D-45900 paced the small room impatiently, his route stunted by the bed and desk that were bolted in place. He would pause and look up at the camera every now and then before returning to pacing.
The person on the other end of the camera sighed, eyeing their watch. “Hour 119. No sign of change in subject. Experiment 22 analysis pending, but it is believed this will be the final test with an illustration in place of a photograph.” They clicked off their recorder and groaned, head dropping back as they pushed the metal chair they were sitting on onto two legs.
“Sir, you’re not supposed to do that. Donahue broke a chair that way.” There was a second person in the room, sitting in another chair at a desk and reading through various reports.
“Donahue is a fat lard who can’t be bothered to move for ten hours a day. It’d be more if he didn’t have to go to the bathroom.” They stood, chair falling back with a loud clank against the cement floor.
“Dr. Rennigan, please. That’s rude.”
“What’s rude is that he decided to give me this stupid list of tests to do, and he keeps making me do them.” Rennigan righted the chair, stepping over to the desk. “What does the latest Retrieval Log say?”
“Same thing as ever. This time the parents seemed affected by the photograph as well, though. It was kept in the living room, and according to Agent Finkelstein, was roughly equidistant between the children’s and parents’ rooms.” He sighed, looking up. “Once again, the only reason it was found was because the children began to act oddly at school and would show up with bruises and bite marks. Child Protective Services was called in, and the preliminary report pinged one of our searches.”
“What was the photo of?” They held their hand out for the report to scan it over.
“A tiger. Bengal. It’s believed to have been taken at the Birmingham Zoo.”
“Thanks Lawrence. Can I trust you to remove the scip and take 45900 to the debriefing cell?” They set the file down again, wondering briefly how the hell did no one notice an entire family acting like giant predatory cats?
“You can. But, um, where are you going Brienne?” Lawrence stood to gather the files together. He could return them to the main file and begin processing the experiment now, saving time later. Lawrence had a family outside of the Foundation. He wanted to return home, where things were sane.
“I’m going to have a talk with Donahue about these ridiculous testing procedures. We’ve confirmed three times now that illustrations don’t activate the scip; photographs do. And he wants us to test photographs of objects, again. This is foolhardy. We should be testing the baseline, or how it affects a singular subject with multiple objects. Or how about the fact that our current working definition of a personality is absolutely trite? We need something much more specialized for our needs here.”
Lawrence held up his hands, one holding the manila folder he had been reorganizing. Rennigan took it, shaking it in his face. “This is trash, busy work! I did so much more as a civilian. Hell, I did more as a therapist for the D-class at Site 220 than I am doing here.”
“I – ” Lawrence got a faceful of crumpled papers and folder as Rennigan left. The resulting door slam frightened even the bored D-class in his containment cell.
Despite what Rennigan had said, they were not going to the Site Director to complain. It was a foolish thing to do. Instead, they were headed outside, to smoke.
“God dammit. Fucking heat, and fucking mosquitos, and fuckin’ lunkheads everywhere I go.” Alabama was having record high temperatures, and the recent rains made the air more like pea soup than breathable air. Rennigan could literally feel their hair go limp under the moisture as they sat at a warped picnic table. “This entire place is an anomalous event just waitin’ ta burst.” They lit up one badly rolled cigarette, inhaling deep. They promptly cursed when half the tobacco managed to fall into their lap instead.
Rennigan hadn’t been at Site 239 for very long, scarcely three months now, but they absolutely hated it. Everything about it. Growing up in Alabama had not endeared them to the place at all, and they viewed the entire state as a humid, backwards hell that they had thought they had escaped when moving overseas for love. But the love had struck out, and they were back here, college loans paid for by the Foundation, sure, but their cotton blend shirt sticking to their back under the heavy lab coat they hadn’t bothered removing before stepping outside.
Instead of lighting a second cigarette, they shoved the remains of the previous one aside and pulled out a notebook, carefully writing a note. That note they tore out as they stood, wiping their hands on the coat. The inside of the building felt like an icebox after the heat outside.
The note got passed off to a receptionist with orders to send it to the Ethics Committee, and Rennigan moved through the corridors back to their project. The skip had a designation, but they preferred to call them what they were, picture frames.
The storage room had a few boxes in them, containing over one hundred frames of varying sizes, some painted or broken, all made of matte black plastic and with a creator’s mark that looked like it belonged on the bottom of a vase rather than the cardboard and velvet backing of a cheap frame.
The interesting part came when you put a photo in the frame and sat it out. It couldn’t be just any photo, not of plants or buildings or the sky, but of sentient items. Animals and humans thus far, though Rennigan was itching to test it on another skip. After their first request, they and Lawrence had been handed a list of experiments to do instead, most of which were testing what they already knew – the picture frames couldn’t affect people through a video feed, it didn’t work with non-sentient items that were photographed, and it didn’t work with anything that wasn’t a photograph.
But when it worked. When it worked. Rennigan sorted through the boxes with a smile. The picture frames held the ability to completely change a person’s personality. Their fears, loves, idols, behaviors, everything. It had such great potential. What if they put instances in the cells of convicted felons with photographs of genuinely good people? They would never commit another crime. It could be a boon to humanity, and Rennigan’s name would be right at the top of the papers saying “do it”. Obviously, these papers would be limited to only those with knowledge about the frames and their proper purpose, but Rennigan didn’t need that much attention.
The only sticking point came in the actual execution. Every retrieval log, every D-class subjected to the picture frames’ full effect, showed that the subject was fully aware of the change. They were scared of it, wanted out. It could be argued a form of torture for some already susceptible to paranoias related to photographs. And when the whole process was done, the subjects hid their behavior. Were they aware they weren’t who they had been? It was hard to tell.
“Dr. Rennigan, what are you doing in here? I thought you went to talk to the Director.”
Rennigan shoved the frame they’d been staring at back into the box and turned to stare Lawrence down. “I’m not completely insane. I don’t want to get fired from this place.”
“Right, well, I was just returning this frame.” He had the instance they were using to test, carefully returning it to the proper box. Rennigan followed him out. “Are you doing anything tonight Brienne? I thought you could come by for dinner, get out of your apartment for a bit.”
“No thanks. I’m going to be studying tonight. I’ve got some ideas for wide-scale testing that will keep Donahue happy and perhaps let me test just how powerful these things are.” They noticed he wasn’t carrying the file anymore. “How’s the D-class?”
“He claims that he’s been bored out of his skull. Are you going to interview him tonight?”
They shook their head briefly. “I’ll leave him to stew until tomorrow. He won’t be interesting to talk to anyway.”
“Right.” Lawrence fiddled with something in his pocket. “Are you sure? You seem to be doing quite a lot of – ”
“Yes, I’m sure. Pack a bag for tomorrow. I’m going to start a few tests and will need an extra set of eyes.” They glanced at him and caught his uncomfortable look, cutting him off. “Reliable eyes. I’m not using anyone else for observation except for you.”
He sighed. “Yes sir. I’ll let my family know tonight. How long do you think I’ll be gone for?”
Rennigan smiled. “Oh, the standard 120 hour baseline should be fine.” Lawrence sighed and nodded, splitting off as Rennigan went to check on their request for a second testing room.