AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As exhaustion creeps over me, I find myself drifting into a half-sleep state.
Chapter 41
I’ve been feeling alittle off this morning, so I stayed behind in the hut within the comfort of the blankets. I positioned myself to face the entrance, allowing me to watch the ocean in the distance and keep an eye on the guys at work. The sun shines brightly, casting a golden hue over their tanned skin as they labor hard under its rays.
Foster, with his strong hands and focused determination, surprises me with his skill. It turns out he’s pretty good with his hands outside the realm of sex and masturbation, and his plans for this boat or yacht contraption are coming along nicely. Zane and Astro work alongside him, their shirtless bodies moving with a grace that’s both powerful and captivating. Their muscles ripple under the sun’s warmth, and I can’t help but feel a deep attraction to each of them, drawn in by their raw physicality and the bond we share.
Then there’s Jack, who remains pale despite the island’s relentless sun. His skin contrasts sharply with the others, and I’m stuck on the belief he might be an otherworldly creature. I laugh at the thought, amused by the idea of Jack as some ethereal being among us. Yet, there’s something enchanting about his difference, something that adds to the complex web of feelings I have for each of them.
“I think I cracked it!” Byron’s voice breaks my focus. He’s spent days analyzing the documents from the facility. I look down at the campsite, where he sits against a tree trunk under the shade.
He’s not wearing a shirt either today, and I swear, he was athletic before, but compared to the others, he was leaner than muscle. That was then. Now, the island has sculpted Byron into something much more, and his transformation is striking. His body has developed surprising strength and definition, and his skin, oncepale, now carries a warm, sun-kissed glow. The sun catches on his muscles as he shifts, highlighting the changes that have taken place.
He brushes a hand through his dark hair, which, like the others, has grown a little since we’ve been here. Taking off his glasses, he rubs his eyes before putting them back on. When he looks up at me, a self-satisfied grin spreads across his face.
“Go on, tell me,” I say, patiently waiting for him to continue.
He pulls out his notebook, which he’s been writing in like a madman these past couple of days.
“We already guessed that they were probably conducting secret mind manipulation on the natives. But this was a covert government agency or USSR military organization conducting clandestine experiments using cannibals as unwitting subjects. Initially, scientists and researchers were brought in to study human behavior and manipulation techniques, but they probed deep. There’s paperwork to show orders weren’t coming from the Kremlin.”
He pauses and picks up a document.
“There’s a word I kept seeing that’s repeated in these documents. ‘The Company’ and I remember reading some books on Soviet espionage and the KGB. But there was no such thing during that era in Russia. The Company is related to the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“You mean the CIA, as in the US?” Zane says as the guys gather around.
“Yeah. I think the KGB had a spy within the CIA at that time who was involved in some covert affair going on within the American intelligence unit and feeding the Soviets. Whatever that was, I think they were conducting the same tests here.”
“Probably because they knew the Americans had spies within the KGB.”
“Exactly. These experiments were part of a larger program aimed at developing psychological warfare tactics, mind control techniques, or unconventional methods of population control.”
“But it gets worse. They conducted experiments on the natives, subjecting them to psychological conditioning that prevented them from crossing certain boundaries, like the one here on the island. But also, this psychological conditioning was reinforced by trigger mechanisms implanted in the cannibals’ minds. These triggers could have been symbolic, specific phrases, or sensory cues that activate aprogrammed response, preventing them from crossing the designated boundary.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t see any triggers along the boundaries.”
“Yeah, there were. Us. We’re white.”
“I’m not white,” Zane says.
“That's why they show so much venom. They can’t hate us because of their manipulation. They hate us because one of them is allowed here.”
“That’s fucked up. So we’re the border control? Our skin color?”
“There was never an observable number of people of African descent in Russia, even after Western European colonization of the continent. So, I doubt people of color were part of the soviet group of government scientists here on this island. I think they conditioned the natives to identify white skin as border control. It was an experiment, but skin color wasn’t their end game.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, it’s completely fucked. This was an experiment. Instead of using lab rats, they used real people. I don’t think the purpose was to segregate black and white skin. The Soviets didn’t have the same racial issues that existed in America.”
“Exist. Present tense,” Zane corrects.
“As I said,” Byron continues, acknowledging Zane with a nod in agreement. “This was part of a larger program.”
“If they stole this idea from the US government agency. Does that mean they never stopped the study?”
“Maybe we’re already under control, and we don’t even know it.”
