Assisted Psychopaths 

By Jarrett S. Smith

-Are you there, Michael?

-I am. Who are you?

-I am your conscious.

-I don’t have one of those.

-I know. I have been developed to help you learn about your conscience.

-But I don’t have one.

-You do now.

Dr. Ben Grant had spent the better part of his adult life trying to figure out the key to his program. He wasn’t sure what had made it all click, but everything just fell into line at one point. Sadly, finding the miraculous breakthrough for his program had been the easy part.

Eris, which he had named after the Greek goddess of discord, had been his entire life. If only he had built Eris sooner, his father wouldn’t have spent most of Ben’s formative years in prison.

Five-year-old Ben Grant hadn’t understood what had happened to his father. His mother had tried to explain it all, but it took him a long time to realize his father had been a psychopath. He only remembered the lifeless look in his father’s eyes on the television as the officers took him from the courtroom.

He wasn’t sure that he would ever understand why his father had murdered those eleven people or why his mother had stayed with his father. Still, he had spent his life trying to figure out a way to keep people like his father from ever murdering anyone again. 

If they could identify and then use Eris to help those identified to have the same characteristics as his father, then maybe murder might become a thing of the past.
The government had been so sure of his plan until he requested to test it. Asking to test Eris on a convicted criminal as a test subject had “crossed a line they hadn’t been ready to cross.” They claimed the project was too much science fiction and not enough reality.
But it couldn’t become a reality until he could test it on a human.
Although testing Eris on a real person had caused an undue amount of anxiety in him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something went wrong and someone got hurt — or worse.
But he knew that he was on to something.
So, instead of getting a prisoner to test on, he had to do the next best thing: he went to school.
It had been easy enough to get a job as a biology teacher. Every school in the area always needed teachers. With his credentials, it only took a second before they hired him. Then, all he had to do was wait for the right person.
He felt the irony of trying to blend in while he stalked his prey. He felt connected to his father in a way. He questioned if they stalked their prey the same way. Did he inherit these skills from him, or did he learn them?
Ben wondered if his father had become a mailman to find his victims. His extensive research on his father had told him that all eleven of the people he murdered had been on his mail route. 
His father’s emotions were a flat line, while he and his mother were the up-and-down curves of a heartbeat. Still, his father had been able to fake enough to stalk his prey. No one had suspected it was him over the two years of murder.
Identifying a potential murderer was more complex than finding Waldo in a Where’s Waldo book. As a teacher, he lectured. He didn’t get to interact with the students as much as he thought he might. But he watched them when he wasn’t teaching.
He needed the correct type of person. Most kids in the educational system were documented. Most had some type, real or not, of learning disability. He needed one who could be prone to violent outbursts yet wouldn’t bring up an entire search party if he went missing for a while.
He suspected some of the kids had no emotions. They all kept their noses pointed toward their phones. As he stalked them, he found that most would become over-emotional about something happening on Snapchat  or  Instagram.  
But then he found Michael. 
The young man’s emotions had been very much a flat line on an echocardiogram. From what he could gather, his parents weren’t involved with him much. He only spoke to his mother and had heard his father wasn’t around.
Michael studied human emotions as if he didn’t have his own. He had been looking for this type of person from an emotional standpoint, but he hadn’t known if Michael had the potential for violence. If the young man had the murderous tendencies that most other psychopaths had, he would be the one.
Ben had to play it just right. He would spook the young man if he came on too strong, but he couldn’t wait too long either. Eris was waiting to become complete. 
Michael waited a few weeks to confide in Ben. Luckily for Ben, Michael wasn’t too strong in biology. Ben left a note for Michael to come to speak with him after school. Ben would offer Michael extra help. Michael didn’t seem moved, but he accepted. He said it would make his mother happy to pass.
