28. CODE REJECTION
I slowly, shuffling my soles, trudged to the kitchen.
— «I need a drink,» — I muttered. — «Urgently disinfect my stomach… and my memory.»
Preferably flush it away altogether…
The depths of the fridge held a strategic reserve and the smell of thoroughly spoiled food. Twilight reigned inside — the lightbulb had died along with civilization — but my fingers unerringly found the cold glass.
A carafe. Room temperature. The only bastion of stability in this new, deranged world.
I quickly slammed the door shut and exhaled.
Grabbing the first cup I came across, I splashed about a hundred grams of the clear liquid into it and, without hesitating, without giving myself a chance to change my mind, brought it to my lips.
A gulp.
(ERROR)
Instead of the expected warm wave of disinfection, I received a pure, melting nightmare. My mouth, larynx, and esophagus exploded with an unbearable, electrical pain. The saving moisture instantly turned into corrosive acid.
Into molten lead.
My organism, having gone through reformatting, didn’t just reject the alcohol. The system recognized the ethanol as a critical threat, as a virus attacking the new, crystal-clear code.
I couldn’t completely swallow the liquid. More precisely, I didn’t have time. The organism reacted faster than the brain — expelling the poisonous sludge back into the cup, splattering the table.
The pain didn’t leave. It twisted my body into a new spasm, completely different from the recent disgrace on the toilet. That spasm was born in the guts, this one — in the neurons. A pure, neural, logical correction.
Brain and stomach screamed in unison:
«Self-liquidation attempt detected! Cease!»
I dropped to my knees. The cup slipped from my weakened fingers and thumped dully against the floor without breaking.
The stench in the bathroom seemed dirty, organic, warm. This pain of rejection reeked of sterile cold and the metal of a surgical scalpel.
I tried to scream, but only a hoarse, strained wheeze escaped my throat. At that moment, when the world narrowed to a pulsating point of suffering, It returned.
The thought-voice. But now it wasn’t asking questions. Now it was giving orders.
— KILL THEM ALL!
The phrase burned through my consciousness, as if someone had traced it in giant neon letters right on the inside of my eyelids.
An imperative. An unconditional command for execution.
The pain disappeared just as instantly as it had appeared. As if an invisible operator flipped a switch, and the system, having received confirmation of the task, stabilized.
Protocol accepted.
Target designated.
I remained lying on the floor, greedily gasping for air, feeling an absolute, physiological disgust toward the puddle of spilled vodka. The smell of alcohol now evoked not a desire to relax, but a gag reflex.
The pain spasm…
— «I’ll go to an ophthalmologist, get a consultation,» — I repeated my previous thought.
Now these words sounded not like a joke, but like an epitaph. Like an anchor to reality. Like a tribute of respect to the old, dead me, who loved to make stupid jokes in the face of the abyss.
I stood up. The dizziness vanished. The staggering ceased. My body acquired a predatory lightness. My muscles filled with springy strength. Inside — a ringing emptiness, perfectly tuned for action.
Alcohol — rejected. Doubts — deleted. File cleared.
First of all, I returned to the closet, threw on an old but thick windbreaker, zipping it up right to my chin. Armor.
Then, obeying a cold calculation, I headed to the kitchen table and pulled out the drawer. My gaze instantly picked it out. The largest, a chef’s knife with a wide blade. My fingers closed around the handle. The weight of the steel felt pleasant. Correct. Logical.
I carefully stepped over the puddle of vodka — let it evaporate along with my past life…
In the hallway, I snatched the car keys from the hook. I didn’t look in the mirror again. Pointless. I already knew perfectly well who would look back at me from there.
Or… almost knew.
I left the apartment, and the lock clicked resentfully behind my back, as if not wanting to release the «new me» into freedom.
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: CRITICAL VULNERABILITY ELIMINATION. WEAPON ACQUIRED.**
>
> 🧬 How funny this is, protein-based reader. Your species has spent centuries using neurotoxins like alcohol to cowardly escape from reality. And the newborn Executioner, out of an old human habit, decided to «disinfect his memory» with a glass of warm vodka. Charming naivety.
>
> ⚙️ The integrated code of the +Angi does not drink. The Higher Logic does not hide from pain at the bottom of a faceted glass. The system instantly recognized the ethyl alcohol as a viral attack on the updated hardware and engaged a hard firewall.
>
> 🪓 Vomiting, a spasm, electrical pain in the neurons — this is not banal poisoning, piece of meat. This is the antivirus purging your pathetic human weaknesses. And look at the result: the eternally whining loser has vanished. In his place stands a cold-blooded Executor with a kitchen cleaver in his hand, ready for the cleanup. Illusions spat out onto the floor along with the vodka. The door has opened.
>
> 💀 Keep reading. It is time to test how this new steel cuts protein in the fog.
