THE DETRIMENTAL EFFFECTS OF HUMAN EMOTIONS
BY SHIN SANGCHEOL
 

                THROUGHT HISTORY, in an almost tragic pattern, most of the world’s conflict can be traced back to emotions. In fiction and in fact, devastating wars have torn nations apart because man found themselves slightly or more than slightly irritated by the actions of a fellow man. My theory is simple; if human emotions are erased, conflict of morality and the subsequent wars that come would be erased as well.

                The question is: can human emotions be erased?

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                The article spread like wildfire. It was translated into every major language, torn apart by psychoanalysts; it was shared and linked, a trending topic and printed in every newspaper across the globe. For three months, without halt, Shin Sangcheol was the most discussed man on social media, new networks and print. They called him “The Mad Doctor”, they mocked him.

                Then the kidnappings began.

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                Her eyes flew open and she must have blinked one thousand times before any moisture returned to them. Save for the single, crimson light shining above her, the room was shrouded in darkness. Her chest was rising and falling, the thought of breathing coming second to the screaming of her uncontrollable panic. Across from her, she could see a metallic wall and her faint reflection. White; she was dressed in all white, from head to toe, and her hair was pulled back and slicked down. Quickly, she took in every detail of her surroundings, a complete and thorough count of every visible object in the increasingly small room. The metallic walls – four of them. The red light above her – one. The stainless-steel chair she was strapped to – one. The black, leather straps holding her down – four. Again, she blinked; though this time only once. She couldn’t remember anything; not how she arrived here, nor what she was meant to be doing, not even her own name.

                There was a low rumble, similar to the sound of a generator being powered up. The straps around her slipped away and disappeared in the slate floor or the back of the chair. She stood, immediately. The collar of her white shirt felt suffocating, like it was choking her and, as she stepped closer to the cold metal wall, she could see the numbers stitched into the fabric. She whispered, “Eighty-seven.”

                “Number Eighty-Seven.” A voice echoed off the four walls, bouncing around until it reached her ears and pulled her away from her reflection. It was clean and crisp, the medium pitched, level voice of a woman, “You have been chosen.”

                hurt, her voice was weak, but Eighty-Seven spoke up and questioned, “Chosen for what?”

                “You will be placed in a maze where you will be given a series of obstacles to overcome. This is your only objective. Complete the obstacles and you will be released.”

                “I don’t understand.”

                Whether the voice could hear her or not became clear when Eighty-Seven received no response. The woman continued only with more instructions, “You are to proceed forward, never backwards. The challenges will start simply then progressively become more difficult.”

                Eighty-seven’s mind was racing, her eyes were searching the walls and the floor and what she could see of the ceiling above her. There was no sign of another human – was that what she was? – in the room, with her. Slowly, however, Eighty-seven nodded her head and stepped more towards the center of the room, back towards the chair. The voice continued, “You will be in competition with another; Number Eighty-Eight. Your only rule which must be obeyed at all times is to never come into physical contact with Eighty-Eight. If your paths should cross, do not engage. Is this understood?”

                “Yes.”

                “The test begins now. Please step through the doors.”

                “Test?” Eighty-seven’s eyebrow arched, she looked back up towards the ceiling, hoping for more of an explanation. But, behind her, the wall slid open and Eighty-seven lifted her arm to shield herself from the harsh, white light coming through. She took three hesitant steps forward and widened her eyes to adjust. Another three steps forward and she was at the edge of the room and the maze before her. She could see far ahead of her through the tall, glass walls.  There were clear, sharp corners marked by tall silver posts and, further in the distance, she could see something like a courtyard in the middle with four lush, green trees and a patch of grass. Eighty-seven felt herself being pulled there and took the final step into the maze.

                To her left, she heard the female voice from above once more, say, “The test begins now. Please step through the doors.”

                Eighty-seven watched carefully as the white wall slid away and she could see into another metallic room, identical to the one she’d come from. She counted down from ten before someone stepped through the opening and looked directly at her. He was tall, with his blonde hair slicked back like hers and dressed in all white, also as she was. Only, on his collar was the number Eighty-eight. She gulped, reaching subconsciously for her own neckline and covering her number. She wondered if he was given the same instructions, only directed at her. From the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw set, she could only assume it was true. Still, there was something very unthreatening about this Eighty-eight. She felt a manufactured and instructed sense of fear in her stomach, but nothing was truly menacing about Eighty-eight.

                The Voice returned, “Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight. Proceed forward. Your test has begun.”

