Project Narcissus

The girl with braids felt like she had been asleep for days. Her head felt heavy against the window, her consciousness still barely breaking the surface of reality. She rubbed her eyes hard and let a deep inhale elongate her spine into an alert position. She was in some kind of chair, her elbows balanced on armrests and her back felt tight from slouching.

A train.

She was on a train. That much she knew.

But beyond that…

She looked down, focusing her weary eyes on her hands, then her feet, tugging at her clothes to get any semblance of her identity. From head to toe she wore a polyester jumpsuit, its starch whiteness only mirroring the blank canvas of her memory.

“Hey! Hey, there’s someone else over here!”

Her neck snapped up to meet the eyes of a thin blonde woman with glasses. She wore the same white jumpsuit the girl with braids did, and the deep grey circles under her eyes revealed that she too must’ve just awoken from the same deep sleep.

The girl with braids flinched as the woman with glasses reached for her hand.

“It’s okay I’m just trying to help you up. Your legs are gonna feel wobbly, trust me.”

The girl with braids accepted the hand, surprised by the strong grip of the petite woman. Once she was up she stumbled.

“Woah, careful!” The woman with glasses huffed. “I told you, like jello right?” She turned forward and called up. “There’s another woman over here, but I don’t see anyone else.”

The girl with braids tried to focus her eyes on the distance ahead, about fifty feet away a small group of white jump suited strangers peered curiously at her.

“That end is locked too?” One of them called back.

The woman with glasses pivoted back a step and the girl with braids realized she must have been in the last seat of the car.

“Yup,” She sighed, jiggling the handle. “Locked.”

The girl with braids felt faint, acutely aware of her new physical parameters.

“I-I’m sorry.” Her voice tasted stale. “I-I don’t know what’s going on, I-”

“I know,” The woman with glasses interrupted. “None of us do. Come on.”

The girl with braids realized foggily that she was still holding the woman’s hand, but she didn’t resist her pull as she was led her to the group at the end of the cart.

The girl with braids studied the circle. Including her and the woman with glasses, there were seven other strangers: a tall young man with deep blue eyes, a middle aged looking bald man, an older looking man with an arm that appeared to be amputated at the elbow, a young woman with a protruding pregnant belly, a shaky middle aged woman, a heavier middle aged man, and finally a small elderly woman.

They all were quiet for a moment, their eyes darting between each face carefully. Finally it was the woman with glasses who cleared her throat.

“Okay, I guess this is everybody.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” The bald man scoffed.

“I don’t know, what do you want me to say? Nobody else is talking!” She snapped back.

“Calm down, c’mon.” The tall man mumbled. “Let’s all just chill for a sec.”

“Chill? Do you even hear yourself?” The heavy man blustered, and suddenly every voice in the room seemed to explode until the car rattled with the reverberation of their panicked tones. The girl with braids plugged her ears, trying to soften the blow each voice took on her already pounding head.

Then a new sound broke through, a siren’s blare that forced all of them to wince and cover their ears. The siren went on, one long heavy blast as a white screen slowly lowered at the front of the cart. The group turned cautiously, each eye on the screen as a small film reel began to count down. The alarm was extinguished as soon as the reel began, and soon a beautiful brunette woman lit up the screen with a piercing white smile.

“Welcome testers, to Project Narcissus!” She clapped in the safety of her screen while the nine passengers tried to steady their breaths. “You no doubt have plenty of questions, but worry not - everything will soon be answered.” The screen changed suddenly and the woman was walking alongside a huge train, as clean and white as the jumpsuits. “Project Narcissus is the brainchild of renowned sociologist Dr. Philip Hayward. The research conducted in Project Narcissus will revolutionize the way we think, teach, and understand the interactions of the human ego. You brave nine should think of yourselves as pioneers of the new psychological and sociological age! Hooray!” She clapped again and the screen cut to a new shot of the woman in a medical office.

