Mirror Lady

Dane flew through the window and hit the cement with a crack, his bed neighed furiously from the window. He slowly rose and massaged his arm, it had broken so many times in that area that the pain barely bothered him. What did bother him was the sound of the Iotil prancing around victoriously in his room. Dashing back into the room was the only way to reclaim his honor. He felt for the half-life patches in his pocket and made a decision. 

Thud, thud, thud. His soles slammed the ground and propelled him forward, he was in the room mere seconds later. He rolled to evade the barbed tongue that flew his way, it hit the wall behind him and tore through the wood sending splinters everywhere. Dane's heart pinched at the expenses he'd need to repair it but a low neigh pulled him from these thoughts. His once ever-comforting bedframe had turned into a monster, a drooling cave of fangs and spiked tongue now acting as its body. It snapped open and shut furiously. They stood in stalemate for a time, both unable to make a decisive move. The Iotil was small enough that a single half-life patch would be enough to disable it but the same problem threatened Dane, he was light enough that a second strike would kill him. 

Rrrrrrrippp!

Crack!

Both made a move, Dane pulling the velcro from the patch and dashing forward while the bed's tongue whipped his way. The tongue tore the side of his face but he pressed on. With a slap, all went silent. The bed convulsed, otherworldly sounds emanating from it as it fought to retain sentience. Losing in the battle for dominance it retook its normal form, fangless and tongueless.

Dane calmed his nerves, he could never get used to these frequent attacks. Wiping the blood that had covered his face, he made way for the kitchen.

He had yet to breakfast!

His stomach grumbled with fervor, the sound causing a reaction in the kitchen. Soon, a cacophony of sounds could be heard, sounds akin to the clattering of metal. The sweet aroma filled the air as if the universe had heard Dane's plea for food.

The truth was that many of his pans and pots had gained sentience at the sound of their master's empty stomach. On the stove danced two pans that had grown sets of insectoid legs, one prepared an omelet while the other a handful of bacon. Dane salivated at the sight.

Practically floating, his nose guided him closer to the scene, the scene that looked straight out of a kids' book. Rhymes that could accompany the sight already filled Dane's head.

His lips almost cracked from how wide he smiled. Maybe having your bed try to kill you isn't that bad, Dane thought as he watched the Iotils at work. He felt that if the trade for almost dying every morning was a pre-made breakfast then he didn't quite mind all the scars and scratches, they would heal after all.

He scarfed down a quarter omelet and three pieces of bacon. A dog-like tea kettle poured him a glass of orange juice, which he used to wash down the eggs and bacon. 

"That's a good boy, Chip" Dane said, scratching the tea kettle's underbelly. Chip hit the ground repeatedly with a porcelain paw and wagged his handle-tail.

What made Chip 'dog-like' wasn't his appearance but rather his canine behavior, the glint of intelligence in his eyes also helped to sell the illusion. It wouldn't have been hard to believe that in another life the tea kettle would've been a Golden retriever or Siberian husky. Chip whistled three times to show his satisfaction.

Beep!

A ring pulled his attention to the phone he had unconsciously grabbed from his nightstand.

"You still up for the festival?" A notification read. The sender was his good friend Jean.

I completely forgot about that! He thought as he typed a response. My memory's been slipping alot lately.

He sighed as he confirmed that he would still be attending the festival, it was the biggest festival in the world after all.

The C.I.R.S's Iotil Friendship Festival rivaled Expo 67. It was a huge event held by the research company every year to celebrate the growing understanding of Iotils and their origins. This year's festival promised to be especially big as one of the C.I.R.S's marketing employees had leaked an invention that would be debuting at the festival. A more innovative and humane alternative to half-life patches.

The post had been deleted not long after so little was known about the device.

The festival would also be a chance for Dane to network and find himself a job—something he desperately needed.

With another sigh, he finished his breakfast and pushed out of his chair. He waved goodbye to his Iotils, grabbed a small scholar's coat, and stepped outside.

The morning air was crisp as he made his way to the bus stop. A few minutes later, the bus pulled up with a hiss of brakes. Dane climbed aboard, found a seat by the window, and pulled a book from his bag—Even Impossibilities Have Limits. As the city blurred past, he turned the first page.

The author, Mary Celeste, was a researcher who had spent her whole life studying the nature of Iotils. She had been the first to derive their sentience from clumps of energy in their bodies called 'Life Cores'. This discovery was made on her own and many of her findings would later serve as the foundations for the common understanding of Iotils.

She was rumored to have died in 2002 but her body was never found.

Dane much enjoyed the way her books were written. At the beginning of every book, she'd have a résumé of the rules and discoveries discussed in its predecessors. Every book would start with the same sentence, one cardinal rule written in bold.

Iotils can never take on human form!

Simply put, Iotils could take on several forms when they gained sentience. Their bodies could shift dramatically from their base state or retain their normal appearance with only slight adjustments. But never—never—could they take on a humanoid form. Mary Celeste often said that if you saw a humanoid Iotil, no you didn't.

No one ever explained why, but the belief had spread far and wide: Iotils never took human form.

Dane turned the page, engrossed in new concepts like the Half-Iotil Paradox and the Lying Eyes Phenomenon. The theories blurred together as he read, his mind weaving through intricate ideas. By the time he finally glanced up, the bus was slowing to a stop—he had arrived.

He put the book away and exited the bus, Jean was already waiting for him.

Jean was a large man with golden hair and beryl eyes. A warm smile was always glued to his face and the light beard he wore hid the line of scars above his lips. Similar scars hid on his cheeks and chin.

Dane hugged his friend tightly.

"It's good to see you!" He said with a hardy laugh.

Fzzzzzt!

The sound of static made it impossible to hear his friend's response. It felt as if a scythe of cold steel hung at Dane's neck. Fear gripping his heart, Dane couldn't look down. He felt that if he did, he would die.

Unbeknownst to him, his eyes had become a reflective silver.