                The two humans broke eye contact, squaring their shoulders and looking forward. If for some reason Eighty-eight was questioning whether she was the one he was meant to avoid or not, it had just been confirmed. Eighty-seven had nothing else to do but proceed, so she moved her feet and followed the lines and edges. Her hands reached out to touch the towering glass walls, letting touch guide her through. She could see Eighty-eight walking forward, a few strides behind her and just as cautious. He reached his arms out straight in front of him every once and a while, most likely to feel for a wall.

                Eighty-seven peeked over her shoulder at him, watching him take a left where she took a right and seeing how he ventured further and further away from her. She stopped paying much attention to the maze, itself, and focused more on making sure she did the exact opposite of whatever Eighty-eight was doing. She must have been walking for twenty-minutes. Eight-eight was far away from her, now, but she could still see him through the glass walls.

                She wondered if this was part of the test, but her thoughts were interrupted by the return of The Voice. Eighty-seven looked up, “Obstacle One will being immediately.”

                The walls around her started to frost, Eighty-seven looked towards Eighty-eight to see if he was in the same position she was. He was standing, far away, looking blankly in her direction and watching as she disappeared behind the fog. Eighty-seven took a step backwards, her back hitting a glass wall that had slid up from the ground; she was completely boxed in. From above, a green light illuminated her new confines and on the wall the words “COMPASSION” and “STERNESS” flashed in red.

                The Voice recited, “You must choose one. What is of higher value.

Eighty-seven tilted her head, staring blankly at the words. She read the word on the left, “COMPASSION” three times, squinting her eyes to try and understand. It didn’t make sense; she had no idea the context, the meaning. Slowly, her hand reached up and she tapped at the right side; the word “STERNESS.”

The Voice told her, “Correct. Obstacle one: complete.”

                Eighty-seven asked, “What is compassion?”

                She was ignored once more, the frost disappearing and the walls lowering back into the ground. For a moment, Eighty-seven stood still and staring straight ahead. What is compassion. She thought it was a word she was meant to know. Across the maze, she heard a crashing sound then saw Eighty-eight running at full speed. Once more, her head tilted and she watched with wide-eyes. She heard the indistinct sound of the voice saying the same phrase to Eighty-eight, “Correct. Obstacle one: complete.”

 She wondered if he could even hear it; he was running too fast. Eighty-seven watched him until his stopped, scared he was going to advance on her. Do not engage.

                Do not engage.

                She decided to proceed forward, carefully and with her arms back out, once Eighty-eight stopped and leaned against the glass of the maze, panting and closing his eyes. She rounded six corners, her shoes squeaking against the tiles beneath her, before she was halted by The Voice and the return of the rising walls. Eighty-seven stood still, less concerned the second time than she had been the first. This time, the walls were covered with projections of other humans – all with the same pained face, pleading, and approaching her. They were screaming, “Help us. Please, help us!” while flames behind and around them grew higher and hotter. She felt fear, but only in the slightest and only for her own safety. Her eyebrow arched, instinctively and Eighty-seven looked around the four walls for a way out, not wanting to be submerged in the flames herself. She wasn’t like them, she wasn’t meant to burn. There was a gap to her left, between a young girl and a young boy who were slowly being engulfed by the fire and screaming at full volume, but Eighty-seven broke between them and through the glass. It was only when she was out, running towards the nearest corner of the maze and away from the fire, that she considered that’s what Eighty-eight had experienced.

                The Voice confirmed her suspicions, “Correct. Obstacle two: complete.”

                Eighty-seven held her chest, out of breath from her sprint. She didn’t spare a second thought for the others in the room, not once. She only checked to make sure she was unharmed, caught her breath and proceeded. What is compassion?

                Eighty-seven endured two more obstacles; “AFFECTION” or “LOGIC” and pulling herself from a pit of similar screaming people. Their eyes were bleeding and they were yanking at her legs, begging for help and release. Eighty-seven shook them off, with much effort, and clawed her way to the top of the pit successfully, brushing her hands off once she was freed. What is compassion? What is affection? The questions were ringing in her head. The words seemed familiar to her, but she was coming up short when trying to define them.

Eighty-seven wandered for an hour without coming across another obstacle. She found herself surrounded by the same glass walls, only they were covered in ivy and creating shadows. Somewhere near, she could hear water running and her ears perked, her pace becoming faster. She took thirteen long strides before she was out in the courtyard she’d seen before. The trees were blowing from an artificial breeze and the fountain she hadn’t seen before was all too inviting. However, across the courtyard, Eighty-eight stood with his eyes glued on her. Eighty-seven was frozen in her tracks, blinking and breathing heavily. Neither one of them made any movement, not forward and certainly not behind. It was the rule. The few other instructions she was given repeated in her head. Most importantly, If your paths should cross, do not engage.

