Matthew was on the ground. He was clutching his head, and stifling a scream. It felt as though his head had been hit with a mallet, as though a thousand volts of electricity had passed through it, and fried his brain. He didn’t understand where he was, or what had happened.

And then he opened his eyes.

In the mirror, behind him, he could see his feet. He knew his own runners. He knew his own jeans. He knew what he was wearing, and he could see himself, behind where he was sitting, standing, and reflected in the mirror.

A chill ran up his spine.

He knew this feeling. He knew this floating feeling. He knew where he was, and he knew what had happened.

Slowly, frightened of what he would find, he raised his head, and looked a little higher. His waist, his gear, bunched up the jeans. His chest, and he could see himself breathing, though he wasn’t breathing with that rhythm. Not now. Not at the moment. In this body.

He could see his hands, held loosely at his sides, and he was frightened to look any further when he knew what he would see.

He wasn’t standing. He was crouched on the ground. And this wasn’t his body.

It was Lukas’.

He raised his head a little, and saw his face, just as he had expected. The confident, proud young man, standing there, hands held loosely at his sides, wearing a pair of glasses, dark glasses, that he couldn’t see through.

Except he was seeing.

Out of someone else’s eyes.

Matthew turned around on his knees and faced himself.

Tentatively, he reached out a hand, and touched his foot. He squeezed the runner a little, and felt nothing in his toes.

He raised his head a bit, until he was looking at his knees.

And then he reached his hands up in front of his face, the hands he had possession of. Lukas’ hands.

And he stared at them in wonder.

He swallowed. And stared at his groin. At the ridiculous bundle of junk there. His huge cock, and his huge balls. He looked up a little further, at his face, and felt what Lukas must feel, looking up at him all the time, when Matthew was so powerful, and Lukas was so small.

Slowly, Matthew got to his feet. He could barely stand. The pain in his head was so intense, and as he moved Lukas’ face toward his own, he heard something in Lukas’ mind, as though something had moved in Lukas’ brain, a worm, or a filament, something writhing. He moved Lukas’ face a little closer to the glasses, and turned his head a little, and suddenly there was a whine, a high-pitched feedback loop, like a screech, shot through Lukas’ brain. And again, something writhed.

Matthew raised his hands to his head, and fell to his knees, disoriented. Blinded.

He blinked a few times, and saw his own legs again. And then slowly, he shuffled backward, moving Lukas’ body away.

The glasses.

Matthew swallowed. It was the glasses. Not the tablets.

He frowned, using Lukas’ brow.

And then slowly, he raised himself to his feet.

Lukas was so small.

Matthew was aware of the diaper, tightly wadded under the jeans. He was aware of the…nothing, between his legs. And aware of something that felt alien, wrong, down there. Down where Lukas’ sack was, where Lukas’ sack had used to be.

There was something wet, and warm, between his legs, and Matthew realised that he was pissing himself, just slowly, in little dribbles, out of a hole that shouldn’t have been there.

It felt so wrong.

And he had done – this, to Lukas.

Matthew looked up at his own body, standing there, perfect, so strong and tall, and with a pair of dark glasses on his face. Standing there, like an idiot, not even knowing who he was, or what he had done, or where he was. Just a body, mindless, breathing.

And suddenly, Matthew was consumed with a deep hatred for himself.

He clenched Lukas’ fists, and felt how powerless Lukas was in the face of him. He was so much bigger than Lukas. So much stronger. And to top it all, he had this huge cock and balls, straining in his jeans, while Lukas had nothing.

‘And you did that to him,’ Matthew said, with Lukas’ voice.

He put his hands down, into Lukas’ groin, and he felt like weeping.

How could he have done such a thing?

Suddenly, filled with rage, he stepped forward and swung Lukas’ foot up into his own groin, kicking himself as hard as he could.

He had enough awareness of his own body, to know that it had hurt. He felt his breath catch, and saw himself falter. But he did it a second time.

And then he was on his knees, in his own body, and feeling the pain.

He tore the glasses off of his head.

And looked up at Lukas.

Lukas didn’t know where he was, or what had happened. Matthew had seen this look on Lukas’ face so many times that it was almost familiar. What was happening to Lukas?

Matthew turned the glasses over in his hands and frowned at them. How could they…? What…?

He didn’t know.

‘I’ve got to go out,’ he said.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Can I take your car?’

Lukas nodded, but he was staring at the glasses in Matthew’s hand. ‘Can I come?’ he said.

Matthew nodded, not thinking. He folded the glasses and put them into pocket of his shirt. And then he looked at Lukas.

‘What…?’ Lukas started, but Matthew ignored him. He jumped up, picked up the car keys, and started moving down the hall. It was only when he was on the stairs that he realised Lukas was behind him.

‘I’m going to Christian’s,’ he said, turning around.

Lukas nodded. He was watching Matthew closely. ‘Well, I can come. I haven’t been out of the house for days. I can sit in the car.’

Matthew nodded, and kept moving down the stairs.

Outside, it was raining heavily. The sun was on the horizon, shining obliquely across a landscape heavy with dark clouds. There was thunder. Sheet lightning. And when Matthew turned onto the Westaway, the traffic was heavy, moving quickly through driving rain. On the long bridge over the lake, he pulled into the fast lane, and began driving recklessly, passing every car he could.

The glasses, he thought to himself. What were the…? But it was as far as his thoughts got. He couldn’t imagine, and couldn’t begin to believe what they were. He had felt something, something moving in Lukas’ brain, when he was close to them, and now, in the car, Lukas had moved away from him, and away from the glasses.

As Matthew turned off the Westaway and into Belmont, he saw the symbols on one arm of the glasses imprinted on his mind, the symbols he had looked at a thousand times. PM – LS 3. He hadn’t supposed them to have meant anything, though it occurred to him now that the L.S. were Lukas’ initials.

Could the glasses have been made for Lukas? Had Dr Mueller…?

What? Done what? What would he have done?

Matthew screeched to a halt in front of Christian’s house. The gates were open, and he ran down the drive in the rain.

Hildebrand opened the door for him, and he pushed past her. He took the steps two at time, pulling himself up by the banister, and onto the landing. He threw open Christian’s door, and began walking forward. Christian was standing by the window, looking out of it. He turned, and faced Matthew.

‘What the fuck are these?’ Matthew said, pulling the glasses out of his pocket as he advanced into the room.

‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ Christian said.