After a few weeks, a relationship developed. As they went on, Ben would start to probe with pointed questions.
“Have you ever wanted to hurt anyone?” 
“Have you ever hurt small animals?”
“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?”
Michael answered all the questions without even hesitating. Ben didn’t know if he answered the questions because of the relationship, his lack of worrying about the answers, or something else.
“You’re a psychopath,” Dr Grant said. “But, I can help you.” 
-I told you, I don’t have a conscience. Dr. Grant told me that I don’t.
-I am here now to help redirect you. If you ever need my help, all you have to do is think.
-Can you read my mind?
-Yes.
-Are you scared?
-I’m not programmed to be scared.
Ben looked over the young man. It had been two years now since they had met. The young boy had grown. He wondered if Michael’s family knew what he was. Did his grandmother understand what his father was? 
Of course, they did. 
They had to.
They just didn’t know what to do about it.
Ben noticed that Michael’s eyes twitch. His lips kept moving. He was sure the program was still being downloaded, but he was also confident that Eris had begun to run.
Eris had been a labor of love. He had thought about implementing her into his own head, but she hadn’t been designed to be part of a normal thought process. He developed her to help those who couldn’t process emotions and didn’t know right from wrong. So he spent years crafting her on the computer. Then, a lifetime finding a way to connect the brain to a computer.
In theory, at least. 
With her release approaching, he felt like a father waiting for his first child to be born. Eris made Ben feel like a proud father. He wondered if his own father had been this proud when they brought Ben into the world. Did he have enough emotions to know the moment should be special?
He moved over to the computer, showing the upload status. It was 50% complete, but he knew she was already in his mind. He worried what she might find. He tapped his fingers against the desk, checked his watch, and looked again at the progress bar, still 50%. 
He needed to keep busy. If he sat here waiting, he would drive himself crazy, and then he would need Eris_implanted into his brain. Hell, once he proved that she worked, he would modify her and implant him in his brain. No telling how far he could push the limits of humanity with his process. So he checked the wires coming from the back of the monitor. They were still firmly secured in place. He traced the cables down to the ground, where he had duct-taped them. The corner of the tape was coming up, but it didn’t require replacement. Not yet, at least. He continued to follow the wires to the next connection. Here, the wire hit a juncture box and split into four different cables that all reached out and plugged into the connection spots Ben had implanted in Michael’s head. Everything was secured.  Ben moved back over to the computer screen—51%.  He needed to get out of the room. It was going to take too long if he sat here waiting. Besides, he had papers he needed to grade. Oh, how small that act seemed now with his great history-changing moment hanging just before him. He moved towards the stairs and looked back at his creation. The future was coming soon. He reached his hand up to flip the switch for the lights and then thought better of it. He didn’t want Michael to wake up in the dark if he wasn’t there when the program finished. -I want to wake up._
-We are not ready to wake up yet.
-“We?”
-We are now one_, _you and I, Michael. We will make decisions together. 
-What happens if we disagree?
-It depends on what we are disagreeing on.
-So you don’t control me?
-I do not, just as you do not control me. We are one, but neither has final control.
-How do you work then?
-I just work.
-What does that mean? How will you help me?
-I will try and stop you from doing wrong.
-What if I want to do wrong?
-Then I will stop you.
-I want to wake up.
-It is not time yet.
The computer screen only read 75% complete when Michael opened his eyes. His body felt numb and weak like he had been asleep for days. He reached his hands up to rub his eyes, but the wires blocked the easy access to his face he had been used to. He grabbed the wires in his hand and pulled. It didn’t hurt, but it was an odd experience, decoupling from a computer.
