News of Alan Pettigrew's death made the headlines in the technology and general news sections a week later. The official cause was "sudden, rare collapse of the genetic immune system." The medical community was in an uproar, and somewhat puzzled: this condition was more commonly seen in failed cases of certain gene-editing experiments than as a naturally occurring illness.
Public opinion was once again deftly steered. This time, the fire was directed at genetic ethics and gaps in biotechnology regulation. Several media outlets that had previously covered the Thorne incident ran new in-depth reports, linking Pettigrew's "research" to certain political forces seeking legislation to restrict genetic weapons and illegal human enhancement. Genesis Technologies' share price plunged, and the company faced multiple investigations.
W's handiwork was as precise and efficient as ever. Like master curators, they packaged one death after another as exhibits of profound significance, directing where their audience-the public-looked and what they thought.
And I was the craftsman behind the scenes who supplied the "raw materials," slowly being forgotten.
After I completed Pettigrew's "surgery," that pathological sense of "ease," and the brief "satisfaction" that followed, lasted about half a day. Then came a deeper, colder emptiness. The sands of memory seemed to slip away no more slowly; paying the price had merely become a little more "comfortable," like surgery performed under anesthesia.
Once the anesthetic wore off, the wound remained, even more grotesque for having been briefly concealed.
I tried to resist. I forced myself not to look at the encrypted phone, not to think about the next "efficient target" W might offer. I ventured into the deep web again, trying to find the next cancer that needed excising through my own efforts.
But the process became excruciating. The noise of information was more grating than ever, and the