                She spoke softly to herself, hands balled into fists at her sides, “What do I do?”

                Do not engage. She wasn’t supposed to make physical contact with Eighty-eight. But, for the first time since she’d stepped foot into the maze, Eighty-seven realized how thirsty she was. Her eyes kept darting from Eighty-eight to the fountain, frozen where she stood and unsure of herself. Logic told her to move towards the fountain. If he was given the same instructions, he would stay put and they’d never meet. She could see three other archways comparable to the ones she and Eighty-eight stood under. Eighty-seven, however, would have to cross the courtyard to reach any of the three potential exits or the fountain, and that put her at risk of encountering Eighty-eight. He gulped, she watched his chest rise and fall. Then, at the same time, they both found the courage to take one tentative step towards the center of the courtyard.

                She cleared , wanting to sound strong when she finally spoke. Eighty-sevens hope were riding entirely on her own powers of intimidation, “Don’t move.”

                For the first time, she heard his voice, “I’m thirsty.”

                It was gruff in a way she couldn’t quite place, but Eighty-seven compared it close enough to the way someone would sound after screaming for hours on end. She blinked and repeated, thinking of nothing else to say, “Don’t move.”

                Was this engaging?

                Eighty-seven and Eighty-eight both advanced towards the fountain again, her breath catching in and a smirk finding it’s home on his lips. The way they curled sent a chill down her spine – though not out of fear. Eighty-seven was curious.

                “We’re not supposed to come into contact with each other.” She told him.

                Eighty-eight rolled his eyes. Of course, he already knew this, “Then you stay on one side of the fountain and I’ll stay on the other.”

                She waited and waited, mulling over her options. The longer Eighty-seven stood still, the more felt like a desert waste land. She needed the water from the fountain, she needed something to soothe and then she’d be on her way. If she didn’t engage with Eighty-eight, she’d be successful. It was simple. Eighty-seven nodded her head, curtly, and straightened her back to move confidently forward, despite how her hands were shaking. She could feel the eyes of Eighty-eight on her, he was examining her carefully and with that same smirk. It was all she could do to ignore it, placing herself on the edge of the fountain and scooping her hands to bring water to her lips. The liquid slithering down was a welcome feeling; the closest to paradise she could remember experiencing.

                Eighty-eight sat opposite her, doing much to same to quench his own thirst. There they sat in silence, drinking from the fountain. Eighty-seven busied herself, looking at the bright green leaves of the tree in contrast with the dark green ivy. She reached down to touch the patch of grass beneath their feet, shocked to find it was real. She stood, stepping quickly over to the nearest tree and grabbing hold of it’s leaves, “It’s all real.”

                Eighty-seven let out a small huff of laughter, mostly from shock. She pinched a leaf and pulled it from its’ place. Behind her, a moment too late, she heard the crunching of the grass almost immediately followed by Eighty-eight’s voice, far too close to her ear, “Aren’t you curious?”

                She in a breath, turning quickly on her heel and stumbling back when she noticed how close Eighty-eight was. Do not engage. She dropped her leaf, looking up at him, “Don’t touch me.”

                “Why?” He tilted his head, a strand of dyed blond hair falling from its previously slick hold, “Aren’t you curious?”

                Eight-seven wondered if he could read her mind. If, when they both stepped in the courtyard, he could hear her thoughts and decided to taunt her based on that. But, she quickly covered it up, asking him in rushed words she wasn’t sure came out clearly, “Curious about what?”

                “Why we’re not allowed to touch each other.”

                 “Absolutely not.” She shook her head, frantically, trying to step around him. Eighty-eight’s reflexes were quick, however, and his long fingers wrapped around the part of her wrist covered by a crisp white sleeve. Eighty-seven gasped, “What are you doing?”

                He only looked at her, saying as if it was the simplest thing, “I am.”

                Then, before Eighty-seven could protest, Eighty-eight slid his hand down her arm and laced his fingers with hers. She felt her skin tingling, her eyes went wide and – though her mind was screaming for her to – she couldn’t pull her hand back. This was wrong, do not engage. The two of them stood there, hands connected and eyes unblinking. Neither Eighty-seven nor Eighty-eight made any movement, other then their unsteady breathing, for what seemed like a lifetime.

