Page 101 of Lost Paradise

“I think they were trying to manipulate minds," Byron says.

Eve's eyes widen in horror. "The natives. They must have been using the island's inhabitants as test subjects."

My stomach churns as I piece together the implications. "So, they were using the natives as test subjects for these experiments. But why stop at medical tests? What else were they hoping to achieve?"

Eve moves to a set of old Polaroid photographs pinned to the wall. "These images... look at their eyes. They seem vacant, almost... lost. Like they've been hollowed out."

Byron nods, examining a series of charts. "Mind control. If they could control minds, they could create perfect soldiers, or spies, or... who knows what else."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. "But what if it worked? What if they succeeded? Could there still be... remnants of their experiments out there?"

Our eyes widen as we all make the connection.

"Wait, the border where the natives don't cross. It's a result of the mind control experiments!" I confirm exactly what’s on our minds.

Byron's face pales. "But how? The Russians left over thirty years ago. How could this control still be in place, especially through generations? The original natives that were controlled must be old by now, and what about those born afterward?"

We stand in stunned silence, grappling with the implications. I try to wrap my mind around it. "Could it be some kind of lastingpsychological conditioning passed down from parents to children? Or maybe there's something in the environment—some residual effect of the experiments?"

Eve looks thoughtful. "There must be a mechanism we're not seeing. Something that perpetuates the control even after all this time. It could be in the water, the food, or some signal or trigger that's still active."

Byron shakes his head. "We weren’t affected, and we eat the same seafood from the same ocean. But how do we figure out what it is? And more importantly, how do we stop it?"

“Why the fuck would we want to stop it?”

“Because it’s their island.”

“And they want to have us for dinner. And I mean us on that dinner menu.”

Byron takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of our discovery. "We need to find the source. There must be something here, some clue that will tell us how the Russians maintained control. If we can understand that, maybe we can figure out how to maintain our safety from the natives."

Eve nods, her expression intense. "Maybe the elders were manipulated first. Given their limited worldview and superstitions, they could have used whatever they were told to manipulate the younger generation. It’s like a twisted version of the Matrix—the younger generations are oblivious to the truth and believe what they are told without question."

Byron's eyes widen in realization. "So, the cycle continues. The elders pass on these beliefs, and the younger generation grows up accepting them as truth, never questioning the invisible barriers."

“Yeah, but are you actually suggesting that since the late 80s, not one native strolled past it? Like their little girl did?” I ask skeptically.

Byron looks thoughtful, his brow furrowing. "It's hard to believe, but maybe the conditioning is that strong. If the elders were manipulated and then passed down these beliefs with such intensity, it could create an unbreakable mental barrier."

Eve nods, agreeing with him. "Think about it. If you grow up being told that crossing the border means certain death or something equally terrifying, would you risk it? Especially if everyone around you reinforces that belief?"

I run a nervous hand through my hair, frustration evident. "So, you're saying that the fear is so deeplyingrained that even the newer generations, who never directly experienced the original experiments, still adhere to it without question?"

"Exactly," Eve responds. "It's like a self-perpetuating cycle. The elders, who were directly influenced, passed down the fear and the stories. The younger ones accept it as absolute truth because it's all they've ever known."

“Jesus, this goes against the grain of humanity,” I blow out frustrated breath as my eyes graze over those chilling wall photos.

“You would be amazed what America does behind closed doors,” Byron says.

“How would you even know what the US does?” I glare at him as he looks all smug at me.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eve interrupts. “What we believe is that the natives have been deterred from crossing the border for thirty-plus years, which means they aren’t going to start crossing back over soon. So I suggest we use the opportunity to look for anything that can help us get off the island fast, like a radio controller or something. I mean, they had freaking phones. How did they have phones without phone lines?”

“Satellite,” Byron says, his eyes lighting up with sudden realization. He turns on his heel and leaves the room fast.

Eve and I exchange quick glances before sprinting after him, the urgency of the moment propelling us forward. Byron's strides are long and purposeful, driven by the spark of an idea that might be our salvation.

"Where are we going?" I call out as we rush to keep up.

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