Escape Room

by Brian Ullmann

The Picasso Project.

  “You,” said Chance.

  “I can see the confusion on your face,” Kaiser said. “So please allow me to explain.”

  “You lied to us,” said Chance coolly. “About everything.”

  “No,” said Kaiser. “In fact, most of what I told you is absolutely true. Our world is under attack by forces that are determined to destroy free will, and eliminate the freedom of choice. Over the past decade, we have seen a reduction in our individual liberties, and a dramatic reduction in creativity, in originality. We are more divided than ever, increasingly compartmentalized into groups diametrically opposed to one another, living in ever-tightening bubbles that serve as impenetrable firewalls against new ideas, fresh ways of thinking. All of that is very much true.”

  Kaiser paused for a moment to straighten his tie. He was back to looking like his cool and composed self.

  “It is also true is that the Picasso Project is a program to identify the last remnants of a vanishing generation of free thinkers. The Picasso Project starts with the identification of promising creatives like yourselves. We invite you to participate in our experiment, the escape room, where we test your thinking and creativity. If you are successful, as you all were, you are invited to join the Picassos. Picassos, as I told you before, represent the only chance to fight back against the inexorable advance of conformity, of blind obedience.”

  “I don’t understand this,” said Tahoe. “If everything you’re saying is true, then what’s with the guns? If we’re what you’re looking for, why are you threatening us?”

  “Ah, Ms. Andrews,” Kaiser clucked. “I am so disappointed that you haven’t yet figured that part out for yourself. The Picasso Project is not designed to harness the power of the creatives. It is designed to exterminate them.”

  Kaiser’s words detonated like a bomb.

  “Exterminate,” Chance repeated quietly, the truth finally dawning on him. “A world of conformity. Where blind obedience to power is the rule. A world of submission. A world without dissent.”

  “You are a monster,” Kate fumed.

  “Life swarms with innocent monsters,” Kaiser said.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Emerson College in 1999 was a small school that wanted to be a big university. Founded in 1880 as a conservatory of “elocution, oratory, and dramatic art,” Emerson was still one of Boston’s smallest colleges, with barely over 3,000 students, but a sterling academic reputation that rivaled its better-known crosstown universities.

  Richard Kaiser was a rising star of the Emerson faculty. A tenured professor in the psychology department, he carried a manageable course load that left him ample time to pursue his own research program. He was well-versed in all the famous studies of the brain – Libet, Carlos Hyde, the theories of Freud. But he was much more interested in behavior, and what motivated humans to act the way they did.

  “I began a new line of research into what motivates human behavior,” Kaiser said. “To make a very long and technical story short and to the point, I learned the formula behind controlling human behavior.”

  “Formula,” repeated Chance.

  “Three things. Simple really, yet revolutionary. First one, emotional appeals. Humans do not act rationally. Emotions drive our actions. I learned how to manipulate emotions to fix a pre-determined outcome.”

  Chance felt Kaiser’s eyes bore into him. Then his gaze turned to Kate. Then to Jenny.

  Emotions drive our actions.

  “Second one, choice architecture. We make choices based on available options. Control the choices, control the behavior.

  “And the third one, social incentives. We act as others around us act. Humans are not programmed to go against the grain. If we can learn to control groups, individuals follow along like sheep.”

  “You learned…how to control behavior?” Chance asked.

  “Not back then,” Kaiser said. “Not yet anyway. I was still conducting experiments, testing my hypothesis. Back then, I was just a father and a husband and a young professor.”

  Chance saw Kaiser absently rub his left ring finger. There was no wedding band.

  “September 18, 1999,” Kaiser said, staring at his hands. “That’s when everything changed.”

  The president of the university had just announced a tuition hike. In a long and carefully reasoned letter to campus, the president had laid out the financial case for the 5 percent increase. Utility costs had gone up, quite outside the university’s control. Increased union wages had kicked in too, from a contract negotiated nearly two years earlier. Enrollment had declined, resulting in revenues that were nearly $3 million short of projections.

  “The modest tuition increase will not affect any current student,” the president wrote. “And will only take effect with the freshmen class of 2003.”

  The tuition hike was completely logical, factually accurate, and fiscally responsible. And yet something about the announcement spurred the student body to action. They marched to the main administration building, stormed the president’s wood-paneled office, and refused to move.

  The sit-in lasted exactly 44 hours. And on hour 45, the police were called in.

  The students, Kaiser said, wouldn’t budge. The police cited peaceful protest policies that forbad disruptive sit-ins and still the students wouldn’t move. The police threatened arrests, and still the students refused to leave. So that’s when the police resorted to force.

  “It was harmless at first,” Kaiser said. “Brandishing of batons, some strong-arming. But the protesters were having none of it. They took offense at the attempts to remove them. They started pushing back. One boy – I will always remember his name, it was Dan Brown – decided to be a big man. He threw a punch at one of the officers, missed wildly. Embarrassed by the awkward attempt at fighting, he reached for whatever was closest.

