My mother is a sociopath disguised as a brilliant scientist. She devoted her life to proving a twisted hypothesis: that those born into poverty are inherently incapable of possessing true virtue. To prove this, she turned me into an experimental control subject, separating me from my glamorous twin sister right after birth and sending me to live in an impoverished, secluded area in the Appalachian mountains. I worked myself to the bone, even selling plasma illegally just to scrape together a thousand dollars for tuition and a bus ticket out of that hellhole. On my way, I ran into a disabled woman who claimed she had lost her money. It was a setup arranged by my mother. I ruthlessly refused to help her. Meanwhile, back in the city, my sister—raised in luxury, the golden child—didn't hesitate for a second to give the woman all her allowance. My mother decided I was cruel and cold-blooded. She cut off the meager monthly stipend she paid to my adoptive parents in the mountains. Left with nothing, during my senior year, they quickly married me off to the town drunk—a widower rumored to have beaten his first wife to death. Later, after the experiment was declared a resounding success, my mother wept tears of joy as she embraced my sister on national television. She didn't even remember she had another daughter, beaten to death just days before. When I open my eyes again, I am back to the moment I met that disabled woman asking for a bus ticket. And the hidden camera on her button is broadcasting my choice to an audience of millions worldwide. 1 “Excuse me, dear, I’m lost... could you spare some money for a bus ticket home?” The woman standing before me had a dark complexion from working in the sun, and she walked with a heavy limp, leaning on a cane. She held up a disability certification card. Before I could even process the phantom pain of my brutal death, lines of scrolling text suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. [LiveChat] [Is this the older sister? The control subject? She looks so miserable compared to the sister. I wonder if she’ll help.] [Look at her clothes. They look like handouts from twenty years ago. She's obviously poor as dirt; there’s no way she’s got a good heart.] [That disabled woman looks so pitiable. Why is the older girl just staring? Her sister in the other stream is already in tears.] I blinked. Looking down, I could only see my own hands—rough, calloused, and covered in dirt from farm work. The LiveChat was real. I wasn't dreaming. In my past life, I had run away from my adoptive parents, who kept me under lock and key, just to scrounge up enough money for college. I had spent days on the road, hitching rides on tractors, covered in dust, finally making it to the county seat. Luckily, in that small, desperate place, the illegal plasma banks didn't check IDs. I managed to sell enough plasma to get a thousand dollars. Who knew that on my way home, I would encounter this so-called disabled woman. She claimed she lost her travel money and wanted to go home. Sobbing, she begged me to buy her a ticket. I didn't agree. Aside from the fact that she immediately asked for nine hundred dollars when the cheapest bus ticket was barefly three hundred, I saw something. The gold bracelet on her wrist. It was worth at least five thousand. The woman flashed her disability card like it was a royal decree, practically shoving it in my face. She was clearly hoping I wouldn't notice it lacked the mandatory government seal. In my previous life, I was severely anemic after selling blood. My natural resting-bitch-face, combined with a face white as a sheet, actually intimidated her. My cold stare forced her back a few steps. She cursed at me and stomped away. Later, I found out it was all a setup by my so-called mother, a woman obsessed with her manicured "scientific research." She wanted to prove that poor people are inherently immoral. To do that, she made me the control subject against my sister’s pampered life. As soon as I was born, I was banished to an isolated, poverty-stricken rural town. Here, surviving was a struggle, and college was an impossible dream. But I refused to give up my only chance to change my destiny. Even though my adoptive parents forced me to work in the fields every single day, whether it was freezing or burning hot. Even when they tried to make me drop out to farm the overgrown, desolate half of their property. I studied like my life depended on it. That thousand dollars meant everything to me. But my sister was different. She had been pampered since infancy, enrolled in elite ballet, piano, and singing lessons. Wearing a custom-made princess dress, she took the stage under dazzling spotlights and confidently won the title of the youngest champion in a national piano competition. And I? I could only stand in the dusty town square on market day, staring at the television through the window of a wealthier family’s home, eyes full of envy. 2 [LiveChat] [Why is the older sister just standing there like a statue? She obviously doesn't want to give up the money.] [Ugh, boring. I’m switching to the other sister’s stream.] The chat stream scrolled by, and someone posted a video link. Curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked it. It was my sister’s stream. The same setup. A disabled person who had lost their travel money. But the scene was entirely different. My sister was wearing a tailored private