"How do you raise a house full of psychopaths, Dr. Choi?" she asked, looking back through the glass at the small boy.
"Very carefully, Dr. Min. Very carefully."
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This boy would be his youngest find yet. His first subject, who Minho had named Wonwoo, had been eight upon his adoption. He was a gifted child, a born mimic, with the ability to turn his personality on and off like a light switch. It was fascinating.
The boy behind the glass was much younger. Barely four. He huddled in the corner, headphones in his ears, a thick paperback book on his knees. He was painfully thin and pale and had dark brown hair that fell over big eyes. Minho ached for him. He looked so small in the large room, lit only by the small lamp beside him.
Minho was wary of bringing in another boy so soon but felt it necessary for the study to have subjects of various ages, to see how each one did with the tools he would give them.
Initially, he'd thought to adopt just one, but any good experiment meant having a large subject pool. Since Minho was doing this without the watchful eye of a review board, he couldn't have the amount of subjects he'd like. At least, not without resorting to keeping the boys behind lock and key. And he wouldn't do that. He wanted these boys to think of him as a father, a confidant, not a prison warden. He wasn't a supervillain. He understood the potential hidden away behind that glass, and it only worked with patience and care.
The door behind Minho opened, and a man with snow white hair and a beard appeared. "Dr. Kim," he said in lieu of a greeting. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Dr. Choi Minho," Minho said, extending a hand.
The elderly doctor shook it. "I know who you are. We have mutual acquaintances. That's why I called."
His project was top secret, but there were a small number of people in the fold, those with the contacts Minho needed. People who wanted to see his experiment succeed so they could recreate it, and others who watched, hoping he'd fail. But Minho didn't care about those people. They were a means to an end. He knew he was right about these boys. His research subjects.
His sons.
"What's his name?" Mingho asked, nodding towards the boy beyond the glass.
"According to his birth certificate, Isaiah- yeah, English. But he doesn't respond to it. He doesn't respond to much, if I'm being honest. But given how he was found, that's not surprising."
Minho's heart rate accelerated. This part was always the hardest—hearing about their pasts, especially when he had to leave them behind. "Tell me."
"He was found during a wellness check on the mother. She suffered from severe schizophrenia. Both auditory and visual hallucinations. But, for a time, she was stable on her medications, which is why she was permitted to keep her child, but with scheduled supervision for the first year of his life to ensure medication compliance. Sometime after the year was up, she clearly went off her medications."
