Human Error

BOOK 1 // FIVE: A Dark Hour

The camera flicked back to the reporter. "And do you think this modification may have had something to do with the circumstances of Ms. Kelly's death?"

"It's impossible to say for certain," he said. "Many of the reports flying around at the minute are entirely unconfirmed, so it isn't wise to believe everything you hear. However, it hasn't yet been ruled out that the illegal modifications performed on Ms. Kelly resulted in irreversible psychological damage. In this context, the suicide is not entirely unexplained."

"But how would that be possible?" the reporter pressed. "If the modification had been intended to enhance athletic ability, why might it affect the brain in this way?"

"This is all speculation, of course." Max Snowdon's expression betrayed no emotion, but I got the strange feeling he was enjoying the exposure perhaps more than he should've. Publicity was so difficult to come by in the city, and maybe none of it could be taken for granted. "We don't yet know the type of process that contributed to Ms. Kelly. However, due to the illegality of it, research may have been rushed and appropriate measures not taken to reduce risks. With something as intricate and complex as human DNA, how can anyone be entirely sure interference will not have more widespread side effects?"

The camera left his face, panning back to the reporter. "Thank you for your insight, Mr Snowdon. You've certainly given us food for thought tonight."

"It's my pleasure," he said. "I just wish we could've met in more positive circumstances."

The reporter nodded. "News reports of this story have not been well-received across the city. Protests began outside City Hall at approximately noon this afternoon, and one-hundred extra police officers were drafted in to maintain control. Take a look at this footage."

They disappeared from the screen then, along with the studio backdrop. I recognised the street immediately; it was the far end of City Walk, the long stretch of road that gave way to the intricately pillared building housing all government officials. One of the main landmarks was the giant statue outside: a bronze immortalisation of the city's most famous man, Kristopher Holland. The camera didn't linger, but I was sure I'd noticed splatters of red across the statue, leaving me to wonder whether vandals had already descended. Barriers lined the entrance to keep the crowd at bay; then, like metal wasn't enough, a line of security guards formed a second obstacle. Even in my room, the roar of the crowd was obtrusive, and I had to hastily swipe the volume down to keep it from waking my parents.

"Scenes of unrest remained outside City Hall for many hours this afternoon," the voiceover said, as the camera panned the crowd. Several signs and banners were visible above the heads of the mass; the words I could make out went along the lines of STOP MODIFICATION and DON'T QUESTION NATURE. "Three people were arrested when the crowd began to get violent. An official statement was given at six p.m. by Max Snowdon, shown here."

When the camera returned to the front of the building, leaving the statue just out of shot, the same man was in view. This time, however, he stood in front of a glass podium at the top of the steps, and a microphone amplified his voice above the roar of the crowd.

"Recent news has called into question the regulation of genetic research in the city." His words sent a slight hush falling across the mob. "For the last fifty years, New London has been at the forefront of this field, and institutions across the city have taken pride in pushing the boundaries of what science is capable of."

He paused, looking out across the crowd, where the angry unrest seemed to have temporarily subsided. Somehow, his few words were more powerful than the hundred police officers already present.