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You eye the metallic sheets lining the walls of the room you sit in. It’s cold. So very cold. Everything looks the same, all the same steely silver -- from the tables to the walls to the floor and the chair you’re sitting in. 

Fingers splayed, you run your hands along the smooth plane of the table. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were being interrogated. 

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“Congratulations on winning the Lee Sooman Distinguished Award for outstanding research and advancements made in the field of human genetics!” 

The room filled with a cacophony of applause and cheers. In shock, you stood from your seat, your champagne glass ignored and delightful dessert abandoned, and you made your way through the decorated tables full of other leaders in your field to the podium. 

You clutched at the fabric of your gown, lifting the skirt as you walked up the stairs in bewilderment, and as you approached the podium you found yourself being given an enormous bouquet of flowers and a crystalline plaque. 

You could barely believe it. You’ve done it -- someone nominated you for the most prestigious award in your field, just mere weeks after you submitted and defended the dissertation you slaved over for months -- and you won it. 

“Um,” your voice came in through the microphone, shaky and nervous. You felt your earrings dangle against your neck, and your eyes swept the room for any familiar, comforting faces. “Thank you, so much, for this great honor; truly, it comes as a surprise. I started my career in genetic engineering not only to further the science but to make a concerted effort to do so ethically, and that principle has guided my work from the first biology class I took in undergrad. I hope to live up to the honor bestowed upon me with this award and look forward to years of collaboration and professional development with you all.” 

With a polite bow, you exited the stage to fanfare and congratulatory cheers. 

--------------- 

You’re still not sure how you ended up in this room, which you’re fairly certain is some sort of Faraday cage. It started with a mysterious email in your inbox, one of many job offers from fantastic research institutions, except you’d never heard of this one: S.M. Research and Genetic Technologies.
 

The attached pdf was vague, mentioning only a project so important it required an in-person, confidential meeting to discuss. Looking back, it might have been spam, or some sort of other prank, but something compelled you to equally evaluate every opportunity sent your way.
 

And so you were here. You felt safe, at least, having been escorted into the building by a series of fancy cars and even fancier security personnel, so your best guess was a governmental project so new and revolutionary that it couldn’t be mentioned publicly.
 

The flat ring of a buzzer sounds off faintly beyond the door, and not seconds later you hear the ding of a keycard being approved. Then the door opens, letting in a petite and exceptionally beautiful woman.
 

“Kwon BoA,” she says, extending a slim hand for a brisk shake. “I’m the leader of the team working on the project, and I’m the one who reached out to you. Apologies for all the cloak-and-daggerness of bringing you here; once I speak to you you’ll understand why it’s necessary.”
 

That’s… super vague. But she seems nice.
 

“I’ve called you in because of your dissertation, ‘An Ethical Framework for Mammalian Genome Editing,’ and I think it comes at an especially poignant time in genetic engineering. Far too many researchers have been pushing the limits of science beyond the realm of what is truly ethical and just, and I would like to hire you to help course-correct my team for a particularly troubling, complex case we’ve been trying to analyze and understand. I can’t tell you much more than that until you’re officially on-board, but suffice it to say that you were selected because of your attention and dedication to doing the right thing while still trying to further the field.”
 

You sit in silence, trying your best to read between her very, very vague lines.
 

“Are you saying that your project deals with cloning, and you’re worried that other members of your team have … gone off the legal deep end?”
 

BoA hesitates. “Yes… But not only that. Our specimens are… the most intriguing mammalian, or at least humanoid, specimens to come across our desk.”
 

It’s very odd that she says humanoid and not human. You begin to wonder if the government has some earlier form of mankind, some ancestor to the human race, and somehow created a living breathing version. Bringing back genetic material from extinction is certainly a murky field -- you’ve watched too many Jurassic Park movies and know better -- but if there ever was the perfect genetic and ethical conundrum to tackle, that would be it.
 

“Yes!” You say, not really sure why you instinctively feel compelled to come aboard her team. Maybe it’s her kind, welcoming demeanor; maybe it’s your lifelong desire to make true impact with the clearest, most careful techniques in mind -- but something inside you forces the affirmation from your mouth.
 

“Yes?” BoA smiles, mouth quirking to one side. She seems almost taken aback, like she was expecting more of a fight from you, but on the other hand she also seems to have expected this. “I knew I could count on you. It’ll be an uphill battle, and you’ll have to sign several NDAs and other confidentiality agreements, and you’ll be given an apartment on-site, but I promise you it will be worth it.”
 

Your smile falters as she describes the paperwork and hyper-security measures, but something bubbling up in