Anathema

Maxwell looked at the contraption on the table in front of him. It was about the size of a box of matches. He tentatively reached for it but pulled his hand back slowly when one of the doctors in the room coughed few times to make his disapproval known without embarrassing either of them. Maxwell slowly return his hands to his lap and continued staring on the device.
         The primary doctor in the room continued to drone on about the benefits of the operation, how much better he would feel afterwards and bunch of other information that Maxwell had not doubt was important. Most importantly, he would be alive, he was told. He tuned him out. Lifesaving or not, as he knew it was, the device on the table was anathema to him. He would rather die than have this artificial creation inserted into his body. Living beyond what was intended for him was sacrilege. Proceeding with the operation would violate every tenet he believed in. It was not an option. It was impossible.
Sweat had started to form on his forehead and he could tell his face was flushed. He knew he had to make a decision before his in depth questions became suspicious. He wiped his forehead with a napkin and then looked around at the group assembled in the room. The presenting doctor stood at the head of the table, walking everyone through a holo presentation of the operation that was displayed in front of each person seated at the table. Maxwell looked to his right and found his must trusted advisor, Adan, engrossed in the presentation as if it was truly important to him. He would jump on the opportunity to augment his human body in a heartbeat. He was a true Intermediate, ready to go beyond nature whenever possible. Disgusting.
         To his left, Leeam, a geeky young man in his early twenties that seemed to know everything about technology and had no issue understanding new concepts. He was less adept at reading people, which served Maxwell well. He needed someone that could be his brains in that area in order to hide his own lack of knowledge in the technological realm, and to hide is utter dislike for it.
         He had been through the operation multiple times with both Adan and Leeam. He knew their opinion and their desire for him to go ahead with it. To them, the procedure and the device represented an opportunity to live out the Intermediates tenets, to enhance whenever possible. Not to mention that doing so would save his life.
         He sighed. When he accepted the mission to infiltrate the Intermediate faction, it had never occurred to him or his handlers that he would end up being their leader. This was also the reason he knew that what to him appeared impossible and not an option was inevitable. His cover depended on it. Yet, he hesitated. He knew that if he went through with it, he would solidify his position as the Intermediate leader. Or, at the very least, one particular faction. If he declined the surgery, everyone around him would start whispering, wondering why their leader refused to participate in something they all strived for. He would also be dead before long.
         Although he did not fear death, he feared what his death would mean for the Organics, his people. They had, in a sense, entrusted their future into his hands. If he died, he would not be able to complete his mission and all the work he had done for the past decade would be for naught. The Intermediates would continue to grow in political and military power and would eventually be able to overturn the laws that had outlawed them half a century ago. His people would be finished.
         He looked around the table once more, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. His choice was clear, yet not one he wanted to make. At that very moment, he decided that his actions today would one day be repaid. He would make sure of it. He stood up and looked around the table, a smile on his face. Everyone looked back at him. “I’m ready.”