The human condition

We all dream of being special, whether we are the lowliest janitor, or the most powerful dictator. We hunger for it, to be unique, to stand out from everyone else, to make our mark on the world. It is what drives us, what propels us on to greater heights. It is our cause, our dream, our purpose.

In our search to be special, any crime we commit can be justified. A young cheerleader may aspire to be captain, and crush all in her way to get there. Bullies overwhelm their victims for the sensation of power that makes them feel special. Serial killers will, inevitably, do the same. The fact is, there is always a cost to being special.

But in other’s quests to be special, the harm they cause may be accidental, unforeseeable.
Take the story of a man called Ernest Rutherford for example. In experiments he described as simply “playing with marbles,” he managed to split the atom, a discovery that paved the way for the atomic bomb. Why did he do it? For power? To benefit the human race? Out of simple curiosity? Possibly. But underneath it all, he wanted what we all want. He wanted to be special, to be recognised and remembered. And he was, but at what cost? Thousands of lives lost – Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and an impending nuclear war.

Now what if I told you that you could be special? That, with a little help, you could have whatever your heart desired. You name it: if it exists in the animal kingdom, it’s yours. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

But then suppose I told you the scientists that did this to you would consider you their experiment, their property. And to test your...skills...they would perform the most gruesome, most inhuman tests on you imaginable. I’m talking fighting to the death with a Grizzly bear sort of thing.

Would it still be worth it?
Would you still be you by the end of it?
Would you still want to be special?

That is the choice I would offer you.
I had none.

The story continues:

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