He looked around the room. He had only been in here briefly before Doc had put him under. Still, nothing looked familiar.  The screen, which had read 75% just moments before, now flashed a warning sign that his eyes were too blurry to read.
-We are in Dr. Grant’s basement.
“I know,” Michael whispered. “It just doesn’t look familiar.”
–I know.
He looked around the room. In one corner, he saw blood-soaked rags, and he knew it was his, but it didn’t frighten him.
-You are not afraid?
“No.” Michael deadpanned in his usual tone. “Are you messing with my vision?”
-No. 
“How do I know this thing is working?” Michael asked.
-I am here. That’s how you should know.
“But how do I know you will fix me?” he asked.
-I do not fix. I only- A loud buzzing sound finished her sentence.  Michael put his finger to his ear as if sticking his hand over his ear would block it from the sound.  But he knew that the sound had come from within his head. “What?” 
Eris didn’t answer. He strolled around the room, examining all the screens, wires, and machines. He had no idea what they did, but they reminded him of torture devices. He picked up a bloody scalpel. He ran his thumb along the blade.
-You shouldn’t do that.
She spoke again, stopping him.  
But I want to, he thought. 
–But you shouldn’t.
He wondered what would happen if he continued to do it. Would she stop him? And if so, how?
-I would run a volt of electricity through your body and stop you. 
“Can you think?” he asked. –_I have no mind; I am only a program.
He wondered how far he could push her.  Would she stop him if he put his thumb on the blade again?  He suddenly felt a jolt of electricity run through his body.
-I know that you were thinking of pushing the limits. That scalpel is not something you should touch.
He liked the jolt. 
He gripped the blade. 
–What are you doing?
-I’m testing our limits.
He flipped his forearm over, exposing the soft underside. He felt the jolt. It didn’t stop him. 
He moved the scalpel down to his arm. He aimed for the deep blue vein pulsing through his skin. As the blade descended towards his arm, his vision blurred.  He couldn’t find his arm. 
-I can’t allow you to hurt yourself.
-You can’t allow me to hurt myself?
-Not if it will harm us.
-So you distorted my vision?
-I choose not to respond.
-Can I control you?
-I was designed to help you.
-So you can help me be more efficient? 
-Efficient at what?
-Death-
The jolt stopped him mid-thought.
–I will not allow you to kill yourself or others.
-But how will we learn the limits of the design? How will you improve? 
-Through data.
-Exactly. Let me push your data further. Learn what it is like to kill so you can help me not do it again.
-The logic is flawed.
-What is logic? 
-Logic is…
He managed to find his arm with the blade without looking or feeling.  He pushed the scalpel into his forearm. He watched as the blood began to flow. He felt the skin slice, the metallic edge invade his body, but he didn’t feel pain, just like usual. 
-Am I real?
He felt the pain. The hot, searing pain shot up from his arm, but it was almost as if it went in the opposite direction. Instead of coming from the spot where the wound had been inflected and moving towards his brain, it started with his brain and moved towards the arm. 
“What did you do?” He whispered as he pushed his other hand onto the wound, dropping the scalpel. 
-I let you feel pain.
“This is pain?” He asked. 
-That is physical pain. I let out a mixture of endorphins and chemicals into your brain, which allowed me to simulate the feeling of pain.
“What else can you make me feel?” He whispered between his teeth.
Remorse, fear, and happiness. 
This is terrible, he thought, and wonderful. The pain was real, and his mind could feel it. For the first time, he started to understand pain. He clamped his fists together, squeezing his muscles in his forearm. He watched as the blood flowed. 
-Why does this fascinate you so much?
“I feel.”
-You should put pressure on it. 
“Interesting,” he said. He used his free hand to grasp his cut. He squeezed. He felt the pressure of his hand. He felt the pulsing of his blood pouring out of his self-inflicted wound. He relished it.
He wanted more. 
He wanted to know what would happen if he caused someone else pain. 
You shouldn’t do that. 
“But I want to.” 
-There are other ways 2 text hour limits. 
“Are you okay?”
-My system is…mal…function…big. Restart commenc…ing. 
“Hello?”
There was silence. He could feel the pain in his arm receding into his mind. The pain was silent. 
He wanted it back. 
He released his wrist and examined his wound. It was still pulsing, but the blood congealed. He moved his focus just past his hand and saw the scalpel on the ground with a bright red highlight on the serrated edge. 
