Per 
The D-Class took his seat before a long table at the center of the room. The table and its single accompanying chair, the walls and high vaulted ceiling—everything save for the gray tiled floor and fluorescent light fixture—were polished chrome. It was like being inside a giant aluminum can. Or maybe an alien spacecraft. In defiance of this trend was a large mirror installed in the center of the far wall. The D-Class—Johnathon Hurley in a past life, D-8735 in this one—wasn’t the brightest guy by anyone’s definition, but he was smart enough to know this mirror was actually two-way glass; an observation window. This was a test chamber and he was the test subject.
From a hidden speaker, the sound of a man’s voice filled the room. “We’re going to begin now. Nod if you can hear and understand me.”
D-8735 nodded.
“Good. Good. Alright, then. Beneath the table where you’re seated is a small wooden box. I need you to retrieve it and place it on top of the table in front of you. Do not open it yet. Just place it on the table and await further instruction.”
He nodded again and did as he was told. The wooden box felt light in his hands. The cube of dark finished wood was roughly the size of the chess set box he had back in his cell. He wished—not without a tinge of bitterness—he were back there now, playing a game with his bunkmate. The board was ragged cardboard and the pieces were flimsy plastic in order to keep in line with the rules of the facility, but the chess set was D-8735’s prized possession. Not that he was allowed many possessions here. However, his bunkmate, Old Mac—known as D-4047 in the official capacity–was a former Grand Master. He was also a former foundation researcher who, according to popular rumor, had really fucked some shit up back in the 80s—not bad enough to be killed, but bad enough to get one serious demotion—because now he shared a cell with D-8735. Whatever the case may have been, Old Mac had taught 8735 a lot about the game. The time they spent playing together was just about the only time he didn’t feel like a caged animal.
“Now open the box.”
He was brought back to reality by this command, snapping him out of his daydream of pawns and rooks and queens. He looked down at the box a moment, studying it. He’d been subject to a few of the Foundation’s tests before. He’d been subject to a lot more, he was sure they’d forced him to forget with their pills and their treatments. He’d also heard plenty of stories from Old Mac. At the Foundation, a box was never just a box. If it were up to him, he’d leave the damn thing alone. Pandora had already taught the world a valuable lesson, after all. But, of course, it wasn’t up to him. Sure, he could technically refuse, but the consequences of refusing a direct order from Foundation staff made such a choice a non-option.
He sighed and opened the box. Inside was… a game? He blinked. It appeared to just be a kid’s game. One of those handheld electronic jobs called “Bop It.” No forbidden book containing mind-shattering secrets, no sentient severed hand, no photograph of a creature that would kill you if you saw its face. Just a Bop It.
He relaxed, but only a little and only for a moment. Just as a box wasn’t just a box in this place, a kid’s game wasn’t just a kid’s game. Which was why he felt his legs go weak when the voice from the speaker called out again.
“Now go ahead and pick it up. Turn it on and begin a game.”
He should’ve known.
“I… I have to play with this thing? Can’t I just like… study it or something? Just look at the different parts and examine them without actually touching it or someth—“
“No. Pick it up. Turn it on and start a new game. Do it now.”
“But… I…”
“First warning, D-8735. Do as you’ve been instructed. Don’t make me give you a red mark in your file.”
“Alright, alright. Don’t go marking in my file or calling an agent in here. I’ll do it. I’m… I’m sorry.”
“You’re stalling. You’ve got three seconds or that’s your second warning.”
“Okay! Okay!” He snatched up the game and fumbled with it a moment until he found a small power switch on the back. As he did this, he noted with a slight shudder, the plastic panel to the battery port was missing and the place where there would normally be a set of AA’s was empty. The thing had no batteries in it and yet, the instant he flipped the switch, the game powered to life.
“Bop it!” said an oddly familiar male voice from inside the game.
He noticed the device had a few more components than he remembered from playing with one of these things as a kid, including what looked like a hot pink plastic buzzsaw sticking out of the side of the machine. That wasn’t the only thing that was different. Unlike the Bop It he’d played with as a boy, this version of the game had no uptempo beat playing while the prerecorded voice spoke its commands. Making note of these things was enough of a distraction to delay him in taking his turn. When he failed to ‘Bop It’ in time, a short buzzer announced his error, ending this round of the game.
“Actually try and win, D-8735.”
“Okay, I got it. Sorry. Caught me off guard.”
He hit the start button. The voice once again commanded him to perform its namesake task. He hit the big round Bop It button on the front
“Pull it!”
He pulled on a yellow plastic handle on the side of the game.
“Twist it!”
This was actually kind of fun. So far, the game was a lot like he remembered. Without hesitation, he twisted a green piece of plastic on the side of the device.
