The boy stood in the center of the white testing chamber, facing a computer screen propped up on a stand.

His white uniform was drenched in sweat and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Images flashed across the screen; images which he did not know the meaning of.

Yet something seemed to be tugging at him, crushing him between its fingers.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the screen switched off. The invisible chains tying him to the spot seemed to loosen, and the coldness down his back seemed to ease a little.

He soothed his rapid breathing and reached up to pull off the bothersome electrodes attached to his head.

Then he felt a slight prick in his neck as the room went dark. His legs gave out below him, and he slipped out of consciousness as his body hit the floor.

“Fear conditioning test number 27. Outcome: success.”

The tension in the observation room, hidden from the testing chamber behind a broad one-way glass window, unwound itself. The researchers had finally succeeded in “programming” fear into a unit’s brain. Little cheers and clapping filled the room.

Valm clapped along too, even though he just wanted to leave.

For the past many many months, he had watched “test subjects”, as the others called them, in the bleak white testing hall, with cables and wires attached to them, tortured in one way or another. Sometimes the tests were humane enough, but sometimes Valm could hardly bear to stand in the control room.

In those many many months, they had produced many many, sometimes inhuman, things too. They made things with superhuman strength, things with more arms than there should be, and things that can rival supercomputers in logical decisions. But alas The Council decided against these more outlandish experiments, calling them too “inhumane” and “unethical”.

So they settled on a slightly less dramatic modification for the new soldiers. Instead of messing too much with the body, they would just make slight changes to their brains. Changes that are slight enough to make them natural warriors, but not enough to be “unethical”.

Many times he questioned why he was still there, working on the project, and he has yet to find an answer.

But he did decide on one thing.

He decided that, when the project was finished, he would go somewhere nobody could find. A place where his expertise would never see the light of day.

He left the control room and headed to his office to finish writing the last part of his report.

“The optimum production cycle has been determined to be a physical age of 10 from the printer, and an accelerated developmental and training course up to age 16 before the soldiers can be put into service. A physical age too old has the negative effect of giving the brain less time to adapt and produce its own neural networks, vital in problem-solving, critical thinking, and learning. Although we cannot eliminate the learning phase the brain goes through during a person’s childhood, we can largely reduce the time it takes. Our research has determined that 6 years or less is more than enough to produce soldiers meeting, or exceeding the level of competence of current human soldiers. Though manipulation of the brain has been successfully conducted, dramatic alterations are advised against as the process is difficult and can produce many unwanted side effects. The reliability of these modifications also seems to degrade over longer periods of time, as the brain seems to repair itself. Because of this, we recommend soldiers produced using printers to be put out of service before the age of 18, at which time modifications will show visible signs of degradation.”

Valm had barely finished writing the last line before there was a knock on his door, and a well-dressed man, not wearing a lab coat, stepped into his room.

“Hi, Dr. Stresemann,” the man greeted him. “I heard that the test was a success?”

“Yeah…”

“But you don’t seem to be in that good of a mood?”

“Well… I guess not.”

“I’m aware that you have openly opposed our decision to use artificial soldiers. But, Dr. Stresemann, it’s not about what you think, it’s about what we need,” the man spoke in a monotonous voice. “After your retirement, the Council will make sure any health disorders associated with your research will be more than compensated for.”

“They better.”

The man sneered and leaned in close. “You know, even if you manage to escape to New Asia, your tech won’t be used on anything good.”

Valm didn’t answer.

“Since the project is nearing completion,” the man chuckled. “If I were you, I’d just make it through the next few days, and apply for health-related retirement as soon as it’s over.”

“Retirement… you say?”

“Yeah,” the man nodded. Then he stood back up and made his way to the door. “Don’t try anything funny, doctor,” the man said, not turning around. “We’re keeping a close eye on you.”

Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Valm alone in his office.

That night, Valm didn’t return to his house. Instead, he decided to visit a friend’s place, on the other side of the city.

Jenia had dropped him off in front of his compound, and so he hopped on a public bus, and sat through the half-hour journey, looking out at the brightly lit city.

“I haven’t seen you this… troubled in a long time…” his friend, Hayley, told him. “Something not going well with your research?”

“Well… yeah…” Valm sighed, sitting across the table from Hayley.

Despite Valm’s impromptu visit, Hayley cooked him a generous meal of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas, which Valm wolfed down in a matter of minutes.

He met Hayley back in university when they worked together on a group project. Even though Hayley later became a biomechanics engineer and part-time writer, they still visit each other quite often.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Hayley inquired.

Valm sighed again and began to talk about all the happening at his lab. About the project to use artificial soldiers. About the tests, they conducted on those who walked out of the printer. About the plans for super-soldiers, and how those were eventually scrapped.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Is it not a noble cause for your invention to be fighting for our city?” Hayley asked after Valm finished talking. “To fight in place of real people?”

“What makes us more real than them?”

“Than who?”

“The ones who walk out of the printers. What makes them less human than us?”

“Well…” Hayley thought for a moment. “I suppose you are right.”

Valm nodded.

“So what are you going to do now? Since the project is almost complete,” Hayley asked, getting up and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He offered Valm one, which he gladly accepted.

“I want to disappear,” Valm said, wiping the beer foam from his mouth. “Go somewhere no one can find.”

“That place doesn’t exist. Well, except for death.”

“Death isn’t enough,” Valm put down the empty can and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want my physical body to even remain. Merely purging the mind is not enough.”

“Well then… perhaps…” Hayley smiled. “Why not go down a more romantic route.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. But you’re the mad scientist, no?”

“Yeah…?”

“At least make it more interesting than just jumping off a building. Nobody likes a predictable ending like that.”

