. This was inside.

The restraints held him as he convulsed, his muscles locking, his vision flashing white, then black, then white again.

His mind chip fizzled.

The implant—already altered, already unstable—rebooted itself, rewriting, recalibrating.

His own memories fractured—lines of code breaking apart, reforming, shuffling like a corrupted file trying to reconstruct itself.

Then—nothing.

The next thing he was aware of was the voices.

Low. Steady. Measured.

The interrogators.

One stood in front of him. The other just behind his left shoulder. Their holograms flickered slightly, their projected outlines too crisp, too precise.

The restraints were still tight around his wrists. His breath was shallow, his skin damp with sweat. His vision swam as his mind struggled to focus.

Then came the question.

"Who are you?"

Irides blinked.

His lips parted. A breath escaped. His voice, when it came, was hoarse but certain.

"Jabari Okoro."

A beat. The interrogators did not move.

The one in front of him spoke again. "Say it again."

He swallowed. "Jabari Okoro."

The second interrogator nodded slightly, as if pleased.

"Now tell us—who is Jabari Okoro?"

The words came easily, effortlessly, like pulling up an archived file.

"Born in the Free Zone of Lagos. Citizen ID #8901-332. Smuggled into the Eastern US corridor through illicit transport channels. Initially operated under false credentials. Entered Down Man in 2072. Integrated into local underground culture to establish influence. Created Chameleon Tech as a subversive tool against the state."

The words poured out of him—dates, locations, details—without hesitation.

"Primary intent: destabilization of national security. Ultimate objective: overthrow of the surveillance state through systematic identity obfuscation."

His heartbeat was steady. His breathing even. The weight of his past—of everything that had brought him here—felt whole, clear, absolute.

He had always been Jabari Okoro.

Hadn’t he?

The first interrogator glanced at the second. A barely perceptible nod.

The second interrogator leaned forward, voice calm, assured.

"And who is Irides?"

Irides—no, Jabari—felt a flicker of something. A static pulse in his skull, something half-formed, like a memory hovering just beyond reach.

Irides.

A name. A ghost. A distortion.

Not real.

Not him.

He shook his head. "Irides was a fabrication."

The interrogators let the silence settle for a moment before continuing.

"Why did you create Chameleon Tech?"

Jabari didn’t hesitate.

“To weaponize identity. To disrupt state control. To make surveillance obsolete."

The second interrogator tilted its head. "And do you regret this?"

Another sharp flicker in his mind—something distant, almost painful.

A whisper of music. A synth beat. Fingers moving across a keyboard. A city of neon and shadows