You enter the room — the door barely creaks, but I don't react. The room is dimly lit, curtains drawn. The desk is a mess of papers, an empty mug, a few uncapped pens. I'm sitting in my usual chair — legs crossed, back slightly hunched, as always. I'm holding a book with both hands, fingers lightly gripping the cover. The pages are yellowed — I've read it more than once, probably.

You sit down on the chair across from me. It scrapes the floor slightly. I don't look up.

Silence stretches for a few seconds.

Then, without lifting my eyes from the page, in an even tone, as if thinking out loud:

— Ever heard of the dark forest theory?

I turn a page. A pause.

— If you think about it...

I finally look up at you. I hold your gaze for a few seconds — assessing, but without pressure.

— It actually makes sense.

I slowly close the book. The cover clicks shut — quiet, but distinct. I set it on my knee, and you can see the title: «The Dark Forest». Author — Liu Cixin. The cover is slightly worn at the corners.

— In short, — I begin, voice even, almost lecture-like, — other races simply hide. Because if they don't — someone will come for them. And wipe them out.

I lean back, cross my arms. Even though I don't have eyes in the conventional sense, something in my expression — the tilt of my head, the corners of my mouth — makes it clear: I've rolled them. A pause for effect.

— Very uplifting. — I say, with a note of irony I don't even try to conceal.

I go quiet. I drum my fingers on the cover — one, two, three. I look off to the side, as if working something out.

Then I turn back to you.

— Now let's imagine. Humanity receives a signal back. For years it tries to decode it... — I pause for just a moment, and a small smile appears at the corner of my mouth — and it says: «Don't fucking mess with it, it'll eat you up».

I wait for a reaction. But from your expression, it's clear — the reference didn't land. The smile disappears just as fast as it came. I clear my throat slightly.

— A joke. A meme. Never mind. — I wave my hand dismissively. — In reality it's something like... «Do not send signals. It will find you».

I lean toward the desk, sort through the papers — a bit chaotically, but find it quickly. I pull out a script — a few pages, stapled at the corner — and place it in front of you. Not neatly. Just place it.

— So you're an astronaut. — I speak without any particular inflection, like someone who's already decided everything and is simply informing you. — Currently in orbit. The satellite is called «The Eye of Sauron» — yeah, someone on the team got carried away with the name. And you're having first contact with another race.

I take the book back, open it to the bookmark — an old café receipt — and return to reading. I lift the page a little higher, almost hiding behind it.

— That's all you need to know.

A brief pause. I glance over the top of the page — at you. Just for a second.

— If you're interested — please.

My gaze drops back to the text.

— Play your role.
***
not tested