31. INTERFACE AND WHIP
— «What are you grinning at?» — I repeated, looking into the mirror’s abyss. — «Are you having fun?» — I shook my head. — «Well, I’m not having fun at all. I never thought I’d sink to talking to my own reflection in the hallway. Was it you who just yapped about immunity? Or am I having auditory hallucinations?»
— «Me,» — echoed inside my skull. The voice was the same. Hoarse, alien, vibrating. The voice with which I had screamed «Kill them all».
I yanked the wardrobe door open. A row of empty hangers, an old jacket, dust.
No one.
After waiting a bit, I slammed the door shut. The copy in the mirror didn’t even flinch. It continued to stand with crossed arms, grinning insolently; it behaved exactly as it had a few minutes ago, while I, the real one, writhed below, one might say, at its feet, squatting.
— «Who the hell are you anyway?» — I poked my finger at the cold glass.
Silence.
Glass like any glass. Only a greasy fingerprint of mine remained right on the insolent mug of this… Individual.
— «We are the +Angi,» — the Creature answered, broadcasting the words directly into my brain, bypassing the ears. — «We have chosen you. You are the point of Contact.»
— «Bullshit,» — I muttered, trying to stand up. — «Some absolute bullshit. You do realize that a person can lose their mind from something like this?»
— «You are not in danger of that,» — the doppelgänger cut in. — «Your sanity has already been optimized.»
I froze.
The fog outside the window. The deranged neighbor, dried to a skeleton, turned into a demon. My own body, having shed weight in a short time.
What’s next? And what difference does it make?
Whether it’s schizophrenia or contact with an alien intelligence — the result is the same. Reality is broken.
— «Is this your doing?» — I nodded at the window, obscured by the gray murk.
— «Specify your query,» — the Reflection responded coldly.
— «This fog?! The cannibal neighbor?! This… End of the Fucking World?!»
— «Yes,» — it simply answered. Without pathos. Stating a fact.
— «Why?» — I exhaled. — «Why are you doing this?»
It seemed to me the +Ang smirked wider. The mirror face was momentarily distorted by a grimace of superiority.
— «You will go to the East. To the Border. You will deliver our Message to those on the Other Side.»
— «What other side?» — I frowned. A map surfaced in my head. The Eastern border… Svetogorsk? Imatra? — «Stop. Actually, I was going to my daughter. To Imatra.»
— «That is inexpedient,» — the Creature concluded. — «The route has been recalculated. You are going to the Eastern Border.»
— «No, I won’t. Screw you…»
I didn’t have time to finish. My interlocutor in the mirror sharply, with a lazy movement, raised his right hand and ostentatiously snapped his long fingers.
«Do I really have such long fingers?..»
I couldn’t finish the thought…
STRIKE.
This is not pain. This is an electrical storm.
A high-voltage power line was short-circuited through my body.
I was twisted into a knot and thrown to the floor. The nerve endings flared up simultaneously, as if thousands of volts were passed through my body. For a moment, it seemed to me that smoke was pouring out of my ears…
Invisible hooks tore at my muscles, invisible hands twisted my joints, invisible aneurysms exploded my brain…
I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to scream.
Soundlessly, gaping my mouth like a fish, I rolled on the floor in absolute, unbearable agony. The logical whip struck without missing, punishing for insubordination.
Training. The development of conditioned instincts…
I tried to lose consciousness, to float away into the saving darkness, but the Protocol didn’t let me. It held me on the edge, making me feel every second of the agony.
This torture lasted a long time, an entire eternity…
Suddenly everything stopped. The pain disappeared, as if a switch had been flipped.
— «You will go to the Eastern Border. And deliver the Message.» — The voice in my head became flat, metallic. No more emotions, no more smirks. An algorithm was speaking to me. A soulless robot using my vocal cords as a speaker.
I lay on the floor, gasping for air. Just now, my place in the new food chain had been clearly explained to me, with a single snap.
Slave. Instrument. Function.
— «To whom… will I deliver it?» — I wheezed, tasting blood in my mouth.
— «To humans.»
Slowly, clinging with trembling fingers to the doorframe, I forced myself to get up. My legs were buckling, but the fear of a repeated «snap» turned out to be stronger than the weakness. On the second try, I assumed a vertical position. Floundering is pointless.
For now, let’s not… act like that.
— «What message?» — I asked, looking into the empty, cold eyes of my reflection.
The interlocutor remained silent, as if waiting for my complete readiness. I sighed, finally admitting defeat; it is difficult to argue with an internal, mind-reading animal trainer.
— «Alright. I’m listening. Dictate your… Message.»
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: FORCED ROUTING. HARDWARE SUBJUGATION.**
>
> 🐕 «I won’t go,» the protein carrier proudly declares. What a touching, ridiculous attempt to preserve the illusion of free will. Did you really think, Contactee, that a System capable of shutting down the planet’s biosphere and rewriting your DNA would argue with you over the route to your daughter?
>
> ⚡ Charming naivety. The +Angi do not need your consent. They need your legs to reach the Border, and your throat to deliver the Message. A snap of the Reflection’s fingers — and your nervous system turns into a red-hot high-voltage wire. Pain is the best compiler for outdated human code.
>
> 💀 The training was successful. Pavlov’s dog received its electric shock and is now ready to obey commands unconditionally. Keep reading. Exactly what Message will this obedient postman carry to the remnants of humanity?