“Now I’m sure you’re all wondering the same thing; how did I get here? Where are we going? Who am I? Well, allow me to explain. Firstly, let me assure all of you that you have volunteered to this experiment willingly and have already been handsomely compensated for your participation. Legal consent forms, waivers, and proof of payment will be issued to all of you upon completion of the project. Now let’s see what our next steps are.” Suddenly the woman entered a smaller medical office which held an apparently unconscious woman on a stretcher connected to a multitude of wires.

“We begin by putting the tester in a medically induced coma, perfectly safe, but very sleepy.” The woman on screen giggled at the limp body. “It’s at this stage that we begin our memory locking. This is a very delicate process in which thousands of active wires stun the hippocampus and cut off the rest of the brain from accessing any core memories the tester may have. This means that while the tester will still retain basic knowledge of the world, they will be unable to access any personal information or core memories related to them. Once again, this is only temporary and upon completion of the experiment, the tester's memories will all be restored.”

The screen cut again to an animated model of a train, running underground on a massive track with the woman’s voice narrating. “As you can see, the train runs on a circular track. It has no final destination, no stopovers, and no way of stopping. The track it’s running on has a timer set to combust exactly 12 hours after the end of our video. If the project has not been completed properly by the allotted time, the timer will explode, effectively derailing the train and terminating everyone on board. The train is programmed completely outside of the traditional control room, and only the engineers in our offices can give the command to stop it safely. This command is easy, just a flip of a switch, but first we need something from you.”

The next cut had the woman actually walking down the train compartment’s hall, sporting her own white jumpsuit that somehow looked even crisper than theirs. “Project Narcissus begs the ultimate question; is one life worth more than the other? That’s up to you to decide. You see, the only way the train will stop is by one of you volunteering yourself as a sacrifice. One person must die for all to go free, but how will you choose?” A collective shiver seemed to run through the spine of each stranger, now too afraid to dare meet another’s gaze.

“Now,” She continued, putting up a strict finger. “There is only one rule when it comes to deciding: The decision cannot be submitted under threat of violence/bribery/etc., the sacrifice must volunteer of their own free will. If this provision isn’t followed, the sacrifice will be considered invalid.”

“I’m sure you are all excited to get started, but let me reveal our little twist. We will provide a list with a brief description of the lives of each person on the train, but we won’t reveal whose life is whose. That will be for you to ponder over. Who is the model? Who is the businessman? Who is the criminal? And how will that play a part in your decision? Best of luck, brave pioneers, we will see you on the other side!”

The screen went black, and nine strangers stared at their darkened reflections in silence.

Nine strangers, one sacrifice, one way out.

It was once again the woman with glasses who broke the silence.

“This is fucking insane. There is no way anyone would volunteer for this- I don’t care how much they’re paid.”

“H-how do you know?” The shaky woman stuttered. “You don’t even know who you are, or how desperate you might be for the money.”

“That I would sign up for some shit like this? I doubt it!” The bald man guffawed.

“She’s right though, you don’t even know who you are yet.” The pregnant woman sighed, lowering herself into a seat as she rubbed her stomach rhythmically.

“Easy for you to say,” The bald man gestured to her belly. “At least you have some proof of who you are.”

“We can’t sacrifice a pregnant woman.” The girl with braids mumbled almost automatically, the words were out of her mouth before she could catch them. Every head cracked towards her, but no one spoke for a few tense moments.

“Nobody is gonna sacrifice anybody.” The heavy man offered, looking for encouragement. “I mean, they said this is all sociological right? They’re probably just messing with us. As soon as we actually pick somebody they will let us all go, right? Maybe?”

“M-maybe he’s right,” The shaky woman nodded. “I mean, what kind of organization would approve of such an unethical experiment. I-it’s just ludicrous! I mean what if-”

“Hey! Look!” The tall man interrupted, pointing to the lit up screen. The brunette woman’s voice suddenly boomed from the speakers as a list appeared on the screen.

“Hello pioneers! I hope you’re all getting better acquainted with one another. As promised, the following is a brief description of the lives each person led outside of the experiment. Will this play a part in your final decision.”