school uniform, her face beaming with health. With a tearful, sympathetic look, she gently helped up a woman with a fake limp. Without hesitation, she handed over her bulging wallet. I caught a glimpse inside—it was packed with hundred-dollar bills. At least two or three thousand dollars. The audience, seeing my sister's glistening eyes, absolutely lost their minds. [LiveChat] [She’s an angel. Truly beautiful inside and out. I heard she’s also top of her class at that elite Academy. The older sister doesn't even look like a student; she’s probably failing.] The chat stream was flooded with praises for my sister. I noticed my sister subtly moving, adjusting her angle so her face was perfectly in frame, away from a direct view of her backpack. But a tiny, faint, specific cold light—the blue light unique to an iPhone screen—was reflecting out from a corner of her open bag. As soon as she sensed the chat was completely on her side, the corners of her mouth twitched. Her eyes curved into triumphant crescents. Of course. This experiment was rigged from the start. Knowing she was being watched, my sister would obviously make the perfect choice for the camera. Only I was kept in the dark. I had been living a lie, thinking I could escape these mountains and fly toward my own sky. I never imagined my life was just a massive production of The Truman Show. Seeing the LiveChat grow impatient again. [Older sister is a total dud. No virtue, just like the hypothesis says. Discard.] The disabled woman seemed to get her cue. She started rolling on the ground, wailing, trying to emotionally blackmail me. "Young people have no heart! Won't even help an old woman get home. I can't get back to my three-year-old son! He's probably crying for his mommy right now!" Her wailing attracted a crowd. Passersby who didn't know the full story started pointing fingers at me. They accused me of being cold-hearted, disrupting public order by causing a scene in the street. I didn't care. In front of everyone, I walked over to the public payphone booth and dialed 911. Fortunately, in this country, a 911 call is always free. “Yes, I need to report a scam. There’s a woman outside the bus station committing fraud.” [LiveChat] [...] The woman pretending to be disabled froze, the LiveChat came to a grinding halt. A split second later, the chat exploded. [LiveChat] [Are you kidding me? Who calls the cops for this?! Bitch!] [Wait, fraud? Did she actually notice something? I’m dying to know how.] When the police arrived, the disabled woman finally snapped out of it and tried to run. She was no longer acting weak and helpless; her "limp" miraculously cured. "Look, kid, just let me go. I was just trying to make a buck. Why did you have to involve the cops?" The woman was practically begging now. As the silver cuffs were clicked onto her wrists, her legs suddenly became perfectly fine. The officer looked at me, curious. "How did you catch on?" I was polite. "She claimed to be local, but her accent was completely wrong. It sounded like she was faking it." "A disabled person with a severe limp wouldn't leave home without a crutch or cane. It would make walking too difficult." "And because the weight distribution on her feet would be unequal, the soles of her shoes would be worn down unevenly." I managed to crack a smile, though it probably looked forced on my anxious face. "Most importantly, a legitimate disability ID card must have the proper government seal." The officer looked impressed, praising my sharp eye. The previously silent LiveChat finally reacted. [LiveChat] [Holy... that logic was solid. The sister is actually smart!] [Her face isn't bad when she smiles. If her skin was better, she’d be identical to her sister.] [But wait, comparing them... is it just me, or is the younger sister actually kind of stupid? Who hands their entire wallet to a random stranger? That’s not kindness, that’s just dumb.] The chat stream was suddenly swinging completely in my favor. I let out a breath, thinking I had escaped the agonizing fate of my previous life. But then, my sister’s fanatical followers woke up. They unleashed unadulterated malice online. [LiveChat] [LMAO, she thinks she won. Rumor has it the Director is pissed that this choice didn't prove the control subject hypothesis. There’s going to be a 'bonus' test.] [The older sister won't pass this next one.] 3 Seeing the text, my breath hitched. I didn't understand why, despite being my biological mother, she treated us so differently. In my past life, based on this rigged experiment, she had casually labeled me as inherently evil with no possibility of redemption. She stopped the monthly thousand-dollar check to my adoptive parents. And in the middle of my critical senior year... They put a sack over my head, tied me up with thick rope, and delivered me to the widowed town drunk who had already beaten his first wife to death. I still remembered that day was my birthday. The town’s public loudspeaker was broadcasting my mother's birthday wishes for my sister. To celebrate her golden child’s eighteenth birthday. She had purchased airtime on every radio channel globally to broadcast a "Happy Birthday" song in over a dozen languages. And while that happened, I was being forced onto a filthy, cold grass mat, heavy fists smashing into my body, one after another. Until I could no longer hear the words: "Happy Birthday, Penelope. Mommy loves you so