Rico had felt awfully lonely in light of the pandemic and related lockdown. He had moved to a new city and thus lost virtually all of his friends, and the solitude accompanying such isolation was beginning to wring his heart quite painfully.
"What's this emptiness inside me? It almost feels like I'm dead, or that I don't exist. I wish I had someone to talk to, to respond to me. Otherwise, how could I know whether I even exist, without any external feedback?"
It was at that moment that Rico saw a sign posted on a bulletin board:
Study into Social Isolation. 1 Participant Needed. $20 Stipend Offered it read. Rico didn't have anything better to do, so he decided to visit the next day, after filling out the intake form online.
Rico showed up to the experiment site, walked into the lab, and saw a scientist sitting in rolling chairs. There was some machinery in the room which he couldn't recognize.
"Hi, are you Rico?" she asked. She looked to be in her thirties, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed nice enough, but Rico couldn't help but notice a hint of clinical terseness in the way she spoke.
"Uh, y-yes," he said.
"Okay, good," she said. "Well, let's get started. Of course, as I'm sure you know, the pandemic and associated lockdowns has left many people struggling to cope with social isolation. It's a pretty big problem; lots of people are turning to things like opiates and alcohol to numb the pain they feel, and so we figured it would be worth researching. We've just got the grant money, but not for more than for one participant-- you, so you're lucky-- and so we decided to start right away."
"So, what's the experiment about? I read that on the sheet posted on the board," said Rico.
"I'm glad you asked," said the scientist. "One issue a lot of people have reported as a result of the lockdown is feeling like their social skills are weakening. One mental disorder associated with deficits in social skills is autism. As it would happen, we've been working with PCR and mRNA insertion tech for a while now, and we seem to have found a way to create mRNA proteins that inhibit a variety of brain processes, especially those in the basal ganglia, parietal cortex, and prefrontal cortex-- lots of places-- in such a way that patients experience a state very similar to severe autism.
We feel such a state may be conducive to simulating the effects of very long-term social isolation. So, that machine over there has the PCR tech and the mRNA solutions ready, and so whenever you're ready, we'll have you sit in the chair and administer the mixture."
"That's-- uh-- a little unusual," said Rico. "But I guess I'll give it a try." He walked over to the chair and sat down." The researcher finished typing, then grabbed some supplies. "Let me just take your vitals real quick." She took Rico's temperature, blood pressure, and produced a stethoscope. As she was listening to Rico's heart, she let the bell hang down for a few seconds, then gently grabbed Rico's chin and tilted his head upward, looking into his eyes for a bit.
"Hm... you know, you seem like you might be on the spectrum yourself. Have you ever been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome?"
"W-what?!" asked Rico, a little louder than he would have liked. "Uh, I guess when I was a kid, but I don't really think I have it anymore...." he replied, trailing off. He tried not to let on about it, but that diagnosis was his deepest insecurity.
"Well, I can definitely see it in your gaze. Anyway, I'll start the infusion now. It should start in about 10 minutes." She sterilized his arm, started the IV, flipped a switch, then went into another room.
The researcher's comment echoed loudly within Rico's mind. "Do I really come off that way?" he thought. The notion began to weigh on him; after about a minute, he started to feel himself tearing up-- but couldn't wipe his face, his hands being strapped to the arms of the chair.
A few minutes later, the researcher came back. "Oh, are-- are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm just a little tired, I guess," said Rico, tears now streaming down his face. He was beginning to feel a little strange now; his thoughts felt less distinct; his body somehow alien.
"The infusion should start working soon, just sit tight." Ric0's thoughts started to feel a little indistinct. The researcher continued to watch him, checking her iPad occasionally. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Gooood," Rico slurred. Hearing his own voice worried him; yet he wasn't able to articulate as such to the researcher.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to do this task for me, it's called the Thematic Apperception Test. Just look at this picture and tell me what's going on, make up a story." She held up a laminated sheet of paper showing a pair of children playing with a beach ball.
Rico tried to say something, but all he could get out was a squeaky moaning sound. Seriously disturbed at seeing his communication deteriorate so quickly, he tried to ask the researcher to end the experiment, but all he could get out was more unintelligible moaning and squealing noises. Panicking, he tried harder and harder to articulate his distress, but his vocalizations just became louder.
"Hm, I'm not sure if we're going to be able to finish the experiment like this. I'll just describe your symptoms here. Just relax, the infusion should wear off in about an hour." Then, the researcher left the room, shutting the door and turning off the light, thereby leaving Ricoin pitch darkness.
The researcher came back after a little more than an hour. Rico was shaking in the seat, drenched in sweat. "All done! Let me just remove the straps here," she said, before releasing him. Rico didn't even seem to register what she had done, still staring ahead, petrified.
"Umm, are you okay?" Rico continued to stare forward, but then asked in a quavering voice,
"I-- I guess-- uh, could-- could I have a hug? I'm a little shaken up by it, I think."
"It's against policy to touch patients unless absolutely necessary," she said, before looking again. "Well, all right," giving a quick one-armed hug around his neck. "We should be able to deposit the money in your bank account in the next 3 business days.