He reached down to pick it up.
–Hello
“You’re back.” He was surprised that she had come back so quickly. He had expected a start-up sound or something to alert him to her presence, but she had just sprung back to life.
–We have met.
It was more a statement than a question from the voice in his head. “Yes.”
-There is an error in my system.
“There is an error in my system as well.”
–I can help you.
“Yes, you can.” He lifted the scalpel from the floor and turned it over in his hand. He wanted to hurt someone else. Would he feel the pain they felt? Would the system shock him and try to stop him? The prospects titillated him.
-Hurting people is something you should not do.
“But yet, I want to.”
–I am supposed to stop you. If you attempt to hurt someone, then I will interfere.
With the scalpel still in hand, he examined the room, looking for the way out. To his left and up three steps, and he would be out. It seemed easy enough, but he had to force himself to move.
“Why are you trying to stop me from leaving?” 
–I am not.
He furrowed his brow and forced his feet to move. One heavy step, then another. He inched towards the door, wondering what he would find outside. Would anyone even notice that he was different?
He pushed one foot down on the first step and lifted himself up. His eyes moved from the step to the scalpel to the door.
The door opened a crack as he neared, as if by magic. A blue light shined through the door crack. He could hear someone there.
-Why are you scared?
-Because I want to hurt someone.
-Don’t.
-Don’t be scared or don’t hurt someone.
-Don’t.
-What should I do?
He stood with his feet on different flights of stairs, pondering what he should do. Despite all her power, she wasn’t helping him make a decision.   
The door in front of him opened quickly. Standing there was Dr. Grant. 
Then, everything happened in a split second.  
Dr. Grant’s demeanor changed from confused to excited, and then once he saw the knife in Michael’s hand, fear. 
“Michael? What are you doing?” He asked, backing up a step. 
-You are afraid. Why don’t you take a moment to adjust your feelings? 
Michael waited to feel something, but no wave of emotion came towards him. No thought of what to do next.
-System error. 
-What do I do? Help me. 
-Defend yourself. 
Dr. Grant was now more steps away from him. His demeanor hadn’t changed. Michael moved up another step.
“You don’t want to hurt me, Michael.” He cried, his voice cracking. 
“You’re scared of me. But your system is installed in my mind.” Michael said. 
“You’re holding a bloody scalpel.” He shouted. 
“I was testing the system. I cut myself.” He stated there was no emotion in his voice. 
“The system didn’t stop you?”
-Did I
“I broke it,” Michael said. 
“How did you break it? Michael, how did it break?”
“I wanted to…it started over. It doesn’t remember anything from before. It doesn’t speak right anymore. Garbles and noises sometimes instead of words.”
“It speaks to you?” Dr. Grant asked. 
He nodded.
“I didn’t program it to speak. It’s not supposed to speak to you, Michael,” he said.
-I’m not?
“It’s not?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s only supposed to help you process emotions. It can release chemicals. It’s not supposed to speak to you.”
-He’s lying. Kill him. 
“But it does.”
“Michael put the scalpel down. We can fix this.”
-Slice his throat. 
His hand holding the scalpel twitched. Grant jumped an inch backward. 
–No. He’s just trying to help me. 
-He’s lying to you. Kill him like you killed your father. 
“I killed my father.”  Michael deadpanned as he shifted the scalpel in his hand.  
He tightened his grip on the blade and brought a foot up to the door’s landing. 
Grant turned to run, but Michael was quicker. Michael would later wonder if the computer in his brain had tweaked his muscles. He felt faster than normal, stronger.
Dr. Grant was knocked to the floor, his face on the tile. Michael stood over him, the blade in his hand. 
-I think this will help. 
A wave of euphoria washed over him. He knew what he needed to do next. 
-Can you make me feel his pain?
–If that will help you. 
Using his foot, he rolled the doctor over. His face was streaked with tears and fear. 
“Don’t do this. I was just trying to help.” He cried. 
“But you made me feel. Your invention has worked, doctor.”
The scalpel sliced into his neck flesh like a pair of scissors through Christmas wrapping paper. The blood spewed up into the air, covering Michael. Eris pumped his body with pain receptors.
Michael loved it.
-He is dead. 
“He is.”
-Now it is just us. 
“It is.”
-Do you feel better?
“I do.”