"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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SUBJECT: Jihoon
They were perfect. Literally perfect. The two boys lay on the floor of the playroom, one pointing their feet north and the other south, their heads slotted beside one another, close enough for their dark brown hair to blend together, giving them the appearance that they were one unit.
Minho hadn't been looking for two. Hell, he was never actively searching for new subjects—new children for his project—but, somehow, they found him. They came to him almost through some sort of divine will. He knew instantly they were his. His children, his subjects. Even knowing nothing else about them, he knew they would go home with him.
They appeared to be around five or six. Unlike when he'd found his other children, these two looked healthy, clean, and well-fed. Perhaps they'd lost their parents to an accident and there were no others to care for them. That seemed the only valid explanation for parents abandoning two children they'd clearly cared for. At least, physically.
"Identical twins," Minho said, almost breathless. He could have never dared to hope for such a gift. Two children split from the same egg. Two halves of a whole. This would take his experiments to a new level. And he'd give the boys everything they needed to succeed, of course.
The woman beside him—Dr. Lee Ri Rice, the director of the group home—kept a close watch on the two children, her arms crossed over her ample chest. They knew they were being observed; there was no false mirror, no one-way glass. They simply stood outside the playroom where the two boys lay sprawled, staring up at the fake solar system overhead.
Dr. Rice clearly cared about this place and these children. Unlike many group homes Minho had visited over the years, this one was bright and clean, as were the children. On his way in, every child he'd passed had appeared well cared for, even happy. But unlike the other children, Dr. Rice didn't smile when she looked at the two boys. She seemed unnerved by them.
"Mirror twins," Dr. Rice corrected. "Each one the perfect mirror image of the other, right down to their birthmarks."
The two weren't speaking out loud, but they would smile and laugh in tandem, as if one had told the other a joke. Even though they didn't look at each other, they seemed perfectly in sync. If one moved their left leg, the other moved their right. Same with their hand movements.
"Are they always like this?"
"Like what?" she asked, her tone implying she knew full well what he meant but was unwilling to say it out loud.
"Do they always communicate this way? That is what they're doing, right? Communicating without speaking? It's not uncommon in identical twins. I imagine it's more so in mirror twins."
Dr. Rice looked at him in surprise. "Do you really believe that twins can communicate telepathically?"
"There have been studies," Minho said carefully. "I do believe in science, but I think it would be hubris for me to declare that telepathy is impossible between children who grew from the same fertilized egg. Besides, look at them. They're clearly communicating. Don't you think?"
