“You need a shower,” Zoe bluntly informed me as the three of us huddled together in the broom closet located under the stairs to the apartment’s subbasement. It was dark, barely dark enough to see. The albino man’s eyes somehow were glowing, almost like a cat’s, except it was just his irises. “Now what’s all this about, anyway?”

His soft, steady voice was somehow distinct enough to stand out from the hum of the sublevel machinery. “I beg your pardon for this,” he declared, “but it is very painful for me to wear these.” Before either of us could react, he pulled something off his face. It must have been very skintight, but whatever it was, the glowing irises came off with it. Zoe tentatively shined her phone light at the albino’s face; his eyes were now two circular black voids encompassed by the whites. “These augmentations work best on people with aniridia,” he explained, “but they become so irritating after awhile, and I like to be able to actually blink. And now, I think I owe you some explanation.”