much, baby..." My chest felt tight with a bitter, old ache. For a split second, I wanted to run to the city and scream in that cold-blooded woman's face. But a second later, I noticed a surge in the crowd around the station. Strangers with the "Vance Labs" patch on their sleeves were closing in on me from all sides. They were blocking every entrance and exit, sealing off any chance of escape. [LiveChat] [Is she thinking of running? She was looking at the tickets for a long time.] [Nah, where would she run? Vance Labs security will grab her and throw her back in.] I lowered my eyes and walked back onto the path toward "home" with a blank face. I couldn't run. Not like this. Not totally unprepared and defeated. One day, I would claim my freedom out in the open. 4 Because I got home so late, I got a vicious beating. A switch was used on my already scarred back. After the foster father beat me until he was out of breath, he looked at me with an unusual expression. “Neighboring Graves family is bringing a new bride tomorrow. You help out over there.” The LiveChat, which had been mostly people commenting "too brutal to watch," immediately perked up. [LiveChat] [The test is here. Rumor has it this one is impossible. Good luck to the bitch.] I touched my collar. Something hard was hidden in the fabric. A lab technician must have attached it without me noticing. I didn't rip it off. I let them watch. The next day, a luxury black Mercedes pulled into the dusty village. It seemed absurdly out of place. A young girl in a white dress jumped out of the car. Her expensive shoes hit the mud, sending splatters onto the leather. Her face immediately twisted in disgust. A second later, she put on a beaming smile, transforming back into a perfect, innocent girl next door. [LiveChat] [Penelope is here?!] [Live chat is lit! Her fan base is exploding.] [Don't get it wrong, guys. Mom lied to Penelope, told her she was filming a reality TV show about rural life. She definitely doesn't know about the experiment!] [I heard Penelope is playing the role of a kidnapped college student. So excited to see how the sister handles this.] Penelope smiled into the camera, looking radiant. Then her gaze flickered toward me. My foster father stood next to me, shrinking back self-consciously. He laughed awkwardly and scurried over to Penelope to suck up to her. My foster mother shoved me hard. "Go serve her." Inside the cool, dark mud-brick house, I handed Penelope a cup of water. She casually took it, her fine, pale hands showing they were accustomed to piano keys and expensive lotions, not labor. She took a sip before speaking slowly. “Can you help me?” [LiveChat] [The test is beginning!] She said, looking embarrassed, “Actually, I’m a college student who was kidnapped. They’re saying they want to marry me off to one of the town bachelors.” A flash of malice darted through my sister's eyes. “You look around the same age as me. Could you marry him instead of me?” The "bachelor" she was talking about was the widower who would kill me in my past life. His family was dirt poor and drowning in gambling debt. He didn't have the money to buy a bride, nor could he afford a Mercedes. The only way he could get a bride was if someone else paid for her. Or, perhaps, if he was part of an elaborate setup. I looked at the perfectly manicured, perfectly innocent-looking girl, and then at the chat where people were cheering. “Sure.” I didn't even look up. “If you are actually being kidnapped.” Regardless of the reasons, kidnapping is a serious, horrifying crime. It shouldn't be entertainment. It shouldn't be reduced to a "reality TV" choice in a sick mother’s game. “I’ll take you to see a woman who actually was kidnapped.” 5 “Let go of me! You are insane! Where are you taking me?” Penelope’s expensive shoes were struggling through the thick, muddy paths of the village. In the most neglected corner of the village. Inside a place that was essentially a pigpen. Lived a woman whose mind had broken long ago. The putrid stench of waste hit us. Penelope instinctively covered her mouth and nose, dry-heaving. [LiveChat] [Why did the experiment stop?! The control subject is being so aggressive. Where is she taking poor Penelope? Someone stop her!] [Is she trying to mug Penelope? She probably wants her expensive accessories.] The chat only went silent when the woman in the pigpen suddenly stood up and the camera got a direct shot of her. Yellow and red stains covered her filthy body, and pieces of it fell onto Penelope’s dress as she stumbled. Penelope shrieked and ripped off her expensive private school blazer. She hissed, “You filthy bitch! Do you know how much this jacket cost?” The woman kept acting out, grabbing at things. But I calmly reached out, holding the woman still and using my own old jacket to wrap her exposed, filthy skin. “Auntie Evelyn, your chance to escape is here.” Evelyn's chaotic, unfocused gaze suddenly cleared. She looked at me in disbelief. "Really?" I nodded. When I was three years old, a beautiful woman arrived in the village. Rumor was she was a college student. She was a rarity in this backward place. Back then, I was treated like a wild dog by my foster parents, chained to a wooden stake, sleeping in a crate. They used to mutter inside their house. “She says they just need enough to live. We can barely afford to feed her, and she wants to live in a real house? We barely have enough space for