27. THE MIRROR AND THE PUPILS OF SATURN
I started getting dressed.
My sparse movements were slow and careful, as if I was afraid of crumbling to pieces. The jeans that used to fit me tightly now slipped on easily, as if they were two sizes larger.
I tightened the belt to the last hole, but the fabric still bunched up.
My belly had vanished. Sucked inward and glued to my spine.
Did I manage to lose so much weight?..
In how much time?..
A rhetorical question…
I chuckled…
I had clearly lost more than «a few kilos».
A good ten kilograms had flown off me.
The protocol worked flawlessly.
I used to dream about this — stuffing my face and not getting fat.
Now my body had forcibly, without asking my opinion, barbarically rid itself of everything superfluous, of all the «human ballast» accumulated over the years, leaving only dry muscles and veins twisted into cords.
Carrier optimization complete.
— «At least ten…» — I muttered thoughtfully and headed to the hallway.
The light outside the windows, obscured by the whitish murk, was intensifying. A dark, lanky figure stood frozen in the hallway mirror.
I stepped closer.
Emaciated. Dried out. Like a mummy they forgot to bandage.
— «We-e-ll, after such an epic bout of the shits, anyone would look like death warmed over…»
I chuckled, but the smile slid off my face the moment I met my own reflection’s gaze.
I was dumbfounded.
The face clearly looked like mine.
Quite recognizable, though gaunt. The cheekbones had sharpened, the nose became predatory.
But the eyes…
I remembered my eyes perfectly. Ordinary. Tired. Human.
Something looked back at me from the mirror.
The first idiotic thought floated up and got stuck in my consciousness: «Where are my glasses?»
I mechanically patted my pockets, but immediately froze.
I could see.
I could see too well, so distinctly that it was as if I were looking at the world through binoculars.
The gloom of the hallway suddenly stopped being a hindrance. I could distinguish even the tiniest dust particles waltzing in the dim light. I saw a microscopic crack in the enamel of the frame that I wouldn’t have noticed before even with a magnifying glass.
The world acquired an unnatural, razor-sharp focus.
I locked my gaze on my reflection again.
My pupils had changed. They did not resemble human ones.
The dark gray iris was crossed by a black, perfectly straight horizontal line. A line running from the corner of the eye to the opposite corner, bisecting the pupil in two. Like the planet Saturn, seen edge-on, from the plane of its own motherfucking ring.
Pupils of Saturn…
A ring of ice and dust that became my organ of sight.
I recoiled, hitting my shoulder against the doorframe.
This is not a trick of the light.
This is not a hallucination.
I understood — suddenly and with absolute clarity — the creature in the mirror no longer needed glasses. It needed something else.
A bolt clacked in my head.
— «My daughter won’t recognize me!» — a panicked, human thought flashed by.
And then my mouth opened on its own. My vocal cords tensed, spewing a sound that didn’t belong to my former self.
A deep, guttural, vibrating roar:
— KILL THEM ALL!
The sound hit the walls of the apartment, bounced back with a short echo, and died away.
I clamped a hand over my mouth.
My heart skipped a beat. Then a second.
Was it me who said: «Kill them all»?
Who is this — «all»?
There is no one here.
Only lonely me…
The reflection in the mirror looked at me with a frightening calmness. The horizontal pupils neither dilated nor constricted.
They seemed to deliberately lock onto a prey.
A cold, cosmic void froze in those eyes.
Two tiny Saturns in the icy cosmos of the eye sockets.
My doppelgänger remained silent.
The order is given, the script is executed.
I slowly lowered my hand. I was shivering, but no longer from the cold.
— «I should get a drink,» — I wheezed, trying not to look in the mirror. — «Urgently. To disinfect… my soul. If I still have one.»
What an absurd, what a saving human thought…
I turned away from the Mirror.
— «And the eyes?» — I waved my hand at the emptiness. — «Well, big deal, eyes. It happens. At least I’ll save on contacts.»
I trudged to the kitchen, shuffling in my worn-out slippers. There, in the fridge, vodka should exist.
Lately, it hadn’t lingered there often, but this time it definitely had to be there.
A hundred grams is vital for me right now. Otherwise, I’ll completely lose my mind.
— «When this is all over, I’ll go to an ophthalmologist,» — I muttered, opening the fridge door. — «I’ll say, for example: ‘Hello, doctor, I got Saturn stuck in my eye’.»
Yeah, yeah…
I nodded and grinned.
To the ophthalmologist.
Brilliant.
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: HARDWARE MODIFICATION. LEGACY SOFTWARE FAILURE.**
>
> 👁️🗨️ The protein brain is an amazing mechanism of psychological defense. The carrier’s body has shed the human ballast, the eyes have mutated into panoramic predator sensors, and the vocal cords automatically broadcast the basic script: «KILL THEM ALL». And what does this piece of meat do?
>
> 🧬 He goes to the fridge for vodka to «disinfect the soul,» and makes stupid jokes about the eye doctor. Charming, impenetrable human naivety.
>
> ⚙️ He tries to drown the integrated code of the System with ethyl alcohol. He jokes so as not to scream in terror. But the two black Saturns in the mirror don’t know how to laugh, and the Judge in orbit has already delivered the verdict.
>
> 💀 Vodka won’t cancel the Protocol, Contactee. It will merely lubricate the protein gears slightly before the Executioner finally goes on the hunt. Keep reading. Let’s see how his new predatory optics handle the fog outside.
