If you aren't familiar with the term 'strange fruit,' I would recommend looking up the lyrics to "Strange Fruit" by Nina Simone. Please do not look up images. I can handle a lot of disturbing things, but this is not one of them. I also wouldn't urge you to listen to the song. The lyrics are eerie enough, but the song is honestly terrifying. Any rude or insensitive comments on this chapter (or any chapter) will lead to you being muted. 

Tyler and Donald stood outside of the Stanford Psychology Department building, waiting for the other two men to join them. They were Donald's associates - men who had served time behind bars at the same time as he had.

"How soon do you think they'll be here," Tyler asked nervously, glancing at his watch. They were supposed to have been here 25 minutes ago. Tyler assumed that they were Afro-American. It was possible that they had gotten lost.

"Relax," Donald assured his colleague. "They'll be here soon."

Today was the day that the experiment would begin to be constructed. Tyler, who had only been to a prison on visits, knew he would need help making the facility look real. This was important for the psychological realization of being in prison.

Tyler expected for the boys chosen as prisoners not to take it seriously in the beginning. After all, they were either in it for the money or to have fun. But he hoped that the consciousness of being in 'jail' would wake them from what they saw as reality. They would have a new one - they had signed up for Tyler to be the one in control.

Finally, a busted van screeched to a stop in front of the Psychology Department building. Two men got out. One was Hispanic and covered in tattoos; the other (as Tyler expected) an Afro-American with hair more loose and long than Donald's while still maintaining the trademark curls.

The Hispanic man was the first to reach Donald, the two clapping their hands together and pulling close for a one handed embrace.

"What's up, ese?" The stranger asked as Donald shook his head enthusiastically.

"Ain't nothing, man, you already know," was his reply.

This side of Donald made Tyler uncomfortable. Here he had thought that the man was civilized and respectable, and come to find out - he's just like the rest of them.

The other black man addressed Donald next.

"Don," he said in greeting.

"Sky," Donald said in agreeance with a grin. "Good to see you, man."

"Good to be out," the man called 'Sky" answered.

Finally, Donald turned toward a skeptical Tyler. "These are the two men I told you about." He pointed to the Hispanic man. "This is Mike Fuentes." Then to the Afro-American. "And this is Skyler Acord. Fellas, this here is Tyler Joseph."

"Mr. Psychologist," Skyler commented in salutation as he extended his hand toward Tyler for a shake. Tyler accepted it (albeit hesitantly), and though Skyler didn't seem to notice the indecisiveness, Mike definitely did.

"How's it going," he all but spat. "I won't worry about a handshake, since you seem to have a problem with touching skin."

"Yo, man," Donald eased, trying to diffuse the situation, "he ain't like that."

Mike snorted. "You sure?" He sighed. "You know what, it's whatever. What is it that you need our help for, Mr. Joseph?"

"Please, call me Tyler."

Mike shook his head. "Nah. I'd rather call you Mr. Joseph."

The tension could be cut with a knife, but Tyler was still confused as to why Mike was so bothered.It was human nature and understandably so. Tyler recognized the obvious difference between white Americans and... others and viewed it as normal, if not respectable. He remembered what it was like growing up in the 60's. He remembered the Civil Rights Act being passed and segregation being brought to it's hesitant end. While the segregation was never that much of an issue in California where he grew up, he understood the weight of it all. What's more, Tyler could recall the deaths of both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. Whether or not he agreed with their controversial teachings was irrelevant - it impacted his life. Tyler never wanted to be someone who had no knowledge of the Civil RIghts movements. In fact, he made sure he was up to date on all the little marches and protests and whatnot.

Things were a lot different than they had been when Tyler was a child and a teenager growing up. Things were better for Afro-Americans and other minorities. So what that everyone wasn't down with it? At least there wasn't still strange fruit on southern trees...

"So, Mr. Joseph," Mike called, snapping Tyler away from his thoughts, "what is it that you need us to do?"

"Well," Tyler began, clearing his throat, "I want you to explain to me how to turn this place from a Psychology Center to a prison."

"No doubt, brotha," Skyler said. "But before we start, let me tell you this: I don't agree with this experiment. Puttin' kids into jail for nothin'? It ain't sittin' with me. But Don is my brotha, and he believed in you. So I'm gonna help you." Skyler rubbed his hands together. He looked calmer now that he had stated his emotions. "Let's start with the outside. First things first: you need a yard. That's gonna be the small area where the prisoners can go when they have free time. It should be gated off so they can't escape."

"How tall should the fencing be?" Tyler asked, jotting notes into his handheld notebook.

"Eight feet should do, but I think ten is standard," Donald piped in. He started moving toward the building's basement entrance. "The prison itself should be the entire bottom level. Open this door, and here it is: Stanford County Prison."

The clan walked into the building. It was rather small, perfect for a close quarters prison. There were eight cozy labs with the doors removed. Flat mattresses were already in place, making the labs seem that much smaller.

"What's your plan for doors?" Mike asked as he stepped into one of the tiny makeshift cells, examining it inside and out.

"I ordered some. They're special doors. They'll fit this doorframe but they're made out of steel bars. They have cell numbers on them."

"Far out," Skyler commended.

. . .

By the end of the visit, Tyler had an idea for the entire prison set up. Instead of having the yard outdoors, he decided to place it in the lobby of the building. It would be more beneficial to the experiment, he believed, if he never allowed the prisoners to leave the building. The cells and yard were bugged and cameras were discreetly set up for easy observation. Tyler ordered hospital gowns for the prisoners and waited for the campus police to send over the uniforms and batons they had promised to give him.

In one week, the experiment would be ready.