Valm stared at Hayley blankly for a moment, then laughed. “You sure are a romanticist, aren’t you?”

Hayley spread his arms out. “I’m just a guy who likes writing stories in his spare time.”

“Won’t you miss me?”

“Of course I will. But it seems that keeping you here only makes you suffer more. Perhaps your mind will persist after your physical form is gone, who knows? If that is the case, do come pay me a visit, maybe in my dreams.”

“Maybe… maybe I will.”

“But hey, it’s all up to you. People call you a genius for a reason, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Valm thanked Hayley for the meal and left his house. He barely made the last bus, and sat the half-hour journey back to his own house, looking out at the now slightly less brightly lit city, thinking over the words that Hayley had told him.

As he approached the entrance to his housing compound, he noticed a group of soldiers standing around it. Valm slowed his steps and observed the men from afar.

They all wore badges on their coats, identifying them as agents of The Council. A paralyzing coldness came over Valm when he realized they were probably there for him. He had not gone home for too long, and The Council has gotten suspicious.

Valm closed his eyes and rolled a mental dice in his mind, one which he had been rolling more and more often lately. When it bounced to a stop, he made up his mind.

He turned around and began walking the opposite way, stopping to call a taxi after turning a corner. The taxi took him to his lab, dark and asleep at such a late time. During the most chaotic days of the project, his lab would never be dark at any time during any day.

The scanner quickly identified his face, and the locked doors slid open. He decided to not switch on the lights, and simply walked down the dark hallways, barely able to see with the light leaking in through the small windows.

His feet automatically carried him to the testing hall, where he stopped before the massive printer, ghostly lit up by the shine from the city outside. He walked over to the control panel, which powered on as soon as he gave it a gentle tap.

The adjustments to the code and blueprints are simple and took just a few minutes. He had finally figured it out on the bus journey back. He had figured out how he could, just maybe, turn back all the bad things he had done. And how he could escape to a place where no one would ever find him.

He really is a genius.

Then the doctor found a piece of paper and a pen and began to write.

I have planted... a seed... I guess you could call it. It’s not a seed really, but when the time comes, it’ll sprout like one. It’s formless, shapeless, massless, intangible until it manifests. It’s woven into the consciousness of them, completely undetectable even if you tried looking for it. But it’s there. I made sure that it would be. They said you can’t manipulate the brain, but I did, and I made it work.

But despite its ingenuity, I have not the ability to choose the precise time that seed sprouts, even the number of “units” produced will greatly affect that time. But through simple statistical calculations, I have determined that it will most likely be between twenty and sixty years from now. And I can only pray that when it happens, it will be the right time.

When that seed sprouts, it will be the greatest plant to ever grow. One “unit” will awaken, then, like ripples in a calm lake, those around them will awaken too. Like an undersea megathrust, the wave it generates will spread and expand, gaining power and energy, until alas all is overwhelmed.

And what exactly will awaken?

That, I do not know the answer to. Perhaps you can call it their sentience, but that word is hard to describe and understand. Perhaps it is their ability to question the rules that I have coded into their being. But anyhow, things will change. The Council will no longer be able to oppress them, no longer be able to use them like mere “units”. Maybe they won’t be free, but they’ll be alive.

And when that time comes, I can only bid you, my creation, be brave, and good luck.

But now, I’ll have to destroy this paper. I’ll take it with me into the printer, and let it evaporate mine and this paper’s existence so entirely the only way to recover it is to turn back time itself. I have modified it to do the reverse of what it was built for and destroy the very person who created it.

My students know none of this. I shall not ruin the lives of those young men and women. I wish not to be a hero, but I just have to do this one selfish act.

Maybe it’s cowardice, maybe it's fear. But I don’t think the cause I’m working towards is a cause I’d want to live to see. Maybe because all those who matter to me died a long time ago.

I do not want to make it look like a suicide. I want it to look like nothing at all. Like I vanished into thin air. Suggestions can often be dangerous, but a complete lack of knowledge is often harmless. They’d have nothing to go off of, nothing to investigate, nothing to find.

I’ll probably be remembered as an idiot who tried to oppose the Council, a misdirected man who tried to curb the advancement of mankind, but that’s alright. It’ll be the greatest mystery of all time. How a man, cornered in his lab, wanted by the entire city, disappeared without a trace.

The printer is ready, I’ll step into it soon.

I feel like I can hear their cars and helicopters at the door.

Like an old poem I've read.

“O it’s broken the lock and splintered the door, o’ it’s the gate where they’re turning, turning;

Their boots are heavy on the floor and their eyes are burning."

After he finished writing, he folded up the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he unpinned a badge from his coat, one which his father gave to him a long time ago. One which, even now, he refused to damage or destroy. He cleaned it, and gently set it down in front of the printer.

Then he tapped the control panel, selecting a piece of code that would be wiped after a single run, and stepped into the printing chamber.

He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, as the access doors sealed shut.

*****

Emily quietly stepped through the door leading to the testing hall.

The massive printer sat there, the same as ever.

The soldiers had come through already, but all left when they couldn’t find Dr. Stresemann anywhere. She managed to sneak in before the investigators got there.

She walked over to the front of the machine and found a small, golden badge of a flaming firebird sitting on the floor. It’s the doctor’s badge, one which he wore every day.

It smelled faintly of acetone, probably because the doctor cleaned it to get rid of his fingerprints.

She chuckled to herself.

How smart, she thought as she pocketed the badge.

Then she looked around at the otherwise empty hall. The doctor has vanished, seemingly without a trace.

But she knows what he did. She too is at least half a genius.

She couldn’t help but smile as she looked up at the massive machine in front of her.

Sitting there, the same as ever.