Pressure

The room is quiet. The machinations inside the holoprojectors whir like lions, so loud, yet no one cares. Above are the faces. I don’t know if they know yet. If I try to lie, and they know, I’m dead… but what good is it for me to keep this from anyone? I can’t keep living in a crusty basement forever, and… this would make me rich. I look into the eyes of all the investors. They know I’m a genius, and my work has made it into the lives of everyone with any form of income. They’re expecting something new, fresh, and something to make them richer than they need to be. I decide to lie. I just… don’t know this new… something too well yet. The investors sigh, I know they wanted something but choose to lie along with me, treating me to somewhat heartfelt goodbyes and wishes. The investors disappear, and the lion stops whirring. A heavy sigh comes from my lungs and out my mouth. I take a few seconds to look around. What scientist lives in a place like this? The stains on the walls from who knows what pop like neon signs. The trash lying all around, which I simply would need more hours in a day to clean, was prevalent with every step. I don’t even know how I can keep my machines running in here. I rush over to my desk. It is filled to the brim with small gadgets I tinker with and parts of the bigger machine that I could no longer fit on the disgusting walls or floor. In the corner of the desk sits a small computer chip, sitting in a glass bowl as to not mistake my masterpiece… or maybe worst mistake, for something that demands much… much less thought. I grab it out of its luxurious bowl and place it in a slot on a large monitor that shadows a large portion of the wall, yet not towering over me. The monitor screen comes to life as I insert the chip and all the machines around me whir again like lions. The screen opened exactly what I was doing right before I logged off the last time. My… project. What started as a wing-of-the-moment experiment, just to please a curious thought, became a moral struggle that I feel daily. The large words on the window in front of me reads: “Molecular Reprogramming and Alteration of Internal Organs.” I do my daily task of mindlessly scrolling through all the files, trying to justify either side of my internal conflict. I feel as if I’ve memorized this endless pool of information at this point. “Respiratory Enhancement”, it reads. “Brain Signal Manipulation”, it reads. “Muscle Control”, it reads. My head falls into my arms which lay on the desk. I believe… no, I can see the good that can be done with this, but In my heart, I cannot believe that there is anyone pure enough to not use this as a deadly weapon, and I… I wouldn’t be able to live with knowing am among the people that created new technologies, to kill their own race... I can't live with that shame.