The list appeared and every eye in the room read the descriptions in silence:

A model and social media influencer whose career is just beginning to take off

A parent of two who owns a successful family pizzeria

A recovering addict who has recently reconnected with their birth parents

A business mogul who has recently been arrested for insider trading

An athlete who has qualified for the Olympics twice

A nurse who recently started a non-profit charity to raise awareness for mental health

An architect who just landed their dream job in New York

A visual artist who has been drowning in debt

A recently released prisoner who was acquitted of homicide

“What…what are we supposed to do with this?” The tall man sighed, his high brow creased in confusion.

“Huh, isn’t it obvious?” The bald man scoffed. “This whole thing is about ego right? They want us to try and figure out who is who and decide based on that who deserves to die and who doesn’t.”

“Jesus help us.” The pregnant woman seemed to whisper to her belly.

“What if it’s the opposite?” The woman in glasses objected. “What if the whole point is to try and fight against our egos and base it on someone volunteering despite their position in life. I mean did you already forget what she said about the rules? The sacrifice has to volunteer themselves willingly or it doesn’t count.”

“Well, whoever is a murderer should be happy to volunteer themselves over a parent of two, I mean c’mon!” The bald man’s logic was apparently approved of by a murmur of nods.

“B-but they said they were acquitted, so that means they aren’t guilty right?” The shaky woman offered.

“So you think the murderer should live hmm?” The bald man whispered.

“N-n-no I-I just meant that- that-” But her voice seemed to disappear into a thin whistle in her throat as she stared at the faces closing in around her.

“Okay enough! None of us know it’s her, even if it was she wouldn’t remember.” The woman with glasses proclaimed, standing boldly in front of the shaky woman’s crumpled form. “Now, we have 12 hours to make a decision or else we all go, right? So let’s try and organize ourselves a bit, this is a democracy okay?”

The girl with braids raised her hand sheepishly. “Is there anyone right now that’s willing to be a sacrifice, without all the identity stuff?”

The heavy man guffawed. “Speak for yourself kid! You saw that list, we have a pretty promising lives ahead of us-”

“Well most of us.” The tall man interrupted. “I mean, c’mon, I don’t really think the recovering drug addict is going to have the same quality of life as say the model.”

“You don’t know that.” The amputated man pointed out. “It’s like she said in the video- ‘What makes one life greater than another?’”

“Oh you would say that.” The tall man scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon man, I mean, amputated from the elbow down…” He raised his eyebrows to the rest of the group looking for support. “I’m just saying, how many homeless guys who got injured in like, Vietnam or whatever, sit on the streets zonked out of their mind asking for drug money?”

“Fuck you man!” The amputated man shoved a shoulder towards the tall man. “Oh I’m an amputee so I must be a drug addict? Is that it?”

The tall man raised his arms defensively. “I’m not trying to be a dick, okay? I’m just saying that, like, some of the stereotypes have truth to them!”

“Oh right, so let me guess then, by that logic the bald man must be the athlete because he’s black right? Or maybe the woman with glasses is the model because she’s blonde and skinny? That’s how we’re gonna figure this out?”

The tall man pushed him back. “Lay off bro! I’m just saying what everyone is thinking! Sorry it’s not ‘PC’ or whatever but I don’t think we have the time to hold tryouts to see who’s an artist and who’s a drug addict.”

“Well, maybe we can.” The woman with glasses piped up. “I mean, some of those jobs are going to give people certain physical attributes right? Like the athlete will be in better shape than say the business mogul. A-and maybe the visual artist will have tattoos, or the drug addict will have track marks! You know what I mean?”

“S-so what, we’re all just supposed to get naked?” The shaky woman stammered.

“Yup,” The woman in glasses nodded resolvedly, pointing at the opposite ends of the compartment. “Girls on one side, boys on the other. If you see anything you think might be significant, share it with the group. Let’s go.”

The girl with braids absently wondered if the woman with glasses was the mother of two. Sure she looked young, but her attitude and discipline made it hard to disobey her, and soon the whole cart was divided and undressing.

“Anything on your side?” The woman with glasses called out.

