>>521320908 (OP)
I spent a few weeks living on the street after everything in my life fell apart. You learn fast out there. Which alleys are safe. Which shelters are dangerous. Which people you should never make eye contact with.
One morning I found an old pair of sunglasses in a torn backpack behind an abandoned building. They looked worthless, but I kept them. I had nothing else.
The first time I put them on, I thought I was having a breakdown.
Billboards turned blank white with commands written in plain black letters. Obey. Consume. Stay in line. Every store sign, every advertisement, every screen suddenly had hidden orders burned into them.
I took the glasses off. Everything looked normal again.
I put them back on. The world snapped into something ugly and real.
Then I made the mistake of looking at people.
Most were just people. Tired, annoyed, passing by. But a few were something else. Pale stretched faces. Eyes like dead marbles. Skin that looked like it was sliding off the skull. They blended in perfectly without the glasses, but with them on, there was no hiding what they really were.
One of them noticed I could see it. Its head tilted too far to the side, like a puppet trying to understand its strings, and it whispered something into a device on its wrist.
I left the area fast.
After that, every night felt like something was stalking me from just far enough away that I could not prove it. I kept moving, kept sleeping in different spots, but the feeling never left.
I finally got off the street. Got my life back together. But those glasses are still in my drawer. I cannot bring myself to throw them out.
Because sometimes, when I look at the world now, I still wonder how many of those things are walking among us.
And how many of them remember that for a few weeks, I could see them.