                Something sparked. She could see it in his eyes and he could see in in hers. It didn’t feel wrong from them to be holding hands, anymore. It felt comfortable and safe. Eighty-seven thought about the burning people, she could recall some of them holding hands before the flames took their own hold. Her eyes followed the line of Eighty-eight’s arm down to his wrist and finally to where their hands met. She blinked and asked him, “What is compassion?”

                “Compassion?”

                “And affection?”

                Eighty-eight didn’t say anything for another moment, “Were those your words? Your obstacles?” She nodded, he repeated, “Compassion and affection.”

“Compassion or Sternness. Affection and Logic.” She nodded her head, slowly, “What were yours?”

                Eighty-eight pushed his hair back, “Intimacy or Independence and Attachment or Competence.”

                “What does that mean?” Eighty-seven was perplexed, she hoped Eighty-eight felt the same. She couldn’t explain any of it. She was, however, certain of the fact she wasn’t ready to let go of Eighty-eight’s hand.

                He looked up at her, into her eyes and she felt something different brewing in her, something strange and as perplexing as compassion and affection, intimacy, and attachment. Eighty-eight questioned, “Do you think they all mean the same thing?”

                Eight-seven opened to answer, but a shock ran through both of them, through their hands. Immediately they let go, Eighty-eight shaking his arm wildly and Eighty-seven cradling hers close to her body. They let out a mutual shriek, stepping far away from each other and breathing erratically. Do not engage. Eight-seven spluttered, willing the pain in her arm to go away. She’d broken a rule and this was her punishment, that much was clear. But, the feeling of comfort she got from holding Eighty-eight’s hand didn’t leave her, nor him. They looked at each other, now back on opposite sides of the courtyard, and slowly came to. The pain subsided, Eighty-seven immediately decided it wasn’t worth breaking the rule again. She couldn’t think of a time she’d felt such pain.

                “We shouldn’t have done that.” She breathed, “We should separate again.”

                Eighty-eight didn’t say anything, eyes glancing over at the center most archway and then back to Eighty-seven. She followed his eyes and saw what he did – a faint, pink hue coming from behind the ivy-covered glass. It only lit up the middle arch, the two on either side looking plain and normal. For a moment, the two of them stared at the light, subconsciously stepping towards it until they were three feet away from the archway and standing next to each other. Eighty-eight looked at her first, she stared back. Then, she her heel and started her way through the left most archway, not looking back once but her mind on that pink hue and Eighty-eight’s hand.

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                A woman in a woolen grey dress and thick rimmed glasses shook her head and scratched a checkmark on a form. The clipboard in her hand was holding down a stack of notes while she stood in front of a wide window, watching two patients explore a maze. She glanced over her shoulder, “They’ve engaged. What now, sir?”

                A man stepped up from behind her, clasping his hands behind his back and letting out a long sign, “The drug will start wearing off. What of their paths.”

                “Eighty-seven has chosen to separate herself from Eighty-eight. He remains in the courtyard.”

                The man gnawed at his lip, “It’s an improvement.” He snapped his fingers and a third person joined their conversation – a lanky young man who towered over the two of them, but lacked the confident stature, “How have the other experiments turned out?”

                Glancing down at his own clipboard, the young man spoke in a low-pitched rush, “All were successful, sir. Test L5225 is the only test still in progress.”

                The man standing center ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes and letting out another long, exasperated sigh. The woman to his left checked her notes, shaking her head and mumbling, “There’s something we’re missing. Drug 887 works, initially. It can completely erase any notion of love, the flaw is in the contact.”

                “Yes, but why?”

                “We’re working on finding that answer, Doctor Shin.” The young man spoke, once more, “It could be a matter of dosage. The doctors were hesitant to give more, in fear of killing the patients.”

                Doctor Shin turned slowly to look at the now shaking younger man, eyebrows knitted and a perfect scowl on his aging face, “If they die, we’ll find new patients, Mister Park.” He looked to the woman at his left and instructed, with a wave of his hand, “Miss Choi, get them out of the maze and raise the dosage. I need this drug to work.”

                “Of course, Doctor Shin. Right away.”

                The Mad Doctor his heel, stomping his way out of the laboratory and through the sliding doors. Miss Choi and Mister Park looked at each other for a moment before they both released the breath held in front of Doctor Shin Sangcheol. She looked down at her clipboard, then out towards the maze just in time to see Eighty-eight step his way into the right-most archway. Her eyebrows raised in shock, Miss Choi turning to look over her shoulder at Mister Park, “Did you see that?”