ourselves.” I used to think I was a wild dog, grateful for any scraps I got. Until Evelyn Reed reached her tolerance limit. She broke her own confinement one night, broke into my crate, and held me tight. She told me. “You are a little girl. You have a long, beautiful life ahead of you. You are not meant to be caged in this horrible little village.” Auntie Evelyn taught me to read, taught me morality and philosophy. She begged me to study hard, to use education to claw my way out of this hell and fly to a bigger, broader world. She had been a teacher and gathered a few of the village kids together, starting the very first rudimentary "school." But on the day I "graduated" the eighth grade, Evelyn ran. She hid in the truck of a pig farmer heading to town, buried under filthy animal waste. When the villagers caught her, they beat her until she only had one breath left. Her hair was torn out; she looked insane. Her "husband" had pointed righteously at their few-months-old son. “You heartless bitch, how could you run? The baby is so small! I'm going to beat the run right out of you!” I was forced outside, but I could hear Auntie Evelyn screaming. She sobbed, her voice raw. "I have years of education from a top university! I wanted to be a federal judge, to be near my parents, not trapped in this hell, reduced to a breeding cow..." After that, Auntie Evelyn went insane. She volunteered to live in the pigpen. She preferred living among waste than ever going back to that man’s house. But I knew she wasn't insane. She secretly continued my education, preparing me for high school in the town. Auntie Evelyn gave me her secretly hidden gold bracelet, telling me to sell it for tuition. Later, the money ran out. I had to illegally sell plasma to pay for my senior year. I had been right on the edge of the Dawn, ready to take the entrance exam for that same university she went to... and then I died just before I could take the first step. 6 In this mountainous, secluded village, trying to escape by foot was a death sentence. I wanted to use the live stream. I wanted to force Penelope’s Vance Labs production crew to take Auntie Evelyn with them. They had security people everywhere. Buying her freedom would be effortless. [LiveChat] [Oh my god... Evelyn is so pitiable. Penelope is so kind, she’ll definitely save her.] [She was a top university graduate! This is horrifying.] Chat comments started urging Penelope to help. Penelope couldn't see the chat. She bit her lip. "But... this isn't right." “Doesn't Auntie Evelyn have a child? That poor little boy won't have a mother. So sad.” “She’s a mother! Women are weak, but mothers are strong. For her child, she can just endure it, right?” My rage, which I had been suppressing, finally exploded. I knew Penelope was just afraid of the hassle. She didn't want a filthy, crazy-acting woman as baggage. But a child is not an excuse for a mother to endure torture. It is the chain that binds her freedom. “It was not a voluntary child, so it is not a reason to endure! It is the shackle that imprisons her!” I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, finding the hidden camera lens. I got right in her face. “If you don't take her with you, I will announce right now, to that camera, that you know your mother is conducting this entire experiment.” “Your LiveChat followers are all saying you're an innocent angel, right?” “If they find out you were just acting, will they abandon you? And then, you will be the one mother discards as the 'failed' experiment.” Penelope stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. She couldn't understand how I knew everything. “You crazy bitch! You are insane! No wonder Mom threw you away and left you here for ten years!” Penelope stomped her foot. Utterly powerless rage. 7 The day Penelope left, Auntie Evelyn was in the luxury Mercedes with her. I wanted to see her off, but I was blocked by her son. A fifteen-year-old punk, already taller than me. He glared at me, muttering slurs, saying I let his mother escape. “Then why didn't you go see her? Who lets their own mother live in a pigpen?” His expression didn't change. He said logically, “It’s her own fault for running. My dad said if she ran again, he'd break her legs!” He was already rotten to the core. I picked up half a brick from the corner and got into a fight with him. Dust flew. I heard Auntie Evelyn shout from the car. She said she would find a way to come back for me. She told me to never give up. I pinned her son to the ground and hammered him with my fists. Auntie Evelyn, I hope your future path is smooth. Be free. When we meet again, we will both be the people we were meant to be. 8 [LiveChat] [I mean, older sister passed the test, right? She really is a good person. Was Catherine Vance’s experiment a complete failure?] [Is this experiment even ethical? The older sister deserves a better life.] Chat streams supporting me appeared. They started attacking the scientist mother. They questioned her morality and scientific ethics. And it was also the first time I saw my biological mother’s face in my new life. A link to a Vance Labs press conference appeared in the chat. I clicked it. I saw a woman with elegant features, wearing a tailored business suit, speaking at a podium. “I am Dr. Catherine Vance, director of this study, and the biological mother of both subjects.” “Everyone, please calm down. I have seen the online