30. CONVERSATION WITH THE REFLECTION
In the gloom of the staircase, the blood on my palm looked like thick, black grease. And it smelled the same — of rusty iron and fuel oil.
I stared at my hand, smeared with this filth, and my thoughts tangled. The pile of flesh at my feet, which recently bore the name Erkki, had finally stopped twitching and grew still. But before the end, the creature managed to leave a memento of itself — it tore a solid chunk of meat from my neck.
The wound burned like fire. I need chemicals. Urgently.
Without a second thought, I ducked back into the apartment. I stood before the mirror of the sliding wardrobe.
My new, razor-sharp vision pierced the gloom, allowing me to assess the damage. A classic bite. You could make casts for a forensics textbook. The bleeding had almost stopped; the wound seemed to be closing up before my eyes, covering with a dark crust.
Regeneration?
Or am I imagining things…
I would really, really like to think so… but, unfortunately, what is currently lying outside my apartment door clearly testifies to the contrary. As they say — what’s done is done!
I groped for the hydrogen peroxide on the shelf. I poured it generously, without sparing it, over the jagged edges. The liquid hissed, boiling up in dirty foam. Then my hand bumped into a bottle of iodine. My brain had apparently switched off the safety fuses, because, without hesitation, I splashed the dark-brown solution right into the center of the wound.
Mistake.
This turned out to be worse than vodka. Pain shot through my spine, as if a red-hot nail had been driven into my neck. I doubled over. I howled through clenched teeth and, gasping for air, slumped to the floor, clutching the edge of the nightstand.
One question pulsed in my head: infection?
The creature lying outside the door was clearly sick. What am I now?
By the laws of the genre, will I turn into a zombie? Start running around without pants and eating the neighbors?
I looked up. In the mirror of the wardrobe, right in front of me, stood a man.
I was squatting, hunched over in pain. But my reflection, as if nothing had happened, was drawn up to its full height!
It looked down at me, arms crossed on its chest. Calmly. With a cold, condescending smirk.
Before, in that pre-fog world, I probably would have gone mad from such an abnormal sight. Now I just stared blankly at this «miracle».
My psyche, burned out by the Settling, simply checked a documentary box: «Reflection is autonomous. Accepted».
— «You won’t turn, don’t worry,» — the Reflection said measuredly in my, slightly altered, voice. Except the intonations in this voice sounded alien. Hoarse, guttural, domineering. The synthesized voice of the Protocol. — «You have immunity. You are the Carrier.»
Slowly, overcoming the pain, I straightened up. The doppelgänger didn’t flinch. He continued to smirk, staring fixedly right into my eyes. His pupils didn’t react in any way — they neither constricted nor dilated, and expressed nothing. Perhaps only arrogant contempt could be traced in his seemingly frozen gaze.
I stared at him.
No words. No thoughts. Only dull anger and adrenaline.
This must be how a caged wild animal feels.
— «What are you grinning at?» — I spat out the first thing that came to mind. — «Are you having fun? Huh?!»
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: INTERNAL PROTOCOL VISUALIZATION.**
>
> 🩸 The charming primitiveness of protein-based thinking. The Executioner receives a wound that is already closing by the power of the integrated code, and what does he do? He floods it with toxic terrestrial iodine! The supreme biological engineering of the +Angi is forced to fight not only the virus of the mutated Erkki, but also the aggressive first-aid kit of its own carrier.
>
> 👁️🗨️ And now look at this hysteria in front of the mirror. «What are you grinning at?». The piece of meat still thinks he is talking to himself. He doesn’t understand that the Reflection isn’t smiling. The Reflection is simply stating a fact: the process of seizing control was successful.
>
> 💀 Judge Sergey delivered the verdict, and now the Executor is looking at you with your own eyes featuring the rings of Saturn. Get used to it, Contactee. You are now in the passenger seat of this body. Keep reading. Let’s hear how the System answers its rebellious driver.
