Chapter 1

Theories were made to be tested and to conclude what one initially thinks about an idea. Whether it is about an open issue in a movie or a conspiracy, the truth is that everyone expects concrete answers about any assumption; while some go searching for the truth, others prefer to sit in a hammock, enjoying the shade, while the opposite side brings the conclusion to the surface. The question is: who are you in this situation?

After the debate in class, months before he finally graduated, Winston Connel already had in mind what he wanted to do from then on. He was already working as a psychologist in a school. The truth is that while in college, he ended up arranging an internship, which was so successful that he was hired immediately, without a degree. He liked the work, he liked helping teenagers and their problems. Young people, human beings with no idea of real issues, at least most of them.

When he finished philosophy school and had the basis of the plan ready, Winston knew he needed to be isolated, and nothing better than a dead-end street, yes, North Admiral was the perfect neighborhood, as was Seattle. There was a rental house right at the end of the street, two stories, and an overly large basement with rooms, it didn't even look like a basement, it was more like a floor below ground. It was the perfect house, it had no neighbors, and most important of all, it offered space, lots of space. The initial plan was to find a perfect place. The idea of renting the house was not so pleasant, having to watch for monthly payment visits to the owner, he needed privacy and managed to get the owner to sell. He spent some money saved on renovations. He hired a service, good to the point of doing a job well, but not so good as to ask questions about why such changes were needed. Secrecy.

The house was large, and despite everything, it took a few months to finish everything. The whole renovation practically took place in the basement, which now had a huge living room, 4 bedrooms, 2 large bathrooms, and a kitchen connected to the living room; it was like a normal house. On the main floor, he invested in a big office, and the rest of the house was left as it was. On the second floor, a wall was knocked down between two rooms, creating just one room, and that completed the entire renovation; he would take care of the rest.

Winston's basic plan was simple, and his motivation was just to show that he was right. He would, in practice, test what would happen in a real survival situation. He was sure that anyone would prioritize their life; however, he would rather not do it anyway, he wanted a pure result, without holes, without anything that could prove the opposite.

In an initial plan, he considered kidnapping people whom he knew had a great connection between them, someone the person loved as much as himself. This required a lot of research, and many days of monitoring possible victims, and this took time, Winston was rushing, he was not very healthy. The man suffered from Somniphobia, he was afraid to sleep, so he ended up becoming a coffee addict he was not in good health, and he was already an adult. He did not aim for family life, at that stage of life, he was focused on not failing. He ruled that plan out, it was not guaranteed. Thinking about strategies took up part of Winston's entire day, except for when he was working. Conveniently, the bright idea popped into his mind while treating a patient. Jeffrey Foster, a twelve-year-old boy, suffered from Nicthophobia - a phobia of the dark. The school assumed that consultations could help him with this problem, Winston accepted the challenge, but the boy did not talk much. To Connel, he was an interesting boy. Finally, he had a plan. If he could not be sure of the relationships that people had, he could then create those relationships himself.

After that day, from the consultation, Winston went home. Accompanied by his mug of freshly brewed coffee, he began to jot down the first draft with a chance of success he had. Create relationships, create relationships… He paused, tapping the blue ink pen on his forehead as he thought. Behind him, and on the sides, were books, all academic, and obviously from psychology and philosophy. He spent a good deal of time looking at them, keeping the pen in its continuous work of tapping against his skin, and also emptying all the coffee. He walked to the kitchen and replaced the black liquid, hot, very hot, and with a sweet smell, it was his favorite way, very sweet. Likewise, he wasn't healthy at all, and he didn't care.

The blue ink scratched the paper again, exposing the word "teenagers". It looked like a clue to the next idea, the word hadn't left his mind, so he had decided to write it down, just in case. He still had nothing. He put down his pen and took a long sip of his hot coffee while looking at the books once more. Early childhood education, that thought caught his attention. He repeated the words aloud "early childhood education", and then wrote it down; his mind was clearing, and he was getting somewhere. He spent a few more minutes locked in, looking, thinking, drinking, and the coffee drained away again. The way to the kitchen was quite short, and even if it took longer, he would not hesitate to walk, if it meant another cup of coffee. He was still wearing the same clothes as in the morning, and his straight black hair remained neat. As he filled his mug, his thoughts were racing: "Child education," he said once more, felt the difference, and said it twice more before rushing back to the office and writing down "teenagers are manipulable. Vibrating with joy, he now had a foundation, and his knowledge of psychology would be extremely useful.