“Spin it!”
He did.
“Bop it!”
Ditto.
“Drink it!”
That didn’t sound right. Before his mind could register the meaning of those two words, the game began spouting a clear liquid, hitting him in the face. Out of pure reflex, he flinched out of the way, causing the game to spray a fine stream of the stuff onto the floor behind him.
“No, no, no, D-Class!” It was a different voice from the hidden speaker this time. A female voice. A very impatient sounding female voice. “You were supposed to open your mouth and drink it! You’re going to keep doing this until you get it right. Now try again!”
He didn’t know what the liquid he’d just been sprayed with was, but it smelled rather unpleasant. It had a scent like that of dirty laundry left to mildew, mixed with stagnant water and a slight hint of body odor. Regardless of this, he discovered that a large part of him wished he had been quick enough to allow the liquid to spray down his throat instead of flinching away. There was another, smaller part of his mind that realized this was not only disgusting, but irrational. Why in the hell would he want to drink what seemed to be—for all intents and purposes—dumpster water? In spite of his not having an answer for this question, a second later he heard the words ‘bop it’ before he even realized he’d restarted the game.
He bopped it without hesitation.
“Pull it!”
He pulled it. He had a real determination to win this time.
“Twist it”
He twisted it. His mind was solely focused on performing the exact actions the game demanded of him.
He heard another voice—different from that of the game, or the speaker—whisper: “Yes master… anything you command of me…” Almost a full second passed before he finally realized the words had come from his own mouth.
“Drink it!”
Like a parched desert traveler who’d at last come upon an oasis after days of wandering without water, D-8735 opened his mouth, tilted his chin up ever so slightly, and allowed the putrid, foul-smelling liquid to fill his mouth. His cheeks began to balloon out. Once the game finally stopped producing the rancid concoction, he swallowed it all down in one long, somewhat painful gulp. It was horrible. It was refreshing, replenishing. He wanted to retch. And yet… he wanted to rejoice.
“Stab it!”
From a previously unseen compartment, a large blade extended. Unlike the game’s other components, the blade was not made of brightly colored plastic. It was actual steel. It’s edge looked razor sharp, gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights of the test chamber. D-8735 needed no further instruction. He knew exactly what to do. He didn’t waste so much as a millisecond. He plunged the blade into his own throat before slashing it across the soft tissue there, creating a long horizontal incision. Blood began to trickle down the front of his orange jumpsuit, staining it bright crimson. The blade retracted with a soft audible click as it locked itself back into place. He carefully sat the game on the tabletop in front of him as blood continued to flow from his wound. Aside from this blood loss, at first, he appeared completely unaffected by his injury; no gasping or gurgling sounds typical of individuals who’d just had their throat sliced, no indication he was in pain or struggling to breath, no reaction whatsoever. After a moment or two however, he soundlessly slumped back in his chair and was still.
The game powered off. D-8735 showed no discernible sign of life.
“D-8735?”
No answer.
“D-8735? I’m going to give you two seconds to respond, or I’ll be sending in a response team. One… two…”
No answer.
“D-8735? D-8735!”
D-8735 shot up from his seat, knocking his chair onto the floor behind him with a loud clatter. Still bleeding from his gaping throat, he gazed directly into the two-way mirror—directly into the eyes of the researcher on the other side of the glass who’d been watching him through the observation window. D-8735 shouted two words, in an almost cheerful tone, before collapsing to the floor. They were the last words he would ever speak.
The two words were: “Release it!”
| Incident Report 01: | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| On 2/6/2022 between 3:45pm and 4:15pm Researcher Harris physically assaulted Dr. Clarke in the ninth floor break room of site #88. Researcher Harris was heard shouting the words “bop it” before proceeding to strike Dr. Clarke in the face with a closed fist, breaking his nose. Following this attack, Researcher Harris was able to fight off six agents, before a seventh agent discharged his taser. When the taser was shown to have no effect on Harris, tranquilizers were administered. After approx. 12 seconds, agents were finally able to restrain the Researcher. This incident is very much out of character for Harris, leading me to believe he has somehow fallen under the influence of his research subject, although at this point in time this is pure speculation. | |||
| Incident Report 02: | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| On 2/6/2021 at 4:05pm Dr. Shoemaker entered the 2nd floor women’s lavatory of site #88 and attacked a member of our janitorial staff. Other members of the custodial team have reported that Dr. Shoemaker “screeched like a frightened bird, before screaming the words ‘twist it’ at the top of her lungs.” According to the witnesses, Shoemaker then allegedly grabbed the janitor by the wrist and began to twist their arm in such a way as to dislocate the janitor’s shoulder. The victim is currently recovering in the triage ward of the 9th floor infirmary at site #88 | |||