  “It turned out to be a large rock. Technically, it was a shell-fossil specimen set into a hunk of igneous rock the size of a bowling ball. But in that moment, to Dan Brown, it was a weapon.

  “He hurled that sharp slab of rock at the officer from about four feet away. And again, it missed the target wildly. But it hit someone else. Because at that exact moment, a young student – a freshman – emerged from an office where she was an interning. The rock slammed directly into her right temple, crushing her orbital socket and fracturing her cheekbone. A bit of loose bone sliced into her brain. She died on the way to the hospital.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re telling us this story,” Chance said.

  “Because you called me a monster,” Kaiser shot back. “A monster. And I’m explaining to you how monsters are born.”

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “That girl,” he said, “was my daughter. Lenore was 18 years old. She died for nothing. Because a few misguided youths thought they knew better than the administration of the university about what tuition increases were needed. An utterly pointless an inconsequential protest that KILLED MY DAUGHTER!”

  Kaiser’s sudden anguish was quickly wrapped in hushed silence. He closed his eyes to compose himself. Having excised something deep from within himself, he straightened to his normal ramrod erect self.

  “Pay attention now kids, because this is the part of the story where the monster comes in.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Kaiser plunged himself into his work. He wrote paper after paper, proving and expanding on his insights into the power of emotional appeals, choice architecture and social incentives. In just a few years, he moved across town to Harvard where his publishing record only accelerated. His lab had twenty graduate students and a half-dozen assistant professors. His work consumed him. That’s exactly what he wanted. When his wife left him, he barely noticed.

  Then one day, a man appeared, quite unannounced, in his lab. Kaiser did not know him, did not even know his name, but he listened as the man made an unbelievable offer.

  “Imagine a world without dissent,” the man said. “Imagine how our world would be different
today without conflict. The Twin Towers would still be standing. The Holocaust would never have happened. And your daughter Lenore would still be alive.”

  “Conflict is an inherent part of life,” Kaiser said. “There is no avoiding it.”

  “All conflict revolves around one thing,” the man said. “Power. All conflict arises between those that have it and those that crave it. If we could give power to those that do not have it, we would create chaos. Power in the hands of those unprepared for its strength is as brittle as thin glass.

  “But what if we could ensure absolute power to those already in control. What if we could ensure there would be no dissent? Imagine the peace we could secure on our planet.”

  “Impossible,” said Kaiser. “Pure fantasy.”

  “I do not agree,” said the man. “We already know the brain controls our behavior to an almost unimaginable extent. We have been following your research. We now know that we can control much of the rest of behavior through the use of behavioral tools. Manipulating emotions, controlling social constructs, limiting choices. Your research means that behavior control is finally within our grasp.”

  Kaiser snapped back to the present. “That day, that man convinced me that a more peaceful world could exist. He poured money into my research and, eventually, into my private foundation.”

  “The Lenore Foundation,” said Kate.

  “Yes. Named for my daughter.”

  “But that’s not the entire story is it?” Chance said sharply. “There’s more.”

  Kaiser smiled, appreciative of Chance’s quick intellect.

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s more. You see, even with the hard-wiring of the brain, even with the controlling power of my foundation and money, and even with my behavior-controlling technology, we still found individuals that we could not fully control.”

  “You’re talking about us,” Chance said. “Creatives. And you couldn’t let a few rebellious kids spoil your grand plans.”

  Kaiser nodded. “The powerful only gain their supremacy because they have the power and will to overwhelm discord and squash opposition. A world without resistance, without rebellion, is a better world. A safer world. Just think of how dissidence has blighted our society. We can eliminate all of that. No conflict, no strife, no war.

  “All we have to do is speed along the process a bit. We can create a world where decisions are made and rules followed. Where informed leadership has complete authority, without question. How much time we waste with debate! Come now, should we really consider the opinions of Billy Bob Jessup from Oklahoma when it comes to diplomatic relations with North Korea? Do the opinions of soccer moms from Virginia suburbs on tax reform really trump a team of highly-educated economists? Or intercontinental ballistic weapon policy? Surely you would agree that these types of decisions are best made by those with more knowledge.”

  “You’re talking about the elimination of democracy,” Chance said. “What you describe is a communist state. A dictatorship.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” said Kaiser. “What I am describing is already happening. It’s inevitable. But the people that I associate with would like to expedite the process. The United States will remain a democracy, but the electorate will become malleable, easily manipulated by fake news, polarizing campaign rhetoric. The beauty, of course, is that our citizens fall all too easily into two camps — right and left, conservatives and liberals. Without independent thinking, everyone is all too content to stay within their bubble. We are just ensuring they stay that way.”

  “You’re been working on this for years,” Chance suddenly realized. “Your foundation.”

