tiny spark that made him momentarily withdraw them . They returned to the surface tentatively , almost affectionately . And it was in the midst of this action that Greg woke to find his fingers on his own face .
It was past midnight . A new day . He rose instinctively in the darkness . Where there had previously been fear or excitement , now there was simply a knowing calmness as Greg looked upon what he had become . He understood now why he could not see himself reflected in the surface : he was that surface . The dimensions of his face had taken on their final form . His skin had been replaced with a hard and smooth plastic , and the centre of his face had coalesced into a black screen . Beneath which , there was a long rectangular opening with a flap . He reached up to the back of his head where a silver nub protruded and manipulated it between his thumb and forefinger . It extended vertically to reveal itself as an aerial . He could see now that his former flesh self was merely the larval stage of his becoming , and he had emerged from the pupal state having shed all resemblance of the thing he was .
He faced the mirror and saw the black surface of his glass countenance reflected in it . And within the tinted glass of his new self , there was an infinity of reflections and possibilities . His binary choice of death or internment was a delusion that could be rejected . Further changes would come to his being , but he did not fear what was happening or seek to escape it as he had done when he awoke that morning . He would not hide . Nor would he walk around in imitation of the thing he used to be . His existence ,