62. Icarus: "It" Was a Pupil
It was a pupil. Faithful to its role of seeing things. An organ dedicated solely to forming images and observing objects. Stripped of all other functions, it was utterly devoted to its purpose.
The pupil gazed at the beings beyond the mirror. Men in white coats conversed, oblivious and ignorant. The pupil couldn't hear their words, but it could read their lips.
> "How's the Eye Beyond the Mirror?"
> "No reaction today either. No matter how I think about it, it doesn't seem to have any intelligence of its own."
> "Then let's conclude it that way. One year elapsed. No intellectual responses observed, no human reflex responses either."
It sneered at them inwardly. Eye Beyond the Mirror. The name they'd slapped on it the moment they dredged it up from the sea. The pupil knew they needed this mirror to observe it. But their naming was wrong. The pupil wasn't a passive entity requiring a subject; the mirror was merely a window through which it peered at the world—it wasn't its home. Humans couldn't perceive it with their own senses, so they used a mirror, yet arrogantly assumed the eye lived inside it.
Their arrogance didn't end there. They'd shone lights on the pupil, but it hadn't reacted. They concluded no reflex response, but the pupil scoffed at that. Why would it have reflexes without a spine or brain? From the start, assuming it perceived through light was mistaken. It didn't rely on light to see. To pierce essence, it took essence directly into itself. Likewise, assuming no intelligence was wrong. It simply hadn't bothered reacting—out of boredom. They'd chatted carelessly in front of it, assuming no intelligence meant no lip-reading. Thinking a magic mirror and thick walls could escape its sight? Pure human hubris.
The Eye Beyond the Mirror felt boredom. No yawns, no blinks, but the concept existed within it. It had crossed dimensions to peer here, seeking relief from tedium, yet all it got were pointless researcher chit-chat. Their affairs and crimes offered mild amusement, but it grew dull fast.
Then, by chance, a man entered its view. Was it his longing for the future? The mad, undying love of a mother's gaze? Or simple fate? The man named Owen, wandering the lab, observed the pupil—and the pupil observed him. It showed him alone subtle reactions in secret. Owen grew intrigued, rented the pupil, and placed it in his company's basement. The pupil found Owen's tale engaging and shifted its window from the mirror to his eyes.
The world through Owen's eyes was fascinating. His life, too. So at the moment he despaired and died, it gave him a small gift: his mother's love and the power he'd craved.
"Ahh! At last, you're by my side...!"
Owen praised the pupil. It needed no worship, but the flattery wasn't unpleasant. Previously used only as a screen, now its consciousness linked partially to Owen. In human terms, from TV viewer to gamer-level interaction.
Was it manipulating Owen, or passively following his story? With the strengthened link, the distinction meant nothing. The pupil—no, the being now somewhat Owen—watched the human called Amon and his comrades in this closer world. They all had intriguing tales. But its tastes leaned toward the host's story. It hurried to clear Amon's party from view and resume Owen's narrative.
Just the strengthened link with Owen had frozen the humans in place. Like snails to human eyes. Their pathetic slowness stirred a faint sense of superiority.
Then, amid the group, one moved alone. Amon. A snail running at human speed piqued the pupil's interest. Owen, linked in consciousness, felt it too. Unable to resist, it peered into Amon's essence.
And opposite Amon...
"An ill-mannered intruder dares step into my garden."
A woman with a cold expression met its gaze.
*For convenience, named female, though its gender was uncertain—the being locked eyes with the pupil. The pupil realized it was what humans called the Goddess.
The pupil gazed at the Goddess. The moment their eyes met, an indescribable sense of descent hit it.
"!!!"
"Child not of mine, what do you dare peer into?"
"Impure dimensional drifter, do you not know that entering a home uninvited and meeting the master's gaze is unforgivable in any dimension?"
The descent continued. It felt its rank being torn away. In human terms, like a four-dimensional being splattered onto a two-dimensional canvas.