"Thanks," said Rico, before walking out, driving back to his college apartment, and drinking himself to sleep.
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"What's this emptiness inside me? It almost feels like I'm dead, or that I don't exist. I wish I had someone to talk to, to respond to me. Otherwise, how could I know whether I even exist, without any external feedback?"
It was at that moment that Rico saw a sign posted on a bulletin board:
Study into Social Isolation. 1 Participant Needed. $20 Stipend Offered it read. Rico didn't have anything better to do, so he decided to visit the next day, after filling out the intake form online.
Rico showed up to the experiment site, walked into the lab, and saw a scientist sitting in rolling chairs. There was some machinery in the room which he couldn't recognize.
"Hi, are you Rico?" she asked. She looked to be in her thirties, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed nice enough, but Rico couldn't help but notice a hint of clinical terseness in the way she spoke.
"Uh, y-yes," he said.
"Okay, good," she said. "Well, let's get started. Of course, as I'm sure you know, the pandemic and associated lockdowns has left many people struggling to cope with social isolation. It's a pretty big problem; lots of people are turning to things like opiates and alcohol to numb the pain they feel, and so we figured it would be worth researching. We've just got the grant money, but not for more than for one participant-- you, so you're lucky-- and so we decided to start right away."
"So, what's the experiment about? I read that on the sheet posted on the board," said Rico.
"I'm glad you asked," said the scientist. "One issue a lot of people have reported as a result of the lockdown is feeling like their social skills are weakening. One mental disorder associated with deficits in social skills is autism. As it would happen, we've been working with PCR and mRNA insertion tech for a while now, and we seem to have found a way to create mRNA proteins that inhibit a variety of brain processes, especially those in the basal ganglia, parietal cortex, and prefrontal cortex-- lots of places-- in such a way that patients experience a state very similar to severe autism.
We feel such a state may be conducive to simulating the effects of very long-term social isolation. So, that machine over there has the PCR tech and the mRNA solutions ready, and so whenever you're ready, we'll have you sit in the chair and administer the mixture."
"That's-- uh-- a little unusual," said Rico. "But I guess I'll give it a try." He walked over to the chair and sat down." The researcher finished typing, then grabbed some supplies. "Let me just take your vitals real quick." She took Rico's temperature, blood pressure, and produced a stethoscope. As she was listening to Rico's heart, she let the bell hang down for a few seconds, then gently grabbed Rico's chin and tilted his head upward, looking into his eyes for a bit.
"Hm... you know, you seem like you might be on the spectrum yourself. Have you ever been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome?"
"W-what?!" asked Rico, a little louder than he would have liked. "Uh, I guess when I was a kid, but I don't really think I have it anymore...." he replied, trailing off. He tried not to let on about it, but that diagnosis was his deepest insecurity.
"Well, I can definitely see it in your gaze. Anyway, I'll start the infusion now. It should start in about 10 minutes." She sterilized his arm, started the IV, flipped a switch, then went into another room.
The researcher's comment echoed loudly within Rico's mind. "Do I really come off that way?" he thought. The notion began to weigh on him; after about a minute, he started to feel himself tearing up-- but couldn't wipe his face, his hands being strapped to the arms of the chair.
A few minutes later, the researcher came back. "Oh, are-- are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm just a little tired, I guess," said Rico, tears now streaming down his face. He was beginning to feel a little strange now; his thoughts felt less distinct; his body somehow alien.
"The infusion should start working soon, just sit tight." Ric0's thoughts started to feel a little indistinct. The researcher continued to watch him, checking her iPad occasionally. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Gooood," Rico slurred. Hearing his own voice worried him; yet he wasn't able to articulate as such to the researcher.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to do this task for me, it's called the Thematic Apperception Test. Just look at this picture and tell me what's going on, make up a story." She held up a laminated sheet of paper showing a pair of children playing with a beach ball.
Rico tried to say something, but all he could get out was a squeaky moaning sound. Seriously disturbed at seeing his communication deteriorate so quickly, he tried to ask the researcher to end the experiment, but all he could get out was more unintelligible moaning and squealing noises. Panicking, he tried harder and harder to articulate his distress, but his vocalizations just became louder.
"Hm, I'm not sure if we're going to be able to finish the experiment like this. I'll just describe your symptoms here. Just relax, the infusion should wear off in about an hour." Then, the researcher left the room, shutting the door and turning off the light, thereby leaving Ricoin pitch darkness.
The researcher came back after a little more than an hour. Rico was shaking in the seat, drenched in sweat. "All done! Let me just remove the straps here," she said, before releasing him. Rico didn't even seem to register what she had done, still staring ahead, petrified.
"Umm, are you okay?" Rico continued to stare forward, but then asked in a quavering voice,
"I-- I guess-- uh, could-- could I have a hug? I'm a little shaken up by it, I think."
"It's against policy to touch patients unless absolutely necessary," she said, before looking again. "Well, all right," giving a quick one-armed hug around his neck. "We should be able to deposit the money in your bank account in the next 3 business days.
"Thanks," said Rico, before walking out, driving back to his college apartment, and drinking himself to sleep.
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