“I mean, the bald guy is uncircumcised, I don’t know if that counts for anything.” The tall man shouted back. The men seem to giggle at that, relaxed in their nude camaraderie, but the woman with glasses was all business.

“Ok, well over here we have some tattoos; the pregnant woman has a flower on her ankle, the name ‘Sophie’ on her shoulder, and a quote on her back that says ‘this too shall pass’. Then the older woman has a long scar down her leg and also seems to have a hearing aid in.”

“Okay, so at least we know the pregnant woman is named Sophie I guess.” The tall man shrugged.

“Why would she have her own name tattooed on her, jackass?” The amputated man scoffed.

“Okay well there are no tattoos or anything over here.” The bald man yelled. “How about, you know, can you tell which one of you are mothers?”

“What do you mean?” The woman with glasses called back.

The bald man seemed flustered. “Well, I mean, can’t you tell who has had a baby by looking at each other’s… you know.”

The girl with braids heard the woman with glasses curse under her breath. “Yeah, no that’s not how that works. I mean seriously what kind of prima nocta bullshit are you on? You want to check if we're virgins too?”

“Alright, calm down, it was just a suggestion, Jesus.” The bald man flushed in frustration.

“Okay I think we got all we need from this little experiment, can we please put our clothes back on?” The heavy man huffed, attempting to hide his large body behind one of the seats.

“Fine, let’s get back and discuss.” The woman with glasses sighed.

By the time everyone was dressed again, the timer had gone down to 11 hours.

“Okay how about this,” The bald man began once the group faced each other again in a circle. “What if we all go around and each person says who they think they might be and why. Then the rest of us can vote on whether we agree or not.”

“And what will that achieve exactly? Then we can all gang up and peer pressure the person we think is least deserving to live? I thought that wasn’t part of the rules.” The pregnant woman shivered.

“Well I don’t see anyone else coming up with suggestions so-”

“We're going in circles, it’s time to be realistic.” The woman with glasses interrupted. “Obviously, no one in this group is going to sacrifice themselves willingly on their own, so let’s all make a deal. Let’s vote on who we think should die based on their life description, then once we figure out who that person is, they will promise to give themselves up willingly. Make sense?”

A grumble of hesitant approval went through the crowd and the woman with the glasses continued: “Okay, we’re gonna go in a circle, everybody say who they think deserves to die based on the life description.” She nodded to the bald man next to her, signalling for him to begin.

“Well, obviously I think the killer should be the sacrifice.”

“They were acquitted.” The pregnant woman reminded him.

“Oh please, so were OJ and Casey Anthony- it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Ok, let everybody speak before we make comments please!” The woman with glasses announced. “You’re next braids.”

The girl with braids tried to come up with an answer. “U-um pass.”

“You can’t pass.”

“Fine, uh, corrupt business mogul.” She murmured.

“Seriously?” The heavy man stammered.

“Enough, no comments, next.” The woman with glasses flicked her wrist towards the pregnant woman.

“I’ll agree to that. Business moguls are always crooked, and this one actually got convicted.”

The tall man was next. “Addict. You waste your life so far you’ll probably waste the rest of it.”

“Murderer, obviously.” The shaky woman proclaimed.

“Murderer.” The heavy man agreed.

“Business mogul; once a snake, always a snake.” The amputated man nodded.

“Murderer.” The woman with glasses sighed after a pause of deliberation. Then all eyes turned to the old woman. The girl in braids realized that she hadn’t heard the old woman speak once since waking up.

The old woman narrowed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“Murderer.”

The crowd was silent again, each person unable to meet the other’s eyes.

“Okay, so we all agree.” The woman with glasses reiterated carefully. “Whoever the group thinks the murderer is, they will sacrifice themselves willingly, right?”

Every head nodded once.

Suddenly the tall man sighed. “Alright I’ll go first then, I think it’s gotta be you.” He pointed a finger at the amputated man, whose face turned red with frustration.

“What’s your problem with me, huh? First I’m an addict now I’m a murderer?”