opinions. However, human nature changes based on its environment. This is undeniable.” “My biological daughter’s cruel nature was already evident back in middle school.” My chest felt tight. Before I could even feel wronged, a massive screen behind her lit up. The scene was a principal's office. A skinny, dark-skinned girl who looked malnourished was hugging her chest, glaring aggressively at the teachers. Next to her, a perfect, doll-like girl was sobbing, hiding in her mother's embrace. “Teacher, Chloe Vance isn't paying attention in class and keeps pulling my hair.” “Mommy, she even threw the new backpack you bought me into the school septic tank. She said I was a spoiled brat who didn't deserve a mother!” The principal frowned. “Chloe Vance, how many times is this? I’ve already received complaints about you cheating on exams. That’s the only way you got top of the class, right?” [LiveChat] [Holy shit... Older sister isn't a good person after all. Cheating? Bullying? She’s pure evil!] [Everyone supporting her was totally fooled!] Catherine Vance saw the noise she created and smoothly switched the video. The scene was a bright, clean classroom. Penelope was standing in front of a bullied girl, bravely facing down an aggressive male student. She looked fragile and sweet, her eyes moist. “Please don't bully our classmate, okay?” The male student looked instantly smitten. He waved his hand, impatiently sending his friends away. He pulled out his phone. "Hey, what’s your number? Let’s connect." Penelope looked completely taken aback, her face blushing bright red. She softly recited her phone number. The atmosphere was so sweet it looked like an idol drama. [LiveChat] [Aww, Penelope is so cute! Get away from her, you punk!] [That blush! I can’t handle it!] [School bad boy vs. innocent girl? I’m totally shipping it!] I was carefully analyzing the video, looking for the bullied girl. But there was no one. The scene focused only on Penelope. The girl who had been doused with trash and left shivering was discarded by the camera in a corner. Forgotten by everyone. The terrifying act of bullying was suddenly transformed into a romantic plot. It made me sick. My mother stopped the video there. She stated that while I had passed two of the "reality TV" tests, my inherent nature was unchangeable. She announced that I would be subjected to stricter tests. [LiveChat] [Isn't this going too far? Sister hasn't even finished high school yet. Let her take her entrance exams.] That one sensible comment was instantly swallowed by Penelope’s fanatical base chanting "Support the Experiment." [LiveChat] [Don't even try. Bullying is bullying. She was this evil in middle school, she’ll be worse in society.] The LiveChat was swinging back to Penelope. Then, a user with an icon of a hydrangea flower dropped a link. [LiveChat] [You are all being manipulated by Catherine Vance. The older sister didn't bully anyone. The girl she supposedly bullied in high school was actually expelled for being the bully!] The user’s video was grainy, like it was a security camera footage, not professionally filmed. But it was clear. In the blurred video, I was holding my own red, swollen face in the principal's office. I was speaking calmly. “Teacher, Sarah Jenkins threw my textbook into the boys' bathroom urinal.” “She told me to bark like a dog. She slapped me when I refused.” The principal was looking at test papers, never even lifting his head. He just waved his hand, dismissing me. Back then, I had truly believed he would handle the situation. I didn't know the principal was a teacher from a school near our village who had worked hard to get a job at the elite private school. He had always resented me because I was beating his own daughter, whom he spent a lot of money tutoring, as the top student in the class. When I was being severely bullied, I went to his office. He said dismissal. “Why is it always you being bullied, and not others? Every fight has two sides. Learn to self-reflect.” I realized I was completely alone. So, when Sarah Jenkins tried to stab my palm with a mechanical pencil again during class, I grabbed her by her ponytail and slammed her to the floor. After class, she threw my textbooks into the septic tank. So I grabbed the expensive custom designer backpack her mom bought her from New York and threw it into the open, filthy sewer main in front of her face. [LiveChat] [OMG. Honestly, that was amazing! Older sister is a badass!] [Principal is a POS. "Every fight has two sides"? I’ll slap him on one side and see if that fight has two sides!] Public opinion flipped again. Mother, on the screen, looked visibly panicked. I just wanted to sneer. It turns out she knew all along about the abuse I endured. She knew the suffering of those ten years. She was willing to pay people to film my suffering, but she wasn't willing to save her own biological daughter from that hell. The very last sliver of hope I had for a mother was gone. I touched my wet eyes and looked away. I noticed in the LiveChat, more and more users with the hydrangea icon were appearing. They were screaming: [ live stream is rigged! Older sister needs to be removed from the mountains. Give her the same education as her sister!] I suddenly remembered. Auntie Evelyn loved hydrangeas. In our culture, the flower symbolizes hope and light. She had actually come back for me.
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