New York, Manhattan.
The top-floor conference room of a leading venture capital conglomerate.
"Gentlemen, please look at the big screen!"
At the broad, ring-shaped mahogany conference table, Bolivar Trask stood on a custom-made step stool, gripping a laser pointer tightly.
Born with dwarfism, even standing on the stool, his eyes barely reached the level of the Wall Street titans seated in their leather chairs.
Yet the fervor in his eyes seemed ready to set the conference room ablaze.
"Gentlemen, please don't limit your sights to those crudely made silicone prosthetics or cumbersome titanium-alloy braces!"
Trask waved his arms vigorously. On the screen behind him was a mechanical arm covered in precision neural connection ports.
"This is groundbreaking DNA Bionic Prosthetics Technology!"
He caught his breath, excitedly slapping the thick stack of proposals on the table.
"The breakthrough in this technology is that it reaches down to the genetic level, perfectly connecting mechanical components with human DNA sequences and central neurons. Not only can it instantly restore disabled people's mobility or even surpass their original capabilities, but more importantly, if we keep exploring this technology, we can artificially give ordinary people strength beyond the limits of the flesh! With sufficient funding and the world's most advanced biomechanical laboratory, I can mass-produce it!"
The conference room was so quiet that a pin could have been heard dropping, but not out of awe. It was a silence of condescending indifference.
The conglomerate's chief executive at the head of the table idly twirled a solid-gold fountain pen, looking at Trask as though he were a circus clown.
"Dr. Trask, I must admit, your PowerPoint presentation is spectacular. The effects rival a Hollywood science-fiction blockbuster."
The executive sneered.
"But do you know how much this great invention of yours costs? According to your report, extracting