“I’m just trying to follow facts.” The tall man defended. “I mean if you got acquitted of homicide, you probably had a self defence excuse and maybe that’s how you lost your arm, y’know?”

“Well how do we know it’s not you? I mean you seem to be accusing everyone but yourself- who are you supposed to be huh?”

The tall man guffawed, as though the answer was obvious. “Okay, well I think it’s obvious that I’m the athlete, I’m the most fit one here- not to mention the tallest.”

“You don’t know that! Hell, you could be the recovering addict.”

“Well, neither of those are the murderer so it doesn’t really matter does it?”

“Why don’t we try ruling people out?” The woman with glasses nearly yelled, her eyes darting to the timer. “For example, I’ll be the first to say that I don’t think this older woman is the murderer. Anyone disagree?”

The shared silence was their answer.

The old woman sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I’m sure you all want me to sacrifice myself because I’m the oldest.”

“Oh don’t say that.” The pregnant woman cooed.

“I mean, if she wants to volunteer, don't stop her.” The tall man added quickly.

The comment was met with more groans and the tall man raised his shoulders defensively. “Oh my god, you are all being way too sensitive! Am I seriously being the only realistic one? She’s right, she is the oldest!”

“We already agreed it would be the murderer.” The woman with glasses reminded him.

“Okay and that’s all good in theory, but if we all just sit here arguing for the next ten hours playing ‘guess who’, it won’t make much of a difference who the murderer is because we’ll all be dead! I say at least as a backup, it should be her.”

“Shame on you!” The pregnant woman bristled. “I bet you're the businessman, your ego is just astounding!”

“Oh yeah? Well I bet your tattooed ass is the drug addict! I bet that’s a damn crack baby in your stomach!”

“I’m no crack addict! I’m the calmest one here! If anything it’s her, she’s been jittery this whole time!” Her hand flew to the shaky woman.

Then everyone was shouting again. The girl with braids looked around as the poison of their words filled the cramped air. Fingers pointed, spit flew from mouths, tears began to stream- it was too much.

The girl with braids sighed, sinking into one of the train chairs, peering out the window into the eternal black tunnel. Her reflection peered back at her. She looked tired, tired with the weight of her own knowledge. Tired of pretending she couldn’t remember.

The truth was, everything came flooding back at once as soon as the brunette woman’s smile flashed on screen. It didn’t matter how many times they tried to shock her memories away, no daughter can forget the sight of her mother.

It all came back so suddenly. The murder, the trial, the aftermath- The only way her mother had been able to guarantee her acquittal was by using her daughter’s schizophrenia as a plead of insanity. That was the truth, she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but sometimes it was so hard to fight the voices. She wished she could stop the memories of that night, sending her to bed screaming and waking her up in tears.

It became too much. Her mother told her they were going on a trip to visit her mother’s brother, Dr. Philip Hayward- that he had a surprise for her. She was going to be a part of one of his new experiments. They led her into the medical room, they laid her on the stretcher, they plugged the wires in.

“Don’t worry honey, you’ll be all better soon. We’re going to make all the bad memories go away.” Her mother’s words had followed her into that blackness.

So that had been the game? The bargain her mother had made with her brother? Allow her daughter to be part of his experiment in return for wiping her memories of the murder. It was a gamble, but she must’ve known they wouldn’t be suspicious of her. The girl with braids had simply been a background character as far as the other eight strangers were concerned. Who would suspect her? Who would know the horrors she’d committed if she couldn’t remember them herself?

But she did. She saw her mother’s face and she remembered them all.

That night; the struggle, the blood, the screams.

She looked at the darkened reflections of the fighting figures behind her and couldn’t resist a tired smile. They had no idea it was her, and they would destroy each other trying to prove it was anyone but themselves.

No one knew it was her, and they never would.

She tugged the belt of the jumpsuit out, making sure not to draw attention to her actions. She looked out the window, finding comfort in the rhythm of the unstoppable train. She smiled at her reflection as she shredded her wrists with the prong of the buckle, watching the blood pool in her lap as the train began to slow.