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Chapter 2

Who are you?

Edward Hopper - A college student who's had the power for 5 years

Vanessa Thornbush finished her last sentence with a deep sigh, leaning back into her chair as she stretched her muscles back to wakefulness. It had taken hours but she had finally finished her first draft. “Fucking finally!” she groaned to no one, quickly scrolling back to the start of her essay. She glanced over the passing pages, marvelling at the work she’d gotten done these past few hours. Fifteen pages total.

The library had grown quiet over the course of her time here. She quickly scanned the room, mentally taking note of each student as they went about their day. Vanessa shook her head, breaking the habit. It had developed as part of her observations for her paper - a study on behaviorism and how one’s environment shaped how they acted. At first, people watching had been weird to her, following the movements of strangers as she watched and analyzed them, but after weeks of focusing on the assignment, it had become second nature to her.

Already, here in the campus library, she’d classified two separate behaviors: those hard at work, like the woman making rounds as she paced across the room with a clipboard, and those who diddled on their phones, like the guy sitting across from her at a separate table.

She suppressed another groan, massage her temple with her fingers in an effort to regain her focus. Hopefully now that it was over, the habit would fade entirely.

The grade was worth the effort however. This was one class she couldn’t afford to fail. Her professor might be strict with her page count but Vanessa considered it an honor to be one of her students; especially when one considered the size of the class. The Institute of Cognitive Science didn’t take many students due to its size and it was lucky she’d gotten in at all.

Her class especially. Fifteen students, all girls - each carefully selected by Dr. MacLoed herself, one of the most prestigious faculty members in the ICS. Vanessa couldn’t afford to do poorly.

Finding her resolve, she decided to tackle her essay’s first revision, deciding to get it over and done with now before she headed back home for the day. The essay wasn’t due until the end of the week, but the sooner she finished, the sooner she could submit it and put it behind her.

Which was why she didn’t hear Dr. MacLoed’s approach until the professor said her name, making the girl jump.

“Vanessa!” her professor said, walking up to her, “Hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

The student blinked as she turned towards her teacher, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden arrival. She glanced down at the clipboard in Dr. MacLoed’s hand and immediately recognized her as the woman walking around earlier.

Vanessa mentally chided herself from not noticing her professor before now. It was the outfit, she told herself - the woman’s casual attire a far cry from the typical business outfit Vanessa was used to seeing her in. A woman of tall stature and sharp wit, Dr. MacLoed normally commanded absolute authority in her classroom but here, she seemed no different than any other passing student.

“Hey Roxanne,” Dr. MacLoed insisted that her students called her by her first name, “I didn’t see you here.”

“I thought not,” the older woman said with a laugh, gesturing towards the open laptop, “Hard at work on your assignment?”

Vanessa nodded, “Yeah, just starting my first revision now. I should have it submitted within the coming days.”

“Good, excellent! I’m glad you’re finishing up. I was hoping I wouldn’t distract you because I’m actually here for something unrelated entirely. Don’t worry,” she quickly added, seeing the spark of fear that flashed across her student’s face, “I’m not changing the scope of the assignment.”

The professor raised her clipboard, bringing Vanessa’s attention to the sheet of paper stacked upon it. “I’m currently conducting an experiment in the library with a few colleagues of mine and I was hoping you could take part in a small survey I’ve constructed. It won’t take more than a couple minutes of your time, I promise.”

“Sure thing, Roxanne” Vanessa said with a shrug, pushing away her laptop in order to make room on her small desk. “I’d be happy too.”

Beaming with glee, Dr. MacLoed removed a survey from her stack, handing the lone paper to her student who placed it down in front of her while she scoured her backpack for a pen. Finding one soon after, she directed her attention to the form and filled in her name and gender, quickly reaching the first question of the survey and reading it out loud to herself.

Have you ever felt like someone else was in control of your actions? Yes No

“That’s a rather... unique question,” Vanessa stated, looking up at her professor, “If you don’t mind me asking, what sort of research is this survey for?”

“It’s for a study on how the brain behaves when to do something that goes against its programming” she began explaining, a soft jingle suddenly ringing from within the professor's pocket. “It’s mostly prep work for a future topic I hope to explore at some point in a later class.” The noise was repeated as Dr. MacLoed produced a small cell phone from her jacket, the older woman quickly looking at the screen. “Sorry, I need to reply to this.”

As her professor responded to the text, Vanessa took the opportunity to quickly scan over the rest of the survey, silently reading each question as she gathered a sense of what data the questionnaire was hoping to collect.

“But, Roxanne,” she began, reading the final question, “There’s no way this will ever produce real, observable results. First off, how will you even find a control group for something like this?”

“Ahh, thank you for reminding me!” Message seemingly sent, Dr. MacLoed pocketed her cellphone and withdrew a small stamp from somewhere else in her jacket. At first glance, Vanessa assumed it was similar to the stamps she’d received when entering a nightclub. However, as Vanessa eyed it, it seemed more akin to the stamps used by library clerks in order to date the back of rented books, indicating when they should be returned.

“Don’t worry,” her professor said, reaching out with the stamp, “This is only so that my colleagues don’t ask you to fill the survey a second time. It’ll wash off with a bit of water.”

Unsure why such a thing would even be required, Vanessa gave her professor the benefit of the doubt and reached out with her hand so that Roxanne could stamp her. Once she did, Vanessa brought her hand closer to her to look at the marking, surprised that it didn’t actually form an image like she’d initially expected.

Instead it spelled a name, written in beautiful calligraphy.

Edward Hopper’s

The young woman blinked, reading the name again. “Who’s Edward Hopper?”

“That would be me.”

Following the voice, Vanessa glanced at the guy sitting at the desk across from her as he finally looked up from his phone, eyes locking with hers.

What unfolds for Vanessa?

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