LOGINMy mom stood in the doorway holding up a flashlight, a grim look on her face. "Where are you going? Put those things down." Ethan gave up any pretense once he was caught in the act. He clutched his backpack and shouted as though he had every right to it. "No! I deserve this! You're both going to prison anyway. What good will any of this do you? "I'm your only son! You should give me all your resources so I can survive! That's what you taught me about getting the most out of your resources!" Our mom shook with rage and lunged forward to grab the bag. Mother and son wrestled in the dark. "Let go, you ungrateful brat!" "Let go, you old hag! Do you want me to die with you?" Ethan was young and strong, and he had been pampered all his life. He proved stronger than our mom, who had not eaten for days. He shoved her hard, and Mom's head struck the corner of the bed with a thud. Blood began to flow, and she fell to the floor, clutching her head and groaning. Without sparing her
Slap! The sound of a sharp slap rang out. With a trembling hand, my mom slapped Ethan hard across the face. The slap cut off his hysterical outburst and shattered the last trace of false warmth in the family. "You little piece of…!" My mom's chest heaved, her eyes red with fury. "We gave you the best education and the best life we could, and this is how you repay us? Your brother died out there for this family... For this experiment, you haven't shed a single tear! Yet now, all you care about is your credit card? Your party?" Ethan held his cheek and stared in disbelief at the mother who had never so much as spoken harshly to him in his life. A few seconds later, he exploded. "I'm ungrateful? You're the ones who taught me to be this way!" Like a madman, he swept everything off the coffee table and onto the floor. "Ever since I was little, you've told me it's every man for himself! You said compassion was for the weak! That the elite only had to look out for their own inte
"No... That's impossible..." My mom trembled, her eyes unfocused. "My model has records of food deliveries... There wasn't much, but he shouldn't have had to eat dirt... It was to keep him on the edge of starvation, to maintain his animal instincts. I calculated it..." "Your calculations are useless!" The veteran detective kicked over a nearby display stand. "He was your son! Not a lab rat! Take them away!" My parents were led out in police custody. As they passed the reporters and scholars who had praised them earlier, no one would even look at them. Someone even spat on my dad. "You're worse than animals." Dad's hair was a mess, and one of his dress shoes had come off as he ran. He looked so wretched right now. As he passed Ethan, he seemed to seize on to his last hope and shouted desperately. "Ethan! Ethan, call William, our lawyer! Tell him it was a research accident! Not murder! Tell him to get me out of this!" But Ethan, who had been sitting in the VIP section all a
Uproar filled the presentation venue. Camera flashes went off wildly, and the sounds of shutters never ceased. Every photograph captured the panic and ugliness of these supposedly elite parents. Ethan finally realized something was wrong. He stared at the face on the screen, identical to his own, and turned pale. The cherry in his hand fell to the floor. "Dad... Is he... Is he really dead?" He turned toward our dad, fear showing in his eyes for the first time. He felt no sympathy. It was simply because he just sensed that something was about to collapse. My dad slumped in his chair, and the monitor slipped from his hands. "Impossible... Jillian's model is perfect... How could he die? How dare he die?" Even then, all our dad cared about was the experiment and the model. I floated overhead, watching the farce unfold. Suddenly, I felt very tired. In the end, I had never managed to bring my mother half a loaf of bread. But it did not matter anymore. She had never been my real
Because I had held the bread against my chest, it was already stained with traces of blood from skin cracked open by the cold. A dog had bitten into that bread, but I had snatched it back. A farmhand employed by Lord Neville had slipped it to me out of pity. I had begged in the snow for an hour to get it. The entire room fell silent. The applause and praise everyone had been ready to unleash were abruptly choked off, as though a huge invisible hand had closed around their throats. Only the howling wind came through the speakers. Mom's smile froze. Her hand holding the laser pointer stopped in midair, its red dot trembling over the bread. "This... What is this?" The question slipped out, a trace of confusion in her voice. "It's food." A young male reporter suddenly stood up, his voice shaking slightly. "That's half a roll of bread. He wasn't protecting stolen goods when he died. He was protecting bread." My dad's face grew pale as he frantically checked the vital signs mon
"Next, we'll go live to the site and have a livestream," my mom announced. She swept her hand through the air, and the image on the screen changed. The edited footage stopped playing, replaced by a live surveillance feed. A vast snow field filled the screen. As the wind howled, it whipped up loose snow from the ground. It was the wilderness section of the film set, where I had collapsed. The audience off-stage held their breath, waiting to see something shocking. Perhaps they expected to see me robbing people in a frenzy or screaming hysterically. My mom held the microphone, a confident smile on her face. "According to our tracking system, our test subject Evan Howard should now be on his way to the Lord's manor to beg for food. We've instructed the actors to refuse him and humiliate him." "Our model predicts that he should be overcome with rage by now. He may even pick up a weapon and attack the actors. That will be the perfect conclusion to our experiment, irrefutable proof