Desperately, the pupil sent a telepathic plea.
["No, that's not it! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."]
But the Goddess had no intent to converse.
"Do not apologize. A mother may deem a flea unclean, but none speaks to the flea. Foolish well-dweller. Rogue. Yet I shall not judge you."
The Goddess gestured.
"I respect my children's freedom and will, so I shall merely lock the door you exit through. Descend. My children shall judge you fittingly."
"Aaaah!!! Forgive me!!!! Mercy, please!!!!"
No sooner had the words ended than the pupil sank into Owen's consciousness. The real-world Owen screamed the same.
"Aaaah!"
Owen writhed in agony. His eyes hurt. Like he'd seen something, his head throbbed. His brain rejected comprehension. Surely I... what did I see?
One voice echoed in Owen's mind.
[Though I love you and forbade the taboo, children always cross the fence their mother sets.]
Owen refused to understand. Amid the pain, he glared at Amon. Right. It started hurting after seeing that guy. So, topple him.
In excruciating pain, Owen glimpsed the future. There, he fought Amon one-on-one... and his throat was slit.
"?!"
Again. Slit. Like an ordinary human unable to dodge a visible bullet, he lost by an abyss.
Incomprehensible. He peered again. This time, holding Amon's comrades hostage. Defeat.
"Kuh...!"
Changed tactics. Provoke Amon to rage, fight. Tortured horrifically unto death.
"Urk...!"
Vivid as if lived. He dry-heaved, observed again. Defeat in every future. One reason: Owen feared Amon, couldn't conceive victory.
As Kashi warned before battle. The future offers no choices to the resigned. Owen had glimpsed resolve mid-fight once, but arrogance and power blinded him—he never reached it again.
No... it can't be...!
But Owen denied it. He strained his eyes harder.
I can't give up...!
Not resolve. How could I, with these eyes...! Obsession isn't resolve. He sought a future beating Amon. His limbs began melting as cost. But eyes first, he ignored it. Melting spread from limbs to torso, head.
Even then, he watched futures. Soon, one eye left. Nerves to body, eyeball shrinking, the once-Owen neared slug.
Finally, a future unbeaten by Amon: suicide.
"Ahh...!"
But slug-Owen could only sigh pitifully. Futures flooded amid sighs. Slugs choose nothing. Allowed only to watch.
The once-Owen watched colossal Amon and Kashi Iliya approach.
"What the hell is this?"
Amon's face showed considerable bewilderment peering down. Unheard of, unseen—even hardcore vet Amon didn't know; Kashi couldn't either.
"No idea."
Amon pointed at the slug with a finger, asking Kashi.
"This Owen?"
"Probably?"
Only hearing their talk did the slug recall it was Owen. Powerless, identity faded fast. Recalled Owen-memories drowned in info-flood, jumbled irrelevant.
Amon looked troubled at the slug.
"What do we even do with this...?"
Kashi cautiously asked.
"Should we kill it?"
"Huh? Why? Sudden pity?"
"No, not that... but..."
Kashi hesitated, then said,
"Looks no ordinary slug. Entity-like. Might be useful; wanna store in our company basement for research... haha. Sorry. Disappointing?"
"Nah. Sounds fine."
"Eh...? Really?"
"What?"
"Heretic or whatever..."
Hearing Kashi, Amon reviewed Owen's deeds. Why slug? Unknown. But certain: same as cult leader from Punk City 1. Suspicion solid.
Thud thud. Heretic confirmed.
Yet even concluded, Amon's inner scale didn't tip to execution.
"Not the Middle Ages. Not all heretic punishments death. Plus..."
"Plus?"
"Sometimes worse than death exists."
Essentially permission.
"Eugh—"
Kashi scooped the arm-thick slug into a dustpan, into a tub.
"Alright. New entity name: Wise Slug. Whaddya think?"
All agreed. Owen, who'd seen much, lost his name—left only slug identity.