  “Correct. The Lenore Foundation invests in programs to further our goals. We invested in tech firms to develop search algorithms that restrict new ideas from reaching people. We supported the most unconscionable views from awful people, to go and speak on college campuses, to test the boundaries of free speech. It worked. campuses have begun to restrict free speech by quashing undesirable speech, by creating so-called safe spaces. We funded arts programs, promising to alleviate the burden of costs from cash-strapped local school districts, all too eager to redirect funds to renovations, athletic programs and administrative salaries. And then we slowly tightened the noose of funding until we cut them off entirely. The districts have little choice but to cancel the programs outright. Students showing creative promise are reassigned to funded programs in computer coding, engineering or other STEM fields. We funded robots that infect the internet with fake news. We are even buying news organizations to directly control the flow of information.”

  Chance’s brain throbbed with the realization of the scope of the conspiracy. Stamp out individuality, wherever it is. And what made it even worse was this: We were making it easy for them. We ignored the signs when they were all around us the whole time.

  “You’re insane,” Chance said. “This could never succeed.”

  “Won’t it?” Kaiser smirked. “This facility is filled with Picassos, encapsulated in these pods. Independent thinking is dying, right before your eyes.”

  “You’re … killing the Picassos?” Tahoe stammered.

  “No,” countered Kaiser. “Nothing so dramatic or noticeable. What we are doing is much more clever. You see, the experiments, the escape rooms, have helped us identify the most promising young creatives. Threats to the coming new world order. We are merely eliminating those threats.”

  “If not killing them, then how?”

  “It was the final step we needed for complete control,” Kaiser said. “Genetic modification. Thanks to research firm that my partner acquired, we are able to identify the exact genetic sequence in your DNA that provides each of you with your creativity. Once we have identified these genes, we simply place you in these pods, at low temperatures, and proceed to subject you to genomic engineering. It’s all terribly complicated but suffice it to say that we use molecular scissors to excise these originality genes, and then splice your DNA strands back together. The Picassos are none the worse, and simply returned to their lives, destined to be productive — albeit obedient — members of our society. We simply erase a section of their memories, so they won’t recall any of this escape room business either.”

  “You are genetically eliminating creativity,” said Chance. Suddenly, another piece of the puzzle slid into place. “You said you were targeting the young because our brains were still malleable. But that was a lie. You’re targeting the young because we haven’t yet reproduced. You’re changing our genetic structure to ensure the elimination of future generations of creativity.”

  “You really are a clever one,” said Kaiser. “I almost hesitate to slice the creativity right out of your body. But you should think of our work differently. Through the study of the brain and our behavior and now through genetic editing, we can eliminate conflict. Our calling is a noble one.”

  “All in the name of your daughter,” said Kate. “You can’t think that any of this will bring her back?”

  “Of course not,” Kaiser said slowly. “But I can make sure that no father ever feels the kind of loss that I felt on that day. Needless, hopeless, pointless loss.”

  “You would rather strip away her soul, the very thing that made her the person she was.”

  “I WOULD HAVE DONE ANYTHING TO SAVE MY GIRL!” Kaiser roared. “And I do not expect any of you to understand that. Because none of you have ever known that pain.”

  “And now we are a part of this? You intend to put us in one of these pods?”

  “Yes,” Kaiser admitted. “Each of you will be stripped of those genes that give you your creative abilities. Though each of you will no longer be able to write, paint or create music, just think of how much happier you will be. You will all finally be content in your lives. Think of how much happier you will all be without that sick feeling in your stomach. Feeling like you don’t belong. Like no one understands you.”

  “Take Provost Levick,” Kaiser said. “She’s in here somewhere. You may
know her as a somewhat stern academic, a well-regarded biologist. But she was also an accomplished writer of fiction. She was putting the finishing touches to a manuscript that we would rather not be made public. Fiction can sometimes be such an unsettling instigator.”

  Suddenly, Chance remembered that someone else might be in this dark facility. “If you did anything to my mom,” he seethed. “I swear I will kill you.”

  “Ah yes, Sarah Matthews,” Kaiser said. “That is another story entirely. This is hardly the moment for that.”

  “Is she alive?” Chance demanded. “Just tell me that she’s alive.”

  Kaiser considered Chance for a moment, as if weighing how to answer. Chance realized that no matter what words came out of Kaiser’s mouth next, he would be unable to truly believe them. And yet, he still craved an answer. He cursed his own weakness.

  “I don’t know, Chance,” Kaiser said finally. “That’s the truth. I do not know for certain if your mother is alive. But if you agree to come with me, right now, we can discover the truth together.”

  “How can we believe anything you say?” Kate interjected. “You and your little bitch friend there have done nothing but deceive us from the very beginning.” She turned directly to Jenny. “You’ve been part of this all along.”

  Jenny’s face did not betray her emotions. She did not react to Kate’s charge.

  “Jenny here is part of the family,” Kaiser said. “She understands the importance of what we’re trying to do.”

  “Jenny?” said Chance. “Is that true?” He didn’t even try to mask the tremble in his voice.

  “This is all so much bigger than us,” Jenny said flatly. “What you have seen is just the beginning. You have no idea what you have stumbled upon. You have to go back to the Darwin Room to figure this out. The figures on the mantel — they were a clue. A clue that you missed entirely.”

  “Now, Ms. Chen,” Kaiser cooed. “Let’s